The Measure of the Magic (43 page)

Rationally, she knew it wouldn’t really be that long, but it was beginning to feel like it. When you couldn’t see outside and know whether it was dark or light, when you couldn’t speak with anyone about what was happening in the larger world, it felt as if time had stopped completely.

That even Pogue had not come to see her was particularly hurtful. She knew their relationship had been suffering, especially since Sider Ament had appeared in the village with his news of the collapse of the protective wall. But she hadn’t thought he would abandon her completely. She had assumed he would at least want to hear her explanation of the charges her accusers—whoever they were—had placed against her. She had thought he would be willing to let her offer a defense. But apparently she was wrong. He had not come once, had not sent word, had done nothing to contact her since her imprisonment.

She bent to the bowl and splashed water on her face. She did this more often than she liked to admit, trying to wash off the grit and dust that seemed to attach itself to her body even though she mostly just sat in one place. It was becoming a habit she couldn’t seem to break, a response to the way her skin was tightening and her nerves were always on edge. Being shut away like this was beginning to affect her in unpleasant ways. Washing herself seemed to help, but in the end, she knew, it might not be enough to keep her sane.

Finished with her ritual, she sat thinking about the world outside the walls of her prison, about sunlight and fresh air, about the sound of children’s voices, and all at once she was crying. She didn’t try to stop, letting it go, wanting to try to get it out of her system. At some point, she was going to need to be strong enough to deal with whatever her jailors had planned for her. Because if there was one
thing she was sure about, it was that she wasn’t going to escape further punishment.

Even so, she was surprised when the lock to the storeroom door released, the door swung open, and Pogue Kray walked in.

She rose to meet him. She had given up expecting anyone other than the guards who kept watch on her, least of all her husband. To her surprise, she was pleased to see him, relieved that he had come to her at last. Better late than never, and maybe now he could be made to see the wrong that had been done to her.

Although nothing in the hard set of his face suggested that this would be the way things went.

“Aislinne.”

He spoke her name not as a greeting but as an expression of distaste. He did not approach her, made no attempt to embrace her. Instead, he moved off to one side, allowing the guard to pull the door closed behind him. He stood in the shadows, just barely at the edge of the candlelight, arms folded over his chest.

Suddenly angry, she said, “Why have you waited so long to come to see me? Am I that loathsome to you?”

He nodded slowly. “Worse, Aislinne. You have betrayed me as a husband and as leader of this village and its council. You have shamed me with your actions—not only now, but before, over and over again.”

“You speak of Sider Ament. I never betrayed you with him, not ever. Nor did I do anything to help free the Drouj. He is no friend of mine.”

Her husband turned away from her and spat. “He was your lover. Most likely, they both were.”

Aislinne was astonished. “That is not true! That doesn’t even make any sense! I can understand your suspicions about Sider, unfounded though they are. But the Drouj? Why would you think something like that?”

“Because you were seen!” he roared, causing her to flinch in spite of herself. “Because it was reported, and now everyone knows!”

“Seen? Seen by whom?”

He made a dismissive motion with one hand. “What does it matter? You were seen, your actions reported, your betrayal revealed. You
must have thought I wouldn’t care, since our marriage flounders and our time together no longer means anything. You must have been attracted to the Drouj and acted in your impulsive way.”

“Pogue, this is nonsense …”

“But setting him free?” Her husband ignored her efforts to interrupt. “Letting him loose knowing he will go back to his people and bring them through the passes and into the valley to kill us all? Did he promise he would come back to save you if you helped him? Did you believe him?”

He was almost in tears, this big, burly man who could crush her with barely a thought. He stopped abruptly, putting his hands over his face in an effort to hide it from her.

“Pogue, no.”

With complete disregard for what he might do to her, she walked to him and put her hands on his shoulders and held fast to him. “These accusations are all lies,” she said quietly. “I don’t care who spoke them or who repeated them afterward. I have never even spoken with the Drouj. I have never been in the same room with him. I have not betrayed you in any way. I did not set him free. I would never do anything like that, not for any reason. Certainly not because of an attraction to him. Look at me, Pogue.”

He dropped his hands and faced her.

“I will say it again. I did not set him free. My word on this as your wife. My most sacred word.”

“I don’t know what to believe,” he said finally. “Not anymore.”

“Look at me,” she said again. He had shifted his gaze downward, but now he lifted it and stared into her eyes once more. “Believe in me. Just on this, if nothing else. Believe what I am telling you. Do not abandon me. Do not let them do this to me. Let me face my accusers. Make them bring my accusers forward to condemn me to my face. I ask nothing more. Just that.”

He shook his head, signifying the impossibility of her request. “Skeal Eile says there is no doubt. You were seen.”

Skeal Eile. She had thought as much. “Skeal Eile hates me. You know that. If he were looking to place the blame on anyone, he would think of me first. If he has witnesses, let him produce them. Let me face them. This is wrong, Pogue. You know it is.”

He ran his big hands through his coarse, dark hair and down over his face, wiping away the tears that streaked his cheeks. “I want to believe that. I want to believe what you tell me. But something … something keeps me from doing so. Doubts I cannot shake. They haunt me. I see you with him. Then I see you with Sider.” He shook his head once more. “It drives me half mad. I can barely function. That’s why I didn’t come sooner. I couldn’t make myself.”

She put her arms around him and held him. “Something is very wrong here. Something more than what has happened to me. Something has infected the whole village. It hasn’t felt right here for days, but I had dismissed it until I was imprisoned. We have to find out what it is. You and I. We have to remember who we are and what we mean to each other. You are my husband, and I love you. Sider Ament is dead and gone, and the past is gone with him. You and I are the present. But we are threatened, Pogue. Our home is threatened. Glensk Wood and our friends and neighbors, too. Can’t you feel it?”

He nodded slowly. “I’ve wondered.”

“Have you sent anyone to defend Declan Reach yet? Has there been any word from Esselline?”

He shook his head. “I haven’t even thought about Esselline or the passes. Skeal Eile said …”

He trailed off. She looked in his eyes and saw the confusion and uncertainty mirrored there. This wasn’t like Pogue—nothing like him at all. He was strong and firm and decisive. He would never equivocate as he was doing now.

“Go to the council and ask that I be brought before them to answer to the charges lodged against me,” she begged. “Ask that I be given a chance to defend myself. Please.”

He nodded slowly. “I will, Aislinne. I will do that.” He sounded stronger now, less uncertain. “I should have done it before. I’m sorry. I didn’t want any of this to happen to you.”

He bent forward, this big man, and kissed her softly on the forehead. The gesture was hesitant, almost as if he thought she might break under the weight of his touch.

Then he turned and went over to the door, calling loudly for the guard to come let him out.

T
HE RAGPICKER
, who had been listening outside, stepped away quickly and headed back up the stairs to the council chambers. The guard hadn’t noticed him; the ragpicker had used magic to make certain of that. He had suspected that it would be wise to listen in on Pogue Kray and his wife when he had heard the latter announce to Skeal Eile his plan to visit her. The council leader wasn’t a strong man when it came to his wife. Even as subverted as he was by the ragpicker’s magic and as convinced by Skeal Eile’s insistence on his wife’s infidelity, he was influenced more by his love for her than by anything else. The ragpicker had known that at some point his hold over the big man would weaken and his plans would have to change.

As he departed the building and went out into the midday sunlight, he was already considering his choices in the matter.

First, he could kill the woman. He could make it look like suicide, and once she was dead she wouldn’t be able to dispute anything. On the other hand, it would likely mean the end of any hold he had over Pogue Kray and a possible collapse of his larger plan for the village and ultimately the boy who carried the black staff.

Second, he could let the woman have her chance to dispute the charges and rely upon his own “witnesses”—compelled to say what he wanted them to say—to convince the council she was lying. That was a big gamble. The woman was strong-willed and well respected in the community, and there were already those who were questioning the decision to lock her away.

Third, he could put his larger plan into action right away and remove all possibility of disruption.

Deciding which choice to select was surprisingly easy. The ragpicker already knew which one it would be.

He walked on through the village to the home of Skeal Eile and without bothering to knock walked through the door. The Seraphic would be home. He had given him instructions to stay there until he returned from spying on Pogue Kray. These days, enmeshed as he was in the machinations of the demon and convinced that his participation
would eventually yield results favorable to his own ambitions, Skeal Eile always did what he was told.

The Seraphic came down the stairs from his second-floor lodgings and looked past the ragpicker quickly, checking to see if someone had followed him. The ragpicker smiled. Skeal Eile was still worried about appearances when appearances were the last thing he should be thinking about.

“Was he persuaded by her?” the other asked quickly. His sharp-featured face looked troubled. “Did he listen to her?”

“He will ask the council to allow her to speak in her defense. He will ask that she be allowed to confront her accusers. We will have to produce the witnesses we claim we have. Unfortunate, but it can be done.”

The Seraphic stepped away, shaking his head. “I don’t like this. Aislinne Kray is dangerous. It would be better if we simply killed her.”

“Would it?” The ragpicker frowned. “I notice you haven’t done so before this. What makes it any wiser to kill her now?”

“We have her charged with a crime and imprisoned. It would be a simple matter to arrange her death. Suicide. Guilt and the ensuing depression over her betrayal led her to take her life, we would say.” He shrugged. “Pogue would be upset, but he would get over it. He doesn’t love her all that much.”

The ragpicker shook his head.
Idiot. He loves her more than you think
. “It creates problems we don’t need. It would be easier if everyone simply forgot about this woman. It would be better if they had their attention focused elsewhere.”

The Seraphic looked at him with renewed interest. “You have something in mind?”

The ragpicker paused, thinking how best to word what he wanted to say so as not to alert the man to what was coming. It was time to end this charade, but he wanted things to go smoothly.

“I think we need to consider moving ahead more quickly with our plan for you to take control of your followers—as well as those who might be persuaded to become your followers. A demonstration of your strength is needed. An example must be made. The woman is an obstacle that needs removing, but first you need for all the people of
Glensk Wood to recognize that you are the proper person to lead them. That as Seraphic of the Children of the Hawk, you are the logical choice—not Pogue Kray.”

Skeal Eile nodded eagerly. “I agree. But the people will not choose me over Pogue. They accept me as leader of the sect, but not of the entire village. How am I to change that?”

“Can you not simply persuade them?” The ragpicker’s voice was sly and insinuating. “Can you not use your oratorical skills and your nascent magic? How can you lead if you cannot command?”

The Seraphic flushed. “This is your idea,” he said petulantly. “Instead of questioning my abilities, shouldn’t you be advising me? You have the experience and the magic. You are the demon!”

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, and terror filled his eyes. “I didn’t mean … I was just making a point that …”

Whatever he intended, it came too late to save him. He must have seen it in the ragpicker’s eyes because he tried to turn and flee. But he was an ordinary man and no more, while the ragpicker was exactly what the other had called him and much too quick to be denied. The demon seized the Seraphic’s wrists and locked his fingers about them. Skeal Eile’s face twisted in pain, and he struggled desperately to escape, flailing wildly and hauling back with all the strength he could muster to break the ragpicker’s grip. But strength of the sort the ragpicker possessed far surpassed that of the Seraphic, and the latter’s attempts were in vain.