Whispered Magics

  Guards ringed the two statues, and other servants as well.

  Nobody stood at attention, the guards straight with their weapons held just so, the servants with bowed heads and meek attitudes. They looked like they were on holiday, guards chatting with servants, and the sound of an occasional laugh echoed up the stone wall as a plump laundry-woman poured out wine and passed the glasses. Three or four servants and guards lifted the glasses, sometimes to the King, mostly to the Queen, their laughter sharp and triumphant. With violent motions they tossed off their drinks and then poured again from dusty bottles Kimet recognized from the royal wine cellar.

  Behind them several servants stood, shoulders hunched, faces twitching from side to side, as if they didn’t know what to do.

  Kimet turned away. “I don’t understand.”

  “Don’t you see, you thick-witted lump?” Zarja retorted. “The Master Wizard, the Captain of the Guard. They are all evil traitors. They’ve taken over the kingdom. And they want to find me so he can put me out there in the garden, too.”

  Kimet looked out again, struggling to understand why. Family loyalty forced the words out, though even as she spoke her shoulders tightened against the expected whack. “Master Elcan’s so kind,” she said. “And wise.”

  “Was so kind,” the Princess corrected, her voice trembling again.

  They were startled by the sound of the Wizard’s voice outside. Kimet joined Zarja at the window, and they stood side by side, staring down into the garden.

  “Come, come,” the Wizard said briskly, clapping his hands. “Why are you all standing about? There is work to be done! Beginning with finding the Princess. Bring her directly to me.”

  The crowd began to disperse, some talking in low voices, others glancing back at the sun-touched statues, their expressions varying from worried to smug.

  Zarja sniffed again. It was her mother’s hissy sniff, through her long, pointy nose that was just like the Queen’s. “Who could ever have thought Master Elcan could be so evil underneath?”

  “Evil?” Kimet repeated.

  “Will you stop being an echo?” the Princess demanded, dashing her tears away with an imperious gesture. “If you have to talk, say something that will help. Or better, make yourself useful and get me something to eat.”

  Kimet returned to her first question. “And if they ask if I have seen you?”

  “You tell them you haven’t, of course,” the Princess said impatiently.

  “But that would be lying. We get the stick if we lie.”

  “You’re not lying, you’re doing what you’re told. By me. Princess Zarja. Queen Zarja now. I’m the Queen now, and . . .” The Princess’s lips parted, and her red, puffy eyes filled again with tears.

  Kimet paused, uncertain whether to go or to stay. As Zarja buried her face in handfuls of her brocade skirts, Kimet thought about the Master Wizard. His intent face with the wild fringe of silver hair fluffing round his bald pate, his willingness to do little things to make the servants laugh, did not match her idea of an evil man. However, turning the King and Queen into statues did seem an evil act. Was he now going to go through the Kingdom, turning people into statues and potted plants right and left?

  Kimet thought of her parents, night guard and laundry-woman respectively at the palace of the Duke and Duchess of Rivarand. Mama’s cousin had married Master Elcan’s sister, and it was the Master Wizard himself who had made it possible for Kimet to get the royal palace job. Every poor family in the kingdom wanted to get their children out of a grim future of poverty and into the royal palace. The work was hard, but after five years, if you were dependable and diligent, and practiced your chosen craft, you could interview for places in your craft. If they liked your work, you only had to wait for a place to open up. If you were lazy, careless, or disobedient, Steward Greb would still get you your interview if your parents were important, but the Wizard only got your interview if you were good at your job. No matter who you were. And his word had always counted more.

  Except if the Queen decided she didn’t want you promoted.

  “Greb!”

  Kimet started, looking wildly around, then her profile jerked up as she stared at the window.

  “Get him!”

  “Catch him! We want our own statue!”

  “Go round the other path. Stop him there!”

  Zarja and Kimet jumped to the window. Below a tall, spare man ran into view, his golden chain of office bouncing on his chest. The broad face that to Kimet had seemed to have only two expressions—a frown of threat, or the smirk of anticipation as he hefted his stick—was blanched with fear.

  “Go find the Wizard,” howled someone from the mob of servants chasing him. “He can set him up to decorate the midden heap!”

  “Help! Help!” Steward Greb vanished around a shrub, his pleading voice diminishing. The posse pelted after him, yelling his name, or threats, or both.

  “Who was that they were chasing?” Princess Zarja asked.

  Kimet said in surprise, “Steward Greb.”

  “What does he do?”

  “Beat us.”

  The Princess frowned, then her brow cleared. “Oh! He’s the steward in charge of you servants. I never knew his name.”

  Kimet tried to shake away the anger and fear that always boiled in her stomach when she saw or heard Steward Greb. “No. That is, the Queen put him in charge, but he never looked out for us. All he was interested in was his stick, and any excuse to use it.”

  Faintly, from the direction of the service end of the castle, came a shout of triumph from many voices.

  “They got him,” the Princess observed, sinking back down onto the trunk. “Is the Wizard going to make statues of every important person?”

  Kimet still could not believe that of Master Elcan. “Or just those who . . .” She met the Princess’s gaze and halted.

  Zarja flushed. “Why not just say it? Or just my family?”

  Kimet shook her head. “I wasn’t thinking that. I wasn’t thinking who so much as why.”

  “What do you mean?” the Princess demanded.

  Kimet turned away from the window and faced the Princess. “The Master Wizard. The statues. Could it be like with the Master Cook’s son?”

  Zarja looked up. “What?”

  “The Master Cook’s son. You didn’t know about him?”

  “What would I know about a cook’s son? I don’t even know who the cook is, much less his or her son!”

  “I think maybe I should tell you about him.”

  “I don’t want to hear about any stupid cook’s son,” Princess Zarja snapped. “Go get me something to eat!”

  Kimet’s heart began to thump faster than it had when she’d woken up and found out how late it was. “I think I should tell you,” she said, trying to keep her own voice steady. “And there’s no one to order to beat me, because the servants are capturing Steward Greb, or drinking wine, or standing in the garden laughing at those statues.”

  Zarja’s lips pressed together into a white line.

  Kimet’s knees wobbled and she had to sit down, even though that was a serious breach of proper behavior, to sit in the presence of the Princess. But so many rules had already been broken so far that morning she wasn’t going to worry about this one. She plopped onto a barrel labeled Worn List Slippers.

  “The Master Cook’s son,” she said, “never wanted to learn anything. When the Head Carver would say, Here’s how your mother wishes us to carve the meats, he’d go away, saying, I don’t have to know that. I’m the Master Cook’s son. And if the Head Pastry-Maker said, Here’s my secret recipe for the finest crust in all the Kingdom, the response was, I don’t have to know that boring stuff because I’m the Master Cook’s son! But then one day the Master Wizard came in when he was telling the Head Vintner that he didn’t have to learn how to choose wines because he was the Master Cook’s son, and the Master Wizard didn’t say anything, but the next day we saw the Master Cook’s son mucking out the royal
stables.”

  The Princess was still staring, her eyes wide and dark and her mouth pressed in that thin line.

  “So anyway,” Kimet finished uncertainly, “he’s not a cook’s apprentice anymore, he’s a stable sweep.”

  The Princess stated, her sharp cheekbones dark red, “If you’re daring to say that I belong in a stable—”

  “I didn’t say that,” Kimet stated. “I told you the story of the Master Cook’s—”

  “—son. Yes. I think I managed to gather that much.”

  Silence. Zarja turned away, her chin on her hands.

  Kimet slumped, embarrassed. What had sounded so wise in her head had come out sounding stupid, judging by how angry the Princess was.

  “Or,” Zarja’s voice snapped, “are you hinting that I ought to sweeping the stables because I skimped my studies in order to go dancing or boating or riding?”

  “I think,” Kimet said, “they are still searching for you.” To make you a statue.

  She didn’t say it, but she knew from the Princess’s short intake of breath that she was thinking the same words.

  Zarja’s chin jerked up, and she glared at Kimet for a long, nasty moment. “The war is to save my honor,” Zarja finally said, and rubbed her eyes with hands that shook. “Prince Emik broke the marriage alliance our parents made when we were born. After spending all last summer here, and all the parties we gave him! He was so handsome, everyone wanted him, but he was supposed to court me!” She clamped her jaw, and tightened her fists again.

  Kimet said, “What happened?”

  “He wouldn’t kiss me. Even though I gave him gifts every day, and had all his favorite foods cooked, and ordered the musicians to learn that tweedle-tweedle music they like over there in his kingdom. I wore a new gown every day. After the masquerade on New Year’s, at the midnight masking, he refused to kiss me. He said it didn’t show proper respect. And I believed him. I believed his smiles and pretty words right up until he got home, after being escorted by Papa’s army to keep him safe from brigands, and Mama’s sister at their court sent a secret letter along with the official one breaking the alliance. It said that he entered King Orthan’s throne room and straight away declared in front of all their nobility that he wouldn’t marry me even to combine both kingdoms. Don’t you comprehend that that’s a royal insult, requiring a royal thrashing to avenge my honor? An insult to me is an insult to our entire kingdom, don’t you see?”

  “No,” Kimet said. “Of course I don’t know anything about how Kings and Princesses feel about things, but I know how other people feel. Even the Master Wizard, a little, for he’s kin. And I don’t think he’d like to go over to another kingdom and turn them all into frogs. I don’t think Captain Dormar and the guards would like going over to thrash up their kingdom, especially when a lot of the guards have family over there. Nobody would want to end up fighting his brother or cousin. And what happens after? If you feel royally insulted because Prince Emik doesn’t like you, their King is going to feel even more royally insulted if we do all those things to them.”

  “As well he should!”

  “So what if he sends a bigger army over here to give us a royal thrashing as payment for our royal thrashing? Or he sends his Court Wizard to turn the rest of us into scorpions? Then everybody would be miserable.”

  “Except me. I’m really miserable now.” Zarja pointed at the window. “And so are my parents. That is, before they were turned into stone. Now they can’t feel. Or even breathe.”

  Kimet had no answer for that.

  Zarja sighed. “I can see that Papa might not have considered the consequences of a war. But that’s because he’s used to relying on the Master Wizard for . . .” She stopped, and frowned.

  “For ruling?” Kimet said.

  Zarja stood up, then sat down again. She turned away, turned back, wrung her hands, then stared down at the rings on her fingers.

  Kimet watched, her body poised to turn. To leave. The Princess could not stop her. In fact, Kimet just had to go to the door or window and yell, and the Guard would come pounding up to take the Princess.

  Zarja trembled, the diamonds on her rings glimmering like sunlight on water. She began speaking to those diamonds in a high, breathless voice.

  “When I was small he told me stories, sometimes weaving magical illusions to make them exciting. Stories about my ancestors, and the great things they had done. Sometimes he’d get terribly boring and preachy about ‘responsibilities’ and ‘duties,’ as if I don’t know the royal schedule better than anyone! But I was used to ignoring that from the Royal Tutors. And then on my tenth birthday, he made me a magic carpet. Fly, see the Kingdom, he said to me. Really see it, Zarja, see all that you will one day be responsible for. I flew up nearly to the clouds, and looked down at everything that will be mine one day, and I never once felt scared. His magic was good magic. Strong magic. It made me safe. It made the whole kingdom safe. Why, my father trusted him! Whenever the least problem came along, he always said, right in front of the court, that he relied on Master Elcan’s great wisdom!”

  Kimet shook her head. Leave that for the wizard, was what the King actually shouted, after a jovial laugh. Kimet remembered hearing that many times, when she had throne room duty. Whether it was a famine in River Valley, or a squabble between the fishers guild and the boatwrights, the King genially called for the Wizard to fix it, and he’d go back to his games or his hunting. Kimet had been right there when the official news came from the returning escort that King Olivan’s son wished to break the marriage alliance. The King had laughed before calling out to the Master Wizard, Go find Olivan and turn his royal court into frogs.

  He’d been joking. But the Queen had added in a sharp, cruel voice, And send the army to burn their border towns. That’ll teach them to insult our daughter! She’d laughed, the King had shrugged and laughed, as he always did after the Queen’s words, and the court also laughed. And that’s how the war declaration came to be.

  “Ruling,” Zarja said, her eyes narrowed as thin as her lips. “So you think Master Elcan wanted to be King all along?”

  Kimet shook her head again. “I don’t know what he wanted, or wants now. I didn’t know about that.” She pointed at the window. “But it seemed to me, when I had duty, well, he was doing the real ruling. Then came this order to go to war.”

  Zarja flushed again. “I wonder what this conversation would be like if you were the Princess and I the page.”

  Kimet was silent.

  “Or,” sardonically, “the Master Cook’s son.”

  “I don’t know,” Kimet said slowly.

  “Sure you do,” Zarja retorted, though her voice still trembled, and tears gleamed along her lower eyelids. “You are a page-princess now. For you can get me killed in a heartbeat, by just giving a single shout out that window. Zarja’s here! What kind of reward do you think you’ll get? Rank? Gold? You say you’re kin to the Wizard; maybe he’ll crown you as Princess.”

  Kimet said in a low voice, “Don’t want to be any princess.”

  Zarja gave her bitter, angry laugh. “Because I’m eeeee-vil?”

  Kimet was on sure ground now. “Because it’s boring,” she said. “I’d like the fancy clothes, but I wouldn’t like sitting around all day with those false-faced noble girls who smile when you can see them, but as soon as your back is turned they start the whispering.”

  Zarja jerked upright. “They whispered about me?”

  “All the time.”

  “What did they say?”

  Kimet got that prickly feeling when you know you are in trouble, and she wished she hadn’t spoken. This conversation would have been easier with the angry, arrogant Zarja, but this tearstained face, puckered in confusion, was harder to address. “That you’re mean,” she said finally, leaving out all the rest about her looks, taste, and lack of success with Prince Emik. “Mean and . . . not very smart, despite all those tutors.”

  “Stupid,” Princess Zarja stated wryly. “Stu
pid and what else? Ugly, of course.”

  To avoid having to answer, Kimet returned to the original subject. “Second reason I don’t want to be a princess, or a queen, is that it’s dangerous. You wake up with a bellyache or you get angry with someone, throw out an order, and people die.”

  Zarja was silent.

  Kimet said, “Here’s another reason why I wouldn’t want to become the Princess. The Master Wizard once said that, just like the rest of us, kings and queens come and go. If they aren’t respected, they’re forgotten, except when children have to recite long strings of rulers for their tutors. What I want to do—restore tapestries—well, look.” She turned to the table, and carefully lifted a corner of the tapestry, where an embroidered patch, long faded, could just be made out. “A thousand years ago this was woven by the hands of Ulda Nim. Her name is right there on the old writing, her work, right here. And if I get my way and can repair this one, a thousand years from today, if someone lifts this corner, there will be another patch above that one, saying ‘This tapestry was restored by the hands of Kimet Darjabee.’ Ulda Nim will be remembered for two thousand years, and I for one.”

  Below the tower a man hollered, “The Princess is still missing! Search the grounds! A reward for whoever finds her and brings her to the Wizard!”

  Zarja lifted her gaze to meet Kimet’s. “My mother always told me I was ugly,” the Princess whispered. “She said I had to make myself feared. If you are beautiful, people love you, but then you have to give them gifts to keep their love as you age, and jolly them, and eventually give in. If they fear you, no one ever dares to demand gifts, or place. They obey you and respect you.”

  Obeyed and hated, Kimet thought. She didn’t say the words aloud. But she saw Zarja’s acute gaze, and suspected the Princess knew it anyway.

  Zarja gave her a crooked almost-smile. “It’s beginning to sound like your Master Cook’s son was listening to my mother and father, isn’t it?”