If only she could do that for Sorla—but she wasn’t ready to open her mind to Sorla like that. She didn’t need Sorla to know that Velsa had sometimes avoided spending time with her because it was too painful.
But when Sorla emerged, she had a barely suppressed smile, her movements now smooth and silent. Velsa felt a rush of relief and protectiveness.
Is this what it’s like…to have a child?
She knew it really couldn’t be. Velsa wasn’t even old enough to be Sorla’s mother. But it felt very much like an elaborate game of playing house. She remembered playing with the other girls when she was little, and how she enjoyed it, because for a moment she could lose herself in the feeling that she really had a family. She used to play with a girl named Tissa, who would pretend to be a little girl who had lost her real family, and Velsa was a rich lady who adopted her. Even in their games, they were always adopted.
She wondered if Sorla ever imagined Velsa and Grau were her parents, and suddenly Velsa felt sure that she did.
Maybe that was why Sorla was so sad about the whole thing. When Grau bought Velsa, it was a joining of two people who had seen something in one another’s eyes, and it had ended in a marriage of sorts. They might not have met as a sorcerer and a clothing merchant’s daughter, but the ending had been the same.
The acquisition of Sorla was more like an adoption. But she would never really become their child the way Velsa became Grau’s wife. They would all have to figure out exactly how she fit in.
On the way home, Grau insisted on buying something Sorla had never tasted before. He purchased a very fashionable cake out of a shop window, covered all over with buttercream icing and rosettes of icing on top, each rosette crowned by a cherry. As soon as they got home, he cut the first slice and handed it to Sorla.
“Have a seat.” Grau nudged Sorla to take her plate to the table. “Cake for dinner tonight.”
“You really don’t want me to make anything?” Sorla asked.
“No. If we’re hungry we still have bread and butter. And I hardly need any more food. We entertained sorcerers from out of town at work today, and had an endless parade of appetizers. They were a fascinating group.” He cut slices of cake for Velsa and himself while he spoke. “They take mind-altering drugs before working on spells. They feel it heightens the consciousness but one of them was missing a hand and I really wanted to ask if the two were related…”
Sorla seemed transfixed by her cake.
“Good?” Grau asked.
“Like eating a cloud.”
Sorla seemed so much happier now. She likes Grau more than me, Velsa thought, and she could hardly blame Sorla, when she considered the difference. Velsa could hardly look at her without that terrible sinking guilt.
It was not until she went to bed, until she was in Grau’s arms, the place she was safe, that she started to cry uncontrollably.
“Darling…bellora…what’s wrong?” He seemed baffled.
“You’ve given me everything…”
“Hardly. But I try.”
“I can’t even give Sorla a decent face or a woman’s body because if she is assaulted the only crime is property damage. She’ll never know this—being with someone she loves. She’ll never have so many things. It’s practically against the law for me to give her a good life. I can’t bear this.”
He clutched her very tightly. “I couldn’t either, with you, that’s why I risked claiming you as my wife.”
“And yet, I’m not sure Sorla even likes me that much.”
“What? Of course she does. Why wouldn’t she?”
“Because I can’t stop being sad about it all. And who wants to be around someone who is so sad all the time? You’re not sad. You’re all cakes and hidden dresses and funny stories.”
“I’m not sure if I’m being complimented or appraised with mild sarcasm…”
“Complimented! I think.”
“Sorla does make me sad,” he said. “But I can only do what I can.When we got together I had this wonderful awareness that I was able to share the little bit of power I have in this world with someone who would have had no power at all.” He shut his eyes and pressed his head to hers. “Now it’s happening again with Sorla, and maybe it will keep happening. Velsa, I don’t have any answers. I feel so inconsequential, in the end, but I still have power over cakes and dresses, and I could drive myself insane if I think about all the things I don’t have any power over.”
Velsa stared at the wall. She had pinned a few pictures there of Grau’s beloved marshes, that she bought on a trip to town at a “postal card” store. For a moment, she basked in the safety of their little cocoon.
“I wonder who Flynn is…,” she whispered.
He opened his eyes, the usual lines of worry creasing his brow, but he didn’t say a word.
Chapter 9
“Damn Preya.” Grau came in the next day with the mail, a letter unfolded in his hand.
“Why, what has she done?”
“I keep telling her she should join us here, and she writes, ‘I think about you and Velsa every day, but considering all that is going on in the world right now, it doesn’t seem safe.’ She still plans to marry that oaf Morilan. She’s going to regret it for the rest of her life. I wrote her an eight page letter trying to convince her otherwise!”
He absently dropped the rest of the mail on the table.
“What’s this one?” Velsa could hardly believe he had opened the letter from Preya before the letter with peacock feathers and ribbons glued to it.
She unfolded an invitation:
Hide your face…show some skin. Winter does not exist in the home of the Peacock General. You are cordially invited to a costume masquerade.
“Oh, that,” Grau said. “Everyone at work was buzzing about it, wondering if they’d be invited. I guess it was too much to hope that we might get to skip it…”
The newspapers speculated on who would attend and what surprises were in store. Even in their apartment building, the sorceress who lived downstairs asked if they were going.
“His parties are the best!” she gushed. “I think everyone looks more beautiful at Calban’s parties. I fall in love with someone every time I go and I don’t come to my senses for a week, but sometimes you must throw caution to the wind. That’s why I love Calban. He lives and breathes the freedom to do as you like!”
The irony, Velsa thought. She was terrified that too much acquaintance with Calban would offer precisely the opposite of freedom.
But, she had to admit, he hadn’t pushed the point of using her telepathic powers.
Maybe I’m just on edge because of what I am. I expect people to force me to do things. Grau sees him at work all the time and nothing bad has happened…
“What will you dress as?” the sorceress asked. “Make sure you look sharp! There’s a costume shop in the city where everyone goes.”
“An entire shop for costumes?”
“Dear, there is an entire shop here for everything.”
The Peacock General lived at the top of that same hill where Parsons did. His house reminded Velsa of the river palaces of Atlantis, with arched balconies facing in each direction, but it was much larger and newer. Gardens surrounded the mansion, lit with strings of glowing magical lights that reflected upon the snow. The air was potently fragrant from cones of incense that burned from little decorated pots lining the walkway. Crowds walked up to the paths from carriages, swathed in their cloaks, before shedding them at the door.
In the foyer, a phonograph was playing a tune sung by a woman with an eerie high voice. The record was not a cylinder, as Velsa had seen before, but a black disc, and the music was surprisingly clear. But the pounding of drums came through the walls from the depths of the house, suggestive of the last party, but more driving and strange.
Somehow, even when they got to the parties precisely on time, they were always in progress already. Velsa and Grau looked positively demure compared to some of the attendees who wer
e taking the invitation to heart. No, there was no winter here. The room was warm and smelled of spices and flowers. Even on the hottest summer day in Nisa where Velsa had grown up, she never saw Daramons bare their skin like this. Generally, they were a modest people.
Here were women wearing capes of feathers with costumes that seemed made from little more than scarves, men dressed as ancient warriors with painted tattoos and knives strapped to their arms and legs, girls wearing the garb of the Balumi islands with heavy shell necklaces covering their breasts and flowing skirts of batik. People were dressed as ancient gods, heroes of legend, flowers and animals. The Peacock General’s party planner stood out in his black suit, steering a broken ice sculpture out of the room with a look of consternation.
“A drink?” A Fanarlem girl was suddenly right in front of them, offering a tray.
Velsa almost jumped out of her skin.
The Fanarlem girl had the same slant to her eyes as Velsa did, the same curve to her mouth. She could have been a girl from the House of Perfumed Ribbons, a sister to Velsa. Grau stared at her and the concubine gave them a sly little smile. “I do believe you need a drink, sir.” She put one in Grau’s hand, and then gave a little nod to Velsa. “Milady.”
The concubine was draped in so much gold and jewels, it was almost a wonder she could hold her head so high. Her headdress resembled wings, but made of diamonds, fanning above her ears. Bands of gold shaped like snakes with emerald eyes ringed her upper arms. Around her neck was a choker of rubies and jade. She wore a simple sleeveless dress, cut high at the hips, and knee-high boots, so all the stitches were visible except for her neck and ankles, even the most private ones at the top of the legs.
Grau nodded at her faintly and she moved on to other guests with her tray of drinks, looking quite at ease. Maybe Velsa shouldn’t feel so uncomfortable. Certainly some of the girls at the House dreamed of such a life.
“She doesn’t look that much like you,” Grau said, after a sip.
“The fact that you feel the need to say that proves she does.” Velsa tried not to keep staring at her. “Calban said he knew my maker. Now I see that it’s certainly true!”
He put an arm around her. “No one seems to be staring at you and confusing you for a concubine. And you made me wear this silly outfit, so you better enjoy it.”
“It’s not silly! I picked out the best thing they had.” She knew Grau would never take the time to buy his own costume, so she had chosen outfits for the both of them, and dressed him like a pirate, in a sleeveless tunic, loose pants, and tall boots.
He took her hand and tugged her through the next doorway, the source of the music.
While the drums were the most prominent sound, through the doors they came to a wonderland of music; an astonishing instrument dominated the room with its physical presence. A man sat at a shining black case, his hands dancing along a row of black and white keys. The top of it was open, displaying how the keys manipulated small hammers inside to strike the notes. Crowds shuffled through to stare at it, and the man playing it kept repeating, “It’s called a piano, folks. The newest craze, the piano.”
Grau finished his drink and let the glass float to the ceiling. “A dance for your…what am I, a pirate captain?”
“You know you’re a pirate captain. Stop making a fuss.”
“Pirates really are no friend to fish merchants.”
“You’re not a fish merchant anymore.”
He took her hands and whirled her around then pulled her close. She felt the benefit of her superior skeleton over the last time they had danced; even the swiftest movements didn’t seem to require much thought. Some of the guests knew the latest dances, their steps as precise as the notes. She and Grau tried to imitate it, with laughter and smashed toes. All that really mattered was that everyone kept up with the circling motion of the room as a whole. Their bodies turned like the hands of a clock around the dial.
The overhead lights dimmed suddenly, a purple glow rising from the floor, and the drums began to pound. A girl danced into the center of the room, with gold plates covering her breasts, and a skirt that sat low on her hips. Her long loose hair swirled around her, and so did her skirts. Her feet were bare. She wore kohl thick around her eyes like a man. She carried two fans made of peacock feathers.
The crowd pulled back to allow her space, with oohs and ahhs of excitement, as she spun with her fans and rolled her hips seductively. Her skirts were split but layered, to offer an occasional flash of her legs.
Her eyes were bewitching, her smile utterly confident. She made Velsa think of sex—seduction—the way it felt with Grau, the first time. Like she was frightened, but very willing—like her body was newly alive, and she didn’t know what sensations would come, but they would be good.
She slid her hand up his arm, remembering.
He glanced at her, his eyes hooded behind the black eye mask he wore.
“This music,” he said. “I’ve never heard anything quite like it.”
Certainly, the music itself was a great part of the dancer’s seduction. It was the musical embodiment of an alluring woman, of shadows and whispers and beckoning fingers. Grau slid his hand along her thigh, the one part of her left bare, and her skin tingled down to her core.
The dancer waved her fans, leaning back so far that her torso was perpendicular to her legs, her long hair glancing across the floor, before she rose up again, fluttering the fans in front of her face. As the notes coming from the piano began to retreat, so did she. She disappeared behind the same door where she had emerged moments ago.
“I should probably have something to eat,” Grau said, as if snapping out of a trance.
Behind them, the dance music resumed, but he led the way into the next room. This was a larger hall, with tables of food in every direction—not just polite trays of desserts or skewered meat, but towering displays of citrus, fountains of punch, entire game birds and hog heads with attendants to carve them. The room was so loud with conversation that everyone had to shout.
Velsa immediately spotted Parsons. She had not bothered with a mask and she wore a simple black coat dress with a bow tied around the high neck in what seemed to be open defiance of the Peacock General’s directive. She stood near a table of food, dropping a shrimp tail into a large golden bowl. Even the trash was given an elegant receptacle.
Velsa turned away, embarrassed for Parsons to see her, now that she knew Calban’s concubines looked just like her. But it was too late. Parsons saw them and walked over. “Is the skeleton working out?” she asked.
“It’s excellent,” Velsa said. “Even better than advertised.”
“Good.”
“Where’s your mask?” Grau asked, and Velsa cringed inwardly. She didn’t think they ought to ask Parsons about it.
“I don’t own one,” Parsons said, as if this couldn’t be helped.
“Defeats the purpose of a masquerade, doesn’t it?”
Parsons shrugged and looked at Velsa like why is your husband talking to me?
Velsa kept Grau moving along. They sampled some of the food and then decided to investigate the basement, where people kept disappearing down the spiraling stairs.
Laughing and shrieking came from the basement, with a curious echo, along with splashing. Velsa had heard of fountains inside of wealthy homes before, but she had never seen anything like the indoor swimming pool in Calban’s basement. It was deep enough for drowning, lined with tile, lit from below. Rippling shadow and light from the moving water danced over the ceiling. The pool was packed with people, mostly stripped to their underwear.
Irik was there, still wearing the wrapped dress and shawl of her home, with the look of someone observing an ant colony. As always, Irik’s combination of loneliness and grace always drew Velsa’s eyes.
She noticed Velsa watching her, and smiled faintly, a brief exchange of acknowledgment that neither of them belonged here.
“Watch out, Thanneau, don’t get your doll wet,” called
a guy running by in a mask and undershorts.
“She’s not a doll!” Grau shouted, although the guy was already running by.
“I do understand why that Parsons girl is so prickly,” Grau muttered.
They left the pool and kept walking, perusing the house from bottom to top. The basement seemed endless, with a dance going on in one large room with barren brick walls, and a wine cellar where some men were getting plastered right out of a barrel. There was an ominous thrumming machine of some sort. On the upper floor, they found a maze of halls and smaller rooms. The party atmosphere was maintained even here, with phonograph music coming from one room, card games going on in another. Curtains of beads separated the corridors.
“A drink, sir?” The Fanarlem concubine who so resembled Velsa came by with her tray.
“You already gave me one,” Grau said.
She laughed. “No, I’d remember you. You must mean one of my sisters.” She put a drink in his hand, trailed a finger down his chest, and looked at Velsa. “Your wife is very pretty.” She gave him a wicked little smile. There was no denying that they looked similar enough that Velsa could have been their ‘sister’ too. Grau watched the girl walk away.
“Grau!” Velsa hissed.
He looked a little flushed. “I’m sorry! She startled me.”
“It’s not like you haven’t seen it before. All of us in the House of Perfumed Ribbons looked somewhat alike.”
“I hardly noticed, that day. I’d never seen Fanarlem concubines before. Now I know your face so well. But…it hardly matters. In the end, beauty is a thing of the soul.”
“Nice try, mister.” She smiled. “Still…I should be the only one doing this.” She trailed her finger down his chest in the same place.
The Sorcerer’s Wife Page 10