A True Princess Page 8

  “Not at all,” insisted Sir Ivar gallantly. “We salute you, lady, and your courage.” And to my astonishment, the hunters, every one, took off their caps and swept me a bow. I curtsied in return, pleased beyond measure. I had never been accused of bravery before, and it felt very satisfying indeed.

  Sir Ivar offered to accompany me back to the palace, but I was acutely aware of the gossip this would cause, so I politely declined. There was gossip nonetheless; the story of my encounter with the falcon raced through the palace and grew with each retelling. By the time it reached Karina, I had been torn nearly to bits and required the strength of six courtiers to be rescued from the bird’s vicious attack. She burst into the queen’s bedroom where I was dusting in preparation for the king and queen’s return—and looking for the cloak clasp—her face panicked and as pale as bleached wool.

  “I am fine,” I assured her before she could speak.

  “But whatever happened?”

  I calmed her with the truth, but it made me uneasy to see how wistful she looked each time I mentioned the prince in my telling. Her feelings for him had clearly deepened.

  That evening as we undressed for bed, I winced as I eased my dress over my head, and I heard Karina gasp when the fabric pulled free of my shoulder. The other maids gathered around me. I looked in the glass, shocked into silence at the sight of six small, deep holes in the front of my shoulder, and two in the back, all crusted with dried blood: imprints from the talons of the falcon.

  Chapter 8

  A True Princess Does Not Steal

  By the next day, I was tired of correcting the endless variations on the story of my encounter with the falcon and just let it grow as it would. The maids gossiped freely about my wounds, which Karina cleaned and bandaged, and the manservants treated me with a grudging admiration. In addition, Sir Erlend, Sir Ivar, and the other courtiers began acknowledging me more openly when we met. While they did not bow as they would to a lady, they did nod their heads or tip their hats. Of course, this fueled the gossip. I had gone from Lilia, the country shepherdess, to Lilia, the brave survivor of an attack by an enraged bird of prey (version the first) or Lilia, the girl who could tame wild birds with a single word (version the second). I found, rather to my surprise, that I did not much mind the attention or the newfound respect. Whenever I began to believe in my own marvelousness a little too much, though, Karina and Agna were at hand to bring me back to reality. Karina would remind me of how I used to fall asleep over the washing-up, and Agna would hand me a dust cloth, an apron, and a list of wearisome chores.

  The next wishful bride was to come that day, and I laid out my plan.

  “Give me one of your hairpins,” I told Karina. “After she has gone home, when everyone is asleep, I will pick the lock and sneak inside.”

  Karina looked thoughtful. “It could work,” she allowed. “But if you are caught . . .”

  “I know where all the guards are, and when they make their rounds,” I said. “There is no danger.”

  Karina nodded decisively. “Good. We have taken far too long looking for the clasp already. We haven’t much time left!”

  Edda arrived as scheduled. She was not at all like the porcine Ludovica. She traveled with her mother, a reasonable number of servants, and only one small trunk. She was rather pretty, with exotically high cheekbones and luminous hazel eyes.

  I could see that she made Karina very anxious.

  “She is beautiful, is she not?” Karina whispered to me.

  “Merely attractive,” I protested. “And that red hair—it is like unpolished copper, not at all as nice as blond hair.” But that was a lie, and we both knew it.

  “She will be gone by tomorrow,” I reminded Karina.

  “Oh, I do hope so,” she breathed.

  That evening King Ulrik and Queen Viveca returned from their progression through the uplands. A good deal of pomp and celebration attended their homecoming. All the staff was required to come out as the carriages arrived and curtsy or bow in unison. We were at a fair distance from the king and queen, but I observed their imperial stature and graceful movements; the king’s dark hair and beard, streaked with gray; the queen’s fair skin and downcast eyes. They looked exactly as I imagined a king and queen should look. They hurried into the palace with their attendants and servants, and we scattered to prepare for an elaborate meal. Edda and her mother would join the royal family and their court at dinner.

  “The queen seems rather solemn,” I remarked to Janna as we laid the long table in the state dining room.

  “Yes, she has always been thus,” Janna told me. “She rarely smiles, though she is a queen and has a fine husband and son.”

  “Why is that?” I asked, adjusting the space between water and wine goblets.

  “I don’t know why. Ask Agna—she’s been here forever. She knows everything,” Janna said.

  “I shall,” I replied. “Now, are all the forks and knives in the right places?” There were five of each. I could hardly imagine a meal that would require so many utensils, but later I watched amazed as course after course left the kitchen, each more pleasing to the eye and nose than the last. It very nearly rivaled the Elf-King’s feast, and it made me think all the more of Kai, and of the captive children who had served that terrible meal. Moved by a growing sense of urgency, I decided to change my plan and try to sneak in and search the room while Edda slept. I did not share this strategy with Karina, for I knew it was very possible that I would be caught, and I did not want to involve her.

  “She is doing very well,” Griet, who was serving, reported about Edda. “She uses the correct forks and has not spilled anything. She is conversing with some spirit. The prince is even smiling at her.”

  After the meal, the diners retired to the royal sitting room, where Edda played the harpsichord and sang in what Griet described as a “passable” voice. At last, the king and queen and prince bade good night to Edda and her mother. I watched as Agna took the mother to one of the guest chambers on the floor where the royal family slept. Then she descended to the floor below with Edda. I followed cautiously as they walked down the long hallway and stopped at the locked door. Again, as she had with Ludovica, Agna unlocked the door and entered with Edda; again she emerged a few minutes later, locking the door behind her. I smiled to myself as I touched Karina’s hairpin in the pocket of my apron.

  Late that night, I snuck downstairs again and made my way silently to the chamber door. I was about to use the hairpin on the lock when I heard a noise from inside. I listened carefully. It sounded like Edda was pacing back and forth, back and forth. I sat down on the marble floor to wait for the creak of the bed frame, for the silence of sleep, but the pacing continued until I began to feel drowsy. I knew that I must leave or I would fall asleep and be discovered—and what would Agna say then? Exasperated, I made my way back up to the maids’ chamber, where I dozed fitfully in a straight chair until dawn.

  In the morning we could hear even from the maids’ room that the household was in an uproar. Karina and I dressed quickly and rushed to the kitchen with hair unbraided to find out what had happened.

  “I don’t know exactly,” the cook, Elke, admitted as she rolled lacy pancakes around lingonberry preserves. “They are saying that she may have passed the test.”

  Passed the test! I glanced swiftly at Karina and saw that her eyes had filled with tears. “We shall find out the truth,” I said, taking her hand. We found Agna in the hallway outside the kitchen. “What is it?” I asked her. “Has Edda passed the test?”

  Agna pursed her lips. “It is not for me to say,” she said shortly. “She may have. The prince will decide.”

  “Do you know what the test is?” I pressed, but she only shook her head at me, whether to say No, I do not know or Stop bothering me I could not tell.

  “Go do something with your hair,” she ordered us, and I put my hand to my head, remembering that we had left our locks unbraided.

  As we ran upstairs to our room, forg
etting to take the servants’ stair in our hurry, the prince was coming down. He halted when he saw us. His eyes were on Karina, and I turned to see what had caused him to stop and stare. Her golden hair cascaded over her shoulders untamed, and the color was high in her cheeks as she returned his look. Their exchange lasted only a brief moment; then he bowed his head and continued past us, and we made our way, more slowly now, to the maids’ chamber.

  My hair braided, I left Karina upstairs and skimmed back down the main stairs just as Edda was passing by with her mother on their way to breakfast. Her face was pale and her eyes shadowed; she looked as if she had not slept all night. I recalled her endless pacing in the room.

  “I was so nervous,” I heard her whisper to her mother. “I could not lie in bed at all—I did not even try. I have trod miles this night!”

  “My poor child,” her mother said soothingly. “We will make an early evening of it. You will sleep all the better tonight. Now pinch your cheeks to put a little color in them. It’s time to greet the prince.”

  Edda did not leave that morning, but there was no proclamation that she had passed the test, no announcement of her engagement to Prince Tycho. Instead she spent the day with the royal family, hunting with the falcons and dining again in the state dining room. The gathering did break up early, and it was a good thing, as Griet told us, because Edda’s exhaustion was evident. Her manner was less lively, and she was too tired to sing.

  By the next morning most of the staff had managed to position themselves so they could see Edda when she emerged from the bedchamber. Agna frowned at us and sent us scurrying as she came to bring Edda to breakfast, but Karina and I moved as slowly as we could and were able to observe her as she appeared, her hazel eyes clear and bright. Karina sagged at the sight; but when I looked at Agna, I saw a secret smile on her face, though I knew not why.

  After the morning meal, Prince Tycho took the red-haired beauty aside and spoke privately to her. His words had no visible effect; but with her head high, Edda instructed her servants to pack. An hour later she and her mother departed, seemingly unaware of the curious stares of staff and courtiers alike.

  “Well,” said Hulda, watching them leave, “if that one cannot pass the test, nobody can. The prince will go to his grave a bachelor.”

  In the afternoon, Karina found me and reminded me that we had to sneak into the locked chamber that night, though of course I had not forgotten. I could hardly wait for night, I was so excited. I was somehow certain that we would find the jewel there.

  But that night, all our plans came to nothing. In the early evening another lady arrived, unannounced and unexpected. This one, Idony by name, was from the South Kingdoms, much farther south than Hagi. She traveled with a small retinue: a maid and two guards. She was very beautiful. Her hair was silver and fell to her waist in shimmering waves, and her eyes were a clear gray-blue. Her mouth was full and rosy, her alabaster skin flawless. The king, queen, and prince received her graciously; and belowstairs we quickly threw together as festive a dinner as we could on such short notice. Birgit served, and she reported to us as we sat at our supper in the kitchen.

  “She is as bright and sparkling as a diamond,” she said. “The king and queen seem entranced by her. She has spoken about poetry and politics—it is obvious that she is well educated.”

  “And the prince—is he entranced as well?” I asked, for Karina’s sake. I knew she would not ask herself.

  “He seems to like her well enough,” Birgit replied. “He smiles quite sweetly at her, and she has made him laugh twice.”

  Karina pressed her leg against mine under the table, but I did not dare look at her. I felt terrible.

  All evening we snuck looks at Idony whenever we could, passing by the dining room, where she sat radiant and self-possessed at the long table, or later wandering past the sitting room, where she sang a duet at the harpsichord with the prince. He had quite a nice voice, and hers was high and sweet. They blended beautifully, but the tears in my eyes as I listened were not for the harmony of their song. He belongs to Karina! I thought fiercely.

  The night passed like the others when ladies had come to stay. Agna took Idony to the chamber, led her in, and left her. All that night Karina was as wakeful as I. We served at breakfast, bleary-eyed but anxious to learn of Idony’s fate.

  Idony looked much as Edda had after her first night. Her gray eyes were deeply shadowed, and her face was drawn with fatigue.

  “Did you sleep well?” the queen asked as they took their seats. When Idony shook her head, I saw the queen grow very still.

  “Your Majesty, perhaps I was nervous; but I could not sleep a wink all night, though the bed was soft,” Idony admitted. “I tossed and turned as if I lay on bare ground.”

  I nudged Karina to pass the tray of jams and jellies as the queen placed her hand on Idony’s.

  “Oh, my dear,” the queen breathed. At her tone, my heart seemed to stop beating. The queen turned to the king and Prince Tycho, seated to her left and opposite her at the table.

  “My son,” she said softly. “Here is your bride.”

  I was bewildered. What had Idony done? How had she proved she was of royal blood? I looked at Prince Tycho and saw that his face had gone white. The king, beside him, smiled broadly.

  “We are so pleased—,” the king began, but Prince Tycho interrupted him.

  “Forgive me, Father, Mother,” he said. “I cannot allow this to continue. I am so sorry, Princess Idony, but I cannot marry you.”

  Karina’s mouth dropped open. To her credit, Idony reacted as a true princess would. She smiled graciously and said, “You do not have to ask for forgiveness, Your Highness.” Then, shockingly, she went on, “I cannot marry you either. I am the one who should apologize.”

  “Why should you apologize, milady?” King Ulrik asked. His voice was mild, but his eyes, when he looked at his son, flashed fire.

  Princess Idony blushed and looked down at the table, twisting her napkin in her hands. “It was not my idea to come here,” she admitted. “My parents, the king and queen of Asar, insisted on it. They knew I would pass whatever test you offered, for I am a true princess; and they long to see me married to a prince. But you see, I am in love with a man who is not my equal—or so they say.” She said the words softly, but it was clear that she was hurt and angry.

  “Not your equal?” Prince Tycho echoed with great interest. “Is he a commoner, then?”

  “He is a nobleman, but only a knight,” Princess Idony said. “Still, he is the best, the bravest and truest man I have ever known. I mean no offense, milord.”

  Prince Tycho smiled. “None taken, milady.”

  “I did not want to come,” Idony went on. “I am sorry to have taken advantage of your hospitality, but I never intended to marry you. How could I? My heart belongs to another.”

  I let out the breath I hadn’t known I was holding, and I saw my relief mirrored on Prince Tycho’s face. He does love Karina! I realized with a thrill. He truly does!

  “But what will you do?” Prince Tycho asked Idony.

  “I will return to my home, and I will tell my parents that either I marry my beloved or I marry no one at all. I am their only heir. Though I hate to hurt them, I think they will accept it.”

  Prince Tycho rose and came around the table. He took Princess Idony’s hand in his and raised it to his lips. “I wish you the best, milady,” he said. “It is a lucky man who wins you.”

  Princess Idony turned her brilliant smile on him. “And I wish you well too, milord,” she replied warmly. “I feel I have found a friend here today—and I think our situations are not so different.” I alone saw the prince glance at Karina when she said those words. Then the princess stood and curtsied, Prince Tycho bowed, and she left the room to instruct her maid to begin packing her belongings.

  As soon as she was gone, King Ulrik turned to his son, his face taut with anger. Sensing a gathering storm, the queen quickly waved us from the room. We did not go
far, though, but positioned ourselves at the slightly opened door and eavesdropped shamelessly, peeking inside when we dared.

  “Well, sir,” the king began. “Would you care to explain this to us?”

  Prince Tycho sighed and returned to his seat at the table. “I have no real explanation, no excuse,” he said at last. “I know that I agreed to the test, but it was never my true intention to wed anyone who passed it.”

  “What are you saying?” the king thundered. Again Karina’s mouth dropped open in astonishment.

  “I am sorry, Father,” Prince Tycho said uncomfortably. “But I agreed to the test only to give me time.”

  “Time for what?” the queen asked.

  “Time to . . . oh, Mother, I don’t know! Time to learn my own heart, I suppose.”

  “My son,” Queen Viveca said, “do you love another? Is that why you would not marry any of the princesses we suggested?”

  “I—I cannot say, Mother,” the prince said miserably. “All I know is that I cannot marry anyone I do not love.”

  I stole a glance at Karina, who looked quite overcome with the prince’s declaration.

  “Forgive me, Father, Mother,” the prince begged. “I will not deceive you again.”

  “But you must marry!” the king insisted. “This ridiculous talk of love must end right now!”

  “Oh, Ulrik,” the queen said gently, rising and going to him. She laid a hand on his sleeve, and he looked up at her. “My dear, how can you speak of love as ridiculous? Were we not in love when we married? Do we not still love each other? How could we have endured our terrible sorrow without our love to sustain us? Surely you would not wish a loveless marriage on our son.”

  The king looked long at his lady, and his face softened. “No,” he said at last. “No, of course I would not. I can see that I have been foolish. It is only that . . . there has long been a hole in our family. I thought perhaps that a daughter-in-law could fill it.”