Maze of Moonlight by Gael Baudino Page A

everyone knew about her .
    Marriage, however, was no real problem. Yvonnet himself was married . . . to a woman who knew her place. But in any case, his concerns evaporated a short time later in the great hall, for Martin was obviously not at all related either by blood or by matrimony to the woman—girl, rather—who was with him. She was but a peasant. Pretty enough, to be sure, with large brown eyes and long blond hair that she wore, according to custom, in twin braids, but a peasant nonetheless, one who was not even sophisticated enough to stand with her hips swayed forward. Martin's parents would never have approved. Yvonnet wondered why she was even in his company.
    But Martin was terrified of being in the presence of the baron of Hypprux, and his dark eyes—still large, still, as Yvonnet remembered, with the look of a restless woman about them—were fixed on the floor, as though he feared that by looking into the face of his host he would ensure his submission.
    Such a fine time a few years ago! Really, it was not much that Yvonnet wanted. Just a few days . . .
    “Martin,” he said, “so nice to see you again! And such a lovely little sparrow my brave eagle has brought with him!”
    Lengram, who had followed the baron into the hall, looked away, his lips pressed together.
    The dark lad's eyes were now roving about the large, tapestried room as though seeking an escape. But there was no escape. Yvonnet a'Verne always got what he wanted, and the commoners—and, yes, Martin was a commoner: he would be accommodating—were there to provide it.
    With an obvious effort, Martin forced himself to stand his ground. “Vanessa of Furze Hamlet is my traveling companion, Baron Yvonnet.”
    “Aha!” Yvonnet kept his voice hearty and loud. “Eagles and sparrows, indeed! And is this little fledgling meat for tonight's pot? Or is she expected to provide provender for a lengthy journey?”
    But when he turned his immense smile on Vanessa, he was met by eyes that stilled his voice. Dark brown eyes. Huge eyes. Eyes that seemed to see everything at once, that could take in, in a single glance, all of Hypprux, all of Adria, and then, focusing down with a piercing light, could pry into his inmost secrets and lay bare his desires and his vices.
    Vanessa was lovely, but she was also alive with a feral gleam that touched her with all the crazed menace of a rabid fox. “It's a' right,” she said. “I know.”
    Yvonnet faltered, no longer quite sure whether Martin drooped because of an imminent and forced liaison or because he had been in the company of this . . . changeling . . . for several weeks. “You . . . know . . .”
    “The patterns tell me,” she said, nodding. “The patterns a'ways tell me. You can't escape the patterns.”
    The courtiers and the servants who were in the hall, perfumed and liveried and accustomed to standing arrogantly before even the mightiest baron of Adria (with the exception, to be sure, of Yvonnet himself), had all unconsciously taken a few steps away from Vanessa. Owl-eyed, isolated in her magic circle of instinctive aversion, the peasant girl blinked and nodded.
    “Ah . . .” Yvonnet groped for words. “Ah . . . excellent. Good . . . good taste, Martin.” With difficulty, he dragged himself away from Vanessa's lovely, compelling, terrifying eyes. “I'm . . .” Was she looking at him? He was afraid to find out. He turned his gaze on Martin . . . and kept it there. “I'm very glad you came to visit me. It's been years now, hasn't it?”
    Martin was between Vanessa and the baron. “I'm not sure I recall, Yvonnet.”
    “Ah! It's Yvonnet again! So nice to be . . .” The baron stole a glance at Vanessa. She was indeed watching him, and her eyes told him that all his obscure and mazed plans were as glass to her. She saw. She knew. “. . . ah . . . to be known as a friend.”
    Vanessa was nodding again. “Just ask him, m'lord baron. He'll go wi'out trouble.”
    Martin whirled on her.