Other Lives(12)

He’d been, he was, in her room, sitting upon a chair in a darkened corner, looking bored.

“You removed the cover,” she said.

“Yes.”

“Aren’t you afraid of it?”

“That is what charms and talismans are for,” he said, standing behind her.

She rose, looking at their reflections. He’d taken off his jacket and his shirt was half open. She could see a word, a mark, imprinted on his chest.

“Charms and talismans could fail you one day,” she said.

“Luckily, my wits never fail me. I do not make false movements.”

His face was smug. Her own was guarded.

“Then I will truly be crowned queen?”

“Yes.”

“And you say this, it can be controlled? No need to fear it?”

“Never again. Touch the glass.”

Miranda hesitated, biting her lip, and extending her hand. Her fingers pressed against the cool smooth surface. The mirror beat, like the pulse of a great beast.

“Feel that?” he asked

She nodded. His hand grazed her shoulder.

“Power.”

The mirror reflected her tentative smile. Her eyes were of the oddest shade, the color of molten gold. She was very beautiful, might have easily been the princess in a fairy tale. But she was not. She was something entirely different.





KING OF SAND AND STORMY SEAS




He stood at the edge of the beach and leaned forward trying to spy beneath the water a kraken or a two-tailed mermaid. Only there were no mermaids today, no terrible krakens or glimmering serpents. Just Lysander, alone, under a light drizzle.

He swung his arm in a mighty arc, ready to throw the sword into the water, ready to say goodbye. And then he couldn’t and instead the sword landed against a rock. It fell with a loud clank while the seagulls watched.

Lysander sat down. Small crabs scuttled by.

“If you don’t want it, you can give it to me,” someone said behind him. “It’s a waste of a good sword.”

He turned. It was a young man — barely a man actually — lean and tanned and smiling.

“I could sell it,” said the young fellow eagerly.

“What would you buy?”

“Pair of shoes,” he replied, wriggling his toes.

“A pair of shoes,” Lysander grumbled. “A pair of shoes for a fine sword.”

“Well, if you don’t want it, I could use it. What are you doing with something like that, anyway?”

“I’m a knight.”

The boy snorted. “You’re no knight. You stole it.”

“I didn’t steal it,” Lysander muttered as he rose and moved towards the rocks, towards his sword.

“You’re keeping it, then?”

He didn’t answer, placing the weapon in its scabbard once more.

“Can I look at it?” asked the boy, edging closer to him.

“Where the hell did you come from?”

“There,” he said pointing towards a smudge that might have been a hut.

“Well, go back there then.”

“This is my beach. You go back home.”

“Your beach?”

“Mine,” said the kid.

Somehow he liked his insolence, the way the words came out. “King of sand and stormy seas, are you?” Lysander muttered.

“Can I look at it?”

“If I let you hold the sword, will you go home?”

The boy nodded. Lysander unsheathed the sword and handed it over to the young man. The blade was blue with fine letters spelling conjures of protection. Once Lysander had taken the sword to a magician. He had told Lysander the writing on the sword predicted that the man who wielded the weapon would become a hero. The magician, it turned out, had been a charlatan.

The kid held the sword with both hands, clearly impressed.

“Now I know you stole it,” the boy said, handing it back. “Who are you?”

“I told you. I’m a knight.”

He began to walk away from the boy. But it was of no use.

“I’m Endric,” said the kid, jumping to his side, his bonny shoulders peaking underneath his worn shirt. “If you’re really a knight how come you’re not wearing your armour?”

“Knights don’t wear armour all the time.”

“I guess. But they always say they do, in the stories. They ride black stallions and the ladies throw roses at them when they walk by so they might wear them as favours. But I’ve never met a knight before. What’s your name?”

“Would you mind leaving now?”

“Why, you’re going to throw the sword away again?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“It is if I could get myself some shoes.”

Lysander stopped and stared at the annoying kid with the large, eager eyes. But Lysander would have been eager too if a knight had appeared all of a sudden, turning a dull and grey day into an exciting encounter, perhaps the start of some adventure. Didn’t all boys want to be knights anyway? Lysander thought so.

“So?” pressed the boy.

He sighed and rolled his eyes. “My name is Lysander and no, you can’t have the sword.”