I think I shall ask you to forgive young Hull Tarvish.”
“You know his name! Is he really your friend?”
Old Einar nodded. “I ask you to forgive him.”
“Why should I?” asked the Princess. “Why do you think a word from you can save him?”
“I am still Olin,” said the aged one, meeting her green eyes steadily with his watery blue ones. “I still carry Joaquin’s seal.”
“As if that could stop me!” But the cold fire died slowly in her gaze, and again her eyes were sad. “But you are still Olin, the Father of Power,” she murmured. With a sudden gesture she thrust her weapon back into her belt. “I spare him again,” she said, and then, in tones gone strangely dull, “I suppose I wouldn’t have killed him anyway. It is a weakness of mine that I cannot kill those who love me in a certain way—a weakness that will cost me dear some day.”
Olin twisted his lips in that skull-like smile, turning to the silent youth. “Hull,” he said kindly, “you must have been born under fortunate stars. But if you’re curious enough to tempt your luck further, listen to this old man’s advice.” His smile became a grin. “Beyond the western mountains there are some very powerful, very rare hunting cats called lions, which Martin Sair says are not native to this continent, but were brought here by the Ancients to be caged and gazed at, and occasionally trained. As to that I know nothing, but I do say this, Hull—go twist the tail of a lion before you again try the wrath of Black Margot. And now get out of here.”
“Not yet, Hull,” snapped the Princess. “I have still my score to settle with you.” She turned back to Olin. “Where do you wander now, Einar?”
“To N’Orleans. I have some knowledge to give Jorgensen, and I am homesick besides for the Great City.”
He paused. “I have seen Joaquin. Selui has fallen.”
“I know. I ride to meet him tonight.”
“He has sent representations to Ch’cago.”
“Good!” she flashed. “Then there will be fighting.” Then her eyes turned dreamy. “I have never seen the saltless seas,” she added wistfully, “but I wonder if they can be as beautiful as the blue Gulf beyond N’Orleans.”
But Old Einar shook his thin white hair. “What will be the end of this, Margaret?” he asked gently. “After Ch’cago is taken—for you will take it—what then?”
“Then the land north of the saltless seas, and east of them. N’York, and all the cities on the ocean shore.”
“And then?”
“Then South America, I suppose.”
“And then, Margaret?”
“Then? There is still Europe veiled in mystery, and Asia, Africa—all the lands known to the Ancients.”
“And after all of them?”
“Afterwards,” she replied wearily, “we can rest. The fierce destiny that drives Joaquin surely cannot drive him beyond the boundaries of the world.”
“And so,” said Olin, “you fight your way around the world so you can rest at the end of the journey. Then why not rest now, Margaret? Must you pillow your head on the globe of the planet?”
Fury flamed green in her eyes. She raised her hand and struck the old man across his lips, but it must have been lightly, for he still smiled.
“Fool!” she cried. “Then I will see to it that there is always war! Between me and Joaquin, if need be—or between me and anyone—anyone—so that I fight!” She paused panting. “Leave me, Einar,” she said tensely. “I do not like the things you bring to mind.”
Still smiling, the old man backed away. At the door he paused. “I will see you before I die, Margaret,” he promised, and was gone.
She followed him to the doorway. “Sora!” she called. “Sora! I ride!”
Hull heard the heavy tread of the fat Sora, and in a moment she entered bearing the diminutive cothurns and a pair of glistening silver gauntlets on her hands, and then she too was gone.
Slowly, almost wearily, the Princess turned to face Hull, who had as yet permitted no gleam of hope to enter his soul, for he had experienced too much of her mockery to trust the promise of safety Old Einar had won for him. He felt only the fascination that she always bound about him, the spell of her unbelievable black hair and her glorious sea-green eyes, and all her unearthly beauty.
“Hull,” she said gently, “what do you think of me now?”
“I think you are a black flame blowing cold across the world. I think a demon drives you.”
“And do you hate me so bitterly?”
“I pray every second to hate you.”
“Then see, Hull.” With her little gauntleted fingers she took his great hands and placed them about the perfect curve of her throat. “Here I give you my life for the taking. You have only to twist once with these mighty hands of yours and Black Margot will be out of the world forever.” She paused. “Must I beg you?”
Hull felt as if molten metal flowed upward through his arms from the touch of her white skin. His fingers were rigid as metal bars, and all the great strength of them could not put one feather’s weight of pressure on the soft throat they circled. And deep in the lambent emerald flames that burned in her eyes he saw again the fire of mockery—jeering, taunting.
“You will not?” she said, lifting away his hands, but holding them in hers. “Then you do not hate me?”
“You know I don’t,” he groaned.
“And you do love me?”
“Please,” he muttered. “Is it necessary again to torture me? I need no proof of your mastery.”
“Then say you love me.”
“Heaven forgive me for it;” he whispered, “but I do!”
She dropped his hands and smiled. “Then listen to me, Hull. You love little Vail with a truer love, and month by month memory fades before reality. After a while there will be nothing left in you of Black Margot, but there will be always Vail. I go now hoping never to see you again, but”—and her eyes chilled to green ice—“before I go I settle my score with you.”
She raised her gauntleted hand. “This for your treachery!” she said, and struck him savagely across his right check. Blood spouted, there would be scars, but he stood stolid. “This for your violence!” she said, and the silver gauntlet tore his left check. Then her eyes softened. “And this,” she murmured, “for your love!”
Her arms circled him, her body was warm against him, and her exquisite lips burned against his. He felt as if he embraced a flame for a moment, and then she was gone, and a part of his soul went with her. When he heard the hooves of the stallion Eblis pounding beyond the window, he turned and walked slowly out of the house to where Vail still crouched beside her father’s body. She clung to him, wiped
