Fairest (10 page)

S
HE STILL HELD
my face. “Not only tonight. For as long as I need.”

I was terrified. “I know.” She'd need me often.

“Oh, thank you!” She released my face and spun around in raptures. “You'll sing for me! You won't regret it. My lord will get well. You and I will be friends forever. Secrets make friends of people.”

I wondered if she was mad.

“Aza, you must tell no one. No one. Anyone you tell will be my enemy too and will suffer as much as you.”

“I won't speak of it.” I wished I could run from her presence and never stop running.

She flew to her desk across the room. “Here is my song.” She gave it to me and returned to her ostumo.

She'd known before I came in that she could make me do what she wanted.

“It's a letter,” she said. “A letter is all right, isn't it? Oscaro told me songs don't have to rhyme.”

“A letter is acceptable. We frequently sing epistolary songs.”

Her song was short. The beginning was bad and the ending was worse. The beginning sounded just like her. The ending might have been written by someone else. The song would sit well with no one.

“What do you think?”

I didn't care if she made a fool of herself.

“I must be a powerful queen. Don't you agree?” She watched me closely.

Let everyone hear the song. Let them hate her almost as much as I did.

But the terrible words might also hurt the king.

I said, “Perhaps you can revise it a bit. Songs in a Healing Sing are supposed to be about the sick person, but the last part isn't about King Oscaro.”

“I tell him not to worry! That's about him, isn't it?”

“Yes, but—”

“Go on. We're friends.” She hugged me. “You can tell me anything.”

“Your song,” I said, concealing my revulsion, “shouldn't mention Kyrria or what you're wearing.” That was only the beginning of what was wrong.

“Oscaro loves my gowns! He'd want to know what I chose for his Sing.” Her face saddened. “I miss my lord. I wonder if he misses me.” She closed her eyes and sighed.

My heart went out to the king. It would be a miracle if the Sing helped him.

She dismissed me with instructions to tell Prince Ijori the Sing could go on. “Send him to me. He can tell me how to make you my lady-in-waiting.”

First he'd have to be told I wasn't a lady. He'd think ill of me. I should never have pretended.

That had been my first deception. Illusing would be incomparably worse.

I found him at the entrance to the Great Hall, stroking Oochoo's head and looking out at the Three Tree. When he turned, I saw he'd been weeping again. I said that the Sing was to take place.

“Lady Aza!” His voice was so pleased that my blush threatened to melt my face away.

“But her song is all wrong.”

“How?”

I told him.

He shook his head. “She doesn't know our ways. Perhaps I can help her change the words.”

I hoped he could!

“How did you persuade her to hold the Sing at all?”

I'd never been a convincing liar, but I had to be one now. The fabrication came easily, evoked by need. “I thought she might be worried about rhyming, so I assured her that her song didn't have to rhyme. Then I suggested she write an epistolary song, and she thought she could.”

“You have as much magic as a fairy. You cast a spell over the queen. And before, you contrived for me to win at the composing game.”

Me? Magical? “We won?”

“We won. Lady Aza, I'd never come close before.”

I took a deep breath. “Er … I'm not a lady.” I told him who I really was.

His face reddened. “You lied?”

A lump rose in my throat. “Everyone thought—I was embarrassed. I should have said.”

“It doesn't matter.” His voice was unfriendly.

He hated me!

I saw him shrug off his anger. “My uncle—” He stopped speaking. “My uncle”—he sounded really miserable—“just married a commoner.” He smiled wanly at me. “I don't mind that you're one too.”

I forced myself to tell the rest—the rest that I
could
tell. I didn't want him to hear it first from Ivi. “Queen Ivi wants you to make me a lady. That's why she's summoned you. She wants me to be her lady-in-waiting.”

His steps slowed. “How did you accomplish that? In such a short time, too. You do have magic!”

This time it was not a compliment.

After I left Prince Ijori, I went to the duchess and helped her with her toilette for the Sing. When she was dressed and combed and bejeweled, I left her.

In my room I chose my gown. This one's bodice was striped brownish red and purplish brown. The overskirt was covered with huge squares of the same colors. The headdress was a purplish-brown band atop which stood a wooden bird.

I illused a mournful chirp coming from the top of my head.

Now I had to write my song, although my brain was reeling and my feelings were a muddle of fear and fury and sadness. I concentrated on the king.

Surprisingly, the first three lines came quickly.

Mother and Father and my brothers and Areida would be distraught when they learned of the king's accident. They revered King Oscaro. The first course of every meal in the tavern was served in his honor.

But their distress would almost be overcome by delight over my elevation to lady-in-waiting. If they knew how the queen was treating me—

That way lay tears.

I wondered if the king's condition might have improved—or worsened. I wondered if he was comfortable, if he was chilled, if he could hear the people around him, if he could think.

I hoped the tainted Sing wouldn't harm him.

A line came, and then another. Here is my song:

The queen answered my knock in a sleepy voice. When I stepped inside, her eyes were closed, her face unguarded, and she appeared hardly more than ten years old. She sat up and watched me draw her bath, as if she really was a child. Her expression showed no consciousness of what she'd done to me.

While she soaked, I sat at the dressing table to memorize her song and put a melody to it. It was the same song I'd seen before. Apparently Prince Ijori had had no more success than I in persuading her to change it.

I picked the golden flute up from the table and turned it over idly in my hand. As I considered the tune and reviewed the words, I blew into the flute. No sound came out. I set it down. It was merely a decoration.

When I thought I knew the song, I looked away from the page to test myself. The hand mirror was back on the table. In turning aside, I happened to look into it.

My reflection began to change. My chalky skin darkened a tone to alabaster. My cheeks turned a pearly pink. My rage-red lips softened to the hue of a ripe strawberry. My pulpy cheeks gained definition. My sooty hair became lustrous. Even my absurd bird headdress looked charming.

Only my eyes were unchanged. I was stunningly beautiful, beautiful beyond any hope I'd ever had.

I
LOOKED AT LEAST
as beautiful as Ivi, though in a different way, grander, not so delicate. Strangest of all, despite being greatly altered, I was somehow still myself.

I touched my face, but I couldn't feel any difference. Could I really have become beautiful? I raised my head to the mirror above the dressing table, and there was my ugly face. I looked into the hand mirror. Beautiful again. I turned the hand mirror over, seeking a clue to the mystery. Carved into the wood was the word
Skulni
.

Ivi called out for a towel. I looked into the hand mirror—Skulni—again. Now I saw nothing. No reflection, only glassy gray. How could that be? Then Skulni clarified. I saw my usual reflection.

“Oh, Lady Aza, where's my towel?”

I fetched the towel. What had I seen? I gave Ivi my arm to lean on as she stepped out of the tub. Had I imagined the reflection? I helped her into her satin shift, which buttoned in the back. I began to button it but had to stop because my hands were trembling.

She laughed. “I'd hoped for a
speedy
lady-in-waiting.”

“I'm sorry, Your Majesty.” I took a breath, and my hands steadied.

So that was how I'd look if I was beautiful.

When she was dressed, in a coral-colored gown with embroidered sleeve liners, she sat at the dressing table while I brushed her hair.

“Did you learn the song?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” I sang the melody. “Would you mouth the words?”

She sat on the bed and did so. I accompanied her softly, although I could hardly keep my mind on the song. My beautified face floated before me. A magic mirror! Did it produce only illusions, or might its magic alchemize me from lead into gold?

I pity anyone who's never experienced an Ayorthaian Sing. Participants in a Sing, especially a Healing Sing, are wrapped in an embrace of fellow feeling, neighborliness, kinship, love. Yes, love. The embrace was particularly loving tonight, because the sick one was our adored king.

But I felt apart from the embrace, because of the role I was about to play.

Prince Ijori sat next to me, with Ivi on his other side. I felt his disapproval of me, although he said nothing. Oochoo put her head in my lap. I patted her with a trembling hand.

Singers perform in reverse order, according to their rank. Ivi was slated to sing last. I wasn't her lady-in-waiting yet, and as an unknown commoner, I was to sing first.

People were still settling into their seats. Silk and satin rustled. I heard whispered greetings.

Sir Uellu raised his gold baton. We all began to hum. He nodded at me. I stood and took a step—and my slipper heel caught on the hem of my underskirt. I stumbled and would have fallen, except that Prince Ijori saved me.

His hand was on my elbow, and his arm was around my waist. I almost fainted.

He lurched, because of my weight, no doubt. He caught himself, and when we were steady again, he released me. I mounted the steps to the stage, praying to remain upright.

Laughter rippled through the crowd. They were laughing at me, at my stumble or my ensemble or simply my person. I looked down to hide my blush and saw the true reason for the laughter. Oochoo had followed me up to the stage and was sitting at my side, apparently ready to sing.

My first note was a mumble. I couldn't get enough air to sing.

I heard a low whistle. Oochoo raised her head, then trotted down from the stage. I found my breath and began.