She wanted a mirror. She wanted to see herself. The look in Saddith’s eyes – half approval, half gauging uncertainty, as if Terisa now appeared more attractive than the maid had intended or wished – that look meant something, but it didn’t have the same effect as a mirror.
For Terisa’s feet, Saddith produced a pair of fur-lined buskins with firm soles. They didn’t exactly complement the gown; but they, too, were warm, and the gown was long enough to hide them.
She was just starting to thank the maid when she heard another knock at her door.
Saddith went to answer it, Terisa following more slowly.
When the door was opened, it revealed Geraden outside.
He had a pinched, white look around his mouth and eyes; a bright red spot marked each cheek, like embarrassment or temerity aggravated by fever. At first glance, he appeared miserable: he must have had a bad night. But when he saw Terisa, his face broke into the helpless, happy smile she remembered from their first meeting.
For a long moment, he gazed at her; and she gazed back; and he grinned like a puppy in love. Then he cleared his throat. “My lady, you look wonderful.”
Her reaction was more complex. She was glad to see him: partly because, like Saddith, Adept Havelock, and the others, he had come back, demonstrating his capacity for continuous existence; partly because she thought she liked him (it was hard to be sure because she had so little experience); partly because he was one of the very few people here who seemed to care about what she thought or felt. In addition, she was immediately worried by his appearance of distress. And by his presence outside her door. King Joyse hadn’t just ordered the Apt not to answer her questions: he had also said, You will have no more reason to see or speak with the lady Terisa. Geraden had already shown himself loyal to his King and yet he was here in direct disobedience.
And nobody had ever told her that she looked wonderful before.
Flustered, she felt herself blushing. With a gesture at her gown, she said, “I feel like I’m going to a costume party.”
Glancing back and forth between Terisa and Geraden, Saddith gave a quiet laugh. “What is a costume party, my lady?” she asked to disguise her amusement.
Terisa tried hard to get her confusion under control. “It’s a party where people dress up in fancy clothes and pretend to be somebody they aren’t.”
For some reason, her response brought the strain back to Geraden’s eyes.
“La, my lady,” Saddith said at once as if that were the reaction she had been waiting for, “it must be greatly amusing. But if you will excuse me, I will return your trays to the kitchens. Please call for me at need. If you do not call before then, I will come whenever the lady Elega or the lady Myste asks to see you.
“As for you, Apt Geraden,” she said in a tone of kind mirth as she gathered the dishes together and carried them toward the door, “a word of friendly advice. Women do not generally admire a man who gapes.”
Laughing, she left the room, hooking the door shut with her foot.
But Geraden ignored Saddith’s exit. Gazing at Terisa now with an intensity that matched the color in his cheeks, he asked softly, “Are you pretending to be somebody you aren’t, my lady? What are you pretending?”
She turned her head away. “I thought I told you to call me Terisa.” This was absurd. Why was she in such a dither? And why was he asking her such silly questions, when he must be risking some kind of serious punishment by defying the King? “I’m not pretending anything. I’m just wearing this dress because the lady Myste offered it and Saddith said she would be insulted if I turned it down.”
Then she faced him. “Geraden, what are you doing here? King Joyse told you not to see me. You’ll get in trouble.”
At that, a pained smile made his mouth crooked. “I’m already in trouble. It probably won’t get any worse.
“You’ve met King Joyse. These days, he doesn’t punish anyone. I don’t think he has the heart for it. Or maybe nothing matters to him that much anymore. The worst thing he might do is turn me over to Castellan Lebbick.” Geraden sighed. “I guess Lebbick is a good man. Artagel says he is. But he isn’t exactly gentle. And he’s already started on me. Because I asked Ribuld and Argus to guard you.” That was the source of his distress: Castellan Lebbick must have abused him severely. “He spent half the night at it. I kept wanting to apologize, even though we both knew I was right.”
Abruptly, he shrugged. “At least now I’m not afraid of him anymore. After last night, all he can do is lock me up. But he isn’t likely to do that to a son of the Domne – not without a better reason.” Slowly, he made the tight lines of his face relax, and his smile improved. “For a while, anyway, I don’t have anything to worry about.”
Her heart twisted for him: she could guess what being scathed by the Castellan might be like. “But why?” she asked. “Why did he do that to you? What does he think you did wrong?”
“Well,” mused Geraden, “I suppose he does have a point. He wants to know why I thought you might be attacked when the idea apparently never occurred to anybody else in Orison. It’s his job to know everything that happens here. What do I know that he doesn’t?”
“What did you tell him?”
He snorted quietly. “The truth. Mordant is under siege by Imagery. King Joyse won’t let the Congery fight back – but even if he did, the Imagers are so divided they might not be able to accomplish anything. Cadwal and Alend are drooling for a chance to strike at us. And in the meantime the King has taken to acting like a man who left his head in the other room. Who in his right mind would not want someone as important as you guarded?”
Again, the Apt mustered a crooked smile. “Castellan Lebbick didn’t like it when I said all that.”
He was putting up a brave front; but the rest of his face still looked as pale as wax around the hot spots of color in his cheeks. Wanting to comfort him, Terisa said, “I can imagine what that must have been like. He was here for a while last night. After everything was over.”
“I know.” Without transition, his expression became morose, almost grim. “That was something else he wanted me to explain. How did you manage to save yourself, after both Argus and Ribuld were beaten? And why didn’t you answer the question when he asked it?
“He has a point there, too, my lady.” He began to pace in front of her without looking at her. “Even Artagel couldn’t beat both Argus and Ribuld at once. They may not look like much, but they’re really pretty good. And you got rid of a man who beat them all by yourself. Do you have any idea what kind of conclusions Lebbick draws from that?”
“No,” she breathed. “I don’t have any idea about any of this.”
“Well, I’ll tell you. He thinks you’re in league with that man. Or rather, that man is in league with you. He fought his way in here to meet you for some reason – maybe to give you a message, or to let you know what preparations are being made by your allies. But it doesn’t have to go that far. Maybe you aren’t allies. You still got rid of him without being hurt. That took power.” The whole notion seemed to offend him to the point of nausea. “I tried to tell him it was impossible. I wanted to protect you. But when you get right down to it” – he stopped pacing and faced her squarely, his trouble in his eyes – I don’t have any reason to think it’s impossible. Except you keep saying it is.”
“What do you mean?” she protested. “Of course it’s impossible.” She had only wanted to commiserate with him; she hadn’t intended to admit anything that might force her to betray Adept Havelock and Master Quillon. “I don’t know anything about Imagery, or Mordant, or” – she saw again in her mind a wild grin, as sharp as hate, and a nose like the blade of a hatchet, and yellow eyes – “that man who tried to kill me.”