Elayne kept her face low. Everyone must know she had been
sent up to be interviewed by her godmother in utter
disgrace. It should have been an honor to be received in
her ladyship's privymost room, but no doubt it was because
Lady Melanthe wished to interview her scandalous god-
daughter in strictest privacy concerning her affairs with
chickens and gentlemen. Elayne followed the butler through
the presence-chamber, past the silk wall hangings and
silver candlesticks as tall as she was, the canopied chair
of audience. In the bedchamber, Lady Melanthe was just
stripping off her ermine-trimmed surcoat, while her
maidservant lifted the tall headpiece from her hair--a
single peaked cone glittering with emeralds and silver
bosses.
She turned, her loosened hair falling down over her bared
shoulder in a black twist. With the steady gaze of a cat,
her eyes a strange deep violet hue, she watched Elayne
curtsy.
"God save and keep you, my beloved lady Godmother," Elayne
said, with her face still lowered, holding her skirt
spread wide over the carpeted rushes. She kept her curtsy,
looking down at an indigo cross woven into the Turkish rug.
There was a moment of silence. "I fear I do not find you
well, Ellie," Lady Melanthe said quietly.
Elayne bit her lip very hard against the unexpected rise
of tears in her throat. She did not look up, but only
shook her head. She had kept her proud countenance in the
face of Cara's censure, in front of the servants and the
priest and the village. She had allowed nothing to show.
"Your hands are trembling. Mary, take that stool away and
set a chair by the fire. Bring two pair of slippers, the
fur-lined winter ones. I will wear my green robe.
Malvoisie wine for us, well warmed and sweetened. Sit you
down, Elena."
As her godmother turned away, Elayne lowered herself into
the chair. She felt the tears escape, tumbling down her
cheeks as she stared bleakly into the fire. Lady Melanthe
removed her golden belt and pulled the green robe about
her shoulders. When the maid had left the room, she sat
down, brushing a glowing coal back into the hearth with
the fire rod.
"When you have composed yourself, tell me why you are
unwell," she said, dropping a linen towel into Elayne's
lap.
Now that the tears had begun, Elayne could not seem to
find a stop to them. She took up the linen and covered her
face with her hands. The wind moaned outside, sending a
cascade of snow crystals against the stained glass behind
her.
"Your hands are thin," Lady Melanthe said.
"It is Lent. Nothing tastes, my lady."
"Are you ill?"
"No. At least--" She lifted her face and put her hand to
her throat. "No." She turned her face to the fire, hiding
a new rush of tears.
She felt Lady Melanthe watching her. Elayne had not
intended to speak of it, or admit her despair. But she
could think of no excuse for this absurd behavior before
her elegant godmother. She bit her quivering lip and held
it down.
"Are you perchance in love?" Lady Melanthe asked gently.
"No!" Elayne gripped her hands together. Then the tears
overcame her again, and she buried her face in the
linen. "Not anymore. Not anymore."
She leaned down over her lap, rocking. Lady Melanthe said
nothing. Elayne felt the sobs that had been locked in her
chest for weeks overcome her; she pressed her face into
the linen and cried until she had no breath left.
"My maid returns," Lady Melanthe said, in soft warning.
Elayne drew a deep gasp of air and sat up. She turned
toward the fire, keeping her face down as the maid set two
ornate silver goblets on the stool between Elayne and Lady
Melanthe. She placed the furred slippers beside their feet
and then withdrew.
"Here." Lady Melanthe held out wine to Elayne. "Drink this
up directly, to fortify yourself."
Elayne tilted the goblet and took a deep gulp of the sweet
heated wine. She held it between her hands, warming her
frigid fingers against the embossing of dragons and
knights. "It is all my fault!" she blurted. "I ruined
everything. He called me a sparkling diamond, and an
extraordinary woman. And then he said I was arrogant and
offensive to him. And I am. I am!"
"Are you indeed!" Lady Melanthe sipped at her malmsey,
watching Elayne over the rim. "And pray, who is this
paragon of courtesy?"
Elayne took a breath, and another gulp of wine as she
looked up. "I beg your pardon, my lady Godmama. I thought
he would--he did not seek an interview of you?"
The countess lifted her eyebrows. "Nay--none but your
sister Cara and Sir Guy have entreated me regarding you of
late."
Elayne blushed. She could imagine what Cara had said of
her that had resulted in a summons to Lady Melanthe's own
bury hall of Merlesden at Windsor. "I am sorry, my lady! I
am so sorry to be a mortification to you!"
"I am not so easily mortified, I assure you. I quite
enjoyed Cara's history of the blighted poultry."
Elayne took a sobbing breath, trying to keep her voice
steady. "Grant mercy, madam, for your trouble to intervene
on my behalf."
"But to this paragon again," Lady Melanthe said. "He was
to seek me out in audience? I may guess his purpose, as he
had pronounced you a sparkling diamond and extraordinary
woman."
"His heart changed from that," Elayne said bitterly. "He
said I am sinful, and a liar, and to make no presumptions
nor claims upon him now." She took a deep swallow of the
malmsey. Then her throat tightened with a rush of
remorse. "But it was my fault! I made a love charm to bind
him."
Lady Melanthe shook her head. "How depraved of you," she
said lightly. "I suppose that was the source of this
awkward matter of the chickens."
Elayne felt her eyes fill up with tears again. "I tried to
say that I was sorry! I sent him a letter of repentance. I
sent three! I could not eat, I felt so sick after I sent
them each, for fear of what he would think when he read
them."
Her godmother stroked one bejeweled finger across
another. "And what did he reply?"
Elayne stared down into the dark hollow of her
wine. "Nothing," she mumbled. "He did not answer. The
banns were published for his marriage to another in church
last Sunday."
She hung her head, awaiting her godmother's censure,
mortified to admit she had drawn such humiliation upon
herself.
"Avoi--who is this amorous fellow?"
"He is not a great man, my lady, only a knight." She
hesitated, feeling a renewed wave of shame that she had
chosen a man so inconstant. "More than that, it is not
meet for me to say."
Lady Melanthe sat back, resting the goblet on the wide arm
of her chair. Even with her hair down and the informal
mantle about her shoulders, she seemed to glitter with a
dangerous grace. "Yes, I think not." She smiled. "I might
not resist the temptation."
Elayne glanced up. "Ma'am?"
Her godmother made a quick riffle with her fingers. "It
occurs to me to have him arrested for some petty theft and
subjected to the trial by boiling water," her godmother
murmured.
"I should not mind to see him boiled," Elayne said darkly.
But Lady Melanthe merely said, "Do not tell me his name,
Elena. I am not to be trusted, you know."
Elayne drew a breath, not taking her eyes from the moon-
shaped reflection in the surface of her wine. It was true--
she had not thought of it before, but one word from Lady
Melanthe would ruin Raymond forever. Elayne had revenge at
her fingertips, like a tigress on a light leash.
For an instant, she allowed herself to imagine it. He had
said she was arrogant and offensive to him, after all. She
pictured him and his new wife reduced to penury, proud
Raymond the boot-kicked messenger boy of some ill-tempered
noblewoman--Lady Beatrice, by hap--skulking in kitchens
and longing for the days when Elayne had been a sparkling
diamond at his feet. While she herself, recognized as a
extraordinary woman by far nobler men than Raymond de
Clare, could hardly choose among the proposals of marriage
from dukes and princes as far away as France and Italy.
"We might arrange a prince for you," Lady Melanthe said
idly, startling Elayne so that she nearly tipped her wine.
Her godmother looked at her with amusement, as if she knew
she had read Elayne's mind.
In the midst of a small, choked laugh at this absurdity,
the tears flowed anew. Elayne covered her face again and
shook her head. "I don't want to marry a prince." She took
a shuddering breath. "I want him to love me again."
"Hmm!" Lady Melanthe said. "I think it is time and past
that you ventured beyond Savernake, Elena. The experience
of a worldly court will do you much good." She made a
dismissive gesture toward the bannered walls visible over
the treetops outside, as if Windsor Castle were a
cottage. "You will accompany the Countess of Ludford, who
has just been beseeching me to write introductions for her
pilgrimage to Rome. She goes by way of Bruxelles, and
Prague. You will not wish to go to Rome yourself; it is
naught but a heap of ruins and rubbish, but you may await
Lady Beatrice in Prague, at the Imperial court, and then
return in six or eight months with a great deal more
polish than you have now. There is no place more worthy to
refine your education and enlighten you in all ways. It is
a brilliant city. Your Latin is yet commendable?"
Elayne blinked, taken aback. She nodded.
"We shall practice a little, between us. The Countess does
not journey until Midsummer's Eve--we have the whole of
springtime to prepare you." She paused, tapping her long
fingers. "Tomorrow we will look over my wardrobe and find
you some apparel fit for court."
Elayne sat silent, stunned. She could only gaze at Lady
Melanthe as her godmother arranged her future with such
casual dispatch. The sound of the door latch barely
reached her, but when it swung open and a tall, simply
dressed knight ducked through, clad in black and carrying
a golden-haired boy child, she rose hastily from her chair
and fell into a deep curtsy. "My lord, I greet you well!"
"Nay, rise, my lady," Lord Ruadrik said, extending a
large, weapon-hardened hand to Elayne even as he easily
deposited the wriggling four-year-old in Lady Melanthe's
lap. He had the north country in his speech, and an open
grin. "Take this goblin, lady wife, 'ere it slays me!"
The boy slid immediately from Lady Melanthe's lap and ran
to cling to his father's leg. He stared at Elayne. She
spread her skirt and made a bow toward the child. "My
esteemed lord Richard, greetings. God bless you."
The boy nodded, accepting the salutation, and then hid his
face against Lord Ruadrik's black hose.
"This is your kinswoman the Lady Elena, from our hold at
Savernake," Lord Ruadrik said to the child. "It would be
courteous in you to hail her warmly."
The boy peeked again at Elayne. A warm greeting did not
appear to be forthcoming, but with downcast eyes, he
said, "You look alike to my mama."
"And you look very like to your lord papa," Elayne said.
The boy smiled shyly. He gripped his father's muscular
leg. "You have flower-eyes, like Mama."
"God grant you mercy, kind sir. You look very strong, like
to Lord Ruadrik."
"Gra'mercy, lady," he said solemnly, and seemed to feel
that this concluded the interview, for he turned, gave a
fleet kiss to his mother, and ran from the chamber through
the way they had come.
Lady Melanthe moved quickly, half-rising, but Lord Ruadrik
shook his head. "Jane hides behind the door--that was the
bargain, that he would come and meet his cousin Elena, did
I vow a line of retreat remain open the whiles."
Elayne realized with shame that she had yet even to
inquire about Lady Melanthe's daughter and son, she had
been so swept up in her own wretchedness. Knowing her face
must be ravaged by tears, she stood with her head bowed as
she asked after the young Lady Celestine.
"She is learning to dance," Lady Melanthe said. "I doubt
me we shall see her again before Lady Day. My lord, what
think you of a journey to the Imperial court at Prague for
Elena?"
Lord Ruadrik looked sharply toward his wife. He frowned
slightly. "To what purpose?"
"To enlarge her wisdom and instruct her in the wider ways
of the world. Some hedge knights hereabouts seem to
believe they are worthy of her attention, but I do not
believe the Lady Elena di Monteverde is temperamentally
suited to become wife to a rustic."
"Too much like you, I am certain," Lord Ruadrik said,
nodding soberly.
"Fie," Lady Melanthe said, flicking her hand. "I adore
bumpkins."
He laughed. "To my misfortune! Wella, if it is your desire
that Lady Elena be trained to bring poor rustic knights to
their knees, after your ladyship's heartless manner, then
let it be so."
Lady Melanthe smiled. She looked toward Elayne with a
little flare of mischief in her languid glance. "What
think you, dear one?"
Elayne pressed her lips together. "Oh, madam," she
murmured. "Oh, madam!" She could not even imagine herself
with the elegance and bearing, the confidence of Lady
Melanthe. To inspire awe among rustics like Raymond! It
was worth any price, even a journey with Countess
Beatrice. She sank to her knees, taking her godmother's
hands. "God bless you, madam, you are too kind to me."
"And when you return, we shall look you out a husband who
can appreciate your superiority," Lady Melanthe added
serenely.
"God save the poor fellow," said Lord Ruadrik.