Heartless (8 page)

Nurse sat up and lowered her own work. “Where do you think you’re going, Miss Princess?”

“I’m going to give Monster a bath.” Una flung back the coverlet of her bed, exposing her snoozing pet, and before he had finished yawning, grabbed him by the scruff.

If anything could distract her mind, bathing her cat would.

–––––––

Aethelbald and Felix stood side by side, Aethelbald demonstrating and Felix copying his motions. The steps were more complicated than any he had before attempted, yet as Aethelbald explained, Felix saw the underlying simplicity. At last, after many attempts, he understood; yet even so could not get his muscles to do what he told them.

“In a true engagement,” Aethelbald said, “there is no room for artistry. No posing, no choreography. There is attack and defense, and you must be prepared at each moment for either or both.”

Yet Felix watched in awe when the Prince of Farthestshore once more demonstrated the complicated steps that allowed him to transform instantly from wooden statue to breath of wind, avoiding Felix’s lunge and disarming him at the same time. If that wasn’t art, Felix couldn’t guess what was. Again, the boy stood beside Aethelbald and mimicked his motions.

The sun slowly rose in the sky, and soon sweat dropped down every inch of Felix’s body. Yet he went on. Aethelbald took the offensive and lunged, and Felix attempted to put into play what he’d been taught. Time and again he failed and found himself disarmed and sputtering. But at last his motions were right, his timing correct, and he watched in triumph as Aethelbald’s sword flew through the air. He whooped and raised his sword above his head, twirling it to the sky. The next moment he was flat on his back, the Prince of Farthestshore kneeling on his chest and the wind completely knocked out of him.

“Even disarmed, your enemy is dangerous,” Aethelbald said. “Remember, Felix.” He stood and helped the boy up. “You have earned a rest, my friend. Come.”

Felix was flushed and exhausted as he followed Prince Aethelbald to the barracks. He realized suddenly that they had an audience. A lineup of guards stood along the fringes, whispering among themselves and pointing like so many gossiping ladies. Felix blushed, thinking what a fool he must have looked, but Aethelbald slapped him on the shoulder. “They’re impressed,” he said.

“With you, perhaps,” the boy replied.

“With you, Prince Felix. They’ve not seen such a soldierly performance from you before, I would wager.”

Aethelbald led him to a bench against the outside wall of the barracks, and the two of them sat and stretched their feet out before them. Every muscle in Felix’s back and shoulders throbbed, but it felt good – in a painful sort of way. He closed his eyes and let his breath out in a puff. “Is that how they teach swordplay in Farthestshore?”

Aethelbald chuckled quietly beside him. “You could say that.”

Felix opened one eye and squinted up at the other prince. “Do your knights all fight like that?”

Aethelbald leaned his head back against the wall. “My knights bring individual skills and fighting styles from their own countries.”

“Your knights aren’t from Farthestshore?”

“They are the Knights of Farthestshore. But their homelands are many and varied.”

Felix pondered this a moment, thinking of the three strange men who had accompanied this unprepossessing prince into the palace dining hall the night before. “Where is Sir Oeric from?” he asked, remembering the enormous knight with the saucer eyes and rocklike hide who had greeted his father at the market.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Yes, I would.”

“No, you wouldn’t.”

“Try me!”

Aethelbald smiled sideways at the young prince. “Sir Oeric hails from the realm of King Vahe of the Veiled People, the far land of Arpiar.”

Felix frowned. “You’re teasing me,” he growled. “Arpiar isn’t a real place. It’s a story. Arpiar is where goblins are . . .” He paused as his brain caught up with his words. “Is Sir Oeric a goblin?”

“No.”

“But stories say Arpiar is the realm of goblins. If anyone ever looked like a goblin – ”

“And yet, Oeric is no goblin.”

Felix sank into silence, pondering several thoughts as they spun through his head. A minute or two passed, and he became aware suddenly of voices just around the corner of the building against which he and Aethelbald leaned.

“Stranger than I like,” the first voice said. “I’m not in favor of mysteries; I won’t deny it.”

“Who are these people?” another voice asked. “They come from the Wood without a by-your-leave and take up residence in our king’s home. . . . How are we to know they’re trustworthy?”

“They’re not our kind,” the first said.

“That they aren’t.”

“My grandmother told me,” the first voice went on. “She said, ‘Nothing good comes from the Wood.’ ”

“And we all know the fount of wisdom your grandmother was.”

“Well, I trust the old biddy!”

The next moment two guards came around the corner. They stopped when they saw Felix and Aethelbald. Aethelbald remained where he sat with his eyes closed and his head back, looking soundly asleep. But Felix saw the guards exchange worried glances, then scurry past without even a bow for their prince.

Felix nudged Aethelbald with his elbow. “They don’t like you.”

Aethelbald grunted.

“Where are you from, Prince Aethelbald?”

“From the Wood, they’re saying,” Aethelbald replied.

“But where are you
really
from? You say you’re the Prince of Farthest-shore, but is Farthestshore a real place?”

“Just as real as Arpiar.”

“That helps a lot!”

Aethelbald yawned suddenly and stretched his arms over his head. “People fear the unknown, Prince Felix. They fear what they cannot understand.”

“They fear you,” Felix said. “You and your knights.”

“Just so.”

Felix crossed his arms. “I’m not afraid of you.”

Aethelbald raised an eyebrow, looking down at him again. “Perhaps you should be.” He got to his feet. “Come. Let’s see if your muscles remember what you’ve been trying to teach them this morning.”

Felix groaned but got up and followed the Prince of Farthestshore into the middle of the yard. He drew his sword and swung his arms to loosen up his shoulders. But before he took position, he said, “You really intend to marry my sister, Prince Aethelbald?”

Aethelbald swung his sword arm in an arc, then did the same with the other. “I hope to.”

“She won’t have you,” Felix said.

“Perhaps not.”

“She doesn’t like you.”

Aethelbald smiled wryly and took up his wooden sword. “I’d gathered as much last night.”

“She won’t change her mind.”

“Perhaps not.”

“No, I know my sister.” Felix emphasized his words with a jab of his sword. “She doesn’t like you, and she won’t change. She’s stubborn as anything.”

“But I am steadfast,” Aethelbald replied. “We’ll see who prevails in the end.”

Felix snorted. “I’ll put my money on Una.”

“As any loyal brother should. On your guard, Prince Felix!”

Felix hardly had a moment to react before his sword was knocked from his hand and sailed across the yard. Yelping in surprise, he scampered after it and had just enough time to swipe it up and place it between himself and Aethelbald before the Prince lunged for him. He parried weakly, and the next moment Aethelbald’s sword swung around and froze a fraction of an inch from his neck.

Felix’s breath caught in his throat, and his eyes locked with those of the other prince. Aethelbald’s gaze was unreadable, and his eyes seemed to look not at Felix but inside him. They penetrated deeply, behind whatever masks he wore, down into his soul.

Felix looked away.

“You should have tried the maneuver I taught you,” Aethelbald said. “In combat it would have saved your life. Again, Felix.”

This time when Aethelbald lunged, Felix’s feet seemed to move on their own, performing the steps he’d been practicing all morning. His reaction was imperfect, but it was good enough, and he knocked Aethelbald’s sword from his hand. No whoop of victory escaped his lips this time. His sword whipped through the air, and its point rested just before Aethelbald’s heart. They stood like statues for a long moment.

“Good,” Aethelbald said at last.

Clattering hooves drew their attention. Both turned to look toward Westgate across the yard. A troop of horsemen stood just outside the gate, all astride sorrel horses but for their leader, who rode a black charger taller and more powerful than the rest. The leader exchanged a few words with the captain at the gate, and a moment later he and his men were waved inside. They were at least twenty strong.

“I know who that is.” Felix wiped sweat from his brow as he watched the horsemen enter the courtyard and dismount. “Word arrived a few days ago of their coming. That’s the emblem of Beauclair on their cloaks, and their livery is of the royal house.” He turned to Aethelbald, a wicked grin spreading across his face, and waved his sword at him. “I think you have a little competition now. That’s Gervais, Crown Prince of Beauclair.”

Aethelbald said nothing but watched as stableboys came out to take the horses, and as the palace steward appeared at the great front door to greet the newcomers. The tall leader, whose cloak was blue and shot with silver threads, did not return the steward’s bow but allowed himself to be escorted inside.

Aethelbald quietly stepped over to pick up his sword. Then he turned to Felix. “On guard, friend.”

“What? No!” Felix watched his own sword spin through the air once more.

6

A certain amount of whispering and Nurse’s exclamation of “What?” in the nearby hall were not enough to distract Una’s attention from the work at hand. She knelt beside a basin brimful of sudsy bubbles, holding Monster in a death grip by the back of the neck with one hand, wielding a scrub brush with the other, which was difficult to manage while wearing heavy leather gauntlets. Her tongue poked into her cheek in concentration. Monster’s caterwauls had diminished into low, seditious growls that boded ill for the future. She scrubbed for her life while she had a chance.

“Princess!”

“Oi, wait! Bad kitty, no – ”

Una screamed, lost her hold, and watched her flailing cat escape her erstwhile paralyzing grasp. Monster’s claws found several exposed places, including the tip of Una’s nose, and the next moment he disappeared under the bed, leaving a trail of bubbles behind. Una sat back on the floor with a thump, wiped blood from the end of her nose, and fixed an irritable eye on Nurse. “If you don’t – ”

“Get yourself up off that floor, girl!” Nurse cried, her hands flying in flustered gestures. “What in the moon’s name do you think you’re doing?”

“I was bathing my cat, just like I told you,” the princess said coldly, watching her nurse dart across the room to the wardrobe, yank the door open, and start rummaging. “I can’t remember the last time Monster had a – What are
you
doing? Why are you . . . Oh, Nurse, no!”

Nurse pulled the much-hated best dress from the closet and flung it across Una’s bed, then returned to the closet to dig out a pair of awful pinching shoes.

Una clambered to her feet, putting her arm in the basin of water up to her elbow in her haste. The gauntlet filled with dirty bubbles. “I’m not wearing that dress, Nurse. I don’t care if Prince Aethelbald dines with us tonight, I will not – ”

“None of your smart talk, Miss Princess.” Nurse tossed the shoes out over her shoulder and emerged herself a moment later. Her ruddy face was a shade redder than usual. “Prince Gervais of Beauclair arrived not ten minutes ago. He’s come to pay his respects!”

Una’s mouth dropped open, closed, and opened again wordlessly.

“Gervais?” she managed at last. “Prince Gervais?”

Her mind danced over a hundred different thoughts at once. None other in all the kingdoms on this side of the Continent had a reputation half so exciting as that of Prince Gervais. The kingdom of Beauclair was located just south of Parumvir and famed far and wide for its music and for the splendorous balls and entertainments hosted in Amaury Palace, whereat King Grosveneur held court. The prince, rumor had it, was the most brilliant dancer and singer in the kingdom, a great favorite with the ladies, young and old alike. His very name conjured up notions of romance wherever it was mentioned.

Una snatched off the gauntlets and the kerchief she had tied over her hair and rushed to the vanity to inspect the scratch on her nose. It was still bleeding. “Bother it all, why didn’t Father
tell
me he was expected?”

“Probably to prevent an entire week of the nervous tizzy you’re now working yourself into – ”

“Did you see him, Nurse?” Una dabbed her scratch with the handkerchief. “What’s he like?”

“I only just glimpsed him in the hall downstairs. Oh, he’s grand, very grand!” Nurse flung panniers and petticoats about with unprecedented abandon. “They say he rode up with a retinue of twenty, all bedecked in blue, with bells on the horses’ bridles. I do believe he winked at me.”

“
Winked
at you? Nurse!” Una fumbled with a petticoat, trying to do up the buttons at her waist, but her fingers, wrinkled with hot water, shook too much to manage them.

Nurse blushed like a schoolgirl. “I could be mistaken. Here, let me fasten that for you. Gracious, you’ve put it on inside out! Turn around.”

“Did he say anything?” Una asked.

“I heard him ask to be presented to His Majesty, and your father’s steward asked if he would wish to wash and rest himself first, and he just laughed. ’Twas such a musical laugh.”

“Nurse!”

“Well, it was, and I don’t mind saying it. I may be old enough to be your grandmother, but I’m not dead yet, Miss Princess. There. Now put this on.” Nurse helped Una step into the voluminous skirts of her dress, chattering all the while. “You’re to go to the receiving hall immediately and be introduced to the prince. Then the king has ordered a supper for him, a fine one, to which all his most powerful nobles will be invited – Beauclair being our strongest ally, you understand. Not even Prince Aethelbald received such a welcome as this! Sit and let me do something with your hair; you’re not half presentable. Can you not stop that bleeding?”

A quarter of an hour later, once again powdered and tweaked into the height of Parumvir fashion, Una descended the staircase, one hand trembling on the stair rail, the other desperately attempting to lift her heavy skirts so that she could walk.

“Prince Gervais,” she murmured to herself. “Now that’s a fine name, I must say. Nurse didn’t say whether or not he’s handsome. But he must be, by all accounts. I wonder if he’ll think me pretty. Oh, Monster, you goblin cat, why’d you have to nick my nose?”

She touched the developing scab and sighed ruefully just outside the receiving hall door. Taking a deep breath and lifting her chin, she nodded to the herald to announce her.

Prince Gervais was not a handsome man.

But it did not matter. He possessed an air of graciousness with perhaps the smallest hint of disdain about the corners of his mouth, which was altogether alluring. And when he smiled, one forgot any flaws in his face or figure.

He turned a glittering smile on Una as she entered the receiving hall, for he stood already before Fidel, having been presented a few moments before. Una blinked under his gaze and felt suddenly dizzy. The curious stares of all the courtiers around her withered away in the light of Prince Gervais’s brilliant grin.

“Princess Una,” Gervais said after Fidel had made the introductions and everyone who was supposed to had bowed or curtsied. His accent was thick and smooth as velvet. “I had heard rumor of your loveliness long before now, which incited my curiosity to meet you. But no rumor, however extravagant, came close to touching the true radiance of your presence!”

Una knew that whatever Gervais meant by that remark, it probably wasn’t entirely honest – her best dress added about thirty pounds to her frame in unflattering places – and she felt the onslaught of red blotches on her cheeks. Princess Una was a pretty girl, but few would have guessed it at that moment. Still, Prince Gervais’s face expressed pure dazzlement, and how could Una know better? Her heart thudded not unpleasantly in her breast.

“Crown Prince Felix and Prince Aethelbald,” the herald boomed across the hall.

Una felt the blotches multiplying. She turned and saw her first suitor crossing the room in company with her younger brother. Both looked flushed from exercise, though their clothing was fresh.

“Ah, there you are,” Fidel said, waving a hand in greeting. “Gervais, allow me to present my heir, Felix. And this is Prince Aethelbald of Farthestshore, newly arrived from afar.”

“Ah! Delighted.” Gervais flashed another brilliant smile and bowed.

“Good day, sir,” Aethelbald quietly replied.

It was just as Una had expected – standing beside the shining prince of Beauclair, Aethelbald disappeared into obscurity.

–––––––

King Fidel rarely hosted meals for his court. Once in a great while, for holiday feasts, tables would be set in the great dining hall, courtiers and dignitaries would be invited to join, and the royal family would display themselves in proper pomp. But these occasions were few and therefore much more impressive when held.

Magnificent banquets two nights in a row without a holiday in sight were enough to try the patience of all the cooks and servers in the king’s service. But in honor of Prince Gervais’s arrival, no extravagance could be spared. After all, as Fidel encouraged his staff, they would not wish the Crown Prince of Beauclair to compare the hospitality of Oriana Palace to that of Amaury and find it wanting, would they? No – no Parumvir cook would see those trifle-making dandies from Beauclair held up as his superiors. So the feast was one of special eminence, outdoing even the dinner served in Prince Aethelbald’s honor the evening before.

The great dining hall was opened up, and all those counted of any note in Parumvir sat at long tables with golden placeware before them and dined in the presence of the king. The men from Beauclair and Farthest-shore mingled with the counts and barons of Parumvir, and at the king’s table in the center of the room sat Fidel, his two children, and Princess Una’s two suitors, along with a handful of dukes and noblemen.

Una found herself beside Gervais, which both delighted and distressed her. She found it difficult to eat with his gaze constantly sliding to rest upon her, and she desperately hoped the red blotches faded under candlelight. She spent most of the meal rearranging the food on her plate, unable to transport any of it to her mouth. A subtly scented Monster sat at her feet under the table, grooming himself and sometimes touching her leg with one paw to beg, but she resisted slipping him tidbits in the present company.

To make matters worse, Prince Aethelbald was seated on her other side. He did not speak to Una, nor did she bother looking his way. But consciousness of his every movement made it difficult at times to focus her attention on the Prince of Beauclair.

Gervais was infinitely charming. He spoke in a voice clear enough to carry across the room, and many of those who did not sit at the royal table turned to listen to whatever he might say. One could hear the singing voice behind his speaking voice, Una thought, and both must be equally pleasant to hear.

Felix, who sat beside Gervais and just to the right of his father, asked around a mouthful of bread, “What sport do you find in Beauclair, Prince Gervais?”

Sport!
Una thought with disgust. Surely the musical, talented prince before her wouldn’t find time for such boyish games. She rolled her eyes at her brother, who covertly made a face back. But Gervais leaned back in his chair, raising his wine goblet, and declared, “Sport in Beauclair is as fine as any in all the world. In season I hunt deer, bear, even wild boar.”

“Boar?” Felix asked, impressed. Boar hunting had not been practiced in Parumvir for several generations now.

“Indeed,” Gervais said. “You’ll rarely find a beast fiercer or more satisfying to chase.” He tossed his head back in a short laugh, and Una found she agreed with Nurse; his laugh was musical. “But that is nothing,”

he said, “compared to the quarry I pursued just this last autumn.”

Felix leaned forward in his seat, eager as a puppy. “What is fiercer than a boar?”

“Dragon, young Felix,” Gervais said.

A hush settled around the hall at his words, and people from all the surrounding tables looked up.

“Dragon?” Felix breathed.

“Dragon, my boy.” Gervais adjusted his seat so that he could cross his legs off to one side, his wine goblet still cradled in one hand. “One day last autumn – late afternoon, I believe it was – I hunted with my men on the borders of Gris Fen. We gave chase to a boar, an ancient and grizzled old thing, but wily with age. It had killed two of my dogs already and maimed one of my men. But I was determined that I should not be put off, that I should not rest until I saw the creature’s head mounted on my wall. Such was not to be its fate, however.”

He paused and sipped his wine while Una and Felix both leaned forward, their faces eager. Gervais set his cup down. “As I came under the shadow of the swamp trees, intent upon the trail of this boar, my attention was suddenly arrested by a great and hideous roar!”

His eyes flared, and in the candlelight his face looked frightening and at the same time terribly fascinating. “A roar so vicious,” said he, “so bloodcurdling that I and my men froze in place, too frightened for the moment to go on.

“But that moment passed for me, and while my men yet stood in mortal terror, I cried, ‘Wait here!’ for I did not wish to put them at risk. I rode on ahead, following that gruesome bellowing, which sounded again and again at regular intervals. I told myself as I went that nothing in this world could make a sound so terrible save a dragon.”

Una nodded solemnly, her lips parted, and Prince Gervais flashed another smile her way before continuing.

“All afternoon I hunted deep into the swamp, on foot after a time, for my good horse could not carry me into the deeper mires. Snakes swam past my feet, poisonous and deadly, but I pressed on, determined to find and rid my lands of the beast, wherever it may be. The sound swelled to so mighty a roar that I knew the monster must be near.”

The warm lump of fur sitting at Una’s feet growled when Gervais said “monster.” Una nudged her cat, and he slipped out from under the table and skulked from the dining hall.

“At last,” Prince Gervais said, “I felt certain the beast was just beyond the next rise. I thought it odd that no smoke or flame or scorch marks came into view, but I comforted myself that it must be a young dragon . . . though I would have hunted it no matter the size! I drew my sword.” He picked up the knife beside his plate and raised it dramatically in the air. “With a mighty cry, I sprang over that final rise!”