Now, in his own reign, King Ras-Far had to concede that the covert antagonism was out in the open, needle sharp and pricking! He wondered how many days would pass before the needles became knives, and the needle pricks, open bloody wounds. Already several minor provinces were battling over trifling issues, such as fences, and an inch or two of ground. El Dorraine had not known a real war, not in Far-Awn’s long reign. And not in his time would Ras-Far allow blood spilled on the ground to spoil the God-given blessings that were theirs.
His long, grim face made the princess place her hand consolingly on his arm, interrupting Ras-Far’s flowing river of anxieties. “Father, you look so troubled and sad. Is the situation really that serious? Hate was much too strong a word for me to use. Maybe only dislike would be more appropriate.” She smiled and looked at him with so much loving warmth, Ras-Far smiled too.
“And Father, I will go to that ball after all. To take that sad grim look from your face, and give you perhaps happier days ahead, I will be as sweet as honeyed jelly to one and all! Hidden inside of me is a whole storage bin of grace and charm that shall radiate throughout the ballroom. I’ve been saving it for something special, and maybe this is the occasion. The shining light of my favor will erase completely the thoughts I’ve overheard some express, that your daughter is haughty and arrogant, remote and cold, without sensitivity or heart.”
Both of the king’s large hands were caught in her small ones, and she whirled him around the terrace.
“I will dance with every country bumpkin, and flirt with every petty official, even if he has warts on his chin, and hair flowing from his nose. I will be so dazzling that only son of the bakaret from Rai-Caitin, will feel a flame of desire for me blaze so raging high it will never be blown out, even from the fiercest winds sent from both bays!”
“There is no reason for you to pump your balloon so high, Sharita,” Ras-Far stated drily, though secretly he was amused and pleased. “Just being your normal polite and friendly self will be sufficient.”
“Normal and polite friendly self—when, if ever, did that kind of personality ensnare a man, especially one of his ilk?”
“Ilk?” snapped Ras-Far. “They are not barbarians—they only wish to make us think they are! And don’t you dare try to ensnare that poor boy—that is the last complication I want. You know I don’t want you to marry one of them.”
Sharita laughed at the paradox Ras-Far gave her. “But I thought that was the purpose of this ball. And I think you are much too generous with them, Father. Personally, I consider them uncivilized, degenerate, and uncouth—why they possibly even smell bad!”
For the first time in many days, the king threw back his head and roared with laughter; delighted to see his daughter so animated and alive—even if it was only in bad temper, for it made her human. This way she wasn’t a cold, detached, remote princess on a pedestal.
“My dear girl, to my knowledge, you have never met a person from Lower Dorraine. How can you possibly know what they are like?”
“People talk, Father, and I do have ears. The news-reflector shows, Father, and I do have eyes. And with the knowledge gained by my ears and eyes, I do have a brain that can assimilate facts and form conclusions.”
This time Ras-Far refused to be charmed, and he spoke with gravity: “Now, I am very serious, Sharita. This is not a matter of levity, and I am going to speak to you honestly. You are a beautiful, intelligent, and charming person—when you choose to be. Unfortunately, you don’t often choose to be. You are much too exclusive here on your high pinnacle with your little pets for friends. Your apartment sees too much of you, and we on the lower levels see too little. Come down and join us, maybe you’ll discover those that live on lower levels are not mere insects, but as intelligent and human as you are. Let our peoples know you, learn to know them; after all, one day you will be their queen.” He turned his eyes away, for she appeared hurt, injured by the one person she fully trusted.
“And Sharita, never pass your judgment on anyone, or anything, until you yourself have seen and listened with those so-observing eyes, and so-discerning ears. Seek the truth for yourself, and ignore the gossip and rumors, and what you see on the news-reflector. Remember that it too can be biased in our favor, since we control it. And when your eyes and ears have given you the facts, use your heart as well as your brain when you draw conclusions. Try sometimes putting yourself in the place of a Lower Dorrainian, and thinking abut us from their vantage point. We are inclined to think of the Founder as all perfect. But Grandfather Far-Awn was only human too. He made mistakes. When he came back with the pufars, immediately a delegation should have been sent underground to the lowerlands, taking with them a huge supply of the fruit and seeds. Instead, everyone here became so enthralled with the good life that those poor starving people below us were completely forgotten. I can’t blame them for feeling some resentment. We should have worked together in those first days, growing side by side in equal ratio. If we could turn back the clock and do things over, that’s the way I would have it.”
During all of this, Sharita bowed her head, feeling contrite and ashamed. When her father finished speaking, she raised her head with tears in her eyes. “You are right, Father, about everything. I will try to be different, and see their point of view.” Through her tears she smiled radiantly, throwing her arms about Ras-Far and looking up into his face. “You are a very wise man, and deserve to be king. I hope you reign forever!”
Ras-Far looked down at her lovely face, a queer queasiness in the pit of his stomach. Forever was such a long, long time.
That night, Ras-Far and La Bara sat on twin golden thrones on a dais at the far end of a mammoth oval ballroom. Stylized versions of the fluted pufar leaves shaped the high backs of the thrones, and clever carvings of the puhlet features designed the arms and legs of the splendid gleaming chairs.
La Bara wore the scarlet gown, though it did make her look greener, and she was magnificently royal in her shimmering gown, her sparkling jewels, and the high diamond crown. Beneath that impressive crown was the reddest and thickest hair in all of Upper and Lower El Dorraine.
The slick, mirror-bright floor was of iridescent crystal, rocks that abounded naturally all over the wild countryside. Chains of sparkling raindrop crystals were draped across the spacious room, casting and reflecting the glimmerings of ten thousand burning candles, for it was agreed by everyone there were no lights as romantic and festive as candles burning. Triple tiers of balconies rimmed the oval room, and three flights of winged spiraling staircases fanned gracefully to the three levels. Crimson, scarlet, rose, and pink flowers were banked in lush profusion under tall gold-framed mirrors. The footmen and official palace guards wore brilliant uniforms of red, gold, and white. Red was the color of the evening’s decor, to flatter the queen’s scarlet gown.
Splendid white marble columns rose to towering heights to support a vaulted ceiling painted with murals. But there were skylight openings in between the colorful scenes so the purple-plum heavens could be seen. The sky glittered with twinkling stars. The tiny triple moons beamed their rays of bluish green silver, gilding each rooftop, leaf, and petal.
Beautifully gowned women danced in the arms of equally glorious males, for a palace ball was the time to wear the best one had. Lilting music played from the first balcony orchestra, while two other orchestras awaited their turns.
This was the scene that Ras-Far watched as he sat on his throne and waited for the bakaret from Rai-Caitin, with his son. Sharita had not yet made her appearance. Ras-Far chewed his lower lip with the fear that she might not show up at all; though she had promised, she was also capricious, willful, and totally spoiled. If she disappointed him tonight, by the Gods, he would marry her off to the first man that asked tomorrow!
5
At the Ball
Standing at the top of the stairs centering the ballroom, Dray-Gon was nervously overwhelmed by the magnificence of the scene spread below. He had come, against his will, prepar
ed for opulent grandeur, but what he saw went far beyond his wildest expectations. Compared to this regal elegance, he could understand now what was meant when some said that Lower Dorraine was somewhat gauche and garish. He felt a fool in the clothes he wore, wishing now he had held back more stubbornly when his father talked him into this.
His father, Ron Ka, nudged him sharply, and whispered, “Hold on to yourself, boy! You are too obviously impressed. We didn’t come here for that!”
Because they were there at the stairs, almost ready to descend, an unseen signal was given, and blaring horns sounded. The dance below drew abruptly to an end. The milling crowd assembled swiftly into long double rows leading from the center staircase to the throned dais. The palace guests stood quietly poised as the royal purple was spread on the glimmering opaline floor.
Every face lifted to Ron Ka and his son. The deep booming voice of the palace steward proclaimed loud and clear: “Presenting the bakaret Ron Ka from the province of Rai-Caitin, and his son, Dray-Gon.”
With his father, Dray-Gon slowly descended the winged staircase, very conscious of the many pairs of eyes directed solely on them. Eyes he knew that were critical and disapproving. “Do everything slowly,” his father had instructed, “and don’t look from right to left. For some reason that is frowned upon.” His father had been to Far-Awndra often, and knew their strange, formal ways.
In unison, side by side, Ron Ka and Dray-Gon marched down the royal purple aisle to the foot of the dais, where they both bowed very low before they were introduced once again, this time solely to the king and queen. Ron Ka and his son bowed once more with stiff reluctance.
Their reluctance to give this sign of obeisance was noticed, of course, by everyone. Ras-Far chose to ignore it, and spoke in very cordial, friendly tones: “We welcome you once again to our city, Ron Ka. And Dray-Gon, it is with great pleasure we meet you for the first time…and I am hopeful it will not be the last.”
Ron Ka was not to be deceived by the warmth of the king’s reception and his easy smile that seemed genuine. He responded in a loud, hard voice, “We are grateful to be allowed here. My son is most anxious to meet the Princess Sharita, whose beauty we have heard much of.” Ron Ka glanced significantly at the smaller throne place next to the king’s, where no one sat. “I see that she is not here, as usual. Perhaps she is only a myth after all.”
The listening audience, ears keened forward, all gasped in shocked unison! How crude! How forward to ignore the social amenities! How base and unpolished to speak so directly! The absence of the princess should have been politely ignored. But of course, considering who they were, it was only to be expected.
Appearing unruffled, Ras-Far spoke again, with just as much friendly warmth: “My daughter will be very flattered when she learns that her beauty is praised in Lower Dorraine.” He smiled with great charm, and said in a lower, more intimate way, “However, Sharita is a typical female, seeking always to draw attention to herself by being the last to enter.” Ras-Far did not flicker an eyelash when he uttered this untruth. The late arrival wasn’t contrived, for he knew his daughter despised the practiced maneuvers of the female coquette…at least until now, he had believed she did.
The trumpeting horns sounded again. All heads turned again toward the centering staircase as the booming voice of the palace steward proclaimed: “Presenting the Princess Sharita, great-granddaughter of the Founder King, daughter to our King Ras-Far, and heir to the throne of Upper and Lower Dorraine.”
As all faces tilted upward, awaiting her arrival, retainers in their splendid uniforms of red, gold, and white swung open high-arched double doors, and a slender figure appeared and glided to the head of the staircase. She paused dramatically, giving time for everyone to appraise her thoroughly.
Not a single pair of eyes devoured her more hungrily than did those of Dray-Gon. Never had he seen anyone so breathtakingly lovely, so exquisitely beautiful! She was a thousand times more ravishing in life than in the hundreds of pictures he had seen of her. Suddenly he was very glad to be here, though his heart hesitated and almost stopped before it began anew, racing hard and fast.
Sharita was dressed all in white, with only a rim of silver edging the fluted hem of her long skirt, and silver delicately banded her small waist. Her hair was so pale and lustrous, it caught colors from the crystal refractions, appearing to the dazzled eyes of Dray-Gon to be made of gossamer fire opals.
Gracefully slow, she descended the stairs, and with the deliberate practice of majesty, she glided toward him on the path of royal purple. Now Dray-Gon could see that her eyes were violet, almost blue…and her skin a pale saffron cream. So it was true; her fabled complexion was not citron like all others. Caught in the heady spell of enchantment, Dray-Gon could only stare at the vision that was to him all that was beautiful and exotic—and out of his reach.
His father whispered in his ear, loud enough for everyone nearby to hear, “She is far too pale—looks unhealthy to me.”
Preoccupied with far different thoughts, Dray-Gon didn’t hear.
“She’s skinny too—look at those narrow hips—giving birth would kill her,” whispered Ron Ka again, even louder, making sure eager ears would hear.
Sharita heard, as did the king and queen, and others. Inwardly Ras-Far groaned. He had to hand it to Ron Ka; he was an expert at being obnoxious. Ignoring Ron Ka and his son, the princess greeted her parents with two graceful curtsies, then seated herself on the small empty throne beside her father’s. Her small glittering crown was only one-third the size of her mother’s. The minister of protocol stepped forward then to make the formal introductions, interrupting Ron Ka’s whispered comment on how a strong wind would floor the princess.
The greetings exchanged were as tree fringes rustling in the winds, for Dray-Gon’s head and heart were awhirl. He heard only the soft low tones of the princess—not the words, just the lyrical sound. “Say something, Dray-Gon!” ordered his father in a harsh impatient whisper. But his son was speechless. His father swore softly in the long, intense, and awkward silence. “Say anything, idiot! Don’t just stand there!”
Frantically Dray-Gon made an attempt. All the phrases so carefully rehearsed went flittering by as he blanked out totally. He stammered, he blushed, he grew more confused with each horrible silent passing moment. He wished lightning would strike and he could sink through the floor, and run from the fool he was making of himself. This was worse than any nightmare he had suffered as a child.
“Why, this is a comic parody,” Sharita thought. “He actually is the country bumpkin!” Her scornful eyes flicked to meet with her father’s. His stern commanding look spoke in a way she clearly understood.
Moving her eyes once more to Dray-Gon, Sharita felt a touch of compassion. He was so obviously embarrassed, and thousands of people were watching, judging. Her eyes swept over his face, his figure, noticing his broad shoulders, his slim hips and long legs—and dreadful clothes. His hair was such a dark auburn it appeared almost plum-black in the shadows. His discomfort grew even worse under her discerning survey, so that beads of perspiration stood out on his brow.
She sighed, for him, for herself. Well, even puhlet murderers were human—and more than a little bit handsome.
“The son of bakaret Ron Ka must feel as uncomfortable as I do when so many curious and strange eyes are watching his every movement. That is the very reason why balls like this are such rare occasions in my life. Customarily I prefer my private rooms. But now I feel very much like dancing. Will you dare to dance with an awkward princess, Dray-Gon, who will probably step on your toes a number of times?” Then, without waiting for his response, perhaps afraid he still couldn’t manage a voice, she rose and offered him her hand.
At last Dray-Gon could speak. “You couldn’t possibly be anything but graceful, your highness.”
Sharita held to Dray-Gon’s arm as they walked to the center of the ballroom floor. Ras-Far signaled a conductor, and the music began. Protocol ruled that royalty
dance alone for the first three minutes, and it was only then that other dancers joined them in the execution of some rather fancy steps.
“Your son may not be an articulate courtier, Ron Ka,” Ras-Far observed, “but he is certainly a very graceful and talented dancer.”
“Of course, your majesty. We in Lower Dorraine are all gifted in frivolous lines.”
“But they do make a lovely couple,” La Bara said in her breathless way. “I am crazy about tall men. I recall the first time I saw my husband. He towered above everyone else, and he had the most beautiful smile. He didn’t seem at all like a prince.”
“Is that a compliment?” asked the king teasingly.
“Of course it’s a compliment,” La Bara replied, “I thought you would be stiff and boring; instead you were shy and charming, and I think I loved you right from the start. Oh, how I wish I were as young as Sharita is now, and you were dancing with me for the first time.” She heavily sighed, for Ras-Far refused to dance now, claiming he was too old, when she knew different.
“In your scarlet gown, La Bara, you look as lovely and young as any woman should,” Ras-Far complimented lightly. “But after years and years of nightly balls, I have grown weary of the pastime: why not dance with an expert? I’m sure Ron Ka would enjoy a twirl around the floor to show off his expertise.”
“Really!” his wife’s eyes scolded him. Ras-Far knew he would hear more of this later.
Silently, without grace, Ron Ka extended his arm and led the queen to the floor, saying nothing as he caught her in his arms and vigorously exerted his skill. Despite her reluctance to dance with this man, La Bara began to enjoy herself, following skillfully every one of his efforts to make her appear clumsy. “Well, I didn’t think you had it in you,” said Ron Ka drily when the dance was over, and everyone was applauding.
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