The Two Princesses of Bamarre (3 page)

Chapter Five

I
N OUR SITTING
room I showed the gift to Meryl and Bella.

“I like Rhys,” Meryl said. “He’s the best sorcerer Father’s ever had.”

“I like him too,” I murmured.

“We should give him gifts in return,” she added.

Bella agreed. “It’s only polite. I’ll pick out one of my doilies.”

I was delighted. “Maybe he’d like that cushion cover I finished last week,” I said. “Do you think sorcerers use cushions?”

“What could I give him?” Meryl’s stitchery was more tangle than stitch.

“You could declaim for him,” I said. Her recitations were masterful. When she declaimed in our sitting room, the couch cushions fluffed up, the chairs straightened their backs, and the table stood an inch taller.

Meryl spoke to Rhys in the banquet hall that evening. They agreed to meet three days hence, which would be Thursday. I could hardly wait. I wanted Rhys to become better acquainted with Meryl and for the three of us to be friends.

On Tuesday Bella had one of her headaches and couldn’t give us our lesson. Meryl seized the opportunity and persuaded me to ride with her to Lake Orrinic.

I rarely ventured beyond the fields that bordered Bamarre castle, but the lake was only five miles away, and monsters had never come so close as that. I was eager to go because I wanted fresh views for my embroidery, and Lake Orrinic bordered a pine forest and a cliff.

The day was sunny and hot. We spread our blanket on the lakeshore.

“I’m off to explore.” Meryl pointed at a cave in the cliff and brandished Blood-biter. “Perhaps the bats know how to fence.”

After she’d gone, I began to sketch an episode from
Drualt
. In my drawing Drualt stood on a rock in the middle of Lake Orrinic, battling a flock of gryphons. The air was full of feathers, and Drualt laughed as he fought. One of the gryphons had a hurt wing, and a wound over its eye dripped blood.

Sometimes my images of gore and mayhem made even Meryl uneasy, but they never troubled me. A real monster battle would have caused me to die of terror, but a painted or stitched one gave me only pleasure.

I forgot everything while I drew, but after I finished, I began to worry about Meryl. She should have come out of the cave by now. I ran to its mouth and called into it. My only answer was a ripple of echoes. As I took a few steps inside, I made out the bones of a dead squirrel in the shadows a few feet away.

A passageway led deeper into the cave. I hoped Meryl hadn’t gone exploring in there. I called to her again. The echoes sounded despairing. I backed out, telling myself that she had probably left the cave anyway.

I hurried to the pine forest, the only other place she might be. The trees were huge, some taller than our castle battlements. I stood at the forest’s edge, peering in and feeling as tiny as a mole. I saw no movement and heard nothing. The silence frightened me. It seemed to be holding its breath, waiting.

Meryl is fine, I told myself. I started back to the lake, wondering if I should gallop home and return with guards to search the cave and the forest.

“Lady!”

I turned. A child stepped out of the shadows several yards into the woods.

“Lady!” He ran to me and bowed clumsily.

He was about six years old, in torn breeches and a dirty shirt. He was a comely child, with a sweet plump face. His hair was amber ringlets, mussed on top, as if he’d been caught in brambles. I wondered what he’d been doing in the forest. Perhaps his father was a woodcutter.

“Are you the other princess? Princess . . .” He shook his head. “I forgot.”

My heart started pounding. “Have you seen my sister?”

“What’s your name? She made me promise—”

“I’m Princess Adelina, Addie. Now tell me.”

He dimpled when he smiled. “That’s the one. She said—”

“Tell me! Is she all right?”

He nodded. “She wants you to come. She found something. She said you have to see it.”

Thank heaven she was all right. “What is it?”

He dimpled again. “I mustn’t say.”

My fear of the forest receded. Meryl would never send for me if there was danger. I was so glad to know where she was!

He held his hand out to me, and I took it. It was moist and surprisingly cool, considering how warm the day was.

He began to talk, while holding my hand confidingly. I smiled down at him. He’d seen Meryl doing something, he wouldn’t say what, and she’d paid him to find me. He opened his other hand and showed me a silver coin. “I’m going to buy gingerbread.”

He led me a few steps into the forest. The pine needles underfoot made a soft carpet.

I stopped short. There could be spiders.

The boy looked up at me curiously.

Meryl wouldn’t have sent for me if there were spiders. She wouldn’t forget.

“How far is she?”

“Not far. Perhaps a quarter—”

A stone caught him behind the ear, and I saw blood. We both spun around.

Meryl was running toward us from the direction of the cave.

Meryl! But she was in the forest. How could she be here?

She stopped every few steps to pick up a fresh stone and throw it. In her left hand she waved Blood-biter.

A stone gashed the child’s forehead, and more blood flowed. He began to cry.

“Meryl! What are you doing? Stop!” With my free hand I found my handkerchief and pressed it to his forehead.

“Let go of him, Addie!”

He was only a child! But I dropped his hand.

Meryl reached us and pointed her sword at the child. His wails rose in pitch. I wanted to hug him and comfort him. What was Meryl doing?

“Get away from my sister! You can’t have her!”

He stopped crying and began to giggle mischievously. Then he changed, thinned. I could see the trees through his open, laughing mouth.

He—it—was a specter! I stepped back, stunned.

It was vanishing.

“Stop, monster!” Meryl said. “I command you.”

Its face filled in again, but its body remained wraithlike, transparent. A monster, there in front of me!

“Do you think me a child?” Meryl asked. “I found you out, and now you must prophesy for me. When will my adventures begin?”

It continued to giggle, and now I saw its malice. “You’ve just had your first adventure, so they’ve already begun. But your next one will not be what you expect.” It laughed harder and began to vanish again.

“When will that be?”

“Only one question.” A last shriek of laughter, and it disappeared.

“Oh, Meryl!” I would have gone with it. It would have gotten me hopelessly lost. I would have wandered until I died of starvation or despair. “How did you know?”

“I didn’t know, but I guessed. It was too beautiful, and I wondered how it got here.”

In spite of my fright, I wanted to cry over the loss of such a sweet lad. It would have killed me, and I was sad over losing it. That was power. I couldn’t stop trembling.

Meryl crouched down. “See, Addie? It left no footprints. That’s how you can tell a specter.”

I looked. The ground on the edge of the forest was soft and moist. There were half a dozen impressions of my boots and Meryl’s but none of the boy’s. The specter’s.

She stood up. “What do you think it meant about my next adventure?”

I shook my head and continued to tremble. It had meant something horrible, I was sure.

“It could have told me when,” Meryl grumbled. “That wasn’t really a separate question.”

“You know when,” I whispered. “After I’m wed.”

Then I swore to myself that I’d never marry. Bamarre would be too perilous without Meryl.

Chapter Six

I
WAS WEEPY
and trembly for the rest of the day. It was fortunate that specters never came indoors, or I would have suspected every elf and servant I didn’t know well.

I wouldn’t let Meryl out of my sight, and by nightfall she was impatient with me. We were in our sitting room, and she was trying to develop a battle plan for a company of forty knights against a pack of seven ogres. I had Rhys’s cloth in my lap and was absently stroking it.

“Addie! Stop worrying. I can’t concentrate.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“Every minute or so you shudder, and then you glance at me.”

Just seeing her reassured me. I faced her profile, her stubborn, square jaw, and her snub nose. She was hunched over our small table, and her toe tapped a rhythm on the braided rug. An oil lamp was at her elbow, and I made out an ink stain on her knuckle and one on her sleeve.

“I have to work this out. Listen, Addie.” She looked up. “If the terrain is rough and the ogres are throwing rocks, what should the knights do in defense?”

“Gallop away?”

“I should have known better than to ask you.” She bent over her notebook again.

By Thursday my fright had receded, dispatched by my excitement over giving Rhys his gift. My only worry was that it might rain. But it didn’t, although the day stayed cloudy.

When we arrived in the garden, he was already there. I put his cushion behind my back so he wouldn’t see.

He ran to us, then bowed. “Princesses, Mistress Bella, I’m so—”

“We have gifts for you, Rhys,” Meryl said, curtsying.

He fell back a step. “I want no—”

“There may be a law against refusing a royal gift,” Meryl said.

He looked surprised. “I wasn’t . . .” He bowed again. “I shall be honored to accept your gifts.”

“You first, Bella,” Meryl said.

She handed Rhys his doily and stood stiffly, waiting.

He held the doily in open palms. “It’s so intricate.”

She smiled smugly.

“I will treasure it, Mistress Bella.” He folded it carefully and put it into the pouch at his waist.

I held my gift out. I’d never felt more shy. “I hope you like it.”

He looked at the cushion. “It’s a scene from
Drualt
, isn’t it? He’s so much smaller than the ogres, yet I can see he’s going to vanquish them. It’s his posture, his confidence.” He looked up. “How did you manage that?”

I shrugged, not sure how to answer.

“And that ogre’s expression!” Rhys laughed. “Stupid and angry and sly, all at once. You’re a sorcerer with thread, Princess Addie.”

“It
is
magic,” Meryl agreed.

“Her Highness is an accomplished needlewoman,” Bella said primly.

They all smiled at me.

“It’s Meryl’s turn,” I said, uncomfortable with the attention.

“Not here,” she said. We were on the garden’s busiest path. “Let’s go to the old courtyard.”

I nodded. No one would bother us there.

Meryl led the way, speaking over her shoulder. “I am going to declaim for you. I’m very good at it.”

“She’s wonderful,” I murmured.

The old courtyard was on the northern side of the castle, ringed by grapevines. Grass grew between the cracked paving stones, and the fountain no longer spouted. The wooden bench had once been painted, but now it was gray.

Meryl stationed herself in front of the fountain. Rhys motioned me onto the bench. Bella sat next to me, and he stood on my other side. I felt him there the whole time Meryl spoke.

“I will recite Drualt’s battle with the dragon Yune. First we are introduced to the dragon and then to Drualt, although we have met the hero before.” She took a deep breath and began.

Meryl was a master at the traditional intonations and gestures of Bamarrian recitation. Her voice snapped along with the dragon’s teeth and whipped along with her tail. In truth she almost became the dragon. When she mentioned Yune’s underbelly, she even stuck out her own stomach and rubbed it.

“Now the poem speaks of Drualt.

“Back to the dragon.

“Drualt once again.

Meryl’s delivery was riveting. She had never been better. The introduction went on for a few more minutes, followed by Drualt’s challenge and Yune’s taunting reply. Then hero and monster battled in the empty desert outside Yune’s cave.

Next to me, Bella mouthed the words as Meryl spoke them. I glanced up at Rhys. He leaned forward, intent, nodding as Meryl spoke.

She kept reciting. Drualt used the cloud as cover to get under Yune’s wing. He stabbed at her underbelly, wounding her. They battled for hours, and each was wounded several times. Then the tide turned against Drualt. He was unhorsed, and Blood-biter was knocked out of his hand. Before he could reclaim the sword, Yune’s flame melted it.

Meryl looked pale, and I thought I saw a tremor run through her. This is exhausting her, I thought, and wondered why. But her voice was steady, deeper and richer than usual.

Drualt knew that cunning alone would save him. He raced to Yune’s hoard, fire licking his heels, and dove into it. Yune swallowed her flame, not wanting to harm her treasure. She pawed the pile of bones and jewels, searching for Drualt.

Meryl broke off, panting and holding her side. Bella and I jumped up. Rhys took a step toward her.

She held up her hand. “I’m fine.

The recitation was over. Meryl began to curtsy, lost her balance, and almost fell. Then she caught herself and completed the obeisance. She stood and smiled.

The smile was forced, I thought, too brilliant to be real.

Rhys applauded wildly, flamboyantly. I stood and clapped. Bella clapped too, but she was frowning. She and I knew that Meryl usually went on reciting to the end of the dragon stanzas, through Yune’s collapse, Drualt’s narrow escape from suffocation, and the reunion with his horse, Defiance. She always insisted that the battle wasn’t properly over until every uncertainty had been resolved.

“Wonderful! Marvelous!” Rhys was still clapping. “I’ve never heard it done so well.”

“Thank you.” Meryl sank onto the bench.

Rhy’s expression changed from delight to worry.

She must have caught a cold, I thought, sitting next to her.

“You should rest in your room,” Bella said. “Such a warm day . . . the exertion . . .”

“I’m not tired. Reciting always gives me energy. You know that.”

But she continued to sit. Ordinarily, after declaiming, she could almost leap tall trees.

“Now it’s my turn to entertain.” Rhys still looked worried. “Apprentices aren’t supposed to, but . . .” He smiled ruefully. “I can’t resist.”

He took Meryl’s place at the fountain. “I can use those clouds.” He took out his golden baton and pointed it upward. . . .

And we were in a fog so thick that when I looked down, my arms faded into it above the elbow.

I heard Rhys say, “No. No.”

The fog vanished, and a compact little cloud floated above the fountain. A roll of thunder came from the cloud—lighter and sweeter than ordinary thunder. It was little-cloud thunder, without lightning but with rhythm, ta-dum
dum
, ta-dum
dum
. The cloud pulsed in time to itself, a dancing cloud.

I smiled. Meryl was smiling too, leaning against my shoulder. I looked up at Bella, whose face was impassive. She wasn’t to be won over so easily.

Rhys raised his baton again. A wisp of cloud came to hang in the air next to its thundering cousin. Rhys pointed his baton at the wispy cloud, and it began to wave as if in a stiff wind. We heard the wind, first loud
SHHH
, then soft
shhh
, loud
SHHH
, soft
shhh
.

Ta-dum
dum SHHH
, ta-dum
dum shhh
, ta-dum
dum SHHH
.

Now Rhys returned to the little cloud with his baton, and the little cloud started to rain. The raindrops hit the paving stones with high metallic taps and low slurpy plops and sharp plinks and soft thuds, making music, merry silly gurgling music.

Meryl and I were laughing, and even Bella was smiling. I found myself bobbing in time to the clouds, and Meryl was conducting with her finger.

Then Rhys began to sing, compounding the silliness, his voice sliding all over the scale, high falsetto one moment, bass the next. “Thank you for my presents,” he sang. “Thank you, Princess Meryl, for declaiming, and thank you, Mistress Bella, for my doily, and thank you, Princess Addie, for my cushion. Thank you for being my new friends.”

He raised his baton, and the music came to a wild crescendo. Then, with a wave, he sent the clouds back to the sky. He bowed.

We applauded, and I clapped until my palms tingled. I expected Meryl to heap praise on him, but she was silent. So I said, “That was enchanting, wasn’t it, Meryl?”

She nodded, smiling. Then she stood. “I’m tired. Bella, I’d like to—”

“Excuse us, Rhys.” Bella leaped up. She put an arm around Meryl’s shoulder. “She must be getting a cold. Rest will be the cure.”

“Thank you for the entertainment,” Meryl said. She curtsied and turned to leave.

I turned too.

“Wait, Princess Addie,” Rhys said. “Can you stay a moment longer?”

I blushed and nodded, feeling glad, wondering what he’d say.

They left, but he didn’t speak. He just stared after them. When they disappeared around the grape vines, he faced me, and there were tears in his eyes.

“Some of you die so young.” He looked up at the sky. “I talked about it with Orne, my teacher, but he only said, ‘They live briefly. That is their lot.’” Rhys shook his head. “He has no sympathy. Your sister . . .” He stopped again. “Oh, Princess Addie. I hate to say—