第 12 页

Fëanor snorted, and Nerdanel sighed. “We’ve heard that Aulë has expressed his…disaffection for certain of your father’s -”

“Stop sidestepping, Nerdanel,” said Fëanor. “I am bad publicity for Aulë, and so I have been told to make myself scarce should he arrive.” He smiled rather icily. “I never thought I would be ordered to flee at my wife’s own show, not least by one of my former patrons. However – ”

“Don’t be such a drama queen.” Nerdanel crossed to the mirror and pulled a couple of loose strands of hair around her face. “All I ask is one night free of melodrama. On that note, Maitimo, don’t let Carnistir and Tyelkormo get in any – well, don’t let them drink too much – oh, just keep an eye on them, will you?”

“I’ll try,” said Maedhros, just as Maglor appeared in the hallway and knocked on the doorframe.

“Hello. Mother, you should definitely wear that brooch from grandma. No, the other one.” He gestured meaningfully to Maedhros. “If we don’t go soon, we can’t guarantee Tyelko will still have his shirt buttoned by the time we get to the gallery. He was joking about a ‘deep vee’ but I think it’s only a matter of time before he gets serious.”

Fëanor lifted his eyes heavenward. “Take your brothers by all means then, Nelyafinwë. And, as your mother says, go around the back.” He smiled, eyes sharp. “And if those protestors give you any trouble – ”

“We’ll be fine,” said Maedhros, and kissed his mother swiftly on the cheek. “Good luck. See you there.”

“A night of minimal drama!” she called after him. “Spread the word.”

* * *

The streetlights had just come on for the evening, and there was already a noisy crowd on the block of the art gallery. Only a few were patrons waiting for admission, the rest were waving signs and shouting.

Celegorm sloped along, hands in his pockets, scowling across the street. The signs were clearly legible, even from a distance.

WE REMEMBER ALQUALONDË

PEOPLE OVER PRODUCTS

ARREST MURDERERS, NO MATTER WHOSE SON THEY ARE

“Motherfuckers,” Celegorm said, and spat.

Curufin’s lip curled as he followed his brother’s gaze. “And fools. Talk about a simplistic worldview. Look, the idiots can’t even spell ‘oligarch’ correctly.”

“Just ignore them,” said Maedhros, as Maglor tugged Amrod back onto the sidewalk. He’d been veering into the street, trying to read some of the signs. “And keep Curvo on your far side,” Maedhros added quietly to Maglor. “The older he gets, the more he looks like dad. Someone might notice…”

“Let them,” said Curufin, overhearing. “I don’t care. I’m proud to be his son.” He shot Maedhros a challenging look, but his older brother just quickened his pace.

“Come on. The back entrance is just down that alley.”

Caranthir glanced back over his shoulder. “Hurry up, Tyelko, what’s taking you so long?”

Celegorm had paused, perusing the crowd, and his hands were slowly curling into fists at his sides. “Fucking scum. Is that Mablung?”

Caranthir drew up and peered across the street. “Who’s that? Oh, that twerp from the rugby team? Yeah, looks like it.”

“Motherfucker.” Celegorm let out a snarl and started forward, but a long arm caught him around the waist and pulled him back.

“Don’t even think about it.”

Celegorm twisted against Maedhros’ grip, furious. “Are you kidding me, Nelyo? I played with that kid for four years, and he’s out here with a sign calling our father a murderer! How the fuck are you okay with that?”

“It has nothing to do with what’s okay,” said Maedhros tightly. “Our mother’s show opens tonight. She’s been planning this for a year or more, it’s already been put off once – this is more important than getting back at some petty kid. We are not going to ruin this for her.”

Celegorm bared his teeth, but stopped fighting. Maedhros released him.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll behave. But once the show is over – ” He wheeled and strode off down the alley, ahead of his brothers. “ – I make no promises.”

* * *

The gallery had been transformed. The space had been subdivided into four rooms, each uniquely lit. In the first, blue silk draped from lanterns on the ceiling turned the room into a submarine grotto, while in the second, the light was dappled and golden green, like sunlight slanting through the forest. The third room was stark and open, full of the light whistle of wind from an unseen source. In the fourth, scarlet and gold lights flickered like flames, and people hesitated before entering, shooting sidelong glances at Fëanor.

Throughout the rooms, Nerdanel’s dancers whirled. Faceless statues of pure movement spun through the space, some frozen half through walls, others pulling themselves from the ground. The statues were gestural to the point of abstraction, ghostly maenads in the midst of a wild bacchanal, arms uplifted, heads thrown back, feet pulling themselves from the floor.

Lórien flitted from room to room, making sure that each guest was equipped with a flute of champagne and his excited voice in their ears.

“Dance of the Elements, yes. From procreation to birth to death to rebirth, no? Such expression… Yes, thank you, we worked with the artist for months on the installation concept. In order to get the lighting just right we had to have lamps custom designed by a specialist and they took more than nine months to complete…”

“A ‘specialist’,” said Curufin, and sneered. “He’s too afraid to even give credit to father.”

“Go figure,” said Celegorm, leaning against a wall in the corner. He drained his champagne glass and flagged down the waiter. “Yo. Refill.” He replaced his empty flute with a full one, considered a moment and took another. “Cheers.” The waiter drifted away, carefully expressionless, and Celegorm made a face at his back. “Don’t judge me, asshole, you’re wearing a cummerbund.”

“Double-fisting champagne is not classy,” said Curufin, relieving Celegorm of one of the glasses. “And I know how much sophistication matters to you.”

“You’re underage,” said Celegorm, watching as Curufin took a long sip.

“Since when do you care about things like that?” asked Curufin, cradling the glass as he cupped one elbow in his other hand. “And I think I’m allowed one drink at my mother’s wildly successful gallery opening.”

Across the room, Nerdanel was surrounded by admirers. The color was high on her cheeks as she laughed and answered questions, looking delighted as Estë expounded on their process for the installation. Standing somewhat back from the crowd was Fëanor, dark and laconic, drawing gazes even as he watched his wife silently, a slight smile playing around his lips.

“How long do we have to be here?” said Celegorm, finishing his second glass of champagne and checking his watch. “This is so not where I want to be on a Friday night.”

“I think at least until ten,” began Curufin and then froze, his eyes fixed on something over Celegorm’s shoulder.

“What?” Celegorm glanced at him. “Is Moryo doing something embarrassing? Did the Ambarussa break one of mom’s statues? Why do you look like you’ve seen a - ”

“Oh, shit,” said Curufin quietly, and Celegorm turned around.

“What the fuck are you – ”

A woman was standing behind him. She was almost as tall as he was, slender and olive-skinned, her dark hair caught back from her face in a sleek chignon. She wore dark green that matched her eyes, and a skirt that revealed long legs made even longer by black heels.

It took Celegorm a minute to process why Curufin was so still beside him, a frozen, horrified expression on his face.

Then she spoke. “Hello, Tyelkormo,” she said, in a low, rich voice, lightly accented. “I’m Vána. Oromë’s told me so much about you.” And she held out her hand.

-

The room was anything but quiet, but for Celegorm, it seemed that a pool of silence was spreading out from the three of them like a lengthening shadow. A small, fearful part of him, the part of him he knew and loathed, cried out for him to flee. The blustering, red-hot part of his brain that so often got him into fights or sidelined from the pitch roared for him to curse and break things and – and, what? So instead he stood dumbly, and thought only, Of course she’s beautiful.

Celegorm may have been at a loss for words, but Curufin wasn’t. “What do you want?” he asked brusquely.

Vána turned hypnotic green eyes on him. “Ah. You must be Tyelkormo’s brother. Not much resemblance between you, but then,” she smiled and nodded across the room, “you do so look like your father.”

“What do you want?” asked Curufin again, drawing closer to Celegorm.

“To talk, nothing more,” said Vána. “I think Tyelkormo and I are owed a conversation.”

“I don’t think,” Curufin began, but Celegorm found his voice at last.

“It’s okay, Curvo,” he said, and cleared his voice against the rasp in it. “It’s fine.”

“But – ” Curufin looked agitated. “Don’t you – ”

“I’ll come find you when I’m done,” said Celegorm, and handed over his empty glass. “Go talk to Moryo before he incites an incident in the art community.” He smiled, knowing how fake it must look, as Curufin took his glass mutely and nodded.

Celegorm turned to Vána. “Let’s get this over with.”

-

The backroom was empty but for some folding chairs and a cooler where the champagne was chilling. Celegorm turned to face Vána, arms crossed over his chest, hoping he looked more confident than he felt. Before her composed elegance he felt bulky and awkward, and as she studied him with those compelling eyes, he felt horribly young and wrong-footed. He also realized, with a sense of dreadful self-awareness, that she was precisely the type of woman he would drunkenly and futilely hit on in a bar. Out of my league.

“You wanted to talk,” he said abruptly, to break the silence. “What do you want to say?”

“I think you are as Oromë described you,” she said, still studying him. “Hasty to jump, no? But a very handsome boy. I can see why he fell for you. ”

Celegorm felt his temper flare. I don’t want to think about why he fell for me. “Oh, are we making observations? In that case, I think you’re pretty damn sneaky, cornering me at my mother’s show where you know I can’t make a scene. That was clever.”

Vána laughed quietly and pulled out two folding chairs. “I think I will sit. You as well?” She gestured to the other chair, but he shook his head. “Very well. I shall sit alone.” She seated herself, legs crossed, and looked up at him. Struck by the awkwardness of him looming over her, Celegorm yielded and dropped down in the other chair.

Vána smiled. “Much better. In answer to your accusation – no, I did not come here with the intent of accosting you. I am an old friend of Irmo and Estë’s, and I have been hearing for weeks of their new exhibit. But I did suspect I might encounter you here, I will not lie.”

“Right.” Celegorm forced himself to keep still, shifting uncomfortably in the chair. “So what, now you have the opportunity, what are you going to do? Curse me out? Tell me to fuck off and keep my hands off your man?”

Vána was laughing. “Hasty indeed! Child, I intend nothing of the sort.”

“Don’t call me that,” snapped Celegorm. “And good. Because you’d be wasting your breath, lady, my hands are off. I’m out.”

“I know,” said Vána, and she stopped laughing. “And from what Oromë has told me, it is because of me that you have left.”

“No fucking shit,” said Celegorm. “A wife he never told me about is kind of a mood killer, you know? But for the record,” he went on, unable to stop himself, “I never saw a fucking trace of you in that house. Not a goddamn hint. So – ”

“That is because I do not live there,” said Vána. “I travel much of the year, and when I am back, I live elsewhere.” She smiled again. “With my girlfriend, in fact.”

There was a silence. “I’m sorry,” said Celegorm at last, “Did I just black out, or did you say – ”

“My girlfriend,” said Vána again. “We have been together three years now. Nienna is her name, and she is a very talented psychologist, not to mention a goddess for putting up with me, most tolerant of my wayward lifestyle, as I flit forever off to parts unknown.”

“Wait,” said Celegorm. “You have a girlfriend.”

“And a separate house, yes.” Vána crossed her legs. “Dear child – Oromë and I have what – ah, I believe the phrase is, ‘a marriage of convenience’?”

“Oh,” said Celegorm blankly.

“It is like this,” Vána said. “I am not from here, you may have guessed, though I am told my English has improved marvelously in the past ten years. I travel in and out of the country with great frequency. However, I am also a reporter for a news agency that unfortunately has a name that sounds most distressing to American ears and I was growing tired of being stopped at customs and being asked when I was ‘recruited’ to Al Jazeera. Under suspicions of, I don’t know,” she waved a hand impatiently, “terrorist espionage or some such. Changing my last name helped some, but what I really needed was a Green Card. And my dear friend Oromë from university – he graciously offered to help.”

“You said it was a marriage of convenience,” said Celegorm, trying to keep up. “What was in it for him?”

“Ah,” Vána raised her eyebrows. “You have not met his parents, have you?”

Celegorm snorted. “Are you crazy? No, of course not.”

“Well, only his mother is alive, now. But they were very conservative, and it was their dearest dream to see him marry before they died. Our wedding made them most happy, I believe – an admittedly not insignificant deception, but one we knew would not have to last long. They were still in Hawai’i, after all, so it is not like they could drop by unannounced. His father passed three years ago, and his mother is very ill. But at least they shall both have lived out their lives believing that well-intentioned lie we crafted for them.” She tilted her head. “Perhaps we went too far. But then, Oromë, steady as he is, does not always exercise good judgment.” She nodded to Celegorm, and smiled slightly. “Seducing his star player, for example.”

“For the last time,” said Celegorm, irritated, “I seduced him, and – hang on.” He broke off. “So you’re telling me – he’s not really married? You don’t love him?”

“He is married, though only technically, and on the contrary, I do love him very much. But my heart – it is not his, and the reverse is clearly true as well.” She leaned forward and patted him on the knee. “He is quite mad about you, Tyelkormo, despite all my scoldings reprimanding him for falling in love with a twenty-three year old.”

Celegorm swallowed. “You think he loves me?” he asked, and was embarrassed at the crack in his voice.

“Ai, boys.” Vána sighed and leaned back in her chair. “But of course he loves you, my hasty one.” She wagged a finger playfully. “And if you had let him speak for just five minutes, instead of storming off like you did, he could have explained all. Of course he should have said something earlier, and fear not, I took him to task for that. Because of course you’d find out eventually, and then, what a shock if you weren’t prepared! But this all could have been avoided if you had listened a moment.”