Alea sat very still.
"Lost your temper with him a few times, did you?" Rod said softly.
Alea tensed but managed a curt nod.
"That wouldn't matter," Rod said, "so long as it was open and honest, not a matter of throwing every insult you could think of to try to hurt him, or accusing him of things he didn't do and making him try to guess what they were."
"No," Alea said slowly. "I've been open, at least—confronted him squarely—though what I was quarrelling about wasn't always the real cause."
Rod waited.
"I wasn't really angry at him," she said in a voice so low he could hardly hear it, "but I didn't realize that then."
"I expect he did," Rod said. "I wouldn't worry about fights like that—especially if they've passed."
"Oh, yes," Alea said. "There were a few years when I was jumping on him every time I felt angry or scared—but there's less of that, now. Much less."
"Because you know you don't have anything to fear from him?"
She nodded—then said, irritated, "Except his ignoring me!"
"I thought he talked with you all the time."
"Well, yes—but only as a friend!"
Rod waited.
"You can't make somebody fall in love with you if the love's not there, though, can you?" Alea asked.
"You mean if you're wrong for each other? If your chemistry doesn't react, if the magic doesn't happen?" Rod shook his head. "No—but I don't think that's the case with you two. I've seen how he leans on you now and then, seen the admiration in his eyes when he looks at you."
"Admiration isn't enough!"
"No," Rod said, "but it's a good clue that there's something more."
This time it was Alea who waited, and when Rod didn't go on, she asked, "What else does it take to heal him?"
"Devotion," Rod said. "Complete loyalty. His learning he can depend on you no matter what."
"He's had that!"
"Then wait."
"How long?"
Rod shrugged. "Shouldn't be much more than a year. He's home now; he has a lot to get used to—and meeting Allouette has probably made him freeze inside again."
Alea turned to him with a frown. "You mean being home will thaw him?"
"After he gets used to it," Rod said. "After he realizes, deep down, that Allouette isn't Finister, that everything Finister did was based on her illusion-spinning."
"He has to learn what reality is again?"
"Yes—and learn that he can turn to you to help figure it out."
"So Magnus is only attracted to my reliability and ability to fight?"
"That," Rod said, "and your concern for others. Magnus has told me of your nursing and teaching." He shook his head sadly, gazing into her eyes. "But lass, you're daft if you can't see that Magnus, at least, thinks you're beautiful. So do I, for that matter, and most other men you meet—but that doesn't matter, does it?"
"Not a bit," Alea snapped, "because I don't believe it for a minute!"
"Then believe how delighted Magnus was to meet a woman who didn't make him feel like a great lumbering oddity," Rod said. "Once you've thought about that, look down and see that your figure could set a young man dreaming."
"I'm a beanpole!"
"A beanpole with excellent curves," Rod corrected. "Not spectacular, maybe, but after what he's been through, Magnus would be repelled by the spectacular."
"Perhaps," Alea said reluctantly, "but my face is dreadful! I look like a horse!"
"Actually, your features are classical," Rod said, "with fine, strong bone structure."
Alea glowed within, so she glowered without. "I'm not convinced!"
"Magnus is," Rod countered. "You only need to see the truth of that."
"And not pay attention to the truth about my appearance?" Alea asked bitterly.
"You can't see that truth," Rod said simply. "Most of us are our own worst critics, after all. Besides, does it really matter what I think about your looks, or what Geoffrey thinks, or any handsome young man?"
Alea stared at him a moment, then admitted, "No. I only care what Magnus thinks."
"He'll let you know," Rod said, "sooner or later."
Alea was quiet again, then said, "Quarreling won't work, will it?"
"If he could understand it as a form of love-play, yes," Rod said. "If he could see it as a sort of game, the way Geoffrey does—but he can't."
"Why not?"
"He lost his sense of fun, somewhere along the way," Rod said sadly, "his sense of play. I understand it's something you have to learn as you grow up, and he did—but he lost it during his teens. I failed the boy there."
Alea felt his pain, wanted to reach out to him—but all she could do was say, "It wasn't your doing."
"No," Rod said, "but I failed to protect him from it."
"You had to let him stand on his own some time," Alea said softly.
Rod flashed her a smile. "Do as much for him as you're doing for me now, and the rest will take care of itself."
Alea stared at him, then laughed—but she sobered quickly. "You mean love will take care of itself, if the magic's there within us, waiting to come out."
Rod nodded. "And you can never know that until it happens."
"IF it happens," she said darkly.
"If," Rod admitted. He took her hand again, smiling. But you can clear the obstacles that hold it back."
Alea stared into his eyes. Then, slowly, she smiled.
"THIS TIME, YES, the Crown showed mercy," Sir Orgon said, "but only because the High Warlock happened by and lent his influence!"
"Sir Orgon." Anselm fought for patience. "I have been listening to your cries of doom all the way home from Castle Loguire and all this long evening, and I grow very weary of them."
They sat by the fire in the main room of Anselm's manor house, the walls in shadow, their barely-seen tapestries rippling. A bottle and two cups sat on a small table between them, untasted.
"That arrogant prig Diarmid would have hanged your son in an instant!"
"Remember that you speak of my nephew!"
"Nephew or not, he would have hanged his cousin without a second thought and never have let it trouble his slumber in the slightest! My lord, you must call up all the lords who owe you fealty and march on the Crown while there is still time!"
"I am no longer duke; none owe me fealty. Those whom I failed will certainly not rally to me now!"
"But their sons will! Their sons are exasperated with this Queen and her high-handed government. They have nothing but contempt for her lapdog King …"
"Sir Orgon," Anselm said between his teeth, "you talk of my brother."
"Did he think of brotherhood when he sent his son to hang yours? My lord, you must rise now! The moment is now! Delay even a day longer to begin your march, and it will be too late!"
'Too late for what?" Anselm turned to him with a frown.
Twenty-Four
SIR ORGON STARTED TO ANSWER, THEN CAUGHT himself.
'Too late for what, Vice of Betrayal?" Anselm stood and stepped over to Sir Orgon's chair. 'Too late for other lords whom you have subverted? Too late for a mine you have dug beneath the castle?"
Sir Orgon glared up at him.
"Speak, worm of doubt!" Anselm seized the front of Sir Orgon's doublet and yanked him to his feet.
Sir Orgon's hand flashed; pain coursed through Anselm's arm; he cried aloud, holding his wrist in his other hand.
"I have spoken to good purpose all this long day," Sir Orgon said angrily, "but since it boots me not, I shall burden your hospitality no further." He turned on his heel and stalked toward the door.
"Seize him!" Anselm cried, and his two men-at-arms leaped to capture the knight. Sir Orgon snarled, whipping out a sword and turning on them, and they backed warily, lifting iron-banded staves.
Geordie came running into the room, his own sword drawn. "Father, why all the ..." He saw Sir Orgon with a naked blade and knew all he needed to know. Dropping into a fighter's crouch, he advanced on the knight.
The men-at-arms circled Sir Orgon, stepping apart as they did. He couldn't follow both and knew that one was working his way behind—so he whirled, slashing out as he did. Geordie leaped in, and Sir Orgon's sword rang off his. As it did, Anselm stepped up and swung a fist at the knight's head. Sir Orgon reeled, stumbling, and the men-at-arms were on him, pinioning his arms. Sir Anselm turned back to the fireplace, yanked loose the rough rope that had held the latest bundle of logs, and tossed it to his men. "Oh, for a proper dungeon! But we shall have to make do with the cellar. Bind him there and watch him closely." He turned to Geordie. "Timely come, my son."