Part 53 (1/2)
”Cannot uphold your side,” Gaston insisted. ”The bargain's void ere it's made. An 'a come, tell him she's fled.”
”This is not a matter on which we have requested a second opinion, Marshal.”
” 'Twill bring ill to the Empire if you press on, Avril. Prospero'd not yield without some plan to repay evil for evil, to you and the Empire. Tis well, 'tis needful that he be defeated, but not thus, not with a lie and a false vow.” Gaston, not waiting for permission to leave the Emperor's presence, turned away in disgust and strode toward the door. It opened as he approached. Herne stood there, horsy and smelling of his cold dry forest.
”Prospero comes,” Herne said, and he showed his teeth in a smile.
37.THEY SAT ON OPPOSITE SIDES OF the white-scoured table, and Freia ate nothing as Dewar wolfed down his long-delayed luncheon-little sh.e.l.lfish steamed quickly in a hot pan in the coals and b.u.t.tered, a salad of sharp greens, toasted bread. The day's stresses and sorcery had left him hungry, though he forbore to point this out to his sister, who sat with her head in her hands.
He finished with hard-skinned fruits from the low bushes around the house, slicing them neatly and eating them by 436.
'ZCizaBetfi itfittey scooping the seeds and pulp into his mouth. Red juices flowed.
”Freia, you must eat something.”
”I don't want to.”
”Why not?” he probed.
”I'm tired of vomiting.”
She had a knack for answers which were unanswerable, thought Dewar, and looked at his fruit with less relish.
”I thank you for your patience with my appet.i.te,” he said, rising and going to the kitchen pump. He washed his hands and dried them, watching her sidelong.
Freia said nothing.
Dewar sat down opposite her again and put his hands on hers. ”Lady,” he said, ”tell me your desire.”
Her hysteria had faded. ”I want to go home,” Freia said listlessly. ”But truly I should not. He will be so angry at me. I wasn't supposed to leave at all. Now- He was angry before, but he-he won't-like me.” She shook her head.
”Why should he be angry with you?” Dewar wondered. She had followed Prospero everywhere, trying to help him. How could the sorcerer Prince take such devotion amiss?
Freia shook her head again, not looking at him, staring at the wooden table. ”He won't want me the way I am now. I should just take a knife and gut myself.” Her hands became fists.
He pulled her hands away from her head and made her look up at him, sad-eyed. His heart seemed to move in his breast, and she, tired and grief-bitten, in an instant became unbearably precious and dear. Dewar knew dishonored women sometimes chose death. He would not let her do that. ”You're not going to die.”
”I want to. How could you have any idea-how could anybody-I didn't want-I don't-” She moved away from him jerkily. Her voice rose; she was nearly shouting again, the edge of wiidness returning.
”Freia,” Dewar said, and he went around the table and sat beside her on the bench, conscious of the cutlery lying casually on the table and dresser and of how fast she could Sorcerer and a Qentteman 437.
move. He took her hands again, but lightly. ”It is your will to return home.”
”He won't want me there.”
”Your will, Freia. Not his. And don't try to guess his will-”
”He's always saying that, too,” she muttered, and pulled her hands a little away from his, but not far; their fingers still touched. ”You're much like him.”
”What's he like?”
”Much like you,” Freia said wearily. ”Self-centered, unreliable, kind on a whim, and ill to cross. I suppose all sorcerers are like that.”
Dewar frowned. ”You're quick to d.a.m.n, aren't you.”
”I guess all Landuc people are like that,” Freia mused on in an undertone, half to herself.
”Freia,” Dewar said, ”if you have nothing good to say about me or anyone else to my face, when I have been expending considerable effort to help you-”
”I don't need to get home to Prospero,” she said. ”I can take care of myself anywhere. I know the plants, the animals.”
”You're not yourself, Freia,” he pointed out. ”And you'll not be well-”
”I'll be fine; there is an herb there I need to-to be myself, and I know where to find it,” she said.
Under standing substantially redirected Dewar's thoughts. He drew a breath and savored it. ”Herbs,” he said. He was moving onto unfamiliar ground; he had never studied more than rudimentary medicine or surgery, but he had travelled widely and he thought he knew her better than he had. ”Perhaps I can help you find the herb you want-to be yourself,” he said, using her phrasing delicately.
Freia stiffened. They regarded one another, combatants or allies.
”What's this herb called?” he asked.
”Mayaroot,” she said.
”Mayaroot?”
”It's not a root truly, it's a fungus that grows on the roots 438.
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Sorcerer and a (jentCeman 439.
of old veil-trees in the seaside marshes,” Freia said.
”Why do you want it?”
”If you must know,” she said, drawing away from him, ”to bring a miscarriage.”
Dewar nodded slowly. ”Are you certain of it? Certain that it will work?”
”Two women-” Freia began, and she stopped herself.
”Trust me,” he said, frustrated by this slow eking, word-by-word, of pieces of stories. He seized her shoulders. ”I will not abandon you, I swear it. I will help you. I have not brought you so near me to leave you. I will not see you suffer a day longer if I can help you. I'm no herbalist, but I know plants vary in potency. The mayaroot might fail you. There are better remedies. Trust me.”
Stiff and withdrawn at first, Freia relaxed as he spoke. ”Trust you,” she repeated softly.
”Please.”
”I trust you.”
Dewar moved toward her and embraced her, grateful. ”Thank you,” he whispered, and whispered it again when he felt her arms go around him, her weight fall against him. With her trust, he could undo what had been done, erase the vile evidence of his own failure and restore her to happiness. He could set all right for her, with her trust.