Metro Winds (43 page)

I stepped into the hot water with a shiver and used a sponge to lave water over myself. It was not nearly so satisfying as a long hot shower, and yet there was a medieval poetry in the sound of the water trickling into the bowl, the reflection of flames on my wet limbs, the lavender scent of the steam, which soothed me profoundly. Even so, by the time I was drying myself, my knees stung fiercely and my hand had begun to throb again.

The young woman returned with a white lawn nightgown that seemed to me fine and lovely enough to be a bridal dress. She slipped it over my head and the soft whisper of its movements over my skin gave me gooseflesh. When she commanded it, I sat obediently on a stool as my filthy, tangled hair was washed and combed, and finally she put a soothing salve from a little enamelled pot onto all of the cuts and bruises I showed her. The pain of them began to fade at once, making me wonder what was in the miraculous ointment. Some of the gashes were ugly enough that I had feared they ought to have been stitched, but neither woman suggested calling a doctor.

I submitted to all these intimate ministrations with docility, partly out of exhaustion and partly because I sensed they were part of the strangeness I had entered. When the trolley was wheeled away, I was so weary I could have curled up on the chair by the fire and slept, content as a cat, but a shawl was brought and wrapped around my shoulders and the mistress of the house rose to announce in her cold, high voice that supper would be served in the adjoining chamber. She led me there, where a cold repast was laid out on a long, beautiful table made of the same pale wood as the armlet in the pocket of my wet clothes. I sat salivating with hunger while the meal was served, but before I could touch a morsel, my hostess asked if I would go back into the tapestry room and see if I could find a golden needle that she must have dropped by the tapestry stand.

It was a strangely timed request, and menial, but her young companion had withdrawn for the moment so I nodded and went back through the door to the other room. The fire had begun to burn down and, as the candelabra had been carried to the room we were to dine in, the chamber was now full of shadows, which seemed to gather more thickly about the tapestry stand. I searched among my wet clothes for the lighter, at the same time retrieving the carved armlet so I could present it to my hostess, then I set about searching for the needle. It did not take me long to see the flash of gold, but retrieving it from the crack into which it had fallen took some ingenuity. But at last I carried it triumphantly back to my hostess, who still sat at the table, palms flat upon its surface, as when she had asked me to fetch it for her.

When she held out her hand, I laid the needle upon it and then I gave her the carved armlet.

Remembering my own testing has brought me to the very edge of sleep, but all at once a realisation flashes in my mind like a gleam of flame on a golden needle! Heart yammering, I throw back my covers, pull a shawl about my shoulders and hasten out into the halls until I come to the doors of the Princess Chamber. I take the cold doves in my hands, turn them and throw open the doors. The dazzle of white petals fills my eyes, blinds me with relief so overwhelming it is like a blow to the head, and I stagger against the doorjamb and cling to it, trembling and gasping for a long, giddy moment.

He lives and the hunt is still on.

I feel the approach of the third dusk as a quickening in my blood, and in that moment, I decide I will assay no test if my son's chosen comes safe through the Endgate. It is my right and I have no doubt that she has been tested hard and well in the Wolfsgate Valley. But it is less that than the knowledge that she came when my son hunted her, though he is a beast almost wholly now, and she and her dog fought to protect him, that convinces me she is worthy. Unlike my mother-in-law, I will not hide my joy at seeing her come safe through the Endgate, in case she fails to satisfy the Princess Chamber. I will kiss her and call her daughter and daughter she shall be to me, I am suddenly sure of it. In that glad moment all things seem possible.

Cloud-Marie appears at the door, and I see by her expression that she knows the time as well as I. I sign my requirements to her. I do not know what expression is on my face, but she looks at me for a long moment with one curious eye, before she lopes away. It takes time but at last she comes up to my chamber bearing a laden basket and my cloak. I have dressed myself but I turn to let her drape my cloak about my shoulders and turn again so she can reach up to tie it at my throat, panting open-mouthed as she struggles to make her thick fingers perform the delicate task. I do not twitch myself away or sigh impatiently, but simply wait until she has managed it.

Finally she kneels before me to slip on my outdoor shoes and I touch her wiry golden hair and feel a stab of love for her. Perhaps I made some sound, for she looks up at me from that position and gabbles an enquiry. Her words are gibberish, but I know what she wants. I bid her get her own cloak and she gives me a gaping smile of delight before running to fetch it. As often before, I am struck by her capacity for joy in the smallest things. Perhaps the vacancies in her allow more space for joy, while the rest of us have little space for it and less and less as we grow older.

I shall not be like that, I vow. Not now and no matter what happens in the Princess Chamber. Though I grow old I will open myself to joy. For some reason, I think of Yssa and my heart aches for her. If only she had stayed and opened herself to the pleasure of her daughter's sweetness she might, like me, have learned joy from her.

In my gladness at knowing my son lives, my love for Cloud-Marie and her mother grows more intense, for aside from my son and my husband, I have loved no one better in my life than these two, the sister and daughter of my heart.

Cloud-Marie returns, struggling into her cloak. I tie her ribbon for her and then I take up the basket and we set off, hand in hand. We make our way through the palace to the front door of the west wing, and come out into the beautiful fountain courtyard. Cloud-Marie gives a crow of excitement as she lollops alongside me.

My mother-in-law awaited my arrival within the house, but I will not be niggardly in my welcome. I am too impatient to behold the face of my son's chosen. I know that I may not speak to her of the testing she has undergone, or of the Princess Chamber ere she enters it, but I need not treat her coolly. I will pretend to believe whatever tale she decides to tell me, until we are free to speak truthfully to one another.

I glance up and see clouds of darkness gathering overhead. It is always so at the beginning and end of a testing, I now know. Cloud-Marie senses my tension, rocks a little, so I take her big rough hand and kiss it and clasp it in my own. It flutters like a bird and then is still.

The sun kisses the horizon and we sit on the edge of the fountain together and wait and wait until the gate from the lane that leads to the Wolfsgate Valley opens. The silver-haired woman I saw in the scrying bowl comes stumbling into the fountain yard. She does not stop and gaze around her as I did, coming here that first time, for her head is bent low over the body of the red dog she carries in her arms. As she staggers closer, I see that there is red blood all over the hands that hold the beast so closely and tenderly.

My heart aches and I start towards them.

The woman looks up at me and all strength seems to run out of me, for I know her.

It is Yssa, and now I see the few strands of fire amidst the silver grey.

‘Quickly, Rose,' she gasps. ‘The pack attacked as we were running for the Endgate. She was hurt defending me. We must get her to the Princess Chamber before it is too late.'

I am utterly confounded, but her command is so urgent and authoritative that I can do no more than obey. Instead of bringing her through the doors, I lead her around the house to the mist garden, and up steps that will bring us to the hall outside the Princess Chamber. She knows the way as well as I, but when we reach the closed doors of the Princess Chamber she stops and looks at me expectantly. The dog's blood is dripping through her fingers onto the white marble floor and questions crowd my mind.

‘You must open the doors for her!' Yssa cries.

I grasp the doves and throw open the doors and Yssa runs into the room, scattering and crushing white petals that spin in a fragrant blizzard in her wake. Heaving the dog over her shoulder, she climbs awkwardly up on the edge of the bed to lay the dog there as gently as she can. Immediately blood stains the pure white silk of the coverlet.

‘What are you doing?' I gasp, but she only leaps down and catches my hand, dragging me after her from the chamber, slamming the door closed behind us. Then she heaves a great sigh and leans back against the doors.

‘I don't understand,' I whisper.

But Yssa's eyes have found Cloud-Marie who has come after us, and she answers me almost absently, without taking her eyes from her daughter. ‘She is his chosen and we will see soon enough if the princess spell is wide and kind enough to encompass her. If not, she will die.'

‘But . . . she is a dog,' I stammer.

‘And your son is a wolf,' says my friend.

‘My son must wed one with mortal blood,' I say.

‘My niece is half mortal like your son, and of royal blood besides,' Yssa answers.

‘How . . .' I begin, but now she is holding out a filthy, bloodstained hand to Cloud-Marie. To my astonishment, both of the girl's eyes fix on the woman that she cannot know is her mother and she is smiling, her expression radiant.

‘Sweetling,' Yssa sighs, and gathers her daughter to her in her strong brown arms. Cloud-Marie sighs as deeply as her mother, as if some long, hard task is at an end, and closes her eyes.

Tears fill my eyes and spill down my cheeks at the sight of them clasped together, but I think of my son and I do not understand. How can he have chosen a dog for a bride and how can a dog be the niece of my faerie friend and royal and half mortal besides? The questions in my mind pile one upon another until I cannot stand under the weight of them. I lean against the wall and then find I must slide down and sit on the floor in a billowing puddle of silk and satin.

Hearing the rustle of cloth, Yssa looks down at me, and there is love and regret in her face. ‘My dear friend, I knew your kindness and capacity for love would encompass even my poor girl. Had you not endured my resentment and bitterness with such patient grace that they were stilled in me and I came to love you?'

‘I don't understand what any of this means,' I say. ‘Where is my son?'

‘He is wounded, but not mortally,' Yssa says and kisses her daughter, who snuggles closer. Then she looks down at me again and says, ‘My sister sent me to the palace because she said you could end the curse. She had dreamed of you and then you came stumbling into the Wolfsgate Valley, green and helpless, wolfmeat for certain sure if she did not help you.'

‘Your sister?' I murmur.

‘She was cursed,' Yssa tells me gently. ‘I do not speak of the curse that afflicted your husband and son, but the one laid upon she who cast that curse: Alzbetta, who loved a human that betrayed her. My half-sister.'

‘But that was aeons past,' I stammered, then remembered that faerie folk are all but immortal and assume whatever age they desire. ‘How can she be your half-sister . . . she killed her half-sister.'

‘She killed Thayla who was the other daughter of her father,' says Yssa. ‘I am the other daughter of her mother and loved my sister well despite all she had done in rage and passionate despair. Ages past, I went to dwell with her in the Wolfsgate Valley when she was banished there by the king to live trapped forever in the form of a black she-wolf. It was no hardship, for I am solitary by nature and have the gift of understanding the speech of beasts and birds. I was not unhappy and at first Alzbetta and I fared well enough, but she was desperate to find a way to break the curse, not to save herself, but because, when the king banished her by trapping her in her wolf form, she had been with child by the mortal she had slain. She had no magic in her beast form, but I did, and I found a spell that would arrest the course of the child's growth in Alzbetta's belly. Then my sister begged me to find a way to transform her back to her true form so that she might safely bear her child. I strove endlessly to discover what we needed. I read books and spoke to witches and faeries and sorcerers, but in every instance I failed. My sister took her rage and despair out on humans who entered the valley, and especially princess candidates who were lured there to thwart the curse she had laid upon her father and all the sons born of his line, though I begged her not to harm them and did what I could to help them.