your king had you, he would use you.”
She blinked at that. “Yes, it would seem that way, wouldn’t it? But this is Richard. If he believes in magic at all, he’s the last man who would stoop to using it.”
“He doesn’t believe in it? And yet his family is notoriously gifted with it.”
“He says,” said Sioned, “that if God had meant him to be a magician, He would have made him one. And that’s the most attention he’ll give to the matter.”
The lord Saphadin laughed, quick and light, as if it had been startled out of him. “I see I have much to learn of the Franks,” he said.
“And I,” she said with beating heart, “have much to learn of magic.”
“Are you proposing a bargain?” he asked her.
She lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “An exchange, perhaps. Knowledge for knowledge.”
“That could be arranged,” he said. “But wouldn’t your king disapprove?”
“My brother may not believe in magic, but he does believe in diplomacy—and there will be councils in which he needs an interpreter he can trust. If I occupy myself in perfecting my Arabic, he’ll be more pleased than not.”
“He is your brother?”
“That surprises you?”
His brow arched. “On reflection, no. There is no physical resemblance, but beyond the physical . . . I do see it.”
“It’s the temper,” she said. “The black heart of Anjou.” She paused. “Unless of course that alarms you; then I’ll assure you that I’m as demure as a maiden ever should be.”
“Ah, no,” he said. “You needn’t strain the bonds of truth for me. Shall we agree to terms? I’ll teach you nothing that will endanger my people or the holy war; I’ll grant the same consideration to you, and ask to know nothing that will threaten the course of the Crusade.”
“That’s a fair bargain,” she said. “Does one seal it in blood?”
“The clasp of a hand will do,” he said.
She flushed, though she raged at herself for it. It appeared that he did not see. He took her hand and bowed over it. His touch made her tremble. She could feel the splendor of his magic; when she looked into his face, it dazzled her.
All too soon, but mercifully quickly, he let her go. “I have a distressing number of people waiting,” he said, “one of them aking with a choleric temper. But when duty is done, I’ll send for you. Are you often here?”
“I’m usually in Master Judah’s tent,” she said, then added quickly, “The king’s physician.”
“I do know Master Judah,” Saphadin said. He bowed again in the graceful manner of the east and smiled; then he was gone.
She stood for a long while and simply breathed. One would think, she thought rather crossly, that a woman of her breeding, who had eluded any number of attempts to marry her off, would be more in control of herself than this. She was as silly as one of the maids.
That would have to pass. She had a bargain now with the sultan’s own driver of bargains. If she meant to keep it, she must have discipline—both to face him without collapsing in a fit of girlish stupidity and to learn what he had to teach. Magic was discipline. Her mother had taught her that. If she had no discipline, then her magic was no more than market tricks and foolish charlatanry.
He did not summon her that night, or the next morning, either. She steeled herself against disappointment. He had matters of great import to address—and if those were pursued on the hunt or in feasting at Richard’s table, then that was the way of embassies. Through frivolity and seemingly aimless carousing, enemies came to know each other. He would remember her when he could, which might be days.
She had no fear that it would be never. He was a man of his word: that much she was sure of. She had ample to occupy her; she could hardly sit with folded hands and wait upon his pleasure.
On the morning of the second day, she was fletching arrows in the sunlight outside her tent—an art she had learned when she
She blinked at that. “Yes, it would seem that way, wouldn’t it? But this is Richard. If he believes in magic at all, he’s the last man who would stoop to using it.”
“He doesn’t believe in it? And yet his family is notoriously gifted with it.”
“He says,” said Sioned, “that if God had meant him to be a magician, He would have made him one. And that’s the most attention he’ll give to the matter.”
The lord Saphadin laughed, quick and light, as if it had been startled out of him. “I see I have much to learn of the Franks,” he said.
“And I,” she said with beating heart, “have much to learn of magic.”
“Are you proposing a bargain?” he asked her.
She lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “An exchange, perhaps. Knowledge for knowledge.”
“That could be arranged,” he said. “But wouldn’t your king disapprove?”
“My brother may not believe in magic, but he does believe in diplomacy—and there will be councils in which he needs an interpreter he can trust. If I occupy myself in perfecting my Arabic, he’ll be more pleased than not.”
“He is your brother?”
“That surprises you?”
His brow arched. “On reflection, no. There is no physical resemblance, but beyond the physical . . . I do see it.”
“It’s the temper,” she said. “The black heart of Anjou.” She paused. “Unless of course that alarms you; then I’ll assure you that I’m as demure as a maiden ever should be.”
“Ah, no,” he said. “You needn’t strain the bonds of truth for me. Shall we agree to terms? I’ll teach you nothing that will endanger my people or the holy war; I’ll grant the same consideration to you, and ask to know nothing that will threaten the course of the Crusade.”
“That’s a fair bargain,” she said. “Does one seal it in blood?”
“The clasp of a hand will do,” he said.
She flushed, though she raged at herself for it. It appeared that he did not see. He took her hand and bowed over it. His touch made her tremble. She could feel the splendor of his magic; when she looked into his face, it dazzled her.
All too soon, but mercifully quickly, he let her go. “I have a distressing number of people waiting,” he said, “one of them aking with a choleric temper. But when duty is done, I’ll send for you. Are you often here?”
“I’m usually in Master Judah’s tent,” she said, then added quickly, “The king’s physician.”
“I do know Master Judah,” Saphadin said. He bowed again in the graceful manner of the east and smiled; then he was gone.
She stood for a long while and simply breathed. One would think, she thought rather crossly, that a woman of her breeding, who had eluded any number of attempts to marry her off, would be more in control of herself than this. She was as silly as one of the maids.
That would have to pass. She had a bargain now with the sultan’s own driver of bargains. If she meant to keep it, she must have discipline—both to face him without collapsing in a fit of girlish stupidity and to learn what he had to teach. Magic was discipline. Her mother had taught her that. If she had no discipline, then her magic was no more than market tricks and foolish charlatanry.
He did not summon her that night, or the next morning, either. She steeled herself against disappointment. He had matters of great import to address—and if those were pursued on the hunt or in feasting at Richard’s table, then that was the way of embassies. Through frivolity and seemingly aimless carousing, enemies came to know each other. He would remember her when he could, which might be days.
She had no fear that it would be never. He was a man of his word: that much she was sure of. She had ample to occupy her; she could hardly sit with folded hands and wait upon his pleasure.
On the morning of the second day, she was fletching arrows in the sunlight outside her tent—an art she had learned when she
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