The Promise of the Child

Part 21

Elcholtzia looked down at his big gnarled hands, rubbing them together at last. 'We were friends, she and I. At one point I was even intended for her – my great-aunt's wishes.' He appeared to remember something and turned to Lycaste. 'It was your Uncle Trollius who really loved her, though, Lycaste.'

'Trollius?' said Lycaste, surprised. 'I can't imagine him loving anybody.'

'He never told her, but I think she knew.'

They both fell silent.

'So what happened?' Impatiens asked eagerly.

Elcholtzia looked at him, irritation wrinkling his narrow face. 'Well, one morning she went out swimming and simply never returned. A whole day had gone by before anyone noticed she was missing.'

'How do you know she didn't drown?' Lycaste asked him.

Some time passed before the grizzled old man replied, glancing occasionally at the butterfly on the window ledge.

'We found her head, Lycaste. That's how. It washed up on the shore not far from your orchard.'

The butterfly vanished in a glittering flash.

Lycaste could see it in his mind's eye, dark and small and far away, lying canted in the sand. You wouldn't have known what it was at first, not until you were almost upon it, the green tide slipping between your toes as you bent to see.

'You were friends with my uncle, weren't you?' he asked Elcholtzia, after a period of silence.

'Great friends.'

'I can't imagine him falling in love.'

'You mustn't have known him well. He was a hopeless romantic. After Sabal's death, Trollius never walked on his beach again, and it piled up with driftwood and flotsam. It's good to see you caring for such a beautiful place – I had feared, when I first met you, that it would be neglected.'

Again he was a child, summoned, if not for a reprimand, then a lecture. 'Thank the birds. They do all the work.'

'Yes, they're a valuable commodity these days. I am surprised your mother didn't have them sent back to Kipris Isle. There was nothing in Trollius's wishes concerning them.'

Lycaste had also received a copy of the wishes but never read them. He wondered now why Elcholtzia had, and what he might have received.

'He would be pleased with you, Lycaste,' the old man continued. 'Many of your rejected suitors come back this way and comment on the pleasant aspect of your house and land, even if the master's hosting skills leave something to be desired.'

'I don't ask for people to visit,' said Lycaste, affronted. 'Why should they be disappointed when I turn them down? I just want some peace and quiet.'

Elcholtzia snorted a laugh. 'Don't worry, Lycaste. Your looks shall fade one day, as mine have, and they'll stop coming. Then you'll have your wish. In the meantime, spare a thought for those less fortunate than you.'

'I don't see how you're less fortunate,' mumbled Lycaste sulkily.

'Is it really loneliness you crave? You are free to have some of mine, could I but give it away.'

Lycaste looked at the man, unable to think of what to say.

Elcholtzia leaned forwards, his voice soft. 'This business with Pentas – it happens to all young men at some point. You are lucky to have such little experience in the matter. Think on that.'

'Has she spoken to you?'

'Oh, yes. She's very shy, of course, but I know how to speak to her, make her feel at ease.'

'She's told you everything?'

'Most of it. The unfortunate business with the Mediary that resulted in her coming here.'

'She should have gone to a Plenipotentiary,' Lycaste grumbled, 'brought that man to justice.'

'Sometimes it's not as simple as that, Lycaste. Justice is not so easy to come by these days.'

'I would have protected her.'

Elcholtzia smiled warmly at Lycaste for the first time. 'I don't doubt that.'

Lycaste walked back along the hill road they'd circumvented that morning, Impatiens as usual staying a while longer with Elcholtzia. Not for the first time, it crossed his mind that the old man, though only just beginning the third stage of his life, might be dying.

A solitary cloud drifted far out at sea, exactly obscuring the low sun so that its outline blazed. He watched it as he walked, not wanting to miss the moment when the corona reappeared. A tiny, unique eclipse, just for him. The thought made him look around again, lengthening his stride down the hill, but the scrubby, stunted palms on either side were empty.

The air was crisp, cooler than the previous night and carrying the musky perfumes of the orchard. His single cloud had long since gone when he reached his home, replaced by the slow kindling of a handful of weak stars in the dense blue. Lycaste saw the wavering light in his third tower; a fire must have been lit in the central grate of the round chamber. That was his place; the helper birds knew not to go up there. Tiredly climbing the spiral stairs while he composed a reprimand, Lycaste found he could smell her, lighter, sweeter, intermingled with the coarse veil of woodsmoke that hung to greet him.