Her own eyes were red with tears. Gaspar-shen stalked toward them, a smile on his face. What did you think of the wine? Lukas asked.
I detected hints of blackberry and smoke. A high glycerin content. You can tell from the streaks along the glass. Perhaps we should go.
Lady Amaranth had lost her brother, Coal. She also had a distinctive way of showing her grief, which was to simper adoringly with her hand on Prince Araithe s arm as she approached them.
My nephew has consented to let you stay. He said you could play in his orchestra.
Lukas glanced up at Gaspar-shen. What did I tell you? he thought.
The prince does me too much honor, he said without rising to his feet.
Then you accept? Her eyes maintained a wistful, pleading look, at odds with the rest of her expression.
My dear, I think it best to take the captain at his word, said Prince Araithe.
Lukas looked beyond them toward where another figure had entered the circle of firelight, a woman in a long, flowing gown that, like the prince s raiment, seemed to project a kind of desperate sensuality. The velvet clung to her breasts like a layer of skin. Despite her witch s mask, Lukas recognized her. For reasons he couldn t decipher, he d been expecting her.
Ware, said Gaspar-shen.
Lukas stood up. The lines on his friend s forehead pulsed dimly, red and gold. Which meant what, exactly? You d think he d know by now. People were like undiscovered continents, what they did, what they said, what they meant. As the leShay queen moved toward them, tripping lightly over the grass, as you might say, he allowed himself a small, sweet moment of sadness, and in his mind he captured three small images from the past, because he guessed there d be no time for contemplation once High Lady Ordalf opened her mouth first, Marikke, her stiff yellow hair hanging down over a face flushed with concentration she was performing some ritual in Chauntea s honor, some brimming liquid in a bowl of light. Second, the calico-haired boy, his fingernails extended in surprise. Third, the Savage, but not wrecked to pieces the last time he d seen him, a new self erupting out of him, but at his ease in his black clothes, his dark face shining, a gold coin in his outstretched hand.
My dear boy, said the queen. My love, how could you invite so many to your party, and not me? Who is this whore? she said, not deigning to look at anyone except her son, peering up into his face, so close to him now that he was obliged to take a step backward and let go of Lady Amaranth s arm. Who is this diseased slut? Does a mother s advice mean nothing to you? Your father died of a venereal infection, as you know. And he was in his prime.
Well, that should get the ball rolling, Lukas imagined.
At first he d thought Lady Ordalf, not to be outdone, had assumed a mask that was the ugliest in the entire citadel, a grotesque apparition of white skin patched with scabs, a long, beaked, unblown nose, and broken teeth. But now he saw her mask was actual flesh, a small piece of illusion that was now undone, melted away, revealing the golden eyes, sweet features, and laughing, purple mouth of the leShay queen.
Really, Prince Araithe was not clever. Madam, he said, his face stiff with shock, may I present to you my aunt
Ordalf whipped her head around, and any thought Lukas might have had that she d relaxed or forgotten her malice toward her younger half sister was immediately dispelled. But then her face again reformed into beauty, and she held out her hand, displaying a ring on her right forefinger that, Lukas imagined, she wanted Amaranth to kiss.
Or maybe not. Amaranth, also, had taken a step backward. The queen spoke again, her voice lovely and melodious. Captain, I believed we had a bargain, and that you were to deliver to me one small spherical part of this merchandise, and not, as I see now before me, the entire shipment. Was it too much to ask, that my wishes be fulfilled? Here you ve given me too much of a good thing, which is worse than nothing at all. I believe that voids our contract, and that you can expect nothing more from me, and the matter of three hundred gold pieces
Of all the world s races, Lukas decided, the eladrin and elves cared the most about coin, perhaps because they lived so long. Still, it astonished him that she could not refrain from haggling, even at a moment like this one.
Of course, she said, I also was unable to keep my side of the bargain, to keep your gnome on this side of the Nine Hells. The giantess I showed you, she separated her torso from her legs without even the benefit of a knife and fork.
These words were worth more than any of the gold she owed, Lukas thought, because they showed both she and her son were lying, and Suka might be alive for all they knew.
Thank you, he said, and she glanced at him briefly, stuffed with contempt for his sincerity, which she could not hope to understand.
Sister? Lady Amaranth began.
The music was silent now, as if everyone in the clearing had become aware of this knot of difficulty under the tall trees. Ordalf held out her hand. The ring on her forefinger began to glow, an amethyst.
And as if it had been pushed out from its center, Lukas felt an odd sensation travel through his body and then beyond him out into the clearing, a wave of inertia that dulled and numbed his senses and made it hard to move, hard to think. He imagined the synapses and ganglia of his body set alight as with a gentle electricity, impeding his control. Or it was as if time had slowed for him and all the others whom the wave had touched, the force out of the jewel. Only Lady Ordalf was unaffected, the author of the spell. She sauntered easily to stand next to her sister, immobile and, as Lukas could see, petrified with fear. The leShay queen reached out with her left hand, and with a cruel familiarity she moved her fingers over Amaranth s face, brushing her cheek, pulling at her hair, tweaking her ear then moving down her neck over the yellow rose tattoo, while at the same time murmuring as if to herself a soft commentary on her sister s plainness and defects, her unpleasant pallor, her red freckles and red hair, filthy and unbrushed, and was this a twig in it? You must have gotten your complexion from your father. And what are you wearing? She moved her hand down the front of Lady Amaranth s shirt, modest and androgynous, homespun in her Moray workshop, dyed in earth colors Lukas could scarcely move a muscle. His body trembled, and with great difficulty he turned his face an inch or so to see if Gaspar-shen was having any luck, but the genasi stood beside him like a statue. Eleuthra was no better. The musicians, instruments still raised, had stopped their playing. Time itself had stopped, or almost stopped, for all but the night birds that still passed over head, and for the drow captain, who had come closer, sword drawn, a puzzled expression on his face a warlock, then. Lukas had been right.
Mother, admonished Prince Araithe. He also was unaffected, because this demonstration was for him.
Full of anger and distress, Lukas watched the queen hesitate at the collar of her sister s shirt then find the hidden buttons and undo them one by one, whispering all the time, Let s see what you have under there. Ooh, gooseflesh. Is my hand cold? Now tell me, do they have baths on Moray Island? Or I suppose when you lie down with your wolves, you can expect some fleas my son, are you listening? If you feel some itching down below, you ll get no sympathy from me. No soothing liniment. You ll have to work on that yourself. Look here, an undershirt. She s playing hard to get. Look at her bosom, do you like that? So pert and fresh. It s because she s never borne a child.
She s going to strip her bare, Lukas realized. She s going to strip her naked in the middle of a crowd of strangers. Frustrated, he tried to raise his hand. With his utmost strength, he turned his head to look at Amaranth, and saw that she was staring not at her tormentor, but at him, her cheeks on fire, a pleading look that animated every feature of her beautiful face. And so he did not allow his eyes to shift from hers, as he listened to the leShay queen continue her repetitive litany: waist and hips too narrow, unsightly and disgusting hair, thighs too bony and muscular don t you see?
Lukas did not see.
Mother, said Prince Araithe, his voice petulant and sharp, and Lukas tried to guess its tone. Certainly there was no pity in it. As Gaspar-shen had tried to analyze a glass of wine without tasting it, so the ranger followed the music of the prince s voice, until he knew the melody: irritation. Hurt pride. And that was all.
And so suddenly, with the force of a blow, Lukas understood what they were talking about, the mother and the son. And Amaranth also understood. He d seen her weep on several occasions, and now he waited for the tears to form, and overflow her eyelids, and drip down her motionless cheeks she was too horrified for that.
Mother, stop. The prince was humiliated to see his property displayed like this, ruined for him.
No, my son. This is how it must be. Look where my hand is. Over her womb. Oh, but I will twist her up inside.
