The King's 100

by Karin Biggs

  The auditorium emanated a buzzing energy the moment I stepped inside, as if the molecules in the air welcomed me with an invisible vibration. I followed Agnes down an aisle-way between rows of plush, deep-red seats as I took in the details of the intricate, twisting woodwork set in the shadows of the walls. A single guiding light directed us to a center spot on a wide, wooden stage, reflecting the name of the auditorium—Polaris, or North Star. We climbed a small staircase to the top of the stage, passing a drum on a stand and a black-draped table. Then Agnes removed my bag from my hand and directed me to stand in the middle of the stage under the light. I turned to say something about the loose strands of fabric on my bag to Agnes, but she had already disappeared into the blackness.

  “Begin,” said a male voice from behind the wall of light and somewhere above my head.

  My mouth refused to open and my lungs forgot how to pull in oxygen.

  If I open my mouth, they’ll know who I am. They’ll all know I’m an imposter and I’ll be killed on the spot under these hot lights.

  “If you’re too scared to sing, can you please get off my stage?” asked the man.

  Too scared to sing? Yes, I was scared of dying, but singing? I wished Layla’s assumption was right that I had stage fright. Stage fright wasn’t real and could be controlled by—

  “No,” I responded into the void. “I’m ready to sing.”

  I closed my eyes and reached into the part of my brain that knew how to focus from so many years of self-discipline.

  Breathe. Focus. Breathe.

  I will not die on this stage.

  I’m a Capalon and I control my emotions.

  I opened my eyes and sang the Mondarian Anthem. I used my hands, feeling the sound waves fall all around me and enjoyed the sensation of singing without barriers, without fear and without consequences. I had just one more line of the song when I was interrupted.

  “Blue Room,” said the voice from behind the light.

  Agnes reappeared on stage and nodded for me to follow her to the right.

  “Wait,” said the voice once more.

  Agnes paused and led me back to the center of the stage. She glanced up at something to our upper right and through the blinding light, I could make out the silhouette of a dark head sitting in a curved box.

  “Paris Marigold…you’ve sung for hospice patients, created a ministry choir at your local chapel and sold baked goods at Junior Court competitions as a way to raise money for your homeschool projects, and you watch the performances.”

  I swallowed, unprepared to hear the lies Layla put on my application.

  “So, why are you here?” asked the man.

  A new jolt of nerves shot through my body. Did he know? I swallowed down a lump in my throat. “I…I’m sorry?”

  The man shifted in his seat. “Paris Marigold, homeschooled girl from Green Heights. Why are you really here? Is it the stipend? The lavish dinners? What is it for you?”

  I was there to find my mother and nothing more. But espionage wouldn’t be a valid reason for the Mondarian man behind the light. “I…” I started to speak without an end in mind, but I recalled the smile of the boy from Badger River. “I’m here because I’m attracted to joy, and…I feel joy when I sing—it’s when I feel the most like myself.”

  The lights hummed in the period of silence that followed. Finally, the man spoke. “Green Room.”

  Agnes led me off the other side of the stage and into a small room with light-green walls, a low ceiling and large tan sofas. When the door clicked behind her, Genevieve jumped in front of me—her face streaked with wet, black lines. “How was your audition? Did he like you? What did he say?”

  “Um, I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean you ‘don’t know’?” Her hands gripped my shoulders. “Did he applaud? Laugh at you? What was it?”

  “I don’t know, Genevieve. There was no response that would indicate negative or positive emotion from the man behind the light.”

  Genevieve released her grip and wrapped her arms around her abdomen. “I sucked so bad. My queen went flying in my queen of hearts trick and I had to play it off with a side slip to the queen of diamonds.”

  I nodded as if I understand what she was talking about.

  She shook her head. “I’m not going to make it. There’s no way.”

  “All we can do now is wait,” I said, reaching for comfort in the facts. I sat down on one of the plush sofas while Genevieve paced the length of the room. For the next hour, the door opened, a girl entered, she was interrogated by a room full of nervous girls and the process repeated.

  Genevieve didn’t believe Layla’s response that she ‘killed her audition,’ but was pleased to see Heather. “You guys, I think we made it! Heather is a great singer!”

  Heather shook her head. “I forgot the lyrics to the last line of my song, so I sang it as ‘ahs.’”

  “Oh. That’s okay. That’s…. Oh, Heather, why did you have to mess up on your court audition of all things?”

  Genevieve’s comment sent Heather into her own tearful tirade, sending Layla to the furthest corner of the room.

  Left to my own thoughts, I scanned our room—Layla Tanvi, Heather Romaine and Genevieve Littleton sat among myself and ten other girls, making us a room of thirteen. If the auditions were over, that put twelve girls in the other room. Were we the ones who would make it? Or because the program was so selective, were we the ones to be sent home with the extra body? I considered my talent compared to the rest of the girls and I convinced myself we were the room to be sent home.

  And without money, signs of my mother or a feasible backup plan, I would go back to Capalon. Hopefully, Evelyn’s fury about my departure would be short-lived and I would go on to meet my match, whoever he was, and be joined to him for life in a ceremony on my birthday—all for the sole purpose of keeping the royal lineage of the utmost intelligent minds of our kingdom.

  I sighed and leaned my head against the wall. At least I had the opportunity to sing. Really sing. I picked my bag up off the floor and my fingers grazed the flannel shirt through the torn fabric.

  Aside from being granted the opportunity to perform, I discovered there was something about the combination of black hair, brown eyes and a radiant smile that spurred a positive emotion within me. Maybe my failed trip was worth the briefest taste of joy. And perhaps I’d be matched with a boy who shared a similar genetic make-up as Ari, the kind Mondarian boy from Badger River, and—

  “Congratulations!” shouted Agnes as she opened the door. “You’re all now court ladies of the King’s 100!”

  The room erupted with high decibel screaming that I feared would rupture my eardrums. Shortly thereafter, we were fed ‘pizza,’ which looked disgusting, but tasted wonderful. When we were finally escorted to the court dormitories, I looked for clues of my mother while Genevieve and Heather clung to each of my arms. The physical contact made me uncomfortable, but I had positioned myself in a new world that was entirely uncomfortable.

  We reached a set of glass doors that opened to a large domed room, framed with heavy wood beams. A tall silver stone fireplace served as the room’s centerpiece and matched the hexagonal outline of the room. It displayed six hearths framed by six sets of scarlet plush chairs and wood tables. Bookshelves and additional seating sat on the perimeter of the room and three windows cut down the back wall from floor to ceiling.

  “Where are all the other court members?” asked Genevieve.

  “It’s end of season break, so they all went home,” Agnes said with a hint of frustration. “But they’ll be back tomorrow night.” Agnes read our roommate assignments off of a list, which came down to four girls—myself, Heather, Layla and a girl with short brown hair and a freckle-covered face.

  “Heather Romaine and Nicole Jordan,” Agnes said. “That leaves Paris Marigold with Layla Tanvi.”

  Genevieve offered me a sympathetic look. “I’m so sorry, Paris.”

  Agnes held her hands behind
her back. “Absolutely no boys in the Ladies’ Dorms at any time. If I see a boy in the hall or in your room, it can result in immediate dismissal of both of you from Maestro Leto.”

  “No late-night booty-calls, Genevieve,” Layla said a little too loud.

  Genevieve’s face turned bright red. “She’s joking,” she said to Agnes. “I have a boyfriend back home. We’ve been together for ten months.”

  Agnes raised her brows. “We also have a special mascot living with us—a cat named Little Bernie. He lives in the manager’s dorm room but he likes to visit everyone. If he enters your room, just make sure to put him out before you close your door.”

  The other girls responded with ‘aws’ but my skin crawled at the thought of a feline laying on my bed. The only animals I had ever come into close contact with were research specimens, as domesticated animals were strictly forbidden.

  Agnes dealt out instructions of when and where to meet the next morning, followed by a list of activities. “From this point forward, you will all be referred to as New Ladies and you’ll be meeting the New Men tomorrow. Anytime you’re addressed or asked a question, you’re expected to reply with ‘yes, sir’ or ‘yes, ma’am.’ Do you understand?” Agnes lifted a hand.

  “Yes, ma’am,” murmured the girls around me.

  A shiver of uneasiness ran up my spine. Had I joined a performance group or a militia?

  We followed Agnes up a stairwell behind a locked door. “Your keys are on your desks inside your rooms, along with your court handbooks. Get some rest, ladies. You have a big day tomorrow.”

  A few girls said the appropriate response of ‘yes, ma’am,’ but most of us headed to our assigned rooms. I found two large paper music notes with “Paris” and “Layla” written in swirly handwriting four doors down on the right side of the hallway. I opened the unlocked door to find a small room with two beds head-to-head in an L shape, two dressers, two desks and two closets with full length hanging mirrors. My eyes fell to the most wonderful thing I had ever seen in a room—a window.

  Layla stepped inside behind me. “So, I get to spend the next four seasons with the homeschooled princess,” she said, tossing her bag onto her desk. “With my track record, you’ll either love me or hate my guts by the end of it all.”

  For being my enemy, I already had a fair amount of disdain for her intestines but as a Capalon undercover, I had to ease any source of tension. “I have hopes that we’ll maintain a cordial relationship.” I ran my fingers along the edge of the window and took in the view of the edge of the roof and a sliver of a mountain peak. It didn’t compare to the scenery I witnessed from the bus window, but all that mattered was that I would be sleeping in a room with a window for the first time in my life.

  Layla laughed. “You’re weird, princess. And that’s why I like you.” She yawned. “I’d love to continue to chat but I really hate girl talk and I’m tired. No offense.”

  The girl’s dislike for conversation worked in my favor. “Okay. I’m going to take a walk.”

  Layla groaned. “If you’re going boy-hunting, just don’t forget your key so I don’t have to get out of bed.”

  “Boy-hunting?”

  She snorted. “Why else would you risk breaking curfew on your very first night in the Mansion?”

  Because I’m looking for my mother, the former queen of Capalon.

  “You have superior intuition.”

  “Whatever.” Layla plopped onto her bed and opened a book with an identical cover of the poster I saw in the window of Mountains of Books.

  I grabbed the key off my desk and made my way down the stairwell, through the empty Lounge and out the glass doors. “Chip, do you have schematics of the Mondarian king’s Mansion?”

  “No, Princess. Those schematics are not available.”

  “Of course. That would have been too easy.”

  Then I jumped at the sound of a rough voice behind me. “You’re breaking curfew.”

  I turned to see a short, stout man, who looked as if he had just sprinted the length of Mondaria.

  My heart hammered against my chest. “Yes, sir. I apologize, officer.”

  “Captain.” He looked past me. “Where’s your friend?”

  I tucked my wrist behind my back. “I’m alone.”

  He shook his head. “I heard you talking to someone else.”

  “Just to myself. I do that sometimes.”

  He ran the back of his hand across his sweaty forehead. “You need to return to your dormitory immediately. You don’t want to be kicked off the court before you had the chance to wear a pretty dress.”

  “Yes, sir,” I glanced at his nameplate, “Captain Murphy. Goodnight.” I brushed past him, keeping my wrist hidden from his view. I stomped across the patterned carpet floor of the Lounge with balled fists. I lacked a solid plan for how to track down my mother but wearing a pretty dress was the absolute lowest priority.

  Beeping woke me from a restless sleep. “Chip, silence alarm.”

  “Who’s Chip?” asked a girl’s voice.

  My eyes flashed open and a series of images flooded my mind like a dream—switching Chip to manual-drive, taking an auto-taxi to Badger River, meeting a black-haired boy with lips I considered tasting and becoming a singer on the King’s 100. But I wasn’t dreaming and my new roommate waited for me to respond to her question. “My dog,” I finally said.

  “You ask your dog to ‘silence your alarm’ for you?” she asked.

  The only dog I had ever come in contact with was the one that barked at me in Badger River. I would have loved to tell my sister about the Mondarians’ obsession with animals and how they—

  My sister.

  She would have returned to the compound at the same time I was having my run-in with Captain Murphy.

  I was tempted to go to the bathroom and ask Chip to play any received audios, but I couldn’t allow my sister’s threatening messages to influence me to leave before I even had a chance to search the Mansion for my mother.

  Layla snapped her fingers. “You’re clearly not a morning person.”

  “Hm?”

  “I’ve you asked the same question three times now,” she said as she put on our court attire for the day—tan pants, white shirt and a navy blazer with the Mondarian crest embroidered on the left breast pocket in silver thread. Each article of clothing hung too long and too wide on her. “Ugh, I can’t wait till we get our tailored uniforms. I feel like I’m wearing my dad’s clothes. At least we get to wear our own stuff when we’re not rehearsing or performing. You packed light, by the way.” She gestured to my partially destroyed backpack. “Must not have believed you would make it, huh?”

  Instead of giving Layla a fake excuse for why I had limited clothing, I tucked the backpack under my bed and pulled on my own assigned uniform.

  “No fair,” Layla said. “You look like the perfect court lady.”

  I didn’t know how a Mondarian would respond to her comment, so I moved to the dresser mirror to pull my hair back with a band.

  “But looks can be deceiving, can’t they?” she asked.

  An icy chill crept up my spine. Had she figured out who I was while I was asleep? I turned to face her.

  She clicked her tongue. “I bet you’re one of those homeschooled girls who’s going to turn wild now that you’re away from Mommy and Daddy.”

  I shook my head. “That won’t happen. And—” I was going to say ‘my parents had been dead for almost three years,’ but that fact felt too revealing. “And I have a job to do as a singer for the King’s 100 so I must present myself with elegance at all times.”

  Layla placed her index finger in her mouth and stuck her tongue out, making a retching sound. “I’m going to work on you, princess. By the end of the Season, you’ll have more bite than me.” She curled her fingers like claws, exposed her teeth and growled. Anyone in my kingdom would have called her behavior shameful, but the muscles around my mouth couldn’t help but tighten into a smile.

 
We headed downstairs to meet Agnes in the Lounge with the other New Ladies.

  “Are we eating breakfast with the boys this morning?” asked Heather.

  Agnes nodded. “Yes, you’ll be dining with the New Men.”

  Giggling rippled through the group of girls and something trembled within me at the thought of seeing Ari’s face again.

  “Except for two of you,” Agnes said. “Staci Ringer and Paris Marigold—you’ll have breakfast in the salon since your new looks will require more time.”

  Staci Ringer was a drummer who didn’t look strong at first glance. She was long and lean with her hair cut to her ears and dyed pink. I understood why her hair would require more time in the salon but what had I done to earn the extra attention? Was there something about my look that came off too Capalon?

  Agnes directed the girls toward a large dining hall before taking Staci and me into a salon inside the Mansion. We were greeted by a short woman with round purple glasses and a matching purple apron. After asking our names, she handed Staci off to a man, then took a step closer to me. “Well congrats to you, Miss Marigold,” she said, looking up at me over her purple frames. “You won the random brunette drawing. Too many blondes this Season.” She smiled but my face was frozen, unable to return the sentiment.

  I couldn’t have my hair altered. What if my mother didn’t recognize me with brown hair? And what kind of wrath would rain down on me from my sister when I returned home with a new hair color? “I really don’t want my hair altered.”

  She clicked her tongue. “Sorry, sweetie. It’s part of being a court member. Your hair no longer belongs to you—it belongs to the king, or Bernie for that matter. I swear there’s not much of a difference between those two. Anyway, if you don’t want it done, you’ll be dismissed from the court.”

  “Are you serious?”

  She nodded with an unusually joyful smile. “So, are you going to follow me to my chair now?”