considered long and quietly.
At last, though he couldn’t have explained why, he took the one that led to the chambers of his brother Vilmos. This was a small stairway that curved but didn’t wind. The corridor it led to was wide but empty. One oil lamp was lit at the far end, revealing several others that were not. Miklós walked softly, and was near the curtains of Vilmos’s room when a shape appeared in front of him.
He jumped back, stifling a cry, and heard the sound of another cry being stifled. He stood motionless, as did the other, and he could dimly make out a pair of eyes looking into his. He stood thus for perhaps half a dozen heartbeats, then Miklós said, “Who are you?”
“That was going to be my question,” said a soft, feminine voice. “But I am Brigitta.”
Miklós walked past her to the lamp at the far end, stood under it, and turned to her. “I am Prince Miklós,” he said.
Her gasp indicated that the name was not unknown to her. She approached him, as if to see better, and in doing so he saw her as well. He studied her face, and said, “You must be here at László’s request.”
She nodded, still wide-eyed. “He is entertaining a prospective bride, but he asked me to remain here, so he gave me a room to sleep in.” She continued to stare at him, and her voice changed. “He said you were still alive. No one else believed him, but he said
he knew it.” Miklós nodded. She seemed fascinated by him, as if he were a vision or a specter. He carefully kept any expression from his face. “You know,” she continued, “he told me what he did to you. He regrets it terribly. I think … thought that was why he refused to admit you were dead.”
Miklós nodded once more, then stifled a gasp. Whether it was a trick of the flickering lamps, he couldn’t say, but for just an instant her staring eyes seemed to contain a reflection of the Palace itself, seen from the outside, with all of its crumbling walls, broken towers, and sagging arches highlighted. The vision was so strong that Miklós looked away.
“What is it?” she said.
“Nothing.” He swallowed. “Are you from town? I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”
“No. I used to live by the marshes, in the county of Nagyláb.”
“How long have you been in Fenario?”
“Since spring. My mother died last winter.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” she said with only the tiniest trace of bitterness. “It wasn’t much of a life.”
Miklós was about to ask more when he caught a flicker of motion from over her shoulder. She followed his glance as Vilmos, dressed in a pale nightgown, emerged from a room down the hall.
“Who by the demons is out there?” he thundered.
Miklós said, “Hello, Vili.”
Vilmos stared, then a grin erupted all over his face. “Miki!” he cried. He rushed forward, almost running over Brigitta, and embraced Miklós.
“Careful,” said the smaller brother.
“Then it was you! I thought I saw you—”
“With the dragon. Yes. I would have said something, but the dragon threw me one way, and the River carried you another.”
Vilmos nodded and released him. He held him at arm’s length to take a good look at him. “You’ve been hurt,” he said.
“The dragon threw me into a tree. I’m all right now. How are you?”
“Never better. I almost murdered old Sándor, but—why are we standing here? Let’s go to the kitchens or somewhere and talk! By the Goddess, it’s good to see you alive! Where have you been?”
Miklós nodded to Brigitta, suggesting that she accompany them, and began walking toward the stairs up to the kitchen.
“Not that way,” said Vilmos.
“Eh?”
“We have to go around and up. Those stairs collapsed a year ago.”
Miklós sighed and followed his brother farther down the hall toward another archway. “This whole Palace is going to collapse one of these days,” he said.
“Is it indeed?” said a new voice.
They turned. The King was clad in a purple
At last, though he couldn’t have explained why, he took the one that led to the chambers of his brother Vilmos. This was a small stairway that curved but didn’t wind. The corridor it led to was wide but empty. One oil lamp was lit at the far end, revealing several others that were not. Miklós walked softly, and was near the curtains of Vilmos’s room when a shape appeared in front of him.
He jumped back, stifling a cry, and heard the sound of another cry being stifled. He stood motionless, as did the other, and he could dimly make out a pair of eyes looking into his. He stood thus for perhaps half a dozen heartbeats, then Miklós said, “Who are you?”
“That was going to be my question,” said a soft, feminine voice. “But I am Brigitta.”
Miklós walked past her to the lamp at the far end, stood under it, and turned to her. “I am Prince Miklós,” he said.
Her gasp indicated that the name was not unknown to her. She approached him, as if to see better, and in doing so he saw her as well. He studied her face, and said, “You must be here at László’s request.”
She nodded, still wide-eyed. “He is entertaining a prospective bride, but he asked me to remain here, so he gave me a room to sleep in.” She continued to stare at him, and her voice changed. “He said you were still alive. No one else believed him, but he said
he knew it.” Miklós nodded. She seemed fascinated by him, as if he were a vision or a specter. He carefully kept any expression from his face. “You know,” she continued, “he told me what he did to you. He regrets it terribly. I think … thought that was why he refused to admit you were dead.”
Miklós nodded once more, then stifled a gasp. Whether it was a trick of the flickering lamps, he couldn’t say, but for just an instant her staring eyes seemed to contain a reflection of the Palace itself, seen from the outside, with all of its crumbling walls, broken towers, and sagging arches highlighted. The vision was so strong that Miklós looked away.
“What is it?” she said.
“Nothing.” He swallowed. “Are you from town? I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”
“No. I used to live by the marshes, in the county of Nagyláb.”
“How long have you been in Fenario?”
“Since spring. My mother died last winter.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” she said with only the tiniest trace of bitterness. “It wasn’t much of a life.”
Miklós was about to ask more when he caught a flicker of motion from over her shoulder. She followed his glance as Vilmos, dressed in a pale nightgown, emerged from a room down the hall.
“Who by the demons is out there?” he thundered.
Miklós said, “Hello, Vili.”
Vilmos stared, then a grin erupted all over his face. “Miki!” he cried. He rushed forward, almost running over Brigitta, and embraced Miklós.
“Careful,” said the smaller brother.
“Then it was you! I thought I saw you—”
“With the dragon. Yes. I would have said something, but the dragon threw me one way, and the River carried you another.”
Vilmos nodded and released him. He held him at arm’s length to take a good look at him. “You’ve been hurt,” he said.
“The dragon threw me into a tree. I’m all right now. How are you?”
“Never better. I almost murdered old Sándor, but—why are we standing here? Let’s go to the kitchens or somewhere and talk! By the Goddess, it’s good to see you alive! Where have you been?”
Miklós nodded to Brigitta, suggesting that she accompany them, and began walking toward the stairs up to the kitchen.
“Not that way,” said Vilmos.
“Eh?”
“We have to go around and up. Those stairs collapsed a year ago.”
Miklós sighed and followed his brother farther down the hall toward another archway. “This whole Palace is going to collapse one of these days,” he said.
“Is it indeed?” said a new voice.
They turned. The King was clad in a purple
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