The Cygnet and the Firebird by Patricia A. McKillip Page B

searching as futilely for its prey, gave a soundless cry and glided to the window, with Brand as lost inside it as Meguet was inside the mage’s time. She whispered, “Meguet.”
    A deep, rhythmic thumping began at the door; they had brought up something for a battering ram. Nyx lifted her head, her face mist-white in the candlelight. The floor was littered with the fire’s enchantments. She checked her first, absent impulse to open the doorto the battering ram, which would have proceeded across the room and out a window, taking the bird with it. She raised her voice instead.
    “Stop—” Her voice caught; she cleared her throat. “Stop pounding! I’ll open the door.”
    “Quiet!” the Holder said sharply, and the din outside the door ceased. Nyx broke the mage’s spell; the door opened, spilling guards into the room. They stared at the glittering debris from the fire: pearl leaves, rose petals, books sealed in amber. Then they saw the blood on the firebird, and a whispering began.
    The Holder tugged at the pearls at her breast, her eyes, wide and dark, reflecting something of Nyx’s expression. “What happened?”
    “The mage came back,” Nyx said. “The firebird attacked him. They seem to know one another.” She stopped, pulling at a strand of sapphires in her hair. She frowned, searching for words, her eyes going back to the stones. The Holder read her mind.
    “Where is Meguet?”
    “The mage took her.”
    “Took her! Moro’s bones, took her where?”
    “Somewhere. Some time. Some place.”
    “Why?”
    “She was attached to the key I threw him.” The strand of sapphires came loose, dropped to the floor. She touched her eyes and added, “He’ll be back. Probably to exchange Meguet for the key.”
    “Moro’s bones,” the Holder breathed again. “How many keys does he want?”
    “Just one. I gave him a false key to make himleave.” She paused, feeling the weight of the Holder’s still, black gaze. “There are things that are not making sense—”
    “You,” the Holder said succinctly.
    “I mean, other than that.”
    “What in Moro’s name possessed you to put either of your lives in danger for the sake of some moldy sorcery no one has paid attention to in a thousand years?”
    “It’s not—”
    “Why didn’t you give the mage the key the moment he came back for it?”
    “Because—”
    “Instead of jeopardizing the house and losing Meguet in some time beyond memory and some place without a name? And why is that bird still a bird? You’ve been immersed in sorcery since you learned to read—what’s so difficult about turning a bird back into a man? Surely you’ve done more complex things with birds. How do I know this one won’t attack you next?”
    “Because, I don’t think—”
    “And where in Moro’s name is my Gatekeeper?”
    Nyx glanced around the room. “I saw him come in. I think it was him.”
    “If that mage stole him as well as Meguet—”
    “No, it was my fault. I was fighting with the bird’s fire. I must have changed him into something.”
    The Holder closed her eyes, pushed her hands through her hair. Pins flew. “You’re a sorceress. Do some sorcery. Disenchant that bird. And my Gatekeeper.Find Meguet. And if that mage returns, give him whatever he wants, including the bird, if he wants that. I want no more bloodshed, mage’s battles, stopped time or misplaced people. I want to end this council in even less excitement than it began. I want it to be a dull reference in the history of Ro Holding, not an entire flamboyant chapter.”
    “Yes.” Nyx’s voice came with effort. “I am sorry.”
    “And do it by dawn.”
    She did not quite slam the door. Nyx sat down, blinking, her face stiff. She stirred a couple of garnet rose petals with her foot, trying to think; her mind only filled, like the tower room, with enchantments. The door opened softly. She lifted her head. Calyx entered, side-stepping spells.
    “I’m sorry about the books,” Nyx said