Nancy Kress - Summer Wind

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Summer Wind

by Nancy Kress

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First published in Ruby Slippers, Golden Tears, editors Ellen Datlow and Terri

Windling, Avon, 1995

Fictionwise Contemporary

Fantasy

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Sometimes she talked to them. Which of course was stupid, since they

could neither hear nor answer. She talked anyway. It made the illusion of

company.

Her favorite to talk to was the stableboy, frozen in the stableyard

beside the king's big roan, the grooming brush still in his upraised hand.

The roan was frozen too, of course, brown eyes closed, white forelock blowing

gently in the summer wind. She used to be a little frightened of the roan, so

big it was, but not of the stableboy, who had had merry red lips and wide

shoulders and dark curling hair.

He had them still.

Every so often she washed off a few of them: the stableboy, or the cook

beside his pots, or the lady-in-waiting sewing in the solarium, or even the

man and woman in the north bedchamber, locked in naked embrace on the wide

bed. None of them ever sweated or stank, but still, there was the dust --

dust didn't sleep -- and after years and years the people became coated in

fine, gray powder. At first she tried to whisk them clean with a serving

maid's feather duster, but it was very hard to dust eyelashes and earlobes.

In the end she just threw a pot of water over them. They didn't stir, and

their clothes dried eventually, the velvets and silks a little stiff and

water-marked, the coarse-weaved breeches and skirts of the servants none the

worse off. Better, maybe. And it wasn't as if any of them would catch cold.

"There you are," she said to the stableboy. "Now, doesn't that feel

better? To be clean?"

Water glistened in his black curls.

"I'm sure it must feel better."

A droplet fell onto his forehead, slid over his smooth brown cheeks,

came to rest in the corner of his mouth.

"It was not supposed to happen this way, Corwin."

He didn't answer, of course. She reached out one finger and patted the

droplet from his sleeping lips. She put the finger in her own mouth and

sucked it.

"How many years was I asleep? How many?"

His chest rose and fell gently, regularly.

She wished she could remember the color of his eyes.

* * * *

A few years later, the first prince came. Or maybe it wasn't even the first.

Briar Rose was climbing the steps from the cool, dark chambers under the

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