Prospero Lost: Prospero's Daughter, Book I by L. Jagi Lamplighter

Author:L. Jagi Lamplighter [Lamplighter, L. Jagi]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9780765319296
Publisher: Tor Books
Published: 2010-04-01T04:00:00+00:00

THE sun sank beneath the waves. Above, the deep, shadowy, purple clouds were shot through with fiery rose. Below, the sea mirrored the glorious sky, differing from the original only where a stray island broke though the reflected clouds. I sat for a long time at my favorite perch atop the bowsprit, watching the beauty of color, light, and water until the first stars appeared in the twilight fields of the sky.

The sight of the stars a-twinkle brought back memories of the night in 1627 when we had come upon the elves dancing outside their howe. I recalled the smell of apple wood upon their bonfire, and the brightness of the sparks that shot up from it. How tall and fey the elves had been, and how disdainfully aloof the elf lords’ regard. All except one, who had mocked his fellows for their poor taste and led me into the dance.

He had clasped me about the waist and spun me hither and thither, midst music and enchantment. Many a dancer wishes he could make his partner feel as if she were flying, but this time, we did fly! He whistled, and the winds picked us up, swirling us amidst star and cloud and sky. His eyes, filled with laughter, changed their color with his mood. In them, I saw myself reflected as a constellation among the stars. It was the single most marvelous night of my life. Even the joy of skimming along upon the sea, amidst an illusion of endless sky, does not compare to the exhilaration of actually being among the heavens. Only my childhood flight and the music of my flute in the midst of a tempest could even began to compare.

The sea was without question my next most favorite place. Amazed, I wondered how I had spent so much time away from it. Sailing was the first skill I learned after we left Prospero’s Island. Ferdinand taught me on the trip back to Italy, when everything was brave and new. He had stood behind me, the length of his body pressing against mine, his hands guiding me, showing me what to pull or tie. We had laughed and laughed, once falling to the deck together to avoid the swinging boom. We had not been able to remain there long; the ship was crowded, and privacy rare. Yet, before he gallantly helped me to my feet, Ferdinand had stolen a kiss. I had blushed and called him “my most true love.”

Pain squeezed my heart, the ache of a wound I had thought long healed. I recalled the agony of those first few weeks after what should have been our wedding day, when I was certain Ferdinand lay grievously wounded somewhere and I had been unwilling to admit he might be dead. My father treated me kindly, but I could tell he did not believe Ferdinand would return. At the time, I thought he believed Ferdinand dead, but would not dash my hopes. Later, I thought Father had suspected the truth— that Ferdinand had run off pursuing a life of adventure.

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