“All right,” I whisper.
I watch him limp away. Somehow, I feel myself to blame for his pain.
Since I do not know what else to do, I ply myself to my studies as Papa bade me, sitting at the kitchen table with my head bent over my slate and a bit of ochre chalk in my hand, copying and memorizing the properties and correspondences of jade and other stones that are green in hue, none of which I have ever seen, nor ever hope to see within my lifetime.
“Oh, la!” a light voice says, and a light breeze brushes over me. “What art thou about?”
It gives me a start to see Ariel in our kitchen. With his moon-pale skin, sea-changing eyes, and fluttering white garments, the spirit looks out of place in such homely surroundings. “No business of yours,” I say, rubbing my slate clean. It is an hour’s worth of labor gone, but it gives me bitter satisfaction to deny him. “What do you want of me? Why are you here?”
Ariel’s eyes widen, as clear and blue as a summer sky. “Why, I am here to tender my profound apology, milady!” He gives me a sweeping bow. “I heartily beg thy forgiveness for having offended thee.”
I am unmoved. “Did Papa bid you to do so?”
The spirit’s lips purse and his eyes darken a hue. “Thou hast my promise, milady, that never again shall words unfit for the tender ears of a child escape me in thy presence. Come, now, Miranda!” His voice takes on a wheedling tone. “Shall we not be friends, thee and I?”
“We are not friends,” I say. “Caliban is my friend, and you were wickedly cruel to him.”
“I did but speak the truth,” Ariel says. “And betimes the truth is cruel. Ah, but that topic is forbidden to us now, milady. What other things might we discuss, I wonder?” He plucks an orange from a bowl on the table, tears away a bit of peel, and sucks at the underlying flesh, then makes a face and spits. “Pfaugh! ’Tis sour.”
“’Tis a symbol of the sun and of gold,” I say coldly. “Its oil may be used in an incense. And Papa says that even though these were grown solely for ornament, they are healthful to eat and serve to balance phlegmatic humors.”
“Thou art a veritable scholar among maidens and wise beyond thy years!” Ariel says in admiration. “No wonder thy father has such grand plans for thee.”
My heart quickens. “Of what plans do you speak?”
“Alack and alas!” Ariel raises both fair, shapely hands in dismay, one still holding the bitten orange. “That I am forbidden to say, milady. But surely thou knowest better than I, being privy to thy father’s plans.”
“No.” I flush with a trace of my former anger. “He tells me naught.”
“Naught!” The spirit’s eyes widen again, turning the hue of rain-washed violets. He glances around and lowers his voice. “But at the very least, surely thou must know what wonders and horrors thy father’s laboratorium contains?”
Realizing that Ariel is baiting me, I do not reply, but it is too late. I have already given myself away, and I cannot help but feel hurt that Papa has allowed the spirit into his very sanctum.
Ariel shakes his head in sorrow, his mist-colored hair floating. “’Tis a pity he does not trust his own daughter.”
It is almost as though he has voiced my own thought. “I trust Papa!” I say in a fierce voice, willing it to be true. “In all that he does, he seeks only to protect me. And he is teaching me his arts!” I gesture at my piece of slate, forgetting that I have wiped it clean. “When I am a woman grown, Papa will tell me all his plans and allow me to assist him in his sanctum.”
“’Tis a long time to dwell in ignorance, milady,” Ariel observes.
“Is it?” I cannot help asking. “How long? How shall I know when I am a woman grown?”
Ariel gives a careless, graceful shrug. “As to that, I cannot say.”
I should like to scream. “You do but seek to plague me as surely as you plagued poor Caliban!”
“No, milady.” Ariel’s eyes darken ominously once more, black and roiling like the sea at night. “Forgive me. I do but chafe at the bonds of servitude that bind me. Upon my honor, I mean you no harm. But mayhap in the wisdom of thine innocence, thou art wise indeed to pay me no heed.” He opens one hand and lets the orange fall to the floor, where it rolls under the table. “Still, were I thou, I should not sleep soundly without knowing what manner of dreams and nightmares thy beloved father concocts in his laboratorium,” he adds in a thoughtful tone. “No, not at all.”
With that, he is gone.