In the Hand of the Goddess (15 page)

That night Alanna waited until she and Faithful were alone in her room and Jonathan was out at a party before she took the ember-stone from beneath her shirt. The cat watched her, his tail twitching, as she looked around for a suitable object to experiment on. Finally she placed an old shirt in front of the hearth.
After putting the stone on a table within reach, she concentrated on the shirt. Reaching toward it, she recited the Spell for Transforming. The spell was a hard one, requiring power and concentration, but she had both in plenty these days. Her weakness of the summer was gone, and the reserves of her Gift were greater than ever. She even wondered if she didn't
enjoy
using magic sometimes.

Purple fire flowed from her fingers into the shirt. It twitched and twisted, its outline slowly straightening and turning brown. Sweat rolled down Alanna's cheeks as she ended the spell. The shirt made a final struggle to stay a shirt before turning into a log of firewood. With a flick of her fingers, Alanna magically threw the log onto the fire. As it crackled and started to burn, she grabbed the ember-stone.

The log, the air between her and the hearth, even her fingertips glowed a brilliant violet. Slowly the color faded, and she put the Goddess's token down. Faithful walked over and rubbed against her legs, meowing, until she bent and picked him up, petting him absently.

“I don't think I've ever held it when magic was being used before,” she whispered to the cat. “I always kept it hidden in Roger's class. I was afraid
he'd guess something was strange about it. I wonder if it will always show me when there's sorcery around?”

When did you see magic used before?
Faithful asked.

“This afternoon,” she whispered. “The color of Roger's Gift was on him and the two wolves.” She began to pace, still holding her pet. “And what's the answer to that? What could he gain from magicking Demon Grey and his mate?”

Faithful hooked his claws into her tunic and climbed up onto her shoulder, perching there.
Whom did Demon Grey try to kill?

“Me,” Alanna whispered. “He tried to kill me.”

The spring flew by, and Alanna's seventeenth birthday arrived. She rose and dressed before dawn that morning, then made her way to the underground levels and the Chapel of the Ordeal. It was deserted, except for the caretakers; priests came here only during the Midwinter Festival when would-be knights undertook the Ordeal. For two hours she sat and stared at the Chamber's iron door, thinking.
Only a year and a half. Just eighteen months between me and what's in there. It's not enough time!

Evidently Faithful judged that she had been there long enough. He left her with her thoughts, reappearing with Jonathan on his heels. The prince took one look at Alanna's white face and dragged her out of the Chapel, closing the door firmly.

“Brooding about it only makes it worse,” he told her kindly. “Why think about it at all? When the time comes, you'll go in there if you're ready or not. There's nothing you can do to prevent it, so come have some breakfast.”

At lunch she received small gifts from Jon, Myles, and George, and her friends drank to her health. It was hard to believe she'd had six birthdays since coming to the palace. It was hard to believe so much had happened to her.

That night she slipped away early. She was too restless to socialize, and too nervous to sleep. The cause could have been the sight of Jonathan dancing with Lady Delia. From all the signs, the prince planned to spend the night with the beautiful, green-eyed woman. Alanna didn't want to be there when they left together.

Thinking of Delia sent her to the wooden chest she kept at the foot of her bed, locked and magically protected. Opening it, she drew out her pretty
clothes—a lace-trimmed chemise, delicate silk stockings, tiny leather slippers, a purple silk dress. She even took out the black wig she normally wore in public: There weren't enough violet-eyed redheads around to warrant her leaving her rooms without some kind of disguise.

She dressed and admired herself in the mirror. She wasn't a beauty like Delia, but she wasn't a hag, either. Defiantly she picked up a cloak and threw it over her shoulders. There was no law that said she had to be a boy on her seventeenth birthday, and Faithful wasn't there just then to advise caution. Touching the ember-stone and feeling the charm to ward off pregnancy beside it, Alanna grinned. She'd never do anything to get herself pregnant, of that she was certain. Still, she couldn't help but think of …

Amused that she was silly enough to wonder what sex was like, Alanna peered out her door. The hallway was clear, and she was going for a walk in the gardens! What if Jonathan
was
with Delia? She was free and independent, and
that
was the important thing!

She felt bold and wonderful, strolling through the luxurious palace gardens by herself. Finding an isolated bench, she put her cloak aside and sat down. The moon was full, and she relaxed in its soft silver
glow, turning her face up to it.
A night for lovers
, she thought, then bit her lip. She had no lover, and she didn't want one.

She left her cloak and walked through the rose gardens, inhaling the heavy scent of the blooming flowers. From here she could see the long terrace, where she had left Jonathan and Delia. Glancing at it, she could see a man standing there now; he was watching her. Suddenly he went inside, and she lost her spirit of adventure. She didn't want one of her gallant friends coming out here to romance her; life was complicated enough!

He was waiting for her beside the bench where she had left her cloak.

“Hullo,” he said casually, holding the garment up. “I think this is yours.”

Alanna slid the wig from her hair. “How did you know it was me, Jonathan?”

He came forward, taking one of her hands in his. “I guessed. And then I saw how you walked and I was sure.”

Alanna made a face. “Mistress Cooper tries to cure me of walking like a boy, but it doesn't seem to take.”

Jonathan lifted the gold charm off her throat,
examining it. “What's this?” he asked. His voice was soft and warm.

Alanna was thankful for the darkness that kept him from seeing her blush, “It's a charm to—keep me from having children,” she stammered. “Mistress Cooper gave it to me a—a long time ago.”

Jon chuckled. “Have you ever tried it out?” he asked, putting his free arm around her. Alanna braced herself against his chest, trying to ignore the silly fluttering in her stomach or the heat running through her body.

“What's
that
supposed to mean?” she asked gruffly.

“This.” Swiftly he kissed her again and again. Alanna felt giddy and was grateful that his tight hold kept her from falling. She was scared. She suddenly realized
she
wanted to be the one in his bed tonight.

Jonathan stopped kissing her, only to start unlacing her bodice.

Alanna shoved him away, terrified. “No!” she gasped, grabbing her laces. “I was crazy to think—Jonathan, please!”

The prince realized she was trembling, her hands shaking too badly for her to lace herself. He shook his head and did the work for her.

“You're fighting what has to be,” he said, “and you know it as well as I do.”

“I—I know no such thing,” she stammered. “I promised myself once that I'd
never
love a man! Maybe I almost broke that promise just now because of moonlight and silliness—”

“Stop it,” he told her sternly. He made her look up at him. “We belong to each other. Is that silliness? Surely you've realized all along this had to happen.” When she did not answer, he sighed. “Go away, before I change my mind.”

Alanna ran. Once inside her room, she bolted the door, undressed, and threw her clothes into a corner. This was what came of wearing a dress! Men got ideas when a person wore skirts!
George vowed love to you without ever seeing you in skirts
, a reasonable part of her mind said, but Alanna kicked that thought away. She paced nervously, snapping her fingers. Where was Faithful? She didn't want to be alone when Jonathan came back to his room.

Suddenly her knees weakened, and she sat on the bed. Of course Jonathan wouldn't come back. He'd go to Delia now. He didn't want Alanna; he just wanted a girl to have fun with.
Oh?
said that nasty, unreasonable corner of her mind.
Then why did he
say what he did? Why did he say you belonged with him?

Hadn't the Goddess told her to learn to love? Did she love Jonathan?

A sound in the other room startled her. He hadn't gone to Delia! He was preparing for bed in his own room, moving quietly so he wouldn't disturb her. He hadn't been looking just for amusement!

Alanna's lip quivered. She
wanted
Jonathan's love. To be honest, she had wanted that love for a long time.

She rapped on the door between their rooms. “Jon?”

He opened the door. His eyes were bright as he looked at her. Alanna swallowed. “I'm scared. Help me, please.”

Jonathan's voice was rough as he said, “I'm scared, too. At least we can be scared together.”

A
LANNA WAS HAPPY THAT SUMMER
. D
URING THE
day she had lessons and duties—fewer lessons now and more duties, because she was entering her last year as a squire. She had Myles to advise her when Coram wrote with a particularly difficult problem at Trebond. She went to Mistress Cooper to talk and to learn more about a woman's life. At night, Jonathan taught her about loving. She was sorry to see the leaves begin to change color: Somehow she knew her quiet, happy time was not going to last much longer.

Delia of Eldorne paced in front of Duke Roger's chair, her green eyes glinting with anger. “I don't understand it!” she snapped for the tenth time. “I had him
here
—” She held out a slender white hand, palm up, before clenching it into a fist. “And now I suppose I'm to consider myself privileged if he dances with me
once
at a party!” She threw herself to her knees in front of Roger's chair, looking up at him prettily. “Master, forgive me,” she begged. “I did everything you told me to. He just—” She stopped and looked downward, fluttering her heavy lashes.

Roger smiled and reached out, stroking her flowing, dark hair. “Don't fret, pretty one,” he told her. “That young man is proving very slippery indeed. Fortunately, I have other plans ready to be put into action.”

“Other plans?” Delia breathed, her eyes wide. “Master, can I help? Can I do anything to assist you? Only tell me!”

Roger looked off into the distance, still stroking the kneeling girl's hair. “There is nothing you can do for me now,” he remarked absently. “The next move on the board is mine. “He looked down at her again, his eyes unreadable. “But you must hold yourself ready. If all goes wrong, I will need your help more than ever.”

“Nothing could go wrong!” Delia protested violently. “Not when
you
have planned it!”

Duke Roger of Conté smiled again. “Perhaps you are right, my dear,” he remarked. “I hope so. In the meantime, be a good child and wait. Give Jonathan to understand that, while
he
is no longer attentive to you,
your
affections remain his.”

“And your other plans?” Delia whispered.

The sorcerer tugged his beard. “You will see,” he promised her. “I cannot move carelessly—not yet—but I think you know me well enough to be able to detect what I am doing.” He laughed outright. “No one
else
will be able to—I've made sure of that!”