but a single glance at Lythande’s bleak face stopped her cold. She had known
Lythande since long before the blue star was set between those eyes; and she
kept the Secret for love of Lythande. It wrung her heart to see one she loved in
the grip of such suffering. So she said, ‘All will be prepared. Shall I give her
a drug in her wine to weaken her will, that you may the more readily throw a
glamour upon her?’
Lythande’s voice held a terrible bitterness. ‘Rabben has done that already for
us, when he put a spell upon her to love me.’
‘You would have it otherwise?’ Myrtis asked, hesitating.
‘All the gods of Sanctuary – they laugh at me! All-Mother, help me! But I would
have it otherwise; I could love her, if she were not Rabben’s tool.’
When all was prepared, Lythande entered the darkened room. There was no light
but the light of the Blue Star. The girl lay on a bed, stretching up her arms to
the magician with exalted abandon.
‘Come to me, come to me, my love!’
‘Soon,’ said Lythande, sitting beside her, stroking her hair with a tenderness
even Myrtis would never have guessed. ‘I will sing to you a love-song of my
people, far away.’
She writhed in erotic ecstasy. ‘All you do is good to me, my love, my magician!’
Lythande felt the blankness of utter despair. She was beautiful, and she was in
love. She lay in a bed spread for the two of them, and they were separated by
the breadth of the world. The magician could not endure it.
Lythande sang, in that rich and beautiful voice; a voice lovelier than any
spell;