The Magic of Recluce - L. E. Modesitt [165]
“What do you think about woodworking?”
“I told you. I’ll never be in your class.”
“Do you like it?”
The redhead nodded. “I like the woods, and living in Fenard is better than the farm.”
“What do you think about Deirdre?”
This time his mouth did hang open. “You…can’t…she likes…” He shook his head.
“I take it that you find her acceptable.” I kept my voice dry.
This time he grinned.
“I have to leave before long. You know I’m not from Fenard. Brettel and I did not want to promise you anything until we saw—”
“—Whether I could be a woodcrafter?”
I nodded.
“But?”
“Deirdre can almost take care of herself, but without a husband in Fenard, she cannot hold the property. Destrin can’t last much longer, and I couldn’t even marry her out of convenience.” I swallowed. Leaving Deirdre was going to be harder than I realized.
“You like her. A lot.”
“Yes,” I admitted. “But that doesn’t matter.” And when my mind and heart were only sad, not rebelling at the statement, I knew that what I said was true.
Bostric shook his head. “I don’t understand you. You’re the finest crafter in Fenard since Dorman, and you will walk away from fortune and a beauty who loves you?”
“I don’t have any choice, Bostric. Please don’t ask.” I cleared my throat. I was still having trouble seeing. “I take it that your family won’t object. Oh, and she does have a small dowry.”
“No. They’ll be so happy for me, just joyous that clumsy Bostric actually found a beauty with property—”
“Stop it!” I put an arm on his shoulder. “One of us needs to be happy, and you and Deirdre can be happy together.”
“Yes, oh wizardly craft-master.”
I punched him on the arm, but not too hard. “And I’ll…do something creatively wizardly if you ever do anything to make her unhappy…”
He paled. “I think you would.”
I shook my head. “Just love her.” What else could I ask? If he did that, most everything else would follow, especially with Brettel’s help. “I know it won’t be easy—not with Brettel looking over your shoulder.”
He looked at me strangely before shaking his head.
Then, for a time, I sat down in my corner alcove.
LVI
DESPITE MY RESOLVE and Destrin’s agreement, nothing could be arranged as quickly as I had hoped. There were banns to be posted, agreements to be formalized, and parties to be attended—parties held by Bostric’s parents, by Brettel and his family. While I went, I stayed as much in the background as possible, hoping that all the festivities would eclipse me. Everywhere I went, I watched, looking like a wolf for the hunters. But I never found them, and with each failure, my guts tightened, as I wondered whether the next instant would find me in the sights of a crossbow. Yet until Deirdre was taken care of, I did not want to leave. But my staying was stupid, and I wrestled myself night after night.
As the fall waned, the sun dropped from the zenith, the rains occasionally fell, and the grasses greened again, Destrin lay stiller and stiller upon his bed, not even arguing with Deirdre, sometimes unable even to eat.
Deirdre was quiet, though she still sometimes favored me with a smile, and I smiled back, and both smiles hurt, and I knew I should leave.
In the end, once again, I had no choice, not if I wanted to live with myself. Each day, more soldiers rode out to the slaughter, faces blank, and they were younger and younger. Each day, more girls and women wept and damned the autarch. Only the conflict kept the assassins from me, I suspected.
Antonin’s strategy was working, working all too well, fueled by the prefect’s anger against the autarch. What could the autarch do? Let the bloodthirsty chaos-ruled Gallian soldiers kill her people and troops?
Still, I could not afford to take on Antonin himself. Remembering the power he had displayed in sweeping me aside earlier in the year, I wasn’t ready for that. But I didn’t think I had to, not yet.
I pushed Bostric unmercifully, mindful of Brettel’s concerns, not daring nor