The Thinking Woman's Guide to Real Magic by Emily Croy Barker

Author:Emily Croy Barker
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2013-07-03T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 25

The sky was gray, stuffed as full of snow as a quilt is of down, but not a single flake had fallen. Nor would any fall for some time to come. Aruendiel had no intention of allowing his niece’s departure to be delayed.

He rode alongside the coach as far as the Barsy road, to see Pusieuv safely on her way. Privately, he wagered with himself that she would bring up Lusul one more time. With a touch of sardonic enjoyment, he found himself proven right as they approached the turnoff for Barsy. “Uncle,” she said, leaning out the carriage window, “have you come to your senses yet, about making your claim for Lusul? There is no one with a better right to it.”

“No, my dear,” he said, speaking as lightly as he could, “I wish to have nothing to do with the place again.” Pusieuv looked baleful for an instant, but then she smiled and began to talk enthusiastically about the avenue of oaks that her husband had been planting at Forel in her absence, how she was looking forward to seeing it when she returned home.

That was one of the things that Aruendiel appreciated about his grand-niece, how quickly she could recover from a setback with grace and apparent good humor, when she chose to. It was not something that he had ever developed a knack for. Nor had his sister, come to think of it—Pusieuv must have gotten it from some other branch of the family.

Long ago he had given up looking for any trace of his sister in Pusieuv’s face. The eyes, perhaps, and a tendency to plumpness in middle age. But then many people in Pelagnia—the Uland, for that matter—had brown eyes. He did not like to think about how many generations lay between his sister and her descendant. It was commendable of Pusieuv to keep up the connection. Sometimes tiresome, when she made unexpected visits like this one, but commendable. He had enjoyed having a woman around the castle for a few days, and he was even more pleased that she was leaving.

At the Barsy road, she gave him her hand to kiss. “Well, Uncle, I’ll see you at the assembly next year in Semr. Unless—if we happen to marry off one of the girls before then, you’ll come to the wedding feast, of course?”

The “of course” was a nice touch. Aruendiel had not attended the wedding feasts of the three children who were already married. “I will send my blessing,” he said.

Aruendiel occupied himself on the ride home thinking about various spells to keep unwanted visitors away. With natural magic, you could easily lay spells that would instantly neutralize anyone who came to attack or enchant you. It was more difficult to design a spell that made more subtle distinctions—that would repel a charming, well-intentioned, but officious grand-niece, for instance. Micher Samle had been interested in that sort of magical problem, getting spells to think for themselves, grant wishes, and so forth—was probably still working on it, wherever he was.

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