jueves, 5 de noviembre de 2020

COUNTDOWN TO LÜTZEN 5: WITHOUT YOU

 WITHOUT YOU

(Ohne dich)

sung by Queen Mary Eleanor on the 5th of November like today


I walk through woodland evergreen,

the last place where we each other have seen...

Though the evening mist veils all the land,

o'er the woods, the roads, the heath, the strand...

And the forest is dark to the core...

Oh, I'm so sore... 

and no songbirds sing evermore...


Without you I can't exist...

without you...

With you I cannot resist,

without you...

Without you the hours I reckon,

without you...

With you I count every second

to when I'll be without you...


On the boughs above each trench of strife,

everything is still and bereft of life...

And my breathing rattles to the core...

Oh, I'm so sore... 

and no songbirds sing evermore...


Without you I can't exist...

without you...

With you I cannot resist,

without you...

Without you the hours I reckon,

without you...

With you I count every second

to when I'll be without you...


(Zwischenspiel in sobs)


And my breathing rattles to the core...

Oh, I'm so sore... 

and no songbirds sing evermore...


Without you I can't exist...

without you...

With you I cannot resist,

without you...

Without you the hours I reckon,

without you...

With you I count every second

to when I'll be without you...

miércoles, 4 de noviembre de 2020

COUNTDOWN TO LÜTZEN 4: THE STRINGS OF POWER

THE STRINGS OF POWER

(Die Fäden in der Hand)

sung by Albrecht von Wallenstein


Here in Friedland life is lively, bright, and grand;

see the wealth of the realm,

how it blesses all this land...

Our golden future puts all Friedland up in light;

preserving the status quo

is our duty and our right... 

So please think of this as the occasion

for a little more subordination...


Look at these gentlemen,

how devoted they're to me!

Yes they're always at my service,

I decide, they think they're free...

Even though lots of rage

and resentment overflow,

I hold the strings of power in my hand!!


Great unrest still haunts our hinterlands for sure,

they are restless, defiant...

ah, but oh so immature!

With quick action of these threats we'll soon be free,

all remains as it is

and so will it ever be...

We can't see the future that lies ahead,

therefore we must follow His Lordship's plans instead!


Should they boldly protest

and demand that they be free,

I just snap my fingers once, and

all their hearts belong to me!

Should they wildly protest,

all that fussing makes me cold!

I hold the strings of power in my hand!!


If I lift a fingertip, a favour is bestowed;

just a flick of the wrist, and another favour's owed...

Lean but slightly left to make the Liberals elated;

then flip right, et voilà! Tories feel intoxicated...

Make or break a promise, I don't care!

The one hanging on the line is left with nothing!


Let them shout, let them roar,

let them pounce to right and left,

when I wish them to be silent,

they're as if of life bereft!

Is our course clear at last?

Violence makes everyone bend,

I hold the strings of power in my hand...


'Tis an ancient noble art

to preserve one's influence

with a mind for consequence;

ne'er outdated...

One is never planless having power in their thrall,

nor thoughtlessly let them all

just be strangulated...


Who holds power every hour 

in hands thoughtful and discrete 

can pull anybody's strings just

as they please, control complete...

Rationality's key

in this art old as the land,

I hold the strings of power in my hand!


(Chorus of courtiers)

Come and sing, come and dance

as this courtly life demands!

If he says we should be laughing,

we are cheerful and we're grand!

Merrily we await,

we will do whate'er he tells...

He holds the strings of power in his hand!!


He is bright, he is strong,

he's always been a righteous man...

With charisma binds the people,

we're under his spell, he can...

What he says is the law,

he's seducer of the world,

he holds the strings of power in his hand!!

He holds the reins of power in his hand!!

He holds dominion in his hand!!



martes, 3 de noviembre de 2020

COUNTDOWN TO LÜTZEN 3: THE FORETELLING

Pichi Pichi Pitch songs- these serve as an exposition...

Sung by the common people and the intelligentsia in the 1630s


 (Kodou)

When darkness and violence threaten the land, 

there is whispered a foretelling, 

that someone will come forth 

from the snows of the North 

to free all the oppressed...


We believed in hope and hope is at hand,

at the door of every dwelling...

On this sunlit morn the sun of a new dawn

from the midnight lands is blessed...


Hope in our hearts is rising...

he's come forth, he's come forth, he's come forth...

Come hither, light and freedom

from the North, from the North, from the North...

Come save us all...

Come free us all!


King Gustavus Adolphus, at the head of an army

from the North...

A leader so true and bold,

young against the League's commander so old...

Now a game-changing player into the war

is coming forth...

what legends will soon be told

about this young royal who breaks the mold?

The start of a new era,

a hero coming over from the cold!!



(Kizuna)

They burned Magdeburg to the ground,

then they threatened Halle and Leipzig with the same fate...

What else?

When the Catholic League was down,

at Breitenfeld rose a challenger to meet them...

The King!

With Sweden's higher technology,

the field they mastered, their victory

means that oppression is at an end,

that we'll be free!

With lighter cannons and cavalry,

with brand new improvised strategy,

he's won and he'll go down in history!!


From the North comes a beaming

beacon of light;

our hopes now arise to claim

what's ours by right...

Nevermore we'll be oppressed,

feelings rise within our chests,

the Kaiser's and the League's men take to flight...


From the streets of Leipzig to the Northern Sea, 

this autumn of 31 is for revelry! 

Hear the drinking song they sing, 

come and dance with us in ring,

raise a tankard to Sweden and the Hero King!

lunes, 2 de noviembre de 2020

COUNTDOWN TO LÜTZEN 2: THE WAR STILL GOES ON

 The War Still Goes On (Show Must Go On)

Sung by the common people and the intelligentsia in the 1620s


Dark tradition... 

to conform is law; 

the Inquisition... 

wounds they inflict still raw... 

On and on, 

does anybody want to take it anymore? 

Catholicism 

is mandatory now;

forced conformism... 

who'll tell our story now? 

Hold the line...

does anybody want to take it anymore? 


The war still goes on... 

Our homes and minds are breaking, 

the world we know still quaking 

from the war... 

that still goes on...


Whatever happens,

we'll leave it all to chance,

though we don't know the steps,

we'll learn to join the dance...

On and on, 

does anybody want to take it anymore? 

In secret yearning

for our liberty,

a hope that's turning

so close to feeling free...

Outside the dawn is breaking,

but inside in the dark we're aching to be free!!


The war still goes on... 

Our homes and minds are breaking, 

the world we know still quaking 

from the war... 

that still goes on...


Our hopes are painted like most fragile butterflies...

Every day could be our last, to suffer and to die...

or to cry for absent friends...


The war still goes on... 

Could we face it with a grin?

Are we ever giving in...?

On with the war!


Our hearts to thrill,

our friends to kill,

thus shattering the will to carry on...


ON WITH THE... ON WITH THE... WAR!!

The war still goes on...


domingo, 1 de noviembre de 2020

COUNTDOWN TO LÜTZEN 1: WHY NOT A MUSICAL?

 So I had a number of filks about Gustavus Adolphus and the 30YW and I thought, why not make this countdown of 2020 an opera/musical with brand new opera?

The songs will be:

2nd of Nov) The War Still Goes On-Show Must Go On -- Dark tradition... to conform is law; the Inquisition... wounds they inflict still raw... On and on, does anybody want to take it anymore? Catholicism is mandatory now; forced conformism... who'll tell our story now? On and on, does anybody want to take it anymore? The war still goes on... Our homes and minds are breaking, the world we know still quaking from the war... that goes on...

3rd) KODOU-KIZUNA 30YW When darkness and violence threaten the land, there is whispered a foretelling, that someone will come forth from the snows of the North to free all the oppressed // From the streets of Leipzig to the Northern Sea, this autumn of 31 is for revelry! Hear the drinking song they sing, come and dance with us in ring, raise a tankard to Sweden and the Hero King //

4th) The Strings of Power (also from the upcoming Lannister musical)-Die Fäden in der Hand Who holds power every hour in hands thoughtful and discrete can pull anybody's strings just as they please, control complete...

5th) Without You-Ohne dich Oh, I'm so sore... and no songbird sings evermore...

6th IN MEMORIAM) Shiseru Eiyuutachi no Tatakai (Dermark, on this blog)+Hero King-Mithrandir Through kingdoms of starlight and realms of the sun...


jueves, 29 de octubre de 2020

THE ARCANA SQ inspiration i) the encounters with the sun and moon



 "So close," she cried, pounding the earth in fury and sorrow. "So close--another step, another drop of blood--oh, but perhaps he is dead, my ---, after losing so much blood to show me the way. So many years, so much blood, so much silence, so much, too much, too much . . ." 

She fell silent finally, dazed and exhausted with grief. The wind whispered to her, comforting; the trees sighed for her, weeping leaves that caressed her face.

Maybe --- is not dead, they said. We saw none ... fall dying from the sky. Enchantments do not die, they are transformed . . . Light sees everything. Ask the sun. Who knows him better than the sun who changed him ---? "Do you know?" she whispered to the sun, and for an instant saw its face among the clouds. 

No, it said in words of fire, and with fire, shaped something out of itself. It's you I have watched, for seven years, as constant and faithful to your love as I am to the world. Take this. Open it when your need is greatest. She felt warm light in her hand. The light hardened into a tiny box with jeweled hinges and the sun's face on its lid. She turned her face away disconsolately; a box was not a ---. But she held it, and it kept her warm through dusk and nightfall as she lay unmoving on the cold ground. 

She asked the full moon when it rose above the mountain, "Have you seen my ---? For seven years you showed me each drop of blood, even on the darkest night." 

It was you I watched, the moon said. More constant than the moon on the darkest night, for I hid then and you never faltered in your journey. I have not seen your --. 

"Do you know," she whispered to the wind, and heard it question its four messengers, who blew everywhere in the world. No, they said, and No, and No, And then the sweet south wind blew against her cheek, smelling of roses and warm seas and endless summers. "Yes."

She lifted her face from the ground. Twigs and dirt clung to her. Her long hair was full of leaves and spiders and the grandchildren of spiders. Full of webs, it looked as filmy as a bridal veil. Her face was moon pale; moonlight could have traced the bones through it. Her eyes were fiery with tears. "My ---." "He has become --- again. The seven years are over. But ---, battle sparked. He is still fighting."

She sat up. "Where?" 

"In a distant land, beside a southern sea. I brought you a nut from one of the trees there. It is no ordinary nut. Now listen. This is what you must do . . ." 

So she followed the South Wind to the land beside the southern sea, where the sky flashed red with dragon fire, and its fierce roars blew down trees and tore the sails from every passing ship.

****

Sun slid a last gleam down the gold edge of the gate. She remembered its gift then and drew the little gold box out of her pocket. She opened it. A light sprang out of it, swirled around her like a storm of gold dust, glittering, shimmering. It settled on her, turned the feathers into the finest silk and silk cloth of gold. It turned the cobwebs in her hair into a long sparkling net of diamonds and pearls. It turned the dust on her feet into soft golden leather and pearls. Light played over her face, hiding shadows of grief and despair.

(PORTIA BREAKS THE MOONSTONE - CHANGE GOLD INTO SILVER SILK INTO FUR THE NET INTO AN USHANKA, PEARLS INTO DIAMONDS) 

****

--- approached the bed. She saw ---'s face in the light of a single candle beside the bed. It was bruised and scratched; there was a long weal down one bare shoulder. He looked older, weathered, his pale skin burned by the sun, which had scarcely touched it in years. The candlelight picked out a thread of silver here and there among the russet of his hair. She reached out impulsively, touched the silver. 

"My poor ---," she said softly. "At least, for seven years, you were faithful to me. You shed blood at every seventh step I took. And I took seven steps for every drop you shed. How strange to find you naked in this bed, waiting for a queen instead of yours truly. At least I had you for a little while, and at long last you are unbewitched."

She bent over him, kissed his lips gently. He opened his eyes. 

She turned away quickly before the loving expression in them changed to disappointment. But he moved more swiftly, reaching out to catch her hand before she left. "Pasha?" He gave a deep sigh as she turned again, and eased back into the pillows. "I heard your sweet voice in my dream.... I didn't want to wake and end the dream. But you kissed me awake. You are real, aren't you?" he asked anxiously as she lingered in the shadows, and he pulled her out of darkness into light. He looked at her for a long time, silently, until her eyes filled with tears.

 "I've changed," she said. 

"Yes," he said. "You have been enchanted, too." 

"And so have you, once again." 

He shook his head. "You have set me free." 

"And I will set you free again," she said softly, "to marry whom you choose." 

He moved again, too abruptly, and winced. His hold tightened on her hand. "Have I lost all enchantment?" he asked sadly. "Did you love the spellbound man more than you can love the ordinary mortal? Is that why you left me?" 

She stared at him. "I never left you--" 

"You disappeared," he said wearily. "After seven long years of gallivanting around, you were gone. I thought you could not bear to stay with me through yet another enchantment. I didn't blame you. But it grieved me badly--I was glad when she attacked me, because I thought it might kill me. Then I woke up in my own body, in a strange bed, with a queen beside me explaining that we were destined to be married." 

"Did you tell her you were married?" 

He sighed. "I thought it was just another way of being enchanted. A shard through an eye, a shard through the heart, marriage to a beautiful queen I don't love--what difference did anything make? You were gone. I didn't care any longer what happened to me." 

She swallowed, but could not speak. 

"Are you about to leave me again?" he asked painfully. "Is that why you'll come no closer?" 

"No," she whispered. "I thought--I didn't think you still remembered me." 

He closed his eyes. "For seven years I left you my heart's blood to follow...." 

"And for seven years I followed. And then on the last day of the seventh year you disappeared. I couldn't find you anywhere. I asked the Sun, the Moon, the Star. I followed their advice to find you. It told me how to break the spell over you. So I did-" 

His eyes opened again. "You. You are the enchantress my queen talks about. You rescued both of us. And then-" 

"She took you away from me before I could tell her-I tried-" His face was growing peaceful in the candlelight. "She doesn't listen very well. But why did you think I had forgotten you?" 

"I thought--she was so beautiful, I thought--and I have grown so worn, so strange-" For the first time in seven years, she saw him smile. "You have walked the world, and spoken to the sun and moon . . . I have only been enchanted. You have become the enchantress." 

He pulled her closer, kissed her hand, and then her wrist. He added, as she began to smile, "What a poor opinion you must have of my human shape to think that after all these years I would prefer a queen to my own sister." He pulled her closer, kissed the crook of her elbow, and then her breast. And then she caught his lips and kissed him, one hand in his hair, the other in his hand. 

And thus the Snow Queen found them, as she opened the door, speaking softly, "My dear, I forgot, if he wakes you must give him this potion--I mean, this tea of mild herbs to ease his pain a little-" She kicked the door shut and saw their surprised faces. "Well," she said frostily. "Really." 

"This is my sister," Julian said. 

"Well, really." She flung the sleeping potion out the window, and folded her arms. "You might have told me." 

"I never thought I would see her again." 

"How extraordinarily careless of you both." She tapped her foot furiously for a moment, and then said, slowly, her face clearing a little, "That's why you were there to rescue us! Now I understand. And I snatched him away from you without even thinking--and after you had searched for him so long, I made you search--oh, my dear." She clasped her hands tightly. "What I said. About not spending a full night here. You must not think-"

"I understand." 

"No, but really--tell her, Ilya." "It doesn't matter," --- said gently. "You were kind to me. That's what Pasha will remember." 

But she remembered everything, as they flew in the Snow Queen's carriage across the icy sea: the seven years when she followed her love beyond any human life, the battle between her and the demons, and then the hopeless loss of him again. She turned the empty vial of stardust in her palm, and questions rose in her head: Can I truly stand more mysteries, the possibilities of more hardships, more enchanting princesses between us? Would it be better just to...? Then we would all fall down, in this moment when our love is finally intact. He seems to live from spell to spell. Is it better to die now, before something worse can happen to him? How much can love stand? 

... caught her eyes and smiled at her.


for fetching the moonstone:

Even while he spoke they came to the edge of the Bitter Lake—a small pool, but its waters were blacker than night, and heavier than lead to the eye. Then Noodle leapt down from the Plough, and caressed it for the last time, saying: 'Set thy face for the garden where the Princess Melilot is; and when I am come back to thee speechless out of the Lake and am striding thee once more, then wait not for a word but carry me to her with more speed than thou hast ever mustered to my aid till now; go faster than wind or lightning or than the eye can see! So, [pg 61]by good fortune, I may live till I reach her lips; but if thou tarry at all I am a dead man. And when thou art come to Melilot set thy share beneath the roots of her feet, and take her up to me out of the ground. Do this tenderly, but abate not speed till it be done!'

Then the youth put into his mouth the honey of the Burning Rose, and into his lips the Sweetener, and stripped himself as a bather to the pool. And the Plough, remembering its master's word, turned and set its face to where lay the garden with Melilot waiting to be relieved of her enchantment. Whereat Noodle, bowing his head, and blessing it with lips of farewell, turned shortly and slid down into the blackness of the lake.

The weight of that water was like a vice upon his limbs, and around his throat, as he swam out into the centre of the pool. As he went he breathed upon the water, [pg 62]and the scent of the honey of the Burning Rose passing through the Sweetener made an incomparable fragrance, gentle, and subtle, and wooing to the senses.

When he came to the middle of the lake he stayed breathing full breaths, till the air deepened with fragrance around him. Presently underneath him he felt the movement of a great thing coming up from the bottom of the pool. It touched his feet and came grazing along his side; and all at once shuddering and horror took hold upon him, for his whole nature was filled with loathing of its touch.

Then... feeling in his mouth the precious globule of air, fastened his lips upon it and shot out for shore.

Against the weight of those leaden waters a longing to gasp possessed him; but he knew that with the least breath the bubble would be lost, and all his labour undone. Not too soon his feet caught hold of the bank, and drew him free to land. He cast himself speechless across the back of the Galloping Plough and clung.

[pg 64]

The Plough gathered itself together and sprang away through space. Remembering its master's word it showed itself a miracle of speed; like lightning became its flight.

The eye of Noodle grew blind to the passing of things; he could take no count of the collapsing leagues. More and more grew the amazingness of the Plough's leaps, things only to be measured by miles, and counted as joltings on the way; while fast to the back of it clung Noodle, and endured, praying that shortness of breath might not overmaster him, or the check of his lungs give way and burst him to the emptiness of a drum. His senses rocked and swayed; he felt the gates of his resolve slackening and forcing themselves apart; and still the Galloping Plough plunged him blindly along through space.

THE ARCANA SQ inspiration ii) entering the taj

At the end of the seventh year she lost him. 

The jewelled path of blood, the pitch-black feathers stopped. It left her stranded, bewildered, on a mountainside in some lonely part of the world. In disbelief, she searched frantically: stones, tree boughs, earth. Nothing told her which direction to go. One direction was as likely as another, and all, to her despairing heart, went nowhere. She threw herself on the ground finally and wept for the first time since he had disappeared.

"So close," she cried, pounding the earth in fury and sorrow. "So close--another step, another drop of blood--oh, but perhaps he is dead, my Ilya, after losing so much blood to show me the way. So many years, so much blood, so much silence, so much, too much, too much . . ." She fell silent finally, dazed and exhausted with grief. The wind whispered to her, comforting; the trees sighed for her, weeping leaves that caressed her face. A large black bird, a raven, came swooping down to peck the seeds at her feet and spoke.

"Caw! Caw! 'Morning, 'morning, girrrl! What is a girrrl like you doing on herr own in a place like this?"

The sheen of the plumage, bluish black, was something she knew from the feathers she had followed. It gave her hope. And Portia understood the words "on her own" too well from years of bitter experience.

...

... "The youngest and seventh of the Rani's daughters, named Nadia, wears gold-rimmed spectacles, and is never without a book or a crossword puzzle at hand. She discourses learnedly on the origins of the phoenix and the conjunctions of various astrological signs. She has an answer for everything, and is considered by all her suitors to be wondrously wise. They say she owns as many books as her pet owl has feathers, and speaks not only Prakran, but also Vesuvian, Nevivonian, and other languages neither you nor I can recognise, as easily as you please. Countess Nadia plays several instruments by heart, any song you know and play it backwards too; she knows all the national epics in the world by heart in their original language, inside and out; and she is furthermore an ace at making clockwork automata..."


"She helped herself with her crossword puzzles, and heard odd questions arise from deep in her mind when she sang. 'What is life?' she would wonder. 'What is love? What is man?' This last gave her a good deal to ponder, as she watched her parents shower all their daughters with imported chocolates and taffeta gowns and gold bracelets. The young gentlemen, mostly princes and lordlings, who came calling seemed especially puzzling. They sat in their velvet shirts and their leather boots, praising Nadia's mind, and all the while their eyes said other things. Now, their eyes said: Now. Then: Patience, patience. You are flowers, their mouths said, you are jewels, you are golden dreams. Their eyes said: I eat flowers, I burn with dreams, I have a tower without a door in my heart and I will keep you there...

She seemed fearless in the face of this power--whether from innocence or design, she was uncertain. Since she was wary of men, and seldom spoke to them, she felt herself safe. Until on one fateful day..."

"What occurred?"

"Nadia was in the library, dozing over the philosophical writings of Lord Thiggut Moselby.

Upstairs, she woke herself up midsnore, and stared dazedly at Lord Moselby's famous words and wondered, for just an instant, why they sounded so empty. That has nothing to do with life, she protested, and then went back to sleep.

Then the existential concerns returned. She is by no means the heir to the throne, her parents and sisters dote on her indeed, but she felt treated like a doll on display. And every time she was weary of that, the worries about her true self resurfaced, and she needed to distract herself. As soon as she awoke, she had a little love song playing on her lips...

Na bulaya… na bataya…

Na bulaya… na bataya…

Naahe neend se jagaya… hai re…

Aisa chaunke lihaaf mein naseeb aa gaya…

Woh elaichi khilaike kareeb aa gaya…

He neither did tell me, nor did he call..

He neither did tell me nor did he call...

He didn't even wake me up from sleep...

I was so surprised to see my lover in my sheets,

and he got closer by offering me cardamom...

Not only that, but she began to hum love songs more frequently, of every language and every nation she knows, whenever she was idle, in order to distract herself."

......

She lifted her face from the ground. Twigs and dirt clung to her. Her long hair was full of leaves and spiders and the grandchildren of spiders. Full of webs, it looked as filmy as a bridal veil. Her face was moon pale; moonlight could have traced the bones through it. Her eyes were fiery with tears.

"My brother... Ilya...?"

...

"His face, she found, was quite easy to look at. He had tawny hair and bloodshot eyes of icy blue, their sclerae red instead of white, quite fair soft skin, and rough, strong, graceful features that were young in expression and happier than their experience."

...

Then she thought of Nadia and her puzzles and earnest discourses on the similarities between the moon and a dragon's egg.

...

...

The raven, Malak, accompanied her, showed her hidden springs of cool water among the barren stones, and trees that shook down figs and nuts into her hands. Finally, climbing a rocky hill, she saw an enormous and beautiful palace, whose immense gates of bronze and gold lay open to welcome the richly dressed people riding horses and dromedaries and elegant palanquins into it. 

She hurried to join them before the sun set and the gates were closed. Her bare feet were scraped and raw; she limped a little. Her face was gaunt, streaked with dust and sorrow. She looked like a beggar, she knew but the people spoke to her kindly, and even tossed her a coin or two. "We have come for the wedding of our countess and the foreign suitor, whom it is her destiny to wed." 

"Who foretold such a destiny?" Portia asked once more, her voice trembling. 

"Someone," they assured her. "The rani's astrologer. A great sorceress disguised as a beggar, not unlike yourself. A bullfrog, who spoke with a human tongue at her birth. Her mother was frightened just before childbirth, and dreamed it. No one exactly remembers who, but someone did. Destiny or no, they will marry in three days, and never was there a more splendid couple than the countess and her fiancé." 

Portia crept into the shadow of the gate. "Now what shall I do?" she murmured, her eyes wide, dark with urgency. "With his eyes full of her, he will never notice a beggar."

(here she and Malak meet Chandra in a tree taj in a ficus in the garden)

As she walked down the streets, people stared at her, marveling. They made way for her. A man offered her his palanquin, a woman her sunshade. She shook her head at both, laughing again. "I will not be shut up in a box, nor will I shut out the sun." So she walked, and all the wedding guests slowed to accompany her to the inner courtyard. 

Word of her had passed into the palace long before she did. 

The princesses, each one dressed in fine flowing silks the color of her eyes, came out to meet the stranger who rivaled the sun.

....

The wedding was a sumptuous, decadent affair. The bride was dressed in cloth-of-gold, and she carried a huge languorous bouquet of calla lilies. So many lilies and white irises and white roses crowded the sides of the church that, in their windows and on their pedestals, the faces of the gods were hidden. Even the sun itself had trouble finding its way into the chapel. But the guests, holding fat candles of rose-scented beeswax, lit the church with stars instead. The bridegroom wore a uniform of white and scarlet; he wore buttons and studs and buckles, all made of diamonds. His left arm and epaulets and sash dazzled in candlelight. To Portia he looked tall and handsome, tweaking his golden whiskers straight, and dutifully assuming a serious expression as he listened to the priest, while his icy blue eyes said: at last, at last, I have waited so long, the trap is closing, the night is coming.... But his face were at once so vain and tender and foolish that Portia's heart unexpectedly warmed to the Count. He did not seem to realize that he had been a three-letter solution in Nadia's crossword puzzle. At the end of the ceremony, when the bridegroom had searched through cascades of heavy lace to kiss the bride's face, the guests blew out their candles.


****

staring out of the carriage window with Malak perched on the roof above her, flapping wings that now shone bright deep blue in the Prakran rising sun, that made the carriage shine and flash like a beacon in the rocky hills and dense jungles of the Rani's realm.