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honor." Here, she gave a laugh like the tinkling of silver chimes in the wind."But my father says there is no point in such a comparison, for I am not the least bit like her."

"In that, he is correct," answered Oswald. "You are nothing like Aurore."

Again his companion laughed, though this time I thought the sound was not so pleasing. "Tell me," she urged. "Has the princess grown as . . . unusual as they say? I myself have not seen her since we were both young girls, for I have been among my mother's people and have but lately returned to court."

"She is like no other," Oswald replied. Which only goes to show how good at court word play he truly was, for it wasn't really an answer at all.

"You must be such a comfort to the king and queen," the young woman said, at which point I began to wish I could edge around the column without being noticed, the better to discover who she was.

There was a tiny silence. In it, I suddenly felt a lock of hair tumble around my shoulders.

"What makes you say that?" asked Oswald.

"Well, I mean, since their daughter is so . . . unusual," said the young woman I was beginning to think of as I'Inconnue, the Unknown. I'd never really minded the word unusual before. I'd rather liked it, in fact. But from her mouth, it sounded like an insult. What word might she have chosen if she were speaking to someone else? I wondered. One she had no wish to impress, and furthermore, one who was not my cousin.

"Surely the king and queen rejoice in knowing one as suitable as you will one day sit upon the throne," I'Inconnue went on.

There was a second silence, during which I felt another lock of hair come down.

“I regret to inform you that you are mistaken," Oswald said, and there was something in his voice I could not quite decipher.

"I will be steward, not king. It is not my destiny to sit upon a throne."

"You think not?" I'Inconnue asked softly."You seem to me to be no fool, my lord. Therefore, I think you know what all smart men do: The title means nothing. King or steward, it will amount 46

to the same thing. You will be the one to rule, for the only one who might object will be in no position to stop you."

"Mademoiselle, you quite take my breath away," Oswald replied after a pause during which the hairs on the back of my neck stood up, even as most of the rest of it came tumbling down.

"But might I, perhaps, suggest that you have been too long away from court?" my cousin went on. "This is a place where one may think whatever one wishes, but there are still some things it is not wise to say aloud. Now, I believe I see your father trying to get your attention. Will you do me the honor of allowing me to escort you to him?"

"No, I thank you," I'Inconnue answered.'! am capable of crossing a room all by myself. Indeed, my whole family is considered capable. . . of many things. When you ponder the things of which it is not wise to speak, you might wish to keep that fact in mind."

"Mademoiselle," said Oswald.

I heard a sweep of skirts as I'Inconnue moved off. I counted to twenty, then to thirty just for good measure. "Who was that?"

I asked as I came out from behind the column to stand beside my cousin. I actually had the pleasure of seeing him start, for I had genuinely surprised him.

"That is Marguerite de Renard," Oswald answered shortly.

"So that is the Fox's daughter," I said. For that is what her family's name meant. Fox. Renard. Though, for all of that, I'd always thought her father had a face more like a ferret than a fox. Cunning and sharp. Le Comte de Renard was a distant relation of my father's, which meant that royal blood flowed through his veins, though not enough of it to put him on the throne. Apparently, he was hoping to place his daughter there instead.

I remembered her, of course. Marguerite de Renard was just a little older than I was. She had been perfect, even as a child. And her embroidery as well. From what I could see from across the room, she had lost none of her perfection as she had grown. She had raven hair, and dark, lustrous eyes. Her face didn't look like a weasel's at all. By anyone's standards, she would be considered a beauty. I hid my stained fingers in the fold of my gown.

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"I think that you should marry her," I said, and felt my cousin go very still at my side.

"Indeed, and why is that?"

"So that you may have children who are attractive and sharp-witted," I answered. "Are those not desirable attributes in the children of rulers?"

"But you forget. I will not rule here, Aurore."

“I forget nothing," I said, and was surprised to hear my voice come out like a sob. "I am not a fool just because the whole world thinks I look like one. Marguerite de Renard is right and you know it, Oswald. I thought you got resigned to being steward awfully quickly. Now I see the truth. You're only biding your time.

What does it matter what you'll be called when the time comes?

There will be nothing to stop you from doing whatever you like, once Papa and I are gone."

Oswald had gone white to the lips. "You think not?" he replied.

"What about duty and honor, Aurore? Or don't you think I possess those attributes? No, wait. Don't answer that. Your opinion is plain enough."

By now, I was sobbing in earnest, a thing I despised but couldn't seem to stop. "I hate you. I've always hated you," I choked out."You twist everything all around. Do what you like!

Why should I care? Marry her. Don't marry her. Don't marry anyone."

At this, Oswald turned so suddenly I had no time to step away, and took my shoulders in a grip tight enough to snap my bones. "And why should I not marry her, ma petite Aurore?

Give me one good reason. Can you do that?"

At that moment, two things happened. The musicians began to play once more. And, as if from a great distance, I heard my father's voice say:

"Aurore."

Oswald's hands fell from my shoulders as if the touch of them burned him. I stepped back, and bumped into Papa, who had come to stand directly behind me, a thing Oswald and I had been too wrapped up in ourselves to notice. Oswald brushed past us and vanished into the crowd without another word. He didn't even bow to my father.

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"Aurore, what is it?" my father said, as he turned me to face him. "You're white as milk. Are you unwell?"

All of a sudden, I wished to be a child again. To be able to crawl into his lap and rest my head against his chest to hear the way his heart beat, the thing that had always comforted me the most when I was small.

"I'm fine, Papa," I said, though suddenly I seemed to be crying harder than ever. "It's just—my shoes pinch, and my hair is a mess. I can't seem to do anything right, and I—all I want to do is go up to my room. Nobody will miss me. Please let me go up. Please, Papa."

"There now, that's enough. Calm yourself, Aurore," my father said, and though he did not gather me in with his arms, he did so with the look in his eyes. At this, my tears slowed, then ceased to fall altogether. "Tell me what passed between you and your cousin just now."

"No," I answered simply, and saw surprise replace the compassion in my father's eyes. This was the first time I had denied him anything, and we both knew it. And it was over Oswald. "What happened isn't Oswald's fault, it's mine. I can't think straight with all these people around, Papa. They muddle everything."

Ruin everything.

"I see," my father said." Very well. If it is truly what you wish, you may go up to your room, Aurore. Though you will give these nobles a hold over you if you do. They have been trying to cow you all evening. If you go now, they will know that they have won."

It was either the best or the worst thing he could have said, of course. For now it meant that I must stay at the party, no matter how much my heart cried out to be alone. For there was something in it that was clambering to get out. A thing I had not known was there until now. A thing with claws, teeth, and a temper, though I still didn't know what it was called.

The musicians ended one dance and began another. My father cocked his head. "They are playing a waltz. Will you dance with me, Aurore?"

"I'll only step on your feet," I said. But I took a deep breath.

Duty and honor, I thought. Stern and difficult taskmasters, but I must obey them both now.

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"What lady wouldn't wish to dance with the most handsome man in all the room?" I went on.'And don't worry. The stains on my fingers won't rub off."

"What stains on your fingers?" asked my father.

I smiled. I'm pretty sure it was for the first time that evening.

"I love you, Papa."

"And I you, Aurore. Come, let us show these over-bred nobles how to dance a waltz with spirit."

"Just don't hold it against me when we fall."

At which my father laughed and plucked the few remaining pins from my hair, letting it stream down my back like a river of spun gold. I gave my head a shake, causing the river to shimmer as if struck by the sun. Then I kicked the shoes that had been making my feet miserable into the far corner of the ballroom, and let Papa lead me out into the center of the dance floor.

And so we were together when word of the first of the catastrophe was brought.

In the midst of the dance I felt a strange ripple pass through the ballroom, like an unexpected changing of the tide. A moment later, I heard a woman scream. My father spun toward the sound at once, thrusting me behind him. Before he could do anything else, the dancers parted to reveal a man dressed in the livery of the palace guards, his chest rising and falling as if he had just run a race for his life.

And his clothes . . . his clothes were covered in . . .

"Your Majesty," he gasped out. "Your Majesty, I must report—

" Here his breath failed him. He collapsed to his knees and his voice choked off. At once, father knelt to support him.

"What is it?" he commanded. "Who is it that attacks us? Tell me swiftly, for Gods sake, man! You are covered with blood."

At this the guard began to weep, his tears making flesh-colored rivulets down his red cheeks.

"I do not know who attacks us, Majesty," he whispered. "Or what. The blood . . . it is falling from the sky."

How shall I tell you of the days that followed, of the strange events that seemed to come upon us from all sides, threatening to tear the very fabric of our land asunder?

It rained blood for five full days, after which the sun came out but refused to go back down. Day and night it burned in the sky like a torch, till those crops that had not already drowned burst into flames in the fields where they stood. And any that survived the sun were knocked down in the hailstorm that finally put the sun's torch out, for the hailstones were as large as grown men's skulls.

Nor was that all.

Cook's favorite white cat gave birth to a red-eyed raven, then flew away with it. One of the noble's hawks hatched a litter of mice that devoured it on the spot. Wolves roamed the streets of the town at midday, their great tongues lolling from their open mouths. Flocks of larks lined the boughs of trees and sang their hearts out at deepest midnight. Stars streaked across the heavens and fell to earth. Bolts of lightning shot from clear blue skies.

The royal soothsayer was kept so busy with dire predictions that he ran out of adjectives to describe how bad things had become. And would become.

Then, as unexpectedly as they had begun, the terrible events that had plagued us stopped, and there began a series of days when nothing happened. Nothing at all.

I probably don't have to tell you that those days were the worst of all. For though things seemed normal again, none of us believed it in our hearts. We knew it for what it was. The calm before the storm that might carry us all before it.

But it is hard to do nothing when you have been doing something. You can work to put out a fire. Smother it with blankets. Carry buckets of water from the well. If it floods, you can build a dike to hold the floodwaters in check. But how do you protect yourself against an enemy you cannot see? How do you combat a thing that only threatens but never really comes?

And so it came to pass in those days of quiet that we ceased to fight an outside foe and began to fight ourselves.

It was the nobles who caused trouble first, for they had the most time on their hands and on their minds. Time to place blame and to hatch plots. And I'm sorry to say that Papa and I 51

may have made things easier for them, for we were both away from the palace for long periods of time. For Papa saw, as the nobles could not (or would not), that it was the everyday people who were our country's true lifeblood. If they should fail, so would we all. And so he was much among them, and so was I.

And so was Oswald, somewhat to my surprise, though it was impossible to predict just where or when he would turn up.

Repairing buildings, furrowing and planting the fields for a second, even a third time.

It was after a day of working in the fields until my very bones ached, a day on which Oswald had not put in an appearance, cleverly, I thought, when I had the energy to think at all. At the end of such a day, Papa and I returned to the palace to find a delegation of noblemen waiting for us in the great hall. Le Comte de Renard stood at their head, so I knew there would be trouble right off.