A True Princess (10 page)
I
think I was not unconscious for long. I opened my eyes to see the anxious faces of Karina, the king, the queen, and Prince Tycho as they bent over me. Someone had lifted me and carried me to the loveseat, and the blanket—my baby blanket—was placed over me. I clutched it with cold hands and tried to sit, but my head ached dreadfully.
“Lie still, Lilia,” Karina said, her voice worried. “You’ve had a terrible shock.”
A shock indeed! “So it is all true?” I said with a dry mouth. “It was not a dream?”
“No, not a dream,” Karina replied. “All this time, my dear friend has been the princess of Dalir—the long-lost princess of the Northern Lights!”
I shook my head, and the room spun. “Surely you do not believe this, Karina! It cannot be true!”
The queen pulled up an embroidered hassock to sit beside me, spreading her wide skirts gracefully. “My dear child,” she said gently, stroking my brow, “it does seem too strange to believe, but I rejoice that it is so.”
The prince cleared his throat then, and spoke.
“Lilia—Sister,” he began, and my heart jumped at the word. “I must tell you that it is my fault that you were lost to us.”
“No, my son!” Queen Viveca protested. “It was not your failing. You were but a child!”
“I was eight, Mother, old enough to have known better,” the prince said quietly. “You were nearly two, Lilia, new to walking and to speaking. We spent considerable time together. I took you out to view the falcons, and we loved to watch them hunt. We sat together at tournaments, and I held you high so you could see. I thought of myself as your protector.” Now bitterness crept into his voice. The queen reached up to place a soft hand on his arm, and he went on.
“I wanted my way in all things, as young children do, and I was determined to ride with the hunt that fall. Father said I was too young. I begged, but he would not yield. Of course he was right; I could not even ride a full-sized horse, but I was furious. So I ran away. And to frighten Father, I took you with me.”
Here he hesitated, and I saw that his face was tortured with remembering. I could recall nothing of this—or could I? All my life, I’d dreamed of the falcons, and of tournaments, of palaces and royalty. Could the things I had dreamed be memories from my childhood?
“I dirtied our faces and clothes so we would not be recognized,” Prince Tycho continued. “We ran through town and across the fields to Bitra Forest. I’d heard warnings about the forest, but I thought as an eight-year-old does:
They will be sorry when they learn where I have gone!
And so we entered the forest. Almost immediately we were lost.”
The room was hushed, waiting. Prince Tycho went to the window and looked out at the Northern Lights, flickering still. Then he turned to us and continued.
“I carried you for a time, but soon I grew tired, and we curled up by a giant fir tree. It was then that we heard the Hunt approaching.”
I closed my eyes, remembering the terror of Odin’s Hunt when I was in Bitra Forest with Karina.
“I knew the tales, so I covered you with my cloak and closed my eyes and stopped my ears as they passed. And we survived. But then came the promised change.”
I recalled again the prince’s words about the Hunt when we had met him at the inn, when he was just the blue lord to me:
and after—ah, then everything was changed.
“I was frightened then, and so very tired, and I sought to find my way out of the forest. I tried to make you walk, but you would not, so I carried you. And thus we passed by accident into the Elf-King’s domain.” Here the prince turned his back to us, and we had to strain to hear him.
“The elves surrounded us, and the Elf-King came forward. He said I was too old and he would not take me, but he held out his arms for you. I could not resist. I gave you to him. I gave you to him.” His voice broke, and I realized that I was weeping too. I rose from the loveseat, my head clear now, and went to him and touched him lightly on the arm.
“I have seen the Elf-King,” I told him. “You could not help it. You had to give me up. He cannot be disobeyed.”
“But I was your protector,” he whispered. “And I did not even try.”
“If you had been a grown man in full armor with a company of knights at your side, you would have had to give me up,” I said fiercely. “You had no choice, I promise you.”
He turned to me and clasped my hands tightly. Then I asked, “When you heard the Hunters pass—did you find anything? Any remnant of the Hunt?”
Slowly he nodded his head. “Yes. How did you know? There was a pin—a jeweled cloak clasp. It lay on the ground, and you picked it up. I was afraid you would stick yourself, for it was very sharp. So I took it and put it in my pocket; and I did not think of it again until days later. And then—then you were gone, and I could not bear to remember. I hid it in a secret place where you and I once liked to play hide-and-seek.”
“Is this the jewel?” I asked in a near whisper, pulling the cloak clasp from my apron pocket.
Tycho reached for it and held it for a moment. “How did you find it?” he asked me.
“I don’t really know,” I admitted. “Perhaps I remembered the hidden room from when we were small. I just seemed to know it was there.”
The prince showed the clasp to the king and queen.
“It has been in the palace all these years, and we never knew,” the king mused.
“I have never seen its like,” Queen Viveca said. “It is not human made.”
“I must bring it to the Elf-King,” I told them then, taking the clasp back from Tycho, and they stared at me.
“But its owner is Odin—or one of his Huntsmen,” Tycho said at last.
“It is Odin’s own clasp, and I must give it to the Elf-King,” I said again. “I have made a bargain with him. In return for the clasp, he will give me Karina’s brother, Kai, and the changelings. I haven’t much time. He gave me only a fortnight to find it, and well over a week has passed already. If I do not go, they will be lost forever.”
“No!” the queen cried out. “You cannot go!”
“I must,” I said simply.
Prince Tycho and his father exchanged a look. This was something they understood well; it was a matter of honor. “Then we shall all go,” said the prince. “Ivar, and Erlend, and the others, and Father and I. With all our swords, surely we will be strong enough.”
“But your swords have no strength in Bitra Forest,” I reminded him.
“We can but try. You cannot go alone,” the prince insisted.
“Indeed you cannot,” King Ulrik echoed him. “We have just found you, my child. We will not lose you again.”
“I would be glad of the company,” I said falteringly. “I am . . . I am dreadfully afraid of the Elf-King.”
“Oh, Tira!” the queen said in a trembling voice. I looked at her, confused.
“Why do you call me that?” I asked.
“’Tis your birth name, dearest,” she replied. “It was my grandmother’s name, and her grandmother’s before her.”
Of course. It had not occurred to me that I had once been given a name different from the one I now had. Jorgen had named me Lilia when he plucked me out of the river.
“I—I have been Lilia for as long as I can recall,” I said hesitantly. “I don’t know if I can take another name.”
The queen looked down, distressed, and the lines around her mouth deepened. Immediately I wanted to call back my words.
“I will be Tira if you wish,” I said. “I am sure I will become used to it.”
“No,” the queen said, raising her eyes. “You have earned the right to the name you want. Lilia is a lovely name, and I shall be proud to call you that.” She smiled at me so sweetly that at last I began to believe it all, and I came forward into her embrace. Her arms were as tight and warm around me as my blanket had been, and I sank into them.
Then King Ulrik threw open the sitting-room doors and called for strong tea and food. Karina sat close to me and said, “I am coming as well.”
I put my hand over hers and nodded wordlessly. But the queen heard, and she said, “I too will go with you, Daughter.”
Daughter!
The word made my heart swell within me, and tears came to my eyes.
Agna brought in the tea, and I smiled at her apologetically as she served us. It felt very strange, and somehow wrong, to be served by her; but she appeared comfortable enough handing me my cup and bowing her head to me. We ate and drank quickly as Tycho went to gather his men.
When we were ready, the king—my father—led us out of the room, along the long hall, and down the marble steps. The men’s swords rattled against their chain mail, and their boot heels rang on the floor. I wore my blanket like a shawl, for it gave me courage, and I kept my hand on the jeweled clasp in my pocket. The staff watched us silently as we left, and I wondered what wild stories would fly up to the eaves and back down to the kitchen after our departure.
Horses awaited us at the palace gates. I eyed them uneasily. I had never ridden a horse, only Jorgen’s aged donkey. These animals seemed to rise halfway to the skies, and they stamped the ground with enormous hooves.
“You will ride with me,” King Ulrik said softly, noting my nervousness. “Your brother will take Karina. We shall camp just outside the forest, for night is coming on, and tomorrow we will find the Elf-King.”
Then he swung me up onto the saddle of his horse, and I realized how fine it was to view the world from such a lofty perch. I could see everything! My father leaped up behind me, and his arms holding the reins held me secure as well. We set off, cantering down the hill to Gilsa and through the streets as the people waved at us and called out to the royal family. I thought once I heard a cry of “Princess Lilia!” but I assured myself that I was mistaken. Surely the townspeople could not know my story already—or could they? Perhaps gossip moved as quickly through the town as through the palace.
We reached the forest’s edge just after nightfall. The knights quickly set up elegant tents, small but comfortable, with carpets on the floors and lanterns hanging from hooks inside, casting a warm light. There were cots to sleep upon and canvas chairs for sitting. I could hardly believe such an elaborate camp could be constructed in such a short time, but Karina pointed out that knights are trained in such things.
I was too nervous to eat the simple meal the knights handed out around the campfire, and Karina and I returned early to the tent we shared. Once inside, though, I found I could not sleep for worrying. What if I did not reach Kai in time? What would happen to him? I crept out again after Karina’s breathing had eased into slumber and wandered about the encampment, close to the overarching trees of the dismal forest. I came to where the knights sat drinking mead and talking in low voices around the campfire. One by one they trailed off to their tents, and soon only Prince Tycho remained. I stepped out of the shadows, startling him.
“Lilia!” he said. “Please sit down.” He motioned to the canvas stool that one of the knights had vacated, and I perched there.
The silence between us, broken only by the crackling of the fire, was awkward, so I forced myself to ask the question that had plagued me. “Do you truly believe you are my brother, Your Highness?”
He smiled at me. “Truly I do, Lilia. And so you must not call me ‘Your Highness,’ for you are ‘Your Highness’ too, and it would sound ridiculous.”
I laughed and had to admit this was so.
“Do you really have no memory of your time with us, Sister?” Tycho asked me.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I have dreams of things that might have happened. And the queen—she seems so familiar, somehow. And I knew where to find the hidden room in the locked chamber. Could these be memories?”
“I think they are,” Tycho replied decisively. “Memories that such a small child would have had, turned into dreams and feelings and impulses over time.”
“When this is over . . .” I sighed, and shivered, thinking of the Elf-King. I pulled the blanket tighter around my shoulders.
Tycho noticed and said, “You are cold. You should go back and try to rest—though of course you will not sleep on a cot! No one has yet figured out how to make a cot that royalty can rest upon. None of us will sleep well tonight.”
“But in the palace—,” I said longingly.
“Ah, in the palace we will give you a bed that will make up for all your years of sleeplessness!” Tycho told me, laughing, and I laughed again too.
Then, a little embarrassed, I asked him another question that had been preying on me. “Brother”—the word sounded so strange!—“what of Karina?”
His face grew solemn. “Yes, Karina,” he said sadly. “She will not have me, you know.”
“I know,” I replied. “She told me. She feels that the gap between you is too great, and that the people of Dalir would never accept her. She cannot bear that you would sacrifice yourself for her.”
“She does not give my people enough credit,” he said. “Whom I love, they will love. And who could not love Karina?” My heart went out to my brother then, for the look in his eyes when he said that.
“Even our parents?” I asked.
“I can see that they are already fond of her,” he replied. “How could they resist her? They know how good she has been to you—and I hope they will see how good she will be to me.”