The Shape-Changer's Wife (11 page)

Lilith. Where was Lilith?

When he saw her, he endured his second profound shock of the night. She was dancing with her husband; his arms were twined tightly around her green silk-covered waist, and her hands rested languidly upon his thin shoulders. Her face was turned into his chest, but Glyrenden's expression was plain to read: exultant, possessive, enamored. Aubrey turned away, sick with an unexpected emotion. He had, how odd, forgotten that Lilith had a husband, and that her husband loved her.

Nevertheless, there was no one else in the crowd of one hundred with whom he cared to speak or dance. Like Lilith before him, he found a convenient, empty stretch of wall and leaned his back against it. Misusing private magic in a public space, he spoke a tiny spell of misdirection and turned all eyes away from him, so that he could watch the rest of the dancers undisturbed.

Although it seemed like an hour, Lilith's dance with her husband lasted only a few more minutes, but Glyrenden did not return her to anonymity when the music stopped. Greatly to Aubrey's surprise, they were approached by a tall, dark-haired young man who made a nervous bow to Glyrenden and asked for the favor of a dance with his wife.

Glyrenden seemed amused, though of course Aubrey could not hear what he said. Aubrey vaguely recalled meeting the young man earlier in the day—Royel Stephanis, that was his name. He was the third son of a powerful lord, and considered an embarrassment to the family because he was of a poetic, artistic nature. Royel had not much enjoyed the hunt and had dropped far behind the field as the dogs closed in on their prey. He had straight, fine hair and a flushed, excitable face; he was reed-thin and awkward, but clearly well-bred. And his credentials were good enough for Glyrenden. The wizard carried Lilith's unresisting hand to his lips, then transferred it to Royel's outstretched palm.

It was another waltz, even slower than the last. Royel, despite his other social lapses, knew how to dance. He had taken Lilith in a careful and reverent hold, and he drew her with authority through the intricate steps of the waltz. As before, Lilith kept her head down. Her hands on his shoulders seemed barely to touch him. Royel bent his head over hers and spoke in her ear—judging from his face, words of entreaty and cajoling. For the most part, she did not appear to answer, or even to hear, except for one time, when she responded with a quick, negative shake of her head. Royel was not discouraged; he asked again, and this time she made no reply at all.

Aubrey, watching from his self-imposed shadow, was consumed by gradations of fire. He hated Glyrenden and he hated Royel with a bitter, uncontrollable passion; he felt a profound respect for Royel for perceiving and responding to the fey beauty buried in Lilith; he was aghast at himself, furious and frightened, amazed at the depth of feeling and at the obtuseness that had kept it hidden so long. And he was seared by the sight of Lilith herself, so beautiful, so vulnerable, wrapped in another man's arms.

Royel took two dances, though Lilith murmured a protest the second time, and Glyrenden took the next. Aubrey determined to take the following one. He dispersed the fog he had drawn around himself, and was instantly accosted by the older woman who had sat beside him during dinner.

“Oh, hullo there,” she said, smiling with genuine pleasure. “I didn't see you. Where did you come from?”

“I've been right here,” he said, attempting to smile back. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Well, the dance I enjoyed most was the one with you,” she said hopefully.

Aubrey forced himself to bow. “Then perhaps we can repeat the pleasant experience now,” he said.

Of course she accepted, and they danced again. As soon as it was politely possible, Aubrey relinquished her to another partner and turned his attention to finding Lilith.

There she was; alone again, once more standing against a wall. Had she had an ounce of magic in her, he would have suspected her of drawing a veil of invisibility around herself, for again she was ignored by the people who stood closest to her. Even Royel, across the hall, obviously searching the room with his eyes, seemed unable to find her. But no such spell blinded Aubrey's vision, and he pushed his way through the crowd to her side.

“Lilith,” he said, and her eyes came up to his. He had expected to be as flustered as a schoolboy once he finally came face to face with her, but the opposite was true. Sight of those fathomless green eyes steadied him, gave him back a measure of rationality, even gaiety. He found himself smiling down at her, wanting her to smile at him in return.

“You look so lovely,” he continued. “I think this is the finest of your new gowns.”

“Glyrenden says so, too,” she replied.

“And your hair. And your face—you have made up your face, have you not?”

“Glyrenden painted it for me. He set the combs in my hair as well.”

“Then he made you beautiful.”

She did smile then, but sadly. “I believe that was his intention.”

He knew the answer, but he asked anyway. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

“No,” she said.

“That young man. Royel Stephanis. He seemed quite taken with you.”

“Did he?”

“You know he did. He danced with you endlessly and whispered compliments in your ear.”

“How do you know what he said to me?”

“I learned everything I needed to know by the expression on his face.”

She did not reply.

“Did you like him?” Aubrey persisted.

“Not particularly.”

That was good news. “He seems like a fine young man to me,” Aubrey said. “But you should not flirt with him too much if you don't want to break his heart.”

“He is a poet, and he is drawn to the unusual,” she said. “I cannot help it if I intrigue him.”

“I am not a poet, and you intrigue me,” Aubrey said, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

She gazed up at him. “But then, you are a little uncommon yourself,” she said.

It was the first time she had ever offered him an opinion about himself, and he waited a moment to see if she would say more. She didn't. So he said, “The wizard Sirrit is no poet, either, and you startled him. Why did he stare at you so oddly last night? Do you know?”

She glanced away; it was hard to tell if anger or shame brushed a faint color into her cheeks. “He thinks I am strange,” she said. “I told you that most people would.”

“And you seemed to be—wary of him,” Aubrey continued. “Why? Have you met him before? Heard something to his discredit?”

She returned her eyes to his face. “I am wary of wizards in general,” she said somewhat dryly.

He smiled again, coaxingly. “You are not afraid of me, I hope,” he said. “Say you do not distrust me.”

Briefly, a smile touched her lips, pleasing him beyond all reason. “You are different,” she said. “I don't know why that should be so.”

“Living in the same house with a man makes him familiar, perhaps,” Aubrey said casually.

“Does it?” she said, wry again. “And are you familiar with any of us yet? Glyrenden, perhaps? Do you know how his mind is patterned? Arachne, Orion—have you puzzled them out?”

“You?” he continued, softly. “Have I solved that mystery? No. I have to confess I have not.”

“It may take more time than you have,” she said.

“I don't think so,” he said seriously. “I will not leave until I understand.”

“And once you do,” she said, “you will be gone by nightfall.”

He did not know how to answer that, but fortunately he was provided with an easy change of subject when the orchestra began a new number. “I have seen you dance already with two partners,” he said. “Will you dance with me now?”

“If you wish,” she said.

“Very much.”

“Then I will.”

He led her to the dance floor and put his arms around her. She was light as an autumn breeze; she felt as weightless as birchbark stripped from the tree. He could feel the smooth fabric of her gown under his hands but there seemed to be no living form beneath the cool silk. He knew her fingertips rested on his shoulders but he could not feel them there. He tightened his arms and the contours of her body became plainer, the brittle bones prisoned in the soft, defenseless flesh. She murmured a wordless protest, and he loosened his hold, but not as much as he should have. He understood now why Glyrenden always laid his hands on her with too much force; for all the power and strength of her personality, there was nothing to her physically. She seemed to be fashioned from the idea of a woman, and not to be a woman at all.

“Is this how you held the lady Mirette?” she asked him.

He was so surprised that he laughed aloud. He had not thought she had collected the names of his dance partners. “The Mirettes of this world live for dalliance,” he replied. “It's very possible that I hugged her a little now and then.”

“I'm surprised she could draw a breath to flirt with you.”

“But she could, very easily,” he said. “You, now. You don't seem to breathe at all.”

“If you would not hold me so close—”

“But I must,” he whispered, and tightened his embrace again. This time she did not remonstrate, and so the dance continued; and Aubrey wished that the waltz would not come to an end at all, but would be played over and over again from the beginning, and that he could hold Lilith in his arms until the whole night fled by.

But it did end. She stepped back from him, and Glyrenden appeared from nowhere. The wizard had no glance to spare for Aubrey. His attention was all for his wife.

“Ah, my dear,” he said, taking her hand and drawing it through the crook of his arm. “I have looked for you for hours. Come sit with me awhile and drink a glass of wine and tell me how you are enjoying Faren Rochester's party.”

Obediently, she followed him from the dance floor, her fingers entwined with his. Neither of them looked back at Aubrey, who watched them go, feeling the earth tremble beneath the solid floor of the fortress and wondering that no one else in the room appeared dizzy or ill at ease.

THE NEXT DAY, and the next, followed much the same pattern, though for Aubrey the world was changed. During the day, the men separated to hunt or ride, while the women painted and gossiped and beautified themselves; in the evening, there were more general entertainments. Aubrey did not know which time was worse: the hours away from Lilith, or the hours with her in company. He did not know if it was more unbearable to stand and talk to her, teasing her for a smile or some unguarded remark; or to watch her, alone and friendless, surrounded by strangers; or to watch her, turning away from the persistent attentions of Royel Stephanis; or to watch her, encircled in her husband's arms. Aubrey was happy only when he was with her, but he knew the price of happiness such as that—the harvest gleaned from another man's field—and he was afraid to be with her too often.

The fourth day of their stay at the Rochester house passed in much the same way. Like the others, it was a sumptuous early autumn day, golden and warm; Aubrey suspected Sirrit of tampering just a bit with the weather. The evening festivities were to include a procession through the woods lying on the east edge of the Rochester estate, all of the guests carrying candles and singing traditional holiday songs.

“A return to the simple peasant rituals, how quaint,” Aubrey overheard one man say to another as they stabled their horses after the afternoon ride. “I had not thought Faren would foist off such unsophisticated fare on his guests and call it entertainment.”

“Oh, haven't you been here before for one of Faren's festivals?” was the amused reply. “The ceremony is quite effective. You feel like you're walking through the ancient forests of the first creation, having just discovered the magic of fire, and you would swear every tree had eyes and was watching you.”

The first man laughed softly. “You've been talking to Sirrit again, haven't you?”

“Why do you say that?”

“Oh, he's one of the primitive cultists—you know, one of those who believes everything is alive. Well, you know, he says a dog has a soul and a rock can feel and a tree is really a dryad. I've heard him go on and on about these things.”

“Well, Sirrit. He's a little strange.”

The men drifted on and Aubrey heard no more of their conversation, but he was intrigued. Since his arrival here, he had had no conversation with the house magician, though he had meant to, if only to give news of him to Cyril. So now, with time to waste before the next scheduled event, he left the stables and went in search of his mentor's friend.

He found the old wizard in Faren Rochester's library, reading a novel. Sirrit was dressed as before, in flowing black and dull silver, and he seemed wholly engrossed in his occupation.

“I'm disappointed,” Aubrey said with a laugh. “You look so much the picture of the powerful sorcerer that I was sure you would be in your study mixing potions, or at least perusing a spellbook.”

Sirrit closed the novel with a smile, and indicated the chair beside him. Aubrey sat. “I have memorized all the spells there are to know, and so now I am free to pursue trivial pleasures,” the older man replied. “Your name is Aubrey, is it not? Your master did not trouble to introduce you, but somewhere I overheard your name.”

“I have heard your name many places,” Aubrey said. “But first from my former teacher, Cyril of Southport.”

Sirrit's brows rose; he looked very slightly impressed. “So! You are one of Cyril's students. Then you must either be very good or very bad.”