Read Online The Wilful Eye by Isobelle Carmody - Free Book Online Page A

she liked it. But when at last she slept she dreamed of a vast silvery expanse of water running away to the horizon, heaving up and down and rising to frothy crests that folded in on themselves, and then she dreamed of high jagged mountains clothed in frozen white velvet under the starry sky, a black panther moving quiet as a shadow over the snow.
    Day came and Moth did not want to get up, but she must and so she rose and slipped out in the misty dawn in her old clothes, knowing Dougal would be up with his bees. She had made a promise to the old man and wanted to keep it, but also, she wanted to solace herself with his gentle kindness. He gave her his black-gapped grin and a slice of rough black bread hot from the oven smeared with honey.
    â€˜I do not know what other people will make of the scent of those candles,’ she said between bites, ‘but you ought to tell the traveller that I would buy them for the dreams they roused.’ She told the old man of the shining waves and the white foam peaks and the dark fierce mountains clawing at the sky, and of the panther. He listened wistfully and wished he might smell the dreams as well.
    The mist began to melt away and the air went gauzy pink and filled with the scents of flowers and the morning. Moth did not want to go in, but knew she must be readied for her audience. She did not think it would save her, but at least it would comfort her mother. She was a wilfully foolish but warm-hearted woman with no real harm in her. Moth hugged the old beekeeper and he looked surprised and then gratified as he patted her on the back with his gnarled hands. But then he looked troubled.
    â€˜Are ee aright girl? Not being bithered by that sour drake? That Camber, eh?’
    Moth was startled to hear him speak of the wheat farmer in such a way, for she had not thought anyone else saw what he was, but she did not want to burden Dougal with her troubles. He was an old man and no match for someone like Camber, who would be swift to cause harm if he thought Dougal was his enemy. So she assured him brightly that all was well, adding that Camber and her father had arranged for her to visit the king. She had meant to impress and reassure him, but Dougal furrowed his whiskery brows and shook his head. Frightened, Moth kissed his cheek and hurried away.
    The day had dawned fair and stayed that way, but when it was time to go, Moth’s father had the driver get out the closed carriage so that her finery should not be disturbed: her mother had spent hours dressing and combing and arranging her, and she had charged him with ensuring Moth reached the palace unruffled. He seemed quite to have forgotten why they were going to the palace and talked only of the festival of the birds that was to be proposed to the king, remarking that the queen of Oranda held such a festival and since the same birds that came to Oranda also stopped in the Middle Kingdom on their way south, why should they not have their own festival?
    Moth hardly listened; a dreariness and dread had fallen over her.
    â€˜You smell sad,’ said an old one-eyed dog reproachfully, when her father handed her down to the sunlit cobbles in the entrance yard of the palace. Dogs were very sensitive to the smell of emotions.
    â€˜Here we are,’ her father said, smiling. ‘You look like a princess.’
    They passed into the shadows under a stone arch and came to a small courtyard where, at the top of a flight of stairs on either side of an enormous set of doors, two sentries stood in red and silver livery. They presented arms without looking at Moth and her father and bade them go in, but made no move to open the great doors. Moth and her father obeyed, and the doors opened easily and smoothly on an entrance hall with a marble floor so coldly beautiful that Moth could feel the chill through the thin soles of her embroidered slippers. There were ornate mirrors with bevelled edges and a faintly golden sheen hung at intervals