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  “… I can’t remember your name, Lady … Lady?”

  “Aza, Your Majesty. I’m not—”

  “I’m so glad I found you, Lady Aza.” She smiled her dazzling smile.

  Footsteps echoed in the corridor she’d come from.

  I began again. “I’m not—”

  She darted behind the fountain. I followed.

  “Lady Aza!” she whispered, looking both frightened and merry. “See who that is. Hurry!”

  I circled the fountain and made out the figure of Sir Uellu in the distance.

  “It’s the choirmaster, Your—”

  “Oh, no! He mustn’t catch me. Do something!”

  I took her hand and ran from the courtyard with her. She ran like a gazelle, and I was hard put to keep up. She tossed her hair and laughed. She turned her head and met my eyes. Her eyes said, Isn’t this fun? I couldn’t help laughing, too.

  We hadn’t gone far, however, before her breath gave out. Her pace lagged, and I was pulling her along. I couldn’t think what else to do, so I picked her up and carried her.

  At first she was rigid in my arms. Then she relaxed and smiled up at me. I felt she admired me, and I relished the feeling.

  We reached the end of the corridor. I turned into another and another. I worried we might be going in a circle and would come at the choirmaster from behind.

  “This is far enough. You can put me down.”

  I did so and stood next to her, panting.

  “Is he coming?” she whispered. “Did he follow us?”

  I listened, but all I heard was my own labored breathing. “We’re safe, Your Majesty.” Then I blurted out, “Why did we run from him?”

  She giggled and slid down the wall until she was sitting on the floor, like a three-year-old. I couldn’t loom over royalty, so I crouched next to her. Someone began to sing nearby.

  “Is that the choirmaster?”

  I’d heard his voice at the wedding. “No.”

  “Can I confide in you? Will you keep your queen’s secrets?”

  “Y-yes.” I’d never give away a confidence.

  “As soon as I saw you last night, I knew I could trust you. I thought, Here’s someone who could be my friend. You have such an honest face.”

  I wondered if she might like me because of my ugliness. That had never happened before.

  “I’ll tell you why we fled. First you should know that my lord told me I had to have singing lessons, because I’ve never sung in public before.”

  Her lord? Oh. The king.

  She wet her lips. “I don’t think I need them, but I don’t want to argue with my husband.” She dimpled adorably. “Not yet.”

  I saw her pleasure in saying husband. And I was sure her voice was dreadful.

  “The choirmaster is to be my teacher. I’ve been avoiding him all day.”

  What would she do tomorrow? What would she do when she had to sing? She couldn’t have a sore throat forever.

  She raised her chin. “My voice is unusual. It’s—” She searched for the right word. “—interesting.” She nodded, agreeing with herself. “Much more interesting than Lady Arona’s voice, which is so admired. One cannot praise Lady Arona’s voice highly enough.”

  She was envious! Beautiful as she was, married to the king as she was, she was emerald green with envy.

  I tried to think of something sympathetic to say. The best I could come up with was “The choirmaster is imposing. I’d be afraid to speak to him.”

  “I’m not afraid, and I’ll win him over”—her expression turned mischievous—“when I think how. But for now I’m safe.” She put her hand lightly on my arm. “You rescued me. You were my salvation.”

  I blushed. Anyone would have helped her.

  “I’d like you to be my lady-in-waiting.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “I’d like you to be my lady-in-waiting. I’m sure you would always be kind.”

  My heart was hammering. “Don’t you have a lady-in-waiting already?”

  She grimaced. “Lady Arona. I don’t care for her sort of beauty. She’s too soft and floppy looking. Anyway, I don’t want her. Oscaro picked her, but I think I should choose my own. After all, you’ll be my lady-in-waiting, not his.”

  “I can’t be.”

  “Why not? Why can’t you?” She smiled warmly. “I’m a new queen. You’d be a new lady-in-waiting. We’d be so merry.”

  I gathered my courage. “I’m a commoner, Your Majesty, an innkeeper’s daughter, not a lady.”

  “Lady Aza, I suspect a title can be found for you. I’ll speak to my husband. Now will you be my lady-in-waiting?”

  I stared at a spot where a green floor tile met a red one just beyond the hem of my gown. If I was her lady-in-waiting, I’d have to live here.

  At home they loved me.

  “There would be a wage. A generous wage.”

  A wage!

  I could give only one answer. My generous wage would be a godsend to the Featherbed.

  Before I could speak, she added, “You have such long thick hair. I can show you how we wear our hair in Kyrria.” She licked her lips again. “Some of our fashions would look pretty on you.”

  I doubted that, but perhaps the different fashions might help a little.

  “I’ll be honored to be your lady-in-waiting. Thank you, Your Majesty.”

  “Good. Then it’s settled.”

  As her lady-in-waiting I’d often see Prince Ijori.

  She rose. I scrambled up.

  “Lady Aza? At the fountain you made voices come from the statues.” She looked uneasy. “You did that, didn’t you? It wasn’t the statues?”

  “It was I. I was illusing.” I had no reason for concealment. I’d done nothing wrong.

  She still looked uneasy. “Can all my subjects illuse?”

  “No, Your Majesty. I tried to teach my family, but they couldn’t learn. I don’t know of anyone else who can do it.”

  “Oh.” She flashed her smile. “How talented you are!” Her voice became peremptory. “I wish to go outside. Conduct me outdoors, Lady Aza. I command it.”

  How imperious she could be!

  I didn’t know how to obey. I had no notion where we were or where the castle entrance was. I looked down the corridor, hoping for a ray of sunlight. But in this part of the castle the tallow lamps provided the only light.

  Hmm … If we exited through a chamber window, we’d be outside. We weren’t on an upper story. We wouldn’t have to jump.

  I bent over and peered through the nearest keyhole, hoping to see an empty chamber, hoping not to see a person in underclothes—or in no clothes at all.

  The room seemed to be an office. There were a desk, a chair, a map on the wall. And no occupant.

  I opened the door. “Follow me, Your Majesty.”

  In the room I pulled the curtains aside enough to reveal a narrow casement window, which I cranked open. I stuck my head out. The drop was nothing, no more than a foot. I brought my head back in and put a leg through the window.

  The queen looked puzzled, but she’d see in a moment. I gathered my skirts and squeezed them and my other leg outside. The window frame was tight, but I needed only to pop myself through and then I’d be out.

  “As soon as I get through, I’ll help you. It will be easier for you. You’re slimmer.” I pushed against the frame, but I was wedged in.

  Ivi laughed. She drew the curtains farther aside, revealing a glass door. If I’d even turned my head, I’d have seen it.

  What a fool I was! I struggled to get out, but I only locked myself in tighter.

  Ivi pushed on my shoulders, to no avail. She could hardly speak for laughing. “I’ll find … someone … to help … you. I’ll be back shortly.” She stepped outside.

  I didn’t want her to go. I needed help from someone stronger than she was, but I didn’t want to be alone.

  What help would she bring? A manservant? Or the king?

  Or Prince Ijori?

 
; CHAPTER ELEVEN

  I CRANED MY neck and watched the queen until she disappeared around a castle wall. The window opened on a cul-de-sac. I could see only castle walls, a rectangle of grass, a rectangle of gray sky.

  The duchess would be expecting me by now. She’d be livid.

  Ivi had a good heart. She couldn’t be so kind to me if she hadn’t. The king couldn’t have fallen in love with her otherwise—although he hadn’t said a word about her heart in his Wedding Song. I sang a snatch of it.

  “She has thunder

  and lightning,

  rage and joy.”

  A gust of wind blew into the cul-de-sac. It whipped my skirts up around my waist, exposing my legs. I kicked and wriggled in a useless effort to cover them.

  I wanted to scream with frustration.

  But then the whole castle would know. I’d be the ugly ox who’d gotten herself stuck in a window with a door inches away.

  As time passed, I grew certain the queen had forgotten me. I decided to scream after all. “Help!”

  No one came.

  I pushed and wriggled again. The window frame bit into my hips, my stomach, and my buttocks. Dame Ethele’s reticule jabbed into my right hip.

  The reticule! Perhaps I could pull it out and gain an inch or two. I tugged and yanked on its strap. My fingers turned red, but the reticule was as stuck as I was. I was grinding my teeth so hard, my jaw ached.

  Then I had to laugh. If I missed a few meals, I’d be able to get out.

  I heard the distant roar of a cheering crowd. It had to be the centaur spectacle.

  I heard footsteps. I shouted, “Help!”

  Perhaps if I twisted diagonally to the window frame, I could pull the reticule through. I twisted, sending pain down my legs.

  A man’s voice sang, “What’s that I hear? A damsel in distress?”

  The reticule was out. I’d done it! I squirmed and writhed and gained an inch back into the chamber.

  “I’ll save you, sweet maiden.”

  Now that I thought I might get out, I wanted him to go away. I thrust myself forward and gained another inch.

  “Perhaps you’ll thank me with a kiss.”

  Go away!

  His footsteps were close by. I illused and sent my voice as far as I could, wherever it would go. “Kind sir, hurry please, for I sorely need you.”

  The footsteps stopped. “Where are you, lovely maiden?”

  I sent my voice a different way. “Here I am.”

  I pushed into the room, progressing inch by inch.

  “Where?”

  I was free!

  “Oh, where?”

  He’d see me if I exited into the corridor, so I left through the outside door. I heard cheering again and followed the sound. The clouds were lowering. Rain was on the way.

  The lists’ stands were filled, although the arena was empty. I supposed the performance was between acts. There was the duchess, looking grumpy and ill-used in a first-row seat. She was facing straight ahead and didn’t see me. If she had, she would likely have scolded me before everyone. Luckily, there were no seats near her. I climbed to a back row, ready if she needed assistance.

  Spread before me were more colors than in a garden. The stands were draped with cloth—blue cloth here, gold cloth there, green cloth somewhere else. Pennants flew the purple-and-silver Ayorthaian coat of arms. The lords and ladies were gaily clad—the men in their doublets and slashings and brilliant hose, the women in their gowns and ribbons and puffed sleeves.

  I saw Prince Ijori and Oochoo, two rows up, with the king and queen. Ivi was laughing and clapping, with no thought for me, trapped in a window. But perhaps she had sent a servant to save me, and the servant had been derelict.

  The arena was set up with hurdles, too high for ordinary horses. Centaurs streamed in, six stallions and six mares. The muscles of their horse bodies flowed into their human torsos and arms. The tight doublets of the stallions and the clinging bodices of the mares concealed none of the creatures’ strength and grace.

  A mare stood directly below my part of the stands. Her eyes had the questioning look of an intelligent dog, and she sniffed the air with her human-seeming nose.

  The centaur trainer entered the lists, carrying a basket and a baton. He held something up for King Oscaro and Ivi to see. Then he displayed it to the rest of the audience—an egg. He threw it to the mare near me and reached into his basket for more.

  Each centaur received four eggs. The trainer waved his baton, and they began both to juggle and to gallop. When they reached a hurdle, they jumped while still juggling. I smiled.

  I glanced across the lists. Prince Ijori was smiling too. Our eyes met. His smile widened and my blush started.

  I looked at the king and queen and caught a little drama. King Oscaro had turned his head toward Lady Arona, who was enchanting in a pink embroidered bonnet. Ivi’s eyes followed his gaze. The fury in her face frightened me. I wouldn’t have been Lady Arona then for anything.

  A moment later the queen laughed, and I wondered if I’d imagined her rage.

  The centaurs started lobbing eggs to one another, sometimes halfway across the lists. I could barely breathe, expecting one of them to miss and an egg to land splat. Not a single egg was dropped. I raised my arms until my shoulders ached.

  Frying Pan entered the arena, wheeling a charcoal brazier and carrying a bowl and a skillet. The trainer took the bowl while Frying Pan lit the charcoal. The centaurs trotted to the trainer. Each one cracked his or her eggs into the bowl and galloped out of the lists, followed by the trainer.

  Frying Pan placed her frying pan atop the brazier. Everyone laughed as she beat the eggs and poured them into the pan. She sang,

  “Shake an egg

  Toss an egg

  Catch an egg

  Break an egg

  Omelette for lunch!

  “Watch it bubble

  Watch it boil

  Watch it burn

  Watch it scorch

  Omelette for lunch!

  “Please, oh cook

  Quick, oh cook

  Cook, oh cook

  Serve, oh cook

  Omelette for lunch!”

  Frying Pan lifted her pan off the flame. “Omelette for lunch!” She wheeled the brazier out of the arena.

  The overcast sky darkened.

  The centaurs trotted back in. The trainer returned, too, pulling nets filled with pulsing color. He opened the nets and released swarms of butterflies, which settled on the centaurs.

  The centaurs turned into creatures out of a dream, garbed in bright hues that shifted and throbbed as the butterflies fluttered their wings. The centaurs began to move, slowly and carefully. The butterflies stayed with them!

  The centaurs had completed a circuit of the lists when they began to trot. And the butterflies stayed with them. How could it be? But it was.

  The centaurs cantered and then they galloped. They raced out of the arena with the butterflies still clinging. I hated to see them go. There might be more miracles ahead, but I could have watched this one forever.

  There was a lull. Servants circulated with omelette sandwiches. Mine was the best I’d ever tasted, studded with sweet peas and mellow eland cheese.

  After we’d eaten, four huge centaurs entered the lists and strutted about, showing off their bulging muscles.

  I felt a raindrop on my nose. Servants opened umbrellas over the heads of the courtiers. An ox entered the arena, pulling a cart filled with wooden posts and heavy iron rings. Mud spattered the cart’s wheels.

  At first the rain didn’t matter. A servant hammered four wooden posts into the ground in a line. Then he drove the cart to the centaurs. With great difficulty he lifted out an iron ring and staggered with it to a mare.

  She lifted the ring as though it were paper. With a flick of her wrist, she tossed the ring onto the farthest post, almost the length of the lists away.

  The rain came down harder. Each centaur took a half dozen rings. At the t
rainer’s signal, the centaurs hurled rings at all the posts, faster than I believed possible. Not a single ring missed its post.

  The centaurs started to trot while tossing the rings, their aim still perfect.

  King Oscaro stood and shouted something. The trainer signaled with his baton, and the centaurs increased their pace. A stallion slipped in the mud while tossing a ring. He recovered, but his throw went wide. An iron ring hurtled toward Ivi.

  King Oscaro moved to block her. Prince Ijori launched himself at her and knocked her over.

  The moment is lodged in my memory. If they had done nothing, the ring would have sailed over her shoulder. Instead, it smashed into the side of King Oscaro’s head.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE KING TOPPLED onto Prince Ijori and the queen.

  A cry rose from the lists. Everyone clambered down and rushed toward the king. I don’t know what we hoped to do.

  I thought, The bad luck has arrived. This happened because Ivi didn’t sing at her wedding.

  She squirmed out from under King Oscaro and Prince Ijori. Then the three of them were hidden by the crowd. The trainer herded the centaurs out. I stood in the arena, on the edge of the throng.

  Ivi shrieked, “My lord! Oscaro! Prince, make him answer me. I command you. Make him stand up.”

  I heard Prince Ijori’s voice. “The king lives!”

  I think we all breathed again. Ahead of me the crowd parted. I stood aside as Count Amosa and Prince Ijori came through, carrying King Oscaro. Tears streamed down Prince Ijori’s face.

  I had my first clear view of the injured king. His head was bloody. His face was as white as mine. His body hung limply between his two bearers.

  “Where are you taking him?” Ivi cried.

  “To the physician,” Count Amosa said.

  They began to carry the king out of the lists. Oochoo loped alongside, her tail down.

  Ivi saw me. “Lady Aza! Come to me!”

  It didn’t matter if she’d forgotten me in the window. I went to her, and she threw herself into my arms, weeping. “What will happen to me if he dies?”

  This was what she was thinking? I patted her back and murmured, “Don’t cry. It’s all right. He won’t die.” I was talking as much to myself as to her. “He’ll be fine.”