Doom of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [117]
We’ve been here almost two weeks, Mosiah told himself, and nothings happened. The catalyst is well-meaning, but he’s such a worrier! I’ll be careful. Besides, Simkin’s right. Strange as it may seem, he does have the Emperors protection….
“I say,” said Simkin suddenly, “wouldn’t it be fun to change this highly somnambulic volume on The Diversity of Household Magics to something more interesting? Centaur Bondage, for example …”
“No, it would not!” said Mosiah, making up his mind. “Come on, let’s get out of this place before you destroy what little credibility we have left around here.” Grasping hold of Simkin firmly by his drab, plum-colored sleeve, Mosiah dragged him out the door.
Meekly allowing himself to be led along, Simkin cast a backward glance at the bookshelf, muttered a word, and winked. The orange silk fluttered through the air, wrapped itself around The Diversity of Household Magics, and then disappeared, leaving in its place another volume in a brown leather binding.
“Complete with detailed, colorful illuminations,” said Simkin to himself, grinning in delight.
Joram went walking in the garden that morning, hoping to meet Gwendolyn, just as she had gone walking, hoping to find him. But when he did come upon her, sitting listlessly among the roses in the company of Marie, the young man bowed coldly, turned, and began to walk away.
He couldn’t bring himself to talk to her. What if she refused to speak to him? What if she could not love him for the person he was, instead of the person he might become?
“And what if I don’t become a Baron?” Joram asked himself. The sudden realization that his plans and hopes and dreams might come falling down around him nearly buried him in the rubble. “Why didn’t I think of this last night? How could she love a man who doesn’t know who he is!”
“Joram, please … Wait a moment …”
He stopped, his back turned, refusing to look at her. Gwen had called out to him, but, behind him, he heard Marie’s voice remonstrating in low tones — “Gwendolyn, go inside. Your father has forbidden —” and he smiled in bitter satisfaction.
“I know what Papa said, Marie,” returned Gwen’s voice with a firmness born of sorrow and pain that sent a thrill through Joram’s heart, “and I will respect his wishes. I only want” — her voice faltered here — “to inquire after Father Dunstable. I should think you would be concerned about the catalyst’s health, as well,” she added in rebuke.
Joram turned slightly as the voices drew nearer. He could see Gwen now, out of the corner of his eye. He saw the sleepless night in the shadows beneath the blue eyes. He saw the traces of the tears that not all the magic and rose water of Thimhallan could completely erase from the pale face. She had cried over losing him. His heart beat so he would not have been much surprised to see it leap out of his chest and fall at her feet.
“Please, Joram, stay for just a moment. How is Father Dunstable this morning?”
There was the touch of a soft hand upon his arm, and Joram looked into the blue eyes — eyes filled with such love, such unhappiness, that it was all he could do to keep himself from taking the young woman in his arms and, holding her close, shield her with his own body from the pain he was bound to inflict. For a moment his heart was too full for him to talk. He could only stare at her, the dark eyes burning with a fire warmer than any that ever melted iron.
And yet what would they say to each other? Marie was watching them sternly, disapprovingly. Once I answer the question about the catalyst, Marie will order her charge inside. If Gwen refuses, there will be a scene … the House Magi summoned, perhaps even Lord Samuels….
Joram looked at Gwen, Gwen looked up at him.
Does the Almin hear the prayers of lovers?
Certainly it seemed so, for at that moment there came a wail from inside the house.
“Marie!” one of the House Magi shrieked. “Come quickly!”
Another House Magi hurried out into the garden in search of the catalyst.