He awoke to find that the sun had moved down the sky. Melancthe, wearing a sleeveless gown of soft white faniche,* stood leaning against the balustrade, oblivious to his presence.
*A fairy fabric woven from dandelion silk.
Carfilhiot sat up in his chair, vexed for reasons indefinable. Melancthe turned to look at him, then a moment later gave her attention back to the sea... Carfilhiot watched her under half-closed eyelids. Her self- possession—so it occurred to him—if sufficiently protracted, might well tend to scrape upon one's patience... Melancthe glanced at him over her shoulder, the corners of her mouth drooping, apparently with nothing to say: neither welcome nor wonder at his presence unattended, nor curiosity as to the course of his life.
Carfilhiot chose to break the silence. "Life here at Ys seems placid enough."
"Sufficiently so."
"1 have had a dangerous day. I evaded death by almost no margin whatever."
"You must have been frightened."
Carfilhiot considered. "'Fright'? That is not quite the word. I was alarmed, certainly. I grieve to lose my troops."
"I have heard rumors of your warriors."
Carfilhiot smiled. "What would you have? The land is in turmoil. Everyone resists authority. Would you not prefer a country at peace?"
"As an abstract proposition, yes."
"I need your help."
Melancthe laughed in surprise. "It will not be forthcoming. I helped you once, to my regret."
"Truly? My gratitude should have soothed all your qualms. After all, you and I are one."
Melancthe turned and looked off over the wide blue sea. "I am I and you are you."
"So you will not help me."
"I will give you advice, if you agree to act by it."
"At least I will listen."
"Change utterly."
Carfilhiot made a polite gesture. "That is like saying: ‘Turn yourself inside-out.'"
"I know." The two words rang with a fateful sound.
Carfilhiot grimaced. "Do you truly hate me so?"
Melancthe inspected him from head to toe. "I often wonder at my feelings. You fascinate the attention; you cannot be ignored. Perhaps it is a kind of narcissism. If I were male, I might be like you."
"True. We are one."
Melancthe shook her head. "I am not tainted. You breathed the green fume."
"But you tasted it."
"I spat it out."
"Still, you know its flavor."
"And so I see deep into your soul."
"Evidently without admiration."
Melancthe again turned to look across the sea. Carfilhiot came to join her beside the balustrade. "Does it mean nothing that I am in danger? Half of my elite company is gone. I no longer trust my magic."
"You know no magic."
Carfilhiot ignored her. "My enemies have joined and plan terrible acts upon me. Today they might have killed me, but tried rather to take me alive."
"Consult your darling Tamurello; perhaps he will fear for his loved one."
Carfilhiot laughed sadly. "I am not even sure of Tamurello. In any event he is very temperate in his generosity, even somewhat grudging."
"Then find a more lavish lover. What of King Casmir?"
"We have few interests in common."
"Then Tamurello would seem to be your best hope."
Carfilhiot glanced sidewise and searched the delicate lines of her profile. "Has Tamurello never offered his attentions to you?"
"Certainly. But my price was too high."
"What was your price?"
"His life."
"That is inordinate. What price would you demand of me?"
Melancthe's eyebrows raised; her mouth went wryly crooked. "You would pay a notable price."
"My life?"
"The topic lacks all relevance, and disturbs me." She turned away. "I am going inside."
"What of me?"
"Do as you please. Sleep in the sun, if you are so of a mind. Or start back to Tintzin Fyral."
Carfilhiot said reproachfully: "For one who is closer than a sister, you are most acrid."
"To the contrary; I am absolutely detached."
"Well then, if I may do as I please, I will accept your hospitality."
Melancthe, mouth pursed thoughtfully, walked into the palace, with Carfilhiot at her back. She paused in the foyer: a round chamber decorated in blue, pink and gold, and with a pale blue rug on the marble floor. She called the chamberlain. "Show Sir Faude to a chamber and attend to his needs."
Carfilhiot bathed and rested for a period. Dusk settled across the ocean and daylight faded.
Carfilhiot dressed in garments of unrelieved black. In the foyer the chamberlain presented himself. "Lady Melancthe has not yet appeared. If you like, you may await her in the small saloon."
Carfilhiot seated himself and was served a goblet of crimson wine, tasting of honey, pine needles and pomegranate.
Half an hour passed. The silver-skinned serving girl brought a tray of sweetmeats, which Carfilhiot tasted without enthusiasm.
Ten minutes later he looked up from his wine to find Melancthe standing in front of him. She wore a sleeveless black gown, cut with total simplicity. A black opal cabochon hung on a narrow black ribbon around her neck; against the black, her pale skin and large eyes gave her a look of vulnerability to the impulses of both pleasure and pain: a semblance to excite any wishing to bring her either or both.
After a pause she sat beside Carfilhiot, and took a goblet of wine from the tray. Carfilhiot waited but she sat in silence. At last he asked: "Have you enjoyed a restful afternoon?"
"Certainly not restful. I worked on certain exercises."
"Indeed? To what end?"
"It is not easy to become a sorcerer."
"That is your will?"
"Certainly."
"It is not overly difficult, then?"
"I am only at the fringes of the subject. The real difficulties lie yet ahead."
"Already you are stronger than I." Carfilhiot spoke in a jesting voice. Melancthe smiled not at all.
After a heavy silence she rose to her feet. "It is time for dinner."
She took him into a large chamber, paneled in the blackest of ebony and floored with slabs of polished black gabbro. Over the ebony a set of glass prisms illuminated the service.
Dinner was served on two sets of trays: a simple meal of mussels simmered in white wine, bread, olives and nuts. Melancthe ate little, and apart from an occasional glance at Carfilhiot, gave him no attention, and made no effort at conversation. Carfilhiot, nettled, likewise held his tongue, so that the meal went in silence. Carfilhiot drank several goblets of wine, and finally set the goblet down with a petulant thump.
"You are beautiful beyond the dreams of dreaming! Yet your thoughts are those of a fish!"
"It is no great matter."
"Why should we know constraint? Are we not ultimately one?"
"No. Desmei yielded three: I, you and Denking."
"You have said it yourself!"
Melancthe shook her head. "Everyone shares the substance of earth. But the lion differs from the mouse and both from man."
Carfilhiot rejected the analogy with a gesture. "We are one, yet different! A fascinating condition! Yet, you are aloof!"
"True," said Melancthe. "I agree."
"For a moment consider the possibilities! The vertexes of passion! The sheer exuberances! Can you not feel the excitement?"
"Feel? Enough that I think." For an instant her composure appeared to falter. She rose, crossed the chamber and stood looking into the sea-coal fire.