The Island of Excess Love (11 page)

*   *   *

In my room I change out of the ruined silk dress and into a fresh gown in an ivory color with blush pink lace, and a pair of crimson suede boots that lace up my leg. I fasten a necklace of irregularly shaped rose-tinged baroque pearls around my neck and set a wreath of gold and silver leaves on my head. My stomach rumbles and I put my hand there, feeling the muscles under the thin fabric. I'm still uncomfortable about not having any underclothes. I could ask our host for some but of course I won't give him that satisfaction. He's already proprietary enough.

And you are letting him own you
, I chastise myself.
You are wearing his collar
. But I don't remove the pearls.

“Queen Penelope,” I say to the woman in the mirror, meaning to sound angry and ironic but it comes out almost proud. Strange. And stranger still is the countenance that looks back at me as if breathed upon by the goddess of beauty herself. I hardly recognize my own reflection.

When I return to the dining room to meet the others for an evening meal the candles are lit, violet twilight glowing through the windows. On the table is more tea and a meal of seafood stew with rice and a salad of fresh greens, berries, nuts, crumbled goat cheese, and nasturtium flowers. And wine. While we eat, the king talks to Ez about painting.

“It's really just creating illusions, isn't it?” the king says. “The illusion of depth, of light, of soul.”

Ez is leaning forward, hanging on his words. “But how?”

“You probably know more about that than I do.”

“I doubt that. These are masterpieces. Did you get this ability after the Earth Shaker?”

“I guess you could say that, in a way,” the king replies.

Ash rolls his eyes and sips more wine. Ez doesn't notice; he's too busy watching the king.

“I'd like to paint you,” Ez says.

The king shakes hair from his eyes and smiles. “That could be arranged.” He turns to me, hands me a crystal goblet, and I take a sip. This wine is black as blood.

“I'm going to bed,” Ash says coolly. Ez hardly notices him leave.

The sun and water of the day has made me drowsy. Soon I'm reclining against pillows with my friend and my brother and my host, forgetting, I'm ashamed to say, my lover. Perhaps Ez has forgotten his lover a little, too.

Hex isn't in his bedroom when I stumble there, tracing my fingers along the quartz wall. I go to my room, fall to the bed fully clothed and sleep.

Later, I feel sweet-warm breath on my face—the exhale of jasmine flowers on a spring breeze, and open my eyes, reaching out in the darkness for Hex.

But it's not Hex.

The king sits on my bed, his antlers branching out into the darkness and entwined with pink-white jasmine blossoms, olive branches, and grape leaves. He's holding a large crystal goblet in one hand and a candelabra in the other. The candlelight throws shadows across his face and ignites his eyes and the gold hoops in his ears. I sit up and cover my chest with the bedsheets. I'm wearing the cream silk charmeuse gown and my hair is slicked back with oil that smells like lily of the valley. I reach to make sure my new eye is still there. It is.

“Don't be scared,” he says. I can feel my body melting like dripping wax with the heat of his voice.

“Why are you here?” I ask.

“I brought you some wine to help you sleep.”

“I
was
asleep.” I try to sound angry but it's hard with him this close. I smell dark roses, grapes, and honey.

“I'm sorry.” His eyes twinkle in the light of his smile. “Well, since you are awake now anyway, would you like a libation?”

“Libation? Isn't that ceremonial?” The liquid shines darkly in the crystal goblet. I'm suddenly very thirsty. I take the cup in both hands, lower my lips, and sip.

“Ceremonial? Yes, an offering of sorts. To Sylvan.”

“Who?”

“You will know someday.”

I have no chance to ponder this name. The wine hits me right away, streaming through my blood and weakening my joints. I blink at the king. He's standing up now, wearing a white linen shirt with shell buttons and brown leather trousers that hang low on his hips and loosely around his thighs. His feet are bare.

“Penelope, I'd like to show you something. Will you come with me?”

He takes the goblet of wine, sets it down, and holds out his hand. It's large and smooth, and he has a gold ring on his middle finger. His nails are carefully shaped, flat, and clean. I guess I was so entranced with his face that I never noticed his hands before.

“Is it Hex? Have you found him?”

“I'm sorry, no. It's something else.”

I find myself getting up anyway, taking his hand, walking barefoot over the chilly polished quartz floor depicting that disturbing image of an eye inside a rose. The king lets go of my hand, takes a gold brocade robe that's hanging on some protruding crystals, and places it over my shoulders. He catches my hand in his again. I can feel our pulses mixing where the crook between my thumb and first finger presses into his. I'm not cold now.

His voice is husky. “Come with me.”

We climb up the winding staircase into the tower. Tourmaline crystals that protrude from the walls have been fitted with candles lighting our way. At the top of the tower is a large balcony overlooking a garden. I don't remember seeing it before. Trees with silvery bark and others with draping, feathery leaves overhang pools of water that shine in the moonlight. Silver-white orchids grow everywhere and even from here their scent is so strong it's almost like a drug. They're the shape of the
Calypso bulbosa
orchid whose name is from the Greek word for concealment because they tend to grow in hidden areas of forests.

“Watch,” the king says, pointing at the flowers.

Dewdrops wink on the petals. That must be what accounts for the silver color, I think. As I watch, some of the blossoms lift off their stems and float around in the air. Insects? I can hear a very high, tinkling music.

“Do you like them?” he asks.

“What are they?”

In answer he holds out his hand and one of the flowers flies toward us and lights on his fingers. Up close I can see that it's not a flower at all but a humanoid creature dressed in petals.

“I thought you should have something like this,” the king says.

The winged creature flutters into the air near my face, pointing its toes and flapping its wings. Its eyes, the glitter I mistook for dewdrops, are on delicate stalks poking out of its head and it has very sharp tiny teeth.

“It will help us learn more about each other.”

“What does that mean? I thought you already knew all about me.”

He holds out his hand and the wing-thing alights there again. “Yes, and you seem to know a great deal about me as well. I recall you recounting a tale of a boy and his sister.”

So that was real, the vision I had? He was the boy in the vision. His sister died. That explains only some of the strangeness. I consider asking him to explain but he speaks again, nodding to the tiny humanoid flower perched on his hand.

“When it touches me you'll be able to see even more into my past and vice versa. Eventually, you may be able to see into the future as well.”

I don't tell him that I'm afraid to see more of his past, let alone the future, especially if my other visions were correct. But it's too late. When I look into his eyes again I see …

*   *   *

He lived on an island off the California coast, in a small cottage on the grounds of a botanical garden. The walls were painted with the symbols from his sister's book. Large pieces of quartz everywhere, birds in cages, hanging plants, and on the stove a large cauldron filled with purified water and flowers and semiprecious stones. He hoped to cast spells with these things but so far nothing had worked. When he wasn't caring for the plants in the garden he cleaned falcons whose feathers were coated in slick black ooze from an oil spill, helped pelicans whose eggshells had been thinned by exposure to poisons incubate their eggs, rescued fox kits from the talons of golden eagles and ancient, precious plants from marauding wild sheep and pigs.

He had been sitting cross-legged on the floor, high on psychotropic plants, meditating on the fate of his beloved flora and fauna, when the Earth Shaker struck. Everything flew and fell apart around him but he was not afraid. He could envision the destruction of the world and he could envision its rebirth. He knew he was changing and that anything was possible. He would receive a mysterious gift to make everything appear as he wished it. The world would be fresh and free and clean and safe. The world would belong to him and his queen.

*   *   *

The vision fades and I shake myself back to reality, if you can call it that. The startled orchid creature takes off and lands on the king's outstretched hand. Except for the antlers he looks just like he did in the vision. I might have seen glimpses of his past but it's all still a mystery. Who is he? What happened to him?

He's speaking softly like he's in a trance. “You live in a three-story house, painted a pinkish color. There's art everywhere and old books. You had a mother once, very lovely, and a father. Wait … I see two men. There was some kind of betrayal.

“You've been through a lot. There is someone I'd have liked to kill for you, but you already did that for yourself. You think you have found the love that you need but there's been something missing. I want to show you what's been missing.”

“How are you doing this?” I ask him.

He frowns. “Doing what?”

“All of this.”

“There's no need to question anything on the Island of Love. It just is. Enjoy it.”

There's a maelstrom in my belly. “It's not just what you know. It's this world you have here. The castle, the paintings, the food. I need more of an explanation than that.”

The king studies me for a moment before speaking. “I've been studying magic and alchemy for a long time. When the disaster struck my powers seemed to be awakened. You may know something about this phenomenon?”

Yes. My “powers,” if you can call them that, and those of my friends, manifested after the Earth Shaker. That still doesn't explain everything.

“But why?” I ask. “Why did you give me the eye and the dresses and now this?” I gesture to the creature on his hand and its lips part in what might be called a smile. But a weird smile, as if a flower had a mouth. And teeth.

He tugs at a lock of his gold hair. “Don't you like it?”

“That's not the point. You're messing with my head. And I still don't know the reason.”

“You're my queen. I told you.”

“No,” I say. I fold my arms on my chest, trying to will him to explain.

He sighs. “When I was very young my sister, Xandra, drew an image of us. I meditated on that image and I began to see you in my mind. I saw you alone in a room, reading, always reading, looking at paintings, studying the world around you. Your vision was so precious to you; I saw that. Someone who perceives, understands, and values beauty the way you do should never be robbed of even a shadow of her sight.”

These words awaken a small sob in my chest. He goes on. “I felt your loneliness as a girl, the unrequited love for your best friend. You were so beautiful to me, so vulnerable, and, though you didn't know it yet, so strong and I knew you must be mine. I have looked for you ever since. When I found you—in my mind at first—I sent the ship to bring you here, although I didn't cast any evil spells on the ship or make you see your own corpse, as you say.” This last thought makes him shudder almost imperceptibly.

“Then who did?”

“I'm not sure. But my intentions toward you are only the most loving kind. You've suffered enough and now I want you to be happy.”

“I appreciate everything but I just want to get back home.”

The king reaches out to touch my face very gently, then drops his hand, and I find myself wishing he hadn't. “This is your home now.”

“What about Hex?”

His brow wrinkles with concern. “I'm sorry. I don't know where he is. He may have left. It happens sometimes. As you've expressed yourself, this place is a lot to take in.”

“He wouldn't have left me.” Why does my voice sound so uncertain?

“Let's get you back to bed. I just wanted you to see my special orchids.”

We lean over the balcony and I look at the flowers again.
I'm glad you woke me. Thank you.

As I follow the king down the stairs of the tower to my room I realize I don't want to be leaving yet.

He leads me to the door of my room. He takes my hand, and kisses it. I can feel the shape of his lips even after he has left.

In my room, on my bed, is a piece of parchment with words written on it.

dear pen

i had to leave. it doesn't feel safe here. i can tell you are happy not to have to worry about food or water or monsters in the night. and grateful to have your sight. but i need to live in the real world. i know we will meet again. hug ez, ash, ven, and argos for me.

i love you

hex

I stare at the piece of parchment in my hand. It's Hex's writing. The way he signs his name. But I can't believe Hex would write this. As if I mean nothing to him. As if we did not survive the end of the world together. I gasp for air and my legs crumple under me like they are made of the same silk as my dress. As I fall I knock over the goblet of wine the king brought earlier. The crystal shatters and the wine stains the floor. But it's no longer wine. It's too dark, too tinged with the scent of copper. It's blood.

I want to scream out for Ez and Ash, and Venice, who are asleep in their two respective rooms, but I can't pronounce words. Instead a long wail escapes from my throat. In seconds the king is back in the room. He's on the floor with me, his arms around my shoulders. My heart's pounding so hard it's making my bones shake.