The Island of Excess Love by Francesca Lia Block Page A

deeply acquainted with it as possible for when you need it most.”
    Could he be more cryptic? He seems to be full of these statements. Maybe he knows what happened after the Earth Shaker when that wave came at our house. How would he know this, though, unless he can see things the way I can, which I wouldn’t put past him.
    But no matter what he means or how he knows what he does, he’s right; I may have shot a burning arrow but water is my element. And I need as much fresh water as possible, it seems, to make up for the months without it. We all do.
    Venice climbs out of the pool, then jumps off a rock back in, and Ez follows him. Ash closes his eyes as if trying to shut us all out and lies back on the rock to sunbathe.
    I remember swimming with Hex, just a day ago. Was it? It seems like forever. Where is he?
    But despite the nagging question, I let myself slide into the pool as if putting on a warm silk dress. The actual silk dress I’m wearing provides no significant cover so I try to stay under the water to keep the king from seeing the contours and shadows of my body. He is watching me from a slight distance, smiling. Then he disappears under the water, only the tips of his antlers skimming the surface.
    When I’m turned away watching Venice dive I feel hands lifting me up and I scream like the type of girl I never want to be. I can’t afford to act silly and weak.
    It’s the king, holding me by the waist from behind. He grins at me and the predatory look is gone from his face; he’s just a playful young man now—well, one with antlers, but still. His muscled arms gleam with water and sunlight. I feel my body giving in, like a plant in need of nourishment.
    He owns you , I think. You are his.
    No, I’m Hex’s if anyone’s. Where is Hex?
    But Hex isn’t here and I splash and swim with the king—aware that I’m slipping deeper under the spell of his skin and eyes and smile and not able to fight it, not sure I want to fight it—until the air gets cooler and we decide to hike back.
    *   *   *
    In my room I change out of the ruined silk dress and into a fresh gown in an ivory color with blush pink lace, and a pair of crimson suede boots that lace up my leg. I fasten a necklace of irregularly shaped rose-tinged baroque pearls around my neck and set a wreath of gold and silver leaves on my head. My stomach rumbles and I put my hand there, feeling the muscles under the thin fabric. I’m still uncomfortable about not having any underclothes. I could ask our host for some but of course I won’t give him that satisfaction. He’s already proprietary enough.
    And you are letting him own you , I chastise myself. You are wearing his collar . But I don’t remove the pearls.
    â€œQueen Penelope,” I say to the woman in the mirror, meaning to sound angry and ironic but it comes out almost proud. Strange. And stranger still is the countenance that looks back at me as if breathed upon by the goddess of beauty herself. I hardly recognize my own reflection.
    When I return to the dining room to meet the others for an evening meal the candles are lit, violet twilight glowing through the windows. On the table is more tea and a meal of seafood stew with rice and a salad of fresh greens, berries, nuts, crumbled goat cheese, and nasturtium flowers. And wine. While we eat, the king talks to Ez about painting.
    â€œIt’s really just creating illusions, isn’t it?” the king says. “The illusion of depth, of light, of soul.”
    Ez is leaning forward, hanging on his words. “But how?”
    â€œYou probably know more about that than I do.”
    â€œI doubt that. These are masterpieces. Did you get this ability after the Earth Shaker?”
    â€œI guess you could say that, in a way,” the king replies.
    Ash rolls his eyes and sips more wine. Ez doesn’t notice; he’s too busy watching the