“It came to pass that the god-king’s wife bore three children, three daughters, demigoddesses with mortal souls. On their birth, their father gifted each with a jeweled amulet, for protection. They learned the ways of their father’s world, and of their mother’s. Their beauty, their innocence, softened many hearts, turned many minds. For some years there was peace again. And the daughters grew to young women, devoted to each other, each with a talent that enhanced and completed those of her sisters.”
He paused again, as if gathering himself. “They harmed no one, brought only light and beauty to both sides of the Curtain. But there remained shadows. One coveted what they had that no god could claim. Through sorcery, through envy, despite all precautions, they were taken into the half-world. The spell cast plunged them into eternal sleep, a living death. And sleeping, they were sent back through the Curtain, their mortal souls locked in a box that has three keys. Not even their father’s power can break the locks. Until the keys turn, one, by two, by three, the daughters are trapped in an enchanted sleep and their souls weep in a prison of glass.”
“Where are the keys?” Malory asked. “And why can’t the box be opened by enchantment since it was locked by it?”
“Where they are is a puzzle. Many magicks and spells have been cast to unlock the box, all have failed—but there are clues. The souls are mortal, and only mortal hands can turn the keys.”
“My invitation said I was the key.” Malory glanced at Dana and Zoe, got nods of confirmation. “What do we have to do with some mythological legend?”
“I have something to show you.” Pitte rose, gestured toward the archway. “I hope it interests you.”
“The storm’s getting worse.” Zoe sent a wary look toward the windows. “I need to start home.”
“Please, indulge me.”
“We’ll all leave together.” Malory gave Zoe’s arm a reassuring squeeze. “Let’s just see what it is he wants to show us first. I hope you’ll invite me back at some point,” she continued as she walked to the doorway to join Pitte and Rowena. “I’d very much like to see more of your art collection, and perhaps repay the favor by giving you a private tour of The Gallery.”
“You’ll certainly be welcome back.” Pitte took her arm lightly and led her down the wide hall. “It would be a pleasure for Rowena and me to discuss our collection with someone who understands and appreciates it.”
He turned toward another archway. “I hope you’ll understand and appreciate this particular piece of it.”
Over another fireplace that roared with flame was a painting that towered to the ceiling.
The colors were so vivid, so rich, the style so bold and strong, that Malory’s art lover’s heart took one fast leap. The portrait was of three women, young, beautiful, in flowing gowns of sapphire, of ruby, of emerald. The one in blue, with golden curls rioting to her waist, sat on a bench that circled a pool. She held a small gold harp.
Seated on the silver tiles at her feet, the girl in red had a scroll and quill in her lap and her hand on her sister’s—for surely they were sisters—knee. Beside them, the girl in green stood, a chubby black puppy in the crook of her arm and a short silver sword at her hip. A heartbreak of flowers spilled around them.
There were trees with jeweled fruit dripping from the branches, and in the cerulean sky both birds and faeries were on the wing.
Enthralled, Malory was halfway across the room for a closer look when her heart gave another, harder knock. The girl in blue had her face.
Younger, she thought as she came to an abrupt halt. Certainly more beautiful. The skin was luminous, the eyes deeper, bluer, the hair more luxurious and romantic. But there was no mistaking the power of the resemblance, nor, she saw as she steadied herself, the resemblance between the others in the portrait and the other two guests at Warrior’s Peak.
“Magnificent work. A master’s work,” Malory said, and was amazed at how calm her voice sounded through the buzzing in her ears.
“They look like us.” There was wonder in the words as Zoe moved beside Malory. “How can they?”
“Good question.” And suspicion in Dana’s. “How did the three of us come to be used as models for what is, obviously, a portrait of the three sisters in the story you just told us?”
“It was painted before you were born. Before your parents, your grandparents, and those who sired them were born.” Rowena walked toward the portrait, stood below it with her hands folded at her waist. “Its age can be verified through tests. Isn’t that so, Malory?”
“Yes. Its approximate age can be authenticated, but whatever its age, you haven’t answered Zoe’s question.”
The smile that spread on Rowena’s face seemed to hold both approval and amusement. “No, I haven’t. What else do you see in the painting?”
Malory reached in her purse, took out a pair of black-framed, rectangular glasses. She slipped them on and made a more thorough study.
“A key, in the right corner of the sky. It seems to be a bird until you look closely. A second one there, on the branch of a tree, almost hidden by the leaves and fruit. And the third, just visible under the surface of the pool. There’s a shadow there, in the trees. In the form of a man, maybe a woman. Just the hint of something dark watching them. Another shadow, just sliding onto the silver tile at the edge. A snake. Ah, and here, in the far background.”
She lost herself in the painting, forgot herself and stepped up onto the hearth. “There’s a couple—a man and a woman—embracing. The woman is robed, richly, with the purple symbolizing a woman of rank. And the man is garbed like a soldier. A warrior. There’s a raven in the tree just above them. A symbol of impending doom. Just as the sky here is darker, with storm lights. A threat. The sisters are unaware of the threat. They look forward, grouped together, the crown of their ranks glinting in the sunlight that washes this area of the foreground. There’s a sense of companionship and affection between them, and the white dove here, on the edge of the pool, is their purity. Each wears an amulet, the same shape and size, with the jewel reflecting the color of their gown. They are a unit, yet individuals. It’s magnificent work. You can almost see them breathe.”
“You have a discerning eye.” Pitte touched Rowena’s arm as he nodded at Malory. “It’s the prize of the collection.”
“And still,” Dana pointed out, “you haven’t answered the question.”
“Magick couldn’t break the spell that locked the souls of the king’s daughters in a box of glass. Sorcerers were called, and wizards and witches from all the worlds. But no magicks could unbind the curse. So another was cast. In this world, in every generation, three women are born who will come together in one place, at one time. They are not sisters, they are not gods, but mortal women. And they are the only ones who can release the innocents.”
“An