Read Swans Over the Moon for Free Online Page A

doors at
the top of the stairwell. Painted on the door was a caricature
face, as tall as a man, of the jester. The representation had been
painted over several older portraits of past jesters. The paint was
two inches thick, in places, and the Judicar wondered how much
history lay in those layers of paint, if only they could be peeled
off one-by-one. The jester turned to the pair, dwarfed by her own
face behind her, and spoke in an artificially-deepened voice, half
sinister, half ridiculous, entirely deranged: “Come,” her face grew
dour, “My Lady awaits you.”
    The jongleur swung open the doors, then fell
to her knees, crawling and barking like a dog. She rushed to the
throne on which sat Lady Euler, the former Basia Pelevin, the
Judicar's daughter. The fool sat up, begged, then pointed at the
visitors, as if hunting pheasant.
    “Begone, dog,” commanded Lady Euler. The
jester rolled-over out of the chamber, stopping momentarily to
scratch her back against the floor, then disappeared beyond the
throne-room door, closing it shut behind her with her teeth.
    Lady Euler stood up from her throne, a
stately figure who wore her office well. Blonde hair cascaded down
over the folds of her firelight-colored dress, past the backs of
her knees, in a golden cape. She was, by anybody's estimation, the
most beautiful of the Judicar's daughters. But the Judicar saw
little of beauty. Lady Euler's blue eyes pierced her father from
beneath the diamond tiara that encrusted her brow. She pursed her
full red lips and squinted malevolence at the Procellarian ruler.
Her voice was like ice:
    “State your business.”
    Heterodymus stepped forward, bowed, then
spoke. Dexter and Sinistrum's words were haunting, when spoken in
unison, a kounterpunkt confluence of newborn and ancient, infant
softness and geriatric croaking brought together as one voice.
    “In token of the everlasting covenant betwixt
our peoples, and beneath the blue planet that shines on both our
fair regencies, we greet you, hailing you with multitudinous
blessings, in purpose fixed to maintain peace and goodwill
forevermore. These many generations we have enjoyed co-operation
and mutual benefit by remaining good neighbors. Come, let us
continue in our bond now and forevermore, rejoicing in one
another’s success, consoling each other in failure and sorrow,
enfolded in friendship, eternally protected in togetherness, one
always.”
    Heterodymus knelt, heads bowed before the
Lady.
    She stepped down from her dais and place her
hand on the twin's shoulder. “You, my friend, may be forgiven,” she
spoke slowly, clearly, as if every word she spoke was heavy with
importance and difficult to bear, “for your offenses are not your
own.”
    The bowed heads stole a look at each other,
each a distorted mirror of the others' puzzlement. No one had ever
replied in such a manner to The Eternal Proposal. The ritual
response, according to eons-old tradition, should have been “I wed
thee, on behalf of my people, in an unbreakable bond.” But this
response was not forthcoming.
    “No, Heterodymus, you cannot be blamed for
the Judicar's offenses, for this breach of covenant.” Puzzlement
turned to astonishment on both of Heterodymus' faces. “though you
might suffer for his sins, it will not be at my hand. Arise, my old
friend.”
    The Judicar watched as Heterodymus, horribly
confused, was helped to his feet by Lady Euler – another breach of
proper conduct.
    “What madness is this?” the exasperated
Judicar asked. “And where in hell is the Baron?”
    “He will not be joining us,” she raised her
voice dramatically. “He has deferred this sour duty to me alone. I
represent the Barony in this matter. And as to your accusations of
madness, you shall soon see madness!”
    She clapped her hands twice and from doors on
either side of the room, a flood of drunken revelers entered,
quickly filling the room with bodies, laughter, and a cacophony of
voices. Music, wine-soaked breath,