Robert Silverberg - Sorcerers of Majipoor

The Lady Melithyrrh admitted him. Thismet was in her nine-sided drawing room of the ice-green jade walls, with an array of golden rings set with various precious stones laid out before her on a low table as though she were choosing between them for the evening’s wear; and she was richly dressed in a dark hooded gown of green velvet hanging in heavy folds, with a high-waisted close bodice and close-fitting sleeves with great puffed wings at her wrists. But her lovely face was taut and drawn, as it so often was these days, with a bitter clenched set to her delicate jaw, and Farquanor saw the glitter of a perpetual anger shining in her eyes. What was it that angered her so?

He said, after a bow, “Navigorn and Kanteverel have clashed with Prestimion before Arkilon, lady. Prestimion’s forces are utterly ruined and your brother’s high cause has triumphed.”

Briefly Thismet’s nostrils flared with excitement and color rose in her face.

“And Prestimion? What of him?” she asked quickly, tensely.

“It was the first thing your royal brother wanted to hear from me too. And the answer is that he is escaped, he is. Off into the forest with Septach Melayn and the rest of that crew, more’s the pity. But his army is dispersed, and the rebellion, I think, at its end even in its beginning.”

She grew quickly calm again, lips curling under, color fading to her usual pallor. “Is it,” she said, without any questioning inflection to her tone. And looked at him blankly for a moment, and turned her attention back to her rings, as though she had no further interest in speaking with him.

But since she had not actually dismissed him, he continued to stand before her, and after a little while said, “I thought the news of our victory would please you, lady.”

“And so it does.” Tonelessly, once again, as though she was speaking in her sleep. “Many men are dead, I suppose, and blood satisfactorily distributed all over the field? Yes, this is very pleasing to me, Farquanor. I do so love to hear of the shedding of blood.”

That was very strange of her. But she had been nothing but strange since this bleak mood had come upon her these many weeks back. Well, then, he thought, enough of battle news. There was the other subject to deal with.

He counted off a few numbers in his mind, drew a deep breath and said, “Thismet, may I speak to you as a friend? For I think we have been friends, you and I.”

She looked up, amazed. “You call me Thismet? I am the Coronal’s sister!”

“You were another Coronal’s daughter, once, and I called you Thismet then, sometimes.”

“When we were children perhaps. What is this, Farquanor? You presume a great deal of a sudden.”

“I mean no offense, lady. I mean only to help you, if I can.”

“To help me?”

The musculature along the width of Farquanor’s shoulders tightened into a rigid iron constriction. Now he must make the leap, or forever despise himself. “It seems to me,” he said, weighing every word and judging its probable impact with all the craft at his command, “that you may have fallen somewhat out of favor in recent months with the Lord Korsibar your brother. Forgive me if I am in error here: but I am not the least observant man in this Castle, and to my way of thinking I see an estrangement lately between you and him.”

Thismet’s eyes flicked upward in a wary glance.

“And if there is?” she asked. “I don’t say that there is, but if it should be so, what then?”

Piously Farquanor said, “It would be a matter for great regret, royal brother and royal sister at odds with each other. And—forgive me, lady, if I speak too close to your soul—I think that something like that must be the case, for I no longer see you at the Coronal’s side at formal functions, nor does he smile when he speaks with you in public, nor do you ever smile these days, but hold yourself always tense and grim. It has been that way with you for more than one season now.”

She looked away, toying with her rings again. In a dull-toned voice she said, “And if the Coronal and I have had some small disagreement, what is that to you, Farquanor?”

“You know how I labored at your side to make Lord Korsibar what he is today. It made me feel a great closeness to the two of you, as I schemed and connived at your behest to nudge him toward the throne. If the result of all my scheming has been only to drive a wedge between brother and sister, the sorrow is on me for it. But I have a solution to propose, lady.”

“Do you?” she said distantly.

It was the moment to make the great attempt. How many times he had rehearsed this in his mind, he could not count. But now at last the words came streaming forth from him.

“If you were to marry me, lady, that could serve to bind up the breach that has opened between you and Lord Korsibar.”

She had put five rings into the palm of her hand, a ruby one and an emerald and a sapphire and one of many-faceted diamond and one of golden-green chrysoprase; and at Farquanor’s words she jerked so convulsively that the rings went clattering forth in a spill of brilliance to the floor.

“ Marry you?”

There was no swerving from this now. He was resolved to hold firmly to his course.

“You are without a consort. It is widely said in the Castle that this is much to be regretted, considering your grace and beauty and high birth. And also it is said that of late you seem adrift, all moorings severed, no destination in view and no way of reaching any, now that so much power has devolved upon your brother and you yourself are left in no fixed position. But how can a woman without a husband, even the Coronal’s sister, find a proper place in the court? A significant marriage is the answer. I offer myself to you.”

She seemed stunned. But he had expected that. This was coming upon her without the slightest preparation. He waited, neither smiling nor scowling, watching the unreadable play of turbulent emotions come and go on her face, seeing the color rise there, the changing glintings of her eyes.

After a time she said, “Do you really have such an elevated opinion of yourself, Farquanor? You think that by marrying you I would raise my status at the court?”

“I leave my ancient royal ancestry out of consideration here. But since you speak so rarely with your brother these days, perhaps you are unaware that I am soon to be made High Counsellor, once old Oljebbin has reconciled himself to the retirement that is being thrust upon him.”

“You have my warmest congratulation.”

“The High Counsellor—and his wife—are second only to the Coronal in the social order of the Castle. Furthermore, as your brother’s most intimate adviser, I’d be in an excellent position to mediate whatever dispute it is that has damaged the affection that should prevail between you. But there’s more to it than that: the High Counsellor is in the plain line of succession to the throne. If Confalume were to die, I might well be named Coronal when Korsibar went to the Labyrinth; which would greatly enhance your own position, not merely the Coronal’s sister now, but the Coronal’s own wife—”

Thismet gave him a disbelieving stare. “This has gone on long enough,” she said, bending now to scoop up her fallen rings with one angry sweep of her hand. Then, looking up fiercely at him, she said, “Successor to my brother? I would not have you even if you were proclaimed successor to the Divine.”

Farquanor gasped as though he had been struck.

“Lady—” he said. “Lady—” And his voice trailed off into inaudibility.

In a tone of savage mockery she said, “Nothing has so amazed me as this present conversation since I was a child and was told of the method by which children are conceived. Marry you? You? How could you have imagined such a thing! And why would I accept? Are we in any way a fitting couple? Do you in truth see yourself as a match for me? How could you possibly be? You’re such a small man, Farquanor!”