by Karin Biggs
I watched in horror as the fake king and queen danced around the room, scaring people with their touches and screams. The returning court members yelled things like “Get out of here, slimy glow worms!” and “Stiffs!” But the worst comment of all was when someone shouted, “Go die again, you ugly robots!”
I looked at Ari’s face, hoping his would mirror the same image of disgust on mine but he laughed along with the rest of the room.
Why did I expect anything different from a Mondarian boy?
Acid churned in my stomach and traveled up my esophagus. I swallowed down the bitter taste, but it was too strong. I backed away from the table and headed to the nearest door, which took me outside to a small courtyard. I tried to breathe. Tried to settle the nausea but my stomach muscles cramped, forcing my torso forward and emptying the contents of my dinner onto the freshly cut grass.
I felt a cool hand on the back of my neck. “You alright there, princess?” asked Layla.
She handed me a napkin, and I wiped the corners of my mouth.
I wanted to tell her I that my intestines were rejecting her kingdom’s unhealthy cuisine. That I had forgotten for a moment I was Capalon. And her fellow court members had just made a mockery out of my dead parents. But I only nodded. “Yeah. Just ate too fast, I think.”
She rubbed my back. “You shouldn’t listen to them. They’re morons.”
I paused, considering the possibility she tried comforting me about the disturbing portrayal of my dead parents.
“Whatever Kelly Ortega is saying to you—it’s all just to scare you. It’s a joke. The dinner tomorrow will be nothing like this.”
Kelly Ortega must have been Lady Lovely. “Thank you, Layla.”
Thankfully, when we reentered the dining room, applause signaled the end to the evening, along with a dramatic exit of our ‘special’ guests. After some conversation tips from Agnes and Eric, I followed the other new members back to the Lounge.
Ari strode up beside me but I kept my eyes focused on the back of Reese’s head in front of me. “Hey, are you okay, Paris? You disappeared from our table there at the end.”
“I’m fine.”
“Oh, good. Because I was thinking about taking a walk outside—I heard they have a statue of a giant moose on the lawn somewhere but no one can ever find it. You wanna join me for a moose hunt?”
I had allowed myself to believe that Ari was a nice boy, but I couldn’t shake the image of him laughing at the pageantry of my dead parents. My fingers grazed the outline of the deck of cards inside my pocket. “No, Ari. I don’t want to join you.” I passed the Lounge and headed in the direction of the Records Room.
When I arrived at the Records Room, I looked both ways to make sure nobody was around before unlocking the door. I slipped inside and shut the door behind me, then made my way through the maze of filing cabinets and found it odd that the Mansion staff would go to the lengths of hanging framed photographs on the walls. I looked closer at the numerous pictures—each being only about the size of a square lunch plate and all of the same people—the rulers of The Lands and their spouses.
Why had the photos been hidden away in the Records Room and not put on display in the Hall of Memories? When I looked closer at one of the photos, I found my father’s aggressive eyes looking back at me and small text in the bottom corner that read: Annual Lands Ruler’s Assembly.
The Mondarian king doesn’t display photos of his enemies.
The Mondarian king also didn’t have the gall to throw photos of himself away, even if his enemies were in the picture. I scanned the photos, hoping to find my mother among the spouses but she never attended—I assumed because she embarrassed my father to such lengths that he forbade her from attending any outside events. Then, of course, the one year he took her, they died before my mother even had a chance to smell the centerpieces on the tables.
The photos progressed through the years as I walked toward the back to the room. I eventually landed on the last three, with my sister’s hard, but nervous face replacing my father’s. Only, in the last photo taken that summer, my sister’s cheeks were reddened and her smile looked as if she were trying not to laugh—almost as if there were something she found so amusing, that she couldn’t contain her composure in her one photo every year with the other leaders of The Lands.
In fact, I would have said she looked happy. I was instantly jealous of whatever had sparked her emotion, since I hadn’t been able to pull an ounce of joy out of her since our parents’ deaths. I scanned the other faces in the photo, unable to find King Orson and Queen Marisol. Was my sister happy that the Mondarian king and queen were absent from the event?
I gave up on the mystery of my sister’s happiness and headed to the filing cabinets, starting with the cabinet of the coroner’s reports. I flipped back to three years prior at the time of my mother’s death and pulled all the files from that month. A Capalon speedcraft was the first to arrive on the scene, so there would be no reason for Mondaria to have any records of the incident, but I had to rule it viable evidence. I found only a laminated article, detailing the incident in a Mondarian newspaper.
KING AND QUEEN OF CAPALON DIE IN FIERY CRASH NEAR MONDARIAN BORDER
King Gavin and Queen Rebecca of Capalon were instantly killed in a fiery crash of their own high-tech plane. King Orson Anders celebrates their deaths as justice to Mondaria. Capalon will now be ruled by their sixteen-year-old daughter, who King Orson is calling “the upstart queen.”
I stopped reading the article and placed it back inside the folder, then slammed the drawer closed before moving on to the file marked Capalon Royalty.
There was a folder assigned to each member of the royal family, dating back to the start of our kingdom. I flipped through to my family and pulled all four of our names. Both my mother’s and father’s folders were marked DECEASED. My sister’s folder had her identification photo she had taken on the day of her coronation and listed the date she started serving as queen. And then there was mine—photoless and informationless other than my full name and birthdate.
The door opened. “Is anybody in here?” asked the captain. I hid beside the filing cabinet, out of view. His heavy boot steps traveled forward.
Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.
I held my breath. One more step and he would see me. They would arrest me and execute me shortly thereafter. My sister would probably start a war. Capalon would win and kill everyone in Mondaria, including a boy who I had recently turned down for a walk on the lawn.
Clunk.
“Captain Murphy, there you are, you ol’ goon. Burning some calories again, buddy?”
The Captain turned away from me and I had never been so relieved to hear the sound of Maestro’s voice.
“Bernie. Why are you here? This room is off limits to Mansion staff without the proper credentials.”
“It’s a room, Carson. Get off your high-horse. I want to know why I can’t get access to the ballroom before noon tomorrow.”
The captain sighed. “Bernie, we’ve been through this.” The two men stepped away, carrying their conversation with them as the door shut.
I should have been able to calm my beating heart on my own. Take a few deep breaths and be okay. But I wasn’t okay. I was gasping for air, unable to come back down from a potential death before I had any evidence to my claim for being in Mondaria. “Ch…Chip. Can you…talk me down please?”
Blue light filled the corner of the room. “Princess, inhale on one, two, three, four and exhale on one, two, three.”
Chip’s familiar voice helped me calm down and settle my breathing. I closed the cabinet door with my family’s file and made a promise to myself out loud. “Chip, if I don’t find any clues about Mother tomorrow, I’m leaving.”
The court ladies wore golden yellow lace gowns to represent the color of the turning larches, paired with matching lace masks that covered the bridge of our noses and eyes. The court men wore black tuxedos, which I was told was always their color no m
atter what the event, with black masks. Only their tie color would change with each performance—matched to the shade of our gowns.
As if handling a steaming-hot curling iron on my head wasn’t torturous enough, we were also required to coat our faces with enhancements.
Layla had just finished helping me apply my make-up when she turned to scan herself in our dressing-table mirror. “This dress is an awful color.”
“It’s a color,” I said in awe of the foreign shade against my skin.
“Too bad you’re not still blonde. It might have actually looked good on you.” She nodded toward Heather, who was complimenting herself with her eyes in the mirror. And in my opinion, she had every right to look infatuated with her appearance—the golden yellow against her pale skin and creamy-blonde hair made her look like a goddess of autumn.
Layla sighed. “At least these dresses have pockets.”
Genevieve spoke from my left side. “All the dresses will have pockets for the magicians’ cards.”
“Then lucky for me, I have a place to hide my contraband.” Layla flashed a smile to Genevieve, who turned her attention to Heather.
After Nicole Jordan’s dismissal, Genevieve was given permission to move in with Heather as her new roommate, making them completely inseparable. Layla blamed Nicole for causing ‘a disservice to us all.’ But Nicole’s dismissal only helped my whole ‘blending in as a Mondarian’ plan. Maestro issued an ‘instant-dismissal’ so Nicole was forced to leave her things behind. Heather took her pants, and I took everything else.
Agnes called us all to attention. “We’ll be matching up with our walking partners downstairs in one minute. Oh, and drummers, make sure you don’t miss your cue to leave the ballroom for the king’s entrance. You’ll need to give yourselves enough time to change out of your dresses and into your drumming uniform. And then you’ll have an even faster change back into your dresses for dinner.”
Staci groaned on the other side of Layla. “I didn’t think I’d be changing clothes more than I’d be drumming for these events.”
“And remember,” continued Agnes, “this is a job. Your focus is to make our guests feel welcome, so no chatting with each other at any time.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
We followed Agnes downstairs to match up with our section-assigned partners.
“You look lovely, Paris,” Reese said as he held his arm out for me.
“Thanks.” I took his arm.
Reese turned to look behind him with a huge grin on his face. “What is it?” I asked in a whisper as we lurched forward with the rest of the court and walked the twisting hallways to the Stardust Ballroom.
“Oh, nothing.” But then Reese bent his head and spoke in a low voice. “It’s just that Layla might actually convince someone she’s a lady tonight.”
Our double-line of court members paused as two Mansion staffers opened the large set of doors to the ballroom. The only thing I could see from my spot in the line was light pouring into the dim lobby where we stood. As we neared, a man’s voice introduced the court over a loudspeaker, sending a wave of applause through the ballroom. When Reese and I finally crossed the threshold, the people had returned their focus to each other, giving me the opportunity to soak in the details of the Harvest Ball.
For having been a grey day in the mountains, the ballroom felt sunny and alive from the brilliant light of the sparkling chandeliers and the upbeat melody of a four-piece band. The tables were covered in beautiful cream-colored linens and large ornamental baskets of jeweled fruits. An aroma of cinnamon, apples and something sweet floated through the ballroom, making me want to open my mouth to taste the air. Glasses clinked, trays passed and laughter ensued. It was exactly as I had envisioned and more.
But my heart skipped a beat when I finally focused on the people—hundreds of wealthy Mondarian residents—foreigners and visiting dignitaries covering nearly every square inch of available floor. Women wore long gowns with plunging necklines and dripping jewels. Men wore tuxedos in every shade and style. Every guest donned either their own mask to match their outfits or took a generic silver mask from baskets placed around the room.
My fingertips touched my own mask, suddenly grateful for the additional coverage of my real identity.
“Time to mingle.” Reese dropped my hand from his arm and disappeared into the sea of people.
I froze, unsure of which direction to take. Darden dazzled a couple with a card trick in front of me and Genevieve bobbed her head with a concerned look as she listened to an old woman speak about some spot on her hand.
“Let’s find a court member to talk to, dear!” shouted a woman to a man beside her. They were both dressed in brown and had grey feathers affixed to their masks, reminding me of some sort of fowl. “Can you believe we were finally invited here to see the King’s 100?” she asked the man I assumed to be her husband. “I can’t wait to tell the ladies at the club about this. Oh, there’s a court member there doing a magic trick right now! Hurry!”
To avoid the threat of conversation, I made my way to the perimeter of the ballroom, avoiding eye contact with every guest I passed. Finding an open spot next to an empty food-tray on a stand, I bounced to the swing of the band’s music and hoped I could avoid conversation until our call to dinner.
But then I felt a tap on my shoulder.
“Excuse me, miss. Can you break a bet for us?”
I turned to see two tall men with hefty mustaches. “My pleasure,” I said with my practiced voice and smile.
“The trim in this ballroom—it’s imported Hulgredeon limestone, is it not? Colonel Wexley here seems to think it’s Mondarian quartzite.”
We weren’t required to know the material for the trim of the ballroom, but I’d studied enough geology to answer such a simple query.
I raised my eyebrows and pulled my shoulders back. “Well, then I’d say you owe the Colonel a drink.” I smiled as the men continued their ridiculous banter about the territories of The Lands. I acted like I deserved a place in their conversation, when I was as visible to them as the oxygen molecules that filled the room—a feeling that was all too familiar being the invisible sister to the queen of Capalon.
Needing something to do with my hands, I shoved them in my dress pockets and felt the corner of something sharp. I pulled the object out of my pocket to find a small, sealed envelope with the name PARIS in capital letters.
Unable to read the letter in front of my mustached guests, I dismissed myself from their conversation and snuck out a side door to the hallway. I leaned my back against the wall as I tore open the envelope and read the note.
PARIS,
YOU NEED TO LEAVE MONDARIA BEFORE THE KING FINDS OUT WHO YOU ARE.
FROM, A COURT MEMBER WHO KNOWS YOUR SECRET
My knees buckled and all the hairs raised on the back of my neck. Somebody else other than Darden knew my true identity, but who?
It could have been any of the girls in the dressing room. It could have been Reese. In reality, it could have been any singer, drummer or magician passing me during the Social Hour to speak with guests. And unlike Darden, the court member who wrote the note wanted me to leave—either as a helpful warning or as a threat.
Dizziness and heat took over my body. I removed my mask and slid down to the cold floor, waving air into my face with the envelope and mask. Two people knew who I was, and I had to hope that they both had no intentions of telling the king.
Breathe. Focus. Breathe.
But my breathing only intensified. I was about to order Chip to help talk me down when I heard approaching footsteps beside me. I crumpled the note in my fist and shoved it inside the pocket of my dress.
“Paris?”
My brain took a second to register that the tuxedo and mask-clad boy was Ari Novak. His stance, his face, his very energy was taller in his black tuxedo. He looked around, then took a few steps toward me and bent down, removing his mask. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I was just…taking a
break. I was getting dizzy from standing in one spot for too long.”
He nodded but his face stayed serious. “You’re probably dehydrated. Here.” He handed me a water bottle—his blue aluminum water bottle.
Capalons never shared utensils or food to prevent the passing of germs. But I had noticed in Mondaria, sharing things like a water bottle wasn’t out of the ordinary. So, to look Mondarian, I accepted Ari’s offer and placed his water bottle to my lips. “Why are you out here?” I asked as I capped his water bottle and handed it back to him.
“Drummers’ line up for the king’s entrance.”
I nodded, feeling like a fool for thinking that maybe there was a chance he was in the hall waiting just for me.
“Everything will be okay, Paris. Your table guests will love you. Just don’t call any of them an ignoramus,” he said with a wide smile that folded curved lines of skin at the corners of his eyes.
Ari thought I was nervous about talking with my table guests, which I guess was a partial truth—I had no idea who I would dine with and I could be seated with the one person in all The Lands who recognized me.
He wished me luck, then turned to head back toward his line-up.
“Ari?”
He turned his head, and I felt my throat tighten. I didn’t know why I stopped him. But there was something inside me that wasn’t ready to let him go. “Are you nervous?”
He shoved his hands in his pockets and took a few steps back to me. “Kind of. But think about the guy who should be nervous—the king.” He freed one hand from his pockets and leaned his weight on one leg. The pose made him look like a debonair royal guest, rather than a young teenage drummer. He rubbed his jaw, which was freshly free of stubble. “We’re just the ones to help him look good while he has to do the dirty work. Say I mess up tonight and make a fool out of myself, but the king messes up too. Maybe he does his whole speech with spinach stuck to his teeth or something. What are people going to talk about when they go home?” Ari folded his arms across his chest and shrugged. “The one drummer kid who missed a beat or the king who looked like he had grass stains on his teeth?”
