waters of a river. The Goyl feared water, even though it had
created their caves, and the sound of its dripping was as natural a part of
their cities as the sound of the wind above the ground. They feared water so much that the sea had
restricted Kami’en's conquests, making him dream of the power of flight. But she couldn't give him wings, any more
than she could give him children. She
was born of the water he feared so much, and all the words that so much to them
— sister, brother, daughter, son — meant nothing to her.
The dollface
couldn't give him children, either, unless he wanted to sire one of those
crippled monsters some human women had borne his soldiers. "How
often do I have to tell you? I couldn’t
care less about her, but I need this peace." He actually believed every one of his words,
but she knew him better than that. He
did want peace, but even more than that he yearned to caress human skin and to
make one of them his wife. His
fascination with all things human had begun to concern her as much as it did
his people.
Where did the
love come from? What was it made
of? Stone, like him? Water, like her?
When she had
first set out to find him, it had just been a game. A game with the toy her dreams had shown
her. The Goyl who was
smashing the world to pieces, who disregarded its rules, just as she did. The Fairies played with this world; the last
one to have done so now wore a skin of bark. And yet she had still dispatched her moths to find Kami’en. The tent in which she first met him had
smelled of blood, of the death she did not understand, and still she had
thought of it all as a game. She had
promised him the world. His flesh in the flesh of his enemies. And much too late had she
realized what he had sown in her. Love. Worst of all poisons.
"You
should wear human dresses more often,"
Eyes of gold. Lips of fire. He
didn't look tired, even though he had barely slept in days.
The Fairy's
dress rustled as she turned. Human women
dressed like flowers, layers of petals around a mortal, rotting core. She had had the dress made in the likeness of
one of the paintings that hung in the dead general's castle. Kami’en had gazed at it often, as if it
showed a world he longed for. The fabric
would have made ten dresses, but she loved the rustling of the silk and its
cool smoothness on her skin.
"No news
from Hentzau?"
As if she
didn't know the answer. Why had her
moths still not found the one she was looking for? She could see him so clearly — as if she only
had to reach out to fell his jade skin at her fingertips.
"Hentzau
will find him, if he exists." Kami’en stood behind her. He
doubted her dreams but never his jasper shadow.
Hentzau. Someone else
she would have loved to kill. But
Kami’en would forgive his death even less than that of his future bride. He had killed his own brothers, as the Goyl
often did, but Hentzau was closer to him than a brother. Maybe even closer than she
was.
Their
reflections in the train window melted into one. Her breath still quickened whenever he stood
near her. Where does love come from?
"Forget
the Jade Goyl. Forget your dreams,"
he whispered, undoing her hair. "I
will give you new dreams. Just tell me
what you want."
She'd never
told Kami’en that she had also found him first in her dreams. He wouldn't have liked it. Neither Goyl nor men lived long enough to
understand that yesterday was born of tomorrow, just as tomorrow was born of yesterday.
23
Trapped
When Jacob
rode into the gorge through which he had once before entered the valley of the
Fairies, he felt as if her were riding into his own past. Nothing seemed to have changed in three
years: the creek running along the
bottom, the spruces clawing into the slopes, the silence between the
rocks... Only his
shoulder reminded him of how much had happened
created their caves, and the sound of its dripping was as natural a part of
their cities as the sound of the wind above the ground. They feared water so much that the sea had
restricted Kami’en's conquests, making him dream of the power of flight. But she couldn't give him wings, any more
than she could give him children. She
was born of the water he feared so much, and all the words that so much to them
— sister, brother, daughter, son — meant nothing to her.
The dollface
couldn't give him children, either, unless he wanted to sire one of those
crippled monsters some human women had borne his soldiers. "How
often do I have to tell you? I couldn’t
care less about her, but I need this peace." He actually believed every one of his words,
but she knew him better than that. He
did want peace, but even more than that he yearned to caress human skin and to
make one of them his wife. His
fascination with all things human had begun to concern her as much as it did
his people.
Where did the
love come from? What was it made
of? Stone, like him? Water, like her?
When she had
first set out to find him, it had just been a game. A game with the toy her dreams had shown
her. The Goyl who was
smashing the world to pieces, who disregarded its rules, just as she did. The Fairies played with this world; the last
one to have done so now wore a skin of bark. And yet she had still dispatched her moths to find Kami’en. The tent in which she first met him had
smelled of blood, of the death she did not understand, and still she had
thought of it all as a game. She had
promised him the world. His flesh in the flesh of his enemies. And much too late had she
realized what he had sown in her. Love. Worst of all poisons.
"You
should wear human dresses more often,"
Eyes of gold. Lips of fire. He
didn't look tired, even though he had barely slept in days.
The Fairy's
dress rustled as she turned. Human women
dressed like flowers, layers of petals around a mortal, rotting core. She had had the dress made in the likeness of
one of the paintings that hung in the dead general's castle. Kami’en had gazed at it often, as if it
showed a world he longed for. The fabric
would have made ten dresses, but she loved the rustling of the silk and its
cool smoothness on her skin.
"No news
from Hentzau?"
As if she
didn't know the answer. Why had her
moths still not found the one she was looking for? She could see him so clearly — as if she only
had to reach out to fell his jade skin at her fingertips.
"Hentzau
will find him, if he exists." Kami’en stood behind her. He
doubted her dreams but never his jasper shadow.
Hentzau. Someone else
she would have loved to kill. But
Kami’en would forgive his death even less than that of his future bride. He had killed his own brothers, as the Goyl
often did, but Hentzau was closer to him than a brother. Maybe even closer than she
was.
Their
reflections in the train window melted into one. Her breath still quickened whenever he stood
near her. Where does love come from?
"Forget
the Jade Goyl. Forget your dreams,"
he whispered, undoing her hair. "I
will give you new dreams. Just tell me
what you want."
She'd never
told Kami’en that she had also found him first in her dreams. He wouldn't have liked it. Neither Goyl nor men lived long enough to
understand that yesterday was born of tomorrow, just as tomorrow was born of yesterday.
23
Trapped
When Jacob
rode into the gorge through which he had once before entered the valley of the
Fairies, he felt as if her were riding into his own past. Nothing seemed to have changed in three
years: the creek running along the
bottom, the spruces clawing into the slopes, the silence between the
rocks... Only his
shoulder reminded him of how much had happened
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