Aurian stared out of the window, stfide-eyed with disbelief. Thick snow covered the ground and the deep, dark waters were rimmed with a broad band of ice. “But—” she protested.
“Go on, get moving. You’re smelling the place up,” he added callously.
Aurian’s lip trembled, then the Magefolk stubbornness took over. She set her jaw and scowled. “Right!” she snapped and stamped out, slamming the door behind her.
The obstinate little wretch had called his bluff! Forral, horrified, ran after her. The lake was deep around the island, and in weather this cold, he placed no trust in the old tale that it was impossible to drown a Mage. He reached the bottom of the garden just in time to see Aurian jump into the freezing water.
With a curse, the swordsman leapt forward and grabbed a handful of her hair before she could flounder away from the bank. When he fished her out, she was already blue. He wrapped her in his cloak and carried her inside, dumping her straight into the steaming tub that he had placed in front of the stove. “There,” he said, as her shivering subsided in the hot water. “Isn’t that better than the lake?” Aurian glared at him. “If you don’t like it, I can always take you back out there,” he suggested.
After a moment the child dropped her eyes. “Perhaps it’s not so bad after all,” she said.
Forral smiled, and produced a little wooden boat rhar he had made for her to play with.
Fortunately, once she got used to the idea, Aurian became so addicted to hot baths that his chief problem lay in getting her out of them. Persuading her to comb her hair was less easy, however. Her long, thick, glowing red curls were snarled with years’ worth of tangles. The first time, it took Forral a terrible hour to get the mess sorted out while he held the struggling, shrieking child down. At last he threw down the comb, filled with guilt. Gods, I’d rather fight a dozen warriors, he thought, taking the sobbing little girl into his arms.
“You hurt me!” she accused him,
“I’m sorry, love. I know I did. But that was only because it had been left for so long. When you do it every day—”
“I’d rather die!” Aurian shouted.
“What a pity.” Forral sighed. “You look so beautiful now,” Aurian’s head came up sharply. “Me? Beautiful? Like the princess in your story?”
Forral looked into her face. The childish roundness had been leaving Aurian’s face in the past few months—Eilin had been right. She would have her father’s hawkish looks, angular and high-cheekboned, with the same fierce aquiline nose. “You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen,” he told her sincerely. “It would be a shame if a handsome prince came by and didn’t like you because you hadn’t combed your hair.”
“I don’t want a stupid prince,” Aurian declared firmly. “I’m going to marry you.”
The swordsman froze. This was a complication that he hadn’t considered. “Don’t you think I’m a bit old for you?” he said lamely.
“How old are you?”
“Thirty.”
“That’s not old.” Aurian shrugged. “You said my father was ninety-six when he married my mother.”
Forral was lost for a reply. She was too young to understand the fundamental difference between Mortal and Magefolk.
“Don’t you want to marry me?” Aurian looked hurt. “You just said I was beautiful.”
“You are,” he reassured her, “and I would love to marry you. But you’re not old enough yet. We’ll talk about it again when you grow up.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.” Hating himself, he added, “But only if you comb your hair. I can’t marry someone who looks like a hedge.”
Aurian sighed, “Oh, all right, then.”
To Portal’s relief, Eilin taught her daughter to braid the unruly mane. That solved the problem of most of the tangles, and Aurian began to take a delight in looking after her hair, although the speculative looks she cast his way as she did so gave the swordsman some cause for alarm. He knew how stubborn she could be, once she got an idea into her head.
When Forral had been about Aurian’s age, Geraint had taught him to read. It was only now. thap he appreciated how he must have tried the Mage’s patience. FJiUn unearthed Geraint’s old library, and Forral tried to select the books that would appeal to a child. They were old histories mostly, filled with tales of adventure and bravado, and they proved to be the same ones with which Forral had been taught. The wound of the swordsman’s grief opened anew as he recalled his old friend’s face, bent over the page as Geraint struggled patiently to explain the mystery to the baffled youth that had been himself.
Aurian hated it. Not used to sitting still and concentrating, she considered the whole business a waste of time. She took to hiding at lesson times, and Forral came to bless his skill as a tracker. He would haul her back, Aurian protesting bitterly all the way, and she fought^him so vehemently that Forral became concerned that their relationship would be irrevocably damaged.
In the end the swordsman resorted to subterfuge, pretending to give in. “All right,” he told her with a shrug. “If it’s too difficult for you we won’t bother.” Aurian scowled at him suspiciously. She knew by now that Forral always got his way in the end. Pretending to ignore her, he brewed some tea made by Eilin from rosehips, a perfect antidote to this wintry weather. Stirring a dollop of honey into his cup, he sat back with his feet propped on the stove, opened the book of legends and began to read.
After a while, Aurian began to drift around the room, looking for something to do. The weather was much too bad to go out. Another blizzard was howling outside, and the wind rattled the frames of the thick crystal casement, Forral watched the child out of the corner of his eye. Eventually she approached him. “Can’t we play something?”
“Not now,” Forral said absently. “I’m busy.”
Aurian’s face fell. She hung around for a while, scuffling her feet. “Forral, I’m bored,” she whined.
“I’m not,” he replied smugly. “This story is much too exciting.”
Aurian stamped her foot. “I don’t believe you!” she shouted. “You’re only saying that to make me read the stupid thing!”
Forral winced. The child was too bloody quick for her own good. Thinking quickly,, he assumed an injured expression. “Would I lie? If you don’t believe me I’ll read it to you.” Looking relieved, Aurian sat down at his feet.
It really was an exciting story. Forral had chosen it for that very reason. He glanced down at the child’s rapt expression. When they reached the climax of the tale, where the brave young heroine was trapped on a mountain by savage goblins and trolls, he put the book down and yawned.
“Don’t stop,” Aurian urged him anxiously, biting her lip. “What happens next?”
Forral shrugged. “I can’t be bothered to read anymore. I think I’ll go for a nap.” Leaving the book on the chair, he went to his room, closing the door firmly on the child’s outraged protests.
The swordsman returned an hour later to find Aurian poring over the book, tears of frustration in her eyes. “It doesn’t make sense,” she wailed. “It’s just little black marks, and I’ll never find out what happened!”
Forral put his arm around her. “That’s just what I said to your father when he taught me with this book.”
Aurian’s eyes widened. “You did? What did he say?”
“Tough,” replied Forral, grinning at the stunned expression on her face. “He said that if I wanted to find out what happened, I would have to work hard and let him teach me.”
Aurian’s face grew stormy. “You tricked me! You rotten, sneaky beast\” She threw the book against the wall and ran off to her room, slamming the door.
She sulked for two days, refusing to speak to him, Eilin raised her eyebrows at the change, but forbore to comment. Forral missed Aurian’s cheerful company more than he would ever have thought possible, and began to blame himself for pushing the child too far. In the end he could bear her angry silence no longer. “I’m sorry,” he told her, “You’re absolutely right. I was rotten ant) sneaky, and I apologize. I’ll read the rest of the story if you want.”