changes, part 2
I made my way up the long drive to Brawnlyn House. The twisted, barren branches of the gardens seemed to reach out for me, the dead vines and intricately arranged stones covering the ground like some dormant evil. I turned my eyes from them and approached the doors, resolute. Every step I took was reproach to me. Alas that my feet should be so familiar with such a place! When last I had come this way, it had been in the full flush of pride. In one night I had betrayed the inhabitants of the Castle and exposed the Pixie to vanity, disappointment, and now, the destructive power of guilt. I wanted to tell her that the guilt was mine, but she had not let me speak with her since the night of the ball.
Lady Brawnlyn greeted me as ever she had. I bowed shortly, disdaining to step forward and kiss her hand. If she noticed my coldness, she did not show it. Genevieve was absent, for which I was glad.
There was a light in the Widow’s eyes that I did not like, and a peculiar tone to her voice that filled me with aversion. “I am glad to see you,” she said. “I feared it might be some time before you came our way again. I have heard rumours that you have been distinguishing yourself once again, my Lord Hawk. I had thought that perhaps your travels were taking you away from us.”
Her eyes searched my face as she spoke, but I believe that I kept it impassive. A dark, dreadful calm was coming over me: the calm of certainty and disgust. I knew her words now for flattery, and I knew that they cloaked something deeper.
“Tell me,” she said, “where is the Pixie? Surely this would be a fine time for her to accompany you.”
My voice was tight, almost strangled. “She will not be coming this way again,” I said.
The Widow raised her brow at me, but said nothing more on the subject. She leaned forward, dropping a cube of sugar into her tea. In doing so, she cast a deep shadow over the silver tray before her. I realized anew how dark the sitting room was, shrouded in drapes and carpeting, well hidden from the sun.
“It is just as well that you have come alone today,” she said. “Hawk, hitherto you have served me well. Now I have a matter of great importance to give into your hands—of paramount importance, not only to the safety of this land, but to your own future happiness.” She folded her hands and lowered her voice. “Tell me,” she said, “what would you risk to recover a treasure—a fantastically great treasure—out of the hands of thieves? You must know that much of it would become yours.”
It chilled me to know that, had she brought up such a thing only a short time ago, I would have been trapped by her spider’s promise. More, I felt a pang of fear deep within me. Days ago I had watched a great treasure change hands. Could the Widow be speaking of any other?
“There is a thief,” she said. “Someone hidden away in my lands who has gathered riches through extortion, blackmail, and robbery. Much has been taken even from the treasury of my own family: gold, Hawk, more than you can imagine. Its location has been kept a deep secret, but days ago a small part of the treasure came to the light. My guards found it in the possession of carnival men, careless drunkards who flaunted it stupidly, openly. Enough gold to buy up this house and all the land it sits on.”
“Well, then,” I said. “You have caught your thieves.”
“No, Hawk, no,” she said, the light in her eyes growing more strange and frightening. “They were vile, ignorant people, who obtained a piece of the treasure by their own vicious means—but no, they do not have it all. What they have is only a fraction. The treasure is much greater. It is great enough to make you the equal of any king.”
She spoke to my old love of adventure; to my old greed for reknown. She spoke, moreover, to my fears and suspicions. I did not know how the Giant had come by the gold I had seen change hands. It might well have been by mercenary means. Yet I knew that, until I knew more, I could only trust him.
My pride had been broken, and with it, the Widow’s power over me. I drew myself back, and her searching eyes meant the flint in mine with displeasure and some confusion. She had not thought me so far out of her reach.
“My lady,” I said, “I did not come today to accept your commission—or any one of your words. How deeply you have been involved in the events of the past few days I cannot know, but I do know that I trust you no longer. You have no more control over me.”
The Widow stood slowly. I felt small in her presence. “Take care, Hawk,” she said. “Think of how much I have offered you. Think what alliance with me has brought you—will bring you!”
I did think of it. I thought of the Poet, still sitting at the foot of Illyrica’s bed, and of the fear I had lately seen in Nora’s eyes—for though she had not told me, I knew that she feared the Giant had given far more than he could afford in Illyrica’s ransom. I thought of the Pixie, of the radiance she had lost as she sat caressing an old flour bag, of the freedom that had been torn from her when evil followed her home. I thought of myself and the traitorous wretch I had become.
“Widow Brawnlyn,” I said, “you have brought me nothing but regret. From this day on I wish nothing more to do with you.” I was nearly at the door. She raised her voice to me one last time.
“Consider, Hawk!” she said. “Consider well what you throw away!”
I opened the door and looked back at her. “You have nothing which could possibly tempt me,” I said. “For you have nothing to offer that is of any true worth.”
I turned and stormed out of the drawing room. I stopped short in the foyer. Genevieve stood on the stairway, looking down at me. We did not speak to one another. I turned and left Brawnlyn House, as I thought, forever. I knew that Genevieve had heard my parting words. I could not be sure whether I was glad of it.
I said nothing to the people at the Castle about my visit to Widow Brawnlyn and her daughter. The further events of the day nearly drove it even from my mind. For it was on the same day, early in the evening when the sun was just beginning to die, that the Pixie packed up her few meager belongings and went away.