Pigsty Princess

by Nancy S. Brandt

  She considered visiting the barn to see what Orlando stored inside, but then she noticed a pond beside it.

  The water was calm, almost like a mirror, reflecting the golden fields beyond. Someone worked among the tall stalks, cutting them by swinging some kind of curved implement. The sweet, earthy smell of the grain reached her, and she thought of playing with her sisters in the grass when she was a child.

  In those days, a trip to the Byspell palace had been a holiday. All the girls had been too young to worry about society obligations and looking for husbands. Her father took the throne when Mariana was four years old, so she barely remembered a time when they hadn’t been the royal family. Still, until six years ago, when Liliana made her official debut, the duties of a King’s daughter had been foreign to her.

  Her memories of running in the fields, climbing trees, and splashing in the cold waters of streams near the palace were some of the most precious to her. Seeing the pond brought all those happy feelings back, and she had to take a closer look.

  A pair of ducks floated lazily, oblivious to her approach, and, not wanting to disturb them, she sat in a patch of soft grass near the edge of the water. A few fish swam back and forth just beneath the surface and a warm breeze caressed Mariana’s cheeks and teased the ends of her hair.

  Summer was leaving and soon the weather would turn colder, so she faced the setting sun, as though to absorb the last bit of the season to enjoy later when it was a fading memory.

  Contentment filled her, and she closed her eyes, realizing this was the first time in weeks she actually allowed herself to relax.

  Her life had taken a turn she’d never anticipated, but with it, she’d released a multitude of stress she hadn’t known she held.

  She didn’t have to worry anymore about whether any noble would want to wed an Insensitive, nor did she need to feel guilty that her sister’s chances of an advantageous match were compromised because of her.

  Never again would she have to dance with young dandies who only appeared to like her to gain favor with her father.

  In addition, she’d never have to talk to querulous matrons who hoped she’d be interested in marrying their sons or grandsons. Protocol required she be polite to her elders, regardless of her feelings toward their male relatives. Years of acting interested in things like arthritis or bursitis were gone.

  She felt the weight of those obligations disappear, and she giggled in pure joy. The urge to dance in the grass like a child filled her. She opened her eyes and stood.

  The water of the pond glowed with an amber tint.

  Mariana tilted her head and furrowed her brow, surprised but not concerned. Surely this was a trick of the fading sunlight. For a moment she enjoyed this unexpected gift of beauty.

  Suddenly, the truth of the situation struck her. The sun was setting away from the pond, and the glow of the pond grew in intensity. They couldn’t be related.

  She took a step closer to the water. The light appeared to be from something on the bottom of the pond. Were there rocks in this region that gave off light on their own?

  “Mariana?” Adindira’s voice called from the house.

  Giving the pond one last look, Mariana hurried to the house.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The Soldier’s Flagon sat apart from other businesses in the center of Talla. Emmarine had snatched the property the moment the previous owners had defaulted on their taxes and turned the former candlemaking factory into an upscale restaurant catering to the higher nobility.

  She had yet to entice the royal family to eat in her dining room, and that was her fondest desire. Carefully, she’d cultivated friendships with those nobles close to the throne, knowing her fortune would be made the moment she served the King and Queen.

  If Orlando hadn’t joined the King’s army when they were younger, before she married Riswald, things in Emmarine’s life might have been different. Maybe the two of them could have wed, and none of this maneuvering and intrigue would be necessary.

  For a moment, Emmarine sat back in her padded chair and looked at the ceiling, remembering the days when Orlando had come to Talla to live with his mother after Honoria Geindara had cast him out of her home.

  Of course, in those days, Emmarine didn’t know anything about Orlando’s birth, or not as much as she knew now. She’d never heard the Geindara name or understood what being a Child of the Elements meant. She’d only known Adindira had three brothers until one day she had four and one of them was older than all the others.

  The adults in the village whispered about this new boy who was about ten, bending their heads together whenever the family walked through town. They said he was a “love child,” whatever that meant. Emmarine, who was about seven the first time she saw him, thought it had meant a boy everyone fell in love with.

  She certainly had.

  For almost six years, she’d followed Orlando and his friends around, putting up with the teasing, the reprimands, and the disinterest they put her through just to be near him. Sometimes he talked to her, even walking her back home before dinner so her father wouldn’t yell at her or, worse, at him and call him names.

  Then, one day, all her persistence paid off. She was almost fourteen and he was seventeen when he took her to the town’s spring festival dance.

  Emmarine remembered how proud she’d been when he’d actually knocked on the door of her house and asked her father if he could walk her to the festival and accompany her to the dance. Her father had wanted to refuse because of his parentage, which, by this time, Emmarine almost understood completely.

  She knew Orlando’s mother had loved someone before she married her husband. Emmarine knew where babies came from, had known her whole life or as far back as she could remember; but the mysteries of what went on between a man and woman were still the stuff of whispered giggles with her friends. What any of that had to do with her father’s attitude toward Orlando, she couldn’t completely say

  All she knew was Orlando wanted to be with her at the dance for all the world to see. Fortunately, her mother had been a romantic woman and her pleas changed Emmarine’s father’s mind.

  The dance had been something out of a dream. Orlando was as attentive as any storybook suitor could have been, making sure she had punch and cookies, dancing as much as she wanted, and walking with her on his arm so everyone knew they were together.

  After the dance, as they walked home, they shared their first kisses, and, overcome with feelings she’d never known a woman could feel, Emmarine declared her love for him.

  Gently, Orlando touched her face, kissed her again, and said, “I have to join the King’s army, Em. It’s my duty to make sure Valborough is safe for pretty girls like you.”

  “I can be a soldier’s wife,” she’d blurted, her heart thumping wildly. In the stories, soldiers always died heroically, leaving behind a broken-hearted, tragic widow.

  “My little Emmarine,” he whispered tenderly as he pulled her into an embrace. “You’re growing up, and I’ll be gone. Some other man will take your heart before I can come home to claim it.”

  “No,” she’d cried, and tears had poured down her cheeks. “I will never love anyone else, ever. You have to come home to me.”

  At that point, he’d released her and kissed her nose. Then he’d laughed. Not a mocking laugh, as she wished she could remember it, but a sweet, honest laugh of joy. If he had mocked her, it would be easier, now, to put him out of her mind.

  He might have come home to her, had things gone differently, and Emmarine didn’t like to remember she was the one who grew up and changed.

  Life in Talla became hard during the war. Most of the young men Orlando’s age had gone off to fight, many to die. Cries and wails of grief seemed to fill the air every night as more and more wives, daughters, mothers, and sweethearts heard the news they’d dreaded for months.

  Emmarine’s parents became ill, one after the other, leaving her alone less than a year after Orlando left. At sixtee
n years old, she knew how to plow a field, plant seeds, and harvest corn, but she didn’t know how to live alone.

  Riswald was a wealthy tobacco farmer from the next town who came to Talla twice a year. The next time he visited, less than three months after her father died, he told Emmarine he would take care of her and make sure she was never frightened again.

  Still holding out hope that one day Orlando would return and rescue her, she married him. Riswald was a major supporter of the King and his policies, and when the news of the Battle of Clearlea reached him, he’d cheered at the King’s use of force against what he called “those useless inferiors in the south.”

  Emmarine learned everything she needed to know about politics at his side.

  Now his widow and the owner of her own restaurant, she was secure and confident. Her patrons were only those of the upper classes, and she had made enough money she didn’t need a husband. However, Orlando’s appearance today had gotten her thinking about him and the old days again.

  She was still thinking about the past two days later when Lady Honoria, Sahdess of Geindara entered the building soon after the breakfast crowd had thinned. Emmarine hurried to greet her personally and escort her to a table set on a raised platform at the back of the dining room.

  “Thank you so much for asking to meet with me this morning,” Emmarine said. “May I get you a cup of coffee? I had the beans freshly ground this morning.”

  “Coffee beans?” Sahdess Geindara raised a single superbly groomed eyebrow. “Where were they grown?”

  Emmarine’s smile faltered a bit and sweat broke out on her forehead. She didn’t know the answer to the question, and mentally she berated herself for it. The Sahdess was a Flora Sensitive, and of course she would know where the most flavorful beans were grown. It had been a stupid mistake to offer her the beverage. Even after all this time of dealing with nobles, Emmarine still had trouble understanding Sensitivities and the implications of them.

  “Never mind,” the noblewoman said, adjusting the delicate green lace at the end of her velvet sleeve. “I don’t have much time. As you know, my husband’s son recently wed Progenna Mariana. I plan to stop by and visit them today. Offer my congratulations, as it were.”

  “You’re going to visit him? At his pig farm?” The restaurant owner bit her lip. The Sahdess couldn’t know about Orlando’s politics.

  “Is that a problem, Emmarine? Surely you’ve welcomed the new member of the royal family into your restaurant. You, being a pillar of this community, must set an example. I would hate to see my fruit travel all the way back to Aldlake instead of being served to my friends here.”

  Emmarine swallowed. Had she made a tactical mistake ignoring that the King’s daughter now lived in Talla? She should have been the first one to introduce herself. “Of course. Of course. I was planning a reception for the newlyweds for next week.”

  “After the Cup? Why would you wait so long?” Eyebrows raised, Lady Honoria surveyed the nearly empty dining room. “It isn’t the restaurant that is keeping you so busy. Wouldn’t you want the royal family to know you went out of your way to introduce the Progenna to the village? I know you’re eager to have them dine here.”

  Emmarine hoped the trembling in her hands wasn’t as obvious to her guest as it felt to her. Orlando was the leader of the rebels, and while that wasn’t common knowledge, she couldn’t be seen to favor his cause. Her business would be ruined if anyone thought she was taking sides against the King.

  However, Mariana was the Progenna, and if Emmarine appeared to snub her and her new husband, would the King find out and decide to never patronize the restaurant?

  “Do you think it would be better before the races?” she asked, her mind whirling in fear. What could she do? She couldn’t afford to anger the Geindaras. Their orchard produced the sweetest fruit in the region.

  “I’m sure you’ll make the right decision.” Lady Honoria stood. “I must be going. I’ll send six bushels of cherries in a day or so. Perhaps you’ll make those lovely pies. We’ll want five for our Cup fete.”

  “Of course. Of course.” Emmarine walked the noblewoman to the door, trying to look more composed than she felt. She was going to have to find a way to please both sides in this political game, and she wasn’t sure she had the skill to do it.

  ****

  Orlando and about twelve other men sat in a corner of his barn. There was a small hole in one of the boards, through which he could see his house.

  These were the rebels Traren and Hamneth were able to round up from the tunnels. Many of them had refused to come into town with the increased Guard presence and the extra attention the nobles paid to Talla because of the Eltano Cup races.

  In the past, the raid planning at this time of year took place in those tunnels, which once had been part of a copper mine, but that would have required Orlando be away from home until the middle of the night, if he chose to come back to the farm at all. Normally he wouldn’t have, and Adindira and Elnys would have their boys take care of the pigs.

  How could he have explained all that to Mariana?

  Already, the rebels who agreed to meet here had come by twice in the last three nights, and as far as his wife knew, he was just working in the barn.

  From here, he could see her sitting by the fire. He’d left her there when Traren came by to remind him of this meeting. Had she started dinner? Dira had been by today to teach her how to cook a chicken, but Orlando had left before the lesson finished.

  Was she waiting for him to come in so they could eat together, or was the food still cooking? What was she doing, sitting in that chair? Surely she didn’t expect him to tell her what to do every day?

  “Orlando, we need a plan.” Traren tapped him on the shoulder. “The Eltano Cup is in five days. There is a party tonight in one of the outlying estates. We could have had men at the stables to relieve some of the attendees of their gold. We’re late this year.”

  “Surely that pretty little wife of yours could be of some use in this,” one of the men said. His name was Odel. “She must be able to get us closer to some of the bigger purses.”

  “We’re not using her.”

  “What?” Odel scowled. “What’s the point in having her here? It doesn’t make any sense to not take advantage of all our resources.”

  “She is my wife,” Orlando said. “She’s not a resource.”

  “That’s not what I hear. Her being your wife.” Odel smirked and elbowed the man next to him. “At least, not in every sense of the word.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Orlando glared at the man. Why had he agreed to letting him come to these meetings? Odel was a hothead with a loudmouth wife. She wasn’t always careful who she talked to, and Orlando was sure Odel was pretty free with information to her.

  It was one thing to let Odel keep watch while the rebels counted the money they stole, or help distribute food to some of the poorer families. It was another thing entirely to let him in on all the planning and preparation.

  “Donya saw you heading to the barn last night, long after supper.” Odel shook his head. “The princess is a mite skinny but it doesn’t make sense you wouldn’t take your husbandly rights. I mean, you even have the King’s permission.”

  Orlando clenched his jaw. Odel didn’t know about his parentage or his Blood Sensitivities. He wouldn’t understand why Orlando couldn’t afford to risk bonding with Mariana.

  “What was Donya doing watching my house that late after supper anyway?” He cocked his head and studied the other man. “Maybe her eye was wandering a bit. Trouble at home?”

  Odel’s face became red with anger, and he hefted himself to his feet.

  Elnys jumped in between the two men. “Let’s not get stupid here. We’re all on the same side. Whatever Orlando did or didn’t do isn’t any of our business. Mariana is his wife. Let’s just leave it at that.”

  Odel reluctantly sat back down on a bale of hay. “The King always has a couple of horses running in the r
aces, and he always hosts the grand opening banquet and ball. Why shouldn’t his daughter and her new husband attend? Surely this gives us an unprecedented opportunity to empty a few noble pockets.”

  Traren nodded, to Orlando’s surprise. “I hate to admit it, but Mud for Brains over there has a point.”

  “Hey,” Odel cried.

  Traren ignored him and continued talking. “We’ve never been able to get close to any of the actual parties before, let alone the races themselves. Thousands of gold pieces are won and lost on every race that day. Why shouldn’t we get a share?”

  Orlando shook his head. “The village benefits from the increased trade. Let’s not push our luck.” Running into his father and stepmother was reason enough for him to want to stay as far away from any party or the racetrack as possible. That could only be one awkward family reunion.

  “It’s not enough, and you know it,” Traren said. He knew Orlando’s history and the two of them disagreed every year about this. Odel’s comments were only an excuse to assert his feelings about it.

  “The King raises the taxes for the week of the race to recoup whatever he loses. We need to take some kind of action.” Traren met Orlando’s eyes. “I, for one, am tired of sitting on the sidelines while our own pockets are picked. We need to do some picking ourselves.”

  Orlando stared at his second in command. “What do you suggest I do? Even if Mariana agrees to attend the races, which isn’t assured given how things ended with her father, what can I do on my own?”

  Odel shrugged one shoulder. “You can sneak a few of us into the race area. It should be fairly simple to take out the men taking the bets and put our own people in.”

  “That’s a good idea,” one of the other men said. “It could work.”

  The men gathered in his barn murmured and nodded. The only one who didn’t seem to be in agreement was his brother-in-law.

  “I’ll ask her if she thinks we can get into one of the parties,” Orlando said, silently praying to whatever Elemental Spirit still listened to him that nothing disastrous happened as a result. “I’m not promising anything.”