Children of Earth and Sky by Guy Gavriel Kay Page A

loved, if Jad was good enough to permit that to be so.
    â€”
    JACOPO MIUCCI, PHYSICIAN, found himself experiencing many unexpected emotions in his bed at night beside a woman he had not even known in the morning—emotions over and above, wellpast desire. He was weary in the darkness but not sleepy, his mind shuttling from thought to thought, over-engaged. So much had happened. He had lived a very quiet life.
    He found himself remembering that other man’s voice, behind them in the council chamber, shouting fiercely: “How
dare
your guards accost me!”
    That had been reckless. But it needed to be acknowledged that it was also a showing of courage in a room where it was difficult to be brave. Men could rise to courage. This was the thought that came to Miucci, in the dark beside a strange woman. He wondered if that other man was dead now, or progressing towards death in an underground chamber equipped with implements. He shivered.
    He felt the press of the woman’s body next to his. He was aware of her perfume, lingering. If he turned his head, his face would touch her unbound golden hair. He listened, lying very still, and from her breathing decided she was not asleep.
    He said, softly, “I believe I understand what you have done, why you accepted the council’s offer.”
    â€œDo you, doctor?” she murmured, after a moment. He couldn’t see her, there was no light.
    â€œI might . . . or some of why. But I . . . I am also of the view that they have not properly attended to you.”
    â€œAttended to me? Surely you just did that,” she said, still softly. He could hear amusement—or the feigning of it. He wasn’t sure.
    He cleared his throat. “No. But I would like to, signora.” A breath. “Is there a reason we cannot be wed in the morning, properly? I have little to offer a woman from a noble family but I—”
    Fingers to his lips in the dark. When next she spoke he realized that she was fighting tears. It caught at his heart like a hook. He was not a man for whom such intensity had occurred very often.
    She said, “It cannot happen. Thank you, though. Thank you. That is more generous than words can say. I . . . had no expectationof this at all. But no, signore. The council can ask us to simulate a marriage, ask me to work for them. But doctor, they cannot take my father’s power from him. I cannot marry without his willing it.”
    â€œHow old are you? If I may ask.”
    She was silent a moment. He thought he’d offended. Women were easy to offend, in his limited experience.
    â€œI was nineteen in the winter.”
    He had thought older, she was so poised. That happened among aristocrats, he supposed. He’d had few dealings with aristocrats. He hadn’t had a medical practice for long. He was hardly known in Seressa. Was that why they’d chosen him? He hadn’t considered that. It might be so.
    He said, “And he will not consent? Your father? He would not accept if I asked and affirmed truly that—?”
    The hand to his mouth again. She left her fingers there, gently, then withdrew them.
    Eventually he slept.
    When he woke to sunshine through the shutters he was alone in the bed. He found her downstairs discussing with his servants (their servants) which belongings of his—books, clothing, instruments and compounds—would need to be packed for a sea voyage, and how this should best be done.
    She greeted him with a kiss, like a bride.

    As the door closed behind the doctor and the spy, the Duke of Seressa turned his attention to the artist he’d had investigated, then summoned at night.
    He had intended it to be discreet. Was there nothing done properly any more? Was that the way of the world in which they now lived?
    He was tired and vexed, reminded himself to be careful this did not undermine their purpose here. He had thought to allowmore time for this particular