The King in Yellow (1895), Act I
The King in Yellow
Act I, Scene 1: Palace of Yhtill, Late Afternoon
Scene: A high-vaulted salon in the Palace of Yhtill, overlooking the Lake of Hali. Golden late-afternoon light slants through tall windows, beyond which the twin suns hang low over the waters. The room is decorated for an evening fête: garlands, masks and costumes are laid out in preparation for the night’s masquerade. CASSILDA stands at a window, one hand resting on the stone sill, gazing toward the distant lake. CAMILLA sits nearby, at a dressing table scattered with half-finished masks and ornate fabrics. Servants occasionally pass in the background, finalizing decorations.
CASSILDA: (quietly, to herself, staring at the sky)
The suns draw down... how strange their colour this eve.
(She traces a finger on the glass.)
Two halos on the water, blurred as if by a veil of tears.
The suns decline together,
Yet how strange it is that they do not set as one.
CAMILLA: (not looking up)
Must even twilight draw a riddle from you?
Come, Cassilda, the hours wane!
Your robe lies in disarray, your mask unclaimed.
Shall the guests arrive before you’re dressed?
CASSILDA: (still at the window)
They will not miss me.
Yhtill sings loudly enough without my voice.
CAMILLA:
But with it, such song might carry to the stars.
Even the handsome prince Uoht shall be there.
I have also heard that Corydon and Cordelia shall be there.
(CAMILLA stands next to CASSILDA, looking out the window)
Did I not hear you at your harp this morning?
It clung to me all day.
CASSILDA: (turns with a small smile after rolling her eyes)
You are in high spirits, Camilla.
CAMILLA: (lightly, not looking up as she adjusts a costume)
And why not? The court is in rapture whilst you grow poetic at sunset, dear sister.
The new moon festival begins, and even the dour Chancellor has agreed to don a mask.
(She picks up a delicate mask of lace and holds it up.)
Come away from the window – we’ve dresses to prepare!
Tonight shall be the finest ball Yhtill has ever seen.
See – a thousand disguises, and for one night, all our sorrows are set aside.
CASSILDA: (half-smiling, approaching the table)
A night of many faces…
And behind them, what faces we may find.
CAMILLA: (laughing)
Poetry again!
Have you been composing verses for the festival?
CASSILDA: (softly)
Yes.
A song…
A Tangled Web of Getting Even
A short story by Mark Craig. Yet in the Fabled Sea, Year 32 of the Questing Age.
“Getting even’s a tangled web, innit Mark?” Forren’s words cut through the still night, sipping ale on a rickety dock I’d crashed into earlier.
“Indeed, with an outstanding resistance to being tamed! I’ve been burned by it myself.” My thoughts wandered over childhood darings long before I met the Fabled Sea. Yet, newer threats still seek to end my budding life as a seareaver.
“Stories are dime a dozen, but true tales make for tasteful telling --- Come on then, what burned you?” Forren’s words accompanied a sloshing swig that dampened his beard.
“Alright, alright. You caught the last of it at the tavern anyway, admiring the necklace the Mindshapers gifted me. Alas, you won’t believe me even if I tell you.” Cupping the moon with my silver mug, I took a swill, drenching my mane in like manner.
“Knock it off, will ya? I’m no stranger to mystery!” Forren leaned in, fraining looks overtaking his round leer. I held a smirk, hushing my voice to add to his tension.
“I found a Tidalblade, out in the Pestering Isles. The wretched undead were no match for my skills!” Forren’s look soon faded into a scowl.
“What bollocks! Tidalblades are folklore and fable!” Clearly, he had overlooked such tales, even within the Fabled Sea. Quips aside, I pressed on.
“There was much grit and planning to be had. I tracked down a keen band of skelts who chanced upon a relic giving way to the hidden keep of the Tidalblade, long forgotten in the depths of Mount Scarab. I hardly need expose their frustration, run aground by my clever shooting!”