But she didn’t speak to him. Just for an instant, she wanted to hurt him somehow, say or do something which would repay him for his years of mistreatment. Almost immediately, however, she realized that there was no need. Simply not being afraid of him was enough.
“Geraden,” she said deliberately, “this is my old apartment. Where you found me the first time.” She didn’t care how badly her voice shook, or how near she came to rears. “This is my father. That’s Reverend Thatcher. I’ve told you about them.
“If there’s any way you can get us out of here, you better do it now.”
“I don’t care,” a strident voice repeated. “I’m calling security.”
“No!” both her father and Reverend Thatcher protested at the same time.
Nevertheless she heard the sound of the phone snatched off the hook, the sound of dialing—
“Stop!”
When Geraden stepped in front of her, he seemed taller than she remembered. Or perhaps her father had become shorter. Geraden’s voice rang with authority, and everything about him was strong; his heart never quailed; even his mistakes hinted at glory.
“Do not call. Do not move. Do nothing. We will be gone in a moment.”
Everyone froze. The man holding the phone dropped it. Even her father lost the power of movement. Like his guests, he stared at Geraden and her with his mouth hanging open.
Casually, as if she weren’t frantic inside, and had completely forgotten panic, Terisa remarked to Geraden, “I thought you said you can’t shift mirrors across distances.”
He didn’t look at her. He didn’t look at anyone: he closed his eyes, trusting his authority – or sheer surprise – to protect him while he concentrated. He had a king’s face, and every line of it promised strength.
Quietly, he muttered, “Well, I’ve got to try, don’t I?”
Her father closed his mouth; he swallowed hard. Snarling deep in his throat, he said, “I’m going to punish you for this—”
As if he were immensely far away, Reverend Thatcher retorted, “Mr. Morgan, that’s absurd. She’s come back. We all thought she was dead, and now she’s come back. We should be delighted.”
Before anyone could respond, Geraden abruptly flung his arms wide. For no good reason except his own urgency, he cried, “Havelock, we trust you!”
Then he vanished.
Someone let out a vague shriek. Several of her father’s guests gasped or flinched. Others appeared to be on the verge of fainting.
Suddenly, Terisa wanted to sing. Oh, he was wonderful, Geraden was wonderful, and nobody was going to be able to stop her, never again, she was never going to be afraid of her father again.
While she still had the chance, she turned to Reverend Thatcher.
“You can have your auction. Make him give you every penny he gets. I want you to have the money. It’s a good cause, the best. And I might not come back. If I do, I certainly won’t live here.”
After that, without transition, she dropped into the quick, immeasurable plunge of translation.
Once again, Geraden had done the right thing.
As usual, she lost her balance; but he caught her as she stumbled out of the mirror, so that she didn’t fall.
The change of light made her blink: electric illumination was gone, replaced by a few oil lamps. As her vision came into focus, she found that she was in the shrine or mausoleum which Adept Havelock had made out of the room where he stored his mirrors.
Where she needed to be.
What did he celebrate here? she wondered obliquely. What did he mourn?
But she had no time to spare for the Adept. Geraden held her hard, as if he had no intention of ever letting her go again.
“Glass and splinters, Terisa!” he breathed, pressing his face against her hair, “I’m sorry, I don’t know what went wrong, thank the stars Havelock was watching his mirrors, I didn’t mean to take us there—“
Already the Image of her apartment in the mirror he and the Adept had used was fading.
She kissed him to make him stop. “Don’t apologize. You rescued us – that’s what counts.” That, and Reverend Thatcher’s ability to extract money from her father. And the fact that she was no longer afraid. Part of her still felt like singing. “It was worth it.
“We’ve got to hurry. King Joyse doesn’t have much time.”
He met her gaze. For a moment, she could see the characteristic struggle between chagrin and eagerness going on inside him; self-distrust and hope at each other’s throats. Almost at once, however, he smiled, and his eyes cleared, as if the acceptance he met in her turned the tide of the conflict.
“Right,” he said like a man who couldn’t think of any reason to be alarmed by the prospect of entering Master Eremis’ stronghold. “Let’s get started.”
Together, they turned toward Havelock.
The Adept wasn’t alone. He had Artagel with him.
Artagel was dressed for battle, and he was grinning.
Havelock had apparently been cleaning the room again. In one hand, he brandished a rather limp feather duster; he wore an apron several sizes too large for him to protect his still-spotless surcoat. Twisting his features as if he wanted to howl, he poked his duster at Terisa and Geraden, and said, “I told you to trust me.
“Don’t you realize yet that I’m the one who planned all this? I planned it all. Joyse is the only man alive who could have done it, but I planned it. No matter how crazy I get, I’m the best fornicating hop-board player in Orison, bar none.
“Remember that, for a change.”
Terisa couldn’t resist: she asked, “You mean you knew we were coming?”
For once, the Adept was tolerant of questions. “Of course not. But I considered the possibility. What do you think planning is?”
“It’s good to see the two of you again,” Artagel interrupted happily. “I gather things have finally gotten desperate enough for some dramatic Imagery. A few of the Cadwals we’ve been taking prisoner in the ballroom look actively horrified.
“What’re you trying to do?”
“Go to Eremis’ stronghold, if we can get there,” answered Geraden. “He isn’t in Esmerel. Nyle isn’t there. That was a trap. But Terisa thinks she can make an Image of the place Eremis took her. If she can, maybe we can find it and get in.”
“Good.” Facing his brother boldly, Artagel said, “This time, you aren’t going to get rid of me so easily. Whatever you have in mind, you’re going to need a bodyguard. And I am sick to the teeth” – he flashed his grin – “of being in command of this useless pile of rocks.”
Geraden started to protest, but Terisa stopped him. This was another of her reasons for returning to Orison. Two days ago – was it only two days ago? – he had said, When the fighting really starts, we’d better be sure we’ve got somebody with us who handles a sword better than I do. One of his “strongest feelings.” Instead of trying to explain, however, she said, “Let him do what he wants. We don’t have time to argue with him.”
As if to demonstrate her point, she left Geraden’s side and went to the mirror she wanted, the flat glass reflecting a sand dune in Cadwal.
“Besides,” Artagel whispered to Geraden behind her, “Havelock says you need me. He got me down here. I didn’t have any idea you were coming back.”
“What makes you think you’re ready for Gart?” demanded Geraden hotly. “He’s already beaten you twice. And you’re still hurt.”
Artagel chuckled. “What makes you think the two of you are ready for Eremis and Gilbur and Vagel? We’ve all got to do what we can. And,” he added more soberly, “you may not have time for Nyle. Maybe I’ll be able to help him.”