Dragon Rose(43)

He said nothing, instead staring at the fire as if something in its flickering depths intrigued him.

“I found it compelling that Allaire could ignore what the mage had done to Alende, could instead admire him and care for him because of who he was and not what he looked like.”

Still the silence stretched on, the hood facing forward and away from me, as if he could not bear to see my face. He shifted, and I saw the gloved hands tighten on the fine wool that covered his knee. Finally he said abruptly, “It is only a story.”

“Indeed? For the title page of the book declares that it is ‘A True Account of the Birth of Magic.’”

“Perhaps that much is true, but I doubt the entirety of it is ‘a true account.’ As with many other works of that nature, the author most likely gathered up what tales he could and published them all under that title, whether they were relevant or not.”

“If that is your opinion, then I wonder at you giving it to me in the first place.”

He did turn and regard me then; at least, the hood shifted in my direction. “I thought it might make for better reading than many of the volumes in my library, given your…limited opportunity for study.”

“Oh, I see,” I replied, not bothering to hide the edge to my voice. “So you thought to give me silly fairy tales to read, as I am only a poor uneducated girl who couldn’t possibly comprehend anything more scholarly!”

“That is not what I said.”

“Perhaps, but I have a very good idea that it is what you meant.” The bread and sausage and cheese, which had tasted so wonderful only a short time ago, began to churn in my stomach. Indeed, I wondered if I might be sick. Perhaps it was the wine. Yes, that had to be it.

“Rhianne, don’t be foolish—”

“So now you think I am a fool,” I countered, and got to my feet, albeit rather unsteadily. “Well, don’t let me inflict my foolishness on you any longer!”

He stood as well, a rather ominous upheaval of dark robes. One edge of his cloak caught my wine glass, and it spilled to the rug, although he appeared to pay it no heed. “Rhianne, please—” He reached out toward me but then pulled up abruptly.

So he couldn’t bear to even lay his hand on my arm. So be it. An odd little ache rose inside me, a hard knot of tears just waiting to be shed. I would not give him the satisfaction of seeing me dissolve before him, and so I turned and fled, running for the door, which I slammed with a satisfying bang behind me.

I ran then, feet slapping on the cold stone of the steps, the air frigid against my burning cheeks. The sickness seemed to fill my throat and I gulped, willing it to stay down until I reached the safety of my own chambers.

Once there, I ran for the chamber pot, thinking the rich food would surely come back up again. But instead I only choked and coughed, and realized the spasm of nausea had passed. That did little to reassure me, however. I stood and poured myself some water, then drank half of it without stopping. I almost expected the queasiness to return, but it did not. The knot inside me seemed to release, and I wept then, burying my face in my hands and giving in to the misery.

I could not even say why I was so forlorn, save that Theran and I had quarreled, and my hopes for how the evening might have gone were irretrievably dashed. It had seemed so simple to me before—we would discuss Alende and Allaire, and I would hint that I understood Allaire’s feelings completely, and then…

And then what?

If he had taken me in his arms, had pressed his lips to mine as a true lover should, and not with that light brush of mouth against mouth he had given me on our wedding day, would I have surrendered to him? Could I have looked past whatever destruction that long-ago mage had done to his face and person, and embraced him only as Theran?

I did not know, and now it seemed as if I never would. Oh, quarrels had their way of mending themselves, I supposed. That is, I had heard my parents raise their voices to one another on more than one occasion, but those rifts were never that deep, and seemed to pass as if they had never been. Whether it would be that way between Theran and myself, I could not say. I only knew I felt so weary as I readied myself for bed that I wondered if I would sleep the next day through.





Chapter Ten





He came to me in my dreams that night. The stranger, that is, not Theran.

I stood in a great wooden hall, surrounded by gaily dressed, chattering folk, and realized I was at Lilianth’s wedding party. The chamber appeared to be the large reception room of Lirinsholme’s Brecken Hall.

Truly it seemed as if almost everyone in the town was there, wearing their best and drinking ale and cider and mead—curious how my dream should be so detailed, as I knew neither Lilianth’s parents nor Adain could afford to serve wine at such an event. This seemed to matter little enough, for everyone appeared to be in fine spirits. The hall itself was bright with autumn leaves and garlands of berries, and the bride was resplendent in her gown of the silk and linen fabric we had picked out on that day which now seemed so long ago.

I looked down and realized I was wearing the finest gown from the wardrobe Theran had given me, the wine-colored damask with the gold braid on the neck and sleeves, the trim gleaming with the dark blood color of uncut garnets. More of the sanguine gems gleamed at my throat and on my fingers, although waking I wore no rings.

Music filled the hall, and I found myself going time after time to the dance floor, this time with Lindell as my partner, the next with Adain’s younger brother Mikhel, even once, improbably, with the Elder Drewson, who proved to be quite light on his feet, and who bestowed upon me an admiring glance that I thought odd, even though we danced only in a dream.