Juliet Marillier - Cybele's Secret

the other in our debates on every topic under the sun. I had enjoyed those times. Father was right; Duarte was my intellectual equal, a partner such as I might have great difficulty in finding within my limited circle back home in Transylvania. He was clever, witty, possessed of a quirky sense of humor. He was also courageous, strong, and resourceful, not to speak of his physical charms and his considerable wealth. Not so long ago, I would have considered him completely unsuitable to be my husband or indeed anyone else’s. But he had proven himself to be a different man from the unscrupulous pirate I had once believed him.

“That wasn’t what I had in mind,” Duarte said quietly. “Nobody could imagine that a woman like you would be satisfied with that role, the stay-at-home wife waiting patiently while her husband goes off on adventures at a whim. It was for that reason I decided, long ago, that I would not marry. Such a partnership would be too uneven, and the kind of woman who wanted it would not be the kind of woman to interest me.”

I could not work out where he was heading. Down in the courtyard, near the area where Father was working, I glimpsed a tall, dark-haired figure in a dolman, with knives stuck in his sash. Suddenly every nerve in my body was on edge.

“Of course, when I made that decision, I had not met you, Paula,” Duarte said. “And I confess, during our earlier encounters, I had very mixed feelings about you. But I have entirely reassessed those feelings. I found it difficult to say farewell to you down at the docks. Then it came to me—I thought, perhaps I need not do this. Why should we not go forward together, side by side, companions in an even greater adventure? I believe we would continue to surprise and delight each other and add spice and sweetness to each other’s life.”

Down in the courtyard, Stoyan was moving in and out of the storage room, talking to Father. He looked as if he hadn’t slept a wink. My heart did a strange kind of flip-flop, as if to remind me to be honest with myself.

“You know I admire you, Duarte,” I managed. “I have greatly enjoyed your company. The voyage, your determination to fulfill your debt of honor, the way you conducted yourself…I can’t fail to hold you in high regard after that.” I drew a deep breath, struggling to keep calm. It wouldn’t be fair to cut him off short; he was a friend, and I owed him respect. “You still haven’t really answered my question. If I accepted you, where would I fit into the future you have said you want, the future of voyages and adventures and discoveries?”

“I was hoping,” he said, coming closer and dropping to one knee beside me, “that you would share it with me, Paula. Be my partner on the Esperanca, travel with me, share my adventures. We would make an invincible team. Together, we could achieve anything. And think what enjoyment we would have doing so. Paula, I don’t think I am wrong in interpreting your willingness to spend time in my company as perhaps indicating you feel more than friendship toward me. I know your father intends to sail for home tomorrow. We don’t have much time. Can you give me an answer?”

The han seemed suddenly hushed. My answer trembled on my lips, reluctant to become sound, for I valued Duarte’s friendship and I respected the honesty with which he had presented his proposal—while it had scarcely been romantic in nature, he had said it in plain words, not masked by empty compliments. I rose to my feet, moving to stand at the railing. “Please don’t kneel like that,” I said, feeling tears somewhere close. “You’re making me feel awkward. Come over here, take my hand.”

He knew, then, that I was going to say no. I saw it on his face as he moved closer and put his hands around mine.

“I can’t,” I said bluntly. “I have a high regard for you, Duarte, and if the circumstances were different, I would accept your offer gladly. But I can’t.”

“Just like that you refuse me? Will you not at least take a little time to consider this? We could…” His words trailed off as he met my gaze. “You mean it,” he said simply. “You won’t change your mind.”

“I’m sorry, Duarte.” Cheeks flaming, I tried not to glance down to the courtyard. “You’re a fine man, and it hurts me to cause you pain. But I know I could never love you the way I should.”

He shrugged, lifting his brows and giving me that sardonic little smile. It made me want to cry.

“Ah, well,” he said, “I can see it’s back to a life of piracy for me. So much for redemption through the love of a good woman. It’s time I was off. But first…” And before I could so much as draw breath, he swept me into his arms and kissed me full on the lips, not the cheeky, joking kind of kiss he had given me as I left the Esperanca but a proper kiss of a sort I had never before experienced. It was lovely: passionate, tender, a little frightening. It was a kiss that said, This is what you’re giving up. This is what we might have had. He did not release me for a while. When at last he did so, it was to turn abruptly on his heel and head off down the steps without another word.

I watched him cross the courtyard and vanish out the arched entry. As I turned back, I found myself looking directly at Stoyan, who was standing motionless in the open doorway of the storage room where he and Father had been working, gazing up at me. If he had appeared tired and dispirited before, now he looked like a man betrayed. There was no guard on his expression: The amber eyes were blazing with hurt, the lips twisted in furious outrage. If I had thought his feelings less strong than mine, I’d been wrong. I opened my mouth to call out, to offer some explanation, but he turned and disappeared inside. He must have seen us, Duarte and me. He had probably seen everything.

I was in no state to run down and explain myself, especially not in Father’s presence. I retreated to my closet, where I sat on the pallet and stared at the wall. Tati’s embroidery was spread across my pillow. I ran my fingers over the dancing figures, longing for my sisters to be here. Stela would give me a comforting hug; Jena would provide wise advice. Iulia would make a joke about men and how impossible they were. But my sisters were far away, and I felt utterly alone. The thrilling peril of the journey, the tragedy and triumph and the bond of friendship I had shared with these two men, each so lovely, each so different, seemed further away than ever. I had managed to wound both of them and to make myself utterly miserable.

A little later, after washing away the tearstains, I went down to the storage area. If I had to, I would ask Father if I could speak to Stoyan alone. I would tell Stoyan that I wanted to spend my life with him, no matter what. If there were obstacles, surely the two of us together had the strength to deal with them. We’d proved that on our journey through the mountain, hadn’t we? It sounded logical, but I was trembling with nerves as I went down the steps. How brave are you, Paula? I asked myself. Brave enough to put your heart on a chopping block and invite your dearest friend to cut it up?

The storage room was empty. Father and Stoyan had taken the last of our goods to the waterfront. I borrowed a millet broom and gave the chamber a vigorous sweeping. Under the rhythmic swishing sound, words came to me, a verse I had come close to forgetting in the turmoil that my life had become since our passage through the mountain. Water and stone, flesh and bone. Night and morn, rose and thorn…. I had not taken one gift out of Cybele’s treasure cave but two. How could I forget something as important as a riddle? At the time, it had seemed no more than nonsense pairs of contrasting words. Tree and wind, heart and mind.

Now, abruptly, I knew exactly why the crone had given it to me. I imagined strong stone supporting and aiding the passage of fluid water; a delicate flower protected by its sharp thorn, the two interdependent, contrasting parts of the same whole. I pictured a gale shivering through the trees, seeds spiraling downward to start a new forest. I