Mercedes Lackey - The Fire Rose

"There is nothing unattractive about a woman with glasses," he snapped sharply. "A woman who is neither self-conscious about them, nor a prim and prudish old maid, wears such objects as any other accessory, and they become a statement of strength and character."

Now why had he leapt to her defense like that?

Perhaps because she impresses me. I had expected a mouse; I have been given a lioness. I prefer the lioness; it will be a challenge to keep her tame and choosing to come to my hand.

She had certainly stood up to him with spirit and wit. "I know in precise detail what Caligula did to, and with, his sisters, and I can quote it to you in Latin or my own translation if you wish. " How many other women would have dared to make a statement like that? How many could have done so without stammers or blushes? How many would have accepted his gift and laughingly told him they were greedy for pretty things, daring him to think of her as an opportunist? Oh, it was a valuable gift, but less valuable than the furs and jewels he had flung at his light ladies. Yet he could not have given her less, and what other women would have faced him the way she had?

None, in his acquaintance. Rosalind Hawkins was unique. And even when the passages she read held nothing of value for him, he preferred to let her read on to the end, enjoying the sound of her voice, the cadence of her words.

Unfortunately, his memory had proved to be faulty in regards to the books he had chosen for her to read today. There were only one or two passages burned into the oversized pages of the special book he'd had constructed, a book with tabs at each page so that this misshapen paws could turn them. He would do better tomorrow.

On the other hand, his choice of books was not entirely due to his own needs. He would be educating her in the ways of Magick as she read, tutoring her with his selections. By the time she was ready for the books he truly needed to have her read aloud, she would no longer be surprised by anything she read to him. She might well be repulsed, but she would not be surprised, and she had already proved to him that she could face what repulsed her without flinching.

"We like her," the Salamander said, unexpectedly. "There is Fire in her, though she is mostly Air. Fire and Air dancing together; it is a goodly dance."

Oh? It wasn't often that the Salamander volunteered anything. It wasn't in its nature to volunteer information, or even an opinion.

Now Cameron knew something he hadn't known before; Rosalind's Magickal Nature. That was useful; knowing her Nature would make it easier to predict what she would do, how she would react, what things would move her.

That also explained why she settled in so quickly, why she reacted so positively to the house. It also explained why she seemed to prefer the colors in the suite he had given over to her to the colors of the others. If she had been primarily a Water woman, she would have favored either the Chinese suite or the Emerald suite; if Earth, the Indian. A true Fire woman would have instantly sought the Russian or the Ruby suite, and asked for her rooms to be changed.

Interesting. Very interesting. What a pity he had not encountered her before!

Perhaps it was just as well. He could be amused and entertained by her without worrying about anything else. Attractions of the flesh had their place, but not when mixed with the Great Work.

"Paul doesn't like her," the Salamander volunteered again, surprising Cameron all over again.

"Paul's opinion was not asked for," the Firemaster said, coldly. "It is of no value. Paul believes that he will become a Master because he deserves to be one, not because be is willing to study, work, and sacrifice. Paul is a fool."

"Paul is dangerous," the Salamander warned, spinning a little before subsiding again.

"I know. A dangerous fool and therefore not to be trusted, and I do not trust him with anything of importance." Cameron had once had hopes for Paul du Mond, but the man was lazy, and so had been given everything material he wanted, but no more power than any other menial. "Is he a danger to Rosalind?"

The Salamander laughed unexpectedly, a sound of tiny silver bells chiming. "She is too clever for him, and she does not like him. He can neither deceive her nor seduce her. He reminds her of someone unpleasant, but she does not yet remember who, so she does not know why she dislikes him."

"Good." He was relieved, and told himself that it was because this woman was too valuable to lose just at the moment.

"Why did you give her the watch?" it asked, with childlike curiosity and childlike candor. "It is very costly by the standards she is accustomed to."

He laughed at its boldness. "It is my collar of ownership," he told his creature. "Through it, I can follow her, no matter where she goes; I can hear what she hears and see what she sees. When she enters the city, if any of my rivals or fellows see her, they will know she is mine and not meddle with her."

"Even Simon?" the Salamander asked.

"Especially Simon," he replied, his voice turning as hard as tempered steel. Simon Beltaire was the only other Firemaster on this coast, and there was no love lost between the two of them. Fortunately, the accident notwithstanding, he had not lost any of his powers, or Simon Beltaire would not have hesitated to challenge him.

Just as, were their positions reversed, he would not have hesitated in challenging Simon. There could not be two Firemasters in the same city. He would rather there were not two in the same state. Eventually, one of them would go-living or dead, one would go.

Rosalind was nearing the end of the last passage in the last book; soon it would be time to send her off to bed. He had enjoyed watching her as she read; she made a very pretty picture in the lamplight. How pleasant that she had turned out to be ornamental as well as useful! And possessed of good taste, fully the match of his own, he suspected. He had feared he would be forced to manipulate her choices of gowns; instead, she had made a choice that was as tasteful as anything he would have chosen, and yet was not what he would have chosen for her.

Should he order a Worth gown for her? He had never met a woman in San Francisco worthy of a gown from the house of Worth. Perhaps, when I have been restored ... when I am prepared to show myself to the city again, to take my box at the Opera. I wonder what sort of a companion would she make?

Then he chided himself for even thinking the idle thought. This woman was no potential companion. She was no demimonde, not to be used only for pleasure.

And before I ended my Apprenticeship I gave up the romantic nonsense of finding a female to share the Work with me as well as my life. There is no such creature, and never can be. Rosalind Hawkins was a worthy tool, and as such, she must be cherished, honed, cared for, and put away when the task for which she had been brought was at an end. She must be sent somewhere as far away as possible. She herself might not know what she had done for him, but anyone who knew him would be able to deduce it with careful questioning.

She will have a sizable bank account, a fine wardrobe, possibly a generous bonus, and an excellent letter of recommendation. She will have the wherewithal to do whatever she pleases. Perhaps it would even be wise to send her on a trip to Europe out of "gratitude." That would remove her-and her curiosity-from his life quite painlessly. He could arrange for the trip to return her to Chicago, where she could resume her studies. Or better yet, he could arrange for her to be admitted to one of the great universities of England or Europe. France, perhaps; with the example of Madame Curie before them, the French knew how to treat a woman scholar. Or Oxford; women were making great progress there.