Fairest (4 page)

“Not to keep! To wear to the wedding.”

“Whose wedding, Your Grace?”

“Aza! I thought you were less thickheaded than most peasants.”

“I'm sorr—” I gasped. “The king's wedding? Your Grace, the king's wedding!”

I was terrified. There would be hundreds of strangers at the castle, hundreds of staring strangers who'd never encountered anyone as ugly as I was.

But I wanted to see Ivi and the king and hear the singing. The singing at a royal wedding would be superb. And the duchess said there would be a Sing the night after the wedding as well. I'd hear every voice at court when they sang their solos.

Mother and Father agreed to let me go. Indeed, they could hardly refuse the duchess, and they were excited for me. Both of them, and my brothers as well, came out to the coach to send me off.

Mother said I mustn't miss a single detail at the castle. “Your sister will want to hear about the fashions. And I”—she looked embarrassed—“should like to hear about the hairstyles.”

Father said, “Pay attention to how they run the place, daughter. A castle is just a grand inn.”

Ollo said, “Sing loud, Aza. Let the king hear the Featherbed's royal voice.”

I blushed.

Yarry said, “Don't fret. The way you sing, you could look worse than you do, and it wouldn't matter.”

“Yarry!” Mother said.

“I only meant—”

“Hush, son.” Father took four copper yorthys from his pocket. He sang, “In a castle it's fine to have a purse that jingles.”

I was close to tears. Father was so kind. I'd never had so much as a tin yorthy before. I put the coins in my reticule.

The footman handed the duchess and me into the carriage. Mother waved her dish towel.

The carriage door closed. The duchess leaned back against a brocade seat. “It's a shame you're so …” She trailed off, then resumed, on Yarry's theme. “With your voice, if you were pretty, this trip might be the making of you.”

A
S WE RODE
in the carriage toward Ontio Castle, the duchess talked about cats and I darned hose from the basket she handed me. We stopped for the night at an inn where both the beds and the porridge were lumpy. The innkeeper stared at me, as rude as any of the Featherbed guests.

In the morning the road became steeper as we entered the foothills of the Ormallo mountain range. The slopes were dotted with boulders.

Ontio Castle was halfway up Mount Ormallo, the highest peak in the range. Gnome Caverns was somewhere beneath the mountains. I thought of the gnome zhamM's prediction that I'd see him there—and that I'd be in danger. The prediction still seemed preposterous, but I was nearer to his home than I'd ever been.

The carriage rounded a bend. There was the castle, popping out above us, the famed ivy even greener than I expected.

I had been taught the castle had sixteen towers, five square and eleven round. I felt them eyeing us, and I wondered if they were feeling friendly or hostile. If friendly, I hoped they wouldn't change their minds when they saw me up close.

The carriage clattered across the drawbridge. I saw swans swimming in the moat, four white and one black. The carriage stopped. I heard birdsong and people singing. A footman in royal livery helped the duchess step down. I jumped out after her.

A tall Three Tree stood guard by the entrance. The duchess went in, along with the coachman and two footmen, each bearing a trunk. I hugged my carpetbag and followed behind.

Inside the Great Hall, I stopped. The birdsong was louder here. I looked up. An exaltation of larks flew overhead, beneath a ceiling that seemed as distant as the heavens. A troubadour near the doors played his lute and sang an Ayorthaian nonsense song. I stopped to listen and gawk.

A juggler sang along while keeping seven silver sticks in the air.

Four courtiers watched the juggler. A peasant woman held a tray of chestnut candies and waited for customers. A falconer stood with a hooded bird strapped to his wrist.

My eyes were drawn to the courtiers. Three were women, slouching with their hips thrust forward. Mother would have thought their posture dreadful, but I found it worldly and appealing. I thrust my own hips out and immediately felt ridiculous. I drew them back in.

Areida was prettier than any of the women. I was uglier.

“Aza!”

I hurried after the duchess, still gawking.

My bedchamber was only slightly less grand than the duchess's. My bedposts were mahogany, and the fringe on the canopy was three inches long!

We had rugs at the Featherbed, but ours were worn to frayed thread. Here, the rugs were new and springy and the patterns were bright. I had four rugs. They were small, to be sure, but four!

I took off my travel-worn gown and draped the skirts over the dressing-table mirror. Then I went to the washstand, which was marble, so cool and smooth I had to stroke it. I poured water from the pitcher into the basin. A small sculpture stood in the soap dish. The sculpture was of a green dragon, the size of a goose egg. Its mouth was open, but no carved flames spewed out. It was singing, not flaming.

But where was the soap? Surely they washed with soap here. Perhaps the washstand had a lower shelf. I bent down. No shelf.

Reading this, you know what a bumpkin I was. But the truth finally arrived. Smiling with delight, I picked up the dragon and scratched its scales. Soap flakes. The dragon
was
the soap.

After I washed, I dressed in the ensemble of Dame Ethele's that the duchess had told me to wear. The undershirt was white silk embroidered with yellow roses. Lovely. I slipped it over my head. It settled on me like soft rain.

That was the end of my pleasure. Dame Ethele's hose was no better than the thick cotton stockings I'd left at home. The gray bodice was tight around my chest, although the shoulders were puffed. I struggled for air and wished I could breathe through my shoulders.

Above the bodice, I tied on a starched white ruff. The stays jabbed into my neck. I stepped into a farthingale with hoops wide enough to encircle a haystack. Over the farthingale went a green underskirt and then a pleated tan overskirt edged with fur.

“I expect you to wear both skirt and underskirt,” the duchess had said. “I won't have you scantily clad.”

Scantily! It would take a carpenter a month to drill through the skirts and find my legs.

I examined the headdress. The top part was stiff, rough textured, and dark gray, resembling a roof shingle. A broad strip of white linen had been glued to it. I put the headpiece on, tied the linen behind my head, and pushed the ends under the ruff. I was perspiring. I felt pinched here and pricked there, but I was dressed.

I had to see how I looked. I whipped the skirts off the mirror. Then I tilted it to see as much of my reflection as possible. I looked—

And burst into tears.

I
LOOKED LIKE A
cottage, with my doughy face peeking out from under the roof. Hundreds of people were going to see me, and I looked even uglier than I truly was.

I sat on the bed. I couldn't stop crying, although I knew the duchess was waiting.

She barged in. A cat rode on her shoulder. Until then I had never seen her laugh. But now she tittered. The titters turned to gales, then shrieks of laughter.

“Not … laughing … at you …” she had the grace to gasp out. “The … bonnet!”

I couldn't laugh along. I waited her out.

When she recovered, she allowed me to wear a different headdress. She told me she had something that would do. She left and returned, holding a gray cap with a single gray feather. “I never thought I'd wait on a servant,” she said, handing it to me.

The cap was better. The gown was still absurd, but I was no longer quite so conspicuous.

After I helped her dress, we joined the crowd trooping through the castle corridors. I shortened my stride to the duchess's mincing steps. Enough people stared at me to make me wish myself back in my room. I thought of my family. If I missed the wedding, so would they.

We finally reached the Hall of Song, which I'd heard of for as long as I could remember. Oaken pillars supported an oaken ceiling. Each pillar was a wooden elongated singer whose lines and features had been softened by the centuries. Suspended from the ceiling a wooden winged singer flew, her lips forming an
O
. A living lark perched on her left hand. Its song, clear and fine, was enhanced by the hall's legendary acoustics.

The seats were arranged in a three-quarter circle facing a stage. The duchess's rank commanded a seat in the first row. I was on her right. Everyone was standing, and we stood, too.

A tiny man with bushy eyebrows stood between the stage and the seats. He held a baton, so I knew he must be Sir Uellu, the Ontio choirmaster, the most respected person in Ayortha after the king.

A flutist waited next to Sir Uellu, who raised his baton. The flutist began to play. Everyone hummed along with the flute. Under cover of the other voices, I illused, so that my humming came from the mouth of the wooden singer overhead. I was certain no one would hear me, but the choirmaster looked up. My heart almost flew out my mouth. I stopped illusing.

King Oscaro and Prince Ijori and a large black boarhound stepped through the wine-red velvet curtains at the back of the stage. I knew the king by his crown and the prince by his dog. Every Ayorthaian knew about the prince and his faithful hound, Oochoo.

Prince Ijori was only seventeen, but he was taller than his uncle, the king. He had his uncle's rounded cheeks and narrow chin. He was handsome, very handsome, but for overlarge ears. I liked those ears. They were whimsical. They were charming.

The prince's expression was solemn, but I detected a gleam in his eye. Then I saw Oochoo lick a tidbit out of his hand. The hand moved to the pocket of his tunic, and the dog got another treat.

The king was smiling, and I saw why everyone loved him. His smile was so sweet and kindly. King Oscaro was said to have the best heart in the kingdom. I believed it.

He stepped to the edge of the stage while Prince Ijori and Oochoo moved to the side.

A latecomer, a middle-aged woman wearing a gold tiara, crossed in front of me to reach her place three seats away. I wondered if she was Princess Elainee, the prince's mother, the king's sister.

I sensed eyes on me. I glanced up, and it was the prince. I felt my blotchy blush begin. I saw myself in my mind's mirror. Blushing made me as garish as blood on snow.

I felt the duchess turn. I turned, too, as the bride entered the hall. The flutist missed a measure. Everyone's humming faltered. The duchess stiffened.