WRAITH of the high places, the King of Three seen a third time, and in the Sister’s working: his shadow. Twice before he has shown himself, once in the burning year and once behind his veil; here the last of his colors is taken from him, and what remains is the king reduced to his bones of light and dark, three crowned heads of deep blue under a heaven gone white as the page. His office is to prove that the crown outlasts its colors: stripped of the blood below and the gold of any season, he is still unmistakably the king, known by shape alone. The white flowers at his feet keep a small court for him. A shadow, the Sister teaches, is not less true than the thing that casts it; it is only quieter.
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