So the issue would be forced, tonight. Queen Glomerula would try to fathom Darius’ nature, evoking what magic he had. If she did not come to a conclusion, King Lombard would arrange to discover the tryst, and would challenge the interloper to a duel. That would bring it out, certainly. But it had its risk, because if Darius were a ranking despot he might have stronger magic than the king, and would kill him and take over his throne. So it might be better to avoid that chance. Unfortunately, Darius thought, he did not have magic in this reality, and in any event it was not the same type.
How do you know?
Darius paused, surprised. The horse was merely curious, but it was a seminal question. Darius had become so used to lacking his magic in other realities, except sometimes his ability to project emotionally, that he had just assumed this was the case here. Yet this was definitely a magic reality, and perhaps more than one kind of magic worked.
He had two types of magic, in his home reality. One was common to all people there, known as sympathetic. The other was unique to him, at least in degree. As the Cyng of Hlahtar—or, as Colene termed it, the King of Laughter—he could draw emotion from a subject person and rebroadcast it, multiplied a thousandfold. That way every person within range achieved the joy of the one. That made everyone happy for several weeks, until the emotion gradually leaked away. The chief liability of this ability was that he needed a subject from which to draw, and this was by custom the wife of the Cyng, who was gradually depleted until she was an emotional husk and had to be discarded. Distressed by the prospect of doing this to a woman he loved, he had sought through the Modes for a woman who could handle it. That was how he had found Colene—only to learn that she, instead of being full of joy, was secretly suicidal. That would be disaster! But he loved her, having foolishly committed his emotion before properly understanding.
Meanwhile he had found another woman, Prima, whose power was similar to his own, who would marry him and enable him to perform his necessary role without being herself depleted. It would not be a love match, but she desired the position rather than love, and would allow him to love Colene as a mistress without hindrance. It was an ideal solution to his problem, except for certain technical factors. Such as the fact that he and Colene had not yet been able to get to his reality, and were currently somewhat estranged. Oh, they were working together, because they had to, but they had to have a settlement when they could, and it was not possible to know what the result of that would be.
But that was all conjectural. Right now he needed magic. Was it possible that he had it? If so, he could readily deal with the queen. He could drain her of her joy, stopping her in the middle of whatever she had in mind.
That left Knave Naylor’s effort. The man would simply go in and seduce the girl, and rape her if she proved to be diffident. If she were anima, she would not submit to that; instead she would flatten him with her magic. But if she were animus, she would make only token protest before yielding. Of course then there would be Darius to deal with; as animus he would not take kindly to having his woman used by force. But Queen Glomerula would simply accuse Darius of raping her, and the matter would be open to negotiation. It was, it seemed, axiomatic in this culture: one rape canceled another, as far as any onus went. It wasn’t as if women had rights or feelings that mattered.
Darius had to admire the directness of it. These folk mixed their pleasure with business, with the business paramount. They expected to take the measure of their guests without delay. If they lacked a certain finesse and took certain risks, well, that was evidently the way of their kind. It was not an attitude he liked, but at least now he understood what was in store.
However, he suspected that innocent little Colene was going to surprise them. She could, he had discovered to his chagrin, be as devious as anyone. Provos had assured them that the planned malice would not be successful, but they still had to find out exactly how they would foil it.
A theow girl led him down to the banquet hall. As he saw the king, queen, and knave again he was struck by the fit of their clothing. The theows had somewhat shapeless general-purpose tunics, salvaged from disaster mainly by their sashes, so that even a man as handsome as Stave and a woman as lovely as Nona looked somewhat awkward. But the despots had perfectly tailored tunics, enhancing their bodies. The king looked regal despite his masked paunch, and the queen looked sexy. The knave looked both, and suitably sinister as well.
The meal itself was good. The despots lived well. Darius and Colene watched the manners of their hosts, and emulated them, while Provos proceeded confidently from future memory. They ate slices of roast animal, and squares of assorted fruits, and drank excellent wine. One glass only, he warned Colene. It turned out to be unnecessary; the mere thought of an alcoholic beverage made her stomach tighten, and her revulsion came through to his stomach. She had had a bad experience whose nature he did not know, but it had turned her off this particular business.
So he made it easy for her. “No wine for my woman,” he said in peremptory fashion. “Water is all she deserves.” After an exchange of signals, Hobard understood, and Colene’s privilege of wine was removed. But King Lombard, though appreciative, was not convinced: this was Hobard’s opinion.
Darius, concerned about the coming night, tried to focus on the minds of the king and queen. And especially the mind of the knave, who was watching Colene with disturbing directness. But Colene’s horse was unable to penetrate any of these; only Hobard was at all open.
He reflected again how this business of informative mind contact was almost as new to him as it was to the folk they had met, Nona and Stave. He had little idea how to take advantage of it. Fortunately Colene was used to it, and she was happy to handle this aspect of their situation. So he merely let her know his concern, and let her work on it.
Indeed, she was up to something. There was a power and deviousness to her mind-set that he had not before been aware of. This precious little girl he loved became more complicated as he came to know her better. So he focused on the amenities of the meal and let her work it out.
The queen was watching him with much the same interest as the knave watched Colene. He felt like a bug under her glass. She was using the standard mechanisms of women with men: a low, loose décolletage that proffered frequent and profound glimpses of her breasts, and glances which lingered just a bit too long. She was not a young woman, but neither was she old; she was at that age at which a woman was capable of the maximum exploitation of her body. It was interesting.
Oh, it is, is it? There was Colene’s angry thought.
To be used and thrown away, he thought back, trying to mollify her. But for some reason she seemed unmollified.
Then he had a notion. I have not tried my magic here, he thought to Colene. Give me tokens of your essence.
What? It was incredulity.