known for years that I don't want to be an actor.'
'But you are an actor. We made you so.'
'Yes, you and Mother never did give me any choice in the matter-'
The door opened and Hyacinth slipped inside. 'Goddess forgive me,' he muttered, 'and I beg your pardon for coming in here, but I can't get past them and Fm damned if I'm going to stand there and listen to them scream.'
'What happened?'
'Oh, Prince Hal told Ginny that he wanted to go into scene design. You know what I think, Di?' He stared at himself in the mirror, smoothed the coarse hair of his black wig, and rubbed at the foundation in the hollows of his cheeks, 'I hate that woman who designed the makeup. This always makes me look too thin.'
Diana could not help but smile.
'And why shouldn't I go into scene design-!' from outside.
'What do you think, Hyacinth?' she asked.
Hyacinth glanced at her and then back at himself in the mirror. 'I think Hal would make a damn good actor if he'd only stop thinking he can't be one because he has to rebel against his parents.'
'I keep telling him he should quit the Company, but he won't.'
'Well.' Hyacinth sighed. 'The costumes are gorgeous though, aren't they?' He straightened and admired his robes as they swayed around him. 'Joseph did a wonderful job, blending styles. Look how he used the jaran embroidered patterns and the cut of their armor for Tamburlaine, and Habakar patterns for the robes. Did you go to his exhibit at the Globe Annex, where he's showing the models?'
'Hyacinth, did you have something you wanted to tell me?' She dipped her fingers in cold cream and smoothed it onto her face.
He sighed and sat down on the other stool. The Green Room was small but pleasant, with a carpet, the counter and mirror, a writing table and chair, and the two stools, and a modeler and theater readout built into the other wall. 'Full house, my dear. And a real live Chapalii duke in attendance. Can His Royal Highness pull it off? Even with all of us covering for him?'
'Does it matter if he can't? Gwyn takes over the part next month. The audience didn't come to see how well Vasil can act. They came to see if he can act at all. You must admit his lack of accent is amazing.' Then she recalled his greeting to Dr. Kinzer. Vasil put his accent on and off depending on where he thought the advantage lay.
'It's true that Veselov has a better memory even than you.'
She laughed. 'His memory is a hundred times better than mine.'
'It's nice to see you smile, Di,' said Hyacinth softly. 'You've been so gloomy since the holidays.' He rested a hand on her shoulder companionably.
She drew away from him, knowing what was coming next. 'I've got to get ready,' she said stiffly.
'Di, don't you think it's time to give it up-?'
Then he had the audacity to reach out and with one beringed finger brush her cheek where the scar ran diagonally from cheekbone to jawline, faint and white.
She rose. 'I'm busy, Hyacinth.'
A knock came on the door. It opened, and Yomi stuck her head in. 'Sorry to bother you, Di, but-well, he says he has to leave London in two hours, and since we're doing the marathon today I said he could come see you now. I'll give him ten minutes. Hyacinth, go!'
'Your word is my command, oh bountiful Yomi,' said Hyacinth, bowing extravagantly.
Yomi slapped him on the rear. 'Out!' They left together.
Diana felt a sudden foreboding. She watched the doorway in the mirror. Soon enough a man appeared there. He hesitated, stepped inside, and closed the door behind him.
She gasped and whirled around. 'Marco!' And took a step back, running up against the counter.
'Hello, Diana.' He wore a simple thigh-length jacket over loose trousers, but even in the latest fashionable style he bore with him that air of suppressed wildness and incipient adventure that made him so attractive. 'You're looking-well.' His gaze darted to her cheek. He got pale all at once and then recovered. He was lying in any case. She wasn't looking particularly well and everyone knew it When she didn't reply, he went on. 'I saw the preview last night. It didn't go badly at all. I keep wondering how you actors manage to memorize all those lines…' He lifted his hands up, wrung them together, and let them drop back to his side. 'Goddess, that was a stupid thing to say. I'm sorry to disturb you.'
'Why didn't you come backstage last night?' she asked. 'This isn't a very good time for me.'
'Oh. I thought I'd come tonight after the show, but I got called away unexpectedly…' He trailed off and paced over to the table and laid a hand flat on it, and stared at the hand. 'No. The truth is I didn't have the nerve.'
The thought of Marco Burckhardt not having the nerve to do something astounded her. 'How long have you been in London?' she said instead of the words she should have said, the apology she needed to make to him.
'Two days.'
'A short trip.'
'Yes.'
Together, they lapsed into silence.
He broke it. 'Charles sent me to deliver a crystal wand-that's a summons wand-to Duke Naroshi. Did you know he's in your audience tonight?'
'Yes.' She didn't much care about Duke Naroshi. He had attended performances before.
There was silence again.
'I've got to get my makeup on,' she said finally. She sat down and dabbed on foundation with her fingers.
'It's amazing,' said Marco. She watched him watch her in the mirror. 'You'd never know to see Veselov now what terrible injuries he suffered. Even that awful facial scar is gone.'
With a sponge, she blended the foundation on over her cheeks. Over her scar. 'Yes,' she replied.
The silence was worse than the talking, and there wasn't even Hal's argument with his father to cover it.
'Diana-'
She set down the damp sponge. 'Marco. I'm sorry. I treated you horribly. I'm sorry. It wasn't deliberate, but still, that doesn't excuse it.'
He lifted his hand from the table and closed it into a fist and, slowly, opened it again. Then he walked over and put his hands on her shoulders and met her eyes in the mirror. 'Diana. I love you. I thought-I'm asking… we could handfast, just a trial, one year…' He faltered.
She stared at him, only she wasn't staring at him, she was staring at his reflection, as if that was all she had ever seen of him, of Marco Burckhardt, the reflection she had made of him in her own mind. Not the real Marco. She had never known the real Marco. Maybe she had never really tried to know him, preferring the legend to the man.
In that moment, the dam broke.
'I wanted him to die,' she whispered. 'I wanted him to die a clean romantic death. Then I wouldn't have had to leave him because he would have been dead. I'm ashamed. I'm so ashamed of that. Do you know that he thought he couldn't die as long as I was with him? By leaving him, I as good as sent him to his death.'
'Diana, they're at war. People expect to die.'
'That doesn't absolve me. It's all I can think about, wondering if I'll ever hear.'
'It's been over a year. I thought you'd have-done all your grieving by now.'
'I know. I know. I thought I had. We left the jaran at Winter Solstice, did you know that? Our calendar, not theirs.' She put a hand to her bracelet and twisted it, twice around. It was the bracelet he had given her, opulent and showy enough that Joseph had given her permission to wear it as part of Zenocrate's costume. 'That was my penance, to wear the mark for a year and then let him go. And now I'm afraid to do it. I'm afraid if I erase the mark, that I'll kill him.'
He took his hands off her shoulders. 'Do you miss him?'
'I don't know. We had nothing in common, really, except we were both pretty and blond.' She laughed at that, and heard herself how false the laugh sounded. 'And I liked him. That's what I realized finally, after it was too late.
