I let out the breath I hadn’t known I was holding, and I saw my relief mirrored on Prince Tycho’s face.
He does love Karina!
I realized with a thrill.
He truly does!
“But what will you do?” Prince Tycho asked Idony.
“I will return to my home, and I will tell my parents that either I marry my beloved or I marry no one at all. I am their only heir. Though I hate to hurt them, I think they will accept it.”
Prince Tycho rose and came around the table. He took Princess Idony’s hand in his and raised it to his lips. “I wish you the best, milady,” he said. “It is a lucky man who wins you.”
Princess Idony turned her brilliant smile on him. “And I wish you well too, milord,” she replied warmly. “I feel I have found a friend here today—and I think our situations are not so different.” I alone saw the prince glance at Karina when she said those words. Then the princess stood and curtsied, Prince Tycho bowed, and she left the room to instruct her maid to begin packing her belongings.
As soon as she was gone, King Ulrik turned to his son, his face taut with anger. Sensing a gathering storm, the queen quickly waved us from the room. We did not go far, though, but positioned ourselves at the slightly opened door and eavesdropped shamelessly, peeking inside when we dared.
“Well, sir,” the king began. “Would you care to explain this to us?”
Prince Tycho sighed and returned to his seat at the table. “I have no real explanation, no excuse,” he said at last. “I know that I agreed to the test, but it was never my true intention to wed anyone who passed it.”
“What are you saying?” the king thundered. Again Karina’s mouth dropped open in astonishment.
“I am sorry, Father,” Prince Tycho said uncomfortably. “But I agreed to the test only to give me time.”
“Time for what?” the queen asked.
“Time to . . . oh, Mother, I don’t know! Time to learn my own heart, I suppose.”
“My son,” Queen Viveca said, “do you love another? Is that why you would not marry any of the princesses we suggested?”
“I—I cannot say, Mother,” the prince said miserably. “All I know is that I cannot marry anyone I do not love.”
I stole a glance at Karina, who looked quite overcome with the prince’s declaration.
“Forgive me, Father, Mother,” the prince begged. “I will not deceive you again.”
“But you must marry!” the king insisted. “This ridiculous talk of love must end right now!”
“Oh, Ulrik,” the queen said gently, rising and going to him. She laid a hand on his sleeve, and he looked up at her. “My dear, how can you speak of love as ridiculous? Were we not in love when we married? Do we not still love each other? How could we have endured our terrible sorrow without our love to sustain us? Surely you would not wish a loveless marriage on our son.”
The king looked long at his lady, and his face softened. “No,” he said at last. “No, of course I would not. I can see that I have been foolish. It is only that . . . there has long been a hole in our family. I thought perhaps that a daughter-in-law could fill it.”
“I know,” Queen Viveca whispered, and the king stood and put his arms around her. Suddenly I wished I were elsewhere, and Karina and I backed silently away from the doorway.
Once safely down the hall, we turned to each other.
“What happened in there?” Karina asked me. “Did the prince really—was she—”
“I believe so,” I said. “I believe that the lady Idony somehow proved herself a princess, and that she refused the prince. Or he refused her. Or both!” We began to laugh, and Karina clasped her hands together.
“I think he loves only you,” I told her. “I’m certain that is what he could not say to the king and queen.”
“Naught can come of it,” she said sadly, sighing with both pleasure and pain.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Princess Idony’s tale may have given him hope—and courage. If she is brave enough to stand up to her parents for love, perhaps the prince will follow suit.”
“But the princess’s beloved is a knight,” Karina pointed out. “And I am but a shepherdess.”
“Stop that!” I cried. “You are the bravest, most beautiful girl in the world! In fact, I think you are too good for Prince Tycho. How dare he hesitate to name you as his love?”
Karina tried to cover my mouth, as I had spoken quite loudly, but I ducked away from her. “Oh, hush, Lilia!” she begged. “Someone might hear. He is not afraid on his own account, but on mine. He does not want me banished, sent home to Hagi in disgrace. It is not as simple as you think it.”
I put my hand over hers. “I can see that,” I said more calmly. “But I hope he finds his way soon, for I cannot bear to see you suffer so.”
“At least there will be no more hopeful brides,” Karina said, and we laughed halfheartedly.
“If the test is over, we may never learn what it was,” I mused. “But we still must get into the bedchamber, for it is the only place Odin’s jewel might yet be. We have to try tonight—we have only six days left to find the jewel and bring it back to Bitra Forest.”
That night we waited until our bedroom was filled with the gentle sighs of maids sleeping. Then we dressed swiftly and crept out, down the servants’ stair to the second floor. After a quick check to make sure the way was clear, we scurried to the chamber. Silently I picked the lock—a skill I had not been sure I possessed—and the door eased open. We slipped inside.
Long windows let in enough moonlight to see the interior, and we looked around, prepared to be astounded by grand opulence. But to our shock, the room was bare—completely empty but for a bed in the center. And what a bed it was! It was canopied with embroidered velvet swags in deepest blue, and its coverlet too was sapphire velvet, embellished with the familiar silver stars and moon. Lace pillows lay in heaps upon it, and a lace bedskirt swept the floor. The lofty mattress was so high that a little stair with three steps stood beside it to enable a sleeper to climb up.
We circled the bed and looked under it, but the wooden floor was as clean and bare as the walls. There was not a picture nor a tapestry for a jewel to hide behind. There was only the magnificent bed, like an ornate ship afloat on a wooden sea.
“How very peculiar,” I observed, my voice echoing off the uncovered walls.
“Shhh!” Karina cautioned, a finger to her lips.
I whispered now. “There is nothing in this room that could hide the jeweled clasp, Karina.”
Karina’s face mirrored my own dismay. If the clasp was not here, where could it be? And if we could not find the clasp, how could we rescue Kai? We had looked everywhere, in every nook and cranny of a palace filled with nooks and crannies. I could not imagine where else we could search. The only room left held the crown jewels, and it was guarded by two soldiers at all times. It seemed impossible that we could get inside without being caught. And somehow I did not feel that Odin’s clasp was there.
“We should go,” Karina said sorrowfully.
“Wait,” I said suddenly. “What about the bed?” We lifted the heavy mattress as far as we could and peered under it. Then I pointed to the piles of pillows and heaps of bedclothes. “Under the coverings!” I exclaimed. Karina nodded decisively, and climbed the stairs onto the bed.
“Oooh,” she sighed. “It is the best bed in the world. Come up, Lilia!”
I climbed up too and jumped onto the mattress, bouncing Karina. I pulled aside the pillows, seeing nothing beneath them, and looked under the blankets—again, nothing. I glanced at Karina, wondering why she did not help me, and saw to my surprise that her eyes were closed, her breathing soft and regular. She was fast asleep! How could she sleep at a time like this?
But then the bed enveloped me, almost as if it were alive.
Sleep
, it seemed to say.
How can you not sleep on me?
I feared that I would join Karina in slumber, and I fought against it. After a moment, though, I began to realize that the mattress was not as soft as it first appeared. In fact, under its surface, it was surprisingly lumpy. I could not get comfortable, and I found that I was no longer in any danger of falling asleep. Quite the opposite, in fact—I knew that even if I had wanted to, I would not have been able to sleep on that bed. I tried to wake Karina, but I could not rouse her.
I looked around the empty room again. In the moonlight the chamber seemed strangely familiar, and I climbed down the stairs to examine it more closely. I put my hand on the wall, searching for something—I could not say what—and then I noticed that there was a little indentation in the wood. I pushed in with my fingers; and to my shock there was a creak, and a little door popped open in the wall near my feet. My instinct had been right!
The door was no more than waist high, so I knelt down and crawled inside. I found myself in a tiny room, hardly more than a closet. Like the chamber, this little space was empty, but for one thing. In the center sat a box, inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Breathless, I sat and stared at the box for several seconds before I picked it up and carried it out of the little room so I could see it more clearly. It was heavy in my hand. Even before I opened it, I knew. On a bed of deep blue velvet lay what I had been seeking for so long: Odin’s cloak clasp.
At last!
I thought.
Kai will be saved!
The clasp was made of white gold and had been wrought by an artist with skills far beyond those of humans—that was clear. The gold was twisted into intricate vines and leaves and flowers, with jewels that I did not recognize set at the flowers’ hearts. The colors of the jewels seemed to change as I looked, from green to blue to violet. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I turned it over and over in my hand before I slipped it into the pocket of my apron. Then I closed the empty box and put it back in the little room, crept out again, and shut the door. It latched with a muffled
click
. I could not tell, looking at the wall, that the door had ever been there.
I tried to shake Karina awake to show her the clasp, but her sleep was still so deep that she did not stir. I whispered her name, then said it again, but still she slept on. I could see from the daylight outside the long windows that the palace would soon be awake, and I began to panic.
“Karina!” I said, and shook her again. “Karina, wake up! I’ve found it! We must go—come on, wake! We will be caught!” In my fear, my voice had grown very loud.
Without warning, there was a sudden crash. I turned as the door to the room flew open. My heart sank as I saw two guards, their eyes wide with shock at the sight of us in the forbidden chamber, and behind them, Agna’s furious face.
W
hat are you doing in here?” Agna demanded. Then her glance fell on Karina, still sleeping soundly in the great bed. Her expression grew even more enraged, if that was possible; and she marched over to the bed, climbed the stairs to the high mattress, and shook Karina, much harder than I had.
“What? What is it?” Karina gasped, shocked at last out of her deep slumber. She sat up, blinking the sleep from her eyes.
“Get down, girl!” Agna ordered. I had never seen her like this before. She was strict, perhaps, but she had always been even tempered.
Karina climbed down quickly and came to stand beside me. She was pale and kept her gaze on the floor, but I looked at Agna, trying to figure out just how angry she was.
“It was my fault,” I began. “Karina did not—”
“You should not have done it,” Agna said severely, interrupting me. “What were you thinking? Did you hope to prove you were princesses? Foolish girls!”
“No, Agna! How could we even do that?” I asked, confused. “There is nothing here to prove a princess. There is nothing here at all!”
Agna shook her head. “Foolish, foolish girls,” she repeated. To Karina she said sarcastically, “You slept well, I assume?”
Shamefaced, Karina nodded.
“And I see that you did not even get up on the bed,” she said harshly, turning to me.
“Well—well, I did,” I admitted. “I climbed up with Karina, but the bed was lumpy. I could not sleep. But I can never sleep in a bed, so it was . . .” My voice trailed off into what seemed a great silence. Agna was staring at me with a look I could not interpret at all. Astonishment, suspicion, disbelief, even fear seemed at war upon her features. Finally she said, “You lay on the bed but did not sleep?”
I nodded my head, bewildered.
Agna was silent, chewing on her lower lip. Then she said abruptly, “Come with me, both of you.” She turned toward the door, and we scurried behind her. Down the hall and up the stairs we rushed, to the sitting room. The empty room was pretty and comfortable, with cushioned chairs and thick carpets. Small tables held vases of fresh flowers. It was so cheerful a place that I allowed myself to hope that nothing truly bad could happen to us there.
“Sit,” Agna said, pointing to a small loveseat. We perched on the edge, our backs straight, trying to look as if we were too well bred to have done anything wrong.
“You will have to wait here,” Agna told us sternly. “The king and queen are holding audiences today. Their schedule is very busy. I do not know when they will be able to see you.”
We nodded humbly, and Agna left us.
“The king and queen!” Karina exclaimed as soon as the housekeeper was gone. “If we are going to be dismissed, why must the king and queen be involved?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. It makes no sense to me.” Then I remembered. “But Karina! I found the clasp!” I reached into my pocket and pulled it out.
Karina stared in amazement at the clasp. She reached out to touch it, then snatched her hand back as if it had given her a shock.
“Oh, Kai is saved,” she whispered. “You have done it, Lilia!” She looked more closely at the jewels. “It is beautiful. Where was it?”
“In a tiny hidden room, behind the wall,” I said. “Somehow I felt that it was there—and I was right. But we must get back to the forest with it straightaway. We are almost out of time.” I rose and walked to the door. It was locked, and I rattled the knob in frustration. “We are trapped here! How can we escape?” I ranged around the room, looking out the windows, but they were too high above the ground.
Karina said, “We will tell them, when they come to us. I know Prince Tycho will understand. They will let us go.”
“Are you so sure? How do you know?” I asked.
She looked down at her fingers interlaced on her lap. “The prince has asked me for my hand,” she said in a near whisper.
I stared at her, astonished. “He has proposed to you? Karina! When did this happen? What did you tell him?”
“It happened just after the princess Idony left. I told him no, of course,” she replied. “How could it come to pass—a prince marrying a shepherdess? His parents would never accept me as his wife. His people would never accept me as their queen.”
I took her hand in both of mine. “You are mistaken,” I said. “They would love you. Who could not love you?”
“I am not mistaken,” she said, her tone sad but very firm, and we spoke of it no more.
Before long Agna returned and stood to one side as King Ulrik and Queen Viveca swept into the room. Prince Tycho followed them, and when his gaze fell on Karina, I could see his concern. We stood quickly and curtsied.
“So, Karina and—Lilia, is it?” the king began. His voice was deep and measured, and he did not sound angry.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” I breathed.
“You took it into your heads to see if you could pass the test, is that right?” the king asked.
I risked a look at Karina and saw that she appeared as bewildered as I felt.
“N-no, Your Majesty,” I stammered. “We just—we only wanted to see what was in the locked room.”
Then, to our shock, the king laughed. “So,” he boomed, “you did not even know what the test was!”
“No, Your Majesty,” I whispered. “No one knows.”
“I will tell you first that you could not have passed. I am sure you are not surprised,” the king told us.
“Father!” Prince Tycho protested, though whether he objected to his father’s tone or to his words was unclear to me.
I could not help asking then. “But what is the test, Your Majesty? The room was completely empty but for the bed.”
Prince Tycho came forward and stood near Karina, but she did not raise her eyes to him. “The bed
is
the test,” he told us. “Perhaps you know that royalty can sleep only on royal beds, for we have a certain . . . well, a sensitivity that makes it impossible for us to rest on ordinary surfaces, no matter how soft they seem to others.”
I shook my head. I had not known that.
“Well, the bed in that chamber is a royal bed, so ordinarily any royal person could sleep on it. And this bed, in fact, has had its comfort a little enhanced, so not sleeping is impossible for someone without royal blood.”
“Enhanced?” I repeated, intrigued.
“A little magic was applied. There is a—a person in Gilsa who can do such things,” the prince explained. “But there is more.” He took an object from his pocket and showed it to me.
“It is . . . a dried pea?” I asked, confused.
“Yes, a pea. This was sewn into the mattress. A truly royal person would feel it as if she were lying on a stone. She would not be able to sleep at all, despite the magic.”
There was silence in the room, and I darted a glance at Agna. She stared straight at me, her mouth pursed.
“You—you did not tell them?” I asked her. Agna shook her head.
“Tell us what?” demanded King Ulrik.
Finally Karina spoke. Her voice was low and calm, but her words had the effect of a whirlwind passing through the room.
“I fell asleep instantly, but Lilia did not. The bed was too uncomfortable for her.”
The king’s eyebrows shot up and Queen Viveca gasped, her hand covering her mouth. I could see that although her skin was nearly as smooth as porcelain, there were faint lines on her face that hinted at deep sadness. She seemed familiar to me, and I suddenly realized that she resembled the woman who often appeared in my dreams, the beautiful lady who moved so gracefully but whose features I never saw.
The queen came forward to me then and reached out for my hands.
“My dear,” she said in a voice as clear as a bell, “you are a true princess. The test cannot be wrong. If you could not sleep on that bed, you must be of royal blood.”
I felt strange and dizzy. “Oh, but it must be wrong!” I cried. “I am no princess; I am a serving maid! The pamphlet—
How to Tell a True Princess
—everything it says a true princess does, I do not. I am just a maid, and a shepherdess before that. Oh, Your Majesty, I cannot be a princess!”
The queen felt me tremble and led me to the loveseat. “Sit,” she said, and sat beside me, still holding my hands. “There is no guide to telling a true princess,” she told me gently. “The only real test is the bed.”
I shook my head wildly but could not speak. “Who are your family?” Queen Viveca asked me. “We can soon learn whence your royal blood has come.”
I was silent.
“Child, where do you come from? Who are your people?” she persisted, looking at me intently.
My palms grew damp and clammy, my eyes filled with tears, and I choked out the words: “I do not know.” I looked down at the floor, willing myself not to cry.
Behind me I heard Karina explain, “She came to us as an infant, floating down the river in a basket. She has never known any family but mine. She is my sister, as truly as Kai is my brother.” I loved Karina completely for that, but still I could not look up, afraid that my tears would spill over.
“In a basket?” the prince repeated.
“Well, it was not really a basket. We thought it was, but now we believe it was a falcon’s nest.”
“What a tale!” Prince Tycho marveled. “A princess in a falcon’s nest—’tis the stuff of legends!”
I listened to this exchange as if it were taking place in another room, in another life. I felt detached from everything. It was all unreal and absurd. Through the film of my tears, I pulled my hands from the queen’s, stood, and went to the window, where I looked out and into the distance.
As I stared, almost unseeing, I began to notice something very strange. The horizon, where it met the mountain peaks, had turned from the deep blue of early evening to green, and it was pulsing lightly. I watched as the green color moved upward and shaded into teal, then inky blue, blue-purple, violet, lavender. The whole sky now was bathed in vivid colors, and it pulsed like the world’s heartbeat. Astonished, I remembered the dream I’d had weeks before, on the day I left the farm. The sky in my dream had looked just like this.
“Oh,” I said faintly. I felt my own heart throbbing in time with the wild sky, and I turned back to the room, my eyes wide.
Prince Tycho looked out the window to see what had startled me. “Those are the Northern Lights, the aurora borealis,” he said.
“Those are the colors of my dream,” I said wonderingly. “And the colors of my blanket.”
The silence in the room was as loud as a scream, and I saw Queen Viveca’s pale cheeks grow whiter still.
“Your blanket? What blanket?” she asked in a voice that thrummed like a harp string tuned too tightly. She stood, holding herself very still, as if she was afraid she might fall to pieces if she moved.
Karina spoke up again. “She was wrapped in a blanket when my father found her. She has the blanket still.”
“Show us,” the king demanded. I moved to the door, and Agna opened it for me. Outside, in the hall, Griet, Janna, and Hulda were busily dusting objects that did not need dusting, and they circled me as I made for the staircase.
“Lilia, what happened? Are you dismissed? What did they say?” they asked me; but I barely heard their words. I pushed by them and stumbled up the stairs to the maids’ bedroom. I opened the closet door and scrabbled for my pack, which was behind the shoes and boots where I had left it. I pulled out the blanket, breathing in its scent. I almost believed that I could smell the bright breeze that blew in the meadow where Kai and I had watched the sheep in Hagi.
Cradling the blanket, I hurried to the sitting room. No one had moved since I had left.
The queen came to me slowly, holding out her arms for the blanket. When I gave it to her, she lifted it to her face, rubbing its softness on her cheek. Then she laid it across my shoulders and placed her hands on my cheeks, raising my face to hers so she could look deep into my eyes.
“Oh, my own baby, my own little girl,” she breathed. “I thought you were taken for a changeling, my darling daughter. All these years I thought you were gone forever to the elves; but here you are, alive—alive and grown. This is the blanket that I wove for you. I would know it anywhere. You never let it out of your sight; and when the Elf-King took you, it disappeared with you.”
I tried to speak, but only a little squeak came out. I remembered, dimly, the words Sir Ivar had spoken on the streets of Gilsa:
Even the royal family has lost a child, though that was long ago.
I had thought he meant generations ago, or that the child lost was a royal nephew or niece or second cousin. But could that royal child have been the daughter of the king and queen? Could I have been that child?
I gazed into the queen’s eyes, which brimmed with tears—and they were my own eyes, the color of spring violets. The dizziness I had felt earlier came back, and suddenly it seemed that the exhaustion from an entire life of sleeplessness was pressing down on me. The room spun crazily around us as we stood together. I was not much for fainting, as I had said to Sir Ivar when the falcon landed on me, but I could not help closing my eyes and crumpling, most ungracefully, to the floor.