Maze of Moonlight Gael Baudino (poetry books to read .txt) 📖

with the fact that she had begun to get control over her tongue, but the fact remained that Vanessa was not free. And therefore Christopher was not free. As tied as she was to the inner visions that forced her into patterns of cause and effected created by others, so he himself was still constrained by his past, his heritage . . .

. . . his grandfather.

“There was nothing subtle about grandfather,” Christopher told her as they took their last walk together along the peach avenue. “At least not at first. He brawled and raped and taxed and plotted through forty years of his life. And then, just as he was about to succeed beyond even his own expectations, he gave it all up. Overnight. As if by mag—”

His voice caught. He recalled Vanessa's sudden, miraculous healing. And what powers, really, were there in Adria or anywhere else in Europe that could accomplish such a thing? Legends and stories that no one really believed anymore told of some of them, and Roger had maundered on about them toward the end, but Elves and the miraculous transformations they wreaked were the stuff of children's meals and the repasts of senile old men. They had no place at Christopher's table.

Nonetheless, without question, Vanessa had been healed, and so he had been willing to accept the dish. But now the spell was breaking. Vanessa's belongings, with the addition of suitable gifts of money and clothes, were packed: the bundles were waiting up in her room. Ranulf was readying the horses. When the morning mists burned off just a little, she would be leaving for Saint Blaise. And now Christopher was wondering.

“As if by magic,” he said. “Suddenly he was entirely different.”

Compared with her former, wide-eyed owlishness, Vanessa seemed almost self-possessed this morning. “It wa' the Free Towns he wanted.”

He glanced at her, but she shook her head. “I din't look to know, m'lord. I've heard talk o' the Free Towns.”

“Yes, it was the Free Towns,” said Christopher. Magic. It had to be magic. But he pushed the thoughts away lest she should see. “Suddenly, he was actually protecting them. He thwarted several spurious annexation attempts, and even led a hundred lances against the men of Bishop Clarence a'Freux. Entirely different.”

“Maybe that wa' for the good in the end,” said Vanessa. “I'm going to the Free Towns.” She blushed. “I'm being selfish. It's good for me . . . I guess.”

Christopher offered her his arm. She took it. Self-possessed. Almost.

“You're not selfish,” he said. “You're frightened. There's nothing wrong with being frightened, is there?”

She shrugged. “I suppose na.”

“I could . . .” It was an absurd request, but he had to make it. His grandfather had let the Free Towns go without a whimper. He could not let Vanessa go without trying to force the futures in another direction. “I could ask you to stay.”

She shook her head. “I can't stay, m'lord. E'en wi'out the patterns I know tha'. I'm a country girl, an' I belong among my kind. Wha' place would I ha' in Aurverelle? I've . . .” She even laughed a little. “I've already frightened e'eryone.”

He bent his head. “Did I help, Vanessa?” he said. “Or did I merely prolong the pain?”

“I dan know.” There was warmth in her smile, but it was human warmth. “But, m'lord, you've been good to me, an'—“

He lifted his head, laid a finger on her lips. “Call me Christopher.”

She blinked at the familiarity, and again he saw the fear in her eyes. He had made a sudden, impulsive decision, and he had acted upon it immediately. The patterns had not, could not have forewarned her.

“You see,” he said. “We make the choices.”

Slowly, thoughtfully, owlishly, Vanessa nodded.

“I hope I helped a little, Vanessa,” said Christopher. “I just wish I could do more.” The thought of her making her way down to Saint Blaise and entrusting herself to the care of Matthew Osmore and his mercenary disinterest panged him. She was defenseless, and there was nothing he could do about it.

But he stopped, pulled off his signet, and put it on her index finger. His hands were small, hers were strong: the ring fitted her tolerably. “Take this. If you ever need anything, if you ever need someone, I'm there. It isn't a chain to bind you. It's a talisman of protection. Everyone in Europe knows not to stir up the delAurvres . . .”

He suddenly recalled the free companies and their attack on the wool shipment. Perhaps not everyone. He would have to do something about that. For Vanessa's sake.

“. . . but even if you never need it to keep you from harm, whenever you feel that you're all alone and haven't a friend in the world, you look at that ring and remember Christopher delAurvre, your friend. And believe in that.”

She believed it. He knew she believed it. She smiled, and his eyes misted at the sight. If he had done nothing else right in his life, he had helped Vanessa. This, indeed, was his Kingdom.

“Thankee, Christopher,” she said. “But you need sa'thing, too.” She put up her hands and unfastened a chain from her neck. “My da gave it to me before I left. I dan know wha' it means, but it's cam to remind me too much o' him . . . too much o' a' the bad times. So I dan think I wan' to keep it. But maybe it wi' remind you o' me.”

Vanessa had her family and the patterns, Christopher had his grandfather and Nicopolis. He took the pendant from her and held it up. Moon and rayed star conjoined, it glittered in the soft morning air. The workmanship was exquisite, the style unlike anything he had ever seen. How Vanessa's father had come by it was beyond reckoning, but the baron of Aurverelle bent his proud head to let her fasten it about his neck.

And then she left him. The horse that Baron Paul had given her for