THREE
Sitting at Silvas’s side while the people of the Seven Towers and its village filed through the room to pay their respects to Carillia was torture for Maria. Everyone stared at her, most with simple curiosity, but some with expressions that approached hostility. To those few, Maria was an interloper, usurping the position that Carillia had held in the Seven Towers beyond all human memory. And Carillia lay dead, almost at Maria’s feet.
They will get to know me in time, Maria told herself, trying to put her apprehensions to rest. She tried to pay attention to all of the faces that moved past. I need to get to know them all as quickly as possible, she reminded herself whenever it became a burden. This was to be her home, perhaps through eternity, and these people would be there, around her—her responsibility, her charges. Still, she ached to escape from the torment of their scrutiny, particularly once people from the village started to arrive. They had no foreknowledge of her, as those who lived in the castle did. But she could not leave. She had to stay with Silvas, and with Carillia, until the parade ended.
If she could not run from the room and all of the staring eyes, Maria wanted to flee within herself at least. All of her life, Maria had known how to escape there. Now there was so much that was new inside her, in the secret places of her dreams, demanding to be explored. But Maria dared not withdraw even her thoughts from the room in front of her while people were filing through. Many of the people spoke, if not directly to her, then to Silvas. And Silvas always introduced her: “This is Maria Devry, who shares Carillia’s final gift with me.”
If he can stand this ordeal, I can, Maria told herself firmly. After all, death was not new to her. Death had visited Mecq far too frequently during her lifetime for it to be a
stranger. She had seen her own mother laid out like this, seen her father sit in similar vigil—though he had been bitter in grief. Maria glanced at Silvas. In the formality of the moment, he looked so cold and unfeeling, but Maria knew how vastly appearance belied his real self. Even without the new links between them, Maria had seen through the veneer.
If I dip just below the surface of my mind, I can touch his mind, Maria thought. Silvas? He turned and looked at her. The smile he offered was thin and seemed to be an expression of pain more than anything else. He rested his hand on top of her hand for just a moment.
This ordeal will pass in time, his mind told hers. We have much to explore together.
It’s the gods’ own truth, Maria responded, and she delighted in the tiny grimace that touched Silvas’s face. It was a most human response to her jest.
After a time, the last of the villagers passed through the room and left. They had come in all their generations, from the oldest to babies being carried by their mothers—human, esperia, and gurnetz, all of the races that lived within the valley.
A few of the cattle people returned to the long parlor then—Bosc and Bay, and two others who had been introduced to Maria as Koshka and Braf Goleg. They stood along the other side of Carillia’s bier, across from Silvas and Maria. Pain and sorrow was clear in the inhuman faces of Braf and the two esperia. Only Bay’s face showed no clear sorrow, though Maria sensed that the great horse felt as much pain as the others over the loss of Carillia.
Maria took her cue from Silvas. At his silent urging, she stood and said, “We will wait for you.”
“It may be some time. I have a lot to deal with here.”
“I know.” Maria’s smile conveyed more than words could. The undercurrents linking her to Silvas filled in any blanks. “No matter how long it takes.”
Bay, Bosc, Koshka, and Braf Goleg followed Maria from the long parlor. Out in the great hall, Maria turned suddenly toward them and said, “I could feel your eyes boring holes through me,” but softly, not with anger.
Only Bay met her gaze directly. Koshka looked down. Bosc looked at Bay. Even Braf Goleg, the chief warrior of the Seven Towers, would not meet her stare head on.
“You can hardly wonder at that,” Bay said. There was no barb to his voice, though.
“I don’t,” Maria said, just as evenly. “You may think of me as little more than a child,” she continued, her voice becoming soft and childlike. “In terms of physical years, you may be right.” Then her tones changed abruptly, showing the power that now resided within her. “That may have been true yesterday, but the events of today have changed both Silvas and me, perhaps beyond the reckoning of any of us.” She drew the eyes of the others to hers, almost by force of will.
“Koshka, you’ve run this household for ages. Carillia adored you beyond all measure and trusted you implicitly. Carillia and Silvas both depended on you for many services, and for advice.” He met her eyes while she spoke to him, then lowered his gaze.
“Braf Goleg, the equal of any warrior twice your size. You could plan a battle to win a well from outlaws, or an empire from a mighty army of knights. Not that any would guess your fierce talents if they saw you playing with your children.” The lupine fighter fidgeted through the recital, then merely cleared his throat when it was over. He was somewhat taller than the esperia, though much shorter than any human in the castle, even Maria.
“Bosc, you spoke of the earth bleeding, as if you were connected as closely to it as I am to Silvas. You felt the pain that the ground below us felt in the great battle. You serve Bay as his groom, but there is so much more to you.” Maria had not been present when Bosc spoke of the earth’s pain, but she could hear his voice in memory now.
Finally, Maria lifted her eyes to meet those of the giant horse. Bay was eight feet tall at the withers, but he lowered his head so that his eyes were nearer the level of Maria’s.
“And what will you say of me?” Bay asked, uncertainty as much as irony behind his words. Uncertainty made Bay quite uncomfortable.
“Yes, what will I say of you?” Maria mused. She cocked her head to one side, staring deeply into the horse’s large brown eyes. “What can I say about you? That there is more to you than anyone, even Silvas, has ever guessed?” She shrugged. “I see unsuspected depths in you, Bay. I cannot yet peer into those shadows.”
For a moment, Bay did nothing more than return her stare.
Finally, he cleared his throat and made a wide gesture with his head. “We may yet have to bodily carry him from that room,” the horse said, changing the subject.
“No, he will come out when the time is right,” Maria said.
“Are you truly so confident that you know his mind already?” Bay asked.
“In this, I am,” Maria replied confidently. “In everything of importance.”
Bosc accompanied Bay to the mews. Braf Goleg set about seeing to his sentries; the routines had to be observed, the more so with Silvas distracted by grief. Koshka went to find supper for his new mistress. Dinner had come and gone during the visitation for Carillia. Maria wandered around the great hall, trying to settle the feel of it within her: ancient timbers, more ancient stone; tall windows, faded tapestries; the various kinds of table and seat, crafted to fit the different races who lived within the Seven Towers. She let her surroundings sink in, pervading her the way oil sinks into wood and colors it.
“This is my home now,” she whispered, so softly that none could hear.
There were still people in the great hall, of all three sorts. Maria felt surprised that she was not more curious about the strange folk, the gurnetz and esperia. They were clearly different, but—they belong here as much as I do, Maria decided. That was enough for the moment. When the time came, she could always delve within herself for more knowledge about them.
Maria spoke to everyone she approached, called them by name. Most seemed nervous, if not frightened, at her presence and the way she seemed to know them from the beginning. But after a smile and a few words, most of them were calmed.
After a time, Maria went behind the tapestry at the head of the great hall and took the stairs up to the private apartments that Silvas had shared so long with Carillia. Maria found her way unerringly to the small sitting room. She knew the plan of the Seven Towers as intimately as if she had lived there all of her life. At need, she could even have drawn plans for the castle, so precise that builders could use them to build an exact duplicate.
A moment later, Koshka brought in a tray with her supper.
“Thank you, Koshka.” She did not question how he had known where to bring the meal. “Please sit with me for a time.”
The invitation visibly startled Koshka, but he only hesitated for an instant before he perched himself on the edge of a small stool. None of the seats in this room were truly suited to the different architecture of esperia legs.
“You served the lady Carillia for a good many years,” Maria observed.
“Aye, my lady,” Koshka replied, almost stuttering. “An’ my father an’ gran’father afore me, for many generations.”
“I knew her but briefly, but I mourn her passing as deeply as you do.” Maria paused, then said, “I don’t know how much you’ve heard about what happened.”
“I know what was seen in the church of Mecq, my lady,” Koshka said when it was obvious that she would wait for him to reply. “I know about the light that came over the three of you as my lady Carillia died.”
“That light was the passing of her divinity to Silvas and, through him, to me. My thought was that my inclusion was accidental, because I was propping Silvas up, holding him. Silvas differs. He says that Carillia intended it as it was. I hesitate to agree, but I have no basis to contradict him.”
“How could I contradict my master when you will not?” Koshka asked. “I will serve you as I served my lady Carillia, if you’ll have me.”
“Thank you, Koshka. I’ll need to rely very much on your services in the days ahead. To begin with, I have no clothing but what I’m wearing.”
Koshka stood.” ‘Twill take time to fully remedy that, my lady, but I think we can make a proper start yet this evening.”
Maria smiled as warmly as she knew how. “Thank you again, dear Koshka.”
Servants prepared a bath for Maria. She luxuriated in the novelty of hot water, staying in the huge stone tub until nearly all of the warmth was gone. When she had finished, there was fresh clothing waiting for her. The retiring gown showed signs of being hurriedly shortened, but the job was mostly well-done, and the other things, while perhaps a bit too loose, fit as well as most of the clothes she had known before.
Maria walked around the bedroom, nearly as large as the great hall in her father’s castle. She looked into cupboards and closets. For a time, she sat on the edge of the bed—that was larger than the tiny bedroom she had called her own in her father’s castle. Sleep seemed to be the most natural thing in the world to do next, but Maria did not feel at all like surrendering to sleep. There was too much that was new and needed to be explored before she could really think about sleep. Silvas certainly would not be sleeping. He would be awake, in that room downstairs, maintaining his vigil.
Silvas. Maria turned her thoughts toward him, a little more directly. She could sense him sitting in the long parlor, his attention focused on Carillia. She did not try to speak to him, did not try to read his thoughts. I can if I want to, she knew, but she did not want to yet—not without significant need.
“No doubt we’ll each cherish whatever privacy we can hold,” she whispered.
Maria forced her mind as blank as she could. She took long, deep breaths, focusing fully on that exercise. It served to pass time, but did not bring her closer to sleep. Nor did it bring great revelations. Then, finally, it was time to open some of the new gates within her mind.
“I have to know what’s there. I’ve been avoiding this for hours.”
Maria stretched out on the bed, made herself comfortable, and closed her eyes. She directed her attention within. At first, it was like standing in the doorway of a darkened room and calling out, “Hello, is anybody there?” As the thought came to her, Maria gave it direction and force.
“Hello, is anybody there?”
She held her breath and waited. A low humming sound rose, not strong enough to annoy, more like a blanket to comfort her. The darkness abated in one direction. Maria felt herself “walking” toward that lighter area, though she had no sense of her body actually moving. After a time, she saw a hint of form that gradually resolved into clear outlines and became visible as Carillia.
“You’re doing much better than I dared to hope,” Carillia’s image said. Maria had no fancy that this was really Carillia. She was dead, beyond any resurrection. But had something of her survived even that death?
“I didn’t want to rush in,” Maria said within her mind.
Carillia nodded. “That is wise. The beginning could be troublesome,even dangerous, otherwise. But you will do well. I see that in you.”
“There is one question I must ask,” Maria said. “Was this gift truly meant for me to share, or did you intend it solely for Silvas?”
Carillia’s face smiled. “I am here to help you, am I not?” As soon as Maria nodded, Carillia vanished, and Maria was alone in her mind again.
But the darkness was no longer complete. Maria had no feeling of being alone in a vast emptiness. There was shadowy form, and there was content. Maira merely had to direct her attention to remove the shadows. She wandered paths that always managed to head precisely in the direction she wanted to travel. She looked. She sampled. On occasion, she took her attention back to her resting body. The room remained quiet. Candles burned low. Silvas had not returned.
It will be a long while yet before he comes out of that room, Maria assured herself, as confidently as if Silvas himself had told her that. In a way, he had.
Exploring.
Maria’s thoughts turned toward Mecq, and she saw it. She saw her young brother, half brother, crying in his sleep. His sobbing seemed to be the only sound in the castle. “Be strong,” Maria whispered, as much for her own comfort as for her brother’s. Maria saw herself stroking his hair and forehead, and the crying became muted, then ended.
Another thought brought Carillia’s name to mind again. A sequence of images flashed by, events from Carillia’s life: a banquet in a hall that dwarfed the Glade; sitting on the grass by a stream, Carillia’s first meeting with Silvas; even older memories, Carillia as a young child looking up at her parents—though Maria looked at them as she might have looked at her own parents. She saw something more in Carillia’s father, a familiarity that seemed different, more recent, but when she could put no clearer tag to the thought, she dismissed it from her mind.
What strange wonders does this world hold? Maria wondered, and the tour that came was kaleidoscopic. She saw the pyramids of Egypt and the vast oceans of moving sand that stretched westward from them for incredible distances. She saw oceans of ice and snow in the far north, and giant floating mountains of ice in the sea.
And more, scenes passing so quickly that there was no time to fix them all in her conscious mind.
Eventually, Maria came back from her wandering one time to find that the last of the candles had finally burned out—but that the darkness in the bedroom did not limit her vision. The night was far advanced. She stretched her senses until she could see sentries walking their posts on the curtain wall. She heard other guards and servants snoring in their sleep in the many nooks and crannies of the castle that were home to the people of the Seven Towers. She could still tune her awareness to the presence of Silvas in the long parlor, though she continued to tread softly around that awareness.
There is as much that is new for him as for me, she reminded herself. He lost Carillia and gained two unknowns—Carillia’s gift, and me.
Maria took a deep breath, and it was almost as if she were settling herself anew within her body after a long trip away. She stretched, rolled a little to one side and then to the other, then sat up and swung her legs off of the bed. She stood and stretched again, reveling in the sensuous feel of muscle pulling against muscle—aware of the workings of her body with an intimacy she had never suspected possible. There was so much knowledge to be tapped now.
And she felt a restless need to roam.
Dawn found Maria on the battlements of the keep, the highest point within the walls of the Glade. She was there when the special birds of the Seven Towers came out to celebrate their Matins. The birds swooped around her head, fearless, welcoming their new mistress. Maria watched in delight as the birds cavorted, and she tried to echo their song. The birds cooperated by repeating phrases she got wrong, correcting her until her rendition was a passable copy of their original. Then they went soaring off to circle over each of the other towers in turn.
Maria kept her face toward the rising sun as much as possible, luxuriating in the warmth. She closed her eyes and leaned against the parapet. The stone was cool, but warming quickly.
A long day full of terror and surprise, and a long night without sleep. I feel exceptionally well for that, she thought. Silvas still sits below. I wonder what he’s thinking about now.
But she still refused to intrude to find out.
It’s enough that I know I can touch him at need, she decided.There was sufficient for her to think about without delving into Silvas’s mind. The night had been too full of discoveries for easy assimilation. The wonder of it still held her in deep fascination.
How can any mind touch one part in a hundred of it?
She looked over the parapet, down into the courtyard. Much of the bailey was still in shadow. The area Silvas had scratched off for Carillia’s shrine was in full sunlight, though. He gave her the dawn, Maria thought. That seemed appropriate. Her smile was like the morning sun—warm, comforting, grace unscarred by power or age.
“I hope I can stay like that,” Maria whispered. The sentry was all of the way on the other side of the keep, too far away to hear her.
Maria blinked several times, then started down the stairs. The morning meal would be ready in the great hall. Even if Silvas was not there to preside, Maria would be. The people of the Seven Towers needed to see that they had someone to serve, someone to follow.
Maria’s arrival in the great hall seemed to come as a major surprise to most of the people gathered there. There had been a noisy babble that Maria could hear long before she entered, a babble with morning overtones of a grumpy but good-natured sort. Most of the noise evaporated as soon as she entered the great hall. People turned to stare. Maria stopped for a moment and smiled.
“Please, go on as you were.” She felt self-conscious at the note of little-girl-pleading that crept into her voice. “I don’t want to disturb anything.”
Most of the people returned to their bowls and mugs. Conversations were resumed, but the talk was not as free as before. Maria went to the head table. Koshka was just beginning to prepare a place for her.
“Am I breaking precedent by taking breakfast here?” she asked in an anxious whisper.
“I wouldn’t go so far as that, my lady, but rare enough it is for the lord and lady to breakfast in the great hall,” Koshka said.
“I thought it might be important this day, with Silvas still in there.” Maria merely glanced toward the door at the side of the great hall, but she was certain that Koshka would understand.
He nodded. “Aye, belike it is. We’ve gone through a fearsome battle, and our lord sits there alone, grieving for all of us.
“Did he come out at all during the night?” Maria asked.
“Not as anyone knows, my lady. There’s been a man posted to fetch anything he might want, but he’s not opened the door or called out once.” Koshka shrugged, a peculiarly jerky gesture the way his body performed it. “Though, true it is, he has ways in and out of the Seven Towers that we cannot know or see.”
True, but I don’t think he has used any of those ways, Maria thought. She was certain that she would have known had Silvas traveled that way.
Koshka brought food and a light, fruity drink, something Maria had never tasted before.
“This is wonderful,” she said after her first sip. “What is it?”
Koshka grinned. “The pure juice of a fruit that comes from the same far country as silk, my lady. The fruit is called orange.”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“As like not. My lord has a special connection to Cathay.”
Maria needed no further clue. Silvas obtained the fruit through magic. “There are a lot of special connections,” she said.
“That there are, my lady,” Koshka admitted with a bobbing nod. “We eat better than kings or popes here.”
“And earn such keep most regularly.” Maria’s compliment obviously pleased Koshka.
The morning was full enough to keep Maria from brooding on Silvas’s continued isolation. Shortly after breakfast, a woman who appeared to be in late middle age came into the small sitting room and introduced herself as Eila.
“I were the lady Carillia’s maid since Harry Secund were king,” Eila said. “I couldn’t come to you yester eve, my lady. I were grievin’ too sore for her.”
More than sixty years! Maria marveled, doing the quick arithmetic. Eila is much older than she appears.
“I understand, Eila.” Maria’s voice was so gentle that it surprised even her. “She was very special to all who knew her, even as slightly as I did.”
“Koshka tells me yer’ll be needin’ clothes, my lady,” Eila said. “I’ll see to’t, quick as fingers may.”
“Thank you, Eila. Thank you very much.”
Eila made her marks of Maria’s sizes and asked about her color preferences, then went off “to get the lasses started.” Eila had scarcely gone before Koshka came in. He wanted to talk about the management of the household. Carillia had left all such details to him.
“I wouldn’t dream of changing anything, certainly not when I know nothing of this place and its special circumstances,” Maria said. “Unless Silvas tells you otherwise, I’m certain we’ll continue as before.”
Koshka insisted on at least going over accounts with her, making sure that Maria knew just how extensive the establishment was, how complicated its needs. Then he fetched in a lunch tray for her and left. Maria ate idly for a time, then started roaming about the keep again. She finally found her way out to the mews, past mid-afternoon. Bosc was washing out Bay’s stable. The horse was trotting easily around the courtyard, exercising, until he saw Maria.
“Has he come out yet?” Bay asked, stopping a few feet from her.
“Not for an instant,” Maria said.
Bay snorted. “It’s as I said, we’ll have to drag him out by force.”
“No. He’ll emerge on his own when it’s time. He has a lot to think about just now.”
“No more than you, and likely much less,” Bay insisted. “His world has touched upon the corridors of great power from the beginning, as yours has not. Yet you’ve not shut yourself away from all the world.”
“I didn’t know Carillia as long or as well, either,” Maria said.
“What bothers him is that he found he knew her not at all, despite their centuries together. None of us did.”
Maria blinked quickly, twice. “You sound almost bitter at that,” she said, amazed.
“Perhaps. That knowledge might have changed much.” Bay turned his head to one side and then the other, then shook it in a violent gesture. “But perhaps nothing at all would have changed.” Then he walked off toward his stall. Bosc had finished his work there.