“Here we go,” he told Ellersbine, as he pushed himself up into a standing position.
The crowd around them began to cheer.
“They’re cheering for you, Marco!” Ellersbine said proudly, her arm around his waist.
“That was extraordinary!” Conor came over to join Marco.
“I’m sorry to have ruined your party,” Marco apologized.
“Ruined it? You’ve made it the biggest hit of the season; the best party held outside the palace in years,” Conor exclaimed. “People will talk about this for years! I want you to come to every party I throw.”
“I think I better take your entertainment home for the evening,” Ellersbine said firmly, and Marco agreed with his silent acquiescence.
The grooms helped Marco and Ellersbine into the saddle on the horse, and the pair began riding away.
“Did you hear him?” Marco asked as they rode along. “Did you hear Argen renounce the betrothal?” Marco asked Ellersbine over his shoulder.
She squeezed him tightly. “I did. Everyone did.”
“I’ll speak to your uncle tomorrow, to ask his permission to seek your hand in marriage,” Marco said. “I think I better move fast, before everyone knows that you’re available for the taking. There’re sure to be a number of other suitors arise.”
Ellersbine squeezed him tightly, and they rode on in silence, until they reached Ellersbine’s home. They dismounted, and the princess helped herself to a drink of water from his finger.
“I want to see you take a drink of this too,” she insisted, placing Marco’s finger in his own mouth. “You get your rest now, my hero,” she told him softly, and she kissed him on the lips with a passion that left his knees weak. He watched her enter the house, as a doorman closed the door behind her.
He was extremely weary as he rode back to Prince Mersby’s home late that night, and he left his horse in the hands of a sleepy stable hand as he stumbled upstairs to his room and collapsed on his bed, still fully clothed, where he quickly fell into a deep, deep sleep.
And he dreamed. He dreamed all night long, his imagination and his memories pushed to reexamine the events of the day. He dreamed of the disfigured odalisque, Giselle, who he had promised to heal, and his dream figure became Mirra, before he had altered her appearance. It was the first time he had thought of Mirra in many, many days, as his intertwinement with Ellersbine continued to weave a net around his heart and soul. He dreamed next of the battle in Barcelon with Iago, when the sorcerer had infected Marco’s body with a malicious energy that had tried to take possession of his soul, and he dreamed of the battle in the Barcelon palace, when the evil power had nearly succeeded in overwhelming him, when he had cut off his own hand to avoid being possessed, and had then fought the next person the power had possessed, in order to survive.
Marco’s dreams turned to Athens, when he had fled from Iamblichus in the caves beneath the Acropolis, and again, when he had defeated the mighty sorcerer only by a desperate measure that was his last effort before he would have been beaten. And then he was facing Itterati, as he dreamed that the mightiest of the sorcerers of King Moraca was able to overwhelm him in any battle the two tried to fight.
When he awoke at last it was a relief to be free of the horror of his dreams. Though he couldn’t remember a single one, he knew that he was tense and tired. His bed was wet with sweat from the anxiety of the night.
He sat on the edge of the bed and sipped on his finger, then took a hot bath to relax. At last, by mid-morning, he was able to slowly walk down the stairs and ask a servant if Prince Mersby was available. When he learned that the prince was not, he felt inward relief, for he was still drowsy and unsteady after the night’s activity and the night’s unpleasant sleep, and he decided it was just as well that he not try to make his formal request for Ellersbine’s hand in marriage.
Marco rode a horse to the palace and arrived at midday.
“You – or someone just exactly like you – is all the talk of the palace this morning!” Gaddis told him excitedly. “What a performance you must have put on at that party! Tell me all about it.”
So they sat in the steward’s office and Marco recounted the story of the party.
“So you’re telling me that you did not kill a dozen men by yourself?” Gaddis asked.
“I fought four, and wounded four, including Argen, who I should have killed,” Marco said.
“And you resisted Itterati?” Gaddis wanted to know.
“I tried; I didn’t succeed,” Marco answered.
“Well, the sorcerer himself is allegedly singing your praises,” Gaddis let him know.
“We better get to the harem quarters before the stories get out of hand,” Marco decided. The water he had sipped from his finger was starting to settle his spirits and his physical state. Yet he had a feeling that the challenge ahead in the harem would leave him just as worn and drained as the night before had.
They walked to the hallway entrance, where the guards admitted Marco, and he walked straight to Madame Lafarge’s office.
“Well, I had doubts that we’d see you here today. I hear you had a rousing good time last night,” she commented as Marco slumped into a chair in her office.
“I had an unpleasant time last night,” he corrected her.
“Unpleasant because you didn’t kill Argen when you had the chance?” Lafarge asked.
“No,” Marco considered thoughtfully. “It’s just as well to not have killed him. I got what I wanted from him for now.”
“He’ll plot revenge on you, you know,” Lafarge said matter-of-factly. “Of course, if you become the apple of the eye of Itterati and the king, Argen will be powerless against you.”
“Let’s get down to business,” Marco decided to change the topic. “Were you able to get everything I asked for?”
“Yes we did,” his companion stated. “It’s all stored in an empty room down the hall. How would you like to proceed?”
“I’ll need to spend time concocting the salve, paste, and potion I have to use,” Marco answered. “Let’s go down there and I’ll start preparing things.”
As Lafarge escorted Marco down the hallway, numerous members of the harem poked their heads out of their rooms to congratulate him on his great performance at Conor’s party, the stories having made the rounds of even the harem. They went directly to a room at the end of the hall, where a table held several jars, bags, and vials. Marco asked for water, and boiling hot water, then settled in to begin the processes he knew were necessary to put together the complex formulae that Giselle’s case would require.
Lafarge sent a serving girl back to him, carrying an ewer and bowl with the water he needed, and he began to use the water for the portions of the process that required it. He set some items aside to await the arrival of the boiling water, and continued to mash and peel and mix each step, using up his supply of bowls, and asking for more when the servant returned with the boiling water he wanted.
The afternoon passed and the extra bowls came, and the number of ingredients he had prepared grew, then began to shrink, as he began to combine the items and the mixtures into new combinations that slowly reduced to three separate bowls containing three different potions and putties that Marco hoped were destined to restore the appearance of the girl who hid in her room down the hall.
“Giselle?” he called as he knocked on the door, several hours after he had arrived at the harem. “Giselle?” he repeated more loudly.
“Go away, hero boy,” he heard her call from the distant recesses of her room.
Marco stepped into the room, then walked to the back of the small suite, where he found Giselle, sitting at a desk, staring at a book laid flat before her on the desk top – a book of delicate illustrations of flowers.
“Go away, I said,” she told him as she turned her scarred face towards him.
Marco ignored her as he walked over to the desk and set the three bowls down.
“What mess are you bringing in here?
” she asked.
“Go lie down on your bed,” he answered. “I’m here to heal your wounds.”
Giselle stood up, then shot her hand out towards his face, aiming a vicious slap at his cheek, only to be stopped as his golden hand flew into its path and blocked it.
“Get out!” Giselle screamed. “There’s nothing you can do about this. Killing me would be the best thing you could do.”
“I can do it all,” Marco answered. He stepped into her, bumping his chest against her, then putting his hands on her shoulders and pressing her backwards to the edge of her bed. He moved his hands up from her shoulders to the sides of her head, then closed his eyes and focused on the idea of using energy to relax her, to make her grow calm and quiet and sleepy. She sagged downward in response, sitting on the side of the bed, and still he continued to reduce her awareness and energy. “Go to sleep Giselle, and dream happy dreams,” he spoke quietly, then laid her back and straightened her out as she complied, and fell asleep.
And then his work began. He sucked a mouthful of the spring water from his finger, and began liberally spreading it across her face, then took the first of the bowls of prepared material, a thick, absolutely clear liquid that glistened and gleamed as it caught the rays of sunlight coming in through the window. Marco made his finger glow with sorcery, then dipped the finger in the liquid and swirled it around three times, leaving a glowing trail of light suspended in the bowl.
He took a deep breath, carefully positioned the bowl above Giselle’s empty eye socket, then began to pour a needle-thin stream of the liquid into the fleshy void, and he continued to pour until the level was just below the lid. He placed the bowl down and picked up the next bowl he planned to use.
The bowl held a thick, gooey mass that sat in a lump in the center of the bottom. Marco pinched off a portion of the paste and turned to the girl, examining the space of her missing nose, then delicately pressed the sticky mass in place. He pinched off another small amount, and did the same, and proceeded to work for half an hour to create a structure to fill the emptiness.
When that was done, he picked up the last bowl, a cloudy liquid with a faintly peach tint. He used his fingertips to gently brush the potion across every inch of the badly scarred feminine face that he was coming to know so well, and continued to liberally coat the skin until the bowl was empty, then placed the container beside the other two, and stood to stretch his back as he looked down at the sleeping girl.
He felt his heart twist at the thought that someone who had undoubtedly once been so pretty had been so horrifically tortured and disfigured. A tear trickled from the corner of his eye, coursed down his cheek, and fell, splashing on Giselle’s cheek.
As Marco idly watched, the teardrop sat on top of the scarred skin, a small liquid ball that quivered slightly, then sat perfectly still. Entranced by the tiny, glistening circle, he reached down. As his finger touched the tear, it, and his finger tip, suddenly glowed with a warm, rose-colored light. The light spread like a wave across all of Giselle’s face, making it all glow.
Marco pulled his fingertip away, startled and entranced by the unexpected reaction. He watched, surprised that the teardrop had provided the catalyst to the elements that he had placed on the injured face, a process that he had expected to initiate with his sorcery power.
The glowing skin suddenly began to brighten with an increasing intensity that grew so bright Marco was forced to turn his eyes away, and instead he watched shadows from the flickering brightness dance across the walls. As he shielded his eyes with his hands, there was a sudden sound of sizzling flesh that made him cringe away, then the light instantaneously disappeared.
Hopeful and fearful, Marco turned back to Giselle, studying her face. She was beautiful beyond extraordinary, reminding him immediately of Mirra’s luminous look. Her scars were gone from all parts of her face, and her skin appeared fresh and clear. The nose was an aquiline feature, one whose looks were indistinguishable from the rest of her face, while her eyelid over the formerly empty eye socket now covered the same full curve that her good eye displayed. Her look was flawless and symmetrically perfect.
Marco knelt beside her bed, and gently stroked a fingertip across her new skin, then carefully placed two fingers over her gently parted lips to close her mouth, and inched closer in to her face to watch and feel and listen, hopeful that her new nose was successfully allowing the passage of air into her lungs through the new structure.
The nostrils delicately flared, and Marco removed his fingers, then backed away from the bed. He sat, and felt more tears start to fall, tears of joy now, happiness that the girl had her life, her future, and of course, her beauty back. He wiped the back of his golden hand across his cheeks, then stood up and silently crept out of the girl’s room, leaving her asleep, and soon to awaken to a much different day than she had fallen asleep in.
No one was in the hallway, allowing Marco to quietly slip to the doorways, and leave the harem behind.
He felt a quiet pride, a satisfaction and happiness for Giselle, and he felt no desire to do anything else in the palace, for nothing could top his accomplishment. He went to the stables, retrieved his horse, and rode over to Ellersbine’s home. He ate dinner with her and her cousins, sitting mostly quietly as Ellersbine regaled the other two girls with further tales of the great fight at the party at Conor’s club.
After dinner, Marco and Ellersbine strolled through the gardens behind her palace.
“You’re so quiet today Marco; is everything okay?” Ellersbine asked as she slipped her hand into Marco’s.
“I just feel happy,” Marco said simply. “I think I did something right today. I healed a girl at the palace, and I think her life will be better.”
They stopped and kissed and smiled at one another, and later that night, Marco rode back to Prince Mersby’s palace, and he slept soundly all night long.
Chapter 34
Marco awoke to the sound of a loud knocking on his door. “Sir? My lord?” a servant’s voice called, and Marco knew someone was being polite, because he had no noble title that justified being greeted as ‘my lord’.
“Just a moment,” he called, as he pulled on a robe and stumbled over to his door.
“”Sorry to bother you, my lord, but the prince is most anxious to see you,” the head butler himself stood outside Marco’s door delivering the message, something far below the man’s status among the household staff.
“Am I in trouble?” Marco asked, confused.
“I think not, my lord,” the man answered. “I’ll let his highness know that you’ll be down shortly, shall I?”
“Yes, thank you,” Marco said as he closed the door, then hurriedly pulled on clean clothes, rushed to wipe a wet rag over his face, and ran down the stairs to the prince’s office.
“Sir, you wanted to see me?” Marco asked politely. He had decided there were no urgent issues he could imagine that would have caused him to be in ill-favor. He had been at Ellersbine’s home later than usual, but that hardly seemed like a criminal offense.
“What did you do the past couple of days, Marco?” the prince bluntly asked.
“Pardon me, sir?” Marco asked, concerned about the breadth of the question. It left a great many possible issues on the table for consideration, going back to walking through the harem, fighting at Conor’s party, or spending late hours with Ellersbine, among other things.
“You have here a summons to appear at the palace, immediately,” Mersby told him, holding up an elegant – appearing envelope with a golden seal that was torn.
“This comes from the king’s own chambers Marco!” Mersby said emphatically.
“I’ve never seen one of these; I don’t know anyone who has. Grandfather, or someone very close to him, is very interested in you. I’d like to know why, before I call the carriage around,” he said in a somber voice. “And depending on your answer, I’ll decide whether I’m going to stay home or ride with you,” he added after a pregnant pause, then smiled e
ngagingly.
“Let’s go get in the carriage and you can tell me your story on the way,” he said walking around his desk, then leading the way out of the study and towards the front door.
Marco proceeded to rapidly recount the scene at Conor’s party, the fight with Argen and his henchmen, the use of sorcery, and the encounter with Itterati.
“You fought and wounded one of the king’s closest allies, then stood up to the king’s most powerful sorcerer?” Mersby’s voice was pinched as he finally interrupted Marco’s narrative.
“I didn’t stand up to Itterati very well; he about knocked me out,” Marco answered. “But I did force Argen to renounce his betrothal to Ellersbine,” he added with momentary satisfaction.
“I know where that is supposed to lead; we’ll possibly discuss it later,” Mersby said. “So you think that is what this is all about?”
“That, or the things I did in the harem,” Marco tried to sound nonchalant, and then proceeded to answer the prince’s shrill questions.
My stars, I remember the stories about what Argen did to that girl. It was why I was so worried about Ellersbine’s engagement, though it wasn’t my place to dissuade Ellersby,” the prince said. “And you truly healed her, made her look as pretty as before?”
“I can’t say. I didn’t see her before,” Marco started to say.
“She was nice looking. Not someone you’d turn around to stare after on the street, but a sweet-looking girl,” the prince said absently.
“She’s very, very beautiful now,” Marco said quietly.
“You think you restored her looks and improved on them?” Mersby asked. “Oh Marco,” he moaned, when the boy silently nodded yes.
“I imagine we’ll get out of this alive,” he said as he sat back. “You took away the king’s punishment?”
“I mostly focused on the girl’s welfare, and undoing what Argen had done,” Marco tried to redefine his work.
They reached the palace gates, and their carriage was admitted. Marco noted that they rolled forward along a different route than usual.
The Southern Trail (Book 4) Page 34
