The land for hundreds of miles about the castle was flat. The king had not minded this fact until his wife, the queen, died. Now there was the issue of the tomb, a white windowless spire in honor of her humble origins as a seamstress, which vaulted like a spindle into the graying cotton sky. The measurements he had left to his architect, as he did so many things, and Jothan, knowing the king well after many decades of service, had spared no expense in honoring the departed queen. Aside from the Dark Forest to the east or the cluster of farmhouses and stables to the west, which had never dared call itself any name besides The King’s Miscellany, no other point in the landscape might be fixed upon, when viewed from the castle’s uppermost balcony, no other shape had come to decorate the horizon, but the queen’s immense tomb.
Do not forget me, she had commanded from her deathbed. Then, as though she had forgotten how she looked now that purplish tumors clung like barnacles all about her neck and breasts, she added: Never marry another woman as beautiful as I.
The king, in his grief, had submitted to this simple request from a woman who had never before asked of him anything but love. But no feeling is easy to endure after a long while, no matter how strongly it is felt at the first. Soon, despite his wish to be reminded at all times of the promise he made to his dying wife, the king grew weary of seeing variation in what he had earlier registered unconsciously as a calm uniform line, an expanse of flat nothingness which had belonged only to he and his queen and served only to enhance the idea that they alone, the world’s two great eyeballs, stood at the center of a vast empty kingdom. Now that he had begun to fill the nothingness—now that the nothingness had been diminished by something—he could no longer tolerate it. It must be fully filled or not filled at all, and the latter was impossible, of course, since all who knew him knew he would never choose to forget his one great love.
Calling upon Jothan while thus agitated, he asked his favorite architect if the cluster of insignificant buildings to the west, commonly known as The King’s Miscellany, would like to be recognized as a town and, in short order, a city.
Jothan, who stood behind the king on his balcony, was glad his master could not see his face, which he knew from experience had twisted into what his wife had called a swine’s twat. Jothan was so ugly, the king spoke to him in this fashion in order to avoid the sight of him. Perhaps because he was so acutely aware of his ugliness, especially when grimacing as he was now, Jothan possessed an almost godlike ability to impose order upon the earth’s most unadorned materials, such as the ugly red clay of the Dark Forest floor, which everyone else had thought fit only for worms but which he had known just by touch would be perfect for making a brick cellar beneath the castle, so that now, hearing that the king wished to grant some autonomy to the people of horse shit and actual swine’s twats, he could not help but feel for the first time in his life that the task was beyond him, the materials too impure, and the plan all too mad to execute.
Sir? he said, coughing.
Did we not speak clearly, Jothan? the king said.
You wish for a city of stablehands?
Use whatever is most immediate at hand and fill up this space before the castle. We will have time to fill it with others from across the land at a later point. The point is to be quick about it.
Sir, Jothan said, hoping he would not have to say more, but when it became clear that the king took his ‘sir’ as a confirmation, he added, Will such a city not occlude the queen’s magnificent tomb?
A cathedral looks more striking in the center of a city, does it not?
Yes, sir.
Then build a city to match her glory. But quickly. We shall lend you all the help you need.
Returning to his quarters within the western wing of the castle, Jothan found his wife asleep in their bed. He looked at the clock upon the shelf; it was only nine. He wanted to share his troubles with someone, especially since she could be so wonderfully nasty about the king, but he was afraid of her ire lest he wake her. Pausing only a moment to reflect on the absurdity of his life, Jothan crept out the door and into the hallway, where, by a series of complicated twists and tugs only he as architect knew—the big toe of a decorative camel, the phallus attached to an unlit sconce, the one tile which had broken a complex mosaic pattern with its spot of chartreuse—he reached the prince’s private chamber.
The prince, still in mourning, sat in the sill of his window wearing a black crepe mantle. The effect in one so young as he, with his girlish lashes, was striking; here was the queen in her youth. When he turned to Jothan, ever so slowly, the mantle fell from around his head to reveal the pale pouty face of a spoiled only child, with cheekbones pressed so tight against his skin it seemed his face might burst.
Here, the prince said, holding out the mantle with impatience. Drape it about you at once. And no teeth this time. I do not abide teeth.
Jothan was already on his ashen knees, having entered through the fireplace. That was how one knew if one was wanted; if the bricks had been hot to the touch, Jothan would have turned back and crawled into bed beside his sleeping wife. There was always more than one kind of warmth available to a man as resourceful as Jothan. He never cared too much about who it was, or how old they might be, so long as he had enough in store to keep him entertained in the rare moments when he needed to contemplate his next project. Though it had never happened, Jothan feared that one day he would find himself without a warm body beside him, and on that day he would be tempted to end his life. One can only truly avoid the mirror by gazing into another’s face. Yet perhaps because he had always been willing to do things prettier people would not, and had always enjoyed them besides, he did not think himself at a disadvantage when it came to sex; and as for the desire to end his life, which was more present to him than his shadow, he believed it made him superior to others, for he knew more than any what horrible distortions the body could be made to suffer. To seek an end to such indignity was only rational.
The poor boy, he thought, settling his mouth upon the limp cock, circling round the sheath with his tongue until the billowy head could be coaxed forth. Perhaps this very cock, so beauteous and perfectly proportioned and even—thank God—freshly washed, will one day blossom forth those cancerous polyps which had taken his mother.
I said no teeth, the prince said, spitting somewhere above Jothan’s head, perhaps on it. I can find plenty better at it.
The mantle slid from Jothan’s narrow shoulders; he feared his face would soon be exposed, so he hunkered down in such a way as to ensure the silk did not slip. Now he was more careful; opening his jaws as wide as he possibly could, he took the length of the boy’s cock until he felt good and warm and completely filled inside. The prince tasted, this time, of birchwood and sweet beets. When the last spasm left the boy’s legs, Jothan raised himself up, palms still plastered to hairless thighs, and turned sharply toward the exit.
I wish to speak with you, the prince said.
Jothan was so started by the statement, he did not stop moving. The prince had never before expressed interest in talk.
Did you not hear me?
You sound like your father, Jothan said, tossing the mantle upon the bed.
I will pretend I didn’t hear you, the prince said, yawning audibly. I’ve the power to kill you for insolence.
Jothan knew better than to turn around. The prince’s threat was exactly what he had always feared. At some point, the prince might decide that their games were no longer fun, and that it would be better to accuse Jothan of corruption rather than to face what he was. Still, something inside him wanted to push the prince, to test their intimacy. It is always harder to bite one’s tongue when it is slippery with seed.
Have you any news of my father? the prince said, casually, as though they always had a little chat like this.
Jothan sat upon the edge of the bed, rather awkwardly, turned as he was toward the paneled wall, which, he was glad to see, was in no need of repair. Your father? he said.
You know, the man who owns us all. The man you speak with every day, though he says nothing to me, his only issue.
Oh, that father. He is fine.
Fine?
Jothan thought only a moment before telling the prince the whole truth. He could sense within their new intimacy some vague possibility, a hint of power and security for himself which he had never detected before. The prince had always been underestimated, treated as a runt, an odd skinny little thing possessed of his mother’s effeminacy and beauty but, on account of his bitterness, lacking her graces. The king barely tolerated him. More than once, Jothan had felt a shock of recognition upon seeing the king turn his head away from the sight of the prince. And more than once, Jothan had wondered what it was the boy’s father hated most about him: that he was not a girl, or that he was not the right kind of boy. The final straw had been the king’s proclamation after his wife’s death, one that humiliated the prince and closed off all future possibilities for success: that the prince would never be king. When the prince had protested, his father had beaten him so fiercely it seemed he might have ruined the boy’s looks for good. It would only be a matter of time before the king’s brothers, owning the other two-thirds of the kingdom, would come sniffing around for more land.
A city of horses and stables? the prince said, laughing. Around Mother’s tomb? How positively disgusting! Father is losing his wits.
I do what I am told, Jothan said.
Yes, yes you do, don’t you? the prince said, his tone lilting into irony. Turn your head to face me, swine twat.
I wish you wouldn’t call me—
It is what you are, is it not?
Yes, sir, Jothan said, turning.
Before him stood the naked prince, his body illuminated by the candle in his hand. The lines were perfect, gaunt about the ribs and perfectly rounded at the hips. Jothan wanted to study every inch of him. Perhaps he would commission a sculptor to make a copy for his private collection.
I believe I have a plan at last, the prince said. To make Father regret what he has done to me.
Your father loves you, Jothan lied, for he was now fearful of what was to come. He caught in the prince’s eyes a flash of irrepressible rage mixed with a bottomless thirst for power: the eyes of a true king, not those of the prince’s father. Working for a man like the king had been relatively easy compared with the architects who dwelt in other lands. Off with their heads rarely became a literal command.
You must be patient, Jothan continued. He has only recently lost the queen. You are all he has left now.
Never lie to me again, carpenter.
Architect.
Swine twat. I shall call things as I like. A name is pointless. It’s how things look that matters most. That is the whole of my plan, but I will need your help in pulling it off.
Jothan was not used to being gazed upon for more than a second. He, too, felt naked. After a long pause, he said, How may I be of service, master?
The prince drew close to him, so close Jothan could feel the warmth of his skin. Jothan flinched when the prince’s hand touched the side of his face, but the longer he left it there, the more Jothan felt at ease.
It will be quite a nasty trick, the prince said, pressing his forehead to Jothan’s so that their eyes met in a dizzying hall of mirrors. If we pull it off, you and I will be set for life. You will have something over the king which will grant you and your family a lifetime of security, no matter what he discovers about our past. And I—well, I shall be queen.
◆
The king watched the city’s progress every day from his balcony. Great wooden towers of drastically varying heights rose up about the tomb. To their exterior the architect daubed red clay, which hardened quickly beneath the punishing sun. Just before his slaves added tiled roofs to each structure, the king glimpsed the many walls which would come separate one citizen from the next, like the cells of a gigantic hive. How might it feel, he thought, to be one among a thousand drones? Perhaps it would make his grief seem smaller.
His favorite architect continued to prove his genius, for between every cluster of towers he had spaced a wide road which could accommodate at least ten horses abreast. One could not help but imagine the festivities: a parade with hundreds of carriages, sprawling markets on trade days where one might wander about in a stupor, a footrace of some sort with frightening Dark Forest monstrosities. All in honor of her, the woman whose humble beginnings had inspired this city’s design, soon to be populated by stablehands and seamstresses. For the rest, he would order his generals to conquer other foreign lands and bring their captives here.
Oh, how life changed so quickly! His brothers had never understood how he could be content with doing and seeing nothing, with simply guarding the flat expanse which had for a century represented the empire’s farthest reach of wealth and potential—but they had not known the queen, not truly. He and she had been happy recluses. Even before they married, she had told him they needn’t fight with his brothers for the gaudier parts of the empire, that she would be happy with him on the frontier, where nothing had yet been built, for the empty landscape might be the only place grand enough to hold their love.
Best not to dwell too long on the past. As his men began to place lumber along the main thoroughfare in preparation for the great marble slabs which would soon come to decorate the squares, the king turned his back upon the scene, surprised to find Jothan waiting for him.
I did not wish to interrupt your thoughts, master, the architect said, bowing low.
You could have spared us the sight of you, the king said, waving a hand before the ugly face. How did we not hear you enter?
Jothan turned to the wall. There is an art to entrances and exits, he said, provided the rooms are well equipped for it. This I learned from my brief stint in the theatre.
You are a man who has done it all.
If only you knew the truth of those words, my king, Jothan said, thinking of the swamp hag whose bed of reeds he found himself tangled up in this morning.
Why is it you have snuck in here without us calling for you?
I would not have done so if it had not been a terribly pressing matter, Jothan said, drawing a deep breath for his next words. I am afraid, my lord, that your son is missing.
Missing? the king said, laughing. My son, missing?
Yes, my lord. He was last seen standing before the entrance to the Dark Forest. And here Jothan’s voice trembled with deep emotion. I am afraid—oh, it is too ghastly!
Spit it out, man, the king said, slapping him on the back good-naturedly, as though this were indeed a bit of comic theatre written for his enjoyment.
I am afraid, my lord, that the prince was last seen standing before the Dark Forest holding a slab of our finest raw meat from the kitchen. Dangling—dangling!—from his delicate fingers. It can only mean one thing.
It sounds too absurd to mean anything, the king said, still with laughter in his voice. The boy has always been an odd one.
It can only mean—oh, how can a man of your fine intellect not see it?—it can only mean the wolves will have devoured him by now.
There are plenty of other creatures besides wolves which could do the job, Jothan. Did we tell you of our greatest hunt, when we sought the rare Landrake Beast of the Thousand Claws?
Yes, you have told me many times, sir, and I am always happy to hear it. But please—this is a very serious matter. The prince could not have survived.
Well, was all the king said. Then, after several minutes of uncomfortable silence, he added, We suppose this means we shall not be having our steak tonight.
Once again, Jothan was glad the king could not see the smile upon his face. I shall send out a search party immediately, he said.
No, no, the king said. We cannot spare the men. They must continue their work on the city. If things are indeed as bad as you have said, nothing can be done for him.
So it was as the prince had described it: The king wished his son dead. And a wish could be much more potent than the truth.
But sir, he is your only son, is he not? Jothan said, his voice trembling in all the right places.
Yes, he is, the king said, for the first time with a hint of sorrow in his voice. Or he was. We did not want her to have the child. The queen and we never needed anyone or anything but ourselves. Then he arrived, and he was so—so very odd! So like her and yet so unlike her, in the most essential way. Yet she seemed to love him despite these obvious flaws. We daresay she loved him more than she loved us. Oh, to see her essence perverted by his form, which could never be manly and natural—it was madness. We saw the way he batted his long lashes at that goatherd Sigurd. We are no idiot. Sigurd is the most attractive goatherd to walk these flatlands. If we were not natural, we would have pounded him behind the springhouse ourselves!
Sir, I have taken the liberty of demolishing that particular eyesore, Jothan said. I’m afraid you would have to pound Sigurd out in the plain air, in the way of certain landscape painters.
Why are we constantly speaking of our pounding Sigurd? We said if we were not natural, which we obviously are. Natural, that is.
Very much so, my lord, Jothan said. Never in doubt. I do, however, wish to discuss the matter of an heir, now that we have determined that the prince is no longer viable.
An heir requires a wife, the king said, impatient now.
There is that impeccable logic of yours, sir.
Everyone knows we cannot marry another woman as beautiful as the queen. It was her final wish. And what is the point of marrying a woman who is not as beautiful as the queen?
Jothan was beginning to feel that words made for the most inferior building materials, for nothing he said seemed to gain purchase in the king’s mind. He cleared his throat, and began again: Perhaps, when the queen made her final wish, she had been thinking that the prince would one day be king. Now that this is no longer the case, it seems we are at a bit of an impasse.
He was never meant to take the crown! We would never have allowed it!
Jothan risked a glance at the king, whose shoulders were now heaving with the strain of his sudden anger. Jothan turned back to the wall. Before him hung a tapestry of the queen at various ages, always with a silver tiara and larger-than-life breasts, even at what looked to be a very early age. He began counting each breast until he felt enough time had passed for the king’s temper to cool.
What if you were to find a nice peasant girl? he said. Or even some mysterious girl raised by wolves? Something of that sort. Those are always better for bearing children, you know. She can be pretty enough to suit the appetites required for the act, but not so pretty as to ever truly compete with the queen, since a peasant may never possess that beauty which is endemic to royalty.
And where might we find such a girl? the king said.
It just so happens, my lord, that we shall soon have a city full of them.
◆
When Jothan returned to his wife, he opened his coat wide like a man wearing nothing underneath, such was his glee at having succeeded. His wife yawned and pulled the bedsheet over her head. From several hidden pockets he removed three bits of rare jewelry and began to dance about with them.
The queen’s jewels, he sang.
You will be hanged, husband, his wife’s muffled voice augured. This will not work.
Jothan removed the sheet from his wife’s head and straddled her. Taking her hand in his, he placed an emerald-studded bangle about her wrist and began to work at tightening its clasp, which was far more complicated than any lock he had picked to filch it. Though it required no lock at all, it demanded tiny deft fingers which could send the hook through a series of shrinking oval encasings. To finish the task, one had to be willing to send one’s fingers in a cramp.
Should’ve saved the effort for my cunny, you swine’s twat, his wife said, squirming beneath him.
Oh, I am ever resourceful, my dear, he said, getting to it.
◆
The first ball was to be held just outside the queen’s tomb, in the central square of The King’s Accumulation, formerly known as The King’s Miscellany. About the perimeter, the architect had erected a ring of purple tents which could be used for serving a special port long stored in the king’s cellar for an occasion such as this, the founding of a great new city. Narrow oakwood stools lined the alleys so that people would have a place to sit and rekindle between rounds of dancing, and on nearly every windowsill in the hundreds of rooms towering above the square sat fat spermaceti candles delivered just in time from seamen in the western watery archipelago of the empire. The effect, at dusk, was of great red hand cupping a flame, gathering everyone in the city in its warm embrace. No one could believe the tragic red clay of the Dark Forest could be so pleasingly transformed.
Then, just when it seemed the wonders of the city might at last be comprehended, teams of black horses—ten abreast, to show off the clever design of the roads—with Dark Forest women astride them, some barely even human, wearing furs made of fox or wolf or bear skin, joined the crowd of peasants and tradesmen which had already gathered, as though night had at last descended upon them. But there was one Dark Forest woman who wore a coat far more magnificent than the rest, made from a hundred skins from animals both familiar and exotic, some so rare Jothan had been forced to hire hunters from the king’s fraternal lands, a tricky business if one did not wish the king’s brothers to know of one’s plot. From out of the depths of this impossible coat, a pale face with sharp cheekbones and a pouty blood-red mouth could be seen, yet as she passed on her horse, a veil of black silken hair obscured her features, with an occasional flash of emerald peeking through where her earrings caught a flicker of candlelight.
The king sat, opposite the procession, on a small stage which held only his throne and himself. Jothan had decided against placing the queen’s throne beside him, for fear that the women might know of the king’s desire and act in cunning ways. It would be better for all if the king were able to survey these creatures at a distance and decide upon which ones he might wish to try out for the night. But as the king watched each woman unmount her horse with brisk precision, he was reminded just how far he had traveled from his life with the queen.
He had always known himself to be a curious man, one whose passions were rarely stirred, so unlike his brothers and their brothel lives. Perhaps, if they had not teased him so… perhaps, if they had only left him alone and let him find his way through the changes in his body rather than teasing him for his shyness, he might have been another lusty king. How relieved he had been to meet the queen, to abscond with her into this land none of them wanted. It took a deft touch to coax his member into action; the queen had been patient, and she had not minded when it shrank to the size of an acorn. Once, when he had been mortified at its sluggishness, she had rushed out of the room, and just when he thought he had lost her forever, she returned with a thimble from her old sewing collection and said, Our man has a hat! Let us hope he does not ever outgrow it! As she placed it on his prick, he swelled to an enviable height, and, to much strangled chuckling, rammed the whole of it down her throat. Good boy, she had said afterward, gag-drool seeping from her pretty mouth. Now, let us see how he dances.
When he tried to imagine any of these Dark Forest women doing the same for him, his mind went blank. Even the way they held their reins was too rough. The first dance had already begun; the gemshorn players and psalterists roused the crowd to a lively tempo, and already the fattest among them were beginning to sweat from the humid night air. Before the first hour was up, the king had already finished four goblets of port. He was drunk. He had long since stopped searching the crowd for signs of his future wife; instead, he contented himself by watching the play of candlelight in each of the windows in the tower across from him, crossing and uncrossing his eyes to mesmeric effect. He began to nod off, waking himself once with a loud and embarrassing snore. Just as he lifted his head to pretend alertness, he saw a familiar flash of emerald from within the crowd of dancers. He tried to follow it through the chaos—a flash here, now there, no over there—until, having thought he lost it, he lowered his eyes and saw it right before his stage, attached to the most delicate piece of jewelry, itself attached to the most delicate lobe. He stood at once, and, before the sight could vanish once more, lowered himself from the stage and gripped the fur-clad arm of its wearer.
Where did you get these, forest woman? he said, spinning her round to face him.
The sight was spectacular, and strange. Her pale face towered over the king, for she was almost a foot taller than him, and the bones of her cheeks and brow pressed like talons set to break forth and snare him. Yet her green eyes, turned coldly to address him, carried a whiff of intoxicating familiarity and incongruous softness which found their only echo in the magnificent motley furs which hazed her secreted figure. She was a chimera, a thousand-skinned glorious creature, and she was wearing his dead wife’s earrings.
Can you not speak, woman? the king said, pressing her arm. Where did you find those?
The woman looked as though she did not wish to speak. Then, in a halting voice equally as strange as her coat, she said, I am afraid you will not believe me if I tell it, your majesty.
Tell it, or we shall have you hung for theft.
Might we go somewhere more private? she said, looking about them nervously. I cannot hear myself speak in this noise, and it is somewhat of a private matter.
The king was surprised by the delicacy of her manner, the natural grace which attended each of her gestures. There was something both beautiful at once in her appearance, and he wanted to know how such a lowly peasant could come by it. He followed her down one of the alleys, to a place where no stools had yet been occupied. He was happy for the privacy, since his drunkenness would not permit him to stand without swaying. He sat on the nearest stood and waited for her to begin. She took a seat beside him, the coat nearly swallowing the whole of her face as she sat, so that it began to seem as though he were hearing her through the length of a tunnel.
I’m afraid my story is a sad one, she began, batting her incredibly long lashes. You see, my family left me to die upon a rock at the border of the Dark Forest, as some heathens have been known to do from time to time. I was very young, but a babe. They tied a piece of bloody meat round my neck, like a lethal handkerchief, to ensure the wolves did not miss my throat. Yet when the wolves came, rather than devouring me at once, they nursed upon the meat gingerly, their little wet noses pressing upon my gullet—this being my first memory—and carried me by the nape to their den as they would one of their own. I was raised by them, cared for by these creatures, and I learned their language, which is mostly all whining and grunting, not nearly so much howling as people imagine. For many years I lived in such a way, learning to hunt the many great beasts of this land which now sit upon my back, until one day, in the midst of my favorite meadow, I saw a lady all in white appear before me. In her palm she held this pair of earrings, an offering. She told me that if I would but wear them, I would learn all of the things she had learned in this life, and she would grant me her blessing, for I was a poor abandoned child of nobility and deserved a second chance at society. This saintly woman handed me the earrings, and by their power I have learned your kingdom’s tongue and all of the many manners which attend your society. My wolf-mother pricked my ears with her sharpest fang, knowing that the charmed objects held a supernatural power, and, turning away from me with watery eyes, whined in a language I could no longer understand. Just as I was headed to this city to determine my new fate, I happened upon this troop of forest women, and now here I sit before you, my new king.
The king did not know how to answer this. He was very drunk. Could it be that his precious departed wife had visited this wolf-girl in a meadow and bestowed her blessing? Stranger things had indeed happened in this kingdom. Meeting a real life miracle like the queen had been one of them.
We will need some time to think on your story, he said at last, preparing to return at once to his chamber and search for the earrings. If they were not there, her story might be true, for no one but he and his architect ever entered his private quarters, which were heavily guarded at all times.
I knew you would not believe me, the woman said, lowering her gaze to her feet, which looked tiny beneath the heavy fur hem. She told me you were not a man of much vision.
Why would she say such a thing? he said, standing suddenly. He nearly toppled onto the woman.
She said you did not always see the potential in things or in people. She said that is why you could never build a thing on these flatlands—until now, of course. With the right vision, you could be as great as your brothers, even greater. But you must find another queen to lead with you, one whose will is strong enough to match yours, one with the strength of a thousand beasts.
We should have you hanged for these words, the king said, shouting loud enough to halt the music. Yet in those offensive words he had heard something of his queen’s guilt, spoken most often in the midnight hour after lovemaking, when she had confessed that their self-contained love might have impeded the progress of his kingdom. I am holding you back because I do not want you to be a true king, she had said. I want you king only to me. Who else but his wife could have known such a thing? Perhaps the afterlife had led her to the realization that her proclamation was incomplete: what the future queen lacked in beauty she would make up for in strength of character.
Still, for all of her forwardness, the woman before him did not appear to him brash or crude. Glancing at the long artist’s fingers curled in her furry lap, he thought she might be similarly skilled at making little hats for his forlorn prick. When Jothan appeared with several guards, ready to send this woman to the gaol, he told them to hold.
We do not think she means anything evil by her speech, he said, waving them off.
I am sorry to have offended you, your majesty, she said. I fear a part of the wolf-mother’s lengthy tongue is still curled somewhere deep inside me. It has been known to prod in places where perhaps it should not.
At her final two words, she glanced at Jothan with a polite smile upon her lips. The king thought it somewhat odd—and commendable—that she did not fear to look into his unbearable face. She had stared down beasts far more terrifying: this part of her story was true, at least.
The king asked to be left alone. He would return to the castle on foot. Just as the woman was about to reenter the square, he shouted, I did not ask for your name!
They did not give me one, she shouted back. Perhaps you will think of it.
◆
He searched the chest where his queen had kept her jewels. The earrings were not there. Neither was the necklace or the bracelet. He fell to his knees and began to cry, long heaving sobs which shook his entire frame. Then he vomited, a heavy gush of purple mixed with chunks of the meat he had eaten for dinner. A name came to him: Thousand-Skins. He would call her that, until he found something better.
◆
The next day, the king sent out a search party for her. He asked them to search the Dark Forest, especially any areas with wolf dens or large rock formations. In doing so, he did not once consider that he had not done so for his missing son. In fact, he did not think of his son at all, now that he had found what might be the right woman for his next issue. He prayed that his next child would be bold and lusty like his brothers, that he would not be some strange runt like the last one, always lusting after goatherds and prancing about in too-tight clothing. The queen, he hoped, would guide him in this from her ethereal plane.
When the party returned, they had the unfortunate task of informing the king that they had not been successful. He told them to try again. They returned. He hanged the first party and formed another. When they, too, returned without her, he hanged them as well. The forest people and tradesmen, who were all new to The King’s Accumulation, had never seen such a spectacle before in their lives. A dance and a hanging, all in less than the sun’s full cycle. When the bodies were finally dragged out of their wide streets, the citizens collected scraps of bloody clothing which had fallen from the corpses, all in hopes of sharing the story one day to their children and grandchildren. This was a new king indeed, spurred into action. They could not help but wonder what had taken him so long, and if the answer to that question might be the former queen. But of course they could never tell that part, not yet, until enough time had passed between the present hanging and the resolution of whatever it was that agitated the king.
Word had already gotten round to the king’s brothers that something was indeed changing. At last, he had decided to do something with his land. They had never liked the queen. To them, she was nothing but a temptress who had cut off his manhood. Still, they did not wish for the king to find another queen, for they now had other plans for the land. Why maintain a weighty title when the king hated it so much? They felt they could soon relieve him of this burden. When they heard he was searching for a forest woman, they lent their men to the chase, ordering them not to search too thoroughly, and these, too, soon had to be hanged for their obedience. It seemed Thousand-Skins did not wish to be found. The king began to feel that he had been the target of a nasty jest, or that he had been so delirious with wine that he imagined it all. Fearing for his sanity, he called Jothan to his chamber.
Jothan—yes, please stay in the shadows or we shall vomit again, the king said. Jothan, did you or did you not see a forest woman speaking with us in the alley on the night of the dance?
I did, sir, Jothan said. It was quite an interesting sight.
The king sighed loudly. Ah, he said. And did she not seem interested in our company?
She did, sir. Very interested.
Then why would she not wish to see us again? Why would she hide from us?
I cannot claim to understand the nature of all women, Jothan said, but it seems to me that she is not accustomed to being in the presence of someone so refined as yourself, sir. Perhaps she feels anxious that she will not live up to the glories of your last queen.
The king laughed, suddenly pleased with himself. His architect always knew more than he let on. We have tried every other method, he said. Now we shall try the only one remaining. We shall hold another ball. Make it exactly like the first, Jothan, down to every detail. Spare no expense.
Yes, sir, Jothan said, bowing.
And Jothan—do not forget to hide your face if you do see her. You have been lax with the cloak we had made for you. It is important we do not scare her away.
Yes, sir. Of course, sir.
◆
Exiting the king’s quarters, Jothan lifted the well-oiled visor of a decorative suit of armor to reveal a hidden door beside it. Once inside, he hurried down a narrow passageway filled with rat bones until he came to what looked like an abandoned chest of drawers but was in fact an intentional design. He turned the knob of the bottom drawer and slid the chest to one side, so that now he was facing a very dark winding staircase spanning the height of the castle tower. This he navigated by memory, for there were no windows or sconces for light. At the bottom of the staircase he knocked five times very quickly, their signal. The door opened upon the prince wearing nothing but the fur coat and a bit of carmine for his cheeks and his pouty lips. Jothan felt his entire body melt at the sight of such beauty.
Your plan is going to put me into an early retirement, Jothan said, feigning nonchalance. Never have I worked so hard. Another ball, and all because you want to play cat and mouse.
It is the only way, the prince said, gesturing for Jothan to enter. He closed the door quietly behind them and locked it. Beside it, his horsehair wig hung on a peg, and he straightened it out of habit.
If it were easy, the prince continued, he would never come to love me. He must tumble through a labyrinth—a house of illusion—to rediscover his love for me. You are the one who told me he spent ten weeks celebrating my birth, showing me off to everyone in the court, enumerating my virtues. It is so easy to love a creature whose only requisite virtue is to be helpless. Then, as one grows, being helpless becomes something to scoff at, to mock, to turn away from in disgust. He hates me because he himself is equally helpless, only he had the queen to make him forget it. Now he wants to be a man of action—of cities, dances, hangings. When he discovers that I was the one who inspired him to be a real king, it will be too late. He will already need me. And I—I will have his love, my title, and something to secure both of our positions for the rest of our lives, Jothan, for the secret we will hold over him will make him our clay, ours to mold as we see fit. Bear with it only a bit longer.
The prince fell against the door and sank to the floor, slowly, so that the coat seemed to coil around him like a slumbering beast. His formerly hairless body had begun to shade in certain places. Speaking of virtues, Jothan wanted to enumerate each and every hair with his tongue.
Don’t even think about it, the prince said. I am saving myself for my husband.
From whom did you inherit this wickedly scheming mind? Jothan said, remembering to pull up his hood. Perhaps you are a changeling.
No need to hide it anymore, Jothan, the prince said. In my kingdom, you shall be seen as beautiful.
You did not always think so, Jothan said, remembering the many times the prince had called him names, especially when he was a child.
I have changed, the prince said, surveying his nails. I have grown. Mother’s death has changed us all. I am no longer content with the arrangement of things in this kingdom. And as for my scheming mind, I developed it the moment I discovered that love was not, as I had once supposed, a limitless resource given to all but rather a thing to be bartered. A prince like me must learn to trade.
I see, Jothan said, understanding more than he wished. Always, from the day of his birth, he had craved the love his parents would not fully give to him. With his wife, who had been willing to marry such an ugly yet resourceful man as he, Jothan had thought his cravings had come to an end, only to discover that he would never be satisfied, that the original lack would always be there with him. Sex was the only time he escaped the trap of his body. If it could be used as a weapon against a world which had made love so impossible, why not use it? Why worry about the forbidden, or the taboo, when genuine love of any kind was worth any price?
We only have the two balls remaining, the prince said. Two tiny little balls, Jothan. And then we will have the kingdom.
A lot of evil may issue from two balls, Jothan said, meeting the prince’s eyes. Let us pray you are right.
You can be quite funny, Jothan.
Jothan turned from the sight of the prince’s body so that he could think. And what is to prevent the king from chopping off our heads once he discovers our plot?
I know him, the prince said, yawning. He is too afraid of being seen as unnatural. Once people discover he is capable of being wooed in such a way, they will think other things about him, too. And they will be right.
And do you plan to go through with it? With the act?
I will see how I feel on my wedding night, the prince said. It would be fun to see his face once the darkness lifts. Perhaps it will even kill him, which would considerably shorten my time as a woman.
That was my next question.
No. I am not content with being a woman. I will be king. I will first have my father’s love, then I will be king.
But this is not real love. This is no longer a rightful title.
Who makes these rules? I will make all of the rules now. We shall have a harem of young boys for both of us, Jothan.
And the king’s brothers? Your uncles?
They will have no choice but to submit to me, once they see what I am capable of doing.
◆
The second ball was exactly the same as the first in all but one feature: Thousand-Skins was not present. The king, sitting upon his throne in the same manner as he had the last ball, downed another four goblets of port. Soon he was drunk, and the innumerable flickerings all about him began to send him into a trance. He thought, briefly, of slaughtering every single one of the dancers, painting the red clay redder, but he was too tired. Just as he had almost nodded off, he saw a flash of emerald within the crowd—there, no there, now here before him—attached to the most delicate necklace, itself attached the most delicate neck. Thousand-Skins had returned, and she was wearing his dead wife’s necklace.
Once he caught her eye, he followed her down the same alley where the stools were still empty. The music, quieter now, seemed to fall into a scarcely remembered tune from childhood, one of sadness and longing and impossible beauty. He could not remember its name, only that it had been played for young children of the court. All about him, in the widows of the towers on either side, candles had been snuffed out, so that the shadows of his past seemed to swell about him, almost as if someone had planned such a thing. But he was drunk; just as likely he was feeling nostalgic from the port.
You have returned, the king said, steadying himself on the wall. We have been searching for you. We have spent a great deal, and killed many, for your sake.
Thousand-Skins took a seat beside him, her head lowered. He wanted to reach out and stroke her long silken hair. Never before had he seen hair such as this, almost like a horse’s mane.
I do not like your talk of sacrifice, she said, her voice so quiet he had to bend closer to hear. I may be new to your society, but I have learned a great many things since last we met, things which this emerald necklace has taught me.
And how— the king began, but he dared not ask it, for he hoped he already knew the answer.
The woman in white, Thousand-Skins confirmed, placing one of her delicate hands upon the necklace. She appeared to me once more, and handed me this. She said that I must know more about you before we may continue, if we are to be a good match. She says she has learned quite a lot about you and would like to help us. It is her you should blame for keeping us apart this long. She protected me from discovery with her white veil.
We would never blame the queen, the king said, nearly in tears. But tell me, what is it that she has taught you about us?
She says you are quick to temper, and that when things do not go your way, you bring up all of the sacrifices you have made on behalf of your loved ones as a kind of mark against them, when it was never their fault to begin with. This necklace has taught me the ways of men like you, your majesty.
The king hid his face in his hands. Already his head had begun to pound. After several minutes of silence, he raised his gaze to the sky and, as if addressing someone far above their heads, cried out: We are sorry, queen. We are sorry to have failed you. It is true. It is as you have said both times. We are not one to see potential, but we are one to blame others for our mistakes. Yet we can change. We can prove it to this forest woman, and to you, that we are a better man, a better king.
Thousand-Skins stood upon hearing these words. I will leave you two to talk, she said.
No, he said, reaching for her arm. Stay, please stay with us, just for this one night. We cannot bear to be alone with our thoughts a moment longer.
The forest woman pried his grip from her arm with surprising strength. I am a woman of honor, my king. If you wish to see me again, you must treat me with respect.
And with that, she left him alone to cry in the alley.
◆
The final ball could not be held for two weeks, on account of a great hunt the king’s brothers had prepared in celebration of his new city. Any beasts slain would be used for a feast which Jothan promised the citizens of The King’s Accumulation would be featured at the commencement of the dance.
But why must we do this now? the king asked his architect.
It is your brothers, sir, Jothan said, sure to wear his cloak this time. They are eager to help you in your quest.
We are not so eager to let them, the king said.
Surely it must be better to reconcile with family, Jothan said, happy to have remembered his line correctly. He and the prince had practiced it many times.
Family? They have treated us like a pauper our entire life, they have teased us and gossiped about us since we were a child, all on account of our…
Difference?
The king did not answer.
Time may change all things, Jothan said at last. You cannot continue to hold these grudges. You yourself said you wished to be a better man.
Where did you hear that? the king said, turning suddenly to face Jothan.
Jothan had no time to think. I divined it, my king, he said. You would not act as you have been acting if you did not wish to be a better man. It is time to reconsider what you once held to be true, to rediscover the love you once had for your family.
You speak to us with sudden confidence, Jothan, the king said. You may be a favorite of ours, but do not think we won’t cut out your tongue.
It is my lot to think on this fear always, my lord. My tongue apologizes.
◆
Not a day passed in those two weeks when he did not think of Thousand-Skins and her tiny hands and feet, Thousand-Skins and her silken black hair, Thousand-Skins and the figure which awaited his touch beneath the coat of fur. When the day of the hunt finally arrived, he found himself in an uncharacteristically good mood, for soon she would be his. He was surprised to find himself jesting with his brothers and truly enjoying their company. At the end of their hunt, they and their men had killed nearly fifteen dozen deer and hundreds of pheasants. Tired after a long day, they camped in a meadow which the king could not be certain was not the same as Thousand-Skins had described. He so longed to see his wife once more that he kept his eyes alert even as the campfire drowsed him.
Whom do you think is here? his youngest brother said.
I wait for no one, the king answered, dropping his royal grammar like a heavy coat. Ignore me. I am but tired.
Ah, the brother responded knowingly. You think you might find your missing son in this forest?
My son? the king said, sitting up tall. Why would I be looking for my son? He is dead.
You have lost so much, his other brother said. It is understandable.
Do not lecture me, brothers. You only mean to tease me. I should have known it from the start.
No, no, the eldest and final brother said. We did not like the queen, but we would not tease you on such a serious matter. In fact, we are sorry for it, brother.
Sorry? the king said, spitting into the fire. Sorry? Now you are sorry? I was helpless—helpless before you all. You hated me for my difference. You hated yourselves, and you took it out on me.
The brothers were quiet for a long while. Then, at the sound of a lone animal call in the distance, the eldest brother coughed, and began: What you said is true, brother. We were but children, and foolish. We should not have acted as we did. We did not understand how it would change you. Life is much too short to maintain this distance between us.
The king turned his head so they could not see his tears. Perhaps we should head back, he said. The night will make phantoms of us all.
We want to help you now, the eldest brother continued. Give us leave to tend to your land while you recover from the twin tragedies of your life. I fear your grief has made you mad. You do not seem to understand that this forest woman you are chasing is but a phantom herself.
Ah, I see your plot, the king said, laughing bitterly. Thousand-Skins is more real to me than anything else in this world. She will be my queen, and I shall have a true heir.
◆
Jothan spared no expense for the third ball. Beneath the square’s purple tents, mounds of glistening game awaited the many new citizens of The King’s Accumulation. This time, however, the king sat upon his throne holding no goblet in his hand. He could not afford to be drunk when he made his proposal. This time he did not panic when Thousand-Skins did not arrive with the others. He sat calmly and waited for the first glint of emerald. Soon, Jothan arrived at his side.
Have you seen her, my king? Jothan said.
No, we have not. But do not worry yourself. She will arrive in due time.
I wish to say something before she does arrive, Jothan said, his voice more somber than the king had ever heard it.
Do not fear us tonight, my favorite, the king said. I am in a jolly mood, and shall not cut out your tongue.
I want you to know, my king, that I have always considered you a friend, Jothan began. He paused. He had practiced this speech all day, but now that it came time to say it, he was afraid of what was to come. Before, he had placed his life in the hands of a man who did not care if his son died; now he was placing his life in the hands of a son who wished for his father’s death. It all seemed absurd, and unlucky, that the world ran on such cruelty. He felt weak, sentimental. He wanted to stop time before their plan could be finalized, but it was too late.
Well, Jothan? Spit it out, the king said.
Jothan cleared his throat, bent close enough to whisper into the king’s ear. Very few people have given me a chance on account of my looks, he said, but you gave me a life in this kingdom. If it weren’t for your generosity, I would surely be dead. It is simply not true that you did not see the potential in others. You did not see it in all others, that is true—perhaps even the most important ones—but you did see it in me, and that counts for quite a bit.
What is this treacle? the king said, slapping Jothan heartily on the back. Feeling sentimental because we are to marry, is that it?
Some part of your conjecture may be true, sir, Jothan said. Perhaps, seeing things so altered in this kingdom, I find myself longing for the past, when things were much simpler.
Time may change all things, the king said. Those were your words, Jothan.
Indeed. Indeed they were, my king.
The king watched Jothan curiously. There seemed to be some hidden struggle, something unsaid in the man. Then, as though he had been tied by a rope, Jothan disappeared into the crowd of dancers.
◆
The night had almost come to an end, and the king was beginning to worry. To ease himself, he began stalking the perimeter of the crowd, waiting for his first flash of emerald. When it did not come, and the only dancers remaining were too drunk to follow the tune, he turned toward the queen’s tomb, which towered high above all the other buildings, and began to pray for her help. As his prayer finished, he noticed that the door to the tomb was slightly ajar. A faint light emanated from it, beckoning him. He entered the tomb, which he had not visited since its construction, and at once felt his bones chill in the quiet cold. There, atop the coffin, which had been decorated with rich marble and gold meant to resemble his wife’s embroidery, sat a candelabra whose candles had almost completely worn down. As he approached, he could see a figure behind it, faint and glowing, dressed all in white.
Do not be frightened, he told himself. You must be a man who is no longer frightened of the world.
The figure turned to him, her face covered with a white wedding veil. In her hands she held an emerald bracelet. He recognized it at once, its intricate clasp which had always given him so much trouble when his wife asked for help with it.
She said you must be brave, the figure said. No matter what comes, you must be a brave man. Now here—take this knowledge, and let us be married at once.
Without thinking, he held out his hand to her. With her deft little fingers, she fastened it on his wrist at once. As they held their arms above the coffin, he felt as though he were returning home after a long, wearying journey.