The Shape-Changer's Wife by Sharon Shinn

“No, I would not describe myself so.”
    â€œAnd at Lord Rochester‘s—”
    â€œAt Lord Rochester’s, there will be a hundred strange people, and I will be the strangest,” she interrupted, with a curious passion very unlike her. “I will be gazed at askance. I will be talked of in the hallways. I will be more alone there than I am here. You will see.”
    â€œYou won’t be alone,” Aubrey said. “Your husband—”
    â€œMy husband will be currying favor with Faren Rochester and his friends.”
    â€œWell, I will be there. Glyrenden said so. I will stand by you”
    Again she looked at him, that measuring, considering look that he found so disconcerting and so compelling. “Will you?” she said.
    â€œOf course! I will fetch drinks for you and fan you when you’re hot and dance with you, if you’ll let me. Do you dance?”
    â€œGlyrenden taught me once,” she said. “I can’t remember why, because he never took me any place where I might dance again.”
    Aubrey had a momentary sense of blinding insight: Was this her trouble after all? She was resentful that her husband kept her immured at this lonely fortress, away from all other eyes, forgetting the small social skills that made strangers acceptable to each other. It was not that she was displeased with the invitation, the opportunity and the new clothes—as it might appear—but that she was angry these things had not come her way sooner.
    â€œCome,” he said, smiling, “tell me which of these new gowns you love the best.”
    A quick frown swept across her face; she watched him briefly, as if surprised, as if he had somehow misunderstood her and she was disappointed. Then her face cleared to its usual serene mask, and she turned her attention to the items on the bed.
    â€œI don’t love any of them,” she said.
    â€œWell, which one do you like the best?”
    She shrugged; now, he thought, she was being deliberately petulant. “They are all the same to me. I like the one I’m wearing just as well.”
    â€œThe one you’re wearing!” he repeated. “Your old gray gown that you wear every day!”
    â€œIt’s comfortable and I’m used to it.”
    He shook his head. “I don’t understand you,” he said, but he smiled, as if he were teasing her. “Any other woman whose husband had brought her such things would be thrilled. Any other woman I know—”
    â€œI am not like other women,” she said sharply. “I do not like the things they like or feel the things they feel. And it is better so. I do not want to be like them. I do not want to turn into one of them.”
    Aubrey stared at her. He was incapable of replying. She gazed back at him and he was shocked at the primitive fury in her eyes. He did not know what he had said to elicit such a bitter response; he could not guess what things must have happened to her to make her say such a thing. He wanted to apologize, but he didn’t know what to say. He lifted both his hands in a speechless gesture of remorse, then turned and left her alone in the room.

Five
    THREE DAYS LATER, they left for Faren Rochester’s home. They were on the road two days and had trouble nearly every mile of the way.
    The problem revolved primarily around the horses. Glyrenden chose to ride, as he usually did, but Aubrey and Lilith followed behind in a hired coach. Aubrey could ride, though not well, since his income had rarely been large enough to allow him the luxury of owning and maintaining a horse; and Lilith could not ride at all. So they sat in the coach, along with their bundles and baggage, and watched the countryside slowly unfold.
    Glyrenden’s mount was a big, muscular stallion, black and nervous, with a volatile combination of power, speed and temper. Whenever there was a strange noise, a fallen branch, an eruption of quail from cover