It was more, though. Oh, they talked of idle things, carefully steering clear of their relationship. After all, Balkis had enough star-stories to last the night, and Anthony had all sorts of polite exclaiming to do about the beauty of the flowers, and many comparisons to make between their beauty and hers— always to the flowers' detriment, of course.
But little by little Balkis worked their way down to the stream.
“What a lovely prospect!” Anthony exclaimed. “Still water showing the moon her glowing face—the music of nightingales, and sweet perfumes surrounding us—but none as sweet as yours.”
“I thank you, sir.” Balkis batted her eyelashes at him, then grew serious. “But I cannot look upon this river without remembering that it was here my mother cast me into the waters.”
“Surely you cannot remember that!” Anthony protested.
“No,” Balkis said, “but there are those who can.” Raising her voice, she called out, “Spirits of the water, come to speak with me, I beg you! I have need of your counsel!”
The water seemed to swell up, then drained back, revealing two feminine forms decked in seaweed. Anthony gasped in amazement.
“I should think we would know our own magic when it calls to us, should we not, Shannai?” asked the one.
“Indeed we should, Alassair,” replied the other. “What do you wish of us, river's foster?”
“Speak for this man to hear, I beg of you,” Balkis said. “Was it not you who told me of my true rank?”
“We did indeed, and only a year ago,” said Alassair. “Is this man so foolish as not to believe you?”
“We can change him into a carp for you,” Shannai offered.
“Thank you, but I wish him landed,” Balkis said.
“It is even as they say.” Anthony turned away heavy-hearted. “You are a princess born.”
“But not raised!” Balkis ran after him and caught his arm. “Am I not still Balkis, princess or not? Am I not still your little cat? Oh, Anthony, if you do not wish me to be a princess, I shall not be! I shall forswear my title, abdicate my station, and go off into the wilderness to live as you wish!”
“I wish you to have all the luxuries you deserve,” he said, his eyes burning into hers. “You are what you are and should have naught but the best. Nothing can change that, nor would I want you to be anything less.”
“Nor you,” the nixie called Alassair said. “I can see, and hear, that you have been born a peasant, but I can also sense that your struggles to overcome the obstacles in your path have created nobility of spirit in you. Come hither, mortal.”
Anthony stepped back in alarm, but Alassair gestured and Anthony came, steps dragging, fighting the nixies' compulsion every step of the way. “Kneel,” she commanded, and his knees folded, bringing him down to her level whether he wished it or not.
The water-spirit touched his forehead, then nodded. “He has as much magical talent as she, and it comes from the greatness of his heart, from his integrity and determination. But who is this?”
Both nixies backed away, ready to dive, as Prester John came up behind the young couple. “Ah, it is the man who has decreed this garden to be built for our sport!” Alassair said. “Be assured, Majesty—this lad is indeed one of Nature's noblemen, and we who are of nature should know it better than any.”
John drew a wand from his sleeve and held it over Anthony, who was still kneeling, now trembling and wide-eyed. The emperor laid the wand across the youth's right shoulder, then across his left, saying, “I pronounce you a Wizard of the Realm.”
Anthony stiffened as though a current were flowing through him.
John put away the wand. “In our land that is a title of nobility, though one gained by effort and merit, not by birth. It is surely enough for you to court a princess.”
Anthony rose slowly and turned to Balkis, then took her hands. They stood gazing happily into each other's eyes.
“Oh, show some pluck, mortal!” Shannai said in disgust. “She offers her lips! Take them, and her!”
Slowly, as though a wind blew him, Anthony leaned forward and covered Balkis' lips with his own.
“At last!” Alassair sighed, and with a splash, she and her sister dived beneath the surface.
Prester John and Matt smiled fondly for a while, then turned away to discuss matters of state. As they walked back to the palace, the lovers' kiss deepened, and above them a long serpentine shape drifted across the face of the moon, one that might have been two reptilian forms so thoroughly intertwined that no one could have told where one left off and the other began.
Christopher Stasheff spent his early childhood
in Mount Vernon, New York, but lived the rest
of his formative years in Ann Arbor, Michigan.
He has always had difficulty distinguishing
fantasy from reality and tried to compromise by
teaching college. When teaching proved too real,
he gave it up in favor of writing full-time. He tends
to pre-script his life but doesn't understand why
other people can't get their lines right.
A Del Rey® Book
Published by The Ballantine Publishing Group
Copyright © 2000 by Christopher Stasheff
Del Rey is a registered trademark and the Del Rey colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.
www.randomhouse.com/delrey/
eISBN: 978-0-307-55607-3
v3.0
The Feline Wizard Page 40