There were sixteen tall windows. She'd counted them over and over when she was small, her chubby finger outstretched as she spun in tiny circles. Eight walls, sixteen windows, thirty-two black curtainsthe arithmetic of her childhood.
"Eight window seats, Daddy. Eight buttons on eachsixty-four. I counted."
The fountain stood dry and dead-center in the middle of the black and white tiles. Eight sides, eight lion-mouth spouts. Sixteen limestone mermaids poised gracefully around the edge. Four thousand and ninety-six blue tiles. Five hundred and twelve white.
And two doors. Always the two doors, huge and solid and radiating a sense of looming disdain. The rough oak had bitten her hands and it bit them now, when she pressed her palms against it. The doors eased open like wings outstretching, coming to rest against stone doorstops.
Her boots clicked against the marble flooring as she advanced, each click reverberating through the silent room. A mute ghost of a man stood in each corner of the roomeight corners, eight men, eight long black robes, eight sharp-beaked masks. Thirty-two steps to the fountain. Eight feet up to the balcony.
"Good morning, father."
"Good morning, pet." He stood there, leaning leonine against the balcony's carved railing, his hair elegantly slicked back.
His hair had smelled like spicelike cinnamon and ginger when he'd lifted her up onto his shoulders.
"You know what's happening, pet."
" His long fingers trailed gently over the railing's edge. "You know why it has to be this way."
"And you're ready to take your place."
"And you'll make me proud, won't you?"
The weight of the room fell squarely onto her throat, but she forced it back and stared straight into his cool steel eyes. "Yes."
"Where are you going, Daddy?"
"Just business, pet. I'll be back in the morning."
His gaze lingered thoughtfully on her for a moment before sweeping out to the eight black shadows that guarded each corner. "Bear witness."
In perfect unison, each eagle-faced shadow gave a low assent that thrummed in the air.
"Daddy, why are you bleeding?"
He'd run red-streaked fingers through his hair. "A little accident."
"Good," he murmured, and stared down at the fountain for a moment. Sixteen mermaids posed coquettishly beneath the open-mouthed lions. "They will come after you, darling."
"I know." She fought back the trembling that snuck up into her ribs. The lions seemed to snarl their stony disdain.
"The world will be yours then. Fight. Protect what's ours."
"Daddy, take me with you. Please."
"Not this time, pet."
"Protect what's ours," he repeated, voice rising. It echoedours, ours, oursand when it faded, he spoke once more. "Make me proud."
She couldn't speak. She didn't need to.
Catlike, he leapt lightly onto the railing and grabbed the coil of rope he'd always kept ready. Without hesitation, he pulled it around his neckand jumped.
"Don't leave me."
The crack shook her to her very marrow.
When the echoes died away, she dismissed the men in the eagle masks. They obeyed in absolute silence, taking the body with themghosts were fitting pallbearers.
The stone edge of the fountain was cool under her shaking fingers. "Tell me your secrets," she whispered. The world was hers now.