A Flame in Hali (34 page)

At these words, the physician spun around. Dusky blood suffused his features. He looked ready to strike Eduin, but for the nearness of his master.

“The
damisela
is under my professional care,”
Dom
Rodrigo said with stiff dignity. “I need not remind you that her continued recovery is due to
my
ministrations! She is too fragile for this kind of—of overstimulation, this—melodrama. It is highly detrimental to her progress. In fact, I classify it as outright abuse!”

“We see how well she has prospered with you!” Eduin flamed. “What are you afraid of, that someone else may succeed where you have failed?”

“Stop it!” Romilla wailed. “I want Sandoval!”

“Enough!” Lord Brynon bellowed. “Stand down, both of you! I will not tolerate such behavior! It belongs on the practice fields, not in my daughter’s bedchamber! Stand down, I say, or I will have both of you taken away in chains!”

Eduin instantly regretted his rash words. His self-control was not what it should be, or such an officious, prattling fool would never have caused him to lose his temper.

“I cannot believe you are seriously considering these charlatans from who knows where!”
Dom
Rodrigo said. “They are no more qualified in these matters than Durraman’s donkey!”

“Yet they—or rather
Dom
Sandoval—were able to help little Kevan when the dog slashed his throat.” Mhari glided to stand at the right hand of her Lord. Though her expression remained neutral, her eyes flickered over Rodrigo’s face.

Now Eduin was certain of the rivalry between
leronis
and physician. Clearly, Rodrigo had stepped in when Mhari failed to resolve Romilla’s depression and had usurped her position of influence with Lord Brynon. Mhari was not a woman to easily forget or forgive.

“A happy accident!” Rodrigo shot back. “The boy must have been less badly hurt than it first appeared. Blood flows freely from certain kinds of superficial wounds, giving them the appearance of greater severity. Clearly, that was the case. He would have recovered just as well with the attentions of—of a stable hand!”

Mhari’s voice remained serene, a counterpoint to the physician’s rising frenzy. “There have been other stories of Sandoval’s abilities—cures for the mind and spirit beyond the power of any ordinary medicine. They cannot
all
be accidents.”

“Mere rumors! I have heard them, too, down in the village. Tales to prey upon the credulous have no place in educated society. I will not be responsible for the consequences of the slightest disruption in Lady Romilla’s treatment regimen! I demand that these men be removed immediately and—”

“Papa, please! Make them stop!” Romilla sobbed. “The noise, it hurts my head!”

“That will be enough,” Lord Brynon said in a deadly quiet voice. He beckoned to the guards stationed just inside the door.

Before the physician could protest further, the guards each took one of his arms in a joint lock and escorted him, white-faced, from the room. Eduin permitted himself a moment to watch, although he was careful not to allow any hint of exultation to leak through his psychic barriers.

Mhari, he noticed, refrained from pressing her own advantage. Instead, she drew up a low bench and, helping Saravio to rise, placed him upon it. In her very action, she reasserted her own position; she was no lowly servant, easily dismissed. She might serve the Lord and his family, but her status as a trained
leronis
gave her the dignity of rank.

“My little love,” Mhari murmured, “here is
Dom
Sandoval to tend you, just as you asked.”

“
Vai dom,
I beg your forgiveness for my outburst,” Eduin bowed to the Aillard Lord. “I spoke only from my concern for Lady Romilla, although it was not my place in this great company to do so.”

Lord Brynon pardoned the breach with a slight inclination of his head. His attention returned to his daughter, for Saravio had once more taken her hand.

Murmuring in his soft, hypnotic tones, Saravio reestablished contact with the pleasure centers of her brain. Eduin felt the pulse of receding despair, as if a wave of living light flooded through the dark corridors of her mind. This time, however, he steeled himself against his own response. He had to move quickly, think clearly, act rationally. He could not afford to indulge in even a moment’s peace. That fool of a physician had almost ruined everything. Eduin swore to himself he would never be caught off-guard again. If he were ever to achieve his goal, his eventual release from his father’s compulsion spell, then he must set aside all immediate personal gratification. He must become an instrument of his own will.

Mhari stood behind Saravio’s bench, swaying slightly, almost close enough for her skirts to brush his shoulder. She had closed her eyes, her lips curving in a half-smile. Saravio’s talent was strong enough to overwhelm her defenses.

Of course, Eduin thought. With her
laran
sensitivity, she could not help being affected, too. In addition, she had recently fallen from favor, perhaps had even been publicly humiliated. On a daily basis, she would see the evidence of her failure, both in the person of her ailing mistress and the bombastic exultation of her rival. The burst of pleasure must be balm to her shredded nerves.

After a time, Eduin spoke to Lord Brynon. They must not overtax Sandoval’s strength. It would be advisable to schedule another treatment. Perhaps that afternoon? Was there a solarium or some other bright, cheerful room? Would Lady Mhari be available as companion and chaperone, since she knew the young
damisela
well?

Lord Brynon replied that was an excellent idea. One look at Mhari’s dreamy expression told Eduin that she would be a pliant and enthusiastic ally.

The solarium had once been Lady Aillard’s favorite room, facing south and east to receive the morning sun. The windows were thick and almost flawless, a marvel of glassmaker’s art, and set between ribs of fine-grained white stone carved with stylized flowers. The room had been little used in the last few years, so Eduin, acting in Saravio’s name, ordered new plants to be brought in to replace the yellowed, elderly specimens. Fresh cushions brought new life to chairs and divan.

The first time Romilla entered the rejuvenated chamber, she clapped her hands and exclaimed in surprise. Even Mhari colored and smiled.

Romilla still bore her cadaverous paleness, and the hollows around her eyes told of yet another night of tortured dreams. For the first time, Eduin wondered if Saravio’s song alone would be enough to lift her desolation. He dared not leave the outcome to chance. He must act, and pray that he would not be discovered. The soporific effect of Saravio’s singing would, he hoped, mask his own efforts.

Eduin placed the ladies to either side of Saravio, having arranged the seating so that Saravio occupied a position apart and slightly elevated above the others.

“Do not speak of Naotalba,” Eduin had cautioned Saravio. “They must first become attuned to her wisdom.”

Saravio had no difficulty with this logic. He took his place on the divan, apparently oblivious to the luxury around him. Eduin had placed a low bench on a front diagonal.

Eduin gestured to a servant to bring in the warmed wine and cakes. The cook had prepared both to his specifications. An herb with mildly soporific qualities had been added to the wine, its taste masked by the extra dose of honey.

“Ladies, we have a special delight for you today,” Eduin said, bowing low. “Sandoval the Blessed will sing for you. If you,
damisela,
will accompany him on the
rryl
?”

“With pleasure,” Romilla replied, ‘’although I do not play at all well.”

“Together, you will make beautiful music,” Eduin said.

Romilla accepted the instrument from Eduin and moved from her chair to the low stool. She plucked a few chords, her six fingers moving with some hesitation over the strings.

Saravio began singing the same lullaby he had used with the innkeeper’s dying daughter back in Thendara. After a few wrong notes, Romilla settled into the simple chord sequence.

Eduin let his eyes drift out of focus and softened his psychic shields. Saravio’s voice, weaving through the sweet notes of the lap harp, evoked a sense of deep relaxation. Though he knew it was risky in the presence of the
leronis,
Eduin opened his
laran
senses. He had an idea how he might lift Romilla’s depression, which involved imprinting her with the imagery that Saravio’s vision had once evoked in his own mind.

The colors of the room shifted subtly, as if a thick, warm mist settled there. The music lingered in the air, huge round gobbets of soporific sound. Eduin swayed with it. The faint, remembered thrill spread through his body. He felt the pressure of Saravio’s talent, manipulating, stimulating.

Eduin’s vision blurred. The diffuse golden light of the solarium turned gray and then silvery. Trees, slender and graceful, rose from the mist. In the distance, growing closer with each heartbeat, came the bell-clear voices. He drifted toward them. Figures moved within the mist, weaving among the trees, passing one another, joining hands . . .

He reached out to them, sensed their response, and at the same time reached out to Romilla’s mind. She was open, almost expectant, yet robed in shadow. Only her face shone, a pale mask. No wonder Saravio had mistaken her for Naotalba. She reached slender fingers toward Eduin, inviting him to join her in the growing darkness.

Come instead into the light,
he urged.

He clasped her hand and drew her closer. The shadows fell away and she stood beside him. Around them stretched the forest, moon-touched and old beyond reckoning. The voices were nearer now, rising and falling, sweet and sad. Silvery hair glinted, tapering, six-fingered hands gestured in welcome. A fragrance rose from their bodies, of morning, of hope, of endless seasons beneath the stars . . .

He let the moment linger and then slowly dissolve.

In the real solarium, color had risen to the girl’s cheeks and throat. Her lips parted, breath deepening, head tilted back, and eyes half-closed.

Mhari leaned back in her chair, hands loose in her lap. Her gaze met Eduin’s. Her expression revealed only dreamy contentment. Behind her, the young court ladies of Romilla’s retinue swayed in time to the music.

Saravio finished the song and proceeded to another and then a third, all slow and rhythmic, melodies designed to calm a fretful babe. When he reached the end of the last one, no one stirred. By their slow, measured breathing, the women might have been asleep, or deep in trance. By the time they opened their eyes, one by one, Eduin’s head was clear.

Romilla got to her feet, stretched, and took a couple of dancelike steps. “I remember how much my mother loved this room. It’s so full of light! I feel so peaceful here, I—I could almost be happy. Sandoval, will you sing to me tomorrow?”

“Yes, indeed,
damisela,
” Eduin replied, “if that is your wish.”

“Come now, little love,” said Mhari, “it is time to rest.”

As Romilla and her ladies prepared to depart, Mhari drew Eduin aside.

“Your friend is very—” she paused momentarily, “—talented.”

Eduin kept his face impassive, the polite mask of a subordinate to a person of her modest rank.

“As are you,” she added.

“You are perceptive,” he responded. “Your own training does you credit.”

“Alas, I have not been able to accomplish what your—” again that faint hesitation, this time accompanied by a whisper-light contact of
laran,
“—brother has done so well.”

So Mhari had seen through their disguise, but had made no move to expose them. She had been waiting and watching to see how events unfolded.

“You have restored my young mistress to health, or will surely do so with time,” she went on. “Do not believe me envious or wishing you ill because of it. Believe instead there are those who do not share my joy at her recovery. Others who would rather keep her in darkness, than see another succeed.”

She lifted one eyebrow.
Do you take my meaning?

“A warning?” he asked, keeping his tone light.
The physician is a buffoon, not to be taken seriously.

Mhari’s smile faded. “I might have done as well for her, if I had been allowed to work without interference. I would not have your friend’s good beginning meet the same fate as my own efforts. Even a buffoon is capable of intrigue.”

Eduin bowed again, for the little procession had formed and Romilla had finished her leave-taking of Saravio. Mhari followed in her proper place without a backward glance.