“The same reasoning applies to the lady Terisa” – he looked toward her – “if you will pardon me for speaking of you as if you were absent.” Returning his gaze to Geraden, he continued, “If, as she says, she comes from a world in which mirrors have no meaning, and is therefore ignorant of us, then it is at best unkind to refuse her answers. But in that case – mark this, Geraden – it is also folly to have brought her here at all. I speak not of morality now, but of the simple question of our practical need. If she is not an Imager, what use can she possibly be to us?”
Geraden held himself still and didn’t reply.
Adept Havelock continued to study his blank board, deaf to whatever was being said.
“Conversely, if she is an Imager – a Master of mirrors strong enough to wrest your translation away from its apparent Image – then she is here for purposes of her own, which we do not know. She is like an ambassador, similarly to be respected, and similarly dangerous.
“Would you say, my lady,” he asked Terisa unexpectedly, “that I’ve summarized the dilemma fairly?”
She stared at him, unable to follow his reasoning. In order to make sense of it, she had first to presuppose the existence of magical mirrors which didn’t reflect whatever was in front of them but instead showed alternative worlds or realities. Then she had to take seriously the notion that her own mirrors, the mirrors in her apartment, were like that, giving her, Terisa Morgan, power over the reality and even the sanity of other people. The whole argument collapsed into nonsense before it reached the lofty conclusion King Joyse asked her to endorse.
Instinctively, she turned to Geraden. He was her only connection to her own life, with its ordinary facts and limitations. You saw me, she wanted to protest. You saw my apartment. There’s nothing magic about it. You didn’t lose your mind. None of this has anything to do with me.
His attention was on the King, however. “But if she’s that strong,” he said slowly, “an Imager more powerful than we can imagine, then it’s folly for us to risk offending her. We don’t know her purposes – they might be good or bad for us. But they’re sure to turn bad if we don’t treat her well. We need her friendship, not her anger. We need to be open and decent with her.”
Smiling softly, King Joyse glanced back and forth between the Apt and Terisa as Geraden spoke. When he was done, the King replied, “Your reasoning has merit. It is fortunate that only rulers are required to make those decisions.”
“My lord King?”
“Apt,” said King Joyse, his tone still mild but now faintly rueful as well, “here is my command. You are no longer responsible for the lady Terisa of Morgan. Your King thanks you for what you have done – and relieves you of any further interest in the matter. Your duties lie with the Congery, to which you are pledged. You will have no more reason to see or speak with the lady Terisa, and certainly no reason to answer any of her questions.
“You may go. The lady Terisa will remain with me.”
Geraden’s face went white: if he had closed his eyes, he would have looked like he was about to faint. But his eyes contradicted his pallor. They flamed with a quick, unflinching anger that seemed to burn all the boyishness out of him.
Softly, he said, “You consider me unworthy.”
At that, the King’s features crumpled into a grimace. He made an abrupt, dismissing gesture. “Oh, get out.” For the first time since Terisa had met him, he sounded like a querulous old man. “You’re breaking my heart.”
The muscles of Geraden’s face twitched. “Yes, my lord King,” he said between his teeth. Roughly, he turned to Terisa and bowed. “My lady.”
She had no reply. He was too hurt – and his hurt was too real. She was lost in it. He needed a response from her; but her responses were hidden behind years of silence and passivity.
When he started toward the door, his foot came down on the edge of one of the scattered checkers. His ankle twisted, and he stumbled, nearly fell. Embarrassment darkened his cheeks. His ears were crimson as he made his exit.
Watching the Apt go, Havelock began to giggle in a high, mad voice, as if his mirth were a place where reason or compassion couldn’t reach him.
When he subsided, no one spoke for a moment. Then the King said, in an unsteady attempt at nonchalance, “Well, my lady Terisa of Morgan. We must give some thought to you. You must be made comfortable, with all the hospitality Orison can manage, as befits a guest of your station and importance. And then perhaps you’ll consent to a game or two of hop-board? I’m really very tired of Havelock’s incessant beatings.”
Geraden had been hurt for nothing. There was no reason for anybody to take precautions against her. To her own astonishment, she heard herself say, “I’m not your lady. My name is Terisa Morgan, and I’m not anybody’s lady. You didn’t have to do that to him.”
King Joyse tried to smile, but failed to lift the sadness from his face. “My lady, I am the King. I will call you by whatever name I choose. And I hope that someday you’ll understand.”
With as much sarcasm as she had ever dared use, she returned, “But you’re not going to explain it to me. You don’t want to answer any of my questions.”
Instead of replying, King Joyse slowly lowered his frail bones to the floor and started crawling around the room, picking up checkers.
FIVE: WARDROBES FULL OF CLOTHES
Like a baffled child, Terisa shook her head, blinked her eyes. Unfortunately, nothing changed. Adept Havelock went on peering at his board as if in his mind he were already playing future games. The King continued to collect the scattered checkers, moving on his hands and knees.
The panic which had been gnawing at the back of her mind suddenly got worse. She shouldn’t have spoken so sarcastically, so assertively. She was dependent on these people. With one cross word, she could be dismissed from existence. The King could have her thrown into another of those mirrors, and she might end up somewhere even more impossible. The world of the Congery’s chosen champion suggested itself to her imagination. Or she might arrive nowhere – might simply dissolve into the gray, unacknowledged, pointless nothing she had feared and fought for most of her life.
I’m sorry, she thought involuntarily, while her alarm increased. Let me stay. I’ll be a good girl, I promise.
At that moment, King Joyse braced his arms, levered his legs under him, and tottered to his feet. Moving to the table, he dropped the checkers he had collected in front of Havelock. Then he turned his clean, good smile on Terisa.
“Pardon me, my lady. What have I been thinking about? I’m rude to neglect you in this way. You must be fatigued from your translation, eager for rest and refreshment. Do you have any special requirements in sustenance or comfort? No?” His apology sounded sincere, but his questions were perfunctory. “Then I’ll summon someone to guide you to your rooms and care for you.”
Still smiling, he hunted around him with an increasingly aimless air until he happened to slip one hand into a pocket of his robe, where he found a silver bell with a wooden handle. He rang it vigorously. Almost immediately the outer door opened, and one of the guards stepped into the room.
“My lord King?”
“Ah, thank you.” For an instant, King Joyse appeared confused, as if he had forgotten what he was doing. His damp eyes blinked at the bell in his hand. Then, abruptly, he said, “A maid for the lady Terisa of Morgan.”
“At once, my lord King.” The guard saluted by tapping his mail shirt with his fist and left the room.