Doom of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [74]
Milady looked intently into the ice mirror that stood on the dressing table before her and she smiled at what she saw. Her proud gaze was not on her own face, however, but rested on the youthful repetition of her own features that smiled from behind her.
The family treasure — and treasure is an apt word — was their eldest daughter, Gwendolyn. This child was their investment in the future. It was she who would raise them up from the middle class, carrying them skyward on the wings of her rosy cheeks and her substantial dowry. Gwendolyn was not beautiful in the classic sense currently much admired in Merilon — that is, she did not appear to have been sculpted of marble with the same cold and stony charm to match. She was of medium height with golden hair, large blue eyes that laughed their way into a man’s heart, and a gentle, giving nature that kept her there.
Her father, Lord Samuels, was Pron-alban, a craftsman, though he no longer performed the menial magic of his trade. He was a Guildmaster now, having risen to that high position among the ranks of the Stone Shapers through intelligence, hard work, and shrewd investments. It was Guildmaster Samuels who had developed the means to repair a crack in one of the gigantic stone platforms upon which City Above was built, thus earning for him a knighthood from the Emperor.
Now able to put “Lord” before his name, the Guildmaster and his family had moved from their old dwelling on the northwest side of City Below to the very edge of the Low Avenue of City Above. Situated on the west side of Mannan Park, the house looked out over the rolling green expanse of carefully manicured grass, shaped and nurtured trees with — here and there — a flower.
It was a well-to-do neighborhood without being too well-to-do. Lady Rosamund knew the advantage of having her noble visitors admire “what charming things you have done to this dear little cottage” of twenty rooms or so. And it pleased her no end to hear them remark sympathetically when they left, “So unworthy of you, my dear. When are you moving to something better?”
When indeed? Sometime soon, it was hoped — when her daughter became Countess Gwendolyn or Duchess Gwendolyn or Marchioness Gwendolyn…. Lady Rosamund sighed with pleasure as she admired the lovely daughter in the icy face of the frozen reflecting pool.
“Ah, Mama, the mirror is weeping!” Gwendolyn said, reaching out her hand to catch a drop of water before it fell upon her mother’s feathered hair adornments.
“So it is,” said Lady Rosamund with a sigh. “Marie, do come here. Grant me Life.” Milady negligently held out her hand to the catalyst. Clasping it, Marie murmured the ritual chant that transferred the magic from her body to the wizardess. Like her husband, Lady Rosamund was born to the Earth Mystery, and though her skills were more those of a Quin-alban — a conjurer — she could perform the tasks needed to run a household with admirable skill. Suffused with Life, Lady Rosamund laid her fingers on the reflecting pool and spoke the words that would keep the water — encased in a golden frame that stood upon her dressing table — frozen solid.
“It’s this warm weather,” Lady Rosamund said to her daughter. “I would certainly not criticize Her Highness for the world, but I wouldn’t mind a change of season. Spring does grow tiresome, don’t you think, my poppet?”
“I think winter would be fun, Mama,” said Gwendolyn, fussing with her mother’s hair. A darker gold than her own, but rich and luxuriant still, it needed no magic to make it shine. “Lilian and Majorie and I have been down to the Gates, watching the people come in from Outside. It is so funny to see them covered head to foot with snow, their cheeks and noses red with cold, stamping their feet to warm them. And then, when the Gate was open, we could look Outside and see the countryside, so lovely and white. Ah, there