Mage Heart. Jane Routley
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watching the students at the tables laughing and playfully cuffing one another and feeling conspicuously alone. I was always on the outside, and no matter how much I told myself it didn't matter, I couldn't stop myself from wanting to be part of things.
These were the feelings that the hazia had blotted out, and they had returned even more strongly now that I had stopped taking it. I had been convinced that once I had employment things would be better. Of course they were not. I was back to lying on my bed and thinking maudlin thoughts.
I wished so much that Micheal were still alive so that I might have a chance to make up for all the mistakes that had so angered him in the past. I remembered his being particularly disappointed over my clumsy rendering of a spell only a few days before he died. I could imagine what he would make of my present sordid employment.
Other times, I found myself shaking with anger because he, who could never be pleased, had finally abandoned me as he had so often threatened. Then I would remember his many kindnesses to his disappointing daughter and how sometimes he had been pleased even though it was not his nature to show it. Then I would feel deeply guilty for being angry.
Now I was quite alone in the world and I was going to be incapable of finding a place in it. Nobody knew or cared if I lived or died. Like someone fascinated with a needle, who cannot resist touching it to feel its point, I could not stop picking over memories that hurt me.
After almost a month of this, there came a diversion. One afternoon as I was crossing the courtyard with Master John, a carriage came sweeping through the gates. It was a beautiful equipage of gleaming, dark wood sprung high across thin wheels, drawn by a pair of high-stepping white horses with pink roses plaited into their manes. Where most carriages had coats of arms, this had a twining rose carved and painted on the door. The blinds were pulled down, making the occupant invisible, but Master John acted as if it were the chariot of Smazor himself. He rushed forward, flapping his hands as if he were driving birds off a field.
One of the two tall footmen who had been clinging to the back of the carriage, descended and stalked decorously toward him. Master John grabbed his arm and tried to hustle him back toward the carriage, but he might as well have tried to hustle a stone or a tree. The footman merely stood there speaking to him with delicate politeness, impervious of the way Master John was pulling his arm across his body and almost spinning him round. I kept walking toward them. I was going in that direction anyway. Master John called over his shoulder,
"Dion! Stay where you are."
At the sound of my name the footman turned, skillfully shrugged Master John off and bowed toward me.
"Mademoiselle Dion," he said, "Madame Avignon seeks an audience with you." The sound of her name sent a horrified thrill down my spine.
"Stay where you are, Dion," repeated Master John.
He said something to the footman and went determinedly toward the carriage. The footman, his face still showing nothing, turned and stalked unhurriedly along behind him. Master John was also stalking, but his was a stiff outraged stalk, a slamming of feet against the unfortunate ground. Suddenly he stopped short and looked up at the windows of the college. They were crowded with the faces and arms of the young second and third year boys who were shouting and waving at the carriage.
"Stop that," he shouted. "Go back to your work this instant."
His voice, magically enhanced, filled the courtyard in a deep distorted yowl. He must have sent a charge of magic along the window frames then because the tardy boys yelped. The windows quickly became faceless.
Another footman held open the carriage door.
Master John stood for some time, having a formal, but heated conversation with the shadowy form of a woman in the dim interior.
Finally the footman closed the carriage door and the high-stepping horses drew it slowly out through the gateway.
"That was Madame Avignon," said Master John, pronouncing the Madame with sarcastic emphasis. "She wishes to have speech with you. I told her you did not wish this, but she insisted. That Woman implied that she'd go to the Duke if I didn't cooperate."
"But she has gone now."
"No," he said leading me into the college hall. "She is merely waiting down the street. I asked her to at least show some care for the reputation of an innocent, young girl, and she saw my point. I fear we cannot stop people from knowing that she has a connection with this college, but we can at least prevent too many people from seeing you have contact with each other. We shall go out the front door to avoid being too obvious."
The carriage was waiting for us around corner of the street. Master John gripped my arm.
"Dion," he said, "you must do your best to be diplomatic. You must not offend this woman. Humor her, but be firm with her. Don't agree to do anything. Never forget that no matter how charming she may be, The Avignon is a courtesan and without morals. She will try to manipulate you. Don't put yourself in her power no matter what. Now go and take care."
He pushed me toward the carriage. One of the footmen let down the step and opened the door.
I approached the carriage as one approaches a lion-mostly with fear but with excitement and curiosity as well.
I expected its interior to smell of something dirty, like stale sweat, but in fact it was filled with the most delicious perfume. Sweet without being cloying, sharp without being bitter. It was warm, too, after the brisk spring wind that had been blowing down the street.
Madame Avignon sat in the farthest corner of the carriage, but the huge, green silk skirts of her gown seemed to fill it. She looked almost as if she were a goddess emerging out of the sea, for the top half of the gown hugged her body like a second skin. I was relieved to see that today it went all the way up to her neck, though the effect of this clinging bodice was not much more modest than the last.
She smiled warmly and motioned one elegant gloved hand. "Please. Sit down. May I offer you refreshment? Sherry? Sparkling wine? Or lemonade perhaps?"
I thought it advisable to decline.
With a sudden movement, she leaned forward and banged the top of her parasol against the roof of the carriage. I felt a momentary panic as it lurched off. Where was she taking me? I reminded myself that I was a mage, and nobody could harm me unless I allowed them to, and felt calmer. The blinds were still drawn most of the way down, I supposed to protect my reputation. It was a pity really. I'd never ridden in a carriage before.
Madame Avignon took off her gloves and smoothed them between her small white hands. I had expected her face to be a heavy mask of cosmetics, like the faces of the prostitutes in the town, but in the dimness of the carriage, it was hard to tell if the flush across her cheekbones was real or applied. Really she was quite lovely, with her soft, shining hair swept up beneath a huge graceful hat covered in feathers, and just the right amount of lace at her slender neck and the wrists of her long fine hands.
She sat draped across the seat opposite, regarding me from under her eyelashes. The attitude was languid, but her movements were quick and forceful, and whenever she lifted her heavy lashes (false?) her eyes were lively and sparkling.
"I hope I have not taken you away from your studies" she said. Even her voice was charming, with its warm tones and slight foreign accent.
"No."
"Indeed I am sorry to have waylaid you like this. I have been trying for some time to speak to you privately, but there seems to be some resistance among your colleagues to my doing so. So! Here I am!"
Her words startled me. I knew nothing of any attempts to contact me.
"I came because you know nothing of the man from whom you are protecting me. This could be dangerous. I felt that we must speak of these things."
I nodded, carefully noncommittal. Was this the beginnings of a manipulation?
She lifted her eyes and looked hard at my face. Though I could detect no sign of magery in her, there was something in her look, so bare and serious, that seemed to read me, everything