by Peter Beagle
“I intended to hide in the tent.”
“Ah.” His mouth quirked a little. “Yes, that would not be…advisable.”
He sat down beside me, one hand reaching up to untie the mask. He let it drop to his lap.
“It’s very realistic.” I reached out to touch one jaunty ear.
“It should be,” he said. “It once was part of a real fox.”
I yanked my hand back. “I thought you disdained the hunt.”
“Only unnecessary ones. I am sure that you will agree that some hunts are very necessary.”
I folded my hands on my lap and looked at the ground in front of me. I wanted to leave, but I also wanted to stay next to this man, whose pull was so very strong.
“I like your costume,” he said. “Though I thought you more of a swan than a peacock.”
“Thank you.”
“It is missing one thing.”
“Oh?”
His fingers traced my collarbone. “You need something right here.” He moved closer, and I felt his breath on my neck just a moment before his lips found the soft spot just below my ear. I tilted my head despite myself, enjoying the feel of his warm lips before I reclaimed my senses and pulled firmly away, removing his hand from my clavicle and placing it on his lap. Then I scooted to the very edge of the bench.
“So is this the way you see yourself? A fox?”
He picked at the mask. “I am what I am. You can not deny your true nature, correct?”
I stood. It was time to go back to the house. During masques, the rules of propriety were relaxed, but not by much. He blocked me before I could leave, the mask lying forgotten on the ground. We stood a few inches apart, and finally I asked, “And what is your nature, sir?”
He smiled, and tipped my face up to kiss me, instead. Perhaps it was meant to be his answer. His mouth was warm and gentle. He pulled away, and studied me. “I will give you everything you’ve ever wanted, jewels, clothes, freedom, if you come away with me right now.”
I stepped back. “I’m not for sale.”
“One night is all I’m asking. And then you will be free from all of this.” He looked back at the house. “You’ll never have to deal with their games, their foolishness, ever again.”
I would lie if I said I did not consider it.
I looked down at my hands. “I should not have allowed that,” I said. “Please let me go back to the house now.”
He stepped aside, and I left, wondering what he thought of me. The next day brought emeralds. This time, it was a necklace.
Usually we would sit in Weli’s purple haven and wait for the ramble to come to us, drinking tea and ignoring the large trays of treats placed on carved white tables set to one side. Eventually a party of nobles would arrive, and we’d lounge together on the pillows, all trying to act very proper despite the fact we were sitting on the ground, and slippery ground at that. Weli’s husband cheated by having a small stool brought out for him, which he would usually find himself giving up to an older lady who would find trying to sit on the floor pillows uncomfortable. Eventually the group would be ready to move on, sometimes leaving members, sometimes taking one or even all of us on to the next stop. All day and into the dusk this would continue, wandering back and forth among the houses, eating and drinking and talking about nothing.
On this particular day the party left, and I decided to be the one to stay alone. Weli tried to pull me along, hoping that one of the men might attract me, but as dull and lifeless as they had been to me before I’d met Joaquin, knowing him made it even harder to stand them. Besides, if I was alone, I could actually eat something, not nibble on the same pastry for three hours the way all the other women did. If only there was something left in the carnage that had once been the dessert trays…
I saw him wander out of the woods long before he reached the tent. I kept my eyes down, excited and worried at the same time.
“There is not much left, is there?” he said from behind my shoulder.
“The servants will bring out more soon, I’m sure. May I get you something? Some tea? Or wine, perhaps?”
“No, but thank you.”
He was looking at the house. It was all whitewashed stone with black iron shutters on either side of the tall windows. It was a pretty place.
“It’s a good home,” I said. “It has lovely bones.” He blinked, then looked at me. I blushed. “I mean structure. Good structure, underneath it all.”
He nodded as if I’d said something of incredible depth, and sat down. He gestured to one of the pillows next to him, but I declined, sitting at an angle from him, stacking a few cushions so I could sit fairly straight.
He remained silent. He looked calm, as if he were enjoying the surroundings. It made me feel uncomfortable, but I learned later that it was supposed to, to make me talk. It was something he did to everyone.
“I would like to thank you again for the earrings and necklace, they’re lovely.”
“I heard that you favored emeralds. I hope I was not wrong?”
“You heard correct.” I realized I was pinching a fold in my skirt, running my fingernails down it, making a wrinkle. I stopped forcibly, placing my hands on my knees.
“It is an unusual choice, I thought. Most women seem to prefer rubies.”
“We don’t suit each other,” I said, making an implication.
“Everything suits you.” If he picked up on it, he was ignoring it. He leaned back, stretching out his long legs. “You should be hearing from your guardian soon.”
“I highly doubt that, sir.” No one was allowed to write letters from prison.
“Someone has settled his debts.”
I met his eyes. They flickered oddly, all shadows. “Why would anyone do that?”
He leaned closer to me. “Perhaps they thought it might please you to have one less worry.”
“I was not worried.” Actually, I was. If my guardian was released from prison, he could reclaim me. I’d go back to being his slave, keeping his house, avoiding the pawing hands of his fellow card players when they set up an illegal game in the parlor well after the gambling hells had closed.
He thought on this for a moment. “Pity,” he said, and made as if to stand.
I caught his arm. “Why do you care?”
He tried to pull away, but I wouldn’t allow it. “I could have forced you into marriage. I could have told his, and by proxy your, debtors that I would only settle things when you were my wife. I would not do it.”
I stood. “How generous. But if that was all you wanted you might have gotten farther asking first.” I felt myself growing very upset. I did not want to go back to the life I had with my guardian, who would rather sell me than protect me. Weli’s husband was not precisely pleased to have me, but he wouldn’t allow anything bad to happen to me. Don Joaquin had taken away my safety.
I pushed the blowing cloth aside and left the pavilion.
“Marry me, then.”
I turned. He was leaning against one of the columns holding the tent up, not relaxed as was his usual wont, but clutching the cloth. His face was in the shade, but I thought he looked…uncertain. Longing. I don’t know if it were truth or fancy that made it seem so, but for a moment I felt that I was the most wanted person in the world. My anger evaporated, as did my fear.
“Yes,” I said, and walked into the house, never looking back.
He wanted to get married quickly, no ceremony. I agreed, both because I had no one I wanted to invite, and because I was afraid that if I had time to think about it I might change my mind. No one wanted it, you see. Even my cousin’s usually disaffected husband, who treated me as a stranger rather than family, stopped me in the halls to tell me on three separate occasions that he was content to shelter me, that I didn’t have to rush into marriage.
The servants wept on my wedding day. The children were somber, playing quietly as if afraid to disturb the fragile silence that had gathered around us. Weli, too, wept. “You don’t have to do t
his, you know. You did not ask him to pay your guardian’s debts.” She was brushing out my hair. Once in awhile she’d stop to rub her face with the back of her hand. “My husband won’t allow your guardian to reclaim you, he has high friends…”
“I am doing this because I want to.”
“Why? He doesn’t…he could have killed her; you do know this.”
I was picking at my emerald earrings. The matching necklace lay like lace exactly where he’d kissed me. “It is possible.” Admitting it was a weight off of my chest, even as it opened the door to darker imaginings.
She dropped the length of hair she was about to pin up. “Then why?”
“He fascinates me.”
“Trust me darling, there are a million fascinating men out there. Just last night Termind promised that we could all go on a tour.” She smiled tremulously. “You have all the time that you want; we could sail the world, visit different places, find you someone extraordinary…”
I raised my hand to touch her cheek. Our eyes met in the mirror. “I want him,” I said.
Tears stood in her eyes as she began pinning up my hair.
The traditional dress is either pale yellow or pink with exquisite scarlet embroidered flowers in profusion, and arcane symbols indicating the bride’s hopes for her future. I dressed in pale green satin, a plain dress with a fitted bodice and a flaring skirt that brushed the top of my feet. I had tacked some gold lace around the hem. It was sleeveless, and I wore white gloves. My only other decorations were the earrings and the necklace, and the emerald-tipped pins that Weli insisted she give me to pin up my hair.
“You should have at least worn a traditional dress. We could have altered mine, for goodness sake.”
“That dress is for your daughter, should she want it. Besides, I don’t like red.”
“Nonsense! Since when?” She was remembering my second best dress, red velvet with black cord decorations. It was now, unbeknownst to her, sitting in the back of her cupboard.
“I don’t know.” I folded my hands at my waist, and took my place by the door.
We left early, my husband and I.
The wedding itself had been very nice. The groom smiled at me sweetly when I came to stand by him, and I could see he approved of the green of my dress. The vows were simple, and I think they sounded heartfelt on both our parts.
I kept staring at his profile, and once, wondering if this was all truly real and not some wishful dream, I squeezed the hands that held mine so firmly, and ran my thumb lightly over the back of his knuckles. He didn’t seem to notice, but at the end, he kissed the back of each of my hands, then my forehead, and everyone sighed, because the ceremony itself was over. Instead of stepping away, as is usual, his mouth slowly lowered to mine. Everyone was silent as death, and when he pulled away, I smiled at him, too dizzy with happiness to care.
It was the happiest moment of the affair, the small party afterward a grim thing of false cheer that seemed more like a wake than a wedding. I didn’t understand it. I was outside their circle, why would they care what happened to me? And why, if they were so certain I was going to my doom, did they let me go?
It was uncomfortable, and I couldn’t eat, and when Joaquin announced that the ship that was to bear us away on our honeymoon was in early and we had to go, I felt nothing but gratitude. It was, in fact, not true, and we ended up sitting at a portside inn for two hours because of it, but I was very happy. I did not feel as if I was walking down a dangerous path. I was married, and well, my husband solicitous, the food he bought for me at the inn filling and plentiful. I leaned against his arm, and after a moment he drew me closer, holding me while we waited for a ship that would take us beyond the horizon.
I will not bore you with details of our honeymoon. It was lovely. The place he took me was an old ruins, filled with explorers and scientists and wizards trying to discover the meanings of the things the people had left behind. He took me into caverns where the walls had been carefully chiseled flat and covered with mosaics made of tiny stones and tiles that lasted for miles. We traveled to the edge of the desert and visited a gorgeous oasis. After that we traveled north and slept in a palace of ice. It was not an ordinary journey, but one that filled me with wonders and promised me more. He was kind to me, ever watchful, showing very little affection in public, but in private he often touched me, not always for the sake of seduction, though I blush to admit I found myself eagerly fulfilling that part of my duties much more often than was probably proper. I’d find small presents in my pockets, a silver comb, some pretty pebbles, a flower pressed in glass.
I was feeling quite smug with myself, if you must know. And happy. It is hard not to love someone when you are at the center of their most lavish attention.
It faded, though, the closer we got to home. In the carriage, closing in on his estate, it was almost as if we were strangers.
His manor, unlike the other nobles’ illusion of space, was situated on a vast stretch of land. The land was covered in a dense forest of pine, and the silence, when we stepped out of the carriage and walked up the pale marble steps to the imposing doors, was complete. The house was so huge, gray marble veined with white, that I could not take it all in with one look. I was relieved when we got near the door, because I would not have to assimilate the absolute vastness of the place.
Over the door, a thick slab of almost black wood with black iron hinges, was carved “Be Bold.”
I waited, at his shoulder, for him to do something. The only servant I had seen was the man who drove the carriage and who was, even now, somewhere behind the house putting things away. Perhaps they did not know we were here?
“Tessa,” he said. I put my hand on his shoulder, and he placed his own on top of it. It was cold, and I stepped around him to see his face. He looked paler than usual. He was silent for so long that I thought about prompting him, but he spoke again, looking into my eyes. “I give you everything I have. My wealth, my home, my body. Any desire you have, it’s yours.”
He dug into his pocket and produced a ring of keys. They were all ornate. Some were silver, some were brass. One was black, not as iron would be, but a sort of black whose dullness seemed to suck the life out of everything next to it. It was the smallest key of all. He presented me the ring. The keys clattered together, and I realized my unflappable husband was shaking. I took the keys quickly, hating to see his weakness. He did not let them go, but placed a hand under my chin. Our eyes met again.
“There is only one thing that you may not do. There is a room by itself, down a dark narrow hall to the back. Its frame is painted red, and it is a small door and takes the smallest key. Under no circumstances are you to ever enter that room.” He half whispered, half growled the words, so fierce that his hand on my chin was beginning to hurt.
“I promise” I gasped, and looking surprised, he let go of me.
“Do not place the key to the lock. Do not open the door. Do not enter in. No matter what.” He paused, and no longer able to meet my eyes he said, “It would not be good for our marriage.”
“I promise never to go anywhere near that room, much less open it.”
He nodded, and let go of the keys. He gestured toward the door. “The house is yours, then, my wife. Unlock her and enter in.”
I tried to smile, and, knees shaking, I walked past him. I tried the largest key first, because it had a pattern that looked doorlike to me on it. My not so wild guess was right, and the double doors parted to my touch, sliding open on well-oiled hinges. The entryway looked like a church foyer, all wide expanse, with a pair of carefully turned staircases spiraling down the wall on either side. Three smaller replicas of the huge doors we’d entered through interrupted the paleness of it all.
“Where are the…” I began, not knowing how to ask.
“Servants?”
“Yes. I’ve never entered into a house before without being approached by someone determined to fuss over me.”
He smiled, in control again, the shado
w of the man I’d honeymooned with returning. “Everything is taken care of. This way, dear. I’ll be going away on business tomorrow.”
“So soon?”
“And therefore I’ll leave the explorations up to you. It will give you something to do while I’m away.”
“Can’t I come with you?” The last thing I wanted to do was to be left in that…that…mausoleum by myself.
“Next time, perhaps. Don’t you want a chance to get yourself situated? I smell food. I am absolutely dying for something to eat, aren’t you?” And he kept me distracted like that all evening.
The next morning he was waiting in the dining room. As with the night before, everything was already laid out, not another person in sight.
“Three times a day,” he told me, “the servants will lay out a meal. If you require anything else, something between meals, something you would prefer, you merely have to say so in the speaking tube leading to the kitchen.” He flicked a finger at a brass tube next to the doorway leading toward the servants’ area. It had a cover, so all I had to do was flip the cover up and say what I wanted.
“How will I know that they’ve heard?” I asked.
“They always hear.”
“I’ve never seen one of them yet. Where are they?”
“Around.” He handed me an egg from the basket. It was still warm, and when I cracked open the shell I was pleased to see it was cooked through solid. I listened to the crunch of shells being rolled and cracked on the table, silverware on plates, struck again by how loud all these mundane tasks seemed in contrast to the absolute silence that commanded the residence. It had been too quiet for me, last night, trying to get to sleep. The manor did not creak as it settled for the night. The wind did not whistle through the chimneys. I would have drawn comfort from the breathing of my husband, but once he drifted off his breath became almost imperceptibly shallow. I’d held my hand in front of his face once, to see if he yet lived.
