by Steven Brust
Miklós didn't answer. He turned away and found Vilmos. "I will begin inspecting the Palace," he said. "I am sure there is much to be done."
Vilmos nodded. "Yes. But take as much time as you need. If you wish to be alone—"
"Thank you, Vili. I am not sure what I need."
Andor, looking around him, said, "I will return in a moment, Vili. I must go out and see if I can salvage some food for these norska; they seem hungry."
Miklós looked at the horse once more.
"As you say, Bölcseség. As you say."
EPILOGUE
The afternoon was bright and crisp on the balcony overlooking the River.
Miklós had hardly begun inspecting the new palace when he had found this place, and he knew at once that he would come here often. It would take a long time to learn all of the facets of the structure, but he was pleased that there was, at least, one place where beauty for its own sake could find a home.
He didn't doubt that there would be others, but learning them would be a long and difficult task. He—
He sensed, rather than heard, that someone was behind him. He turned, then looked down.
"Hello, Mister Miklós."
"You are… Devera! Yes, I remember. Hello."
"Hello. How are you?"
"How am I? I don't know. There is pain, and there is happiness. Those things exist in Faerie, too, I am sure. At least for those meant to live there."
"Yes."
"Have you seen what you came to see?"
"Yes, I have, Mister Miklós. Thank you."
"You will be going now? Returning to Faerie?"
"Yes."
"Could you—" He stopped. She looked at him quizzically, her brown eyes huge in her face, her hair slightly unkempt. She seemed not to have aged at all. "You are fully of Faerie blood, are you not, Devera?"
"Yes."
"Then you will live a long time."
She giggled, then seemed to catch herself and turned somber once more. "Oh, yes, Mister Miklós. A very long time."
He nodded. "There is a thing I would ask of you. Do you know Brigitta?" She nodded. "She has left, to make her way to Faerie."
Devera nodded vigorously. "I know. She will—" she caught herself, then said, "She will arrive safely."
"You know that? Good. Then, will you, when you are older, watch out for her?"
Devera's eyes filled with tears. "I can't, Mister Miklós. She's going to… I mean, I can't."
He felt as if a dagger had been plunged into his heart. He gripped the rail.
"The child—"
"Your daughter will be fine, Mister Miklós. I promise."
He nodded. He tried to speak and failed. Then he said, "Daughter." Suddenly the child he would never see was as real as the woman he was losing. "Could you watch over her, then?"
The little girl ran to him and hugged his leg. "Don't worry, Mister Miklós." Then she looked up at him and smiled once more. "I won't have to watch over her; everyone else will have to watch out for her."
Miklós thought about asking what that meant but decided not to. It didn't matter. He would never see Brigitta again, but at least, it seemed, their daughter would live. It wasn't much, but it would have to be enough.
He turned back to Devera to thank her, but she was gone.
László was gone. Brigitta would be gone soon.
But Bölk and Andor remained, and Vilmos.
He turned and looked up at the Palace behind him, white and gleaming, with flags flying from the towers gracefully curving above him to pinnacles that challenged the skies.
He looked up the river once more, studying its flow. In the distance, he could almost imagine the Mountains of Faerie rising above it. In the other direction, the water was still clogged with logs and scraps of wood: the debris of the old Palace floating away.
Behind and above him, the new Palace rose strong and proud.
It would have to be enough.
* * * *
… és még ma is élnek
ha meg nem haltak.
* * * *
