But false cinnamon acted quickly, and His Highness had been poisoned at the feast. He certainly had been well the next day—well and spiteful enough to paint my face with gravy.
In addition to waxy skin, martyr’s mint caused slow and light breathing, stomach bloating, listlessness, no pain. And death.
Enough thinking about poison and death. To distract myself, I passed the morning reciting tales and mansioning every role. When the knock came for the midday meal, I was bellowing, “Fee fie fo fum, I smell the blood of a Lepai man.” Not the most sensible line for one suspected of being a spy for Tair.
The door opened, and there was the princess herself, holding my tray. No guards, but I knew they were outside at the ready.
I curtsied while hoping the thick door had contained my words. “Your Highness . . . beg pardon, I was mansioning. Do you know—”
“Ehlodie.” The lowest note came last, sorrowfully.
I took the tray and set it on the table.
“I shouldn’t have struck you.” She smiled. “You’ve heard?”
I nodded. “His Majesty is better. Your Highness, I didn’t—”
“Let’s not speak of it. I’m still glad I gave you my cap. La! I do not miss it. And until . . .” She shook her head. “I’ve always been happy to see your head in it.”
“Thank you.” I wasn’t sure what to say. “I’ve never had such a fine cap.” I remembered my manners. “Please sit.” I pulled my chair away from the table for her.
“That’s your chair.” She sat on the bed. “I’ll keep you company while you eat your meal. Lamb stew. Won’t you try it? I had mine, lamb stew also, quite tasty.”
What excuse could I give her for not eating? I wondered if I could trust her with the truth.
Wait! Why did she want me to know her meal had been the same as mine?
“Your Highness, I finished my good breakfast just half an hour ago.”
“La! Breakfast? Hardly enough to feed a squirrel. Come, you must have more now.”
Could she be the poisoner?
She couldn’t be. She would expect me to share with her.
Oh. My tray had but one spoon.
Still, she couldn’t be.
Whatever she was, I had to prevent her from forcing food on me. Mansion! My eyes filled with tears. “You have always been kind to me. I promise to eat as soon as hunger returns.”
“I won’t leave until I see you swallow a morsel or two, for my own consolation. No one will say we starved a prisoner. La! I’ll entertain you while you eat. My father . . .”
She was the poisoner. I gripped the table, which seemed to spin. Princess Renn was the whited sepulcher.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Princess Renn had come to see me eat, because she knew I hadn’t touched my meal last night or this morning. If I had, I would be sick or dead by now. I rinsed my fingers in the water bowl, slowly, slowly. Her mouth moved. I restrained myself from screaming and heard not a word.
What poison would she give me? Something quick, that wouldn’t hurt, because she didn’t want to cause suffering.
How much would kill me?
I had an idea what it might be, and I couldn’t eat a bite. When she paused, I said, “Your Highness, alas, my hunger is banished for now.” I shivered. “Do you feel a chill?” I held my hands out to the fire, which was blazing, and leaned in as well to redden my cheeks.
She took my shoulders and turned me. “Are you ill, dear?”
I shook my head. “Only cold, and my throat is sore.”
“Food will warm you.”
I bit on my cheek, hard. “You are too good, but I cannot choke down any.” I coughed and wiped my mouth on my sleeve, taking care that she saw the blood.
Her face relaxed. “La, it is chilly.”
Oh, my cheek hurt.
She held my hands, which were still hot.
I saw her gold bracelets again, but none of twine. Perhaps she thought she didn’t need an eejis.
“Ehlodie, my father will be just, and I’ll see to it that you don’t suffer here. I’ll leave you now.” She twitched the bed-curtains aside. “I see you have enough blankets to make you warm.”
She’d made sure of that. I had guessed right about the poison.
She left.
I sniffed my bowl. The scent was faint but detectable: eastern wasp powder. Rare and expensive, but she was a princess. The poison acted in an hour or two, caused chills, fever, tremors, a tight throat, death. A single swallow would be enough to kill me. But I would feel no sharp pain, no agony. No suffering.
If she was her father’s poisoner, too, she would have used something slower on him, because his symptoms had appeared much later.
I climbed to the window, tied my cap to a bar, and descended for my stew and tumbler. As I was about to tip them out, I realized the danger. Even in the rain, she might come out to look for spilled stew.
I threw the meal into the fireplace and began to pace. My masteress said that one culprit was elegant, but there had to be two in this case. Master Thiel had certainly been the poacher and the thief of castle valuables. I would assume Her Highness responsible for everything else: stealing Nesspa, signaling the cats, poisoning her father.
Why do any of it?
Put myself in their steads. That’s what I’d told Master Thiel about mansioning, and I’d thought the words significant. Now I knew the meaning: put myself in Princess Renn’s stead. She might poison her father because he was about to betroth her to an infant, and she wouldn’t be allowed to say no.
But the new betrothal had come after the feast, and he was poisoned at the feast.
I felt bewildered.
Let the king go for now. Why set the cats on the count?
She told me that the king had betrothed her to the count. Put myself in her stead. Suppose she hadn’t wanted to wed an ogre, but she had pretended to love him.
And signaled the cats.
To simplify the task, she stole Nesspa. She must have been horrified when I found him. But then, luckily for her, he needed to leave during the feast.
How had she stolen him?
With treats.
How had she kept him hidden?
The answer broke on me like a mallet on the head: by poisoning him, just enough to keep him docile. When I found him he was alert, but he didn’t have to be quiet on the wall walk where no one would hear him. Likely she had dosed the other dogs in the hall, too, and that was why they did nothing to stop the cats.
I had tied my cap to the window only a few minutes ago, but I climbed up to look for IT.
The rain prevented me from seeing as far as I had yesterday, and I didn’t see IT.
I climbed down.
She must have lulled the ox with poison, too, then raked its shoulder. Why?
She’d spoken about thoroughness when she tied her cap laces three times under my chin. If she did a thing, she did it more than once, or in more ways than one.
Why?
Think elegantly.
If His Lordship (as a mouse) had been seen being devoured by a cat, she would have had to do nothing more about him. But when the mouse escaped, she had no certainty, so she mauled the ox and frightened the town into believing the ogre a hungry lion. If he returned in his ordinary form, the people of Two Castles would find a way to kill him.
I wished IT would come.
Now for the king’s poisoning.
Perhaps at the beginning she didn’t want to kill anyone but an ogre. Causing a monster’s death wouldn’t be evil, according to her. She didn’t intend for Nesspa to die. He would have been freed when she was safe from His Lordship.
But when her father announced her new betrothal, she realized—while I was alone with the two of them—that he would go on making matches for her. She decided that he had to die, too. She couldn’t have much daughterly affection for him, horror that he was.
That meant he wasn’t really poisoned at the feast. She might even have dosed him while I watched. I
shuddered.
How?
The fashion of long, flowing sleeves! Perfect for concealment. Prepared for anything as she was, she could have kept a hidden pouch of poison on her always.
With closed eyes, I recalled the scene. I saw her spear a chunk of sausage on her knife with her right hand. Her left passed over the meat to gather up her right sleeve and keep it from trailing through the food. Likely the poison was in her left sleeve. She sprinkled with her left hand.
I remembered the missing mortar and pestle on the morning of the feast. She might have taken them to grind her poison.
Where was my masteress? As soon as King Grenville recovered enough to do without constant watching over, his daughter would feed him something else. In his weakened state, he would certainly die. Everyone would think he’d merely taken a turn for the worse. Cures for poisoning were uncertain.
IT had to come soon!
I returned to my deducing. Princess Renn must have been behind Cellarer Bwat, my accuser. She had probably hinted to him that I might be to blame, hinted so subtly he thought the suspicion his own.
As I mulled it over, I saw she had reason to fear me. I’d witnessed her dismay when His Highness revealed her new future husband. She had directed me to search the stable when she knew Nesspa was elsewhere. I had dis-
covered the mauled ox. And I was the assistant to a dragon skilled at unraveling mysteries. Thorough again, she thought imprisoning me not enough. She had to poison me, too.
I wondered if His Lordship had seen her set the cats on him. Poor count. If he loved the princess, what a blow that would have been.
Had she poisoned him as well as signaled the cats? I remembered his face had been mottled red and white when the minstrel sang, and he’d swayed when he tried to address everyone after the king announced the betrothal. Also he’d hugged himself as if he were cold just before he shifted into the lion.
Poison might have made him less able to resist the cats.
Again I climbed to the window. Below me a hooded figure rounded the tower, walking slowly, hugging the wall. Even from above I recognized Princess Renn’s thin shoulders and awkward gait. She was seeking the remnants of my meal.
A moment ago I’d wanted my masteress instantly. Now IT mustn’t come!
With trembling hands, I pulled in the trailing cap laces, untied the knots, and took in the cap.
Then I waited, waited, waited.
Surely she must be gone by now. I peeped out.
She was kneeling on the wet ground, her shoulders shaking. As I watched, she raised her head. I retreated, but not before seeing her red eyes, her tragic expression.
The next time I looked, she was gone. I tied the wet cap back in place. A form, grayed by the weather, flew toward me from Two Castles. Soon IT would pass over the outer curtain. I waved. IT would find a way to save the king.
IT wheeled back and forth as IT had last night, but at a greater distance from me. Why?
Abruptly IT flew straight up.
“Come back!”
IT rose higher, then twisted in the air. While frantically beating ITs wings, IT fell and disappeared behind the outer curtain.
Chapter Thirty-Six
I gripped the bars. IT must have taken an arrow in ITs belly. I heard myself sobbing as if from far away. Could IT survive the arrow or the fall? I squeezed my eyes tight, making colors swirl behind my eyelids—rather than images of ITs death.
Oh, my masteress, I thought again and again.
I untied my cap and climbed shakily down from the window. Then I sat with my head down on the tabletop, but after a minute I stood, refusing to cry anymore. I would hope IT lived, so why cry?
IT couldn’t save the king now. I would have to attempt the deed myself.
But His Majesty wasn’t worth saving compared with my masteress. How could I save IT?
Master Dess might be able to heal IT if I could get to him.
I hadn’t tried to escape while I was relying on my Great, my Unfathomable, my Brilliant Masteress Meenore.
I circled the room, looking at everything. The fire poker. Stand on the table, yell for the guards, and smite them on the head as they entered.
No. The first guard would catch my arm before I could strike. I would only anger them.
Might I mansion myself out of here?
I continued to circle.
When would the princess come to see how sick I was?
Had she already poisoned her father again?
I circled the other way. An idea began to form. I thought it out, although I had no time for all this thinking.
I would say this. If a guard said that, I would say the other. They wouldn’t be surprised to see me healthy. Her Highness could hardly have told them to expect me to be ill.
Three more circuits, and I was ready. I wrung out my soaked cap and put it back on, although the dampness was unpleasant. Then I eased the key out of the keyhole and tucked it into the heel of my shoe where I could get at it quickly.
I swallowed over a lump in my throat. Masteress Meenore would want to hear about this, if I did well.
The bottom of the bed draperies had a two-inch hem. I found a dropped stitch and pulled, widening the opening.
I knocked on the door. In a gay tone, I cried, “Hail! Open, if you please!” I leaned my ear against the door but heard nothing. If they ignored me, I was lost. His Majesty and my masteress as well. I called again.
A minute or more passed before I heard the bolt pulled free. I backed farther into the room and clasped my hands pleadingly.
The door opened. The guards had changed since Her Highness had come. Luck was with me—half with me, at least. I recognized one of the guards, a young man who had been posted at a fireplace in the great hall and had watched my performance. I remembered seeing him laugh. The other guard was older, with lines of discontent around his mouth.
“Thank you, masters. Time passes slowly in here.” I bit my lip. “And I’m frightened.” I truly was. My legs could hardly support me. “So I’ve been practicing my mansioning.”
The older guard folded his arms across his chest.
I smiled up at them both. “But I need help with a mansioner’s tale that has four characters. A princess.” I ran to the table for my spoon. “Here is my scepter.” I flourished it. “A beautiful princess.” I batted my eyelashes. The younger guard grinned. The older one settled back on his heels.
“The second character is a witch, who has the princess in her keeping.” I pulled a blanket off my bed and threw it around me, making a hooded cape. Rounding my shoulders as a hump, I pulled my cap laces forward to suggest a few strands of chin hair. In a crackly voice I said, “I am the witch.”
I wished I could do this quicker, but I had to persuade the guards to forget themselves.
Straightening, in my own voice, I said, “I need two princes. I can’t portray them.”
The younger guard grinned and said, “I’ve always . . .”
The older guard sent him a reproving look. My heart sank.
But the young guard came to my aid. “Dure, it’s dull enough out there.” He indicated the door with his head. “Where’s the harm? She can’t get past us.”
Dure’s mouth relaxed.
“Alas, they are impoverished princes, their father being a spendthrift. One prince is as kind and warmhearted as the sun, the other as handsome and brilliant as a star.”
This was the first tale Albin had ever taught me, and I was using his exact words, pausing where he used to pause.
“Which would you like to be, masters?”
The young guard laughed. “You be the handsome one, Dure. I’m handsome already.”
The older guard shrugged. His voice was like rough rocks rubbing together. “Onnore, you could persuade a hedgehog to fly. I will be the handsome one, young mistress.”
I sat in the chair, pulled the blanket onto my lap, and tossed my head prettily. “I am sitting in a castle window, sewing.” I held an imaginary needle and push
ed it in and out of the blanket. “You ride by on your prancing chargers.”
They didn’t move.
“Walk past me, please.”
They did so, awkwardly.
“With pride. Remember, you are princes.”
They threw their shoulders back.
“I am so comely you both fall madly in love with me.”
Dure snorted.
“Truly, I am half in love already, little mistress,” Onnore said gallantly.
“You both return to stand under my window.”
They actually came back.
“Each of you wishes to marry me, so you begin to argue.”
Neither one said a word.
I pursed my lips and smoothed the hair on my forehead below the cap. “Why do you think you should have me, Prince Dure?”
I watched him think. “Because I am so handsome.” He chuckled. “Onnore, you are not half as handsome as I.”
“But I am as warm as the sun.” He laughed. “I can melt your handsomeness.”
“Yet I can outwit you and stop you from melting me.”
I let them make a few more arguments. The minutes ticked by.
With each rebuttal they laughed harder.
Finally I cast my imaginary needle over my shoulder and turned the blanket into a hooded cape again. I cackled, “You princelings who love my Soulette, I will not give her to just anyone. The man who can find the magical purse filled with coins . . .” I untied my purse from my belt and shook it so they could hear jingling. I took a silver coin halfway out, then dropped it back in.
There is a saying in Lahnt: Silver blinds men more powerfully than the sun.
Dure’s mouth dropped open. Onnore rose on his toes.
“That man and no other will have my Soulette.” I closed my fist around the purse. In my ordinary voice I added, “Both princes, stand at the door, if you please.”
They went willingly and stood with their backs to the door. Dure crossed his arms again, his guarding pose.
“Stand there to prevent my escape. Now close your eyes, so I may hide the magic purse.”
They closed their eyes, but I suspected they would open them a slit in a moment. I hid my fist in the folds of my skirt.
A Tale of Two Castles Page 19
