Fairest Read online

  “… all they talked of were droughts and trade delegations and ogres. It was too dull to endure. They said the same things over and over.”

  She rested her forehead on the king’s chest. “So I dissolved the council.”

  Sir Enole’s hands stopped their work. I choked back a gasp.

  “I don’t see why I need a council. Ijori can tell me what I must decide.”

  Dissolved the king’s council!

  Ayorthaians were proud of their council, the oldest in our region. There were only five members, including the king or queen, but one member always had to be a commoner. We’d fought a civil war to put a commoner on the council. Council matters were discussed all across the kingdom.

  “My lord, you will thank me when you are well.” She recited, “‘Powerful monarchs need no parliaments.’ I wonder you—”

  This was tyranny! I burst out, “Your Majesty, everyone will be furious. The king’s council—”

  “Oh, Aza, leave statecraft to your queen. Leave it to me. You are not to worry.” She gestured for me to approach her. I did, and she whispered in my ear, “My advisor assures me that it will come right.”

  Obviously offended at her rudeness, Sir Enole retreated to his study.

  She added, reciting again, “‘Powerful queens rule happy kingdoms.’”

  I returned to the window, half wanting to assassinate her for the good of Ayortha.

  She told her husband the dishes she hoped would be served at dinner.

  Later, on my way to my chamber after Ivi had bade me leave her for the night, I saw Ijori and Oochoo in the Great Hall. He was tossing a wooden ball, and she was dashing among the pillars in hot pursuit. When I happened along, she rushed to me, tail wagging, ball in her mouth. She let me have it, and I skimmed it across the tiles.

  He approached. “I hoped you’d come. The moon is out. You haven’t seen Ontio Castle by moonlight.”

  I followed him outside, amazed he’d waited for me, amazed he wanted to show me anything. He seemed unaffected by my ugliness, but it gnawed at me. At least at night I was less visible.

  We passed under the leaves of the Three Tree and across the courtyard. I breathed in the scent of obirko blossoms.

  He started down a steep stone stairway. “Hold on to my shoulders. I don’t want you to fall.”

  Joy. I grasped his shoulders. He felt sturdy under my hands. I heard Oochoo, scrabbling down the slope on our right.

  The steps ended in a pebbled path, almost as steep as the stairs.

  “Careful. This is treacherous at night.”

  I didn’t see why. Every pebble stood out under the bright full moon. The path leveled, and the moat opened up before us. The water was low. I saw a fox’s footprints on the banks.

  Ijori stopped and turned. “Look up.”

  I did, and there was the castle. If the earth tilted a degree, it would come crashing down.

  He sang, “What do you think?”

  The glossy leaves of the castle’s ivy caught the moonlight. I sang, “It glows.” I wanted to add something memorable, something to rival the castle’s grandeur. “It’s … It’s enormous. It blocks out half the sky.” Not memorable.

  “It’s indescribable, although I’ve tried innumerable times.”

  I felt better and found the words I’d wanted. “It makes me think of the sound when a chorus sings full voice.”

  “Ah. Yes.”

  We began to walk again. A cloud crossed the moon. Ijori stood still, and I did too. The world was dark. All I had were the warmth of him next to me and the noises of the night—Oochoo panting, frogs chanting, a breeze in the bushes.

  The cloud passed. We went on.

  “We can circle the castle along the moat.”

  “Where are the swans?” I asked.

  “Asleep.”

  We walked in silence. I thought if I concentrated, I might hear the stars serenading each other.

  He said, “Do you hear Oochoo?”

  “Not anymore.”

  “Where is she?” He called, “Oochoo, come.”

  Silence.

  He whistled and called again. In the distance we heard her. A minute later she was jumping up on Ijori and then nuzzling into my skirts.

  “Good, Oochoo. Good, girl.” He fed her a treat from his pocket. “Stay with me.” For a moment he held her by her jeweled collar. “She won’t stay. She never does.”

  He let her go, and she ran off again.

  “I never thought to have a friend like you.” He resumed walking.

  He and I were friends? “I never thought to have a prince for a friend.”

  “Princes are cut from good cloth for friendship. Silk is as strong as burlap, although no one thinks so.”

  “I think so.”

  “Thank you, Aza.” He paused. “I have a cousin who’s a friend, but she’s entirely different.”

  What did he mean?

  “It’s because I’m a commoner. You can put a lady before my name, but at bottom I’m burlap.”

  “You’re not burlap,” he said gallantly.

  I chuckled. “We do have a bit of dimity here and there at the Featherbed.”

  “Now I have a confession. The shocking truth is I’ve never spent a night at an inn.”

  “Never? Then how do you travel?”

  “From castle to castle. Or, if I’m riding against ogres with Uncle, we sleep in tents.”

  Riding against ogres. Terrifying.

  “An ogress almost killed me when I was fourteen.”

  “Oh!”

  “She persuaded me that my father was alive. I knew he was dead, and yet she convinced me in only a few words. I believed she could lead me to him. Uncle saved me.” He laughed. “For a moment I was furious with him.”

  “How did he save you?”

  “He was on his charger, singing so loud he couldn’t hear the ogress, and he snatched me up.” He shook his head. “Sometimes in nightmares I still hear her sweet voice, and I still believe her. Ogres are the ultimate deceivers.”

  I ranked just below them.

  I heard voices in the distance. People were singing in the garden.

  “Aza … If I may ask, I’d like your opinion of Her Majesty—the opinion of an innkeeper.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what his opinion was. I searched for something safe. “She’s inexperienced.”

  “I shudder to think what she’ll do when she has experience. How could she have dissolved the council?”

  “She doesn’t understand what it means to us.”

  “How could she not—” He stopped himself. “I’m being indiscreet.” He sang, “You must despise me.” He whistled for Oochoo again, and this time she came quickly.

  “No. I don’t.” He was confiding in me, but I was hiding everything from him.

  “You’re too kind to despise anyone.”

  Such a compliment! I despised Ivi.

  Not entirely. Sometimes I had sympathy for her.

  How I wished to unburden myself! How I wished to be frank!

  He added, “I’m candid because I need someone to assess my judgments. You and I know her better than anyone here, excepting my uncle.”

  I was uneasy even about sharing my complete opinion of her. “She’s headstrong, and we know she has a temper, but it’s perhaps because she’s so lively.”

  “Yes. My uncle loved—loves—her liveliness. He said her moods made him feel young again. He said she made him think he could do anything.”

  “I believe she returns his love.” I told Ijori that she’d spent the night at the king’s side.

  He was surprised and pleased.

  “She’s generous, too.” I told him she’d paid for my wardrobe.

  This failed to impress him. “The crown is rich enough for such generosity”—he touched my arm—“but I suspect you’d find goodness in an ogre.”

  “I detest ogres! I detested certain guests at the Featherbed.”

  “What did they do?”<
br />
  “Oh … they were rude.”

  “Rude?” He paused. I could feel his thoughts go round. “I see.”

  He probably did. I wished he didn’t.

  “Which guest did you like best?”

  I told him about the gnome zhamM. “And I like the duchess of Olixo.”

  “That’s tantamount to liking an ogre.”

  “It isn’t! She loves cats.”

  “And ogres eat them. I see the difference.”

  I laughed.

  He circled back to Ivi. “At least she spent last night at the king’s side.”

  “Yes.”

  “And at least she has a first-rate voice.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  A WEEK PASSED. THE mood in the castle was bleak. The corridor troubadours sang of pain and grief. Whenever I illused for Ivi, I was sure the word trickster would appear on my forehead. I feared sneezing or hiccuping or fainting. I felt dizzy and feverish.

  At the beginning of the following week, I received two letters, one from home and one from Areida at finishing school. I opened them in my chamber before dressing for dinner, sitting at my window, reading by the light of the sunset.

  Areida’s letter contained mostly questions, paragraph after paragraph of questions about the royal family, the court, and the castle. Then she wrote:

  Since I received Mother’s letter with your news, I’ve fallen asleep happy and awakened smiling. I knew eventually someone would truly see you. It took a stranger—a queen with clear eyes and extraordinary common sense. Perhaps these abilities are why the king loves her, because she recognizes quality when she encounters it.

  Darling Areida. I was glad she didn’t know the truth. I patted her letter and smoothed out its creases. I put it aside and turned to the letter from home, which had been penned by Mother, the family chronicler. First came the family’s distress over the king, then her joy over the change in all our fortunes. I basked in her excitement. Because of our wondrous wealth, a new roof had been decided upon and a new wing was under consideration.

  She wrote,

  The duchess is not fond of the queen, but then the queen isn’t a cat. We, on the other hand, cannot stop singing her praises! Please convey our feelings if you think it proper. I have no notion what’s proper to convey to a queen!

  Evidently word of the council’s dissolution hadn’t yet reached home.

  The tone of her letter altered.

  Daughter, your father insists I tell you this. We’ve kept it secret for fear you’d become discontented with your lot. But now you’re where you belong, and you should know the truth: The courtiers are your equals.

  We are convinced you were highborn. You may even be a king’s daughter. The blankets we found you in were velvet, hemmed with gold thread.

  I had to catch my breath. I looked out the window, where the green of the oak leaves and the brown of the branches were saturated with dusk. The colors swam, and I realized I was weeping.

  The woman who’d borne me and the man who’d sired me had been rich enough to keep me if they’d liked, but they’d wanted nothing to do with me. They hadn’t even made sure I lived.

  I wondered if Areida and my brothers knew of my high birth. Probably not. They wouldn’t have been able to keep the secret.

  I wiped my eyes and read on.

  We believe you are a child of Ayortha because of your voice, but we may be wrong. You could have come from anywhere, from Kyrria or Bizidel or faraway Pu.

  If people snub you, remember you may belong higher above the salt than they do. You weathered snubs at home, and see where you are now. Father and I are proud of you, as we’ve always been.

  I’d had more luck in my adoption than I’d had in my birth. No king or queen could have been kinder than an innkeeper and his wife had been. They’d taken me in, an ugly baby and an added expense. Yet I hadn’t been merely a charity. They’d loved me.

  I put the letters in the top drawer of my bureau and dressed in yet another of Dame Ethele’s horrors. This one had so much draped cloth in the sleeves that they would have been useful on a sailing ship. The headdress, too, was cursed with excess cloth, which culminated in flaps that fell on each side of my face like the long droopy ears of an Ayorthaian hare.

  Ivi’s gown was as different from mine as ornamental cabbage is from a rose. The cut was simplicity itself—a round neckline and a gently flaring skirt. Eighteen tiny silver buttons ran from neck to hem, and the cloth was deep purple silk embroidered in silver thread with tiny fleurs-de-lis.

  As I buttoned the eighteen buttons, she said, “I fear the prince may not be speaking to me at dinner.” She stood. “He’s vexed because I won’t send anything south.”

  There was a drought in southern Ayortha, and the peasants needed food and supplies desperately.

  “Their lords can help them,” she added. “I will not deplete my husband’s coffers just because of the weather.”

  I thought even Ivi would sympathize with starving peasants, and I thought the king’s coffers were meant to be used for droughts and floods and the like.

  She looked around. “Where is my brooch?”

  We couldn’t find it, although we looked under everything and behind everything and rifled her drawers twice over. I didn’t care if she found the brooch or not, but I had my eye out for vials that might hold potions.

  No vials, and no brooch.

  In the end she found it, an amethyst-and-jade pin, on the dressing table, in the shadow of the golden flute, next to Skulni. I pinned it on and returned to what was important. “The drought—”

  “You are not my advisor.”

  I was her lark.

  “Aza, I am acting on good counsel.”

  I decided she was corresponding with a friend in Kyrria, who knew nothing of us. Still, only an enemy of Ayortha would recommend ignoring a drought.

  I opened the door and we stepped into the corridor. A guard fell in beside each of us as we began to walk. I’d never been so close to swordsmen before. They wore breastplates and helmets, and their swords clinked with each step. For a moment I thought they were going to escort me to prison.

  “Why are the guards here?” I asked.

  “A powerful queen should look powerful. She should seem mighty. And people may have heard my decision about the drought.”

  No Ayorthaian ruler had ever before needed protection from her own subjects.

  Before dinner was served, I illused her part in the Song of Ayortha. Tonight, as was often the case, Sir Uellu’s eyes rested frequently on me. I ached to know what his sharp ears were detecting. I was particularly nervous during the choral portions. I couldn’t sing at full strength for both of us. I gave most of my voice to Ivi, reserving just enough for myself to keep my neighbors from wondering.

  When we finished, he said, “Your Majesty, the court has been waiting for your duet with Lady Aza. If you perform together at the coming Sing, you’ll have two weeks to prepare. Give us the pleasure of hearing your voices mingle.”

  I thought my heart was going to fly out of my mouth. I had explained to Ivi that I couldn’t illuse a duet. She’d told me not to worry—she was queen and Sir Uellu was merely a subject. But he wasn’t. She had no idea of his importance.

  She wet her lips. “Perhaps we will.”

  Dinner was brought in with unusual ceremony, each plate concealed under a domed silver cover. When all had been set down, serving maids and scullery maids and even Frying Pan herself stationed themselves between the diners. Frying Pan’s bracelets jingled lightly.

  Ivi clapped her hands. “A surprise!” She smiled around the table. “What do you think it might be?”

  At a signal from Frying Pan, the covers were removed with a flourish. Everyone’s plate was piled with glistening roast hare, barley, mushrooms, onion pie. Everyone’s plate except Ivi’s, Ijori’s, and mine. We each had a mound of leavings—potato peel, picked-over bones, bread crusts, eggshells, fruit rinds.

  I gasped.

  Ivi
shrieked.

  Lady Arona laughed.

  Ivi rose. Her chair fell over behind her.

  What would Ivi do to Frying Pan and anyone else involved, and to Lady Arona for laughing?

  Ijori laughed too, as if at a prank. He was so quick-witted! I joined in and made my laughter hearty. Lady Arona’s laughter had been genuine. I could tell Ijori’s was forced. A singer would know the difference, but Ivi might not.

  The courtiers understood and laughed too. The servants began to laugh. As we made ourselves laugh, true mirth flowed in. Frying Pan had done something defiant and dangerous, and we were turning it into a jest to save her and Lady Arona.

  Frying Pan looked startled. Then she laughed too, belly bellowed with laughter, her cheeks shaking, her bracelets chiming. Lady Arona sobered and then laughed again, her eyes on Ijori. She knew how clever he’d been.

  Ivi finally laughed too, but her laughter was uncertain.

  When the glee subsided, Ijori said to his server, “Enough merriment. Bring our dinner.”

  A serving maid picked up Ivi’s chair. She sat. Our plates were whisked away and proper ones brought back from the kitchen. A more relaxed dinner followed than any since the wedding. Conversation was easier. Songs were sung between courses, and five or six were sung after dessert. We were all giddy from relief.

  As we ate, I considered each older courtier, seeking resemblances to myself. This one had a pale complexion. That one had fat cheeks. This one was oversize. None looked much like me, but any one was possible.

  Were any hard-hearted enough to forsake a babe? I couldn’t tell.

  That night I couldn’t sleep. Mother and Father thought I belonged in the castle, but—except for Ijori—I would a thousand times rather have been at the Featherbed. Here I was essential to the queen’s misrule. I was an instrument of every step she took. I thought of running away, but her vengeance on Mother and Father would be swift, and she’d send her guards after me.

  If only the king were well. If he were, I’d throw myself on his mercy. I didn’t think he’d send me to prison.

  Since I couldn’t sleep, I would put my wakefulness to use. I’d had no daytime opportunity to return to the library, but I could go now.