Free Red as Blood, or Tales from the Sisters Grimmer: Expanded Edition by Tanith Lee Page B

coachman and postillions were clad in crimson, and strangely masked as curious beasts and reptiles. One of these beast-men now hopped down and opened the door of the carriage. Out came a woman’s figure in a cloak of white fur, and glided up the palace stair and in at the doors.
    There was dancing in the ballroom. The whole chamber was bright and clamorous with music and the voices of men and women. There, between those two pillars, the prince sat in his chair, dark, courteous, seldom smiling. Here the musicians played, the deep-throated viol, the lively mandolin. And there the dancers moved up and down on the sea-green floor.
    But the music and the dancers had just paused. The figures on the clock were themselves in motion. The hour of the magician was about to strike.
    As it struck, through the doorway came the figure in the fur cloak. And, as if they must, every eye turned to her.
    For an instant she stood there, all white, as though she had brought the winter snow back with her. And then she loosed the cloak from her shoulders, it slipped away, and she was all fire.
    She wore a gown of apricot brocade embroidered thickly with gold. Her sleeves and the bodice of her gown were slashed over ivory satin sewn with large rosy pearls. Pearls, too, were wound in her hair that was the shade of antique burnished copper. She was so beautiful that when the clock was still, nobody spoke. She was so beautiful it was hard to look at her for very long.
    The prince got up from his chair. He did not know he had. Now he started out across the floor, between the dancers, who parted silently to let him through. He went toward the girl in the doorway as if she drew him by a chain.
    The prince had hardly ever acted without considering first what he did. Now he did not consider. He bowed to the girl.
    “Madam,” he said. “You are welcome. Madam,” he said, “tell me who you are.”
    She smiled.
    “My rank,” she said. “Would you know that, my lord? It is similar to yours, or would be were I now mistress in my dead mother’s palace. But, unfortunately, an unscrupulous man caused the downfall of our house.”
    “Misfortune indeed,” said the prince. “Tell me your name. Let me right the wrong done you.”
    “You shall,” said the girl. “Trust me, you shall. For my name, I would rather keep it secret for the present. But you may call me, if you will, a pet name I have given myself—Ashella.”
    “Ashella… But I see no ash about you,” said the prince, dazzled by her gleam, laughing a little, stiffly, for laughter was not his habit.
    “Ash and cinders from a cold and bitter hearth,” said she. But she smiled again. “Now everyone is staring at us, my lord, and the musicians are impatient to begin again. Out of all these ladies, can it be you will lead me in the dance?”
    “As long as you will dance,” he said, “you shall dance with me.”
    And that is how it was.
    There were many dances, slow and fast, whirling measures and gentle ones. And here and there, the prince and the maiden were parted. Always then he looked eagerly after her, sparing no regard for the other girls whose hands lay in his. It was not like him, he was usually so careful. But the other young men who danced on that floor, who clasped her fingers or her narrow waist in the dance, also gazed after her when she was gone. She danced, as she appeared, like fire. Though if you had asked those young men whether they would rather tie her to themselves, as the prince did, they would have been at a loss. For it is not easy to keep pace with fire.
    The hour of the hag struck on the clock.
    The prince grew weary of dancing with the girl and losing her in the dance to others and refinding her and losing her again.
    Behind the curtains there is a tall window in the east wall that opens on the terrace above the garden. He drew her out there, into the spring night. He gave an order, and small tables were brought with delicacies and sweets and wine. He sat by her,