5
On the next morning she woke up, washed herself with water that mysteriously materialized in her cell again, and looked sadly at her dress. The pretty yellow silk was becoming soiled; the hem was dirty. She should speak to the master about getting her some working clothes – it might please his ego to have a princess cleaning for him, but it is just plain silly to make her do the work wearing her evening dress. But first she'd have to resume her duties. He would probably need his morning tea now. She suspected that he wasn't actually used to having 'morning tea' or any other specific kind of tea – he had an air of a man that ate only when he remembered to, and that was not very often. But he took her on as a caretaker, and that's precisely what she'd do – she would take care of him.
She went to the kitchen to make fire and to cook breakfast, filling the castle with smells of burning wood and hot food, and sounds of clinking plates and teapots. These were cozy smells and sounds, and they made her feel good. She suddenly felt content – she had a brief vision of herself, some time in the future, doing these same things for this man, her master, feeling settled and protected, and… needed. He certainly needed help and care, this strangely un-menacing dark wizard. Who looked like… a lizard. Yes, that's right – he looked like a reptile, that's true, but not a dangerous one, like a crocodile or something else predatory. He looked quick and agile and darting and light – exactly like a small lizard. A wizard-lizard… The idea made her smile, almost affectionately, and she was still smiling as she entered the dining room with the tray in her hands.
And there he sat, in a lonely armchair at the head of the great empty table. He seemed lost in thought; his elbows on the table, his head bend over his hands, his hair shadowing his face. He looked downcast and completely miserable in the dim candlelight. She was surprised at the candlelight – it was a glorious winter morning outside, and then she realized that the curtains on all the windows were tightly drawn. There was no morning in this room, and no light in the life of the man who lived here.
The smile started to fade from her face, but only just, when he looked up at her. He lost his guard, for a split second, and she saw in his eyes something that made her tremble, inwardly. There was despair and longing in his eyes, and they never looked so human to her.
And then his eyes filmed over, regaining their empty reptilian glossiness, and his whole countenance changed: he got a grip of himself. The mask was back in place, with vengeance, and he snarled at her: 'What are you smiling at, you silly girl?'
'Nothing', she mumbled, and hurried over to the table with the tray. He grumbled something by way of 'Thank you', and she escaped to the kitchen to resume her work, and the day went on much as the previous one, with him hovering sulkily on the background and snapping at her occasionally.
The practical girl told herself, repeatedly, that he was what he was – an evil and ugly man, who has taken her on a whim, to spite and humiliate her family, and used her to steam off his bad moods. Yet the dreamer in her refused to be silenced. Her imagination was flying high. She was thinking of hundreds of reasons for his bad temper, his awful looks, and his loneliness. She wondered how he got his power. She shuddered to imagine his evil deeds. She looked at the curious things he collected, and longed to know their stories.
She remembered a tale she once read. It was a story of a girl, a daughter of a nobleman, who brought a famous warrior to his house so that he could entertain him with retelling his adventures. The warrior was ugly – his skin was dark and his looks menacing. Yet his stories were so interesting and so sad that the girl saw through his looks and found a man who not only fought the wars, but also suffered deeply. She was exited by the dangers he had passed, but she also pitied him for them, and she fell in love, and he fell in love with her. Considering his looks the seduction seemed so improbable that the man was even accused of witchcraft, but he defended himself by retelling his stories and fascinating his judges – they believed he could be loved just for them. The story ended badly, eventually – the pair got married, but then the girl was unjustly accused of being unfaithful, and her jealous warrior husband killed her and then himself. But the sad ending didn't concern her now – she was more intrigued by the beginning. The ugly looks, the witchcraft, the mystery of the man… Well, she was not living through the same story, surely? Of course not. Nobody here was falling in love with anybody. Anyway, books were books, and the stories in them were made up. Such things never happened to normal people – thus spoke the practical girl. Yet the dreamer pointed out, and justly so, that being held hostage in a dark castle by a dark wizard can hardly be called 'normal'.
Both the dreamer and the practical girl in her were fascinated by the man. She wanted to know him. And she was determined to get what she wanted.
But it is impossible to get to know someone who shies from you as you march through the room with a broom. She had to get him talking in some situation that was out of the ordinary.
She tried being nice – when she brought him supper, she smiled to him, deliberately. He turned away, pretending not to notice, and became grumpier than usually.
She decided to use his quick temper and to get his attention by irritating him a bit.
This night, when she entered her cell, she didn't feel like crying – not in the slightest. But, as soon as the door slammed shut behind her back, she fell on the straw wailing in pretense of great grief. She sobbed and sobbed, trying to do it as loudly as possible. That should attract his attention, she thought. No sane man can stand such noise for long.
And, sure enough, soon the door to the cell flew open, and there he stood, flustered and truly annoyed, and screamed: 'This cannot go on. This crying – it must stop!'
She ran a hand over her face, pretending to wipe her tears, and glared at him accusingly, ready to voice all the reasons for her distress.
She was getting what she wanted, apparently. They were about to talk.
