The Story Peddler

by Lindsay A. Franklin

  The king finally lifted a hand, and all the noise died. “Some bits to work out still, but well done.” He sat back in his throne again. “I have a proposition for you.”

  I swallowed. “Aye?”

  “As I said, I believe you to be a victim of your blood, and breeding can overcome blood. I think there’s hope for you yet, and I’m willing to provide help so you can live a life on the good and proper side of my law. Does that make sense?”

  Not in the least. “Yes, Majesty.”

  “Good. But in return for my benevolence, I’ll expect certain things from you, Tanwen. I’ll expect you to set your mind to using your gift properly. I’ll expect you to entertain my court, as the storytellers in Tir have always done. And most importantly, I’ll expect you to aid me in whatever way you can with the capture of those who would seek to defile my name. Do you understand what I mean?”

  You want me to give up the weavers from the Corsyth.

  “I believe so, Your Majesty.”

  “Then you accept?”

  My gaze flitted to the knight beside me. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword. He met my eyes, and nodded ever so slightly. But I knew he’d read my thoughts—I’d been wondering if I truly was being offered a choice, or if my “choice” was accepting the king’s offer or taking the point of that soldier’s blade in my back.

  Then I thought of the young guardsman who’d been so kind to me. Bo-Ifun. I remembered what his mam had told him about changing something you didn’t like from the inside out.

  I looked back at the king. “I accept.”

  Gareth clapped his hands together. “Excellent. You realize what’s just happened, don’t you? Tanwen En-Yestin, you’ve just become my Royal Storyteller.”

  I managed a smile. A moon ago, I would have burst with happiness if this had happened. Now it felt like a death sentence.

  But something about Bo-Ifun’s words gave me strength. Change from the inside.

  Only I wasn’t looking to change Gareth’s regime from the inside, exactly. I was looking to pull it apart at the seams.

  Chapter 31

  Tanwen

  “Show Storyteller En-Yestin to her family’s apartments.” Gareth nodded to Sir Dray, who then nodded to the knight beside me. “They’re still vacant, aren’t they?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” Sir Dray answered. “They’ve remained so all these years.”

  “Good.” The king looked at me. “Be ready, Tanwen. I’ll call on you to entertain me whenever the mood strikes, so you must always be available with a story.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “And someone please see to getting the lass some proper clothes. Can’t have her appearing before me like this again.”

  Laughter rolled through the room, and I hoped my face wouldn’t burst into flame.

  The knight led me back down the green carpet. I glanced over my shoulder once, and my gaze landed on Princess Braith. She seemed carved of marble, like the rest of Urian.

  “Sir?” I shuffled to keep up with the knight striding ahead of me. “How will I ever find my way around? Is there a map or something?”

  He took another turn down another hall. “Lass, you’ll not be picking up and leaving without an escort. His Majesty isn’t a fool. Two of my men will be stationed nearby at all times. Should you require anything, you’ll have to ask.”

  We took a set of narrow stairs that spiraled up, and I could only guess we were in a tower. Then we crossed a long hallway—into another tower, maybe. Then the hallway opened up into a larger area with several doors. Finally, the knight stopped before one of those doors.

  “Here.”

  “Here?” The halls looked totally empty, with none of the hustle and bustle of the downstairs areas of the palace.

  “Yes, here.” He pulled out an iron ring with about a thousand keys on it. He slipped one of them into the lock and turned until it clicked.

  “Do I take the key?”

  He snorted. “No. Like I said, His Majesty isn’t a fool. He’d not give you the only key to your apartments, understand?”

  I understood. The guardsmen, or anyone else the king saw fit, would have access to my room at all times.

  “Sir? Why is the king keeping me alive?”

  “New information made him less inclined to believe you’d meant to cause harm. And you’re useful. Got his sights set on the whole lot of you, if you know what I mean.”

  I knew what he meant.

  Bait.

  I thought of all the lads by the riverbank selling fishhooks and buckets of worms. That was me. One of those squirmy things about to get impaled on a hook to draw in the fish.

  “The king knows what he’s about.” The knight gestured into the room. “Well, go on.”

  I couldn’t rightly say why, but I didn’t want to cross through that doorway. Something felt too final about it. “What’s your name, sir?”

  “I’m head of the palace guard, and that’s all you’ll ever need to know. Won’t be seeing me again, except when you come to court to amuse the king.” He shrugged. “Or if the king wants you for interrogation.”

  I swallowed. “Interrogation?”

  “Never mind about that now. Get yourself cleaned up.”

  I nodded and stepped through the doorway into my family’s old chambers.

  Then the door banged shut. A click. And I was alone.

  I stood frozen just inside the doorway.

  How many times did Mother and Father stand in this very spot?

  I shook my head. Best not to allow those ghostly thoughts. If I were going to live in this place without going mad, I would have to learn to snuff out those musings.

  The front room was bigger than any I’d ever lived in.

  Two carpets covered the floor before me, so big a full-grown grazer might’ve settled onto each of them for a nap. I hadn’t ever seen a thing like those rugs before—all swirling patterns, as if they were half-formed stories woven in thread. I wondered if they might be something foreign—maybe brought over the wide Menfor Sea from Minasimet or some other place I’d never even heard of.

  Or maybe it was a story trapped in fabric. I’d seen stranger things this past moon.

  Left of the rugs, two stuffed couches covered in velvet ran along the wall. I’d never worn a dress of so fine a material in my memory. Imagine covering a whole sofa with it, just so your backside felt properly attended to!

  The farthest couch sat just beneath a window, and I instantly wished I had Father’s whole library and mine. I could curl up on that couch and read in the sunlight. But I didn’t have my books. In fact, even the travel bag I’d packed from home was back at the Corsyth. I had nothing except the clothes on my back.

  Suddenly I grasped at my chest as I remembered the one thing I owned that a guardsman might have had a mind to take while I was passed out. But it was still there—a curled knot of silver beneath my dress, hanging by its leather cord, like always.

  My breath escaped in a long, slow stream.

  To the right of the rug furthest into the room sat a desk—just like Father’s desk back home, except finer wood and not so worn. I supposed palace servants polished the thing to keep it looking so nice. Made me feel sorry for the one back at the cottage, since I had no servants nor desk polish nor any such thing to keep it looking healthy.

  A table twice the size of the one back home was just to my right, in front of the desk. It had proper chairs around it—six of them—instead of the benches we had around our tables in Pembrone.

  Along every wall but the one with the window, shelves ran from top to bottom. Bookshelves that could have housed hundreds, maybe even thousands, of books. But not a single book sat upon them. I wondered what had been there when my father lived. If he kept such a fine library at the country cottage in Pembrone, what must these shelves have looked like?

  First General. I still couldn’t believe it.

  It had all been stripped away now. Shelves empty, desk bare. Nothing remained tha
t spoke of Yestin Bo-Arthio and Glain Ma-Yestin. And why should there be anything left? It’d been thirteen years. The king had no reason to keep the rooms of his enemies as a shrine to them. Still, it felt hard, somehow, to walk into this place and know my family had once lived and breathed here, and now it was just an empty shell.

  I let out a shaky breath. Two doors beckoned me from the opposite side of the window wall. I wondered if they joined up with others’ rooms and maybe I ought to knock. I hesitated a moment, but then I tried the handle on the door furthest back, just beside the desk. The knob turned easily, and I opened the door to what could only have been my parents’ bedroom.

  A bed three times the size of any I’d ever slept in sat against the far wall of the room. And by the look of it, that mattress had genuine feathers in it, not the straw I was used to. A beautiful carved wardrobe lay to my right—empty of all clothes now, surely. Opposite that was a real looking glass with a stool in front of it.

  I moved closer, a little hesitant. The glass was so clear I was afraid to look.

  With good reason. No wonder the courtiers had mocked me.

  A trickle of dried blood streaked the side of my face where my old friend Bo-Milwir had popped me. I looked like I had rolled around in a farmyard or some other such dusty place. Leaves and twigs stuck in my hair, bursting out like I’d put them there for decoration. My sun-browned arm showed through a long gash in my sleeve.

  I was a sight—no mistaking that.

  But a pitcher and basin had been laid out for me, along with clean cloths and a bar of tallow soap. At least I could clean up when I had a mind to.

  In the back corner, an area was curtained off by fine brocade drapes. I pulled back on one side of the curtain. Only in Urian would you find fine material used to conceal the chamber pot. Brac would have had a laugh over that.

  I left the bedroom and paused before the other door. I had a fair idea what I’d find inside, and it took me a minute to decide to look. I breathed deep and twisted the knob. Sure enough, a small bed in one corner, a child-sized version of the carved-wood wardrobe, and a pretty little rug spread on the floor—a rug that showed what had always been my favorite fairy story. The mythical pink fluff-hopper who granted wishes if caught and bared its wicked fangs to try to keep people away.

  My room.

  It was stripped to its bare bones, except the rug, so I couldn’t really imagine what it’d looked like when I was a tiny lass and I’d actually slept in that bed. I supposed my mother would’ve had some nice wall-hangings and maybe a rag doll for me to cuddle. A warm quilt for the drafty nights in the stone castle, maybe?

  The achy hole in my heart twinged.

  I closed the door without entering the room. No need.

  I made my way back to the basin. The tallow soap burned in the cut on my head, and scrubbing dried blood out of a wound not yet healed isn’t a holiday, in case anyone was wondering. But I managed to chip away at all the dirt and grime, and though I still looked every bit the peasant when I was done, at least I was a clean peasant. Except my dress, but there wasn’t a thing I could do about that.

  Boredom pushed me back into the front room. I didn’t think I’d been in my new place an hour yet, and I was already itching to escape outside. A walk in the gardens. A late picnic lunch on one of those benches. Dip my toes into the cool river. Something.

  But, no, this was to be my life now. Gareth’s “Royal Storyteller,” but really his prisoner.

  I walked along the bookshelves behind Father’s desk, tracing my fingers over the wood like I used to do at home. I’d passed three shelves and was onto the fourth when I halted before it. I cocked my head to the side, looked at the other shelves, then back to the fourth one.

  “It’s just a frame,” I said aloud out of habit. I had always talked to my parents like they were around the cottage, just to keep myself from getting too lonely, and I was every bit as alone here.

  This set of shelves was just a frame, not a finished bookcase like the others. The others had solid wood at their backs; this one showed through to the stone wall behind it. Odd. Why would it not be finished also?

  I supposed when all those shelves were full of books, as surely they once were, it wouldn’t look different than the others. Especially if you picked taller books to sit on this one and cover the stones. But why was one different than the others? Didn’t make sense.

  I put a hand through the frame and felt the cool stones behind.

  A knock on the door sent my heart pounding. I took a huge breath to try to get some kind of normal beating back into it.

  Who would be at my door? Could Gareth be summoning me already? The thought of appearing before all those courtiers still dressed in my torn-up peasant rags wasn’t a happy one.

  I heard a click on the other side of the door. Supposed my guard had unlocked it. My hand on the front door knob, I took another deep breath, then I pulled the door open to face whatever waited on the other side.

  It was Her Royal Highness, Princess Braith.

  Chapter 32

  Tanwen

  Princess Braith offered a smile. “Hello, Tanwen.”

  I stared at her and the woman beside her.

  After a short pause, the princess tried again. “You needn’t worry. All is well. We have some things for you. May we come in?”

  I nodded dumbly and stepped back to allow Princess Braith and the dark-haired maidservant entry.

  Braith nodded to her maid. “This is Cameria, my most trusted servant and friend. The gowns she has are for you. I hope you don’t mind, but they’re my old ones. The queen had a whole wardrobe made for me when I was about your age. Only I grew an inch a moon after they were finished.” She smiled ruefully. “The queen was not pleased, but it did give her an excuse to design a wardrobe full of new dresses. In any case, you are a bit shorter than I, so I thought they might fit you.”

  I gaped. What . . . what was happening right now?

  Braith waited for me to say something, but when I couldn’t manage, she kept on. “We . . . brought food as well. I didn’t suppose you’d had a proper luncheon, and it’s closer to supper at this point. But . . .” She held out the basket in her arms. “Would you care for something?”

  I jolted back to life. “Aye, thanks. Do . . . you want to sit?” I gestured to the small table in the front room.

  Braith nodded. “Thank you. That’s most gracious.” She pulled out her own chair, and I wondered if I was supposed to do that for her.

  Needless to say, I hadn’t entertained a princess before.

  Cameria bowed. “I’ll just hang these gowns if you don’t mind, miss.”

  A moment of silence passed, then I realized she was talking to me. “Oh! Aye, that’s fine. Thank you. Wardrobe is in there. Just hang them . . . anywhere.”

  I sat opposite Braith as she cleared her throat. “I did not know what might suit your appetite, so I brought a few of my favorites. Herb-stuffed fowl, sandwiches with soft cheese and fresh cucumber, miniature hathberry pies with sweet crystals, garden salad, and”—she pulled out the last, steamy bundle from the basket—“Cameria’s favorite from Meridione. Hot, sweet maize cakes.”

  I gazed at the spread without a word.

  Braith’s expression fell. “Does it not suit? I can have whatever you like made in the kitchens, of course. If this is unappetizing—”

  “Unappetizing!” I found my voice again. “No, it isn’t that. I’ve just never seen food like this before. It’s so . . . dainty.”

  “I suppose it is.” Braith smiled. “Please, eat.”

  I picked up one of the pies. “Stars, this is pretty. The sugar looks like crystallized story.”

  The princess laughed. “I hope it tastes better than that.”

  “Only one way to find out.” I popped the whole thing in my mouth at once, tiny as it was. “Mmm. Delicious.”

  Braith smiled, then folded her hands in her lap. “Tanwen, I came here to bring you lunch and the gowns, but I also wanted to spe
ak to you.” She looked down at her pale fingers covered in rings of gold and precious stones. “Whatever has happened in the past or will happen in the future, you have at least one friend here in Urian.”

  I blinked.

  Braith looked up and smiled kindly. “I mean me. I would like to be a friend to you.”

  Did I hear her right?

  “I could use a friend,” I said slowly. “But . . . meaning no disrespect to you, Your Highness, I think your father would be pickled if he knew you had been trying to make friends with me. I know he says I’m Royal Storyteller, but I think I’m a bit more like a royal prisoner, if you understand.” I looked at the crumbs and empty napkins on the table. “A fancy prisoner, but still a prisoner.”

  Braith nodded. “You are wise to understand your situation, Tanwen. You are a captive here. But let me trouble about the king. You work on keeping out of mischief. My father doesn’t suffer mischief well, and I would hate to see anything happen to a friend.”

  I swallowed. Hard.

  “That is a warning, Tanwen,” Braith said with another smile. “Not a threat.”

  I nodded. “I think I understand.”

  “Good. You are right to be wary of speaking freely in the palace, but you needn’t feel that way around me. Or Cameria,” she added, as the maid made her way back into the front room.

  Cameria’s cheeks were flushed, and the black pigment lining her eyes was smudged. She had been crying.

  Braith looked at her quizzically, but then turned back to me. “Tanwen, you have an open invitation to dine at the king’s table any meal you wish. Just summon your guards and someone will escort you. You will hear meals called throughout the palace.”

  “Thank you, Your Highness.” My heart warmed at her offer. “That’s kind of you. Though it’s hard to imagine me eating at the table of the king.”

  Braith smiled. “You’ll learn. Did you know my family was low-born? In fact, you have more high-born blood than I do, since neither of my parents were nobles and one of yours was.”

  My breath caught. I hadn’t realized that. “Seems a bit hard to figure, but I guess it’s true.” Maybe Braith could answer some of my questions. “Highness . . . was my mother . . . I mean, was she a scruffy farm girl from Pembrone, like me?”