"You were sick as well, Rosalind?"
Grayson said, "No, she was the only one who wasn't ill. I was certain you didn't drink any of the punch. You didn't, did you, Rosalind?"
"Yes. I drank at least three cups and it tasted so good. I don't know why I didn't get sick." She was aware Nicholas was giving her a brooding look. There was calculation in that look, she was sure of it, and what did that signify?
18
Tuesday afternoon, Nicholas, Rosalind, and Grayson were seated in Nicholas's small drawing room at Grillon's Hotel, cups of tea on a silver tray next to Rosalind's elbow, brought to them by Lee Po, Nicholas's man of all affairs. The two men had spoken quietly in what Nicholas told them was Mandarin Chinese. When Lee Po had bowed himself out, Grayson said to Nicholas he'd never before heard sounds like that coming from a human throat.
Nicholas laughed. "Lee Po says the same thing about English, though he speaks the King's English like a little Etonian." He shrugged. "Since I lived and traded in Macau, it was necessary that I learn Mandarin. Lee Po corrects me regularly. However, I'm not able to correct his English."
Rosalind laughed. "Why didn't he speak English to us?"
"He tells me no civilized tongue should sound like a knife chipping ice."
"Where did he learn English?" Grayson asked.
"He was married to an Englishwoman, ten years, he told me, before she died in childbirth with their only child. She'd been a missionary and a teacher."
"How very sad," Rosalind said. "Why is he so completely loyal to you?"
Nicholas looked off into the distance, seeing something neither Grayson nor Rosalind could see. "I saved his life when a Portuguese governor wanted to hang him."
Rosalind gave him a shrewd look. "What did you do to the Portuguese governor?"
He smiled at her. "I merely told him what would happen if he attempted anything like that again."
Rosalind said thoughtfully, "Lee Po was looking at me rather pointedly. Does that mean he knows we will marry?"
Nicholas nodded.
"It's time to see if my tongue can form these strange sounds. How do I say thank you to him?"
"Shesh shesh is how you would pronounce it."
Rosalind said it over a couple of times, then called out, "Shesh shesh, Lee Po!"
She heard him mumble something and grinned at Nicholas. "What did he say?"
"He said you are welcome, redheaded soon-to-be ladyship of his vaunted lordship."
"You made that up!"
He gave her a crooked grin that made her knees lock. It was powerful, that grin of his.
Grayson asked, "Does Lee Po know about the book?"
Nicholas nodded. "I believe Lee Po knows about everything that is important to me."
"Speaking of the book," Rosalind said as she opened the Rules of the Pale, "we haven't much time. I must be fitted for my wedding gown in two hours. I believe we have time to finish."
Grayson said, "Lorelei told me she is to accompany you. She told me she helped select the pattern."
Rosalind rolled her eyes at Grayson. "She simply agreed- with great enthusiasm-with everything my Uncle Douglas said. I had some ideas, but do you think anyone listened to me, the future bride? No, not even the assistant with the tape measure."
Nicholas laughed. "Your Uncle Douglas told me you have unfortunate taste in gowns, Rosalind, and that is why he has selected nearly all your clothes for your season. He then questioned me about my own taste. I told him I had never had the opportunity to select a woman's gown and thus I didn't know if I was gifted with this special talent. However, I told him that Lee Po assured me I have very fine taste indeed, so we would see. I do have a bit of news for you, Rosalind."
She was grumbling under her breath, but not under enough. "Here I am a grown woman with taste, good taste, I tell you, and yet it's a gentleman who has the final word in what I wear. It's not fair. And now here you are claiming Lee Po worships your bloody taste."
"I understand. Now, I said I had some news for you, along the lines of taste as a matter of fact." At her raised eyebrow, he said, "I'm to accompany you to Madame Fouquet's shop. Your Uncle Douglas wishes to test me."
Grayson burst into laughter. "Test you? Ah, and will you let Nicholas measure you, Rosalind?"
But Rosalind was studying him, her fingertips tapping her chin. "I fear we will see, Grayson, that his lordship is a toady."
Grayson laughed, shook his head. "Uncle Douglas doesn't like toadying. Only agree with him two out of three times, Nicholas, no more than that or he will blight you. Now, we need to finish up the Rules. Hopefully Sarimund will spin us more than just a fine ending to this tale." They heard the front door to the suite close.
"Where is Lee Po going?"
"He is visiting an ap othecary shop in Spitalfields, at my request."
"And what request was that?" Rosalind asked. "You are not ill, are you?"
"Never you mind. Read, Rosalind."
Rosalind frowned at him as she carefully opened the book, cleared her throat, and read:
I realized I hadn't been much of a wizard here in the Pale and so I cast a spell upon a red Lasis. To my surprise, it turned great eyes to me, came up and butted my shoulder, and sang to me, soft and sweet, its voice rather high. The red Lasis said his name was Bifrost, and he was the oldest red Lasis in the Pale. He had waited for a very long time for me to speak to him, since, of course, a red Lasis never spoke first. It was considered rude. He told me I was a mighty wizard, despite the fact that I'd let those boneheaded wizards and witches in Blood Rock roll my brain around like an empty gourd. He sang to me that it was time for me to leave, that I had left my seed in Epona, which was why they had wanted me to come in the first place. A good thing, he sang to me.
Left my seed? He saw that I was both appalled and disbelieving, though faint memories stirred, memories I'd forgotten, truth be told. He told me the tea they served me had left me senseless save the most important part of me. It was foretold, the red Lasis sang in his lovely airy voice, that Epona would birth a wizard who would be the greatest ever known and he would rule in the Pale until Mount Olyvan sank into dust.
I would have a son-only I would never see him. I knew it would hurt me deeply, but not until later when the reality of it sank into me. I told Bifrost that I was ready to leave but I didn't know how I'd arrived in the first place, only that I'd awakened and I was here, but I had no idea of where the door-or whatever it was that got me here-was located so I could get back. He sang a laugh, which was very pleasing to the ear. He then sang that the Dragons of the Sallas Pond had brought me to the Pale, that this was how they judged possible new brethren for that vipers' nest of wizards and witches upon Mount Olyvan. He sang they didn't want me, however, that I was too set in my ways, but my son would do, a son I would never know. Bifrost sang to me that he would ensure my son knew about me. Then Bifrost sang that he would show me how to leave. But he did nothing at all. I saw him trap a Tiber in a pit and kill it with a fire spear through its big neck, and set to his meal ferociously. Then he left me. I felt abandoned. I did not understand Bifrost or anything else in this outlandish place. And I was leaving my son here.