tales of the latter kingdom 08 - moon dance (4 page)

“No, I did not think you had, for you are far more circumspect than that.” She paused, hazel eyes searching my face. As I often did, I found myself examining her features, seeing in them an echo of my own mother’s countenance, although it had been ten years since we lost her, and some of the details of her appearance had begun to slip from my memory. And I also tried to see something of myself in her, and again found myself failing. My mother had told me once when I was very young that I had inherited my golden curls from her mother’s mother, but I had never met my great-grandmother, nor my grandmother, either, as they had both passed away before I was even born.

True, I possessed the greenish-hazel eyes of my mother’s family, but in shape they were quite different from my aunt’s, or my sister’s. To anyone who had not known us, we would not have appeared to be related at all.

“But,” Aunt Lyselle went on briskly, “I would have to be blind to see that Lord Mayson has very little interest in Carella, whereas he seems to make some effort to seek out your company, Iselda.”

“I am very sorry,” I began. “I have never encouraged — ”

“No, I know you have not,” she broke in. “I did not mean to imply such a thing. But if he has taken you into his confidence — if he has said anything — ” A pause, as if she was steeling herself to face an unpleasant truth. “If Lord Mayson has spoken with you, then you must tell me, my dear. I do not want Carella to make a fool of herself by chasing him if there is no possibility of a marriage between them.”

I swallowed. “Dear Aunt Lyselle, I must confess that he did say something, but his entire manner was so strange, his demeanor so agitated, that I am not sure what to make of it.”

My reply seemed to flummox my aunt. She crossed her arms, head tilted as she surveyed me. “What on earth do you mean, Iselda? Did he offer for you or did he not?”

“He — ” Oh, how I wished I might be anywhere but here confronting Aunt Lyselle, who looked as if she couldn’t decide whether to be worried or confused. “He spoke of how he didn’t wish to be married at all, but if he must, that he would rather it were with me, as he seems to regard me as a friend. I must confess that I did not understand him at all, and told him that if I were to marry, it would be to a man who loved me and did not merely regard me as a friend.”

“You told him that?” For some odd reason, she did not seem angry. Rather, her lips quirked, as if she was attempting to hold back a smile.

“Yes,” I replied. “Was that wrong of me?”

“Oh, no, my dear,” she said. “It’s just that I see your sister’s influence, even though she is many miles away and has not spoken to you in years.”

As to that — I did not reply, but only lifted my shoulders. What Aunt Lyselle did not know was that my sister had perfected a system whereupon she contacted me via letters written by a scribe, so her writing would not be recognized, and using language so oblique that her missives could have come from almost anyone. These letters appeared at random intervals, sometimes only a month or two apart, sometimes with almost a year between them, and were slipped between the pages of the latest book I had ordered from the shop in the village, or folded around the bill from the dressmaker, or any of a number of clever means she’d devised to keep in touch with me in a way that would prevent anyone else from knowing. Poor Tobyn still had a price on his head, and although King Harlin did not seem overly consumed by a need to avenge his father’s death, neither could he pardon my brother-in-law. Since there were agents in the land who would gladly track down even a purported mage in exchange for a hefty bounty, such secrecy was necessary.

It was in this way that I knew Annora had borne a son two years earlier, and that, far from being outcast, Tobyn was well-regarded by the Mark of Eredor himself, a man who did not believe magic was solely evil. Whether or not our own King Harlin’s agents knew of Tobyn’s position in that far-off land, I couldn’t be sure, but it seemed that Tobyn and my sister and their young family were all prospering in their exile.

Whereas I….

“Oh, I suppose I was romantic and impressionable when Annora went away with Master Slade,” I said, my tone as blithe as I could make it. “So I will not lie and tell you that her happiness had no bearing on what I might have said to Lord Mayson. But that is not the whole of the matter, dear Aunt Lyselle. I saw how unhappy my parents were, and I have no desire to repeat their history.”

At this mention of her sister’s marriage, my aunt winced slightly. “No, I can see why you would want to avoid such a situation. But my dear, if Lord Mayson truly wishes to make you his wife, then I think you should consider well whether it would be wise to refuse his offer. Perhaps there is not the sort of wild, romantic love you saw in your sister and Master Slade, but if you and Lord Mayson are friends, then you already have the foundation of a happy marriage. There are many couples who cannot say they were so lucky.”

I did not bother to argue with that remark, for I could see the wisdom in her words. From such friendship could come lasting affection — if I would but allow such a thing to happen.

But then I recalled the wild, tormented look in Mayson’s eyes as he told me that he had no wish to marry, and I somehow knew that the happiness my aunt had spoken of would very likely be nothing more than a dream, something his lordship and I could never really share. I still understood very little of why he should feel so violently opposed to marriage, but if that was the truth of his heart, I did not see the wisdom in attempting to change it.

“I understand your point, Aunt Lyselle,” I said slowly. “But I also know that his lordship and I would not be happy. I am not saying he would treat me ill, for I have seen nothing in his manner to suggest such a thing. But I also know that we would both want something the other person could not give, and in the end we would grow to resent one another.”

For a long moment, my aunt said nothing, only gazed at me with an unreadable expression in her eyes. Then she allowed herself a sigh before saying, “You have grown into a wise young woman, Iselda. I wish my daughters had even half your sense among them.”

It was the first time I had ever heard her utter a word of criticism about her daughters. Oh, she would rebuke them from time to time when they did not seem overly inclined to do their needlework, or, in Carella and Theranne’s case, spend adequate time on their studies, for they were still young enough that a tutor came to see them four days each week. But never once had I heard my aunt say anything to make me believe she thought them deficient in any way. That she had uttered such a statement now seemed to indicate how much she had been moved by my words.

“Oh, they are sensible enough, I think,” I replied. “And indeed, I believe Annora would smile to hear you call me wise, for I know she often thought me quite foolish, always with my nose in a storybook, dreaming of princes and knights errant and days of magic gone by.”

“Only they are not so long gone as we once thought,” my aunt said. “Indeed, I certainly never thought magic would touch my family, and yet here is your sister married to a great mage.”

“I don’t think he believes himself to be a great mage.”

“Perhaps he does not, but I know of no one else who could have achieved the things that he did. Indeed, I would not have believed such exploits were even possible, were it not that there were so many witnesses to his deeds.”

I could not argue with her assessment. Indeed, while I had read of the great feats of magic performed by sorcerers of those long-ago days, in my mind I had always thought of those stories as nothing more than that — stories. But stories often had their basis in fact, as I had come to learn.

“That is only because there are so few mages left, I suppose,” I said. “When there are probably fewer than fifty on the entire continent, it would make sense that any of their exploits would be cause for comment.”

“Goodness!” my aunt exclaimed. “As many as fifty?” She both looked and sounded quite horrified, although I knew she had never blamed my brother-in-law for any of his actions. He had been forced to violence; it was not something he had sought out. But as open-minded as she appeared to be on the subject of magic, I knew the very notion of it still discomfited her somewhat, for it had been forbidden in our land ever since the conclusion of the mage wars, nearly a thousand years before.

“Only a guess, dear aunt,” I replied. “For there is Tobyn, and the Markess of North Eredor, and no doubt others who have kept their talents a secret. But still, that is not so many when you consider how widely scattered they must be.”

“Ah.” She said nothing else just then, and I thought I guessed the reason why. Although she chided her daughters to attend to their studies, she herself was no great scholar. I imagined that she had only a very hazy idea of how great the continent where our homeland of Purth lay actually was. Then her manner became brisk, and she went on, “Well, if you will not accept Lord Mayson’s suit, then I suppose that is the end of the matter. Go along to the solar, and then down to dinner at seven.”

I took these words for the dismissal they were, and nodded before hurrying off to the sunlit chamber. A sense of relief filled me, for it seemed she was content to let the matter go.

For the time being, at any rate.

None of my cousins appeared all that puzzled by my delay in joining them. Or rather, they were busy enough with their own conversations that my absence had barely been noted. They were chattering about which of the young men in the area would be attending Adalynn’s wedding, and whether there would be any appealing candidates among them.

I was rather surprised to see Carella so engaged in this discussion. Perhaps she had already decided that Lord Mayson was not as likely a prospect as he had once appeared, and so she must set her sights elsewhere. If that was the case, she did not appear overly upset by the notion, for she seemed quite lively as she debated the qualities of one young lord over another.

Or perhaps she was merely doing her best to hide her disappointment. My cousin had always reminded me of the stream that flowed across my uncle’s lands — bright and chattering and not overly deep. Perhaps it was simply not in her nature to feel a hurt all that deeply, especially when nothing formal had been arranged.

Whatever her true feelings, I found myself relieved that no one attempted to engage me in the conversation, and that I was able to pick up my needle and apply myself as best I could to repairing the damaged lace at the neckline of my good chemise. Nothing could induce me to like needlework, but at least when I was mending something, I could tell myself I was doing some good by extending the life of a garment.

At length, the dinner bell sounded from somewhere below, and we all happily set aside our projects — which would be brought to our rooms later by one of the maids — and headed down to dinner. Lord Mayson was nowhere in evidence, and my aunt explained that he had gone to have his dinner at the estate of Sir Locksen, a neighbor whose lands bordered those of my uncle.

I had not known that Mayson and Sir Locksen were good friends, for our houseguest had never shown any particular interest in the elderly knight and his family before. But I guessed that Lord Mayson had decided to absent himself from our company for the evening because he had not quite regained his composure after his little confrontation with me down by the creek.

For the barest moment, I wondered if I had made the wrong decision, whether I should have accepted his suit as my aunt had wished me to. But no. It did trouble me to have upset Mayson, but even my worry over his well-being did not serve to change my mind.

And so our dinner was a quiet enough meal, with Adalynn, as usual, dominating the conversation. My uncle was a kindly man, still obviously besotted with his wife even after so many years of marriage, and so he did not do much to guide the discussion, but only listened and nodded, and from time to time signaled for one of the servants to refill his plate. He was one of those lucky men who could consume whatever he wished and still remain as lean as he had been when he was younger, and so, while I was now more or less used to the prodigious amounts he could eat, I still could not help but be astonished by the feat.

At length it was time to go upstairs. We all bade the lord and lady of the castle good night, then went up to our rooms.

Janessa was also quiet as she got ready for bed, although I noted a speculative gleam in her eyes as she looked over at me. Just as we were slipping beneath the covers of our narrow beds, placed up against opposite walls, she said, “So it is true that Lord Mayson has asked for you.”

“Not at all,” I lied. I did not see the point in telling her the truth, for then I would have to explain why I had refused him…and I was not sure I could even explain that to myself. Not convincingly, anyway.

“That is what Carella was saying.”

I wondered if Carella had somehow managed to hang back and eavesdrop on my conversation with her mother. “Well, Carella can sometimes have incorrect impressions about things. I can assure you that I am definitely
not
engaged to Lord Mayson.”

“Hmm.” Janessa wriggled about under her bedclothes, but she said nothing else, and so I prayed that would be the end of her questions.

Apparently it was, for a few short minutes later, I heard her breathing deepen and become more regular. I let out a small sigh of relief, and hoped I would slip into slumber just as easily. It had been an odd and long and rather tiring day.

My wish was granted, it seemed, for the darkened room blurred around me and then slipped into blackness.

I cannot say if I dreamed. All I do know is that something woke me much later, something that made me sit up in my bed with a start, although I could not recall hearing any sound in particular. I sat there for a moment, blinking into the dimness of the chamber, although it was somewhat lighter than when I had first gone to sleep. A gibbous moon was now perfectly framed in the arched window across the room, a window whose curtains had been left drawn so as to let in the cool night breeze.