The Count of Castle Rock

Chapter XXV- Choices I

Tavia Dayne enters his room without knocking, her graceful steps reminiscent of a feliruu ring dancer. Hans barely notices. Lost in his own musings, he thinks of the night he and Leesa saved Methuen from his curse. Did they do the right thing? Did they help anyone by saving such a callous man? Hans believed so at the time, but is less sure whenever he closes his eyes and sees Manuel DuShau brought low.

"Carlos says you will be leaving us," Tavia says as she sits on his clothes chest.

"I'm going home," Hans says as he folds his training robes.

"This is your home now, Master Heathson."

"But I don't belong here, ma'am." The tactile feel of the fabric reminds him of the glorious moment when the wild magic yielded and he cast a spell for the first time. Hans places the garment beside his bag. "Magic only brings pain and misery. I don't want it."

"Magic has no will of its own, it merely is. The blood of the universe does what the mage tells it."

"That's Merelyn," the name of the centuries old scholar easily coming to his mind. "You've read his work?"

"I've heard his lectures once or twice."

Tavia chuckles and hops up to peer out of the tower window. Looking at the enigmatic woman, Hans tries to imagine her sitting for one of Count Methuen's lectures on the topic. While the topic is undeniably fascinating, Hans can't picture it. In truth, he can barely picture anyone sitting for The Count's lessons anymore, not after seeing the man's cruelty, not after hearing Leesa's story.

Remembering her lying in Methuen's arms, covered in the crumbled dust of dying vines, Hans wants to see her.

"I think I'll ride to Solomon," he says to himself more than anyone else.

"Good. You look like you need the company of a loved one." Tavia comes away from the window, grabbing a pewter colored vest from an open drawer. "Wear this, it looks good on you."

"What?"

"Your fiery-haired Dalluvian won't be able to take her lovely emerald eyes off of you."

Hans's neck grows warm.

"Trust me." Tavia reaches into his bag, pulling out the clothes he's already packed. "You can't see it because Methuen insists on wearing all black, but I have a gift for making powerful men look good. Take off that shirt. Let's see if we can find something that compliments that frame."

She unpacks his bag and tosses it into a corner.

"Tavia, I just packed that," he groans.

"What's this?" She raises a package wrapped in off-white seaskin, paper-like cloth used by sailors to protect their valuables during long voyages.

"A gift," he admits. "Don't-"

She closes her eyes and gropes the package.

"...ruin it."

"Don't worry, Heathson. You're in good hands."

Going to the window, he sits and looks down to the courtyard where Juanita and Luis run the other guards through drills.

"Good hands," he mumbles. "How can anything good come from this place?"

Tavia stops and joins him at the window. She runs her hand down his earlobe in a strange gesture that is both intimate and soothing. Hans feels the tension in his shoulders ease.

"Methuen has brought you into a world different from the one you were raised in. Magic is wondrous and dangerous, those who use it are equally so. The nature of spellcraft changes you just as you change the wild magic."