"Thank you." Magnus bowed his head, acknowledging the compliment—and angering Alea by his return to formality. It helped that he gave her his sardonic smile again. "Of course, my father was intent on turning every planet onto the path toward democracy, and each of the eight I've touched is developing its own local variation of democratic government."
"Yes, well, you've only succeeded in finding out that any government that guarantees civil rights is going to develop some way for its people to govern themselves," Alea said. "No, all in all, I'd say you've done quite well with your time away from home."
"It does seem to have served the purpose," Magnus admitted.
"But not for your brothers and sister," Alea said, frowning. "Hasn't your absence given them the same problem, left them in your parents' shadows?"
"One shadow." Magnus raised a forefinger. "My parents work so closely together that I've never been sure whether Papa was only successful because he had Mama behind him, or whether she wouldn't have made any difference to this land at all if he hadn't inspired her."
Alea felt her pulse quicken with hope and did her best to ignore it. "All the more difficult for your siblings to find out their true nature."
"That really seems to be more a problem for the eldest than for anyone else." Magnus gazed off into space, his smile turning nostalgic. "I remember when I was a teenager and my brothers were straining at the bonds of childhood, bursting into young manhood, that I felt a burning need to prove I knew more than they did, every time, every day—at the slightest sign of their having any knowledge beyond grammar school."
Alea's eyes rounded; she already had some notion of the younger Gallowglasses' abilities. "How long did that last?"
"Until I saw Geoffrey lead a troop of soldiers for the first time," Magnus said, "and until I overheard Gregory discussing the theory of magic with one of the monks from the monastery."
"Cordelia?"
"Well, she wasn't a boy, so I didn't feel her to be challenging me," Magnus said with a bleak smile. "Silly, isn't it? But I learned the truth of it when she healed me—or gave me the first stage of healing, I should say."
Alea could sense the revulsion, the turning away from the memory of the need for that healing, and knew it was something vital, something she would have to ferret out of him sooner or later.
Later. "So you can accept them as equals now?"
"Well, the impulse to argue and prove I know more is still there," Magnus admitted, "and probably always will be—but I've learned to fight it. I can accept the fact that Gregory has more knowledge of magic than I do, and Geoffrey more knowledge of war—and women."
Alea tried to ignore the anxiety the words raised. "And Cordelia?"
"More about people, more about healing, more about telekinesis," Magnus said, "and the list goes on. It isn't pleasant, but I've accepted it"
"You know more about subverting governments, though," Alea pointed out, "and about rebuilding them— with all the other kinds of knowledge that involves."
Magnus was still, staring into her eyes. Then he nodded slowly. "Yes, I do, don't I? Thank you, Alea. Thank you very much."
"My pleasure." Alea smiled, and finally dared to lean forward and catch his hand. "Who should know better than one who has learned with you?"
For a moment, they shared a smile, gazing into one another's eyes. Then that moment passed and Magnus stirred, looking away and breaking the connection as though it had become too strong for comfort. "It's late, and we're both drained. I must let you sleep."
Alea sighed with regret but forced a smile. "And I you. Good night, Gar. I hope you find a soft bed."
"Gar…" Magnus stopped in the doorway to turn back. "It's good to hear that name in this house—reminds me of who I have become."
"So long as you don't forget who you were," Alea said, "or that the two together make up who you are. Good night." The door closed behind him, and Alea sat alone in his boyhood sanctuary, surrounded by the mementos of his childhood ideals, feeling closer to Magnus in that moment than she ever had. In the last half-hour, he had told her more about himself than in the whole of the four years she had known him.
"MAGNUS, NOW!"
Magnus sat bolt upright in his pallet by the fire, heart hammering, whole body thrumming with the need to fight or flee. Then he felt the call, too—alarm and terror, and knew it was his father's. He threw back the quilt and scrambled to his feet, catching up a robe as he ran for the staircase.
Alea hovered outside the door of Gwen's room, not sure she should intrude. Through the open door, Magnus could see his brothers and sister kneeling by the bed—sleeping on the second floor, they had come seconds sooner than he himself. He caught Alea's hand as he passed, saying merely, "I need you."
Alea blinked, then hurried with him.
Gwen lay limp, hands on her breast, breath rasping in her throat. Magnus looked for a place to kneel, then stepped up behind his siblings and saw the grief already hollowing his father's face, saw the trembling hands, and moved quickly around the bed to kneel beside him.
Alea hovered at the foot of the bed, unsure of her place. She heard cloth rustle and turned to see Quicksilver come up beside her, knotting the cord around her robe, and Allouette beyond her.
A pang of fear turned her head toward the bed again, fear of loss that she knew came from Magnus. Gwen hadn't moved, but Alea saw her hand twitch as though trying to rise, saw Cordelia look up staring at her mother's face, then Geoffrey with eyes brimming, then Gregory, dry-eyed but trembling.
Magnus's head swiveled from Rod to his mother in surprise. After a moment, he nodded, reaching out to touch Gwen's hand.
Suddenly, Alea felt Gwen's mind in hers, heard her voice, and knew that, though the body lacked strength to move, the mind could still quest. Take care of him, the thought said, and with a rush of emotion that almost overwhelmed her, Alea answered, Madam, I shall. Then she couldn't hold it back any longer; her own panic welled behind the thought: Don't leave us!
Gwen's children glanced at her in amazement.
I would I did not have to, the dying woman answered; then her touch was gone.
Magnus and his siblings stared at their mother.
Rod lifted his head, gaze fixed on her face, tears welling, hands clutching hers, and Alea knew he shared one last thought with his wife.
There was no visible sign, no sudden slackening of the body, no rattle in the throat, but Gwen dwindled as though she receded into distance, and was gone. There was one less person in the room, one less presence, one less soul.
Cordelia bowed her head over her hands, sobbing. Tears ran freely down Geoffrey's cheeks and finally welled from Gregory's eyes, though he knelt as stiffly as though carved in marble.
Alea felt Magnus's thoughts fasten to hers, felt the sudden clawing need, even as he turned to his father, arm out but not touching.
Rod knelt dry-eyed, though, face strangely empty; then his lips moved, and Alea could tell the thought: Till I see you again.
THERE WAS A great deal to do, and Magnus's siblings turned to it with the air of people carrying out plans already made. A hundred times Magnus had to bite back questions, then finally retired to a chair at the side of the house's central room, only able to watch. Alea realized it on the instant—she had been watching him like a hawk since he had come forth from Gwen's room—and sat by him, touching his hand. "Who is with your father now?'
Magnus looked up at her, startled, then nodded and went to the stairs, Alea right beside him.
Rod sat by Gwen's bed, gazing at her motionless face, his own almost as still. He looked up as Magnus entered, then reached out with a faint smile. "Thank you, son. I could use some company."