Fairest (12 page)

I whispered, “Thank you, Your Highness.”

“When she blamed us for her song, I argued with her. Did you wish to argue too?”

I shook my head. “When guests rage, it's best to let the rage blow itself out.”

“Were they always terrible, your guests who raged?”

How nice, to be royalty. No one had ever before dared to behave badly to him. “Some were decent and good, once they stopped being angry.”

We reached Sir Enole's chambers.

Prince Ijori put his hand on the knob but didn't turn it. “If we're to attend the queen together, you should call me Ijori.”

Ijori? Ijori! I didn't think I could say it, so I nodded.

He patted Oochoo. “Oochoo answers to ‘her royal high-houndyness.' Shall we go in, Aza?”

“Yes, please, Prince Ijori.”

“Ijori.”

“I can't.”

“You can. Yes, please …”

“Yes, please …” My voice dropped to a mumble. “I-ijori.”

T
HE MAIDSERVANT WHO'D
stayed at the king's side during the Sing said that he'd been agitated while it took place.

“His breathing is easier now,” Sir Enole said. “The Sing may have helped him. It's too soon to tell.”

Ijori pulled a chair next to his uncle. I stood just inside the door, knowing I didn't belong. I was nothing to King Oscaro, only a subject. The king's hand was curled at his side. His cuticles were bitten ragged. I had no right to see that. I curtsied and left.

In my room I couldn't sleep. Behind my closed eyelids, faces kept floating into view—Ivi's, Ijori's, the king's, and my own, made beautiful in Skulni. I was awake half the night, and in the morning I was tired and homesick.

I sang another childhood ditty:

I penned a letter to my parents, telling them what had befallen the king. Then I wrote,

Or I'd go to prison.

I told them the particulars, struggling for a happy tone and hoping my words didn't seem forced. I ended by asking them to kiss Imilli, the originator of my good fortune.

Although I wanted to tell them about Ijori, there was little to tell. He was handsome and charming and good-natured. He loved his dog and distrusted me.

When I dressed for the day, I picked among Dame Ethele's remaining ensembles, all overdecorated, all loathsome. The one I selected was patterned in brick red and purple and green and pale blue.

Why couldn't Dame Ethele have liked just one color?

I left my room and went to help the duchess with her packing. She was surprisingly cordial and promised to deliver my letter. She even said I could keep Dame Ethele's gowns as long as I needed them.

On second thought, that may not have been cordiality. It may have been punishment!

After I managed to lock the duchess's bulging trunks, I bade her farewell. She was my last tie to home, and soon she'd be gone. She was bad-tempered and difficult, but she meant me no harm, and I'd miss her.

In the Banquet Hall I asked a serving maid for a tray I could take to the queen.

Wondering what my reception would be, I knocked on the door to Ivi's apartments. There was no answer. I knocked again, and again received no answer.

“Lady Aza!” Ivi hurried down the corridor toward me, her robe billowing out behind her. The sun streamed through the corridor windows, bathing her in light. She was a celestial creature.

“I was in the physician's sickroom with my lord, with my Oscaro.” She flowed onto the bed and lay, looking up at me.

I wondered if she was telling the truth. “How does the king fare?”

“He passed a peaceful night.” She sat up and positioned herself to accept the breakfast tray on her legs.

I placed it and poured ostumo into her mug from the linen-wrapped silver urn. I scanned the room for Skulni. There it was on the dressing table, unharmed. I went to the table on the pretext of straightening her jumble of perfumes and creams. I saw only my ordinary reflection.

Shards of porcelain littered the hearthstone. I swept them up with a whisk broom.

“Thank you, Lady Aza.” She wet her lips. “I had a clumsy accident last night. So clumsy of me. Thank you for my breakfast and for my voice last evening.” She smiled up at me. “I beg your forgiveness. You gave me a voice beyond compare, and in return I blamed you for my song. It was unforgivable, yet I hope you'll forgive me.” She waited for me to speak.

“There's nothing to forgive.” I sounded stiff and angry, so I made myself smile.

She put down her cup. “My dear, have you been to the tailor yet?”

“W-what? Er, I beg your pardon, Your Majesty.”

She laughed. “As my lady-in-waiting you'll need a new wardrobe.”

A new wardrobe hadn't occurred to me. It would be heavenly—if the price hadn't been my honesty.

“We can go to the tailor together.” Her face was eager. “Oh, Aza! It will be such fun! I'm a connoisseur of fashion. My taste is impeccable.”

I didn't want her to accompany me to the tailor, and I certainly didn't want her there when the seamstress measured me.

She moved the tray off her legs and bounced out of bed. “I wish I could hold a ball, as we do in Kyrria. You'd wear a new gown, and so would I.”

She began to dance with an invisible partner. Step, step, glide. Glide, glide, dip. She tilted her head and smiled coquettishly.

She stopped. “I was going to ask Oscaro for a ball. Now I can't. I miss him, Aza. I miss my lord.” She went to the window and looked out.

I straightened her counterpane.

“Aza … do you think the prince has the look of a king? Is he regal enough?”

“I-I don't know.” My temples were pounding.

She was still looking out the window. “Those ears. Those absurd ears. I wish I could find a fairy to shrink them.” She laughed. “But he has more hair than Oscaro, and my subjects know him, and he is a prince already.”

She was choosing her second husband, the king's successor!

She faced me. “Your eyes are as big as melons, Aza. More than anyone, I hope my lord will live. He loves me, so of course I want him to live. But I have an advisor, who also loves me, and this advisor tells me that, if the king does not live, I must marry again, for the good of Ayortha.”

Who was her advisor?

She giggled. “And for my own good, I'd like my husband to have nice ears.”

My own ears were hot enough to start a fire.

On our way to the Great Hall, we passed the serving maid Isoli, who was carrying a tray. She was the maid who'd knocked into me in the kitchen. When she was out of earshot, Ivi said, “How pretty the wench was. Did you think her pretty?”

I said I did. I wished I was half so pretty.

“Did you notice her complexion? Was it as clear as my own?”

“I don't know, Your Majesty.”

“Oh? You think her complexion might be as fine as mine?” Her voice was dangerous.

I began to worry for Isoli. Ivi's claws came out with no warning. Acting the fawning flatterer, I said, “Hers must not be as fine, because yours is perfect.”

“You are a dear.”

We continued down the corridor. I found pity mixing with my fear of Ivi. Yes, she was ruthless, but she was also fretful and discordant. How did she endure herself?

I had a fright before we reached the tailor. Sir Uellu saw us enter the Great Hall and approached. I wanted to run and hide. The sight of him made me feel like the greatest criminal in Ayortha.

He bowed to us, which made me feel worse. I curtsied. The queen inclined her head.

He inquired into our health. Ivi answered that we were in good health and were bolstering our spirits by selecting my new wardrobe.

He nodded absently, then said, “Your Majesty, you and Lady Aza have uncommonly fine voices. I should love to hear you sing a duet.”

A duet! I couldn't!

Ivi smiled graciously. “We will prepare something for you.”

I'd have to tell her I couldn't illuse a duet. It wasn't possible.

I was so shaken, I heard nothing else the choirmaster said, although he and Ivi chatted for several minutes. Then he took his leave, and we continued to the tailor.

He and his four seamstresses were set up near a tall window that provided good light for their work. Their stall was bustling. A woman was being fitted for a gown. Another was sketching a design with a seamstress. Several more were going through bolts of fabric.

The tailor bowed to Ivi, then to me. I raised my hand to block my face.

Ivi said, “My dear friend Lady Aza is in need of six gowns, underclothes, three sleeping costumes, and a cloak—all in the finest fabrics.”

How could I afford so many things?

“Lady Aza is to be garbed as a maiden of rank.”

At that, the women in the booth stared at me. I wanted to be elsewhere, anywhere—in the branches of a tree, in a cave, stuck in a window.

“Spare no expense. The crown will pay.”

I stammered out my thanks as everyone watched.

The tailor made a show of looking me over. “I cannot help your friend if she wishes this sort of apparel.” He gestured at my gown.

“No!” I said. “Not this sort.”

“Then perhaps we can do something.” He called to one of the seamstresses, who led me behind a screen to undress and be measured.

To my great relief, Ivi didn't follow us. The seamstress, Mistress Audra, was pleasant. “This must be such a treat for Milady,” she said, “picking out your wardrobe. The gown you are wearing now was not of your choosing, yes?”

“Yes!” I said fervently.

“My goodness! You are as tall as our screen.” She unrolled her tape measure.

I had to crouch for her to measure the length of my neck. She said nothing, but she exclaimed, “Ayortha!” when she measured its circumference.

I flinched.

When she measured the distance from my neck to my shoulder, she said, “Prodigious!” Then she sang, loud enough for half the Hall to hear, “Milady, you are vast.”

M
ISTRESS
A
UDRA CONTINUED
measuring. After several minutes she burst out, “Lady Aza, it is not very interesting to be a seamstress, and then someone like you—”