Innocence Lost

by Patty Jansen

  Chapter 9

  DAZED AS SHE WAS, Johanna ended up a couple of rows back in the crowd.

  Two rows of King’s Heralds lined up on both sides of the aisle.

  First to come into the hall was the king’s speaker, carrying the staff. Then followed King Nicholaos, wearing his Carmine cloak. The circlet on his head crowned his severe, bearded face. She hadn’t seen him close up for a while, and thought that grief over his daughter’s death had aged him terribly. His hair used to be ashen blond, but it had gone grey. His skin had never been good, but now it resembled the colour of dirty linen. His cheeks looked hollow.

  Queen Cygna walked behind him. Not even the occasion of the ball had convinced her to change out of the black dress and veil she had worn since Celine’s death. She looked down as a prisoner being led to the gallows, with her face mostly hidden in the shadow of the black lace.

  Behind them followed a tall and thin young man with short-cropped blond hair and a short blond beard. The way Prince Roald walked—stiff and staring at his father’s back—made him look ill at ease and awkward. Since Johanna had last seen him, he had changed so much that she didn’t think she would have recognised him if she’d met him in the street dressed in civilian clothes.

  Two ladies in the crowd behind Johanna whispered that he looked well, and he did, but he did not wave, raise his head or talk to anyone the entire way through the hall. He looked petrified of all this attention he was getting.

  What if he was painfully shy and was looking forward to dancing with primped-up, hopeful girls just as little as some girls were?

  Behind the royal family followed a procession of minor royals and guests. Of course there was Princess Josafina of Estland, in the dark red of the Aroden house. She wore her hair piled on top of her head like a giant dome, and Johanna wondered how much of it was real. She was a cousin to the king who, failing a husband or a country to rule, had made Saardam her permanent home.

  The couple of boys trailing her were presumably some of the Estlander baron’s six sons who had been sent to their aunt for education.

  Behind them walked a bearded man dressed in black leather. He was at least a head taller than Princess Josafina, and his beard, huge and bushy, covered the top of his chest above his considerable belly. He wore his hair, brown and curly and greying at the temples, in a loose ponytail. His arms, mostly bare save for the jerkin’s very short sleeves, rippled with muscles and bore more scars than those of the average sea cow handler.

  Johanna had never seen Baron Uti of Gelre before, but this man fitted the descriptions that went around of him. He was said to have been a fierce warrior in his younger days and still looked the part. His expression was curious rather than angry, but he would no doubt be a force to be reckoned with if he was upset. With him were Master Lanston, ambassador from Estland, and two men in long Burovian capes she had never seen before. People from this religious order?

  The Rede River separated Gelre and Burovia. Both were thickly-forested countries and one of Gelre’s main towns, Florisheim, lay opposite the Burovian town of Velsdam. Apparently, the river was small enough to cross by barge at that point so there was a lot of contact between the two towns.

  On the other side of the Estlander ambassador walked a man with rust-red curls down to his shoulders. He wore brown woollen trousers and a white, long-sleeved shirt and a leather jerkin embossed with some kind of sigil. He looked exotic and foreign, not proper at all, with that long hair and his strange clothing.

  He was talking to the ambassador, and as he walked past, his eyes met Johanna’s in the crowd. His eyes were brown, his chin strong and smoothly shaven. The corner of his mouth went up a fraction.

  A shiver crawled over Johanna’s back. Magic, as strong as she’d ever felt it. It radiated from him.

  The procession went up to the dais, where Queen Cygna and Prince Roald took their positions on either side of the King’s chair and all the other royals and guests found their places on the table behind and to the sides of the royal family. The red-haired man ended up at the back where Johanna couldn’t see him anymore, although the touch of magic still made her skin prick.

  She clamped her arms around herself. If people from the east had magic as strong as that, what hope would there be for Saarland to defend itself in case of a conflict? Especially if the Church started banishing people with magic?

  A serious-looking man in a Carmine coat had taken up a position behind the prince’s chair. Johanna wondered who he was—apart from a member of the royal family’s courtiers—and what he was doing there, because no one else had a personal minder.

  Another trumpet fanfare signalled that the royal family was seated.

  All the guests now filed past the dais, where each one bowed or curtsied to the king. Johanna and her father lined up with Master Deim and the other merchants.

  Slowly the line shuffled forwards.

  When Johanna and her father’s turn came, the king looked at Father and gave a barely perceptible nod that made Johanna’s heart race. What had these men been negotiating behind her back? Prince Roald sat in a stiff position, staring into the back of the hall. He didn’t look at anyone or talk to anyone. His foot jiggled.

  On the other side of the dais, the queue dissolved and guests broke off into pairs or little groups which scattered across the floor. Johanna and her father stopped to look back at the dais, where guests still filed past.

  “What do you think?” Father said in a low voice.

  She glanced at Prince Roald, who was still jiggling his foot. “He seems frightened.”

  “Frightened? I would have thought he was bored.”

  “Wouldn’t you be frightened if you were told to pick a girl out of all these dressed-up dolls, and you knew none of them?”

  “He should be used to being the centre of attention.”

  Should was an easy word, but nothing was as it should. Roald looked healthy enough. Why had the king shielded him so? “Did the king tell you what’s wrong with him and why he had to be sent away?”

  “He has a very fragile personality.”

  Did that justify the special treatment? Then something else occurred to her. “Does he have magic?”

  Father’s eyes met hers squarely. “They say magic might have had something to do with it.”

  “But magic would make him more suited to the job. Think of all the things I know because of the magic in the wood.” And magic didn’t give a person a fragile personality, whatever that might mean. When it came to the prince, people spoke in impenetrable metaphors.

  “What would the Shepherd have to say about a prince with magic?”

  True. And religious as King Nicholaos was, that could be a problem. She glanced at the prince again. When meeting someone for the first time, she usually had at least a suspicion if someone had magic. Like Master Diem. She felt that with Master Willems, too, and Loesie. She had felt nothing when Roald passed her, but he might have been overshadowed by the red-haired man behind him, and Johanna tried very hard not to think of that chilling look in those brown eyes.

  It was a mystery.

  By now, the line to greet the king had dissolved.

  A bell rang. The king rose from his seat and motioned for silence. The music stopped, and chatter and laughter died.

  Roald remained in his chair, looking at the ground. His mother leaned across the empty chair between them and said something. He jerked his head up.

  “Thank you all for being here with us today,” the king said. “Today, our annual ball, is a great occasion. As you will have seen, Prince Roald has joined us in this occasion. He has recently returned to Saardam and will be taking up his duties as crown prince shortly. No doubt that’s why we see such a wonderful presence from all the young ladies today. There will be a few words from my son later on, but for now I trust that you will amuse yourselves without my interfering. Enjoy the sounds of the orchestra and the wonderful dishes from our trusted cook. Feast and be merry.”

  The orc
hestra struck up a waltz that went with a dance called the dandelion. It was a light and frivolous tune, designed for a circle of friends, but Johanna danced it with Father. He wasn’t a bad dancer, but he trod on her toes several times. It was crowded, and he was no doubt thinking about other matters. Then the herald called out for a change of partner, and she lost him in the crowd. She danced with a merchant’s son, then a nobleman with bad breath and then decided to get something to eat at the tables around the perimeter of the room, where she found Master Deim in a heated discussion with a group of merchants.

  “He’s asked Dirk Brouwer,” one of the men was saying.

  “He came to me, too,” another man said. “Asked me to contribute for the good of the country. He was not at all clear about what had happened that warrants such an expansion of the army. King’s orders, he said, but you know what? I think the King is seeing things that aren’t there.”

  “Don’t know about that,” Master Deim said. Oh yes, Johanna was right about him feeling magic. She didn’t know if it was wind or wood, but it was definitely there.

  “Who is about to invade us, then? Where will these people come from? I’ve been up and down the Saar and Rede Rivers as far as one can go, and I’ve seen no proof of any hostilities.”

  “It’s not something you can see,” Master Deim said.

  The other merchant’s eyes went wide. “It’s a magical thing?”

  “Shhh!” another said.

  Then they whispered to each other, and Johanna could no longer hear them.

  She went to stand closer, but at that moment, the music stopped and King Nicholaos took to the podium once more, and everyone fell silent.

  “As you have seen, tonight is the joyous event that our dear son has again joined us, ready to begin his duties as crown prince. I present to you, my son Roald.”

  The young man rose and the crowd cheered, rather half-heartedly, Johanna thought. His father placed his hand on his shoulder and guided him to face the people. The king whispered in his ear. Roald nodded and King Nicholaos retreated.

  Roald stared into the crowd, his eyes unfocused.

  And stared. His lips moved, but no sound came out.

  He scrunched up the hem of his tunic with white-knuckled hands.

  Some whispers rose in the gathered audience and someone behind Johanna let out a nervous chuckle.

  “Um—welcome to the palace,” Roald finally managed to say. His voice was pleasant, but didn’t undo the unsettling effect of that too-long silence.

  “Welcome,” he said again. “Um . . . thank you all for coming. I think it’s time for dancing now . . .” He looked over his shoulder.

  King Nicholaos went to his rescue. “You will be aware that Roald is interested in the young ladies of our fair city, and we have invited some of them here. Ladies, you may all come forward and line up.”

  He guided his son down the stairs to the dais. The man who had been standing behind Roald’s chair followed the pair. “Ladies, ladies,” he called out. “Please line up here so that I can tick off your name from the list.”

  “Here you go, daughter.” Father gave Johanna a tiny push in the back.

  About twenty young women had already formed a line. Julianna Nieland, in her pink dress, was one of them. She gave Johanna another one of her “what are you doing here?” raised-eyebrow looks that seemed to be permanently plastered on her face when Johanna was around.

  Johanna turned away from her. She wanted no prince, but to have Julianna Nieland snatch the prince’s favour instead would be insufferable. That would be like being sixteen all over again and watching Carlotta Franzen strut around like a peacock because the prince helped her up when she fell.

  Roald faced the group. He held his back unnaturally straight, and kept looking to the side, but his father was talking to the courtier with the list. The man proceeded to call out each girl’s name and marked her off as if she was an item in a delivery.

  While the orchestra played softly, Roald and his father inspected the line. King Nicholaos made small talk with the girls, and each curtsied. Johanna was sweating under her gown. Why on earth was she doing this? It was like being a cow for sale at the markets.

  In the middle of the soft musical tones, there was a loud discordant twang.

  Conversations stopped. People turned their heads to the orchestra.

  From in the middle of the seated musicians, the lutist rose, his face red. One of the strings on his instrument dangled loose.

  He stammered, “Um, I’m sorry, my string . . .”

  In that moment of silence, Roald let out a giggle. He arched his back and clapped his hands. “Heheheheheeee! That’s so funny!”

  His voice echoed through the hall and made the hair on Johanna’s neck stand up.

  Master Hendricksen sometimes brought his monkey when he came to talk to Father. It sat on his shoulder, as it did tonight; and when it got excited it made a sound like that.

  The King tried to get his son to shut up, but Prince Roald laughed and laughed. No one else was laughing. The faces of the noble ladies showed expressions of horror. One woman at the front of the crowd gestured for her daughter in the queue to come back to her.

  On the dais, Queen Cygna sat as stone, staring at the other side of the hall. Johanna could see her dead-faced expression through her veil.

  In the eerie silence, the King said, his face unemotional. “After that—um—interlude, I think the orchestra needs some time to fix up the—um—problems, but we can proceed without music.”

  But no one could dance without music, and the lack of music made uncomfortable moments so much more awkward.

  Murmurs broke out throughout the hall. A lady behind Johanna whispered to her neighbour, “He’s not good in the head. No wonder they’ve kept him hidden for so long.”

  Another said, “Pity the girl who gets to marry him.”

  “Oh, you’re only saying that because you have no daughters. A prince is a prince. All young women want to marry a prince.”

  “Look then. Magda has already withdrawn her daughter.”

  It was true. The girl in question stood with her mother. She was talking and gesturing angrily and wiping her eyes. Black kohl had smudged over her cheek.

  The lute player ran across the hall with his instrument and a new string and re-settled in the orchestra.

  Soon, the music started again. A servant with a tray of drinks went up the dais and offered the first one to Queen Cygna, but she refused. When the servant had gone to the guests, she lifted her veil and dabbed at her eyes.

  Johanna didn’t know where to look. This was all so embarrassing and deeply horrible. Johanna could imagine the pain. The young Princess Cygna, youngest daughter of the king of the northern land of Scandia, married off at her sixteenth birthday to a crown prince she had never met of a country where she had never been, pregnant the same night. By all accounts, Roald’s birth had been long and difficult, not in the least because of Cygna’s young age, and all for nothing. The prince would never be suitable to rule a country. Many diseases could be cured, but those in the head were forever.

  There was some action in the line. Out of all the girls, the prince managed to pick out Julianna Nieland. The king took her hand and put it in his son’s. She looked terrified.

  Roald led her into the middle of the dance floor. He walked stiffly, but Julianna appeared to waver, and her face was so white that it looked like she might faint.

  The music began. Roald was a stiff, clumsy dancer, and trod on Julianna’s feet several times. He spoke to her a few times, and Julianna arched her back further and further from him.

  Normally, Johanna would have felt vindicated if Julianna embarrassed herself, but this was beyond embarrassment.

  Then all of a sudden, she screamed, wrenched herself from Roald’s grip and ran across the dance floor where she threw herself in her mother’s arms, crying. Lady Suzanna Nieland stood too far from Johanna to hear any of what they said.

  The gi
rls around Johanna craned their necks.

  “What happened?”

  “What did he say to her?”

  Julianna was still crying on her mother’s shoulder. Her brother patted her back. Lady Nieland cast the king a disapproving look.

  “Johanna Brouwer,” King Nicholaos announced.

  Johanna had been looking at the Nieland family, and returned her attention to the king, heart thudding.

  “My son wishes to have a dance with you.”

  Too late to back out. Roald met her eyes with a small frown.

  Johanna took his hand and curtsied, first to the king and then the prince, but her mind felt blank, as if she was in a very bad dream. Had Father known what state Roald was in? Magic might have something to do with it. What nonsense.

  Roald was a halfwit, and Father would have known that. That showed what he thought of her: a chess piece that he could use to advance the business. The anger made her even hotter under the stifling dress.

  But she would rather die than make a scene like Julianna Nieland. She would dance with him in a dignified way. Whatever he said to Julianna was nothing that Johanna wouldn’t have heard before. She spoke to the ships’ boys and deck hands. She heard their swearing. She knew where they went after work, and because those ladies, if they deserved that term, always knew who of their regular clients was out of work, Johanna spoke to them as well. Helena from the harbour-side bar was not a bad person. She and her friends were useful and, like Mistress Daphne, full of gossip. Nothing the prince could say to her would make her scream and run off.

  Sure enough when she raised her head, it was to find Roald looking at her. At her chest, to be more precise. At the point where the small groove between her breasts vanished under the dress.

  “Roald, now behave yourself,” the king said.

  Roald giggled. “Oooh, I like this one. I get all the good girls today, don’t I?”

  “Yes, but don’t say anything rude.” King Nicholaos gave a forced smile. “Go on, then, show her your dancing skills.”

  “I think I like this ball after all.”

  Roald took Johanna’s hand. His hand was sweaty and when he faced her in the middle of the dance floor, his breath stank of liquor. From close up, his face had a ruddy complexion and his skin was flaky. Probably from spending too much time inside.

  The orchestra started to play a dance that was called the prince’s waltz, a slow dance with quite complicated steps.

  “You are very pretty.” His eyes were still uncomfortably focused on her breasts.

  “Um, thank you, Your Highness.”

  He laughed, loudly. “Heheheheee! You hear that? She got it right, Mother!”

  On the dais, Queen Cygna did her best to pretend she wasn’t there.

  “Shall we start dancing. . . ?” She almost said Your Highness again to set him off a second time. Instead she pulled him into a move she hoped was a waltz, but she seemed to have totally forgotten the steps.

  Roald was clumsy. He stepped on her feet several times, and kneed her in the thigh once. He couldn’t do turns. Everyone was watching and Johanna didn’t know where to look.

  Roald was oblivious to the attention. “My mother says I have to ask you questions. Do you like questions?”

  What to reply to that? “Um . . .”

  He was still staring at her breasts, leaning over and peeking into her dress, as far as he could go without touching. Johanna was overcome by a desire to run out of the room, but she reminded herself that she wasn’t going to make a scene like Julianna Nieland.

  “I don’t like the questions Mother wants me to ask.”

  “Shhh. You can ask questions, but you don’t want everyone to hear them, Your—um—what would you like to know?”

  “Oooh, secret questions. I like that.”

  All around the hall, the nobles were looking on, their faces stiff in horror and secret fascination, pretending this wasn’t happening. Pretending that they didn’t see the prince staring at her breasts. She could already hear the comments She shouldn’t have worn that scandalous thing, cheap try-hard that she is.

  “Do you like gingerbread biscuits?” Roald asked.

  “Yes, I like gingerbread biscuits.” For some reason, she thought about Loesie, who would be wondering where she was. “Our cook makes very good ones.”

  “I don’t like gingerbread biscuits.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

  He laughed his high-pitched laugh again, oblivious that everyone was staring at him.

  And then he said, giving a look at his father, “My father wants me to ask you why you want to marry me.” He bent close to her ear and she could smell the liquor again.

  He waited for effect, and then said, “But I’m not going to ask that.”

  “You aren’t?” At this point, she was reacting with the sole purpose to survive this dance without upsets.

  “Oh, you want to tell me anyway?” He bent closer again. His alcohol-laced breath tickled the bare skin on her chest.

  She almost gagged and had to restrain herself not to rip herself out of his grip, which was surprisingly strong.

  “I’d like to know.”

  She was dizzy; she panicked. She didn’t know what she was doing, thinking nothing but that she had to get out of his grip or he’d do something embarrassing to her under the eyes of all these people.

  “I don’t really want to marry you.” What else could she say? She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t. Her father couldn’t honestly expect her to shackle herself to a crazy man.

  He retreated and nodded. “Good. Because I don’t want to marry you either. Your tits are too small.”

  And with that, he stepped back, gave a mock bow and turned away. Johanna walked away as fast as she could without running. The king gestured his son that he needed to go back to the waiting line of girls. Roald crossed his arms over his chest and said something, to which his father grabbed his shoulder and spoke to him sternly.

  Roald squealed, “I don’t want to!”

  And King Nicholaos spoke to him more sternly.

  The people around the dance floor watched this exchange with morbid curiosity displayed on their faces.

  Only three girls remained of the original twenty. All three were nobles, with white faces and wide eyes. Johanna would have grinned at them if she hadn’t felt so awful.

  To her horror, Father was right behind her. She met his eyes squarely.

  “I can’t—”

  He took her by the arm and dragged her off to the side of the room, under the arched gallery, where the light was dim and only a lone palace guard watched.

  At the same time as Johanna began with, “I’m sorry, but—” he said, “Johanna . . .” There was a tone of warning in his voice.

  And then they were both silent.

  “I can’t do this,” she said, eventually. “I’m sure you understand.”

  “Shhh. Johanna, this is a great opportunity.”

  “Marrying an idiot?” She fought to keep tears out of her voice. What did he think she was? “Did you know about this?”

  “Think about it, Johanna. In a number of years’ time, I will be dead. King Nicholaos and Queen Cygna will be dead. If he survives that long, Roald is too simple to govern our country. Who does that leave in power other than the prince’s wife?”

  “I don’t care. You didn’t answer my question. Did you know about this?”

  “It is a wonderful opportunity for us.”

  Johanna stared at him, the horror of what he said coming over her. He wasn’t going to answer the question, because he had known. He was simply using her as a piece in a game. “I thought you loved me.”

  “I do, and I don’t know what else to do for you. You want freedom and power, I give you freedom and power.”

  “Not like this.”

  “Then there will be no option but for me to agree to give you to Octavio Nieland.” His face was hard.

  “No. You don’t understand anything
. I will not be given to anyone. I’m happy to remain a spinster for the rest of my life. Listen to what I say for once: I don’t want to get married to anyone.”

  She turned on her heel and ran away from him.