Robert Silverberg - The King of Dreams

“Yes. I see.”

He paused ever so slightly. “It would not occur to you, I suppose, to move to the Labyrinth yourself? We could continue our studies, of course, in that case.”

Keltryn’s eyes widened. What was he saying?

“My parents sent me to the Castle to get a broader education, excellence,” she replied, almost whispering it. “I don’t think they ever imagined—that I would go—that I would go there—”

“No. The Castle is all light and gaiety; and the Labyrinth, well, it is otherwise. This is the place for young lords and ladies. I know that.” Septach Melayn seemed oddly uncomfortable. She had never seen him other than perfectly poised. But now he was fidgeting; he was tugging nervously at his carefully trimmed little beard; his pale blue eyes were having trouble meeting hers.

It could not be that he felt bodily desire for her. She knew that. But all the same he plainly did not want to leave her behind when he followed Prestimion to the underground capital. He wanted the lessons to continue. Was it because she was such a responsive pupil? Or was it their unexpected friendship that he cherished? He is a lonely man, she thought. He’s afraid that he’ll miss me. She was astounded by the idea that the High Counsellor Septach Melayn might feel that way about her.

But she could not go with him to the Labyrinth. Would not, could not, should not. Her life was here at the Castle, for the time being, and then, she supposed, she would return to her family at Sipermit, and marry someone, and then—well, that was as far as she could carry the thought. But the Labyrinth fit nowhere into the expected course of her future.

“Perhaps I could visit you there now and then,” she said. “For refresher courses, you know.”

“Perhaps you could,” said Septach Melayn, and they let the subject drop.

Her sister Fulkari was waiting for her in the recreation-hall of the sector of the Castle’s western wing known as the Setiphon Arcade, where they both had their apartments, and their brother Fulkarno as well. Fulkari used the swimming pool there almost every day. Keltryn usually joined her there after her fencing lesson.

It was a splendid pool, a huge oval tank of pink porphyry with an inlay of bright malachite in starburst patterns running completely around it just beneath the surface of the water. The water itself, which came warm and cinnamon-scented from a spring somewhere far below the surface of the Mount, was of a pale rosy hue and seemed almost like wine. Supposedly this sector of the Castle had been a guesthouse for visiting princes from distant worlds in the reign of some long-forgotten Coronal at a time when commerce between the stars was more common than it had later become, and this was part of their recreational facilities. Now it served the needs of royal guests from closer at hand.

No one was at the pool but Fulkari when Keltryn arrived. She was moving back and forth with swift, steady strokes, tirelessly swimming from one end of the pool to the other, turning, starting on the next lap. Keltryn stood at the pool’s edge, watching her for a time, admiring the suppleness of her sister’s body, the perfection of her strokes. Even now, at seventeen, Keltryn still looked upon Fulkari as a woman and saw herself as a mere gawky girl. The seven years’ difference in their ages seemed an immense gulf. Keltryn coveted the ripeness of Fulkari’s hips, the greater fullness of Fulkari’s breasts, all those tokens of what she regarded as her sister’s superior femininity.

“Aren’t you coming in?” Fulkari called.

Keltryn stripped off her fencing costume, threw it casually aside, and slipped into the water beside Fulkari. The water was silky and soothing. They swam side by side for some minutes, saying little.

When they wearied of swimming laps, they bobbed up together and floated, paddling gently about. “What’s bothering you?” Fulkari asked. “You’re very quiet today. Did badly in your fencing lesson, did you?”

“Quite the contrary.”

“What is it, then?”

Keltryn said in a stricken tone, “Septach Melayn told me that he’s going to be moving to the Labyrinth. They’re going to hold the coronation ceremony soon, and then he’ll become Prestimion’s High Spokesman down there.”

“I suppose that ends your career as a swordsman, then,” said Fulkari, with no particular show of sympathy.

“If I stay here, yes. But he’s asked me to move to the Labyrinth so we can continue our lessons.”

“Really!” Fulkari exclaimed, and chortled. “To move to the Labyrinth! You!—He didn’t ask you to marry him, too, did he?”

“Don’t be silly, Fulkari.”

“He won’t, you know.”

Keltryn felt anger rising in her. There was no reason for Fulkari to be so cruel. “Don’t you think I know that?”

“I just wanted to make sure you weren’t getting any funny ideas about him.”

“Becoming Septach Melayn’s wife is something that has never entered my mind, I assure you. And I’m quite certain it’s never entered his.—No, Fulkari, I just want him to go on training me. But of course I’m not going to move to the Labyrinth.”

“That’s a relief.” Fulkari clambered from the pool. Keltryn, after a moment, followed her. Putting her hands behind her, Fulkari leaned back and stretched voluptuously, like a big cat. Languidly she said, “I never understood this thing of yours with swords, anyway. What good is being a swordsman? Especially a female one.”

“What good is being a lady of the court?” Keltryn retorted. “At least a swordsman has some skill with something other than her tongue.”

“Perhaps so. But it’s a skill that can’t be put to any purpose. Well, you’ll grow out of it, I suspect. Let some prince catch your fancy and that’s the last we’ll all hear of your rapiers and your singlesticks.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” said Keltryn tartly, and made a face. She leaped nimbly to her feet, ran down the margin of the pool to the far end, and dived in again, making such a shallow jump that the sting of hitting the water ran painfully through her breasts and belly. Swimming with short, choppy, angry strokes, she swam back to where Fulkari was sitting and popped her head up into view.

“Is that Coronal of yours going to get us good seats at the coronation?” she asked, flashing a malicious toothy smile.

“My Coronal? In what way is he my Coronal?”

“Don’t be cute with me, Fulkari.”

Primly Fulkari said, “Prince Dekkeret— Lord Dekkeret, I should say—and I are simply friends. Just as you and Septach Melayn are friends, Keltryn.”

Keltryn scrambled up over the side of the pool and stood above her sister, dripping on her. “We’re not exactly friends in the same way as you and Dekkeret, though.”

“What ever could you mean by that?”

“You’re doing it with him, aren’t you?”

Flashes of color appeared in Fulkari’s cheeks. But there was only a moment’s delay before she replied, almost defiantly, “Well, yes. Of course.”

“And therefore you and he—”

“Are friends. Nothing more than friends.”

“You aren’t going to marry him, Fulkari?”

“This is really none of your business, you know.”

“But are you? Are you? The Coronal’s wife? Queen of the world? Of course you are! You’d be a fool to say no! And you won’t, because you’re not a fool. You aren’t a fool, are you?”

“Please, Keltryn—”

“I’m your sister. I have a right. I just want to know—”

“Stop it! Stop!”

Abruptly Fulkari stood up, searched about her for a towel, slung it around her shoulders as though she felt the need for a garment of some sort, however useless, and began to pace stormily about. She was obviously very annoyed, and flustered as well. Keltryn could not remember the last time her sister had seemed flustered.