The Princess flushed faintly, and Connor laughed and glanced away. Something that sparkled in a pile of ashes caught his eye. He stooped to retrieve the marvelous crystalline flower, glowing brilliant and indestructible, untouched—even brightened—by the blast.
"What is this?" he asked.
"My moon–orchid," said Margaret of Urbs. "The only perfect one ever found."
He grinned and turned to Evanie.
"I promised you one. Here—our wedding present to you and Jan."
"Engagement present, rather," said the Princess. "I owe you two somewhat more than you realize." She ignored both Evanie's silence and Jan Orm's protestations of mingled embarrassment, thanks, and refusal as he held the priceless thing. "Tom," she murmured, "would you mind if we were—alone?"
It was dismissal. Jan and Evanie backed away with half–awe–struck glances at Connor. He dropped beside the weary Princess of Urbs, slipping his arm tenderly about her scorched shoulders. Even in the sultriness of that blasted chamber she shivered, her teeth chattered, so recently had the icy face of death withdrawn.
He drew her close, then halted as he heard a distant, thin clamor beyond the windows.
"What's that?" he asked sharply. "Another revolution?"
"Just the newspapers, I guess. You've been in them frequently of late." She smiled wanly. "As often as I, this past week. The Weed who sustained the ionic beams—revealed as a living ancient—proclaimed for immortality —the rescuer of Margaret of Urbs—and now—" She quoted ironically, "Margaret to Wed? Romance Rumored with Rescuer!" She nestled closer to him. "Oh, the down–fall of the Black Flame will be well publicized, never fear! Let them add this to their pictures and vision broadcasts. I don't care!"
"Pictures? What pictures?" He glanced about the vast deserted chamber.
"From the seeing room, of course! Don't you suppose we were watched all during the blast, even in here, as much as the steam permitted? Don't you know we're being watched now, photographed for papers, and broadcasts? You're world news, Tom." She frowned. 'They must have thought me mad to rush into that inferno with you, out of safety. Well—I was mad!"
"You can't even die in privacy here!" Connor said bluntly. "Do you suppose"—his voice dropped to a whisper —"they heard what you—what we said?"
"Above the roar of the blast? No. I thought of that when I—said it."
He smiled at that. It was so typical of the utterly strange and fascinating character of the girl. He drew her against him, and felt the pressure of something hard. in his belt—the ivory Venus, still safe, still immaculate in its perfection, since it had been on the left side, shielded by his own flesh when he passed the blast.
"I know what I shall give you as a wedding present," he said slowly. "The original Venus de Milo. The most beautiful statue of the ancient world."
She smiled and a trace of the old mockery showed. "And I know what I shall give you," she said. "Life!"
"Immortality?"
"Not Immortality. Life." She turned her emerald eyes on him. "Tom, is it very hard to give up the idea of children? Men want children, don't they?"
"Most of us do—but it's a happiness well lost for you." He glanced down at her. "Listen, can't this immortality thing be undone? Wouldn't it be possible for Martin Sair to render you mortal for—a few years?"
"Of course. Further exposure to the hard rays will do it."
"And then," eagerly, "could we—"
The smile she flashed at him had in it a touch of heaven. "Yes," she said exultantly, but instantly a cloud chased away the smile. "But don't you remember what sort of children women bear who've been too long in the ray? Would you like to be father to a little amphimorph?"
He shuddered. "Thank you. We'll do as we are then."
She burst suddenly into laughter almost as mocking as her old self. Then she was as suddenly serious, tender.
"Tom," she murmured, "I won't tease you. That will be my gift to you. Martin Sair can do what you wish. There is some leeway to the process—enough, perhaps, for a single time. My permanent age is twenty now; it will be twenty–five then. But who in all the world could have anticipated that the Black Flame would assume motherhood—and like it? Tom, that's my gift to you—life! Kiss me!"
For a moment of ecstasy he felt her lips quiver against his.
"Two boys and a girl!" she murmured. "Won't we, Tom?"
"And can Martin Sair," he asked ironically, "fix that for us, too?"
"Of course. Two boys like you, Tom." She was suddenly dreamy–eyed.
"But not a girl like you."
"Why not?"
"Because," Tom Connor laughed, "I don't think society could stand a second Black Flame!"
The Dark Other