Prospero Lost: Prospero's Daughter, Book I (56 page)

“And you, my friend. I see the years have not changed you.” Astreus’s voice was tinged with sadness as he took his seat.

“Not at all,” Mephisto agreed happily. “Grape?” And he tossed a grape, bouncing it off the elven lord’s forehead.

Astreus caught the grape. “Ahh . . . so this is to be my welcome, is it? At least, I shall be able to say that my Christmas feast was not without its merriment.”

AS
the feast continued, the elf lord sampled the many delicacies and expressed great appreciation for the wholesomeness of the cuisine. His conduct increased my suspicion that he only chose to sit among us to displease the queen; for while he claimed he wished to sit beside me, he hardly spoke two words to me, directing most of his conversation to our host and to Mephisto. Yet, several times I caught his eyes, now a brilliant blue, resting upon me, and his golden hand casually brushed against mine as he reached for the candied rose petals and the glazed juniper shoots.

As we supped, it occurred to me that I might be safer here, among the elves, than in Ferdinand’s presence. Elves were dangerous, true, yet they were dangerous in a manner I understood. If one obeyed the rules and did not ask for favors, or eat their food, or accept gifts, all would be well. With Ferdinand, every step was unexplored territory. There were no rules to protect me or to tell me how to proceed.

As I ate, I could not help comparing the two men. Ferdinand radiated warmth and sincerity. I felt comfortable in his company, and found I could speak easily about nearly any subject. Astreus, on the other hand, was capricious and untrustworthy. Yet, there was something fascinating about him, something fey and light that lifted my spirits and made all manner of impossible things seem suddenly within my grasp.

I dismissed this, for the most part, as some quaint elfish trick. Yet whenever I glanced in his direction, I found it difficult to draw my eyes away, and when he caught my glance and smiled, I could have sworn the Northern Lights danced around us both.

AS
we waited for dessert, Astreus addressed Mab, who had been watching him in quiet adoration, and the two began to converse about old times. The elf lord was quick to laugh, his eyes crinkling with his mirth, yet Mab continued to treat him with the utmost awe and respect. As they discussed the Aerie Ones, Astreus asked how each one fared today. Mab answered as best he could. More often than not, however, it was I who provided the latest details.

Lord Astreus smiled into my eyes. “I see you know my people well,”

His gaze went to my head like sweet wine, but I did not care to be intoxicated. The sting of having waited for him for hours by the river, while
the stars revolved and finally set, had never quite faded, and his smile now brought it into sharp relief.

“I like to think of them as
my
people,” I replied warily.

The mirth in Astreus’s eyes grew still, and they changed from sky blue to a colorless gray. His aspect changed as well, suddenly seeming more fey and unearthly. In a voice scarcely above a whisper, he asked, “Is that so? And yet, they served me freely. To you, they are but slaves.”

“They are not slaves,” I replied haughtily, taken aback. “They swore an oath.”

“Ah . . . oaths.” The corner of Astreus’s mouth curled cruelly. “And do you condone the imprisonment of living spirits, who toil and suffer because of words they cannot unsay?”

“They agreed,” I insisted.

Behind him, Mephisto had stopped eating mid-bite and had turned rather green. He began waving his hands about trying to get my attention. When I spared a glance his way, he shook his head desperately and mouthed, “Ix-nay on the O word.”

Meanwhile, Astreus spoke, “Perhaps they did. But, are they free to depart should they so wish?”

“They have agreed they would not,” I answered, annoyed by his tone.

“You elude my question: can they depart at any time of their own choosing?” Astreus’s tone was calm, but there was something terrible in his pale eyes, something that froze my blood, as if he had seen some sight so appalling that the horror of it now spilled out of him and contaminated me.

I eyed Lord Astreus cautiously. Was this the same carefree elf I had danced with on that summer’s night, centuries ago? Had this relentlessness burned in his eyes back then? Such intensity seemed out of place in an immortal creature. Last time, I recalled, he had been like the other elf lords: detached, lighthearted, unburdened by the cares of the world. Either something was very different, or the qualities I saw now were but a studied pose, or some trick of elven glamour. Either way, I decided to give him an honest answer.

“No. They cannot.”

“Then they are slaves, and you their slaver.”

“No!” I cried, refusing to back down. “They are voluntary servants who gave their word.”

“Is that the way of it?” His voice was now as soft as the breath of the Angel of Death.

Astreus stood and spoke in a voice that carried across the hall. “I fear my
queen had the right of it: mortals are indeed unfit companions for elves. I have learned the error of my ways, and beg your pardon, your majesty.”

The elf queen smiled. “You are forgiven, Lord Astreus. Come, sit here beside me. Maidens, attend to him.”

Astreus strode away, joining the queen, while I stared down at my food, my cheeks afire. I knew now, without any doubt, he had deliberately not kept our tryst. As his laughter drifted down the table, mingled with that of the queen’s ladies, I wondered if he and his companions had sat in some nearby tree, laughing at the foolish mortal girl who had fallen prey to his charms. No longer hungry, I covered my dessert with my napkin and prayed the evening would soon end.

Amidst swirling snow, the elven court danced upon ice. Ropes of Christmas lights were strung on poles above the pond. Points of red, blue, and green twinkled through the whiteness and illuminated the ball. Beneath these diminutive stars, the elven courtiers, cloaked by the flurrying snow, twirled and glided across the ice like waltzers in a dream, and not one slid or lost his footing.

From somewhere beyond the dancers, elven music drifted. The song had the grandeur of a symphony and the wildness of swing or jazz but was more like a waltz than anything else to which I could put a name. Hearing it evoked memories of the warm breath of summer and the scent of long-crushed grass, for the music had changed little since my family and I had heard it that fateful day in Scotland, so many years ago. Yet, it was always new, for, unlike their mortal counterparts, elven musicians had no repertoire and seldom played the same melody twice.

The whole elven court had turned out to hear the music and join the ball. King Alastor opened the dance with Queen Maeve, his purple cloak swirling around them as they twirled. The Lords of the High Council partnered the Queen’s Ladies. Father Christmas waltzed with his plump and smiling wife. Mephisto was out there, twirling and whirling with the best of them, and even Mab could be seen circling solemnly in the company of an elf maid. Everyone danced . . . except me.

I stood alone, isolated by blowing snow, envious of the dancers, for I loved to dance, but was too ashamed to venture among them. Who would dance with me now? Mephisto? Mab? Father Christmas? Perhaps, and maybe I would glean some small enjoyment from it. However, the whole court would recognize that those three were taking pity on me, and that seemed worse than not dancing at all. So, cold and alone, I allowed myself
a behavior I had not indulged in for many many years: I felt sorry for myself.

Perversely, it was not my humiliation before the elven court that left me so despondent, but the realization that I had been fooling myself for centuries. I was never going to become a Sibyl. I had been a Handmaiden for five hundred years, more than ten times the life span of most mortals. If I had the qualities my Lady sought for in Her most cherished servants, She would have elevated me long ago.

Not that I disliked being a Handmaiden. It gave me the blessing of my Lady’s guidance, without which I would surely be lost. It was She who had brought Father’s message to my attention, led me to where Mephisto sat playing his lute, directed me to the thrift shop where we found the chameleon cloak, and guided me to find sanctuary from the barghests at Father Christmas’s feet.

If I had not known there was such a thing as a Sibyl, I would have been entirely content. But I did know, and that was what rankled—knowing that whatever quality She sought, I did not have it.

So, I remained alone amidst the whirling snowflakes, watching the dancing from afar and wallowing in self-pity, comforted only by the solitude provided by the blizzard.

Also, Father Christmas had forgotten to give me my present. Such a trivial thing should not have been of significant consequence, yet I felt as if it were the worst blow of all.

The dancing continued, and the cold grew more biting. Brushing snow from my arms, I wished my brother Theophrastus were with me. Not the grumpy old man, but the noble and brave Theophrastus of yesteryear. He would never have allowed any cocky elf to insult me and walk away unscathed. But Theo was dying on his farm . . . or out hunting Ferdinand! I winced. Now
that
was a situation that must be sorted out as soon as I returned home. Perhaps I could send Theo after Astreus instead. Hunting down an elf who spent his time in the Void should be enough of a challenge to keep him busy. And if Theo caught up with him—all the better!

How ironic that Ferdinand had been jealous of the elf figurine. Ferdinand was worth a thousand of Astreus!

As I thought this, Astreus himself stepped from the snowy whiteness. He towered above me, the wind streaming through his storm-gray hair. His mirrored cloak, with its brilliant blue tint, billowed from his shoulders, and snowflakes speckled the silver and black fur trimming his dark blue garments.
Yet, he seemed as at ease in this icy arctic clime as he might be in the eternal spring of Mommur, where the elven court resided.

Just watching him enthralled me. He moved with the sleekness of a snow leopard, all poetry and grace. Yet I was so consumed with fury at him for waltzing up as if nothing were wrong, after his despicable treatment of me during the feast, that I could hardly form my thoughts into words. Furious, I crossed my arms and turned my back on him.

“You have some nerve!” I blurted out finally.

Astreus spoke to my back most courteously. “I have come to beg your forgiveness for having missed our tryst by the river. I would have moved Heaven and Earth to greet you there. As luck would have it, neither Heaven nor Earth was available to me.”

The meaning of this last comment was so shocking, assuming he was telling the truth, that, for a moment, I could not reply. Was he saying that he had not left me standing by the river as a prank after all?

Any pleasure this revelation brought was short-lived. Why was he bringing this up now? Had he recalled our ancient tryst, only to forget the insult he just dealt me before the entire court? I supposed it was possible. The nature of elves and their memories remained a mystery.

Astreus stepped in front of me, as if he were oblivious to the connotation of my having turned my back to him. (Or perhaps he was. For all I knew, elves might turn their backs upon one another as a sign of favor.)

“Did Mephistopheles give you my message in time?” he asked. “Or were you condemned to wander by the riverbank, waiting in vain?”

“Mephisto? . . . oh, that! No, he did not find me until the next day, and even then I could not understand what he was babbling about. He was dru-unk . . .”

Or was he?

That next morning, after I had waited all night, Mephisto had shown up and babbled drunkenly about a message sent by Astreus—a story I had believed, until this moment, to have been concocted by Mephisto. Only, looking back, I realized Mephisto had not been drunk . . . he had been crazy. I had not recognized it at the time, because I had never seen him without his sanity before; I had not recognized the symptoms. Mab had once asked me when Mephisto first showed signs of madness. That had been the day.

Meanwhile, Astreus was saying, “I am most sorrowful to hear this. I had hoped he would reach you to spare you any discomfort. Please grant me your forgiveness for whatever distress I may have caused.”