Wizard's Daughter (Sherbrooke Brides 10)

He kissed her. "We are performers, you're right about that."

"To work. Let's begin with freeing the pages in your grandfather's book," Rosalind said.

Rosalind's fingers hovered over the pages, then, easily, she turned the page. Both of them froze for an instant, aware of an unknown that was close—or was it somehow Sarimund whose spirit floated above them? Perhaps Sarimund was slapping her in the face, but she couldn't feel it because those slaps were behind veils of time, too thick for anything to come through. She was afraid to read the page, afraid of what it would do. She looked over at her husband. "What if—"

"Read the pages aloud, Rosalind ."

"Yes, you're right. I cannot lose my nerve now." She read:

I wanted desperately to know if Epona had birthed my son, but Taranis would not tell me. He began singing a love song to his mate, which I found quite sweet actually, but I nonetheless wanted to kick him. Now was not the time to praise eternal commitment.

Taranis said to me before he left me at my cave entrance, "Go home, Sarimund. Your time here is at an end, but do not forget what happened here because what you saw must be told to the girl. You must see that she knows this specifically"—and Taranis said, "Repeat the words in your mind. Now," and so I did:

Turn the last page And think of my might Read the words slowly And wait for the night.

Did the words come from me or from the Dragon of the Sallas Pond? I do not know. I am home again—so many hu­mans, jostling each other, all of them talking at once—how did I get here? I do not know that any more than I know how I arrived in the Pale. I seem to remember being in the Bulgar, but then it is gone and nothing is there in my memory. I wrote down the rules for you, just as my purpose for being in the Pale was you.

You are the crown in my kingdom, the bringer of peace and destruction, the one who must right the grievous sin. It is a very strange thing, but as I write this, I know I am one with Taranis.

Turn the page now and think of my might. Aye, it is my might Taranis recognised, and mighty I am, the mightiest wizard who has ever lived in the here and now, and in the fu­ture and past, and all other places not seen by mortals.

You are a woman now, not the little girl who sang so beautifully. Good-bye. My heart is with you.

Sarimund.

Rosalind very slowly turned to the last page and stared down at a perfectly blank page. But she knew to her bones that beneath it was the stark white that had struck them last night, and within that stark whiteness was—what? She wanted to scream, but knew it wouldn't help. She had to find out. She closed her eyes and thought of Sarimund's might. What might? That he was strong? That he could mold and form events to suit himself? That perhaps he was an exten­sion of Taranis? What did he mean that she was the bringer of peace and destruction? Now that sounded important in­deed, terrifying too, since it sounded like she was vital, but to what—

"Rosalind ! Come, wake up. Do you hear me, you twit, wake up!" A hand slapped her face, not hard. That same hand slapped her face again, and this time it hurt because she was back to herself enough to feel it.

"No, don't hit me again, that's quite enough. I'm back now, all right?"

"Excellent, that's more like it. Open your eyes." He gave her another light tap on her cheek. "Open your eyes."

She did and looked up into her husband's face. She blinked. "What happened?"

"You stared down at that damned blank page and just— went away, as if you'd fallen asleep. You must tell me what happened."

"Nothing," she said. "Nothing at all," but she knew that wasn't true. But what had happened was beyond her reach. "How long was I—away?"

'Twenty minutes. How do you feel?"

"Quite marvelous, really." She gave him a very big smile. "Now, Nicholas, we have to wait for the night. Look at the last page—it's perfectly blank, yet Sarimund's chant tells me to think of his might and wait for the night."

"Not very humble, is he?" Both of them studied the blank last page. No magic occurred, no words appeared, but Rosalind wasn't worried, odd, but she simply wasn't. "We'll wait, just as Sarimund said to."

Nicholas wished he'd sent his relatives on their way. Surely there was no need to have them here now. But Richard's vision—why the devil had his half brother had a vi­sion that was appallingly violent and clearly showed Rosalind with that knife, cutting out his heart? He wasn't frightened simply because he knew that she would never do such a thing, even to an enemy. But what if she were under some spell? No, that was absurd. Who had sent such a vision to Richard? And why? What did it mean?

He said to Rosalind, "I wonder if I will be allowed to come with you tonight, if that is indeed what is to happen "

44

"Oh, yes, I know you will be with me. While I was away, Nicholas, that is, I was right here, but my mind was elsewhere—I saw you, and you looked fierce and cunning, and because I suppose I was elsewhere, looking at you through different eyes, I saw the rich red aura of magic surrounding you, and I knew, Nicholas, I knew. You are powerful."

"How do you know red is the aura of magic?"

She cocked her head to the side. "I don't believe I knew, but it is. Yours is a very potent magic, I know that it is."

"We spoke of this before, Rosalind. Why do you think me some sort of wizard?"