The Wilful Eye by Isobelle Carmody Page A

day now, and the young man had resumed his human form.
    â€˜I suspected the king’s magic was all illusion from the way the spell over my father weakened and then broke when he got away from the palace,’ said the young man. ‘A real spell is not dependent on being close to its maker. The magic for an illusion must be continually worked. ’
    â€˜But how did you know about the name?’
    â€˜It was the only answer, once I saw the king transform into the little man. If they were one and the same, they must have the same name. Of course the stunted little man was the true form of the king and all else was wrought upon that first illusion that made him tall and handsome. The castle and the halls. The straw that was spun into gold of course. And when you spoke his name, it all exploded.’
    â€˜It never occurred to me for a second to say the king’s name,’ Moth said. ‘You saved me.’ She gave him a shy smile. ‘How can I thank you?’
    â€˜You owe me nothing, for not only did you save my father, you saved yourself with your kindness to him and by your courage and the steadfastness of your hope,’ said the young man. He gave her a sidelong look out of his dark green eyes. ‘You know the village want you to be their queen now.’
    Moth laughed. ‘What silliness! They have no need of a king or a queen. Besides, I have had enough of palaces and royalty.’
    The young man gave an exaggerated heartfelt sigh. ‘That is a pity, for I was about to tell you that my father is the brother of the Mountain King, which makes me a prince. I meant to ask you to wed me but it seems there is no hope for me.’
    She smothered a smile. ‘Well, perhaps a prince would be bearable if he sometimes can become a butterfly or a bird or a wolf.’
    â€˜Indeed you would be the perfect wife for such a prince, since you will always understand him,’ said the prince, and they both laughed, but then their laughter died and they looked at one another gravely. ‘Could you love me, Moth?’ asked the prince. ‘I was half in love with you even before we met and before you saved my father’s life, for the bees and the birds and the horses sang your name and your praises to me. I came to your house that first day to sell hair ornaments purely in the hope of getting a glimpse of you.’
    â€˜I will love you,’ she answered simply; ‘I do,’ and stopped his mouth with a kiss.
    Moth and her shape-changing prince left the Middle King- dom that afternoon, with only a note left behind to tell her parents she had fallen in love with an unsuitable man, and was eloping to spare them any shame. She loved them, she wrote, and bade them be happy.
    There were many rumours in the wake of her departure and in the wake of the mysterious destruction of the castle. It was said by some that a wicked sorcerer had slain the king and destroyed the castle before stealing his bride and turning her into a bird in a cage until a prince should rescue her. One popular story claimed a dwarf had helped Moth pass the tests set by the king, in exchange for a promise of her first child unless she could speak his name, for all remembered Moth’s frantic quest for names. In that story, a servant overheard the dwarf singing his name gleefully, though no one could give a sensible reason why he would do that when keeping his name secret was his only hope of winning his prize. Other tales said the king himself had been wicked and the little man a hero who had burned the king and his palace with a spell before turning into a handsome prince who had swept Moth away to his fairy kingdom in the clouds. In some versions of that story, the king turned out to be a merman and Moth was given a tail so she could swim in the sea with him and live happily ever after. In other stories the king had died heroically to vanquish the wicked little man and, heartbroken, Moth crept away in everlasting