Prospero Lost: Prospero's Daughter, Book I (58 page)

“Then what do you want?”

He stood, as surefooted atop the black swan as he had been upon the dance floor of ice. “Anon, there will be time enough for you to learn what I require of you when our feet are again planted upon the ground.” He peered downward. “Nor need you fear that I have spirited you away; a passage leads back from my home to Bromigos’s hall.”

A frisson of something akin to fear passed through me at the words “what I require of you,” and I found myself grudgingly admitting that maybe Mab had been right. It would have been wiser for us to have avoided the High Council. On the other hand, perhaps I was overreacting. He could have left me among the fixed stars, my soul fled. Shaking off my surge of panic, I let the joy and wonder of our flight again wash over me.

Wrapping my arms about the thick neck of the great black swan, I peered
downward. Below us lay a palace shaped like a windrose. The domes and spires of the airy palace formed its center, the eight tall towers rising around it marking the cardinal directions, while the circular outer wall delineated the circumference. The eternal dawn-light gleamed off the silver roofs, dyeing them rose and cherry red, except for the spire of the palace dome, which glowed a peachy gold, as if it rose high enough to be struck by the first ray of the rising sun.

The beauty of it took my breath away.

Leaning over the side of the black swan, one hand upon the base of the wing, Astreus pointed toward one of the towers. “Rightfully, that belongs to Caekias. Before your father stole them from me, he, Caurus, and Boreas were my right hand, the weapon with which I smote my enemies.” It took me a moment to realize he was referring to Mab.

I had been here once before, I realized suddenly, during the early days of the Great Wind Hunt, the time we chased the North Wind across the Russian steppe and over the Rhipaean Mountains to Hyperborea. We had been within sight of this palace when we finally captured Boreas, by sneaking up on him from behind.

“What was he like?” I asked. “Caekias, I mean.”

“Wild and free and as fierce as the Northeast Wind should be,” he replied. “Come!”

Astreus offered me his hand. I did not know what he wanted, but I took it, rising unsteadily. As I did so, he yanked me toward him, caught me up into his arms as if I were a bride, and leapt from the black swan’s back.

Downward we plunged.

We fell through the rosy glow of the eternal early morning, the wind whistling around us. Astreus dropped feet-first, holding himself as calmly as if he were back in the feast hall. His silvery-gray eyes upon me, he leaned forward, until his face was only a little distance from mine.

“Mortal maid,” he said. I could hear him clearly despite the whistling of the wind. “I have but to release you now, and you will fall and break apart upon the spires, speeding your way to Heaven. Is this your desire?”

“No,” I cried, clinging to him with all my strength. His laughter rang out about me, both mocking and joyous.

As I clung to him, breathing his crisp cool scent, a heady sensation of dreaminess enveloped me. Though still awake, I dreamt I flew, surrounded by icy cutting winds. As we dove, screaming with joy, towers tumbled before our might; cities crashed into the sea; fleets of ships were blown against the
rocks, splitting like kindling. Dead bodies washed up upon the shores until they lay in stacks. Somewhere nearby, Astreus laughed with glee, his eyes as dark as a tempest.

“All those people! Dead!” I cried, my throat dry.

“It is their fate to die. Does not an early death speed them to Heaven’s Gate?”

“Are you crazy?” I cried, not even finding it odd that he could see my dream.

His brows drew together, surprised, and I realized that his question had been serious. I struggled to find words that would convey to him the horror of what he was suggesting. Appeals to human sympathy would avail nothing. Elves had none.

Gritting my teeth, I said with what restraint I could muster, “Any man you kill who has not yet made his peace with his Maker goes straight to Hell!”

Astreus’s eyes turned white with shock. “Have I sent men to Hell?”

“Does it matter?” I asked, curious.

“All things regarding the Infernal are weighty. I would not, of my own doing, swell Hell’s ranks by a single soul, not again!” He glanced down at me with eyes that blazed with a scarlet fire. “What of you, Maid? Do you fear Hell? Is that why you cling to this mortal coil?”

“No,” I said truthfully. I had commended my soul to Heaven long ago.

“Then, why do you not wish to die? Why stay here, in these dreary Shadowlands, when the true beauty of Heaven could be yours?”

“I like it here!” I snapped, clinging to him harder, for I feared I felt his hands loosening about me.

Astreus stared at me, as if thunderstruck. “Do you? Can such a thing be? Are not all souls homesick for High Heaven? I saw how the celestial choir drew you. Why do you deny its lure?”

“Why do you?”

“It is denied to me.”

“Oh!” I whispered, biting my lip. “Oh . . . how sad.”

“Were I able, I would weep tears of blood.”

We fell in silence for a time. Now that my fear had ebbed, the exhilaration of our fall delighted me. I laid my head against his shoulder. The wolverine fur trimming his garments tickled my nose. I luxuriated in the wind and motion. As if in a daze, I dreamt the elf lord leaned over me, brushing his mouth across mine and licking the stardew from my lips. But it was a dream
only. When I looked up, I saw Astreus gazed off into the distance, his eyes clouded.

We landed softly upon a high silvery balcony adrip with hoarfrost. He placed me upon my feet, and I stood shakily, trying to get my bearings. He laughed.

“Poor mortal maid, as shaky as a newborn fawn. Was it our fall that spooked you so?” His eyes gleamed a brilliant green with humor and mockery. “Or does your sudden weakness blow from another quarter? ’Tis said that mortal maids find elven lords captivating, and cannot but become enamored of our charms, weaving elaborate dreams in which we come unbidden to their marriage bowers. Have you such dreams, Miranda? If so, shake them from you, like old cobwebs, for they shall not come to pass. Mortal maids are puny things compared to our elven ladies, and hold no allure.”

“I am fine,” I snapped, steadying myself, but the memory of the stolen dream-kiss suffused my cheeks with heat.

Astreus led me into the tower, down a pearly spiral staircase, to a doorway made of ivory.

“Wait here,” he said. “I shall be back presently.”

He was gone but a moment, returning with a smile to lead me through the ivory door. Almost immediately, I recognized the pine-bedecked cedar halls of Father Christmas’s mansion. Turning a corner, we entered a small nook in the hallway, in which stood a silver samovar heated by a cheery blue flame. Silver goblets rested on a tray beside it. A Douglas fir decorated with lit candles stood to one side, and the pungent scent of its needles mingled with the cinnamon and clove of mulling spices. The garlands of pine boughs strung along the walls were hung with bells.

The elf lord stopped to pour us both goblets of mulled wine. He seemed so tall and elegant as he poured. I gazed at the enameled blue leather that covered his back and wondered whether he, too, had scars over his shoulder blades, where once wings had sprouted. Astreus handed me a cup, which I quaffed gratefully, relieved to see that I was still capable of drinking mortal draughts.

“What was this thing you said you required of me?” I asked presently.

“I have a gift for you,” Astreus said.

Unbidden, the thought came to wonder what he could possibly offer me that could improve upon this glorious ride, the like of which I had never experienced in all my long years, but I held my tongue. Admitting I had received a gift from an elf might give him power over me. Instead, I laughed aloud.

“Do you take me for a child, Lord Stormwind? I know better than to accept gifts from elves.”

Astreus’s eyes, now blue as sapphires, danced. “My heart tells me you will accept this one.”

“Mine tells me I shall not,” I replied firmly.

“We shall see. . . .”

“Is that so?” I murmured under my breath.

“Do you propose a wager, then?” Astreus laughed, delighted. “The promptings of my heart against those of yours? I accept!”

“I said nothing about a wager. . . .”

“But a wager has been proposed. You cannot back out now. What shall we wager? A boon, perhaps?

“No!” I cried, but he would not be dissuaded. Better to take the wager and define the terms, than to find myself trapped in the classic fairy-tale blunder of having offered an open-ended boon. That way lay only madness.

“Very well,” I said, “but we must agree on something ahead of time. Something simple, and easy to accomplish.”

“If you insist. How about: if I triumph in our wager, you will . . .” Astreus leaned his head back, thinking, “make a coat of arms for me such as the one Mephisto once described that you made for your deadly brother in centuries past.”

“You mean the embroidered one?” I asked, amazed. “This is not some kind of trick, is it? Where I’ll find out too late your coat of arms is infinite? Or must include colors not found on Earth?”

“No trickery. It is a heraldic image such as any coat of arms.”

“Then why ask me?” I asked. “Surely you could have a much finer version if you asked some elven seamstress?”

“True, but such a piece would lack the quaint imperfections of a coat of arms made by mortal hands. Besides, what else could you offer me?” he asked, the inflection of his voice making clear I had little else of worth.

Great, I was to be the butt of elven jokes for all eternity. I sighed. At least, he had not asked me to kill a family member or eat the moon.

“And if you should win, which you will not,” he continued, “what will you ask of me? Shall I tie up a rainbow for you? Or, draw down a star from the night sky? Would you prefer I cast a befuddlement over some enemy? Or, shall I sing to you a song never heard by mortal ears? Mind that you choose something I can complete quickly, for I shall soon be away about the queen’s dread work again, and my time will not be my own.”

“What is it like in the Void?” I asked curiously.

Astreus’s eyes darkened. “ ’Tis not a fit subject for such a fair house.”

I nodded, chastened, and considered. Setting him upon the Three Shadowed Ones was tempting, but the trouble with elves was they tended to solve problems to their satisfaction—which would not necessarily be mine. No, I needed something simple and straightforward, something he could not turn awry.

I crossed my arms. “I would like an apology.”

“For my treatment of you before the court during the Christmas feast?”

When I nodded, he stared off into the distance, twirling his goblet between his fingers and sipping the sweet scented wine. Finally, he gave a shake of his head.

“Nay, that price is too high.”

“What!” I cried. “You want me to embroider you a coat of arms, which will take me weeks, if not months, but you won’t apologize for insulting me before the entire elven council and Father Christmas? You don’t have to apologize publicly,” I decided, “just to me.”

“It is too high.”

“Forget it,” I cried, exasperated. “I don’t even want to see this gift of yours. Go back and dance with that poor elven lady you spurned. She seemed quite disappointed.”

Astreus gave an amused snort. “Lady Sylvie? She cares naught for me. She came at the elf queen’s urging, her mission being but to keep us apart.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Because I’m an ‘Aftercomer’?”

Astreus’s eyes were as silvery as mirrors and disturbing, for in them, I looked far more delicate and frail than mundane looking-glasses reported. “Because you represent all that Her Majesty despises.

“Back to our wager!” He leaned forward, eyes suddenly aglow. “You have been to the Well from which the Water of Life flows, have you ever looked over the World’s End, where the Eridanus plunges off the edge of the world, and wondered what was beyond the brink?”

“No,” I replied stuffily, though of course I had. I have stared into the darkness, watching the beautiful cascade of silvery light with its stardust spray and wondered what lay beyond.

“Only seven have passed over that brink and returned.” Astreus touched his chest. “I am one of the seven. If you win, I shall tell you of the wonders I saw, and the secret of how to pass over the brink and come back again.”

I recalled the siren call of the eerie quiet Void and was sorely tempted. Just because a particular technique worked for Astreus, however, did not mean it would work for me. And while I would love to hear tales of his journey, I did not want to hear them more than I wanted an apology.

“No.”

Astreus cocked his head, his eyes dark and starry. “Did you enjoy our flight among the stars?”

I would have answered demurely, but I could tell by his laughter that the joy shining in my face had betrayed me.

“It was wonderful!” I admitted softly. “Everything I could have desired.”

“If you win, I shall whisper in your ear the name of that fair black swan. By uttering it, you shall be able to call her from the night sky and fly about upon her back whenever you please.”