Fire Song Read Free

of their happiness together. The first uneasy awkwardnesses of marriage had passed. It seemed that every hour each discovered something new and wonderful about the other. That was before they had moved to Fuveau, before Lady Emilie had made Delmar ashamed of his marriage, before Fenice had come to realize that Delmar was not only gentle but weak. Thinking back, Fenice saw her own joy, her freedom from the shadow her grandmother cast over her, and her pride in being mistress of her own house.
    Her father might think that, so soon and so suddenly bereft of her love and her joy, she might be sickened of the world and turn to God. He would not approve, but he would be too kind to oppose her desire. And doubtless her father thought her young and foolish. Perhaps he believed she did not understand about the lands despite Lady Alys’s explanation, so that she did not realize she would be cheating him.
    Sister Anne had answered her, but Fenice had not heard the reply. As the immediate shock passed, her panic also receded, and Fenice saw a little hole through which she might escape any immediate demand that she join the order. She shook her head.
    “I do not remember,” she repeated, “and I owe too much to my father to take the veil without his word of approval in person or, at least, a letter from him.”
    She did not escape as easily as she had hoped. Sister Anne spoke sadly, and then sharply, of the sins and the punishments for lack of faith, for breaking holy vows, and for putting worldly considerations before those of the spirit. She spoke with fervor on the sin of vanity, accusing Fenice of loving her own physical beauty more than the beauty of the soul that would come from veiling her loveliness as a sacrifice to God. She named Fenice’s features one by one, the thick, dark hair that hung to her hips, her soft, creamy skin, her light eyes, pale and bright, her full lips, even her short, rather broad nose, and described how each would decay with time and bring her nothing but grief, while devotion to God would give her greater and greater joy with each passing year. Fenice did not argue, but she did not yield, either. She had learned early to endure in silence, and at last the nun departed.
    Free of the distraction of needing to listen lest she fall into some trap of clever words, Fenice grappled with the practical aspects of the situation that she faced. Now she realized she had been a fool not to complain of how she had been treated in Fuveau. Perhaps if Lady Alys had been at Tour Dur, she might have ridden to Aix for a visit, but Lady Alys was with Raymond in Bordeaux. And, Fenice admitted to herself, even if Lady Alys had been at home, probably she would not have confessed her unhappiness. She had been so ashamed, ashamed of the base blood that made her mother-by-marriage and others scorn her, ashamed of Delmar’s inability or unwillingness to stand up for her, ashamed of the weakness that made her unable to fight for her own rights. Again and again Lady Alys told her that that was her flaw, not her mother’s blood.
    Her rights… Fenice stared sightlessly into the flames, which barely flickered above the glowing embers of the nearly burned-out logs. The fire’s song was stilled, but the red eyes of the embers stared back accusingly. The trouble was that Fenice could never really believe she had any rights. Lady Alys spoke truth. That was a serious flaw. If she had not been so timid and doubtful, her father would not be in danger of losing Trets and Fuveau.
    Fenice’s soft, full lips firmed and thinned. She and her rights might be nothing, but the rights of Raymond d’Aix, heir to Alphonse, Comte d’Aix, would not be flouted because of any weakness of hers. She must act, and it could not be the simple act that had frightened her so much before, writing a letter. If, as she feared, the nuns were in alliance with Lady Emilie, no letter she wrote would ever reach its destination. She herself must escape from the