Mercedes Lackey - Lamma's Night (anthology)

"It wasn't my fault, Alfonso," the older man mumbled. He eyed the other resentfully. "Those books weren't for a mage of your class—"

"No. Still, I've had plenty of time to consider those books—and your 'kindly' way of warning me away from them. You wanted me to—"

"No!" The headman slid along the wall, one cautious step at a time; the newcomer was at the door before him, blocking it.

"It is true, then, isn't it? You were jealous of me; jealous the power came so freely into my hands, that I could work spells that evaded you, that little was denied me even from the first—oh, save your lies," he added flatly as the headman strove to override him. "I can see it in your face. You set a drawing spell to ensnare me, and when I took hold of the book, it opened to the page you had chosen!" Silence. The newcomer—Alfonso—glared down at the headman; the old man's shoulders sagged and he nodded. "It did you little good, though, did it? Entrap me in that place between places so you could draw upon my power—don't deny that, either."

"Sssst! Keep your voice down, you'll waken her!" The headman cast an alarmed glance toward the bed; Miranda drew a deep breath, let it out in a quiet sigh.

"It's all right; after what she did last night, she won't waken soon." But Alfonso lowered his voice; for some moments she could hear the low, angry tone but not the words.

"All right. I admit it. But it wasn't for the reason you think; you're my dead brother's son, after all, I would never harm you, I swear—"

"Swear by what, Uncle? Is there anything you could swear by that I would trust?"

"You remember only how easily the magic came to you," the headman replied sullenly. "Not how insufferable you were, how certain of your skills! I merely thought to teach you a lesson, and a degree of caution, nothing more." His companion laughed shortly. "It's true, I tell you! And then, once you were properly ensnared—there was nothing I could do! Do you think I made no effort to retrieve you? Look at me! Last Lammas Night, I attempted what she accomplished, and since that night there's been no power in me! Why do you think I allowed such a gifted outsider into this village?"

"I remember last Lammas Night," Alfonso replied grimly. "And the word you meant to speak." Miranda was watching them once more, cautiously. Alfonso abruptly stepped back from the door. "Go, get yourself out of here."

"Remember she nearly spoke that word, last night," the headman growled. "If you think to make an ally of her against me—she owes me for this sanctuary, I know who and what she is and I've not acted on that knowledge. Before you put any trust in her, be aware she's poisoned one husband already." He slid along the wall to the door and vanished abruptly. Alfonso caught himself in the doorway and swore under his breath; Miranda let her eyes close.

Now, before you lose your nerve entirely , she ordered herself. Her mouth was very dry. She shifted, stretched like a woman just waking from a long, deep sleep, and yawned.

Startled exclamation from her perforce guest; he retreated to the far side of the hut as she sat up, mumbled something she couldn't make out. "I'm clad," she said mildly. "And I'd welcome some of that tea, it smells good." He muttered something else, sighed faintly and went to the fire to pour steaming liquid into her cup. He almost dropped the cup as she took hold of it and her fingers brushed his. She kept cutting remarks behind her lips and drank. Was he trying to lull her into a false sense of superiority? This was nothing like the arrogant, hard young man who'd just been threatening the headman.

She finished the tea as he turned away, got to her feet and spread the shawl across her cot. The silence stretched uncomfortably. Say something . "Was—this your home?" He nodded sharply once; his shoulders were tense and he wouldn't look at her. "I see."

"Don't worry, Lady. I won't ask this place back from you."

"Not 'Lady.' Miranda."

"A—Alfonso." He was quiet for a long moment, finally turned to face her. "Miranda—it's not a common name." She shook her head. She could see the thoughts cross his face: he flushed, and turned away.

"I knew the reports had come this far," she said after a long moment. "And the warnings against sheltering the murderess who had been Milan's queen." Another silence; he might have been stone, or wood. "I didn't poison the king," she said quietly. "I'd say that, either way, possibly, but it's truth."

"I didn't intend to give you away," he mumbled; he sounded angry now.

"I never thought that. I won't poison you , either."

"I didn't—" He stopped, shook his head. "The others know—?"

"I think so. The headman does, I think. Things he's said, the months I've been here—but he's no threat."

He shook his head again. "You don't know him well enough, if you think that. Or—or others here, in this village. It is dangerous for you, staying here."

To her own surprise, she laughed. "Danger?"

"Don't laugh at me!" He turned back to face her, his brows drawn together, eyes black under them. "There are some here who'd show you a pretty face and hide a black heart behind it."

"Ah. Whereas you—"

"I told you—!"

"Nothing!" Miranda shouted him down. "And don't dare look at me so! Do you resent it so much that I rescued you from a trap that you couldn't break?"

"I—you needn't have bothered," he snapped and spun away from her again. "I would have found a way, eventually." His voice was muffled and sounded sulky and furious both.

Miranda cast her eyes heavenward and bit back a sigh. Silence again. "All right. You've certainly found a way to anger me, if that's what you wanted."

"I never—"

"Be still, let me finish, so please you," she broke in crisply. "However, if you planned to make me angry enough that I'd storm out of this house and this village—or was that your uncle's plan?" She smiled grimly as he whirled around, mouth agape and eyes wide. "I didn't hear all of the argument, Alfonso, just enough."

"Ah—ah, hells ." His shoulders slumped. Miranda waited. "You weren't part of anything I wanted," he said finally. He glanced at her, quickly away again. "Not last—last night, what you did. Certainly nothing he suggested just now. He's—Lady, he's no one to trust, he thinks in coils, always one plan behind the one engaged, and another behind that. You can't—you can't anticipate what he'll do, save that it will benefit old Gaetano, and that he won't care if it causes harm to anyone else."

Miranda laughed, silencing him. "You think I know nothing of men— and women—like that, after a year and more at court? Plots within plots, fair faces and black hearts. Only a babe would remain pure of thought after what I've seen of the Napoli noble houses! And only such a child would think such folk are born only to the noble and royal."

"All the same, you trusted Uncle—"

"No, I accepted what he offered, nothing more. I haven't trusted anyone since—well, that's not your business. And I know to keep watch over my food and drink, and to check my spellbooks with care before using them." He scowled, turned to slam one hand hard against the wall.

"And I don't—"

"Do not ," Miranda broke in flatly, "presume to read your own meaning into my words, I won't stand for it."

"Ah. I see." His words sounded strangled, all at once. "Well, then! Since I annoy you so, perhaps I had better begone!"

She swore under her breath and moved to block the doorway as he stalked toward it. "Is it utterly necessary for you to create scenes? I don't take them well so early in the day, thank you!"

"'Thank you ," he replied sourly, and gave her an overly broad bow.