Fairest Page 11

  He drew away, a little away, and smoothed the hair from my face. He murmured, “You smell like a meadow.”

  I touched his cheek. I hummed the melody my mind was singing. He smiled and listened.

  After a while I stopped humming, but the tune continued in my mind.

  “Why were you crying?”

  “It doesn’t matter anymore.” It didn’t.

  “It does matter. Someone was cruel.”

  I shrugged.

  “They don’t know you.” He sang, “I know you. You’re the finest, kindest, sweetest maiden in Ayortha.” He kissed me again.

  A prince could judge ostumo.

  Then Oochoo was there, sticking her snout between us, wagging her tail, licking Ijori’s face and mine. We both stood, laughing. He returned to the hall and I proceeded up the stairs. My mind went back to singing.

  The queen would expect me to be a while at the fitting. I could go to my room and calm myself.

  I stopped climbing. Ivi would recognize that the tailor’s behavior had been an insult to her. Without a doubt she’d imprison him, and probably Mistress Audra as well. They had been even more rash than Frying Pan. They’d known what the queen might do.

  But I didn’t want them imprisoned. I wanted my new wardrobe. They deserved punishment, but not imprisonment. I had to save them if I could. I started back down the stairs, considering how I might manage the tailor.

  He bowed when I reached his stall. “Milady has returned for her finery.”

  I snapped out, “Come with me.” I had never played the great lady before, but I’d watched the duchess.

  He followed me behind a pillar, where we could have relative privacy.

  I drew myself up to my full height, half a foot above his head. Ijori’s kiss had fortified me. “You thought to have fun with the queen’s favorite and be safe from the queen herself.”

  “Milady—”

  “Her Majesty intended to come with me. If she had, you and your seamstresses would be in prison now. Did you think of Mistress Audra and the others?”

  “It was—”

  “And, with you in prison, tomorrow the tailor from Ontio town will set up his stall in your place.”

  His face reddened. “The tailor Emoree? That charl—”

  I nodded. “Yes, that charlatan. Or perhaps Her Majesty will send for a Kyrrian tailor from her hometown of Bast.”

  The tailor looked apoplectic.

  “Did you think about that?” I sang. “Did you think at all? But”—I returned to speech—“if my wardrobe is finished, you will keep your stall and no one will be thrown in the dungeon.”

  “We will make it up for you.” He didn’t meet my eyes.

  “Look at me!”

  He looked up.

  “I want it in time for the Sing, and I want the ensembles I chose, in the fabrics I chose.”

  “You will have them, but—”

  I barked out, “But what?”

  “—there will be no time for a fitting.”

  “Then see that everything is perfect.”

  “Yes, milady. Milady?”

  “Yes?”

  “What will you tell the queen?”

  “I’ll tell Her Majesty that you are putting on the finishing touches.”

  “Tell her, too, that she won’t find a tailor of my quality anywhere in Ontio or Kyrria.”

  “If I like my new ensembles, I’ll certainly tell her that. Indeed, she’ll see for herself. Good day, Tailor.” I strode away, feeling a thousand feet tall, and glad to be, for the first time in my life.

  Kisses were better than potions.

  When I reached Ivi’s chambers, I told her the fitting had gone well, and everything would be ready in time for the Sing.

  She clapped her hands. “Which will you wear? I know! Wear the blue brocade. No, don’t wear it. Bring it here. Bring all your new finery. You’ll wait on me and I’ll wait on you. I’ll be your lady-in-waiting, and you’ll be mine. We’ll look so splendid, the court will go blind from the sight of us. It almost makes me like Sings.”

  In the Throne Room that afternoon she flirted with the two guards, but especially with the guard Uju. Ijori and I wrote our songs while Oochoo dozed. I wrote Ivi’s song as well as my own. I’d asked her if I might, and, to my surprise, she’d said yes.

  It was hard to pay attention to writing with Ijori only a few feet away. I sat near the fireplace and leaned on a slate I’d found on the hearth. He sat at the desk where, he said, the king penned his proclamations.

  I wanted to move my chair closer to his. I wanted to do nothing but smile at him. Neither would be wise. Ivi wouldn’t want me making sheep’s eyes at her prince.

  And she wouldn’t want him making sheep’s eyes at me, which I saw he was in danger of doing. I lowered my head and concentrated on my song.

  I wrote about my feeling for beauty, for being beautiful.

  This was my song.

  There are those

  who find solace

  in a twisted oak,

  who can love

  the maggot in a pear.

  But I adore

  the plum that has no worm,

  the song that comes out pure,

  the shine of a polished stone,

  the chick with the deepest down.

  There are those who love the rain.

  Not I.

  I love the cloudless sky.

  There are those

  who long to ease

  a sick dame’s steps,

  who ache to trim

  an old man’s beard.

  But I yearn

  for a golden feather,

  for the greenest leaf,

  the scent of a sleeping child,

  the circle of a perfect peach.

  Some love the rain.

  Not I.

  I love the cloudless sky.

  When you think of me,

  remember how I yearned,

  remember how I ached.

  Know how I longed

  to be

  a bright blue sky.

  But I no longer wanted the bright blue sky so much. I had something better.

  Now for the queen’s song. A sung apology would be received best. But she’d never sing—or mouth the words of—such a song.

  Second best would be a song about missing the king. I knew the way she missed him. She missed his love for her. She missed being the reason for his laughter and his tears.

  But her subjects wouldn’t like that. The song should be about the way they would want her to miss him. I wrote:

  Ayortha, I miss my lord.

  I miss my heart that still

  Lives in his chest.

  I miss—

  “Do not write too long a song.” Ivi stood at my shoulder.

  “I won’t, Your Majesty.” I wished she’d move away. I couldn’t write with her watching.

  “Many Ayorthaian songs are far too long, don’t you agree, Prince Ijori?”

  He smiled noncommitally. “The composer and the hearer often have different opinions on that score.”

  She returned to Uju. “Uju agrees with me. They are too long, no?”

  He shrugged.

  She quizzed Uju about his song and received the shortest of replies. In a few minutes she gave up and announced she was retiring to her chambers. She left, accompanied by the two guards.

  Ijori put his writing aside and came to me. He sang, “Sing to me.”

  I sang, “What shall I sing?”

  “Anything.”

  I sang, “Four thousand seven hundred and thirty-eight. Four thousand seven hundred and thirty-nine. Four thousand seven hundred and forty.”

  He laughed. “It sounds marvelous when you sing it. I’ll sing, too. Four thousand seven hundred …”

  I joined in. “And forty-one. Four thousand seven hundred and forty-two. Four—”

  A servant came in. Sir Uellu wanted the prince again.

  Ijori conquered his laughter, touched my shoulder,
and left. He could hardly do more with the servant there, but I wished for another kiss.

  A noise woke me in the middle of the night before the Sing. I heard muffled banging. I thought of getting up to investigate, but I drifted back to sleep instead.

  In the morning something was different. I threw off the bedclothes. I put on my shift and sang:

  “Climb the day,

  Drop your dreams.”

  I stopped. I knew what the difference was. The birds weren’t singing.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  I THREW ON DAME Ethele’s shawl and poked my head out my door.

  There were no birds. I usually saw one or two flying and several others perched on the sconces or the door frames.

  The bird droppings! She’d taken revenge.

  I dressed hurriedly. The Great Hall was full of people standing still, staring up. As I threaded through the crowd, I heard a sob, a few lines of song. A man spat at me as I hurried by. I wasn’t thinking about my wardrobe, but the tailor called my name.

  I turned.

  He thrust an enormous bundle at me, wrapped in canvas. “It is done.” His false smile was gone. “I know you are not to blame.”

  I said, “Were the birds killed?”

  “Not killed. Released outside.” He raised an eyebrow. “They’ll be back.”

  I felt better.

  “When they come back,” he said, “we’ll make sure they stay.”

  I felt worse. The rebellion.

  He added, “We did our best with the wardrobe. The gowns will help you look less …” He trailed off.

  Less hideous.

  Ivi opened her eyes sleepily when I came in. But she sat up when she saw the bundle in my arms.

  “Your wardrobe!” She slid over. “Let me see.”

  I set the bundle down next to her. “Your Majesty, the birds—”

  “I couldn’t abide them. Filthy things.”

  “Your subjects … the king—”

  “Oh, don’t reproach me, Aza. Even if the king was well, dirt would be my domain. Fetch my scissors.”

  She cut the string and pulled apart the canvas covering.

  “Oh,” I breathed.

  She lifted up the top gown, a pale yellow crepe with a tiny ruffle at the waist and cuffs. “Show me.”

  I took it from her and went behind her screen. I had just unbuttoned the top button of my bodice when she said querulously, “My breakfast?”

  I buttoned the bodice again. “I forgot!”

  “Fetch it now. How could you have been so heedless?”

  She could have let me put on one of the new gowns. I laid the crepe carefully over a chair back.

  The hallways were bleak without birdsong. The corridor troubadours were silent too. My footfalls were somber drumbeats.

  When I returned with her breakfast, my ensembles were spread out on her bed. A gold chain lay across the bodice of one. Silver beads and pearls lay across another. There were also an opal pendant hung on a velvet ribbon, a garnet brooch, a lace collar, and three gold rings.

  “Oh!” I stood at the head of the bed, blinking at the jewelry.

  Ivi was at the foot of the bed, looking happier than I’d seen her since her wedding. “They’re yours. I want you to have them.”

  She took the breakfast tray from me and set it down on the desk. “Aza,” she said solemnly, “thank you for being the best lady-in-waiting a queen could ever hope for.”

  “Thank you.” Was she about to demand something dreadful of me?

  She put both hands on my shoulders. “Aza?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “Do you care about me?”

  I cared what she did to me. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

  “Deeply? Do you care about me deeply?”

  She was going to make me do something to prove I cared. I nodded and waited.

  But she let me go and picked up my violet silk gown. Holding it against herself, she said, “I have too many jewels, and don’t you think I matched them perfectly with the ensembles? You must admit my taste is nonpareil.”

  “Your taste is marvelous.” Did she want only admiration?

  “Don a gown! Try a necklace! Show me!”

  Again I went behind her screen. I removed the hooped farthingale and left the thin underskirt. I picked up the crepe gown, suddenly certain the fabric was too delicate for me. I should never have chosen anything so destructible. I raised my arms and drew the skirt over my head. It fluttered down to my hips as gently as rose petals.

  While I dressed, Ivi prattled happily. She’d thought of a new way to arrange my hair. She wasn’t sure which gown she should wear tonight, and which was my favorite color? Hers was gold. Which did I think Prince Ijori preferred?

  She recited the favorite colors of several youths in her hometown of Bast. “They were all my beaus. I had more beaus than anyone. No minxes ever took them from me. Hurry and show me how you look.”

  The gown fit perfectly. I stepped out from behind the screen.

  “Oh, Aza. It’s magnificent.” She jumped up from the bed. “You can’t look until I do something with your hair. Close your eyes.”

  She sat me in the dressing table chair and fussed over me. I wished I could look into Skulni and perhaps see my beautified self in my new gown.

  “Mmm … you’re ready for the cap.”

  The headdress for the ensemble was a simple circle of lined cloth with a tiny brim. She set it in place. “Now, rise and admire yourself. No. Wait.” She turned me away from the mirror.

  I opened my eyes. She flew to the bed for the garnet brooch. She held it here, held it there, and finally placed it below the wispy collar.

  In spite of the new gown I was reluctant to look in the mirror, but I did—not in Skulni, but in the ordinary mirror above the dressing table.

  I was still too white and too red and too black. But I appeared less bulky. The crinkles of the crepe ran on the bias. The result was a spiral that made my waist slimmer and my hips narrower. The tailor was a master.

  Ivi had tucked most of my hair under the cap and had left only a single coil showing. The effect was to make my face less round and to suggest that somewhere, under a pound of fleshy cheeks, I had cheekbones. Ivi was also a master.

  She decided that we should devote the rest of the day to fashion. She had me try on every gown, and she modeled each of her gowns for me.

  I missed Ijori.

  In the afternoon I grew nervous about illusing at the Sing. I actually persuaded Ivi to pause and rehearse her song with me.

  She remembered the words. Everything should go well. I had illused for her many times. But I was still uneasy.

  Ijori and Oochoo were waiting for us at the entrance to the Hall of Song. Ivi wore a turquoise gown, and mine was midnight blue. She’d caught my hair up in a shimmering blue net and had hung the gold chain around my neck.

  Ijori bowed and said, “Blue becomes you … both.”

  But he was looking at me.

  I blushed and lost any advantage the gown gave me.

  Ivi said, “A good tailor can perform wonders.”

  He smiled. “If he has someone extraordinary to perform them upon.”

  My blush was blushing.

  Ivi frowned. “That’s my hairnet Aza is wearing.”

  He bowed again.

  We entered the Hall of Song. I missed the birds. Sir Uellu announced there would be a toast after the queen sang her song. No sign of pleasure greeted the announcement. The mood in the hall was leaden.

  My mood was livelier. Fright is livelier than lead.

  The first song was always the Song of Ayortha, sung by everyone.

  Sir Uellu held up his hand. “Tonight we will depart from custom for a rare treat. Her Majesty and Lady Aza will sing the Song of Ayortha as a duet.”

  I took a half step to run from the hall.

  “Choirmaster!” Ivi wet her lips. “I forgot my promise! Alas, I cannot perform unrehearsed. I simply cannot. We’ll begin t
he next Sing with the duet.”

  Sir Uellu nodded as if he’d expected her answer. He raised his baton, and we all began the Three Tree Song. The singing lagged a quarter beat behind his baton. Sir Uellu slowed to let us catch up, and we slowed too, until the song was a dirge.

  Next he led us in a lively river song, but that felt dull and lifeless, too. He signaled for our solos, although the choral portion of a Sing generally lasts two hours. Ijori frowned, but no one else seemed to care.

  A footman sang about his favorite cap, a groom about his collection of horse collars. Several people yawned. Others coughed or shifted restlessly. I chewed on my cheek to keep from exploding. A knight sang. It would be my turn soon. Two ladies sang. It was my turn. I mounted the stage.

  I wanted to sing directly to Ijori, but I didn’t look at him. Out of the corner of my eye, however, I saw him sway as soon as I began. The guards shook their heads happily. Ivi swayed awkwardly, but everyone else was rigid. I was singing well. They were resisting …

  … except Sir Uellu, who was swaying and shaking his head and smiling.

  “When you think of me,

  remember how I yearned,

  remember how I ached.

  Know how I longed

  to be

  a bright blue sky.”

  I finished. When I reached my seat, Ijori whispered, “The best of the night.”

  Surreptitiously, I found his hand and held it in the folds of my skirts.

  The songs continued. Many were too short. They were an insult to the queen, although I’m sure she was grateful for the brevity. She was staring at nothing and smiling fixedly.

  Ijori was next. He let my hand go and climbed up to the stage.

  “This should be the saddest time

  when someone I love—

  my uncle—

  when something happens …

  my heart should die....

  “This should be the gladdest time

  with someone to love—

  my dear friend—

  when that happens …

  my heart should fly....”

  He was singing to everyone, but the song was a gift for me. I swayed and shook my head and beamed. His eyes met mine briefly. Then he continued to sing to everyone.