Robert Silverberg - The King of Dreams

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” she said, making an attempt to sound conciliatory. “You’re the best friend I have in the world, Fulkari. It doesn’t strike me as being out of line for me to ask you if you’re going to marry a man you’re obviously in love with. But if it bothers you so much to talk about these things, I’ll stop. All right?” Fulkari cast the towel aside and walked back toward her. She sat down once more beside her. The storm seemed to have passed. After a little bit Keltryn said, eyes bright with fresh curiosity, “What is it like, Fulkari?”

“With him, you mean?”

“With anyone. I don’t have any real idea, you know. I haven’t ever—”

“No!” said Fulkari, genuinely amazed. “Are you serious? Never? Not at all?”

“No. Never.”

Fulkari appeared to be having trouble believing that. It had seemed harmless enough a thing to admit, but Keltryn found herself wishing that she could call back her own words. She felt herself blushing all over. Ashamed of her innocence, ashamed to be naked like this now with her own sister, ashamed of the thinness of her thighs, the boyish flatness of her buttocks, the meagerness of her small, high breasts. Fulkari, sitting here face to face with her, looked by comparison like some goddess of womanhood.

But Fulkari’s tone was gentle, loving, tender as she said, “I have to tell you that this is a real surprise. Someone as outgoing and lively as you—taking a fencing class with a bunch of boys, no less—I thought, certainly she’s been with two or three by now, maybe even more—”

Keltryn shook her head. “Not so. Not one. Nobody at all.”

With a twinkle Fulkari said, “Don’t you think it’s time, then?”

“I’m only seventeen, Fulkari.”

“I was sixteen, the first time. And I thought I was getting a slow start.”

“Sixteen. Well!” Keltryn tossed her head, shaking water from the moist red-gold curls. “But we’ve always been different, you and me. I’m much more of a tomboy than you ever were, I bet.” She leaned close to Fulkari and said in a low voice, “Who was it?”

“Madjegau.”

“Madjegau?” The name emerged in such a derisive shriek that she clapped her hand over her own mouth. “But he was such a—nincompoop, Fulkari!”

“Of course he was. But they can be nincompoops and still be attractive, you know. Especially when you’re sixteen.”

“I’ve never felt much attraction for nincompoops, I have to confess.”

“You wouldn’t understand. It’s a matter of hormones. I was sixteen and ripe for it, and Madjegau was tall and handsome and in the right place at the right time, and—well—”

“I suppose. I confess I can’t see the attraction.—Does it hurt, the first time, when they go inside you?”

“A little. It’s not important. You’re concentrating on other things, Keltryn. You’ll see. One of these days, not too far in the future—”

They were both giggling now, all animosities gone, sisters and friends.

“After Madjegau, were there many others? Before Dekkeret, I mean?”

“There were—some.” Fulkari glanced over doubtfully at Keltryn. “I don’t really think I ought to be talking about this.”

“You can tell me. I’m your sister. Why should we have secrets?—Come on. Who else, Fulkari?”

“Kandrigo. You remember him, I think. And Jengan Biru.”

“That’s three men, then! Plus Dekkeret.”

“I didn’t mention Velimir yet.”

“Four! Oh, you’re shameless, Fulkari! Of course I knew there had to be some. But four—!” She threw Fulkari a flashing inquisitorial look. “There aren’t any more, are there?”

“I can’t believe I’m telling you all this. But no, no others, Keltryn. Four lovers. That’s not really a lot, over the course of five years, you know.”

“And then Dekkeret.”

“And then Dekkeret, yes.”

Keltryn leaned toward Fulkari again, staring raptly into her eyes. “He’s the best one, isn’t he? Better than all the others put together. I know he is. I mean, I don’t know, but I think—I’m quite sure—”

“Enough, Keltryn. This is absolutely not something I’m going to discuss.”

“You don’t need to. I see the answer on your face. He’s wonderful: I’m certain of that. And now he’s Coronal. And you’re going to be queen of the world. Oh, Fulkari—Fulkari, I’m so happy for you! I can hardly tell you how much I—”

“Stop it, Keltryn.” Fulkari rose in one quick, brusque motion and began to gather up her clothing. Crisply, irritably, she said, “I think it’s about time for us to go.”

Keltryn saw that she had struck a nerve. Something was wrong, definitely wrong. But she couldn’t let matters drop here.

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

A chilly silence. Then: “No. I’m not.”

“He hasn’t asked? He has someone else in mind?”

“No. To both questions.”

“He’s asked, and you’ve turned him down?” said Keltryn incredulously. “Why, Fulkari? Why? You don’t love him? Is he too old for you? Do you have someone else in mind?—I can’t help it, Fulkari. I know all this is bothering you. But I just can’t understand how you can—”

To Keltryn’s amazement, Fulkari suddenly seemed close to tears. She tried to hide it, turning quickly away, standing with her face toward the wall and fumbling furiously with her clothes. But Keltryn could see the quivering movements of Fulkari’s shoulders, as of sobs barely being repressed.

In a dark, hollow voice Fulkari said, with her back still turned, “Keltryn, I do love Dekkeret. I do want to marry him. It’s Lord Dekkeret I don’t want to marry.”

Keltryn found that mystifying. “But—what—”

Fulkari turned to face her. “Do you have any idea what it involves, being the Coronal’s wife? The endless work, the responsibilities, the official dinners, the speeches? You ought to take a look at the schedule they post for the Lady Varaile. It’s a nightmare. I don’t want any part of it. Maybe I’m foolish, Keltryn, maybe I’m shallow and silly, but I can’t do anything about what I’m like. Marrying the Coronal seems to me very much like volunteering to go to prison.”

Keltryn stared. There was real torment in Fulkari’s voice, and Keltryn had no doubt of her pain. She felt a rush of compassion for her; but then, almost immediately after, came annoyance, anger, even outrage.

She had always thought of herself as the child, and Fulkari as the woman, but all of a sudden everything was reversed. At twenty-four, Fulkari seemed to think that she was still a girl. But did she believe she was going to be a girl all the rest of her life? Did she want nothing more for herself than going riding in the meadows, and flirting with handsome men, and sometimes making love with them?

Keltryn knew that it was best not to continue pressing her sister on any of this. But words came pouring out of her despite herself.

“Forgive me for saying this, Fulkari. But I’m amazed by what you’ve just told me. You’re in love with the most desirable and important man in the world, and he loves you and wants to marry you. But he’s about to become Coronal, and you say it’s just too much trouble to be the Coronal’s wife? Then I have to tell you you are a fool, Fulkari, the biggest fool that ever was. I’m sorry if that hurts you, but it’s true. A fool. And I’ll tell you something else: if you don’t want to marry Dekkeret, I will. If I can ever get him to notice me, that is. If I could put on ten or fifteen pounds, I’d look just like you, and I’ll learn to do whatever it is that men and women do with each other, and then—”

Coldly Fulkari said, “You’re talking nonsense, Keltryn.”