"Sire, I will not be betrothed," Mym sang.
The Rajah gazed at him, nodding. "So it is true. The wench taught you another mode of speech. This is an improvement, though still not ideal."
"The wench," Mym sang between his teeth, "is the only one I will marry."
The Rajah considered. "Do your duty by the princess, and in due course you may recover the wench as a concubine."
Mym turned his head and spat.
The courtiers jumped, and a royal guard went so far as to touch his sword, but the Rajah did not react. After a moment he made a tiny gesture with one hand, dismissing his son.
Mym bowed and backed away, departing the Presence. It had not been a very positive encounter.
He was put under house arrest at an attractive palace on the outskirts of Ahmadabad. Naturally he was not tortured or imprisoned or coerced by magical means; he was the Heir. But neither was he given his freedom. He knew he would be freed the moment he gave his word to cooperate, but he would not give that word. The word of a sovereign was inviolate and never given insincerely. So he languished in total comfort, provided with gourmet meals, phenomenal entertainment, and expert instruction in any art that might interest him.
Two weeks into his confinement, he tried to escape. He was unsuccessful, as he had known he would be; he was merely testing the defenses. In the past, his father had not cared about his whereabouts; now the Rajah did care, and that made all the difference. Mym could not escape.
After the first month, an ambassador from the Rajah came to pose the question: would he now consent to the betrothal? Mym turned his head again and spat, and the ambassador departed.
But the Rajah's wish was not lightly scorned. Two days later a beautiful concubine was ushered into the palace. Her hair was lustrous midnight, and gems sparkled in it like stars. "The Rajah bids me be yours," she said.
"You will never be mine," Mym sang curtly.
Her lovely face stiffened. The palace guards hustled her away.
One hour later the chief of the palace guards approached. "Prince Heir, the Rajah bids you witness what we have done."
Curious, Mym accompanied the man to the front gate of the palace. There, mounted on a tall spike, was the head of the concubine. The gems still sparkled in her hair.
A month later another concubine arrived. This one was a creature of the northlands, with bright blue eyes and hair like finely wrought silver, bound about by threads of gold. "The Rajah bids me be yours," she said.
Mym hesitated. He realized that this was a game in which his father's resources of persuasion dwarfed his own powers of rejection. At best, his adamance could lead to a chain of lovely heads upon the spikes of the front gate; at worst, the Rajah would obtain and present Orb herself in this manner.
"Remain," he told her curtly. "I will summon you at need."
That sufficed for the moment. But when the week expired, and he had not made use of her, this woman's head abruptly appeared beside the first, on the gate.
The third month another concubine arrived. Her hair was the color of burnished copper and buckled in place by combs of fine green jadeite, and her eyes mirrored the jadeite in hue.
Mym closed his eyes. Forgive me. Orb! he prayed. I can not be the murderer of these lovely women. They are too much like you.
Then he took the hand of the concubine, and brought her to his bed, and dispatched her maidenhead that hour. In this manner did the Rajah slowly bend his son to his will. But still Mym refused to agree to the betrothal. His body was captive, but his heart remained his own, pledged to Orb.
Two years later the Rajah himself came to the palace. The ravages of his illness had intensified, but his will had not abated. "If you care not for your own interest," the Rajah said, "consider that of your Kingdom. I will pass within three years, and our enemies conspire against us, but the Heir is not ready. Your presence, and the alliance with Maharastra, can secure our frontier against serious incursion. This is necessary for the welfare of all citizens ofGujarat."
"Adopt a worthier heir," Mym sang. "Let me rejoin my beloved."
"The Princess of Maharastra is beautiful and accomplished, completely worthy of any man. Accept the betrothal and all else is yours."
"I will not marry any woman but my beloved. Release me and all else is yours."
"Fairness is a virtue, even in a prince," the Rajah responded. "Spend one month with the princess at the Honeymoon Castle. If, thereafter, you still decline to betroth her, I will grant you your freedom."
Victory, so suddenly! "Agreed," Mym said. What was one month's temptation, compared to the two years he had survived?
The Honeymoon Castle was situated in remote mountains. It was a phenomenally attractive estate, with sculptured hedges, gardens of infinite color, picturesque architecture, and every likely luxury. No grounds-crew maintained it; an enduring spell kept it in perfect condition, with an ideal climate independent of what existed beyond. Favored nobles were granted weekends here when they married, and the Rajah himself retired here when in need of restoration. But for one full month it was to be Mym's residence.
Of course a person could get bored with even the most wonderful accommodations, in the absence of human company. That was why there were always two people here—and only two. For the most remarkable property of the Honeymoon Castle was the magic it performed on the minds of those who came into its ambiance.
The emotion and conscious thoughts of any person here expanded, in a fashion, beyond his body, and became manifest to any other person present. There were no secrets of feeling, here. That was why it was so potent for those who were freshly in love—and why it was no place for those who were no longer in love.
However, Mym was forewarned and prepared. He had never before been to the Honeymoon Castle, but he doubted that its magic could shake his enduring love for Orb. If there were any question, his close contact with what might well turn out to be a simpering, spoiled southern princess would eliminate it. He had in Orb a standard of excellence that no other woman could match. What was her name? He had almost forgotten it already!
Rapture of Malachite—that was it, as though there could be delight in cold green stone. It was surely as ironic a designation as his own, Pride of the Kingdom. No, he knew he would emerge from this encounter victorious and be free at last to rejoin his only true love.
He stood alone at the landing patio, awaiting the arrival of the princess' carpet. There were no servants, of course; no other minds could be permitted to snoop on the naked thoughts and feelings of royalty. The two of them would be truly alone for the duration, until the carpets returned in a month to pick them up.
It arrived on schedule, first a speck above the mountain pass in the distance, then a floating shape, flat below, lumpy above. Finally it coasted in for the landing, a broad carpet bearing a cushioned, curtained cage.
It settled gently to the tiles. The cage opened, and the princess stepped out.
Mym stood in the shadow of the gate and gazed at her, this nemesis of his love that he had never seen before.
The Princess Rapture of Malachite of Maharastra was a spectacular figure of a woman. She wore a belted robe that caressed a figure reminiscent of an hourglass, with a sash of shining pale gold mesh, and buttons that were deep red rubies. Her hair was a lustrous flowing river of blueblack that whorled and swirled its way down about her shoulders and framed her face most prettily. Her eyes were like those of oxen of the lowland breed, great and dark and liquid. Her tiny ears showed at the edge of her coursing hair like shells at the fringe of a lake, sparkling iridescently. Her mouth was a perfect dainty crimson bow, too delicate for anything approaching a coarse word. Her breasts beneath the robe were like twin fawns, firm and perfectly rounded, surely as soft to the touch as man's desire could wish. Her hips—
She turned to face him. Stay your lascivious thoughts, ruffian! she thought fiercely at him. Have you forgotten already where you are?
Indeed, he had, for the moment! Her amazing
beauty had smitten him unprepared, disrupting his anger at her presence before it could be fairly settled. Now he felt himself blushing, and that infuriated him—and made his face burn more hotly.
She laughed, satisfied to be one up on him. He had broadcast his impressions as openly as any schoolboy might have, while she had maintained her reserve.
But now she sobered. "Know, O Prince ofGujarat, that this union is no more my wish than yours," she said clearly, and now her emotion came at him, controlled anger. "I love another and will always love him; but for the will of my father, I would be with him this moment and forever. You are but an obstacle in my way, and we shall pass this trial most readily if you keep your body and your mind well clear of mine."
Mym could hardly believe it. "You are against this betrothal?" he sang. "That I did not know."
"There is surely much you do not know. Prince of the tongue-tied. And much you had best never learn. Now come into the open so I can see the image of my enemy."
Embarrassed anew, Mym stepped out into the light.
Why, he is a handsome man, she thought with surprise.
That is immaterial, he responded in the same manner, and now it was her turn to blush. She had been caught the same way. It was one thing to know that their thoughts would be completely open to each other, and quite another to experience the reality.
"True, Pride of the Kingdom," she replied, and that set him back again. Even as it happened, he kept forgetting!
Choose what quarters you prefer, he thought quickly, to cover up whatever else he might otherwise think. I shall take quarters on the opposite side.
"There is nowhere on the premises that we can avoid each other's minds," she said. "Only mental discipline will suffice."
That will suffice, he agreed grimly.
So they selected suites on opposite sides of the castle. But that proved to be impractical, because there was neither food nor water in the suites; they had to emerge to obtain these things. There was a kitchen section, stocked with all manner of delicacies, but it was so constructed as to require the simultaneous action of two parties. One person had to hold open the pantry door, while the other reached for the food; it could not otherwise be obtained. It spoiled rapidly outside the magic pantry, so that it was not feasible to cooperate for one big raid; two people had to be present for every fresh meal.
The water was even more of a problem. It issued from an old-fashioned pump with a long red handle. One person had to pump, while the other held the cup in place; there was no other way. Each served the other for a cupful—but even this evaporated the moment it was taken from the dining chamber. They were stuck together for meals. That was the least of it. "But I want to wash!" the Princess said annoyed.
Mym pondered. "I could pump while you sat under the spout," he sang.
She turned on him a withering look. "Or I could pump while you sat under it."
He appreciated the problem. Believe me. Rapture, I have no desire to gawk at your fair flesh, he thought.
"You lie, Pride," she gritted.
True, he realized. He did not love her and had no wish to be corrupted by her, but he was a man and enjoyed the sight of voluptuous female flesh wherever it occurred—and hers was as voluptuous as such flesh came. He was a voyeur at heart.
"And I have no wish to corrupt you," she retorted.
You lie, he thought back at her, for beneath her overt anger at the situation was a covert pleasure at his assessment of her body. She was a true woman, subject to fits of vanity; she wanted to be almost irresistibly appealing to all men, while obliging only that one she chose, at her convenience.
Damn you! she thought, and her sudden rage was like a crack of thunder.
He smiled, somewhat bitterly. This is the nature of this castle, he reminded her. To force us together, to set up feedback. To make me desire you, and you to appreciate that desire, until we both are lost in mutual admiration.
"But we are royalty, not animals," she pointed out. "We have no need to succumb slavishly to feedback."
He decided to change the subject, for it was treacherous. They were disciplined human beings, and she was evidently as dedicated to her other love as he was to his—a trait he admired in her—
"Watch your thought!" she snapped.
So it behooved them to cooperate to avoid the obvious temptations. He must not look at her flesh, or think any appreciative thoughts about it, no matter how luscious—
Animal! He wasn't sure whether that was her savage thought or his. This business was trickier than he had anticipated!
"True," she agreed.
"I will turn my back and pump while you wash," he sang, having a bright notion. "Then you can do the same for me. We need never gaze upon each other's flesh."
She considered. She didn't like it—her feeling was consistent with her thought—but saw no better alternative. "Let's experiment. You pump while facing away, and I will wash my hands."
"A-a-a-agreed," he stuttered, then cursed himself for forgetting to sing.
"Prince, we can surely discover significant things to detest in each other," she said, sympathetic. "We need not be ashamed of that which we have no power over. Speak as you will; it is not an issue between us."
She forgave him his stuttering! Mym was for the moment overwhelmed by a surge of gratitude. So few of either sex ever bothered to understand—
Stop that! she thought fiercely. I don't want your feeling!
She was trying to do the proper thing, which was to maintain her alienation from him. He understood perfectly and was trying to do the same himself. But her compassion for his handicap cut through to his deepest self-image; he could mask but never quite abolish his gratitude.
"Oh, pump the pump!" she cried in frustration, struggling with imperfect success to stave off that gratitude.
He turned about, reaching behind him to grasp the handle, awkwardly. His gaze fell on the wall he now faced.
It was a wall-sized mirror.
Mym sighed. The builder of Honeymoon Castle seemed to have thought of everything. Well, he could simply close his eyes.
"Better a blindfold," she said.
They tried that. He draped a blanket over his head and pumped, while she set about her business.
"Oh!" she exclaimed abruptly.
Cold water, no doubt. He kept pumping—but now his thoughts focused determinedly on speculations about what flesh the flowing water must be touching to evoke such reaction. He tried to divert his mind, but there was no way now not to think about what he shouldn't. Clear water, glistening breasts—
"Oh, this is worse than just plain looking would be!" she exclaimed in frustration. "Take off that blanket!"
But I'm trying to control my—
She reached across and tore off the blanket. Mym blinked. There before him was a bare bosom every bit as grand as the one he had been trying not to imagine.
"Might as well get this over with," she muttered, her spoken words almost blotted out by the underlying anger she broadcast. She stripped the rest of the way, while Mym, bemused, watched, ashamed for the admiration he was unable to suppress. She was indeed the perfect woman.
In due course she finished and dried and dressed. "Now it is your turn," she said ferociously. Mym quailed. Fair was fair—but naturally he had suffered the masculine reaction; if he stripped, this would be all too evident.
Rapture blushed. "Some other time," she decided, and fled.
Of course his thought had been about as revealing as his body would have been. He blushed himself; he had not meant or wanted to expose her to that. She was a fine, discreet woman, who had probably never seen a man in—
Enough! her thought came, undiminished in intensity despite the distance she had put between them.
At that he had to laugh, ruefully. The Castle was making fools of them both.
Rapture reappeared. She was trying to maintain her anger, but the perverse humor of it was spreading to her. "We must escape this castle!" she exclaimed.
"Y-y-yes!" he agreed fervently.
"Y-y-yes," she echoed, and she was not mocking him.
But neither of them had much of an idea how to do it. The estate was girt by a high enchanted wall that could not be scaled, with a lake on the back; the only approach was by magic carpet, and they had none. They agreed to ponder during the night and compare notes in the morning.
They got through the evening meal, and then Rapture shut her eyes and pumped while Mym washed. If she peeked it didn't matter, for she could not help but read his physical state through his mind. She merely flushed and continued pumping, while he counted numbers backwards constantly to drown out what he could of his own thoughts. He was glad when it was over.
They separated, each going to the appropriate suite. But Mym had hardly entered his when her scream resounded through his mind. He charged to her section, threw open the curtain—naturally there were no doors—and found her standing with her delicate fist in her mouth.
"Something was there!" she cried.
From her mind he got the image—some shadowy, skeletal, demonic figure that had sought to sneak up on her, but retreated when she turned to look.
"But there are no other people or creatures on the premises," Mym reminded her. "We would intercept their thoughts."
"I saw it," she insisted, and he knew she had—or believed she had. Which left open the possibility of something other than a person or a creature, he realized. Was this Castle haunted by demons?
"Demons!" she exclaimed, horrified.
But why would there be anything like that in a castle intended for lovers?
"To ensure that they are together," she said. And that, of course, was it. Those who insisted on sleeping apart would discover company of an unpleasantly alien nature. Rapture was obviously extremely ill at ease; he felt it throughout her mind. What were they to do?
"I will ignore it," she said bravely. But though she intended to make the effort, he read her deep fear of the demonic. She would not be able to sleep.
Wielding a Red Sword Page 4
