Of course, my parents wouldn’t be able to read what I had written, but I planned to enclose a note to the elven king, asking him to read it to them. I tore up many sheets before I was able to say what I wanted, and then left it so covered with tears I’m not sure anyone could decipher it. I hope and pray it brought some comfort to my parents.
When I was finished, I stuffed the letter in my father’s beard-trimming kit, where he would find it in the morning and not before. I lingered, then, in my parent’s guest quarters, looking lovingly at each little thing belonging to them and wishing with all my heart that I could see them one last time. But I knew quite well that I could never deceive my mother and so I left hastily, while they were still at dinner, and returned to the part of the palace where Sabia lived.
Finding a quiet niche, needing to be alone, I settled myself in it and asked the One for strength and guidance and help. I was greatly comforted and a peaceful feeling came over me, giving me to know that I was doing the right thing.
The One meant us to overhear that conversation. The One will not forsake us. These dragon-snakes may be evil, but the One is good. The One will guard us and keep us. No matter how powerful these creatures are, they are not more powerful than the One who, so we believe, made this world and all in it. I was feeling much better, and was just beginning to wonder what had happened to Alake when I saw Devon dash past me, heading for Sabia’s rooms. I crept out of my niche, hoping to see which antechamber he entered (for, of course, he wouldn’t be allowed into Sabia’s bedroom), and I bumped into Alake.
“What took you so long?” I asked irritably in a low tone. “Devon’s already here!”
“Magic rites,” she told me loftily. “I cannot explain.” I might have known. I heard Devon’s worried voice and the voice of Sabia’s duenna[21] answering him, telling him that Sabia was unwell, but would see him in the sitting room, if he wanted to wait.
He headed in that direction. Doors shut.
Alake darted into the hall, I trotted after her and we scuttled into the music room that adjoined the sitting room only a split instant ahead of Sabia and her duenna.
“Are you quite up to this, my dear?” The duenna was hovering over Sabia like a hen with one chick. “You don’t look at all well.”
“I do have a frightful headache,” we heard Sabia say in a weak voice. “Could you fetch me some lavender water to bathe my temples?” Alake placed her hand upon the coral wall, muttered several words, and it dissolved beneath her fingers, creating an opening big enough for her to peek through. She created another hole at my level. Fortunately, elves fill their rooms with furniture and vases and flowers and birdcages, so we were well-concealed, although I had to peer through the leaves of a palm and Alake was eye-to-eye with a singing phurah bird.
Sabia was standing near Devon, as close as was considered proper between betrothed couples. The duenna returned with woeful news.
“Poor Sabia. We are out of lavender water. I can’t imagine how. I know the bottle was filled only yesterday.”
“Could you please be a dear, Marabella, and fill it again? My head does throb most awfully.” Sabia put her hand to her forehead. “There is some in my mother’s old room, I believe.”
“I’m afraid she is very ill,” said Devon anxiously.
“But your mother’s room is on the other side of the Grotto,” said the duenna.
“I shouldn’t leave you two alone . . .”
“I only intend to stay a moment,” said Devon.
“Please, Marabella?” pleaded Sabia.
The elven princess had never been refused anything in her life. The duenna fluttered her hands in indecision. Sabia gave a faint moan. The duenna left. Knowing that many new rooms had been opened and several old hallways overgrown between here and Sabia’s mother’s room, I didn’t expect the duenna to find her way back much before morning.
Sabia, in her gentle voice, began to explain everything to Devon. I can’t describe the painful scene that followed between the two of them. They had grown up together and loved each other dearly since childhood. Devon listened in horrified shock that gave way to outrage, and he argued and protested vehemently. I was proud of Sabia, who remained calm and composed, though what I knew she was suffering over his agony brought tears to my eyes.
“Honor-bound, I have told you our secret, Beloved,” she said, clasping her hands over his, looking straight into his eyes. “You have the power to stop us, to betray us. But you will not, I know, because you are a prince and you understand I make this sacrifice for the good of our people. And I know, my dearest, that your sacrifice will be far harder than mine, but I know you will be strong for my sake, as I am strong for yours.”
Devon sank to his knees, overcome by grief. Sabia knelt beside him, put her arms around him. I drew away from my spyhole, bitterly ashamed of myself. Alake moved away from hers, covered both over with her hand and a word of magic. She generally scoffed at love. I noticed now that she had nothing to say on the subject and that she was blinking her eyes quite rapidly. We sat in the music room in the dark, not daring to light a lamp. I whispered to her my plan to steal the boat, which she approved. When I mentioned, however, that I had very little idea how to operate it, her face grew grave.
“I don’t believe that will be a problem,” she said, and I guessed what she meant.
The dragon-snakes would be watching for us.
She spoke to me something of the magic spells she was studying at her level (she had recently moved up to Third House, whatever that means). I knew she wasn’t really supposed to be talking much about her magic, and I must admit I wasn’t all that interested and I understood nothing of what she was saying. But she was trying to distract us, keep us from thinking about our fear, and so I listened with pretended interest.
Then we heard a door shut. Devon must have left. Poor fellow, I thought, and wondered very much what he would do. Elves had been known to sicken and die of grief, and I had little doubt that Devon would not long outlive Sabia.
“We’ll give her a few moments to compose herself,” said Alake, with unusual consideration.
“Not too long,” I cautioned. “The household must have been in bed this past signe. We have to get out of this maze and through the streets and down to the wharf yet.”
Alake agreed and, after a few tense moments, we both decided that we could take no more waiting and headed for the door.
The hallway was dark and deserted. We had thought up a plausible story, in case we ran into Marabella, but there was no sign of her or her lavender water. Creeping over to Sabia’s bedchamber, we tapped lightly on the door and softly pushed it open.
Sabia was moving around her bedroom in the darkness, gathering up her things. Hearing the door open, she jumped and swiftly flung a filmy scarf around her head, then turned to face us.
“Who is it?” she whispered in fear. “Marabella?”
“It’s only us,” I said. “Are you ready?”
“Yes, yes. Just a moment.”
She was in a flutter, obviously, for she stumbled about the room in the darkness as if she’d never been inside it before. Her voice, too, had changed, I noticed, but concluded that she must be hoarse from sobbing. At length, falling over a chair, she made her way to us, clutching a silken bag out of which spilled lace and ribbons.
“I’m ready,” she said in a muffled voice, keeping the scarf over her face, probably to hide her tear-swollen eyes and nose. Elves are so vain.
“What about the lute?” I asked.
“The what?”