Longeye Read Free Page B

you think I was doing when you interfered with me in Altimere's garden?"
    "Seeking clear thought," Sian said, and brought her hand before her face, fingers spread wide, as if in defense. "Do not glare at me, madam! I only repeat what you yourself told me."
    Becca snapped to her feet, and flung out her good arm to catch her balance. "I do not—"
    "You saw the collar for what it truly was, did you not?" Sian continued. "Certainly, with all the artifice woven into it—forged signature and will-to-fail among the lesser evils that Diathen's philosophers have found!—certainly, you were correct to seek clear thought before attempting to deal with such a thing for the third time. That you triumphed—"
    "Had to do with—" Becca bit her lip, while inside her head a deep, amused voice told her, Good morning, Gardener.
    Sian tipped her head. "Had to do with?" she inquired politely, and crossed her arms over her breast, waiting.
    Well, and what does it matter, now? Becca thought angrily. Surely, I might be excused for having run mad.
    "Had to do with the trees!" she snapped. "They came to my aid at the last."
    Sian closed her eyes. "A very familiar odor, indeed," she murmured. She raised her boot from the table, the chair crashed down onto four legs, and she was on her feet.
    She made, Becca admitted privately, a brave figure, with her hands on her slim waist, her sleeves billowing and bright in the fresh breeze, her legs shapely in their tight trousers, and the cool blue flames outlining her against the air.
    For herself, she felt . . . somewhat grubby, her dress draggled with having been slept in, and her hair knotted and none too clean—and the weight, not entirely unfamiliar, of dread anticipation pressing down upon her shoulders.
    "Why," she demanded, "have you wakened me, this time? Has Altimere returned?"
    Sian lifted both eyebrows. "In fact, he has not, nor has Councilor Zaldore, and the Queen's Constant has gone into recess for the lack of them. I am therefore redundant, and my kinswoman, gentle Diathen, the Queen, has deemed you to be my problem."
    "The Queen," Becca said, snappishly, "is in error."
    "That's as may be," Sian returned mildly. "But she is the Queen."
    Becca raised her chin. "I am a—a free woman in possession of my own name," she stated, in a hot, small voice that did not seem quite like her own. "I refuse to be dominated."
    Silence. Sian turned her head to stare out the window. "Oh," she said. "Do you."
    "Surely that is my right?" Becca challenged her.
    "Surely, it is your right to resist domination, should it be offered, to the fullest extent of your power," Sian murmured, her attention still seemingly engaged by the scene outside the window. "To state that you refuse . . ." She shrugged, and at last glanced back to Becca. "Of course, you must say so. Anyone would. However!" She raised her hand imperiously. "It is not domination, but care that is offered, since you apparently lack the wit to perceive it. Think, Rebecca Beauvelley! Your situation is perilous at best and dire at worst! Might a friend—or even two—be beneficial?"
    "Perhaps so. Do you put yourself forth as my friend, Engenium? I warn you—terrible things happen to my friends."
    Sian shrugged. "Terrible things have happened to my friends, as well. And neither of us wishes to dwell long upon the fates which have overtaken Diathen's friends, now and again." She sighed.
    "Put your wits to work, girl! Altimere the master artificer has vanished, and with him she who would be queen in Diathen's place! Does that frighten you? Certainly, it casts my nerves into disorder—and you may make of that what you will!"
    Becca swallowed, her right hand curling into a fist at her side. "The thought that I might meet Altimere again . . . terrifies me, if you will have it," she said, her voice low, but steady. "And, since you bid me apply my wits, allow me to say that I know the Queen wishes to keep me in her pocket until my testimony may be used