Part 8 (1/2)
Ysa stuck out her chin. ”I will be a widow, who lost her one true love at sea.”
Pan nodded. ”Yes, that would work, I think.” Even though he could tell she had just come up with the idea, he stared at her with slightly widened eyes, as though impressed. ”You seem to have given this a lot of thought.”
She nodded, and smiled condescendingly, well pleased with herself.
”I only wonder... but no. Vitale is utterly devoted to you.”
Her gaze narrowed. ”You wonder... what?”
Pan waved a hand, brus.h.i.+ng the thought aside like a cobweb. ”It is nothing. Nothing that will matter to two who love each other as you do.”
Ysa let go of her knees and slid off the bed, padding barefoot across the floor. When she reached him, she grasped his arms, staring anxiously into his eyes. ”Please, Pan. You must tell me!”
He let the words come slowly, reluctantly. ”It is only that... well... he is an immortal now, you say?”
Ysa nodded, searching his features.
”No, it's ridiculous.” He reached out and tugged one of her curls wistfully, then let go and shook his head. ”I know you will remain beautiful to him, as ever, even when your hair is white as the clouds.”
She gasped, her hand flying up to cover the round 'oh' of her mouth, eyes horrified. ”Oh, G.o.ddess, you're right. He will remain... and I will...” She turned away, glaring at the horizon, hugging herself tightly. The first pink tinges of dawn glinted in the tears on her cheeks. ”I can't stand the thought of him seeing me like that. Especially as he is now. So strong, so... virile.” She covered her face, burying sobs in her hands.
Pan smoldered with jealousy, yet stepped behind her, cupping her shoulders gently. ”There is a way,” he whispered in her ear.
”A way for what?” she croaked, her voice choked with tears.
”Diamante has given me a wonderful gift, Ysa. A gift I may use to help you.”
She s.h.i.+vered. ”That awful woman. No gift of hers could ever be wonderful.”
Pan grasped her shoulders, turning her toward him, fighting to appear earnest but not over-eager. ”But it is.” He stared into her eyes, letting his thoughts mingle with hers, opening her mind to his. ”She has made me immortal, and I can do the same for you.”
Ysa stared for a long moment, then pushed him away. ”That is cruel, Pan. How can a monster such as she is offer the gift of life?”
His gaze came to rest on the sharp blade next to the washbowl. ”Watch.” He strode over and picked up the blade. Returning to her side, he opened his hand and drew the knife's edge across his palm.
”Pan!” Ysa grasped his hand, turning it toward the rising sun.
A pale, b.l.o.o.d.y fluid welled momentarily in the crease, then seemed to reabsorb into the skin. For a moment, the parted flesh gaped, the fat in the thick pad near his thumb glistening wetly. Then the gap narrowed, the flesh re-knitting before their eyes, until only a pale, pinkish line remained, and Pan knew even that would be gone before noon.
Ysa ran trembling hands over the scar, again and again.
”I can do this for you, Ysa,” Pan whispered, unable to keep the excitement from his voice. ”You will be immortal. Forever beautiful, forever vital. Like my cousin.” Of course, he did not add that the source of the two magics, his and his cousin's, were complete opposites. That in accepting his offer, she might actually be destroying her chance to live a life with Vitale.
She stared at his hand a moment longer. When at last she spoke, her voice was thick with conflicting emotions. ”I don't know, Pan. Is she a witch, or a demon? What is the price for this 'gift'?”
Pan laughed, irritated when it came out a bit shrill. ”She is not evil,” he lied. ”Though she can be wicked at times. Can you blame her? A woman of such power? The temptation to... tease... would become overwhelming.” He smiled, tugging a childhood memory to the forefront of Ysa's thoughts.
The memory played out in her mind. Two sisters had been relentless in their loathing of her when she first arrived in Orphieto, calling her horrid names, deriding her ancestry. She'd become very angry one afternoon and cast her hands out, murmuring gypsy words she'd learned from her grandmother, telling them they would not escape the 'evil eye.' It had all been nonsense, of course, but when they developed boils two days later, that festered and left them scarred for life, derision turned to fear. From that moment on, Ysa had experienced a sort of power among the children of the village. Oh, they still whispered behind her back, but to her face they were polite and solicitous. It had been hard, at times nearly impossible, to resist the urge to use their fear against them, to torment them.
Still, she frowned. ”I don't know, Pan. I have to think.”
He nodded, turning away to hide his smile. This was no less than he had expected. She would dwell on the prospect of aging for the remainder of the day, letting the fear of wrinkles and ill health and death grow within her, until she did his work for him, convincing herself to accept his offer.
Pan stretched and yawned, collapsing onto the bed.
”Will you come down and break fast with me?”
He shook his head. ”I've had no sleep. You go on without me.” He pulled one of the feather-stuffed pillows over his eyes.
He listened, lulled by the quiet noises of Ysa's ablutions. The last thing he heard was the dull thud of the door as she left the room and darkness enfolded him in loving arms.
After the morning meal, Ysa wandered the streets of Messina. Away from Pan, her head began to clear, and she found herself wondering exactly what he was planning.
He'd been pursuing her since the day they all met that summer nearly thirteen years before. Like all the girls, Ysa had been attracted by his wild ways, the hint of wickedness that seemed to permeate the air around him. He was das.h.i.+ng, exciting... dangerous. While he was gone, Orphieto was gray. Boring. Only when he came on his visits -- which had become more and more frequent the last few years -- did life become colorful. Interesting.
Vitale was everything Pan was not. Quiet, dependable. Safe. Respected. For so long, Ysa's only desire in life had been to make him love her. To marry him and finally be accepted by the community that looked down on her because of her gypsy roots. She had convinced herself that he was her one true love, that her attraction to Pan was simply physical, born of the frustration Vitale's strict adherence to propriety forced her to endure until they had finally wed.
But, now... now as Ysa wandered the streets, exhortations from merchants was.h.i.+ng over her in waves as she pa.s.sed their wharfside stands, it wasn't Vitale who occupied her mind.
Sighing, she purchased a honeyed water and seated herself on a wooden bench facing the sea.
The blood of her father's people ran strong in her veins, and Ysa had learned to listen to her senses. Pan was trying to manipulate her. She had felt his mind entering hers, as Vitale's had the night before. But where Vitale's presence had remained pa.s.sive inside her, watching only, Pan had reached within, pulling out memories, influencing her for his own purposes.
A vision of his flesh, knitting before her very eyes, flitted through her mind. It reminded her of her own mark. Glancing down, she tried to locate the wound Vitale had feasted from the night before and couldn't. A strangled gasp escaped as she opened her eyes wide in sudden understanding.
She was already immortal. Just as Pan's wound had healed, so had hers. Whatever Pan was offering, Vitale had already given.
This knowledge should have relieved her, and yet... Ysa s.h.i.+fted restlessly on the rough bench, sipping from the wooden tumbler. Light, refres.h.i.+ng sweetness cascaded down her throat. She rolled the taste on her tongue as she contemplated the waves. Last night, Vitale had been exciting, exhilarating... but was it only the novelty of his form, and the feeling of triumph? Now that she had everything she wanted, unease had settled in her belly, and she didn't know why.
Staring at a s.h.i.+p on the horizon, the scent of dead fish heavy in the air, she flashed on the journey across from Italy. Remembered Pan holding her head as she heaved her meager meals into the sea. Felt his strong hands caressing her forehead as she moaned in misery belowdecks.
Once she and Vitale left, once they made a life together, Pan would be lost to her.
She tried to picture a time when he hadn't been there for her, and couldn't. Tried to imagine a life without him in it, and failed. An unfamiliar ache invaded her chest, tightened her throat. In the back of her mind, since that night in the forest, she had wondered where Vitale was and when he would come. She had never doubted that he would. Now, this seemed simply a result of repet.i.tion -- the habit of a lifetime spent trying to reach a particular goal. She realized abruptly that she hadn't missed him.
She would miss Pan. Already missed him, in fact. Sitting here on this bench, staring out to sea without his solid presence beside her, she felt... incomplete.
The realization tugged an exclamation from her throat, and a pa.s.serby eyed her warily. Ysa drained the tumbler, hiding her face from prying eyes, struggling to a.s.similate a startling discovery.
She loved Pan.
She lowered the empty cup with trembling hands. She knew in her heart that Pan was not good for her. There was a darkness in him, one that had grown since they left Sant'Eufemia. She knew herself well enough to know that its twin resided within her, but she'd been fighting it all her life. Pan never had. He embraced all that he was.
Her senses stirred, the unwelcome prescience that often plagued her uncoiling like a snake.
Ysa did something she had never done before. She pushed the vision away. Compressed and folded the surge into a small, dark packet before it blossomed inside her, and tucked it away into a lonely corner of her mind, still clamoring to be known.