Solstice Gift

by Wendy Rathbone

  The clasp opened. The masked face looked directly at me. Before he let the cloak fall, he took one hand away from the cloth and touched my head with his palm, sliding his fingers briefly through my gilt-sprayed hair. "Do not worry. You are perfect," he said.

  The cloak slid from my shoulders. I stood trembling before all, further shamed because the erection I'd practiced to maintain for this evening had completely wilted in my anxiety. I was a disgrace.

  I saw the master turn his eyes away, lips tight in a straight line.

  The king stood back and assessed me. His eyes did not linger below my waist. He leaned forward as he passed to leave the stage and move on, whispering for my ears alone, "The more you tremble, the more stunning you become." He stepped over my fallen cloak and off the stage.

  He and the master moved on.

  I bit hard at the inside of my lower lip, concentrating on the pain. His words kept repeating in my head. Stunning? Was he mocking me? Perhaps he was a sadist who enjoyed another's misery.

  Despite his outward compliments to my beauty, the urge to flee remained. I had made a spectacle of myself. I, who held one of two of the sanctuary's topmost honors.

  Never had I behaved this way since the ending of my childhood teens. Never had I trembled so before another for a simple miscalculation or for any bodily shame.

  This was such a shock, for in all my training I had only ever felt pride, worth, might. I never questioned that I might feel differently in public amongst a wealthy crowd under the gaze of a legend, or that a simple malfunction might reduce me to a beginner's status.

  My heart rammed against my chest over and over as if trying to break free. My stomach fluttered. I stood in only my fur boots, naked before the room on a golden stage, feeling not proud or mighty but small and lost. The reality of my position closed in on me. My skin prickled. My mouth went dry. Through sheer will, I remained standing.

  I heard the master name the next trainee. His introduction went smoothly of course. He stood proud. The king complimented him but not in the way he'd complimented me. I did not know what to think.

  At the tone of the king's voice, my body rippled as if flinching, but there was also a curl of desire there, a strange, fixated response, as if my body had eased a little, knowing I could now never be chosen. Either way, my family would be taken care of. I was one of the twelve.

  But now there was something more I wanted as I realized I would not have it. The king. The way he'd touched me.

  The idea of honor left me. I could only think of him, of his hand in my hair, his fingers curving there. A tiny gesture. That was all. With it he had succeeded in making me want him beyond the mere ritual.

  There is a saying of my world: People covet more passionately that which they cannot have.

  Part of me fantasized that the foundations of the castle and the ice beneath would crack open and swallow me whole. Another part of me, in outrage at the predicament of my cloak, wanted to beg for the king's forgiveness and be given a second chance.

  There was no relief for me. I knew I would not have him now. The loss was a knife thrust.

  By tradition I was not allowed to move. For the duration of the introductions I was to stand as a statue, an object of art.

  But my eyes stung. The center of my back itched. Between my legs I was soft as sleep. My eyelids brimmed. If the liquid overflowed I would not be able to stand it.

  As if imbued with a spirit separate from mine, my left arm rose. The back of my hand brushed over my eyes despite our strict instruction not to move, with the exception of undoing our cloak clasps, during the entire introduction process.

  With horror, I dropped my hand. Of course I had been seen. The master was finishing with the last trainee, but I heard the flick of the whip. I could not see him. He was behind me. But I knew that sound, the warning, the disappointment. It was all for me.

  I tried not to gasp at the air. But what did it matter what I did now? The mistakes had been already made. The wreckage of my role here was complete. I could not do it any more damage.

  I heard the master's final words. "The choice is now yours, Your Highness. May it be agreeable to all parties. May the new spring come."

  My chest heaved. Sobs were trapped deep in my throat. I wanted to cough but held back.

  The king walked slowly around the little stage, followed by his guard, and I saw him again, his great starry robe, the hyper-green points of his crown, the monstrous mask.

  No one knew what he would do. He was an alien. His customs were not ours. If the rumors were true that he did not like slavery, he might refuse us all.

  He made the circle once. Then came around a second time. He barely glanced my way. I truly thought my heart might cease beating.

  When he finished his second circle about the stage, I heard him stop in front of Chel and speak his name. I heard the cloak as it was lifted, its rubies clashing. Chel would now be clad again and would descend to follow at the king's command.

  I closed my eyes. The moisture in them stuck to my eyelashes.

  I heard a distant voice say, "It's snowing!" and someone else say, "Shh!"

  Footsteps again. A closing of the distance. A scent of sweet amber.

  When I opened my eyes, the king stood before me flanked by Chel, the master, and his four guards. "Remi," was all he said. He lifted his hand.

  For a moment I could not move; dared not believe. In my state I had to have appeared less than appealing, a mess and a drama no one could want.

  Yet before my eyes I saw my dropped cloak gathered in the master's hands, saw him beckon with the whip for me to descend the stage. I stepped down ungracefully, listing to one side. The master narrowed his eyes, but he said nothing. He pulled my cloak about my shoulders and all the way around my body. The clasp was completely broken, but he did something to keep it in place. Rubies flickered on my arms and torso once more.

  Through all of this, the king watched stoically.

  When I was dressed, the king turned to his people. He said, voice loud, "I have made my choices. They shall not be challenged. I honor all the trainees tonight. Ten remain. See that they are treated with utmost respect, given food and drink, allowed any favor. Now go forth and celebrate. I give my benediction to you all. Light the way for the new spring. We call forth to the essence of the planet to allow spring fruiting in this new year after one hundred long years of winter."

  His accent cradled the words of our language with grace. With his charismatic demeanor, it seemed as if we could all believe him. But when he'd conquered our world, he'd brought with him a knowledge of science, too. For those like me who had studied it, we knew his words for the fictional rituals they were, for we were in the midst of a small ice age. It would last for at least another thousand years.

  The rites and the words were for comfort and distraction.

  I made my way to stand beside Chel, who did not acknowledge me at all. He stood proud, broader than I, his raven hair longer. His muscles were thicker, and his eyes were dark, his lashes long and shiny.

  I should have been proud to be one of the chosen. Still, my body trembled. My skin pricked hot and cold. The king's presence made my mind blank, my insides enflamed.

  I entertained the thought that I had passed out in my anxiety. That this was all a head-wound dream, not real. But somehow, through some miracle, this was happening.

  For now, the tears had receded. Everything looked bright, unreal, as Chel and I, along with the king's guard, followed the king through the shining hall, making our way around festive courtiers and through a garlanded archway that led to a white marble corridor. Lamps shaped like silver cubes ran along both sides of the hall at ceiling height all the way to the end. Set in various alcoves were glimmering bare-branched trees lit up gold for the season.

  The king in his dark mask led us down the corridor. The sounds of the party grew distant. Our footsteps echoed off the white marble. Our cloaks and robes rustled. The guards' weapons thudded and bumped against them a
s they walked.

  I thought everyone must hear the pounding of my heart. But no one looked at me, not even Chel.

  CHAPTER TWO

  We came to a stairwell and ascended a curving white staircase decorated with garlands that matched those on the doorways.

  At the end of the stairs was another short hall ending in two large wooden double doors, black against endless white marble ceilings and walls. Two fur-clad servants stood to either side of the doors. As the king approached, they opened the doors and bowed to him.

  We walked in, Chel and the king side by side, and me following behind them. The guards stayed just outside. The servants closed the doors behind us.

  The interior of the king's chambers was lit by a glitter of tiny gold lights embedded in the ceiling and walls. Candles guttered everywhere, fake electric little spasms of tear-shaped flame on tables and shelves and in alcoves carved into the bedstead above a giant white bed. Above the alcoves, elaborate marble contours made spiral designs on the walls. The floor was a checkerboard of black and white tiles decorated with black fur rugs.

  Even as the king moved forward, my gaze kept being drawn back to the bed. It was draped in fine satin spreads, white and cream. A dozen pillows were covered in black fur. More fur blankets were folded at the foot. Bedposts rose up on all four corners carved in the shapes of totems with faces of animals and birds. They were exquisite. I wondered who the artist was.

  The king turned. He looked first to Chel, then to me. "Remi," he said quietly, "please stay."

  The mask was still upon him. It was disconcerting. I did as I was told and did not move.

  The king went to Chel and beckoned him forward. "Chel, come with me, please."

  They exited through a small doorway, leaving me alone, unsure but curious. I glanced again about the vast bedchamber, taking everything in a second time. This was a luxury I had never known.

  I wondered what it meant that Chel had been chosen first. Were they both going to be gone long? Would I be alone here for a while?

  I saw a comfortable chair to my right and thought I might sit in it. Without any orders, I knew to definitely stay away from the bed, though the carvings there beckoned for closer inspection.

  Again I grew dizzy. This was unlike me. I had left my shyness from childhood behind, the sensitive boy who could not abide war. I had never been faint for a moment in training. My health was impeccable. Even fasting for a single day never affected me. I had been prepared for anything. But training and reality were two very different things. In truth, no one could adequately prepare for being in the presence of a legend.

  King Shin had single-handedly changed my world. He was like a myth. Add to that all the lights, the glitter, the scents, along with my broken cloak clasp, and I realized I had gambled everything I was on this single night. It had proven to be too much for me.

  Yet I had been chosen. Why then was I not back in control of myself? The happiest man alive?

  Something had happened to me on that stage. Some secret place inside me had broken open and left me vulnerable to my child self again. It was as if the professional training I'd had vanished. My skin burned. My chest shook.

  I heard no sounds coming from the closed door that led to the room the king had entered with Chel.

  Again I looked toward the chair. I wanted to sit; rest. I dared not. Hands at my sides, fingers curled into loose fists, I kept my back straight, my knees locked. I stood in the center of the white glimmering room and did not move. For long moments, I closed my eyes. I thought of my family. I tried to remember the lines of a poem I'd written a year ago and recited them under my breath. It calmed me.

  I was still whispering to myself when the king came back into the room. When I heard the door, I opened my eyes. He was still masked, although he'd lost the thick, starry robe and the emerald-studded crown. He was wearing only white trousers and a white shirt with gathered sleeves. Without the robe he looked taller.

  He came forward, head tilted, and the mask made the gesture unnerving. "What were you saying, Remi? A prayer?"

  "No." I looked down.

  He lifted his hand, also bare now, the fur gloves gone. "Please. Repeat it."

  where towers go up into wintry skies

  and flicker there

  come with me to gather the

  lush lanterns that grow

  in the cold mists of space

  I stopped. "I forget the rest."

  "Who is the author?"

  Lowering my head further until my chin touched my chest, I said, "I." How arrogant of me. Here I was, reciting my own poem. Not only that, I couldn't even remember the whole thing.

  My body began to tremble again. Was it just his presence? I had mastered my lessons. I had prepared for this journey to the castle. I did not understand my anxieties. I wanted to close my eyes, refocus. Start over.

  I felt him ready to respond to my admission. A long silence gleamed between us, long enough for my discomfort to increase even more.

  Finally, he said to me, "Remi, are you hungry?"

  I had been, but not now. I shook my head, but my throat was still so dry. "Maybe some wine?" I blurted.

  He went to a table and poured me something gold from a crystal flask. The glass was clear, shaped like a bird with the wings as handles. He handed it to me. Gratefully, I put it to my lips and drank, feeling the liquid cool me all the way down to the bottom of my belly. It tasted salty-sweet, earthy.

  Through the thick mask's narrow eye slits, he watched me.

  "You may have as much as you like," he said.

  I did not drain the glass but took two more sips. For a moment it seemed to clear my mind.

  "Thank you," I replied, glad to hear my voice come out steady.

  "Remi, you know you are my first choice tonight."

  For a moment I thought I did not understand his words. Galactic Standard was still a new language to me. "But Chel?"

  His lips curved up under the mask. "Turns out I am in desperate need of a high-level mathematician." He paused. "For future plans. Nothing to do with your world's rituals."

  I waited for him to elaborate. No further explanation came. Questions began to form in my mind. Why me? I had fumbled the introduction so badly. I had shown less control than all the others. I did not know math or much science beyond a layman's knowledge. And what were his future plans? I wanted to know. Where did he come from? How did he come to be here, now, on my icy world? Despite all the knowledge he'd brought to Niobe, almost nothing personal was ever reported about King Shin. The few details I knew had been mostly conjecture.

  My head began to spin again, as if I were formless, lost.

  He took the bird wine glass from me as it started to fall from my hand. I wanted to speak, to apologize. He did not give me time.

  "I realize," he said, setting the glass on the table, "things are strange to you. I am not like the kings who have come before. I am different. I am an outsider. And you must have been prepared for something else, trained for another ritual here, in the bedroom. A surrender, perhaps, wherein you do not think. You do not question. You only act. But I see more than lessons in you. That is why I chose you. There was honesty and depth from you, instead of wooden regard, when the clasp on your cloak broke, when you lost focus. It was a lucky moment for you. You became yourself broken open, like the clasp. In your hope, in your disappointment, in your fear, you became real and not just an icon in a ritual. You must have many questions, yes?"

  I nodded, trying to keep up with his quick-spoken words.

  "I saw those questions and more in your eyes. But I cannot answer them yet for you. I don't even know you."

  Now I looked up. "You chose me because I broke form?"

  The masked face nodded. "That. And you are striking, of course, as per my preferences."

  My body heated at his nonchalant reply. I narrowed my eyebrows.

  "Ah, yes, I am still human in that regard. I have... needs."

  I found my voice again, my thoug
hts. "But beyond that, you did not care about the training?"

  "Not one bit."

  "Oh." I let the exclamation fall on the air between us, a breath, a gust of relief, though the trembles beneath my skin continued. It wasn't fair, of course, this exchange. He knew my customs, but I did not know his.

  He continued. "I chose you because I thought you, of all of them, were the one I might get to know after the trappings fall away, because I would like to know about you."

  Surely he had whatever he wanted as king, including people who doted on his every whim. "Why?"

  "Because I am lonely for more than just flesh; I want company as well. I also chose you for your vocation: the arts. I am surrounded by guards, technicians, scientists, politics. I get weary of it. I want something different."

  "You are truly lonely? With all these people? All this power?"

  "Yes."

  "And..." I hesitated, wondering if speaking my mind were presumptuous. In the sanctuary, part of my training was to use all of my body, including my voice. The art of conversation was a part of that. But he had chosen me for my honesty, so I continued with no pretense—and still a lot of nervousness. I said softly, "And you can't let them know you.”

  "Precisely."

  "But why the mask?"

  "It's all about images."

  "It is an intimidating piece," I said, feeling bolder as the conversation progressed.

  "Good. But it is also for my protection. I do have enemies."

  All kings did. I did not know what else to say to that.

  "I command; that is power. I am wealthy. I love the control. But to maintain that, I am mostly isolated. Do you understand?"

  I nodded. Curiosity usurped my shyness. "But why did you come here, to this world, to us? Why take over?"

  "Because it crossed my path."

  The words seemed so arrogant. But his tone was soft.

  "It crossed your path? That's all?"

  "I have my proclivities, as anyone does. My strange obsessions. I like to collect things. Worlds. It's a challenge to myself."