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.”
I pictured soaring among the stars, taking my siblings on rides to share with them the glory and marvel of it all. How fast did that beautiful bird fly? Was it limited to mortal speeds? We had just lost the Lear. Could I switch to a more magical form of transportation?
But this was foolishness, of course. Much of my traveling was for mundane business. I could just imagine the confusion of air traffic control when I tried to land the giant swan at SeaTac or LAX. Besides, just because Astreus gave me the creature’s name did not mean that it would obey me, or that it would not carry me away only to strand me in some foreign sky.
Sadly, I shook my head. “No.”
Astreus leaned toward me, his eyes a sparkling violet. “Tonight you heard the Music of the Spheres. Few mortals can say the same. So compelling was its music to you that it drew your soul out of your mortal flesh. Do you want to hear it again?”
My mouth had gone dry. Flying filled me with joy, but this music had transported me beyond myself, beyond the mortal world. Compared to that, what did anything else matter?
Astreus continued, “I will give you a flask of stardew. If you sip it on clear nights from a tower balcony or a mountaintop, you shall be able to hear the Celestial Choir. I shall even throw in a vial of mothan juice, so your servants can call you back to your body again.”
Of all his offers, this one was the most tempting. I had already experienced the effects of stardew and mothan juice, so I did not fear that his offer was somehow a cheat. The very strength of my desire, however, warned me of the dangers of this course. If I had a flask of the milky stardew and heard the Celestial Choir again, would I ever elect to return? I could not accept and run the risk that I might leave Father’s work undone.
“Thrice asked and thrice refused,” I said. “I am excused and need not consider your gift.”
“Wait, Miranda! I shall agree! If you do not take my gift, I will give you the apology you seek.” His eyes went an eerie violet. “For if you do not accept my gift, you are not the woman I take you to be. Nor shall it matter whether I apologize or no.”
I frowned, uncertain what to make of this last speech. “Show me this mysterious gift, then, but keep in mind, I want an apology very much. Even were I tempted to take the gift, I would refuse it, thanks to this wager.”
“We shall see,” Astreus replied, smiling enigmatically. He refilled the two goblets, handing me one and raising the other. I shook my head to clear it of strange sensations, my heart beating rapidly. Elves were not good companions for men, regardless of their intent.
“To our wager: may fortune smile upon us both!”
“I do not see how she can,” I replied, touching my cup against his. The silver goblets rang like bells. “That is the nature of wagers.”
“If you are pleased with the present, and I gain a coat of arms, we both prosper,” he said. When I continued to frown, he said, “You do not approve of that toast. I will propose a new one: To freedom!”
“To freedom,” I agreed.
Lifting his cup, Astreus drained it in a single draught. I sipped mine cautiously and wondered anxiously how well elves held their liquor.
“May we elves be released from the tithe, that terrible curse laid upon us by the Powers of Hell,” he finished.
“I have heard Hell once excused the seven-year tithe, and you were given the credit for having orchestrated it,” I said. “Perhaps, the same thing could be done again?”
A haunting shadow passed across Astreus’s face, contorting his handsome features. His eyes grew the horrible red-brown of old blood.
“The price was too high,” he whispered grimly. Then, as quickly as it had come, the shadow was gone. “But let us speak of joyful things, such as Christmas tidings and the gift I have for you.”
“Astreus, why are you even bothering?” I asked wearily. “You know as well as I—better, I am sure—what sorts of things elves do to unsuspecting mortals. How could I trust a gift from an elf, even if I wanted to?”
The wine had turned his eyes a warm azure blue. “How cautious is wise Miranda,” he laughed, “a gentle dove, fearful of sharp elven talons. You are wise not to trust my people, for we are capricious and would do you mischief in the blink of an eye. Such mischief is not my purpose here. By my troth, I swear it.
“Besides,” he added, “I am bestowing it in Bromigos’s house, the Mansion of Gifts. Were it not wholesome, he would not have allowed it.”
This last thought cheered me, and I felt mildly less foolish. For the first time, I found myself curious. Was this the same present Father Christmas had promised me? What might this creature, who offered me rainbows and stardew, expect me to want? Did he believe he knew enough about me, from a single dance on one star-studded night, to guess what my heart desired?
“Behold,” he said, “the gift I have been keeping for you these three hundred years, for I had intended to gift you with it when we met beneath the willow by the Avon. Nor was it an easy task to find it. It is this we journeyed to my stronghold to fetch.” He held out the little package to me. The green paper sparkled. “Open it, sweet Miranda, and you shall not regret it. Refuse it, and you shall regret evermore.”
An eerie premonition came upon me. What if he were telling the truth? Elves sometimes did. What if
all chance of future happiness lay within this fey gift? I closed my eyes to pray, and felt the warm steady calm of my Lady’s presence.
“You unwrap it,” I insisted. Had he really gone to so much trouble, or was that just the elven version of poetic license?
“That is not how things are done within the House of Christmas,” he replied, extending it again.
Slowly, I untied the ribbon and opened the wrapping paper. The green foil rustled and fell away. I breathed in the pleasant odor of leather. Inside, lay a small black volume, no thicker than a pamphlet, unblemished by any title or ornament. From the style of the binding, I judged it to be from the fifteenth or sixteenth century, about the time I first met Astreus. A shiver of anticipation tingled along my spine.
“What is it?” I whispered, as my fingers touched the soft supple leather. As I lifted the cover, a strange tremor danced skittishly through my limbs. Startled, I tried to jerk away, but it was too late. My eyes had lit upon the first page. All the apologies in the universe could not have torn that book from my hands. Written there, in a beautiful looping script, were the words:
I, Deiphobe of the Seven Hills, Sibyl of Eurynome, herein do record the secrets of my order.
Here ends Part One.
______
To be continued in Part Two:
PROSPERO IN HELL
In which we meet the remaining Prospero siblings,
and many secrets are revealed.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
This is L. Jagi Lamplighter’s first novel. She lives with her husband and children in northern Virginia, where she’s working on Prospero in Hell, book two of Prospero’s Daughter. For more information, visit her website at www.sff.net/people/lamplighter.
Prospero Lost: Prospero's Daughter, Book I Page 42
