“Have you seen Ciri this morning?” he asked. He ran a
hand through his lank brown hair.
“I saw her out in the village,” Matya said, afraid to say
more.
“Is something wrong, Matya?” Trevarre asked her,
frowning.
Matya’s hand crept to the leather purse. She could have
everything she had ever wanted, if she just gave Trevarre
the doll. He would take it. She knew he would. As unlikely
as Trevarre looked on the outside, the heart that beat in his
chest was a knight’s, true and pure. He would break the
enchantment, and Ciri would be free. She had sworn her
oath by Nuitari – a vow no sorcerer could break. Matya
would be rich beyond her dreams. It would be the greatest
bargain Matya had ever struck.
Her hand reached into the pouch, brushing the smooth
porcelain. “I wanted to tell you . . .” She swallowed and
started over. “I just wanted to tell you, Trevarre . . ”
“Go on,” he said in his resonant voice, his pale eyes
regarding her seriously.
Matya saw kindness in his gaze, and, for one brief
moment, she almost imagined she saw something more –
admiration, affection.
Matya sighed. She could not do it. How could she live
with herself, knowing it was she who had silenced
Trevarre’s noble voice forever? She could strike a bargain
for anything – anything but another’s life. Belek had been
right. There were some bargains that weren’t worth making.
“There IS something wrong,” Matya blurted. “Something
terribly wrong.” She told Trevarre of her conversation with
Ciri. “You see, we must leave – now!”
The knight shook his head.
“She is evil!” Matya protested.
“I cannot believe it, Matya.”
“What?” she said in shock. Although Ciri had warned
her, Matya still was shocked. She had given up the greatest
bargain of her life, and now he claimed that he didn’t
believe her? “But what reason would I have to lie to you,
Trevarre? Has her loveliness made a slave of you already?”
Her voice was bitter.
He held up a hand. “I did not say that I do not believe
you, Matya. I said that I cannot. I cannot believe evil of
another without proof.” He sighed and paced about the
ruined cottage, which to his eyes still looked warm and
hospitable. “How can I explain it to you, Matya? It has to do
with the Measure I swore to uphold. Ciri sent out a plea for
help, and I have answered it. Yes, she is lovely, but that is
hardly the reason I cannot heed your warnings, Matya. She
has shown me nothing but courtesy. To leave without aiding
her would be a grave dishonor. And you know – ”
“Yes, I know,” Matya said harshly. ” ‘Your honor is
your life.’ But what if she tried to harm you?”
“That would be different. Then I would know she is
evil. But she has not. Nothing has changed. I will help her
break the enchantment that keeps her here in this village if it
is at all in my power to do so.”
Trevarre fastened his sword belt about his waist and
walked to the door of the ruined cottage. Before he stepped
outside, he laid a gentle hand upon Matya’s arm. “I doubt
that it matters to you,” he said hesitantly in his clear voice,
“but, to my eyes, you are every bit as lovely.”
Before Matya could so much as open her mouth in
surprise, Trevarre was gone.
Matya stood in silence for a long moment, then muttered
angrily under her breath, “The Solamnic Knights aren’t
fools. They’re idiots!” She stamped out of the open doorway
after Trevarre.
Ciri was waiting for her.
“Do you have an answer for me, Matya?” Ciri asked in
her lilting voice.
Trevarre stood before the enchantress, the wind blowing
his cloak out behind him. He would not raise a hand against
her, Matya knew. What happened next was going to have to
be up to her.
“The answer is no, Ciri,” Matya said calmly. “I won’t
accept your bargain.”
Ciri’s eyes flashed, and the wind caught her dark hair,
flinging it wildly about her head. Anger touched her lovely