Fairest (7 page)

Prince Ijori courteously let me go first. “Show me what I must aspire to.”

It's advantageous to be first. The first singer sets the tone. But I couldn't concentrate on the page. The letters seemed to be squiggles.

I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them again. The squiggles formed words.

My passage was harder than Lady Arona's, because it was less tedious. The duller the subject, the easier to inspire laughter. My section contained suggestions for people who have trouble falling asleep, and if some present had that difficulty, they would be genuinely interested. I'd have to struggle against their interest.

I read the passage and tried to think of a single idea.

Count Amosa said, “Highness and Lady, please begin.”

Oochoo whined.

I curtsied and looked out over the heads of my audience, too frightened to make a sound.

People shifted in their seats.

I wanted the prince to think well of me, but he wouldn't if my throat was paralyzed. He wouldn't if I lost the game for him.

M
Y VOICE FINALLY
came—as a squeak. “The following are sixteen—”

The squeak was an accident, but someone—bless him!—chuckled. I repeated “sixteen” on a higher note than even Lady Arona's high soprano had gone.

I dared a glance at the prince and saw he was smiling.

Elated, I sang “sixteen methods for—” I opened my mouth wide in an unmistakable yawn and drew out the next word “—falling …” on a falling pitch until I heard laughter.

There!

I repeated “falling,” and Oochoo began to howl. I had never sung with a dog before, but I harmonized. I finished my piece that way, with Oochoo's accompaniment, and the laughter almost drowned us out.

It was Prince Ijori's turn. I could face him now that I'd performed well. He was nervous! I saw it in his expression. I smiled to give him courage, as if I could do such a thing.

He sang, “Some bedframes …”

His voice was a beautiful baritone, without a hint of gravel. But his tune was nothing extraordinary, lyrical, not funny. He was witty in speech, but not musically.

Luckily, everyone was still laughing from my performance. I was able to look at them, since their attention was diverted. They regarded him happily, ready to be pleased.

“… are made of …” He hiccuped, a wonderful idea.

Everyone laughed.

“… hic-hic-hic-hic-hic …” He turned to me, and I knew he wasn't sure when to stop.

He could go a while longer. I nodded and kept nodding. He kept going.

I listened to the laughter and noticed when it crested. I stopped nodding and indicated with my eyes that he should move on.

He got it. “… hickory, partic-tic-tic …” He sneezed—by accident or design—and there were shouts of laughter.

A few more words, and it was my turn again. I borrowed his sneeze and added a new element, a snore.

When we sang together, the hall rang with hiccups and snores and yawns and sneezes. Oochoo stood and barked. It was a triumph. We were a triumph.

Then we were finished. Oochoo stopped barking. I ran off the stage and sank into my seat.

Prince Ijori sat beside me. “We're going to win,” he whispered. “I've never won before.”

Count Amosa selected a book for the next player.

Prince Ijori added, “But then I never played with Lady Aza before.”

Oh! I felt my blush rise again. “Thank you.”

“Thank you!”

I smiled and rose. I couldn't stay here, pretending to be a lady. “I must go.” I was able to speak without stammering. “The duchess expects me.” I curtsied and left.

I felt light-headed and as happy as I'd ever been.
This
was what should happen in royal castles.
This
was a memory I'd have my whole life, singing with a prince, laughing with a prince.

As I turned into the corridor, I heard one of the courtiers say, “Such a voice! It's unfortunate Lady Aza's mother was a hippopotamus.”

My happiness evaporated. I heard people laugh. Courtiers could be as cruel as anyone else.

Was the prince laughing too?

I hoped not. I thought not. He wouldn't laugh at someone's expense.

Perhaps my seat would be near his at the Sing tonight. If he still seemed friendly, I could ask him who won the contest. We could congratulate ourselves if we'd won or commiserate if we hadn't.

If only Dame Ethele's gowns were more becoming. If only they didn't make everything about me look worse!

In the distance the corridor brightened. I hurried toward the light and entered an interior courtyard, which was the hub of my corridor and three others. Benches circled a fountain where water spouted from the mouths of marble singers.

The courtyard was empty. I sat on a bench. If I lived in the castle, I'd come here to escape the people who taunted me.

When I returned home, I'd tell Father we should have a marble fountain at the Featherbed. He'd laugh and laugh. I illused his voice coming from a male statue. “Yes, and a golden chamber pot in every room!”

I illused Areida's voice from a female fountain singer. She changed the subject. “Which do you fancy more,” she sang, “the prince or his dog?”

Yarry's bass voice rang out. “No matter. Does the prince fancy you?”

I blushed. Yarry could always make me blush.

Mother's voice came from another statue. “I don't fancy that Frying Pan. We wouldn't keep her.”

Mother brought me close to tears, as her sympathy often did. I stopped illusing.

Behind me, someone applauded. My stomach clenched. I didn't want anyone to hear me illuse. Moreover, Ayorthaians never clapped. I turned.

It was the queen!

I
VI WAS IN
shadow, just beyond a corridor doorway. “I was hoping to see you again. I was wishing for it.”

How could that be? I jumped up and curtsied.

She came toward me. “I looked for you at breakfast”—she pouted—“but you weren't there.”

Her voice was stronger today. It had a nasal quality that didn't augur well for singing.

“I'd have summoned you, but …” Her cheeks reddened.

I wished I could blush so becomingly.

“… I can't remember your name, Lady … Lady?”

“Aza, Your Majesty. I'm not—”

“I'm so glad I found you, Lady Aza.” She smiled her dazzling smile.

Footsteps echoed in the corridor she'd come from.

I began again. “I'm not—”

She darted behind the fountain. I followed.

“Lady Aza!” she whispered, looking both frightened and merry. “See who that is. Hurry!”

I circled the fountain and made out the figure of Sir Uellu in the distance.

“It's the choirmaster, Your—”

“Oh, no! He mustn't catch me. Do something!”

I took her hand and ran from the courtyard with her. She ran like a gazelle, and I was hard put to keep up. She tossed her hair and laughed. She turned her head and met my eyes. Her eyes said, Isn't this fun? I couldn't help laughing, too.

We hadn't gone far, however, before her breath gave out. Her pace lagged, and I was pulling her along. I couldn't think what else to do, so I picked her up and carried her.

At first she was rigid in my arms. Then she relaxed and smiled up at me. I felt she admired me, and I relished the feeling.

We reached the end of the corridor. I turned into another and another. I worried we might be going in a circle and would come at the choirmaster from behind.

“This is far enough. You can put me down.”

I did so and stood next to her, panting.

“Is he coming?” she whispered. “Did he follow us?”

I listened, but all I heard was my own labored breathing. “We're safe, Your Majesty.” Then I blurted out, “Why did we run from him?”

She giggled and slid down the wall until she was sitting on the floor, like a three-year-old. I couldn't loom over royalty, so I crouched next to her. Someone began to sing nearby.

“Is that the choirmaster?”

I'd heard his voice at the wedding. “No.”

“Can I confide in you? Will you keep your queen's secrets?”

“Y-yes.” I'd never give away a confidence.

“As soon as I saw you last night, I knew I could trust you. I thought, Here's someone who could be my friend. You have such an honest face.”

I wondered if she might like me
because
of my ugliness. That had never happened before.

“I'll tell you why we fled. First you should know that my lord told me I had to have singing lessons, because I've never sung in public before.”

Her lord? Oh. The king.

She wet her lips. “I don't think I need them, but I don't want to argue with my husband.” She dimpled adorably. “Not yet.”

I saw her pleasure in saying
husband
. And I was sure her voice was dreadful.

“The choirmaster is to be my teacher. I've been avoiding him all day.”

What would she do tomorrow? What would she do when she had to sing? She couldn't have a sore throat forever.

She raised her chin. “My voice is unusual. It's—” She searched for the right word. “—interesting.” She nodded, agreeing with herself. “Much more interesting than Lady Arona's voice, which is so admired. One cannot praise Lady Arona's voice highly enough.”

She was envious! Beautiful as she was, married to the king as she was, she was emerald green with envy.

I tried to think of something sympathetic to say. The best I could come up with was “The choirmaster
is
imposing. I'd be afraid to speak to him.”

“I'm not afraid, and I'll win him over”—her expression turned mischievous—“when I think how. But for now I'm safe.” She put her hand lightly on my arm. “You rescued me. You were my salvation.”

I blushed. Anyone would have helped her.

“I'd like you to be my lady-in-waiting.”

“Pardon me?”

“I'd like you to be my lady-in-waiting. I'm sure you would always be kind.”

My heart was hammering. “Don't you have a lady-in-waiting already?”

She grimaced. “Lady Arona. I don't care for her sort of beauty. She's too soft and floppy looking. Anyway, I don't want her. Oscaro picked her, but I think I should choose my own. After all, you'll be my lady-in-waiting, not his.”

“I can't be.”

“Why not? Why can't you?” She smiled warmly. “I'm a new queen. You'd be a new lady-in-waiting. We'd be so merry.”

I gathered my courage. “I'm a commoner, Your Majesty, an innkeeper's daughter, not a lady.”