Chapter 2

Emergence of Nothing

A light breeze stirred the curtains, and the mythical flora that inhabited them was truly lifelike in its movements. From the height of a window one could see clipper ships in the bay and a bulky black silhouette of a battleship at anchorage. The bell tower loomed on the opposite side of the Palace Square – the gilded snake-shaped hands writhed in the bright sunshine just seconds before noon. The clang of a bell resounded loudly over the square, sending the seagulls and doves from the rooftops up into the air.

“This is exactly how it happened,” Uncia turned to her mother. “The snakes writhed together and spit out a blinding shot of flames! Everything froze and stood motionless as the bells were tolling, and a fiery ball kept moving towards the window, and I saw a face, an unusual, beautiful face! I wanted to make it out better, and then, all of a sudden… a flock of doves let me through, very slowly… and a dove’s eye drifted next to me – a silly reddish eye! It was then that the other, thoroughly different glance embraced me!”

A shadow crossed Theresa’s face as if her daughter had again fallen past the window, momentarily screening the sun.

“And then came the voice,” the girl looked into her deep, anxious eyes. “It swept over me like an ocean, and its stars carried me on the ends of their rays…”

Applause sounded from the square. At the same time there was a tap on the door, and an old valet with the stern face of a skipper came in.

“The orchestra conductor is already at his stand, the audience is waiting,” he said.

“Thank you, Tristan.” Theresa stood up and turned to her daughter:

“The next time you mention your saviors, say ‘the Voice and the Glance’ rather than ‘the voice and the glance’,” she spoke, as if singing the words. “Can you tell the difference?”

“Yes, ma,” Uncia raised her intent face, and her mother kissed a golden curl on her temple.

Theresa was not a dazzling woman, but when she sang, her entire body began to radiate a serene, vivid glow. And her voice was also lucid and touching, which is why the people called her the Nightingale Queen. And, indeed, she was like a nightingale – small and fragile, charming everyone with her songs, helping others forget their troubles and inspiring hope.

Theresa always addressed ordinary people with ordinary words and in a manner as ordinary as if she had no title or fortune. And today, while opening the ceremony, she, as usual, began with words.

“The scientists were right, the sun had saved our princess,” she said. “But it was not the sun alone: the whole world sings, and its music doesn’t let us go under. These are the cha