“How?” I say to Caliban, at a loss for words. “Why?”
“I do not know.” Shaking his head, he takes up the stone he has been using to crack acorns. “I do not know!” He strikes another nut with a vicious blow, striking his thumb in the process and letting out a surprised bark of pain.
“Oh!” Reaching out, I take his hand in mine and kiss his bruised thumb. “I’m sorry, Caliban.”
He pulls his hand back and cradles it, gazing at the purpling flesh around his nail-bed. His expression is soft and curious. “What is it called, Miranda?” he asks me. “To put your lips on a person so?”
I smile at him through tears. “A kiss.”
He smiles back at me. “Thank you.”
With that, Caliban and I resume our labors and do not speak further of the incident; but I do not forget what he said. The following day, when Caliban is out gathering wood, I seek Ariel.
As I soon discover and should well have imagined, it is a vain and foolish quest. Ariel might be anywhere on the isle and he might take any form; a passing breeze, a cloud floating overhead. I search the palace ground for what must surely be an hour on the sundial before I give up my quest and simply prevail upon whatever goodwill the mercurial spirit possesses.
“Ariel!” I cry aloud. “Ariel, please! If you can hear me, I would speak to you!”
At first there is no answer, and I feel all the more foolish. I am not my father to command the spirit with his art. Why should Ariel come at my beck and call? And then a telltale gust of wind swirls into the orchard, where sour oranges hanging from the trees put me in mind of the night that Ariel baited me, and he is there.
“Yes, milady?” There is a studied tone to the spirit’s voice and his changeable eyes are light and crystalline, almost colorless. “Thou didst wish to speak to me?”
It is the first time in the long months since my affliction that I have been in Ariel’s presence, and I find I am angry, so angry that I am trembling with it. “I want to know about my mother,” I say to him.
A look that might almost be regret crosses Ariel’s finely wrought features. “Of that, I am forbidden to speak, milady.”
“You spoke of it to Caliban!” I shout at him.
“I spoke in thoughtless haste,” Ariel says coolly. “’Twas an error on my part to do so.”
“What of the … thing?” I ask. “The homunculus?” The spirit says nothing. “Are you forbidden to speak of that, too?”
“Shall we speak of the weather, milady?” Ariel makes a graceful gesture all around him with one arm, his white sleeve fluttering like a pennant. “’Tis passing fine for the time of year, though I fear a storm is brewing in the west some leagues from here. Shall we speak of speckled trout in the streams or late berries yet on the vine?”
“Why did you heed my call if you’ll do naught but prattle at me of trout and berries?” I ask bitterly. “You told Caliban my mother died in giving birth to me. I do not understand how such a thing can even be. No hen ever died of a chick hatching.”
“Oh, milady!” The spirit catches his breath as though I have struck him an unexpected blow. It is a sound that is not quite a laugh. His eyes darken to the hue of twilight and a mixture of involuntary pity and mockery fills his voice. “Thou poor innocent. Dost thou know nothing of the way of the world, and men and women in it? Dost suppose thou wast hatched like a veritable chick, scrabbling forth from the shell of an egg into the bright light of day?”
Misliking his tone, I do not answer.
Ariel sighs and casts his gaze skyward. “Oh, la! But of that, too, I am forbidden to speak lest I sully thy tender ears and render myself foresworn. Nature must be allowed to run its course. Master, Master, methinks thou art a fool,” he says to the empty sky. “’Tis the fine edge of a blade that divides innocence from ignorance, and methinks it a blade that will turn in thy hand and cut thee one day.”
“I don’t understand,” I say stiffly.
“No.” Ariel lowers his gaze to meet mine. “Surely thou dost not. But I fear ’tis not my place to enlighten thee, milady.”
I scowl at him. “Why did you come, then? Why did you answer my call?” Ariel’s gossamer garments stir uneasily around him, and I realize he is fearful. “You baited me a-purpose,” I say. “You wanted me to defy Papa. But he doesn’t know, does he? And you’re afraid that I’ll tell him. That’s why you came, isn’t it?”
Ariel hesitates. “I did not intend thee harm, milady,” he says with surprising gentleness. “Truly, I am sorry for thy suffering. But if thou hast questions unanswered, thou must ask thy father.”
“But—”
He is gone.
And so that night at the supper table I ask Papa about my mother.
Papa stiffens. “If you value this peace we have forged between us, do not speak to me of your mother.”
I look down at my platter. “I just—”
Papa slams his hand onto the table, making our fine silver platters jump and rattle. “I said, do not speak of her!”