A Posse of Princesses (11 page)

Shera sighed. “That’s what Iardith said—” She
paused, staring in surprise at Dandiar.

Dandiar pinched his nose and groaned. “That
pompous and boring play has been dragged out every time someone at
court wants something,” he said. “Let me tell you a secret: The
royal family is sick of it. Very sick of it. Lios will want to run
and hide if he has to sit through one more of those long
speeches.”

Rhis laughed. “I wasn’t going to say that,
but it really is pretty awful. Of course a good performer might
make it more bearable.”

“Oh, it’s written competently, but it’s so
full of blandishments it’s like making a meal of cakes and nothing
else. Honey cakes. Sticky-sweet honey cakes,” Dandiar added, seeing
Shera’s puzzlement.

Shera’s brow cleared. “Euw. I see!”

“So you’ve read it, I gather,” Dandiar said
to Rhis.

She said, “I’ve read lots of plays. And
histories. Not much else to do in Nym, to tell the truth.”

“You said you avoided learning.”

Rhis laughed. “About trade laws and taxes and
who the king of Arpalon is squabbling with now, and why. I like
plays.” She turned to Shera. “So what is the problem? You need
people for a vote?”

Shera tossed her ringlets back. “No, we all
agreed to it, for it did sound like the right thing, but then the
room was full of her own friends, and before I quite knew what was
happening, Hanssa said,
Oh, but you will be the best Queen
Arilde
, and Iardith was smirking and pretending to be modest,
but before anyone else could speak, she said, real quick,
Who
better to play his great-great-great grandfather than Lios? And
you, Hanssa, can be Princess Gaela
. . . And right like that
she was giving out all the parts,” Shera finished, her voice
uneven, her eyes filled with tears of rage. “Though she did
condescend to give me a tiny role as the chambermaid who finds the
hidden crown, it’s all spoilt.”

Rhis sighed. “I don’t know what I can do. By
now she’s given out all the roles.”

“That wasn’t the worst.” Shera heaved a
dramatic sigh. “
Then
she looked around, and when everyone
was talking, she said to that little princess with the difficult
name and the gold hair—”

“Yuzhyu,” Rhis said.

“Lios’s cousin—that’s the one.” Shera nodded.
“I think Iardith is mad because Lios shows her so much attention.
Anyway when the others were talking, Iardith said to her in this
spun-sugar voice,
I’m sorry, my dear, but plays have to be
spoken by people who can actually be understood
. Yuzhyu didn’t
say anything, but you should have seen her eyes. So I ran out to
find you.”

Rhis scarcely heard the last words. An idea
had occurred to her. She rubbed her hands. “Oh! I have the nackiest
notion! Come on!”

“May I come watch?” Dandiar asked.

Rhis glanced over her shoulder in surprise.
“Of course!” She laughed. “Besides, you really ought to be there,
because you gave me the idea.”

“I did?” Dandiar asked, looking about as if
he expected to find his idea written on the air.

Rhis didn’t answer. She sped up the walk to
the palace, the other two on either side.

They arrived at the library, which was
crowded with what seemed to be half of Lios’s guests, all circled
around Iardith, who was reading out one of the play’s long poems in
what (Rhis was forced to acknowledge) was a beautifully trained
voice. Next to her, in the next best chair, sat the supercilious
Grand Duchess of the Isle of Wilfen.

Rhis looked past the Grand Duchess (who
ignored Rhis) and spotted Carithe in the corner, looking dismal, a
couple of the other younger girls near her. Yuzhyu was not even
there. Neither was Lios.

Iardith lifted her beautiful eyes from the
page at the interruption, her attitude one of patient expectation.
But when she recognized the newcomers as Rhis, accompanied by Shera
and the scribe, she went right back to reading.

Rhis forced herself to wait patiently until
the poem (a very long, formal court poem, likening the long-ago
Queen Arilde to a series of gemstones each more beautiful and more
precious than the last) was through, and the admirers had applauded
and acclaimed Iardith, who smiled as she closed the book.

Rhis felt her heart thump against her ribs,
and stepped forward. “It’s pretty, and Iardith reads very, very
well, but that poem is so old-fashioned it’s kind of, well,
boring.”

A murmur of protest went up—but not very
loud, Rhis noticed. Had others privately thought it kind of dull as
well? Heartened, she went on. She would never betray a secret, but
wasn’t there a way around that? “Any of us who have read it know
that the rest of the play is the same, and remember, we have to get
it all by heart, and that means practicing it over and over.”

“It’s a compliment to the royal family,” Vors
said, turning to the Grand Duchess to see if she agreed.

“But did anyone ask Lios if he likes it?”
Rhis asked, thoroughly disgusted with Vors. “Or even better, what
his favorite might be?”

Sudden whispers.

Iardith said, “Perhaps I ought to
inquire.”

“Why don’t you?” Rhis asked, smiling.

Iardith smiled back, but her eyes were cold
and wary. She did not speak, only inclined her head graciously, and
left at her customary unhurried, graceful pace.

As soon as she was gone, Rhis said, “You
know, I had an idea. If Lios doesn’t mind, we might have some fun
with it.”

“Like?” one of the ducal heirs asked, looking
skeptical.

“Well, we could reverse the roles. We girls
would play the boy parts. And the boys would play the girls.”

A gasp. People exchanged wondering, delighted
looks. Except the Grand Duchess, who just stared past Rhis, her
lips curled in distaste.

“Including costumes,” Rhis added.

On the periphery she saw Dandiar clap his
hand over his mouth, his face red with his effort not to laugh out
loud.

“Oh, what fun!” Hanssa exclaimed.

“Only if I get to play a prin-cess,” Sefan, a
big, brawny young ducal heir, exclaimed in a squeaky voice. Sefan
sashayed across the room, pretending to wave a fan.

Everyone laughed! Except the Grand Duchess,
who rose, and walked deliberately out of the room in such a manner
it was plain she expected everyone to follow.

But the others, for once—even Vors—were too
busy talking, exchanging ideas and laughing.

Rhis waved her hands for attention. For a
time the voices rose, each one exchanging ideas with friends, until
one by one, focus returned to her. The faces around her now looked
expectant. “Here, where’s the play?” she asked. “We have to cast it
for best effect. The biggest fellow has to be the daintiest
princess, and so on.”

Again the voices rose. While they were
talking again, Rhis motioned Dandiar over.

He came obediently, his expression curious.
“Do you want to me to perform?”

“Do you want to be in it?” Rhis asked. “But I
was going to ask you to find Yuzhyu, because I mean to make sure
she’s in it if she wants to be.”

Dandiar gave a short nod. “On my way.”

He started out, almost colliding with several
people, who glanced at him and then ignored him without moving out
of his way. He went very still for a moment, then threaded his way
through the crowd and disappeared out the door.

“All right, Thanelan will have to be Princess
Gaela. And who’s the shortest of the girls?” one of the ducal heirs
called out.

Voices clamored, everyone with ideas.

Rhis held up her hand, since no one could
hear anyone else. When they were quiet, she said, “Let’s perform
for one another here first. Whoever is the funniest gets the
part.”

Pause. Looks. More laughter.

Then one of the dukes said, “Wait, we cannot
decide without Iardith.”

“Oh, yes! Iardith,” several other boys
repeated, with varying degrees of admiration.

“Beautiful voice,” Hanssa said. And with a
challenging glance at Rhis, she added, “The prettiest voice of any
here.”

Rhis was not about to challenge that. “Well,
of course we can wait for Iardith to return—”

“Iardith is here,” came Iardith’s voice from
behind. Her face was smooth and unreadable. “Lios begs to be
excused. He says his part is best acted as appreciative audience,
and not as awkward performer. And he says one play is like another,
but he prefers one that makes him laugh.”

“Then the idea is perfect,” Vors exclaimed.
“Now that we’ve turned it all about.” He looked around—for
approval, Rhis guessed. “I myself would be happy to regale the
audience with my fine approximation of this chambermaid here. How
else am I going to get close to a crown?” He gave Rhis the same
smile he’d always given her, but all she could think was,
Did
your parents tell you to bring back a rich princess—any rich
princess? Or Grand Duchess?

He got a laugh, and then the voices rose
again. Iardith crossed the room, and everyone gave way before her.
Her male admirers all tried to be heard at once as they told her
what parts they had—which one she ought to take—who was going to do
what. She laughed musically and said, “Please! One at a time.”

Iardith’s perfect mouth pressed once into a
thin line as someone outlined the plan, then she smiled up at Rhis.
“Do you think it entertaining to play the buffoon? To confess, I am
not certain that I can!”

An outcry against her ever seeming buffoonish
met this statement.

Rhis sensed something not quite friendly in
Iardith’s tone. “I just thought it would be fun.”

“And fun it will be,” Shera said, coming
forward to stand beside Rhis. Her cheeks were red, her shoulders
tight, but she looked about with an air of challenge. “I have
always wanted to pretend to be a bard, and for once I shall!”

More noise. In the middle of it, Dandiar
returned, not just with Yuzhyu, but with Jarvas, who ignored
everyone except Iardith.

The princess from Arpalon lifted her chin,
her gaze narrowed. Jarvas leaned against the wall near the door,
his expression one of derision. He also looked tense. As did
Iardith, Rhis realized.

“Ho! Shall we drag ol’ Breggo in and make him
act the part of this silly countess here?”

Laughter went up. “You won’t get Breggo on
any stage unless you tie him up, and that’s to play a regular
role,” Glaen exclaimed, dashing a drift of his pale blond hair out
of his eyes. Then he drawled in a high squeak, “Besides, he cannot
dew the countess as b-r-r-r-illiantly as I, dew yew not think
sew?”

More laughter—except from Jarvas, whose mouth
turned sardonic. He had those winter-pale eyes. There was no humor
in his expression, just disdain.

Iardith flushed. When the laughter had died
down, she turned in a circle so her skirts flared slightly and then
dropped into graceful folds. That brought everyone’s attention back
to her, and she smiled. “I fear your talents for this sort of thing
far exceed mine, and so my part is to acknowledge superiority and
withdraw.”

Her tone was just a little too sweet. Some
smiles faltered, and people looked around as if to see what their
companions would do or say. Rhis began to wonder if all those
handsome, popular leaders weren’t secretly as uncertain inside as
she was. Something to think about.

Then Shera went up to Glaen, and began to
sing one of the ballads in a fake deep voice. The ballad went on
about ‘her’ glorious eyes, her dainty step in the dance, and her
pure singing voice—and once again everyone laughed, as Glaen
swanked about, pretending to be a fluttery countess.

Iardith disappeared—but for once no one
noticed.

Keris had just finished dressing Rhis’s hair
for the masquerade when a knock came at the door.

A scribe handed Rhis a sealed note, and then
disappeared.

In surprise, she opened it, to see a neatly
written note:

Rhis: My anticipation of happiness centered on
dancing the promenade with you tonight, but I have since received a
personal request. Lios has asked me especially to escort one of his
own relatives. I knew you would understand that honor due to one’s
host must take priority, and I hope we can dance together many
times during the evening, for I remain your most ardent
admirer—

Vors

Rhis tossed the note down and shrugged.
Honor? More like flattery, but she was more relieved than
disappointed. If Dandiar hadn’t already asked someone else, she
could ask him, and best of all, she would not be thought as a
flatterer, since he had no rank. He was so interesting, and fun,
and wouldn’t flirt just because she came from a rich family. She’d
enjoy dancing with him—and then later, some time, she’d get her
heart’s desire: a dance with Lios.

At last!

She turned around and around, examining
herself in her mirror. Her palms were sweaty, her heartbeat fast.
How long until those stupid bells rang, announcing the
masquerade?

The truth was, she didn’t care about any of
those ducal heirs, or lords, or even the three princes. All Rhis
could think about was how she would have Lios’s attention, his
proximity, finally.

She knew she was in love with him. What would
he think of her? Rhis stared at her reflection. With her eyes
mostly hidden behind the little mask, she looked like a stranger,
especially in the unfamiliar lines of her pale blue gown. Her plain
brown hair was all swooped up on her head with blue ribbons and
gemstones here and there. Tiny mois-gems twinkled among the many
folds of the filmy fabric of her gown.

“You’re charming,” Shera said.

Rhis turned around. Shera’s gown was very
different—tight in the waist, with a low scoop neck that made the
best of her lovely figure. Puffy sleeves and a broad skirt, all of
it in various shades of rose, with cream and touches of gold,
exactly suited her complexion and rich, curly red-toned long
ringlets bouncing around her charming shoulders.