Immediately‹fhe silver pitcher stopped pouring and floated to the next empty glass. None of the courtiers paid any attention. Apparently flying pitchers are commonplace here, Mika thought wryly. She allowed herself a nervous laugh as she sopped up spilled wine with her napkin.^.
'Would you be so kind as to pass the saltcellar?' a plump woman to her left asked.
Mika reached for an ivory saltcellar carved in the shape of a spider. It scurried nimbly beyond her grasp. She bit her tongue to keep from crying out in alarm. Given the flying pitcher, no doubt a walking saltcellar was to be expected. The ivory spider scuttled behind a bowl of plums. Forming a strategy, Mika picked up a fork in her left hand and carefully prodded behind the bowl. The ivory spider dashed from its hiding place, and she'deftly snatched it up in her right hand. She passed the wriggling saltcellar to the waiting woman.
'Thank you, my dear.'
'You're welcome,' Mika said with a forced smile.
At the foot of the table, two servants set down a ponderous serving dish. They lifted the silver lid, and the woman to Mika's left clapped her plump hands.
'Roast partridges!' she exclaimed. 'My favorite!' She picked up knife and fork expectantly.
Mika was wondering how the roasted birds were to be served when her question was answered for her. One of the steaming partridges leapt off the silver platter and began hobbling down the table on crisp legs covered with curly roasting papers. Its roasted compatriots followed behind. In moments a line of headless cooked partridges were marching jerkily down either side of the table and plopping themselves onto empty plates. One of the roasted birds scuttled onto Mika's dish. It twitched several times, then lay still. She stared at it, wondering if it would be polite to stab it a few times to make certain it was ready to eat. The nobles around her fell on the feast, meanwhile, tearing into the birds and gobbling meat, wiping greasy fingers on silk and velvet. Mika picked unenthusiastically at the partridge and the rest of the food placed before her. She found everything to be lavishly prepared, exquisite to behold, and utterly tasteless.
After a time her thoughts drifted to her encounter with Wort the day before. The man in the bell tower was a riddle to her. It had been brave of him, even noble, to protect her from the mob of villagers. Yet when she had hinted that she might be able to heal his back, he had grown so terribly defensive. Mika sighed. She was suddenly struck by the contrast between the opulence of the Grand Hall and the bleakness of Wort's tower home. It made her feel strangely guilty. Despite his rage yesterday-maybe even because of it-she wanted more than ever to help him. Nartok's mysterious bellringer seemed so lonely, and loneliness was something she understood. But did she dare visit his tower again? Mika almost wished she were there now. Wort's face might be homely, but the garishly rouged and powdered visages laughing all around her suddenly seemed far uglier.
Finally the magical feast was over. As the courtiers drifted from the hall, Baron Caidin bade Mika farewell.
'You see, Your Grace?' she said with a wavering smile. 'I warned you that I was terribly dull.'
'Indeed, my lady.' He raised a single dark eyebrow. 'And when will I have the pleasure of your tedious company again?'
Mika felt a pang of worry in her heart. The light in his eyes suddenly seemed so… feral.
'I'm not certain…'
'But I am, my lady. Return to the keep tomorrow.' He reached out and took her hand. 'Say yes…' He pressed his lips against her upturned palm.
A shiver ran up her arm. That was exactly the way Geordin used to kiss her hand. With a choking sound, she pulled away.
'Please, don't!' she gasped.
Caidin looked up in surprise. His face seemed now more daemonic than handsome. He reached for her.
'No, don't come any closer.' In panic she backed away, gripping the golden locket about her throat. 'Don't you see? It's too soon. My husband is…'
Caidin's emerald eyes bore into hers. 'Your husband is what, my lady?'
Mika gaped at him. Her lips could not form the words. Pulling the lavender gown up above her ankles, she turned and fled the hall.
Caidin paced before the blazing fireplace in his private chamber, a glass of wine held loosely in his hand, his coat unbuttoned.
'I don't understand it, Pock,' he said furiously. 'Before she ran off, she looked at me as if I were some sort of monster. How could she possibly resist me? No one is as handsome as I.'
'You'll never seduce the good doctor, Your Grace,' the gnome snorted, lounging on his back before the roaring blaze. 'She's still faithful to her dead husband, you know. You'd sooner melt a glacier with your kisses.'
The baron grinned devilishly. 'Oh, my kiss can melt things far greater than glaciers, Pock.'
'Really, Your Grace?' the gnome piped. 'You know, my toes are rather cold at the moment…'
The baron ignored him. 'I will light a fire in her such as she has never known. I will win her love, Pock. Or if nothing else… her lust.' Tilting his head back, he drained the glass of wine, then ran a tongue across his crimson- stained lips. 'I am not about to let a dead man best me.'
Ten
Jadis threw open the window's shutters. Cold air and honey-thick sunlight poured into her chamber, but like a dark rip in the fabric of the sky, an ominous blackness hung high above. Rapidly it grew, blotting out the light, until it alighted on the stone ledge, filling the arch of the window with its sooty presence. It was a raven. A jeweled medallion hung about its throat, indicating the great bird was a lord among its kind.
Jadis curtsied deeply before the onyx-feathered raven. 'Welcome, messenger of Azalin.'
The raven nodded its sleek head, eyes sparkling like bits of smoked glass. 'Greetings, Velvet-Claw,' it croaked.
'I did not expect you to return until tomorrow, Goreon,' Jadis said. 'As ever, your feathers are as dark and swift as the midnight gale.'
In truth, she had known the bird would return that day. However, Azalin's ravens were proud and ancient creatures-some had served him for centuries. It did no harm to flatter them. Two days before, Goreon had arrived to take word of Jadis's progress back to the Wizard King. In her report, she had made an unusual request. Now she would learn if it had been granted.
'I bring a message from our undying master, Velvet-Claw,' Goreon said in his grating voice. 'And a token.'
Jadis saw that the raven gripped something in one claw. She held out a hand, and the bird let the token fall into her palm. It was a tiny golden case, sealed with a circle of wax into which had been pressed the image of Azalin's personal intaglio-the Fiery Eye.
'That is the token,' said the raven. 'And the message is this: 'Open the box, and fear not the bite of stone, my Jadis.' '
A smile coiled sinuously about Jadis's lips. She clasped the golden box tightly. 'Thank you, Goreon.'
The bird cocked its head, staring at her with one unblinking eye. 'Azalin favors you, Kargat. You know this?'
'Yes.' Jadis's smile deepened. 'I do.'
A coarse sound emanated from the bird's throat. It might almost have been laughter. 'You are bold, Vel- vet-Claw. I like that. Thus I will give you a warning. Remember, as in all our master touches, there is Death in his love.'
A frown creased the dusky skin of Jadis's brow. 'You're wrong, Goreon,' she said coolly. 'I have known his touch. As you can see, I am very much alive.'
The raven ruffled its shadowy feathers. 'Do not presume to know what I see.' It stretched its onyx wings. 'May Darkness preserve you, Velvet-Claw.'
Jadis nodded in reply. Like the shadow of a cloud passing across the sun, the raven was gone. Light and air streamed once more through the window. Jadis ran the back of her hand thoughtfully under her chin. It was time to
