On the off chance that the world changes as Agenor trusts it must, does the inquiry not become important to us all of us?” “the need emerge, there are places past this world to which I and my court will travel. The rest, as I have said, should settle on their own choices. Presently, enough!” The Patriarch’s head fell back, his eyelids hung; maybe he were thinking about some complex philosophical turn. “I have not partaken in this discussion, yet I expect to compensate you all things considered. I think it simply in this occurrence, be that as it may, if your prize were to appear as guidance.” The moon lit up, as though a film had been washed away from it. It balanced low over the yard, so low that a thin figure remaining on the escarpments was projected in outline against it. A kid, Beheim thought, wearing a dozing robe. He couldn’t exactly make him out. “Around evening time you have learned quite a bit of Mystery,” said the Patriarch. “More, I daresay, than you can as of now envelop. More even than you know. It very well may be a long time before you secure adequate experience to arrange your insight. Since I love you—and I do cherish you, my kid—I will endeavor to explain what you have realized and in this manner spare you many years of vain exertion. I’m anxious about the possibility that that the initial segment of this guidance, notwithstanding, will be fairly unpleasant.” He made an elegant signal, one coordinated toward the kid on the escarpments, and the kid ventured off the edge into space. Beheim sprang from his seat, anticipating a fall, an awful effect, however the kid didn’t fall. He drifted in midair, his robe taking the breeze, belling, then, at that point falling, squeezing firmly against his body, uncovering that it was no kid by any means, however a young lady with full bosoms and erupting hips. She started to float down toward them, arms at her sides, turning into a shadow as she passed underneath theedge of the rooftop and out of the evening glow. As she arrived at the level of the subsequent story, she came into full view once more. Her chestnut hair was done up in a messy bun; her eyes were very enormous, and her mouth was pouty, the lower lip outstandingly full. It was Giselle. The acknowledgment reproduced a chill empty in Beheim’s chest. He went to the Patriarch, fuming with outrage; yet the Patriarch kept his eyes on Giselle, grinning what appeared to Beheim a gushing, endorsing grin. She floated lower, actually lower, until her feet were crawls from the stones. There she drifted, close to fifteen feet away, the fingers of her right hand contacting a sword plant, the trim of her robe jerking in a ground current. Her eyes were unseeing, fixed on some point a long ways past the world. Beheim moved toward her. “Hold!” said the Patriarch. “Leave her alone.” Beheim halted in midstream as though his strings had been cut. The Patriarch gestured cheerfully, similar to somebody who had been demonstrated right despite everything, except had been sure from the beginning. “She may have been the first of your line,” he said. “Maybe the woman of another branch. The Beheims. That potential was clear in both of you. Presently”— he shrugged—”presently she will just be one more of my prostitutes. An advantaged position, as you may already know. In any case, not one of such authentic import.” He hurled a downcast moan that was too overstated to be in any way certified. “I trust this will show you from now on to act when activity is needed, to take advantage of your chances. It ought to have been clear that she was well beyond prepared for judgment, and that she had a superb possibility of endurance. However at that point I envision Alexandra had caught the heft of your consideration.”
Still staggered by Giselle’s return, Beheim went again to her. His musings of Alexandra were harsh, vindictive. “She would have kicked the bucket had I not passed judgment on her,” said the Patriarch. “Else I would not have usurped your right.” An unexpected flood of outrage pushed Beheim toward her by and by. “I said hold!” cried the Patriarch, bringing him up short. He had ascended from his seat and was remaining with his clench hands held at his sides. “She is as of now not yours. She is mine! Contact her and you relinquish everything.” Then, in a less authoritative tone, he added, “I’ve left you the blondie bitch, the onewith the sweet blood. The palace skank for whom you ignored this lovely animal. In any case, that is more than you merit.” At this notice of Paulina, Beheim experienced not so much as a gleam of feeling;