Rodvard came in late, and had had no supper save some bread and cheese
caught at an inn with the two people’s guards who accompanied him,
Demadé Slair having left long before. Lalette was arranging her hair
before the mirror, with a candle on either side, and did not turn round.
(At the sight of her lifted graceful arms, a wave of tenderness swept
over him.) “Lalette,” he said, almost lilting the word.
“Good evening.” She still did not turn, and the voice was formal.
He hurried across the room in long steps and turned her around. “What
has happened?”
There was an impatient movement. “Don’t. You will spoil my hair.
Nothing.”
“Lalette, there is something. Tell me.”
She kept her eyes away from him. “Nothing,” and then, as he merely
stood, waiting in burning intensity; “A small thing, truly. You need not
be troubled. Only I know now who it was you were unfaithful to me with.”
(He was hot and cold together.) “Who says I was unfaithful?”
“‘Will you come with me now?’” she quoted. “Rodvard, you may be able to
read some of my thoughts, but do not forget why. Is she a witch, too?
She must be, or my Blue Star that I lent you would be dead. Or did she
give you another before you shared her with Count Cleudi?” (She wanted
to hurt him as she had been hurt, to make him regret and feel that no
regret in any fashion could replace what had been lost.)
“Shared her with Count Cleudi?” (He could feel honest indignation now.)
“Lalette, who are you talking about?”
“I am glad you saved her life,” said she, still not looking at him. “It
is a pity my hair is dark and my skin muddy. When these troubles are
over, you can have a good time with her on the estate. It is in ’Zada,
isn’t it?”
(The indignation no longer needed to be pushed; all he could think of
was how he had rejected the shell of that Maritzl once desired.) He
said; “Lalette, I swear to you that I have never been with Maritzl of
Stojenrosek, if that is the one you mean. I swear that I never will, I
don’t even want her.”
(The accent of sincerity was making her doubt, but the bitterness
persisted beneath, she had only lost the line somewhere, and was not yet
ready to release him.) “If you are really in love with her, you may go.
Only I’ll not be one of your—casual contacts.”
(He was invaded by despair of making her understand, with or without the
fullest tale of the maid Damaris and the witch of Kazmerga.) “Why,” he
cried, “it would seem to me that it is asked of any pair who live
together to protect each other from casual contacts by one means or
another. But this is merely not true. Will you listen to every
talebearer who tries to split us apart for reasons of his own?”
She lowered her head (melting a little, knowing he knew of Demadé
Slair’s desire, if not of her own temptation). “There are some tales you
might have borne to me yourself instead of letting me learn them by
hazard. Why did you betray me by telling Mathurin of the child of
Dyolana, Tuolén’s heiress?”
Now he took her strongly by the shoulders. “Lalette,” he said; “I never
told him. You accuse me of being liar and betrayer, do you think I am a
fool as well? If Mathurin knows of her, he has learned it through some
other source; you are the only one I told.”
(Suddenly and dreadfully, she knew where that other source was—that
night in the garden, when she herself told Demadé Slair, Mathurin’s
voice and sword.) She moved close, putting both arms around him in a
convulsive gesture. “Oh, Rodvard,” she said, “I am afraid. He is having
her brought here, and will make her a witch himself—that little girl.”
She began to cry then. That night, as they sought and received from each
other whatever comfort passion could give, she touched him and said; “It
is true. I am a witch and your partner. The great marriage.”
29
NO AND YES
“You helped me so much before,” said Lalette.
The widow Domijaiek contemplated her tranquilly from among the husks of
characters who never lived. “Yet you are again in need of help.”
“The Myonessae. I could not—”
“You could not give up the desires of this false, material world for the
God of love. However, it is not necessary to agree with everything that
is done under the rule of the Prophet, and when the mattern and the
diaconals tried to force you to an advancement for which you were not
ready, they were also submitting to the rule of Evil. It is asked only
to take steps we are prepared for.”
“Yes,” said Lalette.
“I do not know whether I can help you. Let us examine circumstance. Are
you still stricken by lack of money?”
“I had not thought of it. Rodvard touches the fees of the court where he
is writer. Our needs are small.”
The widow’s smile was approving. “That is an element of progress. But he
receives these fees because he uses the witchery of the Blue Star, does
he not?”
“Yes.”
“Then that is an element contrary to progress and very dangerous.”
Lalette looked at the floor. “I know. Everything seems to be a danger. I
am so afraid of Mathurin. He keeps those guards around Rodvard, but I
think they are more like jailers.”
“One thing you must not do is let fear enter your heart; for it will
breed fearful things. Remember that all in this false material world is
only the reflection of your thoughts. Have you any word from your
mother?”
“Yes. A man brought a note. She wants me to escape and join her at the
court.”
“Do you wish to go?”
“I would like to see her again. . . .” Lalette looked up to see Dame
Domijaiek watching her attentively, though she remained very quiet, and
under the pressure of that silent scrutiny, the girl moved. “She is
under Count Cleudi’s protection. And I told you about Demadé; he is very
kind and gay, and I think he is in love with me, but—”
“Go on.”
“He told Mathurin about the little girl, the heiress.”
“He was also trying to do the best for you, in his own way. Do you want
to go? Or would you rather stay with Rodvard?”
In a small voice, Lalette said; “I think I would rather stay with him.
Is it wrong?”
“Not if it is done in love and good will, rather than for any hope of
gain. Have you asked him to take you away from the city?”
“No. This—regency is so much to him.”
The widow stirred. “You will find help, child. Come to me again when he
makes a plan.”
She stood up, but before the words of farewell could be pronounced, the
door was flung open and the boy Laduis burst in, crying; “Mother! I was
at the market, and—”
“Laduis, we have a guest.”
He looked embarrassed and made to Lalette the bow of a miniature
courtier. “Oh, I remember you,” he said. “You are the Princess Sunimaa,
only you are not cold any more. I am glad to see you.” He turned again.
“Mother, everybody at the market is excited. They say there has been a
battle in the Ragged Mountains, and Prince Pavinius has beaten the
Tritulaccans and taken three of their generals, and the rest of them are
all running away.”