I had no idea what to expect from the Lady Mina this morning. Was it possible, as her father maintained, that she would come to accept her new situation in just a single night? She was standing with her back to the room, gazing out the great bank of windows, swathed in her great, dark cloak. Even the hood was pulled up over her head. Of Gayna, I could see no sign.
At the click of the door closing fast, the Lady Mina made a small movement, and I could see a flash of gold fabric beneath the cloak’s hem.
That is a good sign, I thought. She would not defy her father completely, for she had dressed to attend the audience.
“Sarastro, Mage of the Day, sends you greetings, Lady Mina,” I said. “He welcomes you to your first dawn, and requests that you accompany me to the audience scheduled in your honor.”
“My first dawn as his subject, you mean,” the Lady Mina said, her voice subdued, muffled by the hood of her cloak. Still, she did not turn around.
“He seeks only to honor you,” I said, wishing I didn’t feel, and sound, quite so stupid. Wishing I could throw protocol aside and say what I truly wanted.
“And to honor you, as well,” the Lady Mina said. “For does he not intend that I shall be your bride? Come now, tell me the truth, Statos.”
“That is the lord’s desire,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “And mine, above all else.”
“Truly?” the Lady Mina asked. Again she moved. And again I caught a sudden flash of gold. “More than anything else in the world, you wish to be my husband?”
“I do, Lady,” I said.
At this, at long last, the Lady Mina turned around, pushing her cloak back from her face as she did so. At her gesture, I felt the very blood inside my veins congeal.
“And now, Statos?”
“Gayna,” I said, my voice no more than a whisper. “For the love of heaven, what have you done?”
What Sometimes Happens to the Best-Laid Plans
(A THING YOU MAY NOT NEED TO BE TOLD)
“What I had to do,” I answered, my tone impassioned. “What any subject who truly holds the Lord Sarastro in her heart would have done.”
“You helped her get away.”
“Yes,” I said simply. What was the sense in denying what I had done?
I watched as Statos moved to the chair in front of the now cold fireplace, his movements slow yet jerky, and sat down upon one arm. I have seen men, competitors in the tournaments the Lord Sarastro sometimes hosts, move like this sometimes, when they have taken a blow which does no lasting injury but confuses all the body, the mind most of all.
Then he looked up, his blue eyes dazed, and spoke a single word:
“Why?”
“To show the Lord Sarastro the truth about his daughters heart,” I said. “To prove that she will never bend her will to his, for she does not love him. She does not love you. She is the lord’s daughter by blood, but this does not make her worthy of either of you. Forget her, Statos.”
To my astonishment, he laughed, and the sound was so bitter it made my throat close up.
“Forget her,” he echoed. “Why do you not simply suggest I forget my whole life? Merciful sun in the sky!” he exclaimed as he shot to his feet and began to pace around the room. “How shall I tell the Lord Sarastro of this? You have no idea of the trouble this brings down upon us.”
“Then perhaps you’d better tell me,” I said. “It would be nice if someone explained something.”
He swung around to face me, pivoting swiftly on one heel. His eyes moved over my face for what seemed a lifetime. Long enough for me to feel myself color, then grow pale beneath his scrutiny. For me to feel first hope, then fear take hold of my heart.
“You really don’t know, do you?” he finally said quietly. There was in his voice a thing that I had never heard there before, though this is not the same as saying I did not recognize it for what it was.
No, oh no, I thought.
For the thing in his voice sounded remarkably like pity. And, much more than hate, it is pity which is the opposite, the doom, of love. For to love or hate truly, you need to be equals, or at least close in strength. But pity is a thing which flows from the strong to the weak. From the haves to the have-nots.
“Know what?” I asked, though the truth was, I was far from certain that I wanted to know.
“There is a reason the Lord Sarastro did not take his daughter into his household before now. A prophecy was made in the hour of her birth.”
“A prophecy,” I said. “I suppose I should have known. Wait a minute. Don’t tell me.” I raised a hand as I saw him take a breath to go on. “It doesn’t just concern the Lord Sarastro’s daughter. It also concerns her husband.”
“That is so,” Statos replied. He began to move about the room again, though not with the agitation he had showed before. This was the way he moved when he was thinking something through, trying to come up with an explanation for a difficult problem. A thing he did without being aware he was doing it, and one of the things I loved most about him.
“According to the prophecy, when the Lady Mina weds, the very world itself will change,” he said softly now. “And the powers of her parents, of the Night and the Day, will also change. They will at once grow weaker and more strong.”
In spite of myself, I gave a snort. “Just once, I’d like to hear a simple, straightforward prophecy.”
Statos gave a bark of surprised laughter. For a moment, I saw genuine amusement and appreciation light in his cobalt eyes. I felt a clutch inside my chest.
How much easier my life would be if I did not love you! I thought. How much less painful but how much plainer. How much less color there would be in the world.
“Who comes up with such things, anyhow?”
“I don’t have the faintest idea,” Statos replied. “The powers that watch over the universe, I assume.”
“And they’re interested in the Lady Mina and whom she might marry.”
He nodded, and the smile faded from his eyes.
“It seems that they are. The Lord Sarastro’s interest is only natural, of course. He has devoted the Lady Mina’s lifetime to finding the true meaning of the prophecy. Since it tells that the world will be altered not by the birth of a daughter but by her marriage, the lord has reasoned that the key lies in finding the right husband for her.
“But he hardly saw her until yesterday,” I protested. “How can he find her the right husband when he doesn’t even know her?”
“He does not need to know her,” Statos said, both his tone and his expression betraying his surprise at my agitation over what he considered to be obvious. “In fact, he does not wish to.”
I think my mouth actually dropped open. I loved the Lord Sarastro, and I had trusted him since I was a small child. But there are some things that simply don’t make sense.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said. “Of course he needs to know her. How else can he find the proper husband?”
“By reason,” Statos said simply. “Reason and nothing more. This is why, much as he sometimes mistrusts her, he gave the raising of Mina over to her mother, the Queen of the Night. The Lord Sarastro feared that, if he raised his daughter himself, if he watched her grow as other father’s do …”
“It might be difficult for him to deny her if her choice was different from his own,” I filled in softly.
“That is it, precisely,” answered Statos. “He could not afford to run the risk that he would be swayed by his, or the Lady Minas emotions. More than her happiness is at stake in this. There is the fate of the world itself.”
“To say nothing of the fate of his own power,” I said suddenly, and I think it’s fair to say that I surprised us both. This was as close as I had ever come to criticizing the Lord Sarastro. “The prophecy says only that the Lady Minas parents will each grow weaker and stronger upon her marriage. It doesn’t say in what proportion.”
Statos nodded, his expression thoughtful. “That is true also. Therefore, the lord reasoned th
at the best choice for his daughter would be a member of his own order. Someone he knew he could trust absolutely, for he had helped to guide his steps himself.”
“You,” I said. “His favorite, his chosen apprentice. How well everything works out.”
“The Lord Sarastro has a reason for everything he does,” Statos said simply. “It is his way, the way of our order.”
“Why did he choose to raise me, I wonder?”
Then, even as I posed the question, a reason occurred to me. One my mind informed me just might break what was left of my already-battered heart.
“But surely you know the answer to that,” Statos said.
“So that he could know what a young girl was like,” I said, and I thought my own words might suffocate me. “To raise a girl without actually having to raise his own daughter. I am a stand-in. An experiment. A cipher.”
“Of course not,” Statos said at once. He moved to where I stood, turned me to face him, and grasped me by the upper arms. “He honored your parents, especially your father, Gayna. Raising you simply shows his respect.”
I felt a dreadful impulse to laugh and fought it down.
“Respect,” I said, and I looked up into those blue, blue eyes. “Honor. Those are fine words, Statos. But for all they speak of noble things, they come from the mind and not the heart. So tell me, what of love? Does the Lord Sarastro love me? Do you? Can you even love?”
I felt his hands flex, involuntarily, upon my arms.
“Gayna,” he said. “I-it does no good to ask such questions. They can change nothing.”
“My lord!” A brisk knock sounded on the chamber door. At the sound, Statos started, his grip tightening yet again. “The hour grows late.”
“Merciful heavens!” Statos whispered. “The Lord Sarastro’s audience. How can I tell him that his daughter has run away rather than bend her will to his?”
“Let me tell him,” I said, though the very words brought despair to my heart. “It is I who should bear the brunt of his displeasure, not you, for I showed her the way out.”
“No,” Statos said at once. And now, at last, he let me go. “I will tell him. I will do my duty.”
He turned toward the door.
“Just tell me one thing,” I said, and, at the sound of my voice, he stopped, though he did not turn around. “I have no idea what’s going to happen next, but I don’t imagine it’s going to be very pleasant for me. Tell me the truth about this one thing before you go to the Lord Sarastro.”
“What do you want to know?”
More than anything in the world, I wished to close my eyes, so that I might not have to see his reaction. I kept them open.
“Could you have loved me? If there had been no prophecy, if it made no difference whose blood flows in my veins and whose in the Lady Minas, would she still have been your choice? Or might you have made another?”
“Why do you ask me such things?” Statos said, and his voice was weary. “Have I not already told you they can change nothing?”
“I’m not asking that anything change,” I said. “All I’m asking for is knowledge. You ought to understand that. Knowledge is a thing of the mind. If you had been free to choose, would you still have chosen the Lord Sarastro’s daughter?”
“I have always been free to choose, Gayna,” Statos said.
Then he went out, and closed the door quietly behind him.
In Which a new Friendship Is Formed
All that night, I played the bells.
I played until my hands went numb to the wrists, and then the elbows, and, finally, the shoulders. Until calluses formed upon my palms, hardened, and then split open. Until the bright blood trickled slowly down my fingers in a never-ending stream, and the bells themselves were colored red and gold. I played until I was beyond hunger, beyond thirst, beyond pain, but still within the bounds of hope.
Just as dawn was breaking, the birds arrived.
Every single bird I’d ever called to me in the course of my life swooped down in a great wheeling mass just as the sun burst over the horizon. Some settled on the ground at my feet in the clearing where I sat. Others lined the branches of the nearby trees. Still others turned in spirals above my head, making a great exclamation point in the lightening sky.
Yet, in spite of these different actions, all had one thing in common. Save for the beating of their wings, not one bird made a sound, as if knowing in their hearts, as I did in mine, that no other voice should be raised. Nothing must come between the ears of the wide world and the call of the bells.
Last to come was the nightingale, who settled into her usual position upon my shoulder, though this was hardly her usual time of day to do so. I knew that she was there only by the quick flash of wings I caught out of the corner of my eye. I think my entire body had gone numb by then. The only parts still functioning were my arms, my hands, and my heart.
My mind felt as thin and blank as a sheet of pounded metal. Not that my mind was really all that important at the moment. The mind is a wonder and can accomplish many things. But it cannot accomplish the impossible. That is a thing only the heart can do, though a strong will helps also.
The impossible began to happen shortly before noon. That’s when the young man finally showed up, stumbling into the clearing like a drunkard, then pulling up short. Blinking, as if he couldn’t quite trust the sight in his own eyes.
At his arrival, every single bird turned to stare. Those on the ground looked up. Those in the trees looked down. Those still in the air ceased to beat their wings, opened them to glide, and craned their necks. As for me, I continued to play the bells. It had taken a long time for anything to show up, it was true. But there was no guarantee the first thing to show up was going to be the right one.
“I’m here,” the young man gasped, and he sounded so out of breath I wondered if he had run the whole way from wherever it was that he had started out. “I’m sorry it took so long. I’m not too late, am I?”
At his words, the stone hammer slipped from my numb fingers and fell upon the ground, and the bright noonday was filled with silence.
“You are not too late,” I said. “Who are you?”
“I am called Tern,” the young man said. “And I’m a prince, if that’s important.”
“Tern,” I echoed, not quite certain I had heard him right.
He made a face. “It’s an unusual name, I know. It’s a kind of seabird, to tell you the truth. But my younger brother’s name is Arthur.”
“How nice for him. I am called Lapin,” I said. It was the first time I’d volunteered my name in as long as I could remember. “You don’t have to tell me what it means. I already know.”
“Your name means something too?” the young man asked, his voice surprised. And at this, three separate things happened, all at once.
I threw back my head and laughed.
The birds opened their throats and began to sing.
And, muffled in a cloak to guard against the light of day, die Königin der Nacht arrived.
And new Plans Are formed
“Do you know who I am?” she asked.
I felt a wild impulse to laugh and fought it down. It could, quite truthfully, be said I wasn’t all that sure I knew anything anymore, though I had managed to find the one who played the bells and produce my own name upon request, both of which I took to be good signs.
Pull yourself together, Tern, I thought. You are a prince, after all
“Madam,” I answered, wishing I could say something other than what I was about to. “I regret that I do not. Though please don’t take it personally. I seem to be saying, ’I don’t know,’ an awful lot all of a sudden. Though it might help things if I could see your face.”
I watched her turn her head in Lapin’s direction, the movement as eloquent as if she’d spoken aloud.
Is this the best that you could do? it asked.
“He said his name was Tern,” Lapin offered mildly.
“Did he, indeed?” the woman
said, and her head turned back toward me. “Perhaps this will help,” she said. And she pushed back the hood of her cloak.
For the span of my swiftly indrawn breath, the world grew still. A great darkness reached out to cover the sun, though there was not a cloud in the sky. And, in that moment, I released my breath, for I thought I knew. She pulled the hood back over her face and the sun shone out once more.
“Well?”
“There are tales in my land,” I said, “told mostly to lull children to sleep. Tales of a great queen who watches over the night. She is complicated, the tales say. Like the night, she is many different things at once. Some say she has a voice of silk. Others, that she has a will of iron. But all agree on one thing: Her beauty has no equal.”
“Just one,” answered the Queen of the Night. “My daughter. Will you look upon her likeness?”
“If it pleases you,” I said.
“Oh, for crying out loud,” Lapin suddenly exclaimed. “I didn’t play the bells until my fingers bled just so the two of you could sound like you’re in the middle of a court audience. We haven’t got a lot of time here, in case you’ve forgotten. Can’t you just tell him what needs to be done and get on with it? Some of us haven’t had much rest and are tired.”
I half expected her to strike him dead for his impertinence right on the spot, always assuming she actually had the power to do so. Instead the Queen of the Night simply smiled.
“You’ll have to forgive Lapin,” she said calmly.” He can be annoying, especially when he’s right and he knows it.”
“There’s something you need me to do?” I asked. Perhaps all of this was about to make sense.
“Why did you come here, young Tern?” she asked by way of a reply.
“Because I had to,” I said simply. “The bells didn’t give me any choice.”
“Bells,” said the Queen of the Night.
I nodded. “I heard bells,” I said. “And it seemed to me that they called to me. More than that, their call was a summons.”
Sunlight and Shadow Page 8