I stood impatiently and gazed outside. As I watched, an orange carpet unfurled itself and rolled from the coach’s door to ours. If I waited much longer, it would be wet and useless.
Mandy returned with her umbrella, uncompromisingly black and with two bent spokes.
“Here, love. I hope you won’t be sorry. I won’t hug you and muss your dress.” She kissed me. “Go now.”
I stepped onto the carpet and raised the umbrella. The coachman jumped down from his perch and opened the carriage door.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
A few guests were still arriving when my carriage reached the castle. Before I emerged, I made certain my mask was securely tied.
I had been here before, as a week-old infant brought to meet my sovereign, but not since. The hall was twice as tall as Mum Olga’s. Every wall was covered with tapestries: hunting scenes, court scenes, pastoral scenes. Along the walls to my right and to my left a line of marble pillars marched to the end of the hall. I tried not to gape. Soon I’d be counting windows.
“Mistress …” A young squire offered me a glass of wine. It was delightful not to be a servant. “The prince is greeting his guests. There is the queue.” He waved at a file of courtiers, mostly women, that wound from the huge double doors to the prince, a small figure at the far reach of the hall. Most of the women had already unmasked, so Char would be sure to see their lovely eyes or classical noses.
The squire added, “They’re each scheming to make the prince propose marriage on the spot.” He bowed. “Dance with me, Lady. The line will wait.”
An order. A group of musicians played near the prince, and perhaps a dozen guests danced.
“With pleasure,” I said, pitching my voice a tone lower than usual.
My eyes kept straying from my partner. Char smiled at each guest, bowed, nodded, spoke. Once he laughed. Making him laugh had been my domain. The damsel who caused the laughter was of middle height, slender, with blond, wavy hair cascading to her waist. She had removed her mask, but her back was turned, so I couldn’t see her face.
Hattie and Olive and Mum Olga weren’t in line. They were probably off eating somewhere, but Hattie would certainly return soon. She wouldn’t leave a room for long while Char occupied it.
My dance ended as the clock struck the quarter before ten.
“Thank you,” I said.
“No squire can hold a lady’s attention tonight.” He left me.
Just over two hours remained. I retired to a chair at the edge of the hall, as close to Char as I dared.
Three gentlemen asked me to dance, but I declined each invitation. I became simply a pair of eyes, staring through my mask at Char. I needed no ears because I was too far off to hear his voice, no words because I was too distant for speech, and no thoughts—those I saved for later.
He bent his head. I loved the hairs on the nape of his neck. He moved his lips. I admired their changing shape. He clasped a hand. I blessed his fingers.
Once, the power of my gaze drew his eyes. I looked away quickly and noticed Hattie, hovering a few feet beyond the line, her lips clenched in a fawning smile.
He spoke to the last guest. Last but one. My resolution to be unseen gave way. The last in line would be me. I rose and hurried to reach him before Hattie could pounce.
I curtsied. He bowed. When we both straightened, I found I had grown closer to his height.
“What is your name, Lady?” He smiled politely.
I found my voice with difficulty. “Lela.”
We were silent.
“Do you live here in Frell, Lady Lela?”
“In Bast, Highness.” I named a town near the elves’ Forest.
He looked past me, ready to move on. “I hope you enjoy the ball and your stay in Frell.”
I couldn’t let him go. “Abensa ohudo. Isseni imi essete urebu amouffa.” I spoke with a heavy Kyrrian accent.
“You speak Ayorthaian!” His attention was captured.
“Not well. My uncle was born there. He’s a singer. His voice can charm wood.”
Char’s smile was genuine now. “I miss their songs. I was glad to leave, but now I miss everything.”
I hummed a stanza of Areida’s favorite song, a sad one, about a farmer whose family is starving. Char joined me, singing softly. Near us, heads turned. I saw Hattie frown with her smile still frozen in place.
When we finished, he bowed again. “Would you favor me with a dance?”
Over all the others I was his choice! I curtsied, and he took my hand.
Our hands knew each other. Char looked at me, startled. “Have we met before, Lady?”
“I’ve never left Bast, but I’ve longed to see Frell my whole life.”
He nodded.
The clock struck eleven.
The dance was a gavotte, too spirited for talk. Rapid movement was a relief in the midst of so much feeling. We flew through the hall, perfectly in step. Char smiled at me. I smiled back, happy.
We separated. I twined arms with a succession of momentary partners—dukes, earls, knights, squires—and back to Char. A final whirl, and the dance ended.
“I love a gavotte,” I said, touching to make sure my mask was still properly in place. “The rush, the sweep, the whoosh!” What nonsense was I talking?
“It’s the same with stair rails, the same feeling,” he said. “Do you like to slide?” His voice was eager.
Stair rails! Did he suspect me? I forced a sigh. “No, Majesty. I’m terrified of heights.”
“Oh.” His polite tone had returned.
“Do you?”
“Do I what?”
“Like to slide down stair rails?”
“Oh, yes. I used to.”
“I wish I could enjoy it. This fear of heights is an affliction.”
He nodded, a show of sympathy but not much interest. I was losing him.
“Especially,” I added, “as I’ve grown taller.”
He stared. Then he laughed in surprised delight. I was a fool for behaving so much like myself. The clock struck the half hour.
Char started. “Half after eleven! I’ve neglected my guests.” He became the courteous host again. “Refreshments are in the next room, if you care to partake of them.” He waved at an archway. Then, “I’ll look for you later.”
He hoped to see me again! Lela, that is.
I hurried out of the hall. Outside, the sleet had stopped. The pumpkin coach glistened in a line of black carriages. I climbed in. When we arrived at home, the coachman handed me out, remounted, and flicked his whip. The horses started off.
In the morning Hattie told me about her share in the ball, bidding me to sit on a low stool while the family ate their breakfast.
“He danced with me,” Hattie said, her teeth stained purple from a blueberry muffin. “And only good manners prevented him from spending the rest of the evening at my side.”
“When will you pay me?” Olive asked.
“Must I pay? Aren’t you glad you danced with the prince?”
“You said you’d give me three coins for every time he couldn’t dance with anyone else because of me. You owe me …” She thought. “Eight coins.”
“How many times did he dance with you?” I asked.
“Three times. I asked him four times, but the last time he said he had to see to his other guests.”
I vowed not to approach Char during the second ball. It was too dangerous.
The evening was clear, but Lucinda provided the coach anyway. My tiara and pendant were pink roses. My gown was a silvery blue with a pale purple petticoat.
Tonight there was no receiving line. I searched for a seat where I’d have a clear view of the dance and where others would have a poor view of me. I found one in a recess partially blocked by a giant fern in a stone pot.
I scrutinized Char’s dancing partners, although I knew I had no right to resent a rival. He danced three times with the yellow-haired wench who’d made him laugh the night before. She wore no mask and was lovely. I couldn’t
leave him to her.
The clock struck the half hour. Soon it would be eleven. I checked my mask, then left my hiding place and stood with the others who observed the dance.
Char saw me. Over the shoulder of his partner, he mouthed, “Wait for me.”
I grew roots. An earthquake could not have moved me. The clock struck a quarter before eleven. It struck eleven. If it had struck the end of the world, I’d have stayed as I was.
The final figure ended, and he came to me.
“Will you dance?” he asked. “I looked for you.”
Did I have time? I accepted his arm, and we stepped into the dance, a slow sarabande.
“I was here all the while. I watched you.”
“What did you see?”
“An excellent host who had little real enjoyment in the ball.” Except when he danced with the blond beauty.
“Was it so apparent?”
“It was to me.”
He changed the subject. “Will you be here tomorrow? My father has asked me to perform an Ayorthaian song.”
“When will you sing?” Before midnight, please.
“Sometime late.” He grinned. “If I’m lucky, many of my guests will have gone. They needn’t all hear their future ruler disgrace himself.”
“There will be no disgrace, not if you were taught in Ayortha. What will you sing?”
“A homecoming song.” He sang in my ear.
“Oak, granite,
Lilies by the road,
Remember me?
I remember you.
Clouds brushing
Clover hills,
Remember me?
Sister, child,
Grown tall,
Remember me?
I remember you.”
The dance ended, and he stopped. “There’s more. I want you to hear it. Will you?”
I resolved to stay late the next night. I’d manage to reach home without Lucinda’s gifts, even if I had to swim. “I’ll be delighted to, but I must leave now tonight. I’m expected by twelve.” How close to midnight was it now? He would think it odd if my jewelry vanished!
“Oh. I’d hoped … I’m sorry. I mustn’t …” He bowed.
I curtsied. “Till tomorrow, Majesty.”
“One last thing.” He caught my hand. “Please call me Char.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
I rode home, calling myself a dolt but rejoicing nonetheless. In my room I opened my magic book to see if it would show me anything about the ball or Char’s thoughts. There was nothing. The next morning I tried again and found an entry in his journal from the night before.
How dare she! That fright—Hattie—rushed at me the instant Lela left. “Some wenches will stoop to anything to intrigue a man,” she said. “I should be devastated if I had to wear a mask in order to be interesting.”
She warned me the mask might conceal anything: a deformity, advancing age, the face of a known bandit. “If I were sovereign,” she said, “I would order her to remove her mask.”
I wanted to reply, “If you were sovereign, every Kyrrian would wish you’d don one.”
Certainly I’ve wondered why Lela hides her face, but it may be the custom in Bast. If she is a bandit, she’s courageous to come to court. More likely she is disfigured. Maybe she has a scar, or one eyelid droops, or her nose is a mottled purple.
I don’t care. I’m pleased to have found a friend at these balls, where I expected to find only tedium.
Does Ella Lela want more than friendship? Why did I write that name?
Did she come to these balls, as every other maiden did, hoping to wed a prince? (No matter what I am like, so long as I am a prince.)
I confess: I do wish to see her face.
I turned the page and found a reckoning from Olive to Hattie.
You o me 6 KJs. I danced with him to times wen you wer eeting. Pa me.
In the afternoon, I slipped out of the manor to the greenhouse near the menagerie. There I picked daisies and wove the flowers into a garland to replace Lucinda’s tiara. If I was to stay at the ball after midnight, I couldn’t wear Lucinda’s jewels.
My gown for the last ball was my favorite: white, with a low neckline edged in lace. The skirt parted in front to reveal a petticoat with three lace flounces. In back, my skirt was tied with a large bow that flowed into the graceful sweep of my train.
I faced myself in the mirror and began to set the garland in my hair, but Mandy stopped me.
“Here’s something better, love.” She handed me two packages wrapped in tissue paper. “Open them.”
They were a tiara of woven silver leaves and a silver chain on which hung an aster made of lapis.
“Oh, Mandy!”
“I bought them at the market. They won’t disappear at midnight.” She placed the tiara on my hair and fastened the chain around my neck. “You make them beautiful, sweet.”
I looked in the mirror. Mandy’s selections added something that Lucinda’s creations hadn’t—just right for my gown and just right for me.
Char was waiting for me at the palace entrance. When the carriage drove up, he dashed to help me out before the coachman could step down. The clock struck half after eight. The beginning of the last ball.
“You look splendid,” he said, bowing.
I was touched by his gallantry, since he believed me disfigured.
As we went inside he said, “Your carriage is an unusual color.”
“Not in Bast.” If he knew much about Bast, I was in for trouble—unless orange coaches were common there.
He took my arm. “May I visit you there?”
“Bast would be honored.”
“And you?”
“I’d be honored too.”
“If I’m going to visit your family, you should meet mine.”
“I’ll be delighted, someday.”
“Now is a good time. They’re nearby; you’re nearby.”
“Now? King Jerrold?”
He chuckled. “That’s who my father is.”
“But …”
“He’s kind to everyone except ogres. You needn’t worry.”
The king rose when we entered. I curtsied, blushing for my rudeness in wearing a mask before him. When I rose, he was beaming at Char. Queen Daria was smiling too.
I’d seen them many times, but never so close. The queen had a wide face, perfect for broad smiles. An honest face. Char resembled his father, but softened a bit. The king’s face was severe in repose, although merry now.
“Mother, Father, may I introduce Lady Lela, my new friend and acquaintance from Bast, where the carriages are orange.”
“Lady Lela.” King Jerrold took my hand. He had the roundest, deepest voice I’d ever heard. “Welcome to Frell.”
“Most welcome.” Queen Daria embraced me. “I’ve waited long to meet the maiden my son loves.”
“I don’t love her, Mother. That is, I like her, certainly.”
Over the queen’s shoulder, I saw Char looking silly with embarrassment.
Queen Daria held me away from her and searched my face. “I can’t tell through the mask, but you remind me of a lady I admired. She had the most playful spirit I ever knew.” She added so only I could hear, “If you are like her, then Char has chosen well.”
She released me, and I stepped away, dazed. I was certain she had meant Mother.
“Lady Lela is proof I haven’t been polite and distant to everyone,” Char said.
“Excellent proof,” King Jerrold answered. “Bring along more proof and we’ll be convinced.” He frowned at my mask.
“We should return to my guests,” Char said hastily.
As we left, I heard Queen Daria say, “I don’t remember any orange coaches in Bast.”
Back in the hall, Char asked me to save a dance for him later. “Just now, I’d better be polite and distant some more.”
I didn’t want him to go. Every instant of our final evening was too precious to lose even one. But I nodded, and he left me. I
watched the dance and turned down partners.
“Mistress …” Hattie stood before me, simpering. “I’ve wanted to catch you alone, my dear. I am Lady Hattie, daughter of Dame Olga.”
Lela had no reason to hate Hattie. “I’m happy to meet another Frellan.”
“Charmont says you live in Bast.”
No one called him Charmont.
She proceeded to pump me about my family and circumstances, pressing me until I said, “I hadn’t thought it was the custom here to interrogate visitors.”
“I apologize, but one has to be so careful when one is connected to royalty. You see, Charmont and I have an understanding. We are secretly engaged.”
Had she gone mad, to speak such a falsehood?
“To protect him, I must ask you to remove your mask. I must see what lies beneath.”
Thank heavens she had asked and not ordered. “You may ask, but I shall not oblige. Good evening, Lady Hattie.” I turned and began to walk away.
“Lela, there you are!”
Char was back. “Now dance with me,” he said. “Your prince commands you to. I want to spend the rest of the ball with you.” He bowed to Hattie, standing a few feet away. “Excuse us.”
I curtsied, reveling in her fury.
“They are all asking about you,” he said, pulling me close as the dance required. “‘Who is this mysterious stranger?’ they say.”
“The maiden who wears a mask.”
“Why …” He stopped himself and changed subjects, speaking of court affairs.
I wondered how many more dances we’d have. The clock chimed half after nine. In a few hours Lela would be gone forever. I’d never be so close to Char again.
Despite a fierce struggle, I began to cry. He might not have seen because of the mask, but a tear coursed down my cheek.
“Lela. I’m so sorry!” There was so much remorse in his voice that I was startled.
“Why? What were you saying? I’m the one to apologize. I wasn’t listening. I was thinking how sad I’ll be to leave Frell.” I laughed a little. “No more balls every night.”
“But you can come back, can’t you?”
“I suppose. But it won’t be the same. You can never go back to a moment when you were happy.”