Orson Card - Hart's Hope

(That argument should be familiar to you, Palicrovol. He took my place in the Palace, you said, and so he must pay. Do you then admit that Beauty was just when she punished the bride you brought from Onologasenweev?)

"I see now," Beauty said. "I see now." And her face became dark.

"What do you see?" asked Orem, afraid that she saw what he really was.

"I see that she has taken my place again."

"Yes! She's bearing the pain of the birth of your child."

"Once again she has my husband's love."

Orem looked at her in disbelief. "For a year you've despised me. How can you be jealous of a

thing you threw away!" And then he lied quite cruelly to her, thinking he was telling her the truth. "I never loved you."

She cried out against his words. "You worshipped me!"

"Name of God, woman! I hate you more than any living soul, if you are alive, if you have a soul. You're three hundred years old and you have no more love in you than a mantis for her mate, and you never—you never—"

"I never what?"

"You never took me to your bed again."

"If you wanted me, boy, why didn't you come to me and ask?"

"You would have laughed at me."

"Yes," she said. "I laugh at all the weak things of the world. And when you leave me now, and

go to Weasel Sootmouth, and comfort her, I will lie here laughing." "Laugh at me all you like." He turned to go. "But I won't be laughing at you."

"At me."

He turned back to look at her. "You aren't one of the weak things of the world."

She smiled viciously. "Not for long, anyway. Not once I've finished what I began with you."

Orem was sure she was hinting at his death.

"Sing to me, Little King. Sing to me a song from the House of God. Surely they taught you songs in the House of God."

He sang the first thing that came into his mind. It was Halfpriest Dobbick's favorite passage in

the Second Song.

God surely sees your sins, my love,

The blackness of your heart, my love.

He weighs them with your suffering.

Which is the lesser part, my love?

"Again," she said.

And when he had sung it twice, she made him sing it again, and again, and again, as she rocked back and forth, suckling their son. Despite his hatred for her, Orem had never seen a thing that pleased him so much: his baby drawing from his wife's breast, as the grain drew life from the soil. He loved his son instinctively, the way Avonap loved his sons and his fields. He regretted every word he had said that might cause her to kill him sooner, and deprive him of an hour he might have had with Youth.

At last she did not murmur "Again" when he finished the song. "Forgive me," he whispered to her. But she was asleep, and did not hear him.

So he left her, and went to find Weasel, who had born Beauty's pain at his command.

The Healing of Weasel Sootmouth

"You can't come in," said the servants standing guard at Weasel's door.

Orem pushed past them. Weasel lay delirious on the bed, crying out and weeping, calling now on Beauty, now on Palicrovol, and now and then on Orem, too. He thought that meant she loved him

as she loved Palicrovol, though in fact she was crying out to save him, not for him to save her.

He questioned the doctors gathered at her bed. "We can find no cause for the pain," they said.

"Treat her," Orem said, "as if she had just given birth to a twelve-month child. Treat her as if the birthing broke her loins apart and tore her flesh."

Orem watched when he could bear it, sat by Weasel and held her hand when he could not. She knew nothing of his presence, only cried out with pain and delirium. At last the doctors finished all that

they could do.

"She's lost so much blood, what can we do?" said one.

"How could this have come to be?" asked another.

Orem only shook his head. He could not explain to them that it was his doing.

The doctors left, but Orem stayed, holding her hand. Once she called out, "Little King."

"I'm here, Enziquelvinisensee," he answered. Hearing her own name seemed to soothe her. She slept. He said all the prayers he could remember from the House of God. He knew they were meaningless here in Beauty's house, but he said them anyway, because he was afraid of what he had done to her.

He must have dozed off, for he awoke suddenly to find that Craven and Urubugala waited with him beside the bed. Out of habit he extended his web to include them, freeing them to speak unheard by Beauty.

"How is she?" Craven wheezed.

"She bore the pain of the birth," Orem said.

Craven nodded.

"The Queen has been harvested," said Urubugala. "But what was the crop, little farmer?"

"A boy, named Youth."

"She'll live," said Urubugala. "Does that comfort you? Beauty won't let Weasel die."

"Her name isn't Weasel," Orem said. "Did you know? The Queen told me. She's really

Enziquelvinisensee Evelvenin. The Flower Princess."

Craven and Urubugala looked at each other, and Urubugala laughed. "Did you think to surprise us, Little King? We've been with Weasel from the start."

Only then did Orem realize that they, too, were disguised characters from the same ancient tale. "Zymas," Orem said. Craven smiled faintly. "I haven't been myself lately," he apologized.

The dwarf only answered with one of his rhymes. "Who is the magical leper who cleans us with

his tongue? He puts our names in picture frames and paints them out with dung!"

"You are the King's companions," Orem said. "In all the old stories—"

"The stories are very old," said Craven. "We are the Queen's Companions now." He gestured at

Weasel's sleeping body. "Send for us if she awakes."

Weasel Wakes

They brought a chair for him because he would not leave her. All night he waited. And in the morning he opened his eyes to find that Weasel was awake beside him, her ugly face hidden by darkness except for the skewed eyes watching him.

"You're awake," he said.

"And you," she answered.

"I was afraid for you."

She searched his face. "You called me—I dreamed you called me by another name."

"Enziquelvinisensee Evelvenin."

"She told you?"

"After I commanded her—commanded her to give the pain away."

"Ah." The eyes closed, then opened again. "I forgive you, Little King. You didn't know what you

were doing." She startled him by smiling. "Just think of it—I'm still a virgin, and yet my body has conceived and given birth." She laughed a little, then groaned in lingering pain.

"I will think of you," Orem said, "as the mother of my child."

"Don't," she said.

"It was your body that bore him."

"I would not have born a twelve-month child."

"He's beautiful. Queen Beauty has promised me that I can have him as often as I like. I didn't know how much I longed to have a son until I saw him. He already smiled at me." "Don't love him," Weasel said. "Don't let him smile at you."

Weasel nodded, but turned away her face.

"I'm not ashamed," said Orem. "Weasel, I love you. Before she told me that this wasn't your flesh I loved you. Let me pretend that I'll live to see my son become a man. Let me pretend that you are my—"

"No," she said. "You have a wife."

"Have I?" he asked angrily.

"And I have a husband."

Orem fell silent then. Only after she pitied him and touched his hand did he speak again. "I was wrong," he said. "Forgive me."

"I always forgive you," she said. "Even before you ask. Little King, I will not deny my husband for you. Nor will I ever love your child. But I'll stay with you and be your friend to the end of this mad course you've chosen. Is that enough?"

"What makes you think I chose my course?" But he agreed, and let her sleep again.

Those were the very words they said, and neither one suspected that Orem had misguessed his future. From then until you came to the city gates they never spoke of it again; though they were together every day, Weasel never guessed that Orem thought that Beauty planned his death. Weasel would have told him the truth if she had known that he did not know.