She was, as he had judged, a bright girl, and Parry used mesmeric techniques to teach her more rapidly and fully, just as the Sorcerer had used them on him. There was an enormous amount to learn, for sorcery was mainly a matter of knowledge and experience in the correct lores; true magic could be mastered only by those with special talent and dedication. Few folk had the cleverness or the patience to do it well; most who claimed to be adept were to some degree charlatans, buttressing their minimal magic with illusion. She learned to read, and to fight, and the arts, so that she could study on her own or defend herself from molestation or play prettily on the little harp he gave her. Her flesh quickly filled out, because of the good feeding, and she became the woman of his picture: not the Madonna, but as beautiful.

This progress did not pass unnoticed in the village, despite her effort to conceal it. Rags and dirt could hide only so much. The peasant boys oriented on her, and Parry had to give her a spell to repel them. But he knew this would not be effective for long, for she was nubile and the other girls her age were getting married.

Jolie's emotional progress was as dramatic as her physical and intellectual progress. One day she accompanied him with her harp as he sang, and drew on the magic she was learning to make of it far more than a single instrument. He had always had a fine voice, but with her it was better than ever. The music was truly beautiful.

Then she set the harp aside. "Parry, today I am fifteen. Will you marry me?"

He choked. She had caught him entirely off guard.

"You said you wanted my love," she continued. "You have not touched me, because you wanted my love, not my body. I love you now, and would give you all that I have. Please marry me."

He gazed at her. She was no longer pretty, or beautiful. She was stunning. All that he had foreseen in her had been realized in greater measure than anticipated. He had loved her virtually from the start, for her potential, but had reined it in, in the interest of giving her room to grow. His love had become direct as her potential was fulfilled.

He could have said a great deal. He did not; it wasn't necessary. "Yes, Jolie. I will marry you."

She flung herself at him. "You had me worried!"

He had her worried??

They kissed. Jolie's original fear had become an equal measure of passion. But in a moment he drew back.

"You have second thoughts?" she asked, perhaps having one herself.

"I want to marry a virgin."

"And you think I am not?"

"I think you will not be, if we embrace much longer."

"But I would be cheaper if despoiled," she pointed out teasingly. Her confidence had grown enormously. He realized that it was her attitude that accounted for much of her beauty; now she believed in herself.