Other Lives(4)

“How do you know?” Miranda asked, looking at the sky.

“It’s in the air. Like a smell. I’ll walk you inside.”

Miranda followed him. He didn’t speak to her, just kept walking with his eyes squarely focused ahead of them.

“I know you are at the Widow’s Tower. Do you like your room?” he asked, as though he remembered conversation would be a polite gesture.

“Yes, I like it.”

“I didn’t know if it would suit you. I like it there and my guests stay at the Widow’s, but some find it a little chilly. It’s one of the older parts of the castle and the weather seems to get the best of it. It’s a little worn, too.”

“I really like it. I like everything here. It’s all so beautiful.”

“I take it you are enjoying your stay, then?”

“It’s very nice. I always wanted to get away from my home…and they say you’ve got peacocks,” she blurted.

“Too many sheep, not enough peacocks?”

His voice was deadpan serious and she had trouble knowing how to react. “Among other things.”

“The peacocks make the most horrible shrill screams.”

“I’d still like to see one.”

“In the spring we let them roam around the gardens.”

And now he was smiling, a sliver of a grin creeping upon his face.

“This conversation is difficult” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“You are pretty and your eyes are quite remarkable. It would be rude if I stared, so I try not to and talk about nonsense instead. It’s not working.”

She blushed. Miranda was unused to compliments. More often than not what had been hurled at her were insults.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Don’t be shy. Every time I see you, you are hiding behind Nikolaos or your hair, or Nikolaos and your hair. Like now, you do it already. It’s not becoming.”

“Habits die hard,” she muttered.

“You’ll need some new habits.”

She liked that idea.

***

Roses. So many roses around her. Spinning, Miranda laughed as she looked at the crimson petals between her hands. It was a blur of red all around.

She held up a flower. Strangely, the flower shifted and it was no longer a rose. She was holding a ball of fire in her hands.

Miranda let out a loud shriek, dropping it quickly and spun around as the rose bushes burned. Her dress had caught on fire too.

She was burning when she woke up and rushing from her bed, down the stairs and into the chilly night air, she felt her skin smolder like in the dream.

Miranda closed her eyes. Her heart pounded loudly. For a moment it hurt to breath as she pressed her palms against her temples.

“What’s wrong?” asked Nikolaos.

She opened her eyes and he was standing in front of her.

“What’s wrong?” he asked again and Miranda realized she’d been crying.

“A nightmare,” she said.

A snowflake lodged in Miranda’s hair and she shivered. More flakes started falling around them as Nikolaos put an arm around her shoulders.



4



Suspended above them a sun of solid gold and a moon made of silver drifted slowly across a jewel encrusted sky. Miranda spun and her reflection whirled in the tall mirrors that filled the walls of the chamber.

“It’s so beautiful,” she said.

“I suppose, for someone’s who’s not used to it. To me it’s boring and predictable,” Darius muttered.

“You are arrogant,” she chided.

“I’m honest,” he corrected her. “Do you like it?”

Miranda looked at the mechanical peacocks and nodded her appreciation. At the same time she felt a little cheated. Everything was a bit artificial in Darius’ life so she should have imagined this would be too. Yet she had believed they would see real, live peacocks. Darius said these were better.

“It’s all very nice.”

“It’s called the Summer Room. It’s always summer here, even when the weather outside might say the contrary.”

No windows, only mirrors and painted nature scenes served to maintain the illusion of an eternal season. A large fountain in the center of the chamber was surrounded by tiny mechanical birds that cooed and flapped their wings.

“The King has a similar chamber, only much larger. In it there is an artificial lake with tiny boats. Golden statues of nymphs are placed all around and beautiful women dressed as mermaids play musical instruments.”

“You know him? The King?”

“His eldest son was a friend of mine. When we were children I was his constant playmate at court and in later years we sparred more than once during sword practice.”

Her uncle would have been impressed. He always said Miranda should go to court, that she belonged somewhere else. Fervent letters were sent to her grandfather, begging him to install Miranda in “her proper place”, her uncle’s exact words. Lord Stesh never responded. A position at court might have assured her a good marriage. In Nortre she was doomed to an unworthy alliance.

“Why aren’t you at court then?”

He did not seem pleased by the question, his eyebrows furrowed, but this was only for a second, and then he relaxed.