The tall, rawboned woman with the long face hearkened to that call, though, and swept over to Orgoru. Since he’d been glancing at her every few minutes, he noticed her immediately, and turned to give her a courtly bow. “Countess Gilda! May we have your opinion on the Hussite Wars?”
“Perhaps later, Prince,” the countess said, “but at the moment, I could not stand still; the music animates my feet.”
“Does it so? Why, then, allow me the pleasure of this dance!” Orgoru swept her up in his arms and swirled away with her onto the floor.
Miles and Ciletha, stranded at the high table, stared. “Did he always know that dance?” Miles asked.
“No! He never knew any dance! He has learned it in just these last few days—as he has learned to bow, and to hold his head with that slight tilt, to stand so straightly and walk so lightly!” Tears stood in her eyes. “But who is that horse who calls herself a countess? Who is she that plays at being a creature from a children’s tale? How dare she take him!”
Miles stared at her, then felt a rush of hope—she might be in love with Orgoru, but he felt no more than friendship for her, might even be in love with this “countess”! He felt shame, too, that he should be pleased at something that caused Ciletha pain, but there was no point in hiding it from himself—Gilda gave Miles an opportunity with Ciletha, and he had to admit to himself that he had already fallen in love with her. It was a strange and thrilling feeling, for he had never been in love before. He turned back to watch the two dancers—still easy to single out, though other couples were coming out on the floor to join them—and saw the sparkle in Gilda’s eye, saw the answering gleam in Orgoru’s, heard her hearty laugh and his throaty chuckle.
Ciletha, too, saw the interplay. She gave a choking sob and rose, turning away from Miles and rushing out of the great hall. Miles stared after her, taken aback. Then his heart overflowed with pity for her, and he leaped up to follow.
CHAPTER 11
Miles chased the sound of Ciletha’s footsteps through half-lit halls and around two corners before he found her leaning against a wall, crying her heart out. Then what could he do but hover anxiously? She looked up and saw him, though, stared almost in fright a moment, then threw herself into his arms, sobbing as though her heart would break—which it very well might.
Finally the sobs slackened, and she moaned, “Let me go triad, too! Wouldn’t Orgoru fall in love with me then?”
Miles stood frozen, staring over her head at the wall. Of course! She was right, very right! Living their lives as though in a fairy tale, learning to bow and mince and dance in elaborate rounds—of course they were insane! Who else could live so? How else could people who were clearly peasants think themselves to be kings and duchesses?
But if insanity let them live in luxury, without working, who wouldn’t want to go mad?
Fear stabbed, fear at the thought of Ciletha becoming one of those painted, posturing, artificial creatures. “Cupid shoots his arrows where he will, Ciletha,” he said softly. “People who are clearly right for one another, usually fall in love with somebody else.”
Ciletha stilled a little, but still quivered. “You don’t think she’s right for him, then?”
Miles had to be careful here. “How much do they have in common, besides their madness? Oh, I’ve seen boys in my village fall in love, all right—but rarely with the good women who would be so good for them! It’s always the minx who turns their heads.” He frowned, not liking the next thought “Maybe it’s better to let the reeves choose for us, after all.”
“No!” Ciletha pushed herself away enough to glare up into his face. “To have to try to be a wife to a man I loathe? Never! If anyone has to plan my life, it’ll be me!”
“Planning seems to have very little to do with it,” Miles said, with irony.
“Beauty does, though,” Ciletha said.
They were both silent a moment, thinking of Orgoru and Gilda. Then Ciletha said, “Perhaps not, though.”
“I’m sure he sees her as beautiful,” Miles said, “even as she seems to see him as handsome.”
“He is, in his way,” Ciletha said, her voice small.
“Maybe,” Miles said, “but I don’t think that’s the handsomeness that Gilda sees.”
Ciletha frowned up at him. “You mean that they actually see different faces, different bodies, from the ones we see? Surely that can’t be.”
“Maybe,” Miles said slowly, “but I saw a picture in my childhood, when my parents took me to stand before the reeve, and I remembered it very well—a bright, colorful image of a knight and a dragon, hanging in front of a house. I remembered it for years, and when I’d had a terrible day and was trying to sleep, I’d think of that picture, and it gave me an odd sort of comfort. But when I was fourteen, they took me to the reeve’s town again, and I saw the picture once more. It was all wrong—the knight was standing, though I remembered him as kneeling, and held a spear, not a sword. The dragon was much smaller, not really surrounding the knight with its coils—in fact, it didn’t have coils, and it did have wings, though I hadn’t remembered them. To cap it, at fourteen, I knew the house for what it was—a tavern, and the picture was the sign that hung over its door.”
Ciletha stared; then she burst into laughter and pressed a hand up to his cheek. “Poor Miles! How dreadful that must have been!”
“Meeting reality always is,” Miles confessed. “But I still have the picture my memory made up, there in my mind, where I can always look at it.”
Ciletha frowned. “I see what you mean,” she said slowly, “that the woman Orgoru sees may have a lot in common with the Countess Gilda we see, but is far more beautiful, and far more graceful.”
“Oh, she’s graceful enough,” Miles said. “None of them are clumsy. They all have the magistrate’s walk, the tilt of the chin—but it looks wrong on them, somehow. Not ‘graceful,’ perhaps, but ‘stately.’ ”
“Certainly not alluring.” Ciletha’s voice hardened. “Though I’m sure that’s how Orgoru sees her.”
“Yes, and she probably sees him as tall and lean, with a noble brow and Roman nose.”
Ciletha smiled, then gave in and let a giggle out. “Yes, she probably does. I can see how you might be right, Miles.” Miles thought the delight he felt at hearing her laugh must have been far more than he had any reason to feel. He couldn’t keep the smile in, though, and said, “Right or wrong, I’d rather not go back there right now. Do you think we can find a door that leads out? I’d like some fresh air—and the ruins shouldn’t be too frightening by night.”
“Not as long as we don’t see another of those skeletons.” Ciletha didn’t really seem to find the prospect very frightening. “Let’s stay close to the palace, though.”
They found the door, and the plaza outside was so wide that they could wander as much as they wanted and still be fairly near the building. They didn’t see any robots, but they did see plenty of stars. They began to talk about how vastly far away the sky must be, and Miles told her the silliness he’d heard from Gar and Dirk, that each of those points of light was a sun, that some even had worlds circling them, and that it would take the Protector’s fastest courier thousands of years to ride from one to another. She laughed with him, first at the notion of a horse galloping between the stars, then at the absurdity of each star being a whole sun. Then she quieted, though, and told Miles she had heard a story like that in her childhood, that stars held other worlds around them, and that their ancestors had come from such a world, so very far away.