Crown of Three (12 page)

“I cannot leave the woods, but you may stay. I will protect you.” He bowed, lowering his curly head.

A single gust of wind blew down through the trees, cutting through the tattered remnants of Elodie's dress. She shivered.

“I suppose I should wait until morning,” she said.

“I will protect you,” the boy repeated. “My name is Samial.”

“I'm Elodie.”

“Please, follow me.”

Samial turned and began to walk toward a cluster of willow trees. Elodie followed, grateful to have found a friend in such a dreadful place. Someone who treated her as she deserved, even though he couldn't possibly know who she was.

“Do you live here in the woods?” she said as she followed the boy. He moved effortlessly through the trees, almost seeming to glide, finding a path where Elodie was certain no path existed. Best of all, as long as she remained in his footsteps, the trees didn't snare her anymore, as if they knew to keep their distance.

“I am here with my knight,” Samial replied. “I am squire to Sir Jaken. My lord fought under the banner of King Morlon in the War of Blood, many years ago. He and the others of his banner have remained here ever since.” Elodie knew what had happened only too well; the Thousand Year War, of which the War of Blood was just a part, had been one of her tutor's favorite lessons. Elodie was revolted by the story of how her father had killed his own brother, King Morlon, and stolen the crown of Toronia.

She looked around, seeing the trees in a whole new light. Could this dismal forest really be home to a banner of venerable knights opposed to King Brutan? The War of Blood might have been fifteen years ago, but such a force would still be far more impressive than Fessan's motley tribe.

“How long have you been with Sir Jaken?” she asked. “Since I was eleven,” Samial replied. “Sir Jaken's home lies in Idilliam. As long as Brutan remains on the throne, he can never go home. And nor can I.”

The romance of it made Elodie smile.
A boy squired to an exiled knight!
What was more, if Sir Jaken and his banner hated Brutan so much, surely they would fight for her.
I'd much rather have them on my side than stupid Trident
.

She was about to ask more, but at that moment Samial jumped down a bank onto a wide track running between the trees. He looked up, holding out his hand to help her down, and on his face was a look of such sadness that she stilled her tongue.

She reached out for him, but to her surprise he snatched his hand away again before she could touch it.

“What is it?” she asked, scrambling down the bank herself. He was far ahead now, a lonely figure slipping from one shadow to the next, like a character from a romantic story of old.

“No matter,” he said in his lilting way.

The track wound in a gentle curve, taking them back through the fir trees to the edge of the Weeping Woods. Here, Samial stood aside, allowing Elodie to hurry past.

“Is this your camp?” she said, spotting flames flickering beyond the trees. She rushed out into the clearing, only to stop short. Above the campfires and tents flew a banner she recognized. On it was the image of a trident, surrounded by three crowns.

Her fists clenched. She turned on Samial, suddenly furious. “You tricked me! How
dare
you!”

“I said I would protect you,” Samial told her. “I could not leave you to sleep on the cold ground, to be found by wolves and bears. Do not run from Trident. You are safe with them.”

For the first time since they'd met, he smiled. It transformed his face, happiness shining through the dirt like a beacon. Despite herself, Elodie felt her anger simmer and die away.

The smell of cooked meat wafted toward her on the night breeze. Her stomach grumbled, reminding her how hungry she was.

“Was that a bear?” said Samial, his grin turning mischievous.

“You know it wasn't.” Elodie sighed. “I suppose you're right, Samial. I'll stay here—for now, at least.”

“Then be safe, Elodie.”

Samial turned and headed back into the Weeping Woods, seeming not so much to retreat as to melt into the shadows.

“Wait!” Elodie called. “Can I come and see you again?”

The boy's face lingered, hovering like a lamp in the darkness.

“I will be here,” he said.

W
e should ask Limmoni for another lamp,” said Gulph.

Nynus stopped in the middle of the chamber. Gulph was glad he'd brought Nynus's endless pacing to a halt. How many times could a person walk from one side of a small room to the other?

“Who's Limmoni?”

Gulph blinked. The mysterious young woman had said the others would forget her visit to the chamber.
How did she do that?

“Oh, I think your mother said she was her servant,” he said.

Nynus shrugged. “Why do we need another lamp?”

“There's no window. It's dark in here.”

Nynus started pacing again, hands clasped tight behind his back.

“It's fine,” he muttered. “Darkness can bring a light of its own.”

Nynus hadn't slept all night, and his behavior was beginning to worry Gulph. Every time he'd awoken, the prince had been pacing and murmuring. Gulph had caught the odd phrase—something about “doing wrong” or “righting wrongs”—but what had struck him most of all had been the empty look on Nynus's face. He supposed the prince was disoriented after his long imprisonment.

I wish I could help you, Nynus
, Gulph thought.

The chamber door opened and Queen Magritt walked in. Watery light poured around her, filtered from a skylight that had been opened high in the butcher's storeroom. Gulph inhaled sharply, as if he could breathe in the light. The feel of it on his face was wonderful.

“Close the door!” said Nynus, flinching. He backed away from it, raising his hands to shield his eyes.

Leaving the door ajar, the queen held up a large hessian sack. “This is the day, my son,” she said.

“I told you to close the door!”

The queen's face stiffened. “After today, all doors will be open to you. But the choice is yours. Would you be king or not?”

Nynus held his body taut for a moment, then relaxed. “I'm sorry, Mother. I didn't sleep well. I haven't slept properly for years. Forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive.”

She smoothed his face with her gloved hand and Nynus's eyelids half closed.
So that's where he gets it from
, thought Gulph, remembering the prince's cheek-stroking habit.
Magritt probably did that before he was locked up.

Gulph smothered a flash of envy. What had happened to his own mother? Had she ever comforted him like that? Sometimes he wondered if she'd abandoned him, as disgusted by his deformities as so many others had been.

He cleared his throat. “Begging your pardon,” Gulph said, eyeing the door. “Does this mean you're going to let us out?”

“You speak as if you are a prisoner. But to answer your question, yes. Today, everything will change. And you, my little trouper, will have an important part to play.”

“I will?”

The queen drew what looked like an animal skin from the sack. She shook it out, and it unfurled into a gaudy costume of red fur and orange frills. Copper claws jangled on a series of interlocking straps and belts. Perched on top was a mask that was half bird, half lizard. It was both beautiful and terrifying; Gulph couldn't decide whether he wanted to run from it or put it on.

“You will wear this,” said the queen, as if she'd read his mind. “Nobody will know you behind the mask. Here, let me help you.”

They are using you.
Limmoni's words echoed in his head as Magritt helped him step into the costume. It was hot and heavy; Gulph started sweating almost immediately.

“What am I?” he said, shrugging the furs up over his shoulders. “I mean, what am I supposed to be?”

“The bakaliss,” said Queen Magritt. She turned the mask over in her hands. Its scaly surface contrasted with her soft white gloves. “It is one of the oldest legends of Toronia.”

“I read that story,” said Nynus. He turned on Gulph, his face suddenly ferocious. “It was in that book that got spoiled.”

Gulph stared at him, startled. “I . . . I'm sorry about your book,” he said.

Nynus's snarl turned instantly to a grin. “I'm only teasing you. When I'm king, I'll have all the books I want.”

Gulph smiled weakly back. If anything, Nynus's mood swings seemed to be getting worse since their escape. “So what's this story?” he said lamely.

“The bakaliss was a serpent that slept under a mountain,” said Nynus. “One day a king came to kill it. But the serpent woke.”

“What happened then?”

“The serpent bit off the king's head,” said the queen, “and swallowed it whole.”

She pressed the mask over Gulph's face. He shuddered: The story hadn't ended quite the way he'd expected. Even worse, wearing the mask felt a little like entering another prison.

It's just a costume
, he told himself. If doing his old job was the most Magritt would ask of him, maybe he needn't heed Limmoni's warning after all.

Peering out through the mask's narrow eye slits, he watched as the queen carefully lifted a small crown from the sack. Like the claws hanging from his waist, it was made of copper, though she handled it as if it were made of fragile crystal.

“Take this,” she said, slipping it gently into a pouch hidden inside the costume's furs. “Keep it hidden until the time comes to use it.”

“Use it for what?”

“You will perform with your friends, the Tanglewood Players.”

“Tangletree.”

“You will keep the mask on at all times. Nobody must see your face. When the performance ends, you will place the crown on King Brutan's head. That will be the signal.”

“Signal?”

“That his reign is over. Will you do this for me, Gulph? Will you do it for us?”

The crown pressed against Gulph's chest, hard and unyielding. He didn't know what to say.

Do not trust her.

Nynus's white face appeared in front of the mask, bright with excitement. “You're such a true friend,” said Nynus. “Just think, when I'm on the throne you'll have everything you ever wanted: money, a grand chamber of your own. And your friends. I'll look after them, too. You saved me, Gulph,” he went on. “Why would I not repay my debt?”

Gulph hesitated. It was such a silly thing: to put a fake crown on the head of a king. He imagined it was Pip asking. Would he refuse her such a request? Of course not: She was his friend, and that was what friends did. And yet . . .

“He'll do it,” said Magritt. “Won't you, Gulph?”

Her eyes were steely. Unease pooled in the bottom of Gulph's stomach as he realized the queen didn't plan on allowing him to refuse.

Come on, Gulph, play along. You know how to do that, at least.

He forced a laugh. “Of course I will!” he said brightly. For good measure he gave a spin, the claws of the costume rattling.

“Very good,” said the queen with a thin smile. “Now, we must be quick. The banquet begins shortly and you must be in your place. We must all be in our places.”

“Wait,” said Nynus. “His hands.”

“What about my hands?”

Magritt and Nynus exchanged a glance.

“Of course,” said the queen quickly. “Hands are like faces. People recognize them. Your friends will know you if we don't cover them up. Here.” She peeled off her long silk gloves and handed them to Gulph. He pulled them on, bunching the fine material up inside his sleeves.

“All right,” he said. “I'm ready.”

Nynus's beaming smile appeared through the eye slits. “Oh, I can't wait to see their faces,” the prince cried. “A bakaliss has come to Idilliam!”

  •  •  •  

The banqueting hall lay deep inside the castle. It was very grand, its walls and columns encrusted with ornate carvings and filigrees of gold. High at one end, on a minstrel's gallery, a small band of pipers played. Polished tables ran the entire length of the hall, piled high with food. From where he stood near the kitchen doors, it seemed to Gulph that he could hear them groaning under the weight. More tables filled the hall's central space. Seated around them were people wearing rich clothes, laughing and chatting. The swing doors beside him were in constant motion as countless bustling servants carried out trays of breads and wine and steaming meats. The smell of the food, and the rumbling chatter of the crowd, and the weight of the bakaliss costume, all conspired to make Gulph feel dizzy.

Queen Magritt and Nynus were nowhere to be seen.

“Are you all right?”

Someone tugged at Gulph's furs. He turned clumsily and found himself staring straight into the upturned face of Pip. She looked so sweet and familiar, with her freckled face and her patchwork outfit of blue and green, that it was as much as Gulph could do not to throw his arms around her. But the queen's orders had been clear.