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recalled. “It
was the first time that he said I would be a King’s Wife.”
    “Then
I remember that night as well,” said Marak Catspaw. “It’s one of the only times I saw Father worried. I
was up late, study ing political
economy or some such thing, when he came into my room. ‘You’ve got to marry that girl,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I just
promised her that you would.”’
    Miranda felt
startled. “I thought he knew my future,” she pro tested. “He sounded so sure of it. I thought
he could see it in my face.”
    Catspaw
smiled. “He was just being a King,” he said. “Kings are
never supposed to seem uncertain. I don’t see anything about your future in
your face. I only see the character from the Door Spell.”
    “You can see
that?” wondered Miranda, rubbing her forehead. “I didn’t know it left
a mark.”
    “ It’s gold, and it shines a little,” said the
goblin, tracing over the script character with his fingertip. “I
think it looks attractive.”
    Miranda pondered
that, unsure how she felt about displaying a symbol
that she herself couldn’t see. She wondered how many other goblins could
read it, and whether it really was attractive. Catspaw continued to study her,
hesitating over something. If Kings weren’t supposed to seem uncertain, he was
breaking his own rule.
    Then he leaned down
and kissed her.
    It
was a nice kiss, Miranda decided. It made her feel appreciated, and she felt affectionate in return. For once, the smile
that she gave her fiance wasn’t a charming mask but an expression of honest
feel ing instead.
    The goblin seemed to
have enjoyed the kiss, too. He looked excited
and resolute. “Only two more months until our wedding,” he
remarked. “Then I’ll erase this” — he touched the Door symbol — “and
write the King’s Wife character there.”
    “Will I notice
any difference?” she asked.
    “Yes and no,”
admitted Marak Catspaw. “The doors still won’t let you go outside, but
they’ll treat you with more respect.”
    A little uncertain,
Miranda thought about being his wife, living in
luxury, locked in by those iron doors. There certainly wasn’t much left
to worry about, was there? What a tidy future. She just wished she would stop
feeling so edgy about it.
    It
was Sable who finally pieced together the clues and saw through Miranda’s pretense. The elf woman listened to
her son Tat too’s
descriptions of the erratic behavior of the King’s Bride and felt wholeheartedly
sorry for the girl. It was clear to her that Miranda was struggling to find her place in the kingdom, and this was some thing
Sable could understand. She herself had not had an easy time finding her place
in life.
    The
black-haired woman combined in one person the sensitivity of an elf and the frankness of a goblin. Polite and
distrustful, Miranda never
mentioned her problems, so Sable did it for her. “Goblins take getting used to,” she told Miranda matter-of-factly,
and the girl felt as if a
weight had dropped from her shoulders. Miranda was too reserved to come by for a visit, so the elf woman kept inviting
her over until the visits became
routine.
    “You’re losing
weight,” Sable remarked one morning as she opened her door for the girl. “I have bread and cheese for you in the
basket on the table. Tattoo,” she added crisply, leaning out into the
hallway to speak to the young man posted at Miranda’s door, “I’ve mended your Guard cloak — again. Come
by for it once you’re off duty, and be more careful next time.”
    Miranda
walked into Sable’s forest room and looked around with
pleasure. The large space was full of dwarfimade trees, hung with tangled cloth
greenery, and small fish swam in an ornamental pool by the door. The illusion
of a stretch of shadowy woodland worked particularly well for Miranda because
she couldn’t distin guish much in the dim
light. She sat down on a cushion at the strange low table that was only
a few inches from the