by Aya Ling
Elaine made progress. Slowly, but steadily. She sailed through her physics lessons like a breeze, thriving in the knowledge learned and delighting in beating Francis Wesley in every quiz. She spent less and less time solving math problems as she gradually caught up with the theories and formulas she hadn't encountered in her pre-University days. History and literature and Tintagelese remained a struggle–she still made mistakes and couldn't remember half of the things required to memorize–but she had more confidence now. With the hard work she was putting in, it seemed achievable to scrape through her humanities final exams with a low passing grade, rather than failing outright.
But she wasn't a machine. From time to time, Winifred refused to bring her coffee and made her go outdoors instead. One afternoon, during teatime, she came into the princess's room bearing nothing but a threatening expression.
"Little princess! You need to get some blessed sunshine and fresh air, which'll do better for the brain than a hundred cups of coffee."
"Why can't I just go to bed instead?" Elaine yawned. "I'm awfully tired; I need a nap."
"You need exercise," Winifred said severely. "Look at the state of your room! Those shelves have to be dusted, the rugs shaken, the fireplace swept. Not to mention all those books thrown around. Remember you claimed that books are precious commodities? Now get out–through the window if you must–but Effie and I must clean up your room before it turns into a pig's sty."
So that was how Elaine found herself wandering through the courtyards and gardens, hands clasped behind her back, wondering what on earth to do. She dropped by the nursery, but Baby Charles was sound asleep. She sought out Bran, but he was preparing for his own exams–big, terrifying exams for a career in medicine. She headed to the kitchens, but Valeria was busy directing the kitchen staff with a new dish.
Where could she go? Everyone seemed occupied except her. Elaine kicked on the ground and looked up at the sky.
"I'll go to the lakes. Valeria was eating apple pie in the kitchen–the apple trees there must have borne fruit. I can climb the trees and that'll be exercise enough for Winnie."
Thus decided, Elaine turned abruptly and slammed into a warm chest.
"Ow!"
Strong arms gripped her shoulders and kept her steady.
"Princess."
Andre. He dropped his arms and offered her a shy smile. "I'm sorry."
Elaine rubbed her nose, which felt like it was squashed flat. Irritated, she looked up at him, but was temporarily stripped of speech.
Today he was wearing the Academy uniform. He had his white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow, his raven hair curling down his neck, the black material of his trousers making his legs look even longer. He wasn't classically handsome like her elder brothers, but nevertheless she did not find him less attractive. The shirt fitted his lean torso in a way that accentuated his broad shoulders and narrow waist, and his arms, wiry and muscled, looked strong enough to lift a horse. Those arms had rested on her shoulders just a few seconds earlier. Her cheeks grew warm.
"Er...don't you have work today?"
"Not today. Master Jims was kind enough to let me off. How about you, princess? No studying today?"
"I wanted to, but Winifred wouldn't let me. She said I had enough studying and some fresh air outdoors would do me good. Besides..." she stopped, not wanting to admit that she was a slob, "...besides, I just finished one boring history essay. I don't have to rush." The truth was, however, she hadn't even started on the first paragraph of the essay.
"Where are you going now?" she added, anxious to move to a new subject.
"To practice."
"Where to? Can I see? I'm dying of boredom."
Andre's brow furrowed. "Certainly, if you wish. But I usually practice alone by the lake. It may not be as exciting as you imagine."
Elaine grinned. "I was just going to the lake! Let's go."
It turned out to be a pleasant afternoon. Elaine perched on a branch and munched away on apples, occasionally stealing a glance or two at Andre, who was practicing away on his hand combat techniques. His movements resembled a Makani panther–sleek, powerful, full of grace. He executed punches and kicks with an amazing balance of fluidity and power--two qualities that were equally important, but rarely mastered together.
When he took a break and walked towards the lake for a drink, Elaine jumped down.
"Here." She held out a cup, deftly fashioned from tree bark. "Use this. You'll find it easier than splashing water all over your face."
"Thank you."
Elaine plopped on the grassy bank beside him. Silence reigned for a moment; then, feeling that conversation was necessary, she racked her brains for a topic.
"Mind if I ask how you got Empress Salome to sponsor you? I mean, I can see why she would, but what alerted her in the first place?"
Andre drained the cup and held it with both hands, staring at a few ducks floating on the lake.
"It was by luck. You know His Highness Felipe?"
Elaine smiled. "How could I not? Felipe took a liking to Valeria before she married Ralph. At that time, all you had to do was mention Felipe's name in Valeria's presence and Ralph would go all stiff and irritated. As if he could get any stiffer than he usually is."
Prince Felipe was Empress Salome's son and Princess Marcella's brother. Elaine had made his acquaintance when he accompanied the empress on a few visits to Riviera. A plump, jolly young man who was a great food lover like Valeria, his initial interest in Valeria had prompted an early proposal from Ralph. On the other hand, Marcella was emotionless and grim, typical of the warrior maids at the Academy. It was hard to believe they were related.
Andre returned her grin with a faint smile. It was only for a moment, but the smile was at least genuine, not the polite, respectful mask he usually wore.
"One day, when I was sent on an errand, I met several thugs cornering a young man in an alley. They brandished clubs and knives, demanding all the money he had. So I stepped in."
"You beat all those thugs when they were armed?" Elaine said incredulously.
"By a stroke of luck, I was returning from the store with a brand new iron poker."
Elaine burst out laughing. "Still, that's amazing! But wait...the thugs didn't recognize Felipe?"
"They were from a small village and just arrived in the capital. Also, His Highness was wearing ordinary clothes. Even I didn't recognize him until he identified himself."
"So you saved Felipe, he told his mother, and the empress decided to send you here?"
"Yes."
"But..." Elaine said, struck with another question. "But why Riviera? Couldn't you train at Tintagel?"
A dark look flickered in his eyes. Did she say anything that offended him?
"Traditional notions are more prevalent in Tintagel," Andre said slowly. "My commoner upbringing would cause much controversy if I were allowed to train in the royal Tintagel warrior school. At least in Riviera, people are more open to change. If Lady Matilda had gone to the Tintagel school, she would have been ridiculed and banished. She wouldn't have a chance to change the rules."
Elaine shook her head in disbelief. But then, she had encountered jests and scorn when she enrolled. Would she be able to change the hostility she encountered at the University as Lady Matilda had done to the Academy?
"But Empress Salome sponsored you."
"She's been very kind. Still, when she proposed to send me to the Academy, most of the courtiers were against it. Some said that her priority should be with the Tintagel aristocracy. Some complained that she had already caused much trouble when she allowed Princess Marcella to attend the Academy. Others protested that she had no faith in the Tintagel warrior school."
Elaine scowled. "The nerve of them! I wonder what they'd say if they heard of my entering the University."
"They would have an apoplexy." An amused spark gleamed in Andre's eyes. "With support from Prince Felipe, the empress eventually negotiated with the court of lor
ds. She would pay for the tuition and equipment, but I must earn my own room and board."
So that was how he came to work for Maurice and Jims. It must be tough, taking lessons at the Academy and working odd jobs at the same time. She didn't know how he managed. She could barely survive studying at the University alone.
An idea struck her. Elaine bounced up and faced Andre, her face flushed and excited.
"I have a proposition," she began. "Now don't look so shocked, it's nothing illegal, I promise! I was only thinking, since you're from Tintagel, can you help me with my Tintagelese? I'll recompense you–gladly. This way, you won't have to work long hours and I can improve my grades. What do you say?"
He listened quietly, an earnest look in his violet eyes. When Elaine finished, he did not speak.
"Do say yes," Elaine begged. Impulsively, she placed her hands on his knees and gazed at him pleadingly. "I'm not offering charity; I really need to bring up my grades in Tintagelese. I do try, but Monsieur keeps saying my pronunciation is atrocious."
A pink hue stained his cheeks. "I shall be happy to assist you in whatever way possible, princess."
"Good." Elaine felt like hugging him, but he stood up and retreated to a tree. The blush on his face remained, though.
"It is getting late. I will escort you back to the palace."
"All right," Elaine grinned. "I'll tell Maurice and Jims about our agreement, and we can work out a schedule."
Ever since she made the agreement with Andre, Elaine's spirits rose. While Andre's assistance in her Tintagelese was, truthfully speaking, not as helpful as a professionally-trained instructor, she enjoyed his company. She liked his honest, sincere expression, his deep, musical tone and gentle manners when talking to her. And since he was taking precious time out of his own Academy warrior training to help her, she made sure his efforts were not wasted. She worked harder at her Tintagelese–bringing her quiz grades from F to C. If she could keep this up, she could pass the final exam with confidence.
However, there still remained one class that she had trouble with. Literature was not a subject she could make rapid progress in a few months. Her mind seemed to turn blank when she tried to interpret the meanings and metaphors of stories and plays. She could not compose eloquent sentences in her essays. The best she could do was to check her spelling, grammar and punctuation. At least she could handle technical details.
To make things worse, a new professor arrived one day. From the podium, he swept his gaze over them with a disdainful, haughty expression. Elaine instantly decided she didn't like him.
"Professor Samuel has announced his retirement, so I will be taking his place. My name is Tristan–Jacob Tristan. I was a researcher in the Royal Society of Literature for ten years."
He began to call on them, one by one. When he came to Elaine, he paused and adjusted the spectacles on his large, hooked nose.
"So you're the princess. Samuel has told me all about you. I read the essay you wrote on Bill's great tragicomedy. Frankly speaking, it's the worst piece of writing I have ever come across."
Elaine blinked. She had never liked tragicomedies. For her, tragedies and comedies should be clearly separated.
"Your writing style is terrible. Hasn't Samuel taught you that you must show, not tell? Did he not warn you that adverbs are the very essence of evil? That purple prose is worthless and unnecessary? Really, your essay is an eyesore."
He had to be sarcastic. But when she looked into his eyes and saw nothing but genuine irritation, Elaine couldn't repress a giggle.
Tristan shot her a dark look. "Are you mocking me, Miss Leventhorpe?"
"No, sir. Of course not." Elaine did her best to look penitent. At the same time, she made a mental apology to Samuel. Forgive me, Professor Samuel. I didn't think there could be someone worse than you.
"I find that Samuel has been too lenient in the past," Tristan addressed the entire class. "Indeed, after reading Miss Leventhorpe's essay, I feel the urgency to save the literary ability of this class. From now on, we shall have a vocabulary quiz every week. You will hand in a short essay every two weeks. No late excuses will be allowed."
Groans from most of the pupils. Some threw dirty looks at Elaine, who sat as though struck by lightning. More literature homework! Tristan might as well cease all the other lessons and order that only literature be taught. How was she to survive the coming few months?
The next few weeks were among the worst Elaine experienced at the University. Tristan carried out his threat–er, promise–and piled on readings, quizzes and essays as though they were illiterates. Pupils complained and grumbled, but Tristan stood firm. Consequently, they started to blame Elaine for the extra work. The dissent was especially strong, especially when the finals loomed closer and closer.
What little respect she gained was completely lost. In the beginning, her classmates had viewed her with suspicion and contempt, only changing slightly when she started scoring above average in math and physics. Now, they gave her the cold shoulder. No one would partner with her in chemistry–she had to conduct experiments all by herself. During history, when the teacher asked questions, a few would point at Elaine and say, "the princess knows the answer." When she forgot to bring her Tintagelese exercise book, none would share a copy with her.
Francis Wesley wasted no time telling her she was unwelcome at the school.
"If I were you, I'd leave now. Better leave when you have a chance to do it yourself, instead of failing and getting kicked out."
Even though her spirits were low, Elaine couldn't help retaliating.
"Weasel, I'm surprised Tristan hasn't made you rewrite your essays. You never have anything new to say, do you?"
Still, when Francis Wesley stomped away, the brief glee of flooring him evaporated. Her problems remained.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
"Here are the books you wanted," Effie said, tipping a stack of heavy volumes onto Elaine's desk. Since the hostility shown towards her, Elaine avoided the library. Not that it was a welcoming place in the beginning when she was the only girl to visit the library. "The history stuff you wanted on Tintagel and Linderall monarchy. How're you doing with your essay?"
"Essays," Elaine corrected, dipping her pen in the ink pot. "Thanks, Effie. Sorry I can't talk now."
"I thought you had it hard when you started school, but now it seems worse." Effie shook her head. "Are the teachers beasts? Putting you through such a workload."
Elaine hid a grimace. She hadn't told Effie or Winifred about Tristan; it wasn't like they could do anything about it.
"I'll get you another cup of coffee," Effie said brightly, reaching for the empty cup. "Winnie is in the nursery with Valeria."
"Effie!" Winifred had issued a ban on coffee.
"Ain't a problem, little princess. But just this one time. I'd hate to see you become a wreck if you don't pass the finals."
When Effie trotted off, Elaine pulled down a book with a small smile. She had to finish two essays–one for history and the other for literature–both due tomorrow morning. It looked like it was going to be a long night.
After flipping through two books on the history of Tintagel kings, noting that Empress Salome was the first female monarch in Tintagel's history, she came across a thin, dusty volume sandwiched between two heavier tomes. When she glanced at the title, her gaze lit up.
"'Notes on Devices,'" she read, "by Archibald Leventhorpe. Why, Grandpapa wrote it and I never knew."
Excitedly, Elaine turned the pages with a reverent hand. The title was apt indeed–it contained, not solid blocks of text, but was instead filled with sketches and diagrams and calculations, accompanied by observations and analysis. In the first two pages was a beautifully drawn picture of the mechanical clock in detail, showing how the gears and clogs worked together to tell time. Another portrayed a huge steam-powered vehicle, exactly like the carriage her parents used. Another detailed an oil press, showing how to extract oil through friction and pressure. The brillia
nce of his scientific mind illuminated every page.
But it wasn't just the inventions she could now see in the palace. A dozen pages were devoted to the design of a flying machine–meticulous notes on the flight behavior of birds, commentary on gravity and balance and velocity, simulations of flying machines constructed to imitate the bone structure of birds, but alas, the several experiments conducted with this machine ended in failure.
Her heart pounded. Surely this was a most innovative experiment, yet she had never heard about it. Maybe Grandpapa was too proud and did not wish for others to learn of his failures? Elaine ran her finger over the sketches, trying to figure out what went wrong. What couldn't propel the machine to fly?
When Elaine reached for her coffee mug and took a sip, she choked. The coffee was disgustingly cold, the soured bitterness stinging her tongue.
The mechanical clock struck ten. And she had two papers to write.
Nooooooooo!
Elaine snatched the history books and buried herself in work. She managed to finish the essay, then moved on to the literature one. By then, she was yawning every two seconds, and her mind was so foggy that she allowed herself a tiny break. She laid her head on the desk and closed her eyes, willing herself to clear her brain.
Which turned out to be a disaster. When she awoke, her oil lamp was burned out. Outside, the sky was gray already; the crowing of a rooster told her it was the crack of dawn.
Crap!
Elaine glanced at her desk. Crumpled papers, misplaced books, scattered pencils and pens... and drool on her sleeve. She went to rinse her face in the washbasin and discovered ink stains on her forehead as well as her wrists.
What could she do? She had only completed the introduction, and Tristan told them it had to be three thousand words at least.
Her gaze fell upon "Notes on Devices," which was still half open. How much easier it was to draw than composing hundreds of lines.
A reckless idea came over Elaine. She took up her pen, dipped it into the ink pot and began to draw.
"Miss Leventhorpe." Tristan's voice was cold, with an undertone of fury. "What is the meaning of this–thing?"
