first come.
The river lay deep and wide and drowsy between the banks. Anita saw a jetty, a tongue of darkness that stretched out over the black water.
She turned to look at Gabriel. His eyes were glowing like moons. Behind him, the angled shapes of the palace were outlined against the horizon—turrets and towers, battlemented walls, great spires and steeples of stone, black against the perpetual evening of Faerie.
On the far bank of the river, wharves and jetties and low-roofed buildings bit into a forest of tall trees. No leaf stirred. No bird sang.
Anita became aware of a huge wooden barge moored at the far end of the jetty, lapped by the bloated belly of the silent river. A single lantern hung at its high prow, but the light it gave off was sickly and yellow. More torches lined the bows, but none were lit.
Gabriel stepped down into the barge. He held out a hand. Anita took it and climbed down next to him. She felt a thrill of amazement as she looked around. The wooden barge was covered all over with intricate carvings—stylized shapes of intertwined leaves and branches and flowers. An awning made of heavy darkcloth shrouded the rear half of the barge. Figures of people and animals were woven into the material. She couldn’t make out the shapes very clearly in the flickering, greasy lantern light, but she thought she glimpsed a unicorn, and maybe even a winged lion.
“The King’s here ?” Anita whispered.
Gabriel nodded. He drew aside a curtain of the dense material. Anita saw that candles were lit within. The light was dim and smoky.
“Here goes nothing.” Taking a deep breath, she ducked under the awning.
At the far end of the barge, deep in shadows, Anita saw a seated man. She caught her breath; the air thrilled in her lungs as though charged with electricity.
The King of Faerie was sitting on an ornately carved chair with a high arched back and padded leather arms. He was dressed in similar clothes to Gabriel, except that his doublet and hose were black, fur-trimmed, and lined with white satin. His doublet was embroidered with white threads and beaded with jewels.
His head rested against threadbare velvet cushions. His golden hair hung around a lean, care-lined face. Anita had seen that face before, just for a few moments, when she had first stepped onto the gallery above the Great Hall. It was the man she had seen on the throne, the man with the neat beard and mustache, with the sharp, angled cheekbones and the flashing blue eyes. Except now his expression wasfilled with sadness and his eyes were hooded, as if he was lost in deep, heartbreaking memories.
“Your Grace.” Gabriel’s voice startled Anita. For a moment she had been totally lost in that sad, noble face.
The King looked up.
Anita felt a shiver of something between apprehension and delight as those bright eyes came to rest on her face. As she watched, the King’s eyes widened and a look of astonishment spread over his face.
“Hi there,” Anita said tentatively.
The King suddenly leaned forward, his hands gripping the arms of his chair. “It cannot be!” he murmured, his voice a low, rumbling growl. He rose from his chair and his face slowly transformed, at first with disbelief, and then with absolute bliss.
“Tania!”
“Well, not exactly—” Anita began, but she had no time to say anything else as the King surged up out of his throne and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against him in a fierce, breathtaking embrace.
Anita stood stiffly in his arms, feeling embarrassed and awkward, her feet almost clear of the floor. His fur collar was right in her face, filling her nose and mouth.
“Uh, excuse me.” She gasped. “I can’t breathe!”
The arms relaxed and the King’s hands came up to cup her cheeks. She felt even more uncomfortable as he stared into her face with an expression of such absolute happiness that all she could do was hangthere and smile uncertainly up at him.
“My daughter!” he said, his
The river lay deep and wide and drowsy between the banks. Anita saw a jetty, a tongue of darkness that stretched out over the black water.
She turned to look at Gabriel. His eyes were glowing like moons. Behind him, the angled shapes of the palace were outlined against the horizon—turrets and towers, battlemented walls, great spires and steeples of stone, black against the perpetual evening of Faerie.
On the far bank of the river, wharves and jetties and low-roofed buildings bit into a forest of tall trees. No leaf stirred. No bird sang.
Anita became aware of a huge wooden barge moored at the far end of the jetty, lapped by the bloated belly of the silent river. A single lantern hung at its high prow, but the light it gave off was sickly and yellow. More torches lined the bows, but none were lit.
Gabriel stepped down into the barge. He held out a hand. Anita took it and climbed down next to him. She felt a thrill of amazement as she looked around. The wooden barge was covered all over with intricate carvings—stylized shapes of intertwined leaves and branches and flowers. An awning made of heavy darkcloth shrouded the rear half of the barge. Figures of people and animals were woven into the material. She couldn’t make out the shapes very clearly in the flickering, greasy lantern light, but she thought she glimpsed a unicorn, and maybe even a winged lion.
“The King’s here ?” Anita whispered.
Gabriel nodded. He drew aside a curtain of the dense material. Anita saw that candles were lit within. The light was dim and smoky.
“Here goes nothing.” Taking a deep breath, she ducked under the awning.
At the far end of the barge, deep in shadows, Anita saw a seated man. She caught her breath; the air thrilled in her lungs as though charged with electricity.
The King of Faerie was sitting on an ornately carved chair with a high arched back and padded leather arms. He was dressed in similar clothes to Gabriel, except that his doublet and hose were black, fur-trimmed, and lined with white satin. His doublet was embroidered with white threads and beaded with jewels.
His head rested against threadbare velvet cushions. His golden hair hung around a lean, care-lined face. Anita had seen that face before, just for a few moments, when she had first stepped onto the gallery above the Great Hall. It was the man she had seen on the throne, the man with the neat beard and mustache, with the sharp, angled cheekbones and the flashing blue eyes. Except now his expression wasfilled with sadness and his eyes were hooded, as if he was lost in deep, heartbreaking memories.
“Your Grace.” Gabriel’s voice startled Anita. For a moment she had been totally lost in that sad, noble face.
The King looked up.
Anita felt a shiver of something between apprehension and delight as those bright eyes came to rest on her face. As she watched, the King’s eyes widened and a look of astonishment spread over his face.
“Hi there,” Anita said tentatively.
The King suddenly leaned forward, his hands gripping the arms of his chair. “It cannot be!” he murmured, his voice a low, rumbling growl. He rose from his chair and his face slowly transformed, at first with disbelief, and then with absolute bliss.
“Tania!”
“Well, not exactly—” Anita began, but she had no time to say anything else as the King surged up out of his throne and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against him in a fierce, breathtaking embrace.
Anita stood stiffly in his arms, feeling embarrassed and awkward, her feet almost clear of the floor. His fur collar was right in her face, filling her nose and mouth.
“Uh, excuse me.” She gasped. “I can’t breathe!”
The arms relaxed and the King’s hands came up to cup her cheeks. She felt even more uncomfortable as he stared into her face with an expression of such absolute happiness that all she could do was hangthere and smile uncertainly up at him.
“My daughter!” he said, his
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