in line。
〃Can you give me some hint which way the king is leaning？〃 I asked。 He replied with a shrug； but acpanied the shrug with an upward tilt of one er of his mouth； making； for Beemus； a grin of encouragement。 〃When will he decide？ Can you guess？〃 Another shrug； the mouth line remained straight； meaning； he wasn't sure。 〃Can you at least tell me this： will it be very long？〃 Beemus thought a moment； then shook his head： no； it would not be long。
After he had gone； I faced the day with brighter hopes。 I sent a message to Janos； thinking we could discuss our prospects。 But when I saw Gatra's familiar scrawl on the reply； I knew without reading that； once again； Janos was not available and had returned to Raveline's side。 This was not enough to spoil my cheer； so I called for my boat and set out for a lazy day viewing Irayas。
The water has always brought me peace； and I spent several enjoyable hours alone with my boatman that day； cruising the river。 It was late afternoon when I came to a district I had never seen before： it was an older area； near the center of the city。 The canals were narrower and heavily shaded in the arch of thick…branched trees； the water reflected trunks twisted into forms and faces long past maturity。 The homes； although certainly not poor or mon； were smaller and steered sharply away from sameness。 I smelled fresh paint； the dust of newly cut stone； and woolen yarn； dampened to greet the loom。 As we moved through the maze that tied the district together； I saw bright color in the windows of the homes。 They were paintings； I realized； and lovely tapestries； as well； all were art in the making； for I also saw limners and weavers at work。 The boatman took me past one large； open yard that held a delightful litter of sculptures in all stages of development。 We turned into a pleasant bywater； and I eased back to enjoy the song of a bird piping from a tree not far away。 Then I realized； with a cold pang； it wasn't a bird making that music。 The single note was followed by a gentle stream on the air。 The delicate signature was unmistakable： it was Omerye's。 I hoarsed for the boatman to turn back； but he was so intent on the music himself； he did not hear and only drew harder on the oars。 Then it seemed the pipes had caught my presence； for I recognized the same notes of sudden interest I'd heard in Domas' chamber。 More music followed： gentle sniffing all about me； then a joyous cry of familiarity。 Low…dipping branches parted； revealing a small dock； and on that dock； feet dainty； bare； and trailing in the water； sat Omerye。 As the boat drew up she played a final note； it was one of glad greeting。 Then she lowered the pipes and looked at me。 Her red hair made a lustrous frame about her pale features； but in the light I saw it was not as close to mine as I thought： it was a deeper red； and softer。 She was dressed in a white tunic cut short to mid…thigh； and it clung close to her lush figure。 The smile she wore was shy； but it made me glow； and then that glow made me sad； for I knew I must leave。
〃I knew you would e。〃 Her voice was as light and musical as her pipes。 There was no artifice in it： she had known； and； somehow； so had I。 She pointed the pipes at a white cottage with a slanted roof of weathered blue： her home。 〃Please？〃
There was only one answer I could give； but when I forced it out； it turned on its head and I heard myself say； 〃Yes。 I would like that very much。〃 I clambered onto the dock； trembling when her hand touched my shoulder to help steady me。 We stood together； close； almost touching。 She was tall； and I found her eyes with no trouble： they were blue； then her chin tilted up； and they were green； the chin tilted higher still； and now they were gray。 Her lips were slightly bruised in color and swollen from her piping。 They would be easy to kiss； I thought。 She stepped away and took my hand and led me to the cottage。 Behind me； I heard the boatman chuckle and the scrape of wood as he pushed off； and I almost turned to urge him to wait； for I would not be more than a moment。 I heard the splash of oars as he pulled away； and I entered the cottage。 It was dim and hung with old； thin tapestries of artful design。 The main room was spread with pillows of muted color。 They made a circular pattern about a small stool。 Omerye sat on the stool and patted one of the nearest pillows。 I sank down； so full of questions and confusion； I only had strength for silence。
It was broken by her musical voice。 〃Do you understand what this is about？〃 I shook my head； no。 She raised the pipes。 〃You are the one I play for；〃 she said。 I still did not understand。 She raised the pipes higher； until they nearly touched her lips。 〃Since the first moment I played；〃 she said； 〃I saw a person in my mind。 And it is that person I make my music for。〃 She stopped； the pipes drooping lower； and shook her head。 〃No。 That isn't right。〃 She pressed the pipes tight against her breasts。 〃I make music for me。〃 The pipes came up again。 〃But I play the music for 。。。 you。 You are that person in my mind。〃 The pipes were closing on her lips again。 She said； 〃And you have been there； since 。。。 since 。。。 well； always。〃
She menced to play。 In my mind the music formed the image of a small； pale child； she was silent and serious and given to dreams。 When I write that I saw her； imagine my ears were my eyes； and the notes created form and color better than any light。 The child loved all sound； whether shrill bird cries or the knock of dry wood against a dock。 I saw her make sounds of her own； using mon things to produce unmon notes。 I saw her form those notes into a first whole song。 She always played to a mirror； and in the mirror I saw an image I couldn't quite make out。 The vision blurred； then I found the child grown into a girl with swelling buds for breasts and hips flaring into womanhood。 She sat before the mirror； red hair spilling downward as her head bent over new pipes。 She made a lovely song； but you could tell by her hesitation； she was testing new ground。 I saw her glance into the mirror； as if seeking approval。 At first I thought I saw her own reflection there； but the red hair that shone back was of a slightly different color； and the features smiling approval were not hers； but mine。 The music carried me onward： I saw the girl bee a woman； saw her music lift above all heights； saw that woman play before important and approving people。 But always there was one person whose approval Omerye was really seeking； and that person was me。
The song ended； and I opened my eyes to see tears in her own； but there was gladness in the tears。 〃Now； here is the first song I ever heard in my head；〃 she said。 〃But； I could never play it。。。 until now。〃 She lifted the pipes once again； and melody swirled about me。 Each note was one I had never heard before； but the refrain haunted close； oddly familiar。 The song found secret places； and each place was happy to be revealed。 Omerye's pipes swept me away； and she and I were discovering new things together： fresh vistas of mountains and rivers and rolling seas。 The pipes stopped； and as the last notes drained from the air； I realized the song had been made only for me。
〃Now； do you understand？〃 she asked； trembling； anxious。
As I began to answer； a black pit opened； and she became a small； distant figure across the wide gulf。 Bitter memories of Deoce and little Emilie flooded out； washing over me。 Grief struck and became hard； dry sobs rattling in my chest。 I was locked in mourning； and as I mourned I knew I would soon suffer another great loss。 For how could I ask Omerye to live with such specters？
Halab heard me and took pity。 I felt his presence； and his whisper rustled in my ear。 〃You will find them there；〃 he said； 〃if you will only look。〃 I did； and when I raised my head； the pit had vanished。 Omerye's face was close； and I looked into her eyes and saw Deoce and Emilie reborn。 Omerye's love joined theirs and became the whole。 〃Do you understand？〃 she asked again。
〃Yes；〃 I said。 〃I understand。〃 I swept her from the stool； and she came into my arms with a cry of delight。 We fell into the pillows； aching for want of the other； all hot hands and twining limbs。 My fingers op