He stood, clearing his throat, “Well, then.” Suddenly he laughed. “Come with me, darlin’ girl.”
If Coram noticed that she had moved her things into George’s room, he either said nothing or voiced his opinions to Rispah alone. Certainly he seemed happy that Alanna had left her fury and her self-pity behind. Rispah gave Alanna a big, lusty wink the first time she caught the young knight leaving George’s chambers, and the thieves made no remarks at all. The only change at House Azik was in moods: people whistled at their chores; Marek teased the maids, and Rispah and Coram acted like teenagers in love.
Only one thing marred those autumn weeks in the house on Dog Lane: a growing feeling of power, radiating from Corus. At first Alanna ignored it, thinking it to be part of her depression. The sensation persisted, until she mentioned it to George. He reminded her that the only one in Corus who could focus that kind of power was Thom, and she sent message after message to her twin. If Thom wasn’t the cause of the magic, he would know who (or what) was; but the young sorcerer never answered her letters. When she tried to communicate with him through the fire burning in George’s hearth, two days before All Hallow, she found only a gathering cloud she could not penetrate.
“What do you see?” George asked softly as she stared at purple flames.
Magic, Faithful answered when Alanna gave no sign of hearing George’s query. All around the city. And no way to get through to Thom, whether he’s causing it or not.
George looked at the cat—he couldn’t become accustomed to those occasions when he could understand Faithful—and grimaced. “Any way to find out if it’s for harm?”
“I don’t sense evil in it.” Alanna sounded as if she was thinking aloud. “And Thom wouldn’t thank me for riding into the city and disrupting one of his experiments.”
If that’s what it is, Faithful commented.
Alanna stared at the flames for a while longer. Suddenly, shaking her head to clear it, she clapped her hands, ending the spell with the command, “So mote it be!”
“You’ll wait?” George asked, his eyes kindly. Alanna nodded. He reached down and helped her to her feet. “Then you may as well be comfortable while you wait,” he grinned as he swept her off her feet and dumped her into bed.
All Hallow dawned bleak and stormy. The waves battered the cliffs below the house, and the winds blew away anything not already fastened down. Alanna arose to find George gone, summoned to the city on a matter of business. His note said he hoped to be back by nightfall, but if he was kept too late he would stay at the Dancing Dove in Corus, rather than risk the return trip after dark. She wasn’t to wait up, and she wasn’t to worry. If she was good, he would bring her a surprise—and not stolen, either! Alanna grinned at this last, recognizing the joke behind many gifts George had given her and Jon in the years they had known each other. For a second the thought of Jon made her grim; but she soon brightened. George obviously loved her, and she had responded to her friend’s love like a flower opening in the sun. Never before had she been coddled and treated like something precious. Jon had always treated her as a comrade, except when they were making love. She usually liked the way the Prince handled her, but a small, treacherous part of her longed for the gentle courtesy he gave noble ladies. Now George gave her that courtesy, as well as treating her like a comrade, and she liked the mixture.
Toward noon exhaustion hit her like a sledgehammer. She was barely able to make it to her bed before falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.
When she awoke, it was pitch-dark, and the wind howled outside the shuttered windows. She reached out and ordered the branch of candles beside her bed to light, something she had done without thinking since becoming a shaman for the Bazhir. There was no flame in answer to her command, and when she looked inside, searching for her Gift, she found just a trace of magic. Only then did she discover the ember-stone was flickering with increasing urgency, and that the crystal sword was humming in its sheath as it had not in weeks.
While she slept, something had come and leeched away her Gift.
Lighting candles with a spill from the banked fire, she headed for the library. Some extensive books of magic were there, and she had promised herself a look at them. Now seemed like an excellent time.
There was no sign of Faithful as she padded through the quiet halls. Marek and the other men had gone with George. Rispah and Coram would probably be in Rispah’s chambers; and Rispah’s woman friend, Harra, retired early. The servants had gone home for the night. Alanna felt all alone, odd and detached. She knew she ought to care that someone had tapped her Gift, but she couldn’t.