by Deva Fagan
“Your pardon, please,” I gasped, scrambling to rise.
The Saint extended a hand to help me up.
“Your headdress, miss,” said someone else. Captain Ribisi held out my star-spangled cap with its trailing black gauze, now torn in several places.
The Saint’s eyes grew wider, looking between me and the headdress.
“My prince, this is the girl—excuse me, miss,” Captain Ribisi said, with an exaggerated politeness I did not care for. “This is the latest seer to prophesy how you will fulfill the Edicts. I trust, Mistress Fortunata, that you see the future more clearly than you see who is coming toward you along the hall.”
Prince. The word penetrated my addled brain at last, and I realized who I had run into. He certainly looked the part. I could not have invented a more fitting hero for this endeavor had I tried. I clapped my headdress back on and tucked the veil to disguise the rents. I had never felt less convincing in my role as Fortunata of the All-Knowing Eye. But Prince Leonato smiled, and something in the curve of his lips untied the knot in my belly.
“Perhaps sh-sh-sh—” the prince began, but his lips twisted, and the word would not come. I glanced at Captain Ribisi, and for the first time he looked something other than grim or ironic. His attention was fixed upon Prince Leonato, a crease between his brows.
A tinge of pink colored the prince’s cheeks, whether from embarrassment or effort I could not tell. “Sh-sh—” he tried again and finally blurted out, “she had a vision that I was s-s-searching for her.” He took a deep breath upon finishing the statement.
The deep gully between Captain Ribisi’s brows relaxed once the prince had finished speaking. “My prince, you must not put too much faith in these seers. You know what has happened before. We have not had a true prophecy yet.”
“The problem might not be with the s-s—” Prince Leonato abandoned whatever he was trying to say. He was still as beautiful as Saint Marco, but I had never seen an image of the Saint looking this miserable.
“My prince, you must not doubt—” Captain Ribisi began. Then he seemed to recall I was there too, and left the sentence unfinished.
“So, Your Highness,” I said, “was there something you wanted to ask me?”
Prince Leonato looked like the last thing in the world he wanted to do just then was open his mouth, but he nodded.
Another guard came hurrying up the hall. Captain Ribisi stepped aside to speak with him, leaving me alone with the prince. Leonato tugged briefly on the high collar of his coat. A sheen of sweat glistened on his brow, dampening his golden curls.
“Prophetess, do you really s-s-see me being crowned?” he asked, then hurried to add, “It’s not that I want to be. I s-s-saw how hard it was for Father.” The flush on Leonato’s cheeks deepened with each faltering word, but he pressed on. “But the people s-s-say the land is cursed now, without a leader. The crops are poor, there’s been s-s-sickness and unrest. I want to make things better, but I’ve failed s-s-s—” He grimaced, then started over. “I’ve failed every time, with my s-s-stupid s-s-stuttering. Mother and the captain s-s-say the prophecies have been false. But I know the truth. It’s me. I wasn’t s-s-supposed to be king.”
The poor boy was pinker now than those ridiculous sausage boots I’d tricked Niccolo into buying back in Valenzia. His desperation made my heart ache. I nearly reached out to him, to take his hand and tell him that this ridiculous Edict business had nothing to do with being a good king. But the prophecy was a matter of life and death to me now. The Prince shall proclaim the Prophecy to the people, and its Truth shall ring from his lips without falter. The words of the Edict reverberated like funeral bells in my mind.
“Don’t worry, Prince Leonato. You will make the pronouncement of this quest without faltering.” I wasn’t sure how, but if Father was to live, I would have to find a way. Besides, the prince needed the hope of a good fortune as much as any penniless singer or struggling young lover.
“If I can’t fulfill the Edicts,” he said, “my aunt Donata will take the crown. And sh-sh-she—”
“Prince Leonato,” Captain Ribisi said, rejoining us, “I am afraid there’s some trouble concerning the prophecy.”
“What is it?” I asked, almost glad for the interruption. Whatever it was, it had to be less of a problem than the prince’s stutter.
“It concerns the prince’s snow-white steed,” Ribisi answered, giving sardonic emphasis to the phrase. “I fear the stable master has no such beast. Black, roan, dun, piebald. But no white horses. Could the prophetess have been mistaken?” He turned cold eyes on me. “Bad luck, perhaps?”
Saints! What had possessed me to say it was a snow-white steed? Just my luck to have chosen the one color not in the royal stables. Then I remembered what I had overheard in Princess Donata’s chamber. I doubt my nephew will make it out of the city. Bad luck, or design?
“The prince will ride out on a snow-white steed tomorrow,” I said, pulling myself up tall and straightening my glittering robes. “I have foreseen it. But only a special beast is suited for a great quest such as this. It will not be found within the royal stables, but somewhere within the city itself. We shall go and seek it out.” There must be one white horse somewhere in Doma, I thought. I would just have to search until I found it.
THERE WAS INDEED one white horse in Doma, and only one. I said it was a special beast, but I had not expected this. It was a huge, brutish creature, swaybacked and sullen. It even bit me when I tried to feed it a carrot. The miller who owned it was loath to part with it, but yielded in the end when Prince Leonato produced a heavy sack of guilders. It was enough to have bought a dozen fine stallions, rather than this rundown monster, which had the unlikely name of Snowdrop.
But if the gelding was nothing else, he was white. A bit dirty, yes, but white from hoof to snout underneath it. Prince Leonato immediately sent for a half-dozen stable hands to tend to the horse and clean it up. Finding Snowdrop seemed to have raised the prince’s spirits, or at least had distracted him from the prospect of tomorrow’s proclamation.
I was not so lucky. I was exhausted by the events of the day, but my hardest tasks still lay before me. It wouldn’t matter if Snowdrop were the purest white steed in all the lands if the prince could not declare the words of my prophecy on the morrow without stuttering. I needed to find a solution, and there was very little time left to do so. While at the stables, Captain Ribisi announced the need for a mount for me. I told him about Franca and asked that she be brought for me to ride. If things went poorly, perhaps Papa and I could escape on her sturdy gray back. If all went smoothly, maybe I could keep her when this was over. If nothing else, it would prevent Ubaldo from selling her while I was gone. The guards returned a short time later, leading Franca. They also brought another, less welcome, addition.
Ubaldo bowed his bald head to Leonato. “Ah, there you are, Fortunata. Keeping company with the prince himself, I see. Your Highness, it’s an honor.”
“And you are, s-s-sir?” Leonato asked.
“Ubaldo, Your Highness. The girl, the prophetess, rather, she’s mine.” I stirred at that, and Leonato glanced in my direction. Ubaldo went on. “Her and the old man. It was I brought them here to aid you.”
“Then I am most s-s-s-sincerely obliged,” Leonato said, color leaping to his face as he fought to speak. Ubaldo, of course, was too self-interested to notice the prince’s stutter.
“So, we depart on the morrow, then,” Ubaldo said, looking over the fine horses that stood in the nearby stalls. He thrust Franca’s lead rope into my hands. “Here’s my donkey, which the girl is welcome to borrow for the journey. I’ll be needing a mount of my own. These are some fine beasts you have here.”
“You’re coming with us?” I said, my fingers tightening on the rope. I started to step away, trying to pull Franca after me.
“Of course,” he said, setting a meaty hand on my arm to prevent my escape. “Someone’s got to keep an eye on the mighty All-Knowing seer. This quest’s
very important to all of us.”
Saints have mercy! The thought of Ubaldo breathing down my neck while I was dealing with turning this fortune into reality was more than I could bear. I jerked my arm, but Ubaldo’s fingers dug into my flesh.
Prince Leonato frowned. His leaf-green eyes flicked once between Ubaldo and me. “That won’t be necessary, Master Ubaldo. No doubt the prophetess can take care of herself. My mother decreed only that the prophetess join in the quest. You will remain here, to await our return.” With that, Leonato reached for Franca’s rope himself, pulling the donkey forward. Ubaldo released me and jumped back, narrowly avoiding being stepped on by a heavy donkey hoof.
“But—” Ubaldo began.
Captain Ribisi cut him off. “Master Ubaldo, my men will see that you and your company have all that you require.”
The two guards had Ubaldo halfway across the stable yard before he could speak another word. I patted Franca’s neck, and she gobbled up the carrot that Snowdrop had spurned. I was so relieved to have Ubaldo gone that I did not realize for several long moments what had happened. The prince had spoken those words clearly. Without falter. I reviewed his last statement with furious consideration. A plan had begun to dawn on me.
Leonato himself didn’t seem to have realized it. He still frowned after Ubaldo. “Are you really that man’s s-s-servant?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “Father and I are freeborn. We had to . . . that is, there was no other choice, and we had to travel with Ubaldo and his company.”
“S-s-so you’re glad that he’s not coming with us?”
“More than glad,” I said, speaking absolute truth for the first time in a long while. “Thank you, Your Highness.”
“Good.” Prince Leonato smiled, and I forgot to look away. Curse me to the seven Hells, I thought. I needn’t fear Ubaldo, perhaps, but this was a worse danger. My belly had no business flopping over like that just because a handsome prince smiled at me. I had to find Leonato a wife, not fall in love with him myself.
THE NEXT DAY dawned gray and drizzly and the only pleasure I could take in it was that I hadn’t prophesied fair weather for our departure. Nevertheless, the plaza was crowded with onlookers. If they did not cheer and huzzah for the prince, well, I suppose it was to be expected. They had seen this all end in failure many times before. But not today. I gritted my teeth and felt for the scroll of parchment tucked under my glittering, tattered robes. Not today.
I sat astride Franca, in the center of a crowd of guards. I could see Prince Leonato ahead of me, high atop the tower of horseflesh that was Snowdrop. The gelding had cleaned up rather nicely, in my opinion. He gleamed as white as snow, just as prophesied. That had not improved his temper, as I discovered when I tried to offer him another carrot that morning. I wondered how the stablehands had managed to wind those red ribbons through his mane and tail without being bitten.
Prince Leonato’s cheeks burned as brilliantly as the ribbons, and his hands, gripping the reins, showed white at the knuckles. I hadn’t found the opportunity to tell him about the scroll tucked beneath my robes. I hadn’t even finished it until the morning bells of the cathedral launched the sleepy pigeons from the ledge outside my window. Nudging Franca’s sides, I tried to ride close enough to speak to the prince. Just then a stir swept through the crowd. The stout guards between me and Prince Leonato paid me no heed as they turned to observe the cluster of figures that had emerged from the main palace doors.
The queen, garbed in her regal best and with a fixed smile on her lips, stood in the forefront. I spied my father as well: a small gray-haired figure, waving energetically and bobbing up on the tips of his toes to see me past the array of guards. Father seemed to be the only one truly enthusiastic about the morning’s events.
“Jacopo, the prophecy,” ordered the queen.
The same fat clerk stepped forth and read from a scroll of parchment. “Herein are recorded the exact words of the prophecy of the seer Fortunata, foretelling the quest of Prince Leonato, and how he shall fulfill the Edicts.”
The queen beckoned to her son. “As the Edicts demand: The Prince shall proclaim the Prophecy to the people, and its Truth shall ring from his lips without falter. Come, my son, and fulfill your destiny.”
Prince Leonato rode forward, with the look of a soldier heading into a battle he knew he couldn’t win. Jacopo held out the scroll. The two guards in my path remained oblivious to Franca snorting down the backs of their necks. I fought the urge to let her trample them. I had to reach the prince before he tried to read that scroll. Slipping down from Franca, I pushed my way forward.
The tips of Prince Leonato’s fingers had just brushed one end of the scroll in Jacopo’s hand when I called out, “Wait!”
Every eye in the square turned upon me. My mouth felt dry as dead leaves, and the twisting in my belly made me glad I had not had the appetite for breakfast.
“Yes, Prophetess?” asked the queen, finally.
I cleared my throat and thought of Allessandra, how confident she seemed, how certain that the fortunes she spun were true. “I have had a vision,” I began. A murmur stirred the crowd, heartening me slightly. “The prince will proclaim the prophecy, as the Edicts demand. Its truth will ring from his lips without falter. But not the words as I first spoke them, for I am but a humble seer. No, the True King must have a proclamation fit for royal blood. The Saints have granted me this magical scroll.” I held aloft the parchment I had slaved over all night, to a flood of aahs and oohs from the crowd. Good, I thought. This just might work. “This magical scroll contains the truth of the prophecy, in words fit for a king.”
Before anyone could object, I strode forward and slid my scroll into Prince Leonato’s hands. “Go on,” I said. “You can do it. It’s your destiny.” If only Leonato would believe me.
I clamped my lips tight then, for fear someone would catch me silently mouthing my prayers to the Saints. A hush fell over the crowd, expectant and eager. I risked a glance at the queen. She no longer stood with stiff reserve, but bent forward, hands clasped, eyes on her son. Yes, they all wanted to believe that this time it would work. Well, except for Captain Ribisi, who sat as gray and glum as a tombstone atop his own mount.
Prince Leonato unfurled the parchment with trembling fingers. I gave him what I hoped was an encouraging smile, though my lips felt like old plaster, ready to crumble at the slightest touch. He scanned the words, took a deep breath, and opened his mouth.
“‘I go forth now to rescue my future bride from Dire Peril and return with her in triumph to Doma, where we will be wed. I venture forth upon my proud mount, with his coat as white as winter’s might. . . .’”
A crackle of excitement sped through the throng of onlookers. Even Prince Leonato paused for a moment. Then he went on, talking about the “royal footgear that will fit only a true princess” and the “mighty city that floats upon the river Balta” and stumbling over not a single syllable. Those had been the trickiest bits: replacing the references to Sirenza and shoes with words that didn’t begin with the letter S.
“‘Though I may face great danger, and terrible trials, yet my courage and honor will guide me true, and I will return to Doma with the Royal Maiden who will be my bride. That is the wisdom of the All-Knowing Eye,’” finished the prince.
The crash of cheers and applause seemed to shake the very cobbles of the square. My legs trembled as though a gust of wind might topple me over. I bowed my head. Saints be praised. It had worked.
A light touch brushed my shoulder. I looked up into Prince Leonato’s eyes. “Thank you, Prophetess. I—”
The queen’s voice rang out, interrupting whatever more the prince had been about to say. “People of Doma, you have heard the prophecy proclaimed by your prince. All that was foretold by the prophetess has been stated without falter, if not in the exact words as the original. My son, you have proven your worth to set out upon this quest.” This pronouncement sent the crowds into another swell of applause and huzzahs.
“But, but, it wasn’t the same words,” sputtered Jacopo, waving the original scroll. Thankfully, his protests were lost in the clamor. The people of Doma embraced their prince’s victory.
Prince Leonato wheeled Snowdrop around to salute them. If he felt any sorrow or fear at the prospect of leaving home, it was not evident in his face. His eyes shone with delight, and his cheeks were flushed with happiness, not shame. His golden hair clustered in rings at the nape of his neck and behind his ears. I had been hoping he might look less beautiful after I had gotten used to him, but it was not so. Even on this chill, gray day, he glowed like a small star, smiling over his people, loving them and loved by them.
The queen spoke again. “Prince Leonato, go now with the blessings of your people. Fulfill your fortune and return to us with your princess, that the Edicts may be satisfied. Take this slipper, which once bedecked the foot of Queen Rosetta herself, that you may know its twin.”
At this, Princess Donata stepped forth. She held a silken pillow before her, upon which lay a single golden slipper. If I had not overheard her conversation yesterday, I would have thought her as delighted as the rest of the crowd. She smiled benevolently, though her lips twitched at the sight of Snowdrop, in irritation or amusement I could not tell.
The princess glided down the stairs to offer the pillow to Prince Leonato. He took the slipper reverently, then held it aloft and looked out over the people. “People of Doma,” he called, “I go forth to fulfill the Edicts. You have my pledge that I will rule well and justly, and Doma will flourish once more.”
A great huzzah rose from the crowds, and cheers of “Prince Leonato!” A number of the celebrants tossed their ribbons up into the air, showering us with coils of colored silk. Trumpeters arrayed along one side of the plaza began to play a triumphant march. This was it, the departure. The scarlet guards rode ahead, clearing the way from the plaza. Prince Leonato bowed his head to his mother, then turned Snowdrop from the palace. I pressed my heels against Franca’s flanks, and we followed near the back of the procession. I turned to catch one last glimpse of Father, waving after me. I blinked against the tears that threatened. It would not do for the mighty prophetess to weep during the triumphal procession.
