Part 51 (2/2)

He visited Marianna every day, but she was doing her fair share of sleeping. Occasionally he was allowed to peek in on her and saw that she was resting in what seemed like peace. He worried, nevertheless, and voiced his concerns to Wisewoman Jaffney. She seemed so pale and lifeless, in contrast to the l.u.s.ty yelling and redness of his daughter. While his daughter had a.s.sumed, un- invited and of a sudden, an enormous place in his heart, he still worried about his wife.

Quite normal, he was a.s.sured. The Lady Marianna

284 was considered old, from a childbearing point of view.

Jarrod smiled to himself at the idea of what Marianna would have responded to that had she been awake. His wife, he was told, had led an active life and her muscles were those of a much younger woman, but she needed rest; labor was never easy; he must have patience. The final phrase, dismissive, was ”You'll be sent for when Her Ladys.h.i.+p feels up to it.” And with that, he had to be content.

Jarrod retired to his rooms feeling useless, his former elation quite dispelled. He took off the clothes that he had donned with such care and went and sat on the bed, chin in hands. He was used to being in control of things-other people did his bidding, usually without his having to ask-but Marianna remained an unreach- able enigma. His eyes sought the window and he was reminded again of how small it was. He was circ.u.m- scribed here, the lord, the ”new” lord, but scarcely head of the household. Both Marianna and Darius preceded him and always would. He was a foreigner here, an outsider. He had t.i.tles, yes, and land, but they meant nothing in these parts. The baby was his only claim to consideration.

It was in this melancholy condition that Semmurel found him.

”My lord, my lord, a message, a message from Stronta.”

Jarrod looked up. ”Calmly, calmly. Now, what does it say?”

”I don't know, sir,” the valet said, br.i.m.m.i.n.g with righteousness. ”This one was written and it was not my place to read it.”

”Quite right, Semmurel.” Jarrod held out his hand and a small, tightly rolled squip of paper was placed in it. ”The magnifying gla.s.s if you please.”

285.

Jarrod smoothed out the message and moved the gla.s.s back and forth until the words came clear.

”Your uncle Abercorn is dead. You have inherited t.i.tle and estates. Congratulations. Tokamo.”

He read it twice and the valet, watching closely, de- cided that the news was bad. Such stillness did not bode well.

The truth was that Jarrod was having difficulty com- prehending. He had denied his family for so long, blocked off the hurt that their denial of him had caused, that he could not react now. They were all gone and he had never known a one of them, not even his parents.

Action of some sort was required, that he knew. He would have to swear fealty to Naxania at some point and, knowing the Queen, there were bound to be com- plications. He sighed, confirming Semmurel's suspi- cions. He had never wanted this, he had avoided any and all involvements, but now events had caught up with him. He sat up and, with difficulty, ripped the little message into smaller shreds. Semmurel hovered expec- tantly, but Jarrod didn't feel like confiding.

”I thank you,” he said. ”You may go.”

He waited until the doors were closed and then went and got his blue Magician's gown out of the press. In this at least he could be his own man. He made his way up to the bunglebird cote and sent the keeper off on an errand before coaching a none-too-cooperative bird in a message for Tokamo. He took it up to the launching platform and released it. He stood and watched it circle before it lurched off in a northeasterly direction.

He was distracted at Hall that night and less than the perfect host. He was aware of it and hoped that the others put his mood down to the strains of becoming a first-time father rather than displeasure with their com- pany. He was also aware that that would be taken as a sign of weakness. n.o.blemen were supposed to take such

286 things in their stride and he was now, beyond all doubt, a n.o.bleman.

That night he tossed and turned before he slept and, when he did, he dreamed. He was back at the castle that he had helped to build, but it was different. There was gla.s.s in the windows, for one thing, and there were signs that the place was occupied, though he could see no people. The peculiar dread that he had felt in the first dream was with him again, but this time he knew the reason for it. The invisible occupants of the castle were threatened, though by what, or by whom, he did not know.

He turned and looked out over the plain. Nothing but waving gra.s.s to be seen, but that gave him no com- fort. When he turned back, he saw that there was some- one standing on the battlements above the main door.

He could not make out the features, but the figure's scarlet robe blazed in the suns.h.i.+ne. He struggled for- ward, trying to see who it was, but his feet were mired.

If he could get free, he could help; he knew it. He fought, but his progress was infinitely slow and the man's face grew no clearer. The menace was building and he was going to be too late. He tried to shout a warning, but no sound came. He tried again, hurling himself forward, and the effort brought him awake, tan- gled in the sheet, teeth clamped on the bolster.

Jarrod rose and washed and Made the Day, as was his wont. For once the ritual did not have its restorative power and, after a hasty breakfast, he headed down to the stables. A ride with Nastrus would undoubtedly clear away the lingering cobwebs.

'A cloud in the sunny skies of your disposition,' the unicorn commented as Jarrod saddled him. 7 suppose the wonderful feelings had to wear off eventually, but I had hoped that they would keep going a while longer.

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