In The Coils Of The Snake (11 page)

“Look, she’s
scratching on her window glass,” announced ginger-headed
Jamie,
parading around the nursery and waving it over his head. Charlotte and
Toria marched behind him, giggling. He tripped over
part of a castle and
stumbled into an array of tin soldiers that his
brother Richard had formed into
ranks for the
Battle of Waterloo. Their commander was not at all amused at
this
unexpected turn in the fortunes of war.

“Watch where
you’re stepping, you swine!”

“Nothing but an
old piece of glass,” caroled Jamie. “But
she
says it has
writing on it. What’s
it say, Mere-Anda? What’s it say in goblin? “

“Give it back, Jamie,” she
demanded in annoyance. “You know it doesn’t work when you’re looking at
it. “

“Oh, no! just the
little green goblins can see it! Tell us about them, if
you’re
so smart. Tell us how they talk to you in goblin!”

But this Miranda couldn’t do. She was forced
into humiliating silence. The
magic allowed
her to mention the name of the language. It forbade her to talk
about
the people.

Jamie’s procession came
around the room again, and Miranda made a grab
for
the crystal square. The noise increased to a strident roar.

“What is going on
in here?” demanded a young woman, bursting through
the door. Her black-and-white uniform might have looked
smart at the beginning
of
the day, but hours of bouncing wet babies, wiping sticky faces, and crawling
under
furniture for missing doll hats had taken their toll of starch.

“Simpson, my poor, afflicted sister is
writing on her window glass again.” Jamie brandished the offending object.

Simpson flicked a
nervous glance at the silent girl. “Give it back to her”
was
all she said. Simpson was afraid of Miranda, and Miranda could tell. Most of
the servants were. They didn’t like her, either, although she was the only
child who obeyed them. Marak had taught her that displaying good manners to everyone,
from lords to scullery maids, was a sign of true distinction.

“I believe in goblins,” said
little Charlotte seriously, stopping at her older
sister’s knee. “I believe in goblins, and brownies, and fairies in
bluebells, and pix
ies with dragonfly wings—”

Miranda stalked out
of the nursery in disgust.

Her goal was the
pleasant rug by the warm hearth in the music room, but
she found herself face-to-face with her mother instead.
Til, spectacular in a
costly red gown with
jet buttons, was accompanied by an ample woman with a comfortable face.

“Here’s the
little goblin linguist now, ” said the woman cheerfully.

“Yes, Miranda
is so clever at her imaginary language,” remarked the elegant Til. “She
amuses herself with it by the hour. It’s so beautiful, too! You must see a
sample. Sometimes she has me quite convinced.”

This was a bit much for
the embattled girl. Her mother, having grown up in
the kingdom, was effortlessly bilingual in goblin and
occasionally ridiculed
Miranda’s efforts
when no one else was there to hear. “You speak it even better than I do!”
she said heatedly.

Til’s smile froze for a second, and her eyes
gleamed. Then she turned to the
other woman
with a lighthearted laugh. “Isn’t it sweet how she includes me in
her pretend games!” she purred. “Miranda,
my pet, you’re looking quite wild.
You need to go to your room for a
little rest. I intend to have a chat with Simpson this afternoon about the
propriety of her nursery. “

The girl, routed from the field of battle,
went to her room and shut the door.
Her
mother’s indulgent speech didn’t fool her; she knew perfectly well what
that
talk with Simpson would mean. Only a prompt and permanent removal to
her bedroom would give her the hope of any supper
whatever. The room was
damp and chilly, with no fire at this time of
day, but at least here she could practice her goblin writing in peace.

• • •

Alone in the
whispering darkness, Miranda traced her name on the glimmering tombstone.
Pretend games, she thought wretchedly.
That’s
just what they had turned out to be. All those hard years with
only Marak’s regard and her glorious future to
sustain her, and in the
end, she had nothing to show for it.

She couldn’t face
the shame of going back to her family. She imagined the trouble that would
follow. “There’s that goblin girl,” people would mutter wherever she
went. “We all saw her lying in her coffin, and then, one night, she came
back.”

The
only thing to do is to follow my plan, she thought. After all,
it’s what I told him I wanted. Her eyes stinging with
fresh tears, she laid the brittle flowers down at the foot of her tombstone and
wan
dered off into the dark.

• • •

The
elf lord paced the truce circle, restless, angry, and miserable. He
had
heard the marriage vows of his sober elves and sent them back to camp, but he
couldn’t face their company tonight. He should be res
cuing Arianna right
now, but he had sent her away himself, after
swearing
to her father that he would protect her. Overcome by grief
and despair, he wandered back and forth, almost
incapable of thought.

A
crashing of weeds, and footsteps sounded on the path. Only a
human could make that much noise in the nighttime woods.
Nir
drew back into the shadow of the trees. He
had nothing to do with humans. A blinding flash of white light burst into the
truce circle,
and he quickly turned away. An
instant later, the light was gone, but the human remained, stretched on the
ground and gasping for breath.

At
once Nir’s magic concentrated on the prone shape, telling
him
that this human was very important. He frowned in baffled annoyance. What could
a human mean to the elves? But he walked toward it, drawn in spite of himself
His magic was never wrong.

The
human was a woman. She was lying facedown in the grass,
sobbing,
and her hair glowed with the color of dying embers. He stared at her, puzzled.
Important for what purpose? He couldn’t imagine what she could possibly be for.

“Why are you
crying?” he asked her quietly, and Miranda held her breath for a second,
alarmed. But, of course: Catspaw had had her followed. She should have known
that she couldn’t trust him now, not after the other promises he had made.

“He promised to
marry me, the heartless monster!” she sobbed. “But he broke his word
and left me with nothing!”

The elf lord
recoiled in guilt and shame at the accusation, half expecting this phantom with
the fiery hair to sit up and stare at him reproachfully with Arianna’s black
eyes. This very important stranger who wasn’t even an elf. She couldn’t be an
elf, could she?

He knelt beside her
and reached out to test her, barely brushing her glowing hair. She didn’t feel
the touch, but he felt it, his magic snapping through him like a plucked harp
string. His fingertips
burned as if he
really had touched an ember, and he knew what pure
pose she was to serve
for the elves. What, but not why. It made no sense at all! And it would lead to
more suffering — suffering that he would have to cause, as if he hadn’t caused
enough already. His
magic was so brutal, so
thoroughly cruel. He watched her cry, angry
at the thought.

“You should
have been at home with your own people,” he told her. “Your people
shouldn’t be out at night.”

“My people?”
muttered the miserable girl. “I have no people.”

Nir
sat down and considered the absurdity of this statement, think
ing
about his tiny band of elves. “No human can ever say that,” he
replied. “Your people are everywhere. They
cover the earth like ants.”

“They’re not my
people,” she sobbed. “They traded me away before I was born. All my
life, I was raised to be the King’s Wife. All my life! And now, on the night of
our own wedding, he’s marrying someone else.”

Nir stared at the girl
in complete horror. A human raised by goblins? How ghastly! And now the foul
beast had thrown her out since he didn’t need her anymore, just where Nir would
happen on her and his magic would find a use for her. If only that repulsive
creature had taken better care of her!

“You
were his responsibility in any case,” he said in disgust. “He
should have kept you down in the caves since you liked it
there.
He shouldn’t have let you out to roam the
woods alone.” Alone. He
concentrated. She
wasn’t alone. He raised his head very slightly and detected the unnatural bird
sitting in the branches about twenty
feet away.

The
goblin bride’s sobs died away to a confused sniff, and she put out a hand to
sit up. That white light stabbed out again with a painful
brilliance.
Nir shielded his eyes. Swiftly, he touched the shining bracelet on her hand,
and the blinding light was extinguished.

Miranda gave a gasp.
She didn’t know what had happened; she
only
knew that she was in the dark. She sat up, frightened to see how
black the
night was, barely able to make out anything in the faint starlight. She located
the shape of someone quite near her on the grass and drew back and peered at
him anxiously.

“Who are you?”
she wondered. “How could you talk about him like that? Didn’t he send you
to follow me?”

“Did
he send me?” murmured the elf lord, flicking a glance toward
the
abnormal bird. “I’m no goblin.” She stirred uneasily, her
human eyes trying to make out something about
him, and his atten
tion was caught by the gash on her arm. “Did that
monster bleed
you, too, before he threw you
out?” he asked in a cold voice. Miranda
had forgotten the cut. She
jumped as fingertips touched the gash in the darkness.

“Oh!
No, I did that,” she admitted. Then she cried out in pain
as
the fingertips seared across the wound like hot coals. She jerked
her arm away and cradled her wrist, but she found
there no break in
the skin.

“I’m sorry,”
he said. “I know that hurt. The goblins must have
special spells for that, but I don’t know any healing spells. That’s the
only way I know to heal.”

Miranda shivered. “How
could you do that?” she asked in awe. “What are you if you’re not a
goblin?”

“You
said he was a heartless monster,” the quiet voice answered.
“Then
tell me what I am. I promised to marry a girl, too. But I brought her here and
gave her to a creature out of her nightmares, and I watched that creature drag
her away without lifting a hand to help her.”

“You’re the elf
lord!” she exclaimed. “You gave him your own
bride!” She thought about this in amazement. “You’re two of a
kind,
aren’t you?” she concluded with venomous scorn. “I haven’t
been taught the right words to describe you great lords.”

In
his misery, Nir felt the justice of this remark and found himself
grateful
for it. “I’m sure Arianna agrees with you,” he murmured,
looking at that angry, sightless face. He gave
the goblin bird a wary
glance. Time to act. “What were you going to
do now?” he asked
without particular
interest, considering how to accomplish his goal.

“I’m going to
kill myself,” Miranda declared. Jerked out of his own thoughts, the elf
lord stared at her in shock. “I’m going to wait until the sun rises, and
then I’ll drown myself. There’s a lake about an hour’s walk from here, and one
side is a bluff straight into the water. I’ll sit on the cliff and watch the
sun come up, and then I’ll throw myself in.”

Nir
continued to stare at her, outraged at the idea. This certainly
made
his task more bearable. “Why would you do such an evil and absurd thing?”
he demanded. “It’s ridiculous to use your death as some sort of futile
punishment.”

After all that she’d
been through that evening, Miranda wasn’t prepared to sit through a lecture. “I
don’t have to justify myself to you!” she snapped. “Go play with your
silly elves!”