Heartless (10 page)

Una paused there, wondering if what she’d just said had made a lick of sense. Judging from Prince Aethelbald’s face, it hadn’t. “Well, now you know,” she finished, and took fistfuls of her skirts, preparing to sweep grandly past him.

But he sidestepped to block her way. “Princess,” he said gently, “please believe me when I say that I care for you and am only concerned for your well-being.”

“You can stop concerning yourself. My being is well enough, thank you. Good morning.”

To her relief, he let her go. She crunched on up the path to the palace, telling herself that she wouldn’t look back. Heaven help her, she would
not
turn around to see whether or not he was still watching her!

But she did.

And he was.

Grinding her teeth, Una fled to her chambers, determined never to leave them again.

8

Trailing attendants behind, Felix hunted for Aethelbald in the practice yard. He saw the Prince of Farthestshore standing near the barracks, talking to one of his knights. His wooden sword slapping against his leg as he ran, the boy hurried across the yard. As he drew near, he realized that the knight standing before Aethelbald was not one of the three he remembered seeing at the banquet hall a few evenings ago. This one was tall and slender, with hair as golden as a dandelion. He turned as Felix neared, and the young prince came to a halt in surprise.

The knight’s eyes were both covered by silk patches.

Felix remained frozen where he stood, and the blind knight turned back to the Prince, speaking in a voice bright and merry but with an underlying edge. “Can’t say that I trust him a great deal, my Prince,” he said. “Begging your pardon, but he doesn’t have the most dependable reputation.”

“I’m not sure you’re one to talk,” the Prince said. “Gambling, Sir Eanrin!”

“Call it a bit of surreptitious research, my Prince,” the knight said.

“All in your service, of course.”

“Of course.”

“But I don’t mind saying I’d like to get what he owes me. I won a good deal off that scoundrel and have not yet heard the clink of gold.”

“I’ll take care of it immediately,” Aethelbald said. “Return to your duties. And, Eanrin?”

“My Prince?”

“No more surreptitious research for my benefit, please.”

“Your wish is my command, my Prince!” The blind knight gave an elegant bow and, after turning his face momentarily toward Felix and wrinkling his nose, swept from the barracks yard.

Aethelbald looked down at Felix.

“Who was he?” Felix asked. “What was that about?”

“No one and nothing concerning you, Prince Felix,” Aethelbald replied.

He looked at the sword at Felix’s side. “Have you come to practice?”

Felix grinned and drew the practice sword, pointing it at Aethelbald’s chin. “Do you feel brave, Prince of Farthestshore? I think I might trounce you today!”

Aethelbald’s mouth turned up in a half smile, but he shook his head.

“I must settle some important business first. Perhaps later.”

“Why later?” Felix said. “You’re here now! The business will wait for a match or two.” He heard one of his attendants snort and glared back at the three of them. They assumed straight faces and pretended to be interested in other things in the yard. Felix whirled back to Aethelbald and said in a lower voice, “They don’t think you’ll practice with me again. They think you were just making a fool of me yesterday and are now bored of me.”

Aethelbald eyed them, then turned back to Felix, pushing aside the wooden sword still pointed at his face. “What do you think?”

“I think you’re scared to spar with me! I think you’re afraid I’ll beat you this time!”

Aethelbald shook his head. “Baiting doesn’t work on me, Prince Felix,” he said and started across the yard.

Openmouthed, Felix watched him go, then suddenly brandished his sword and called, “Fine! Be a coward!” Listening to the snickers of his attendants, he turned and, growling like a hurt dog, lunged at one of the practice dummies so hard that it nearly fell off the pole. “Don’t need you anyway,” he muttered, rolling his shoulder muscles and twisting his neck. He took first position and prepared to spring at the dummy again.

“A fine stance,” a thickly accented voice cried. “You have surely been trained by a master, Prince Felix.”

Felix paused, his sword arm suspended before him. Prince Gervais stood at the edge of the yard, his fists planted on his hips and a long sword sheathed at his side. Felix nodded curtly and completed his lunge, less vigorous than the last one but more precise. He smiled, tight-lipped, admiring his own work.

Gervais applauded. “Very nice, young sir,” the Prince of Beauclair cried. He stepped into the yard, removing his sword belt as he did so. “Tell me, Felix, have you another practice sword? I should be honored to spar with you if you are willing.”

Felix looked at the smiling prince and recoiled at the idea of a match with him. Every movement Gervais made was full of a dancer’s grace, just the sort of form Felix’s own master had been struggling to beat into him over the last few years. But his attendants were watching and whispering to each other again. Felix felt his hackles rise, but he said, “I’m willing if you are, Prince Gervais.”

Gervais smiled at the boy, a smile that Felix wanted to smack off his face, and called to one of the guards. “Bring me a weapon.” He set aside his own sword and took the wooden one offered to him. Felix watched him stretch a few moments, and his heart sank. Even in his stretching exercises, Gervais had the look of a master.

The two princes took positions across from each other and saluted. Immediately after, Gervais’s sword arm extended, his torso inclining forward, his hand rising to shoulder level as he advanced. His movements were so quick and fluid that Felix could only just parry and leap back, avoiding a touch by inches. His heart quickened, pounding in his throat as adrenaline rushed through his veins. Their swords crossed, wood thunking heavily on wood. Felix parried three times, a fourth, and then felt the slap of the sword on his leg. It hurt, and he bit back a curse behind a grimace.

“Good,” Gervais said, still smiling. “You are skilled, young prince, most skilled. Again?”

Felix could not refuse in front of his father’s guard and his sneering attendants. He saluted the prince, their swords crossed again, and this time Gervais broke through his defense in a moment, touching him hard on the shoulder. Felix turned away, cursing under his breath, his ears red with embarrassment.

“Come, you cannot be finished,” Gervais cried. “You are doing so well, Prince Felix.”

Felix could hear the laughter behind his voice, and the blood roared angrily in his head. He saluted, assumed first position, and this time was quick enough to go on offensive first, surprising the other prince for a moment. But Gervais laughed even as their swords met, and the next moment Felix felt a hard slap against his thigh.

“Indeed, you will make a fine swordsman someday,” Gervais said.

“Again, Prince Felix?”

Nothing in this world seemed half as important as permanently removing that grin from Gervais’s face. But Felix knew after three encounters that he couldn’t hope to touch the Prince of Beauclair. They crossed swords again.

“When I defeated the Count of Elbeuf,” Gervais said, “the most famous swordsman in his demesne, I performed just this maneuver.” He feinted, Felix fell for it, and the next moment was struck hard on the arm. “Again, Prince Felix?”

Felix ran through his mind any possible ways he might decline and yet retain an inch of dignity, and found there were none. He saluted, and they engaged.

“When I encountered the Baron Dronhim of Milden,” Gervais said, “I tried this.”

Felix attempted to parry but was too slow, and the wooden sword hit his other arm. He wondered how many bruises his attendants would count and snicker over when they helped him to dress that evening.

“Again, Prince Felix?”

“A moment!” Felix panted, turning and stalking a few paces away to catch his breath. He placed a hand on his side, where a cramp was developing. Closing his eyes, he growled between his teeth, “If she marries that goblin’s son, why I’ll . . .”

He opened his eyes and saw Aethelbald standing a few yards away, arms crossed. Aethelbald looked at him, his mouth a straight line across his face, and raised his eyebrows.

Felix drew in a deep breath and turned back to Gervais. “I’m ready, prince,” he said and saluted.

Gervais smiled that brilliant beam of his and saluted back. Then he lunged. Felix’s feet moved in the intricate pattern he’d practiced yesterday, a little clumsy but just quick enough, and his sword arm darted out. He staggered at the end but turned his head to watch Gervais’s wooden sword fly through the air and clatter in the gravel behind him.

Even the attendants stopped whispering.

Felix leapt forward and smacked Gervais, who was still recovering his feet, hard on the thigh. “Touch!” he cried. “Match!”

Gervais swore roundly and backed away, rubbing his thigh. “What did you do?” he demanded.

Felix grinned at him and shrugged. “I disarmed you! Another, Prince Gervais?”

Gervais swore again, under his breath this time, and went to retrieve his own sword from the edge of the yard, leaving the wooden sword where it lay. “Enough for today, Prince Felix,” he said. “Perhaps again tomorrow. We shall see.”

He buckled his sword belt about his waist and strode from the yard without another word, passing Aethelbald. The Prince of Farthestshore put out a hand to arrest him and said something too low for Felix to overhear. But Felix did not care. Inside he was bursting, and it took all his concentration to maintain a cool air as he scooped up Gervais’s practice sword and went to put it away.

“When I defeated the swaggering prince of Beauclair,” he whispered, smiling fiendishly, “I used
this
little maneuver. . . .”

–––––––

Una spent most of the rest of the day inside working at her tapestry. It felt safer inside. Safer from what, she could not say, but safer for sure. Nurse was discerning enough to sense that her princess was in a delicate state of mind and let her alone, though she did notice that Una tangled her thread rather more than usual.

Una hardly saw her work. She kept reliving the events in the garden that morning and found, to her frustration, that she could not enjoy the memory of Gervais’s romantic song, overshadowed as it was by Aethelbald’s rudeness.

How dare he take her hand like that? Pretending concern! As if she wouldn’t know if she had damaged her own hands.

Monster hopped into her lap and started chewing on her thread. Una watched him do it without seeing until he had unraveled half an armored bean man. Coming to herself suddenly, Una growled, “Monster, you beast!” She tossed the cat over the arm of the chair, then set to embroidering with more will than ever, determined to dwell on Prince Gervais.

He would speak to her father, wouldn’t he? Of course he would. Why waste any time? He loved her, so he would talk to Father, and things would all be settled by suppertime.

Granted, he hadn’t actually asked for her hand, not in so many words. But how else could a girl interpret such a song as Prince Gervais had sung to her in the garden?

Una tried to stop the frown that pulled at the corner of her mouth, but it slipped into place anyway. Her thread tangled again, and she pulled it so tight that the poor embroidered man’s face twisted grotesquely.

Tonight there was to be another dinner. Gervais was a man of such nobility and prestige that one state dinner could not possibly suffice. There would be another dinner, and all the court would be gathered, and her father would announce her engagement. The applause would be thunderous; she could feel blotches sprouting at the thought. Prince Gervais, of course, would take it all in stride. Everyone would cheer, and he would smile, and . . .

I wonder what Prince Aethelbald will think.

Her thread broke when Una tugged too hard, and she was obliged to find her little scissors. She began snipping with more energy than was altogether necessary.

I don’t care what Prince Aethelbald will think
.

He would leave, of course. Tomorrow morning, presumably, after the announcement was made. He would march into the Wood, just as peculiarly as he had come, and she would never see him again.

“And that will be for the best,” she muttered as she put a new knot at the end of her thread.

“What’s that, Miss Princess?” Nurse asked, looking up from her needlepoint dragon.

“Nothing.”

Una started adding silver to the helmet of her newest soldier, a fierce-looking fellow who brandished a slightly crooked sword at the scarlet thread flames billowing toward him. But she did not see the exciting scene before her. Instead she stood once more in the Rose Garden, listening to the song as clearly as if Gervais still sang it. She felt the tightness of breath when the dashing prince stood so near. And she still felt the pound of her heart when she recognized Aethelbald coming up the path.

I wonder what he thought when he saw us together.

But of course she didn’t care about that.

That evening Nurse allowed Una to wear her second-best dress, which was thankfully a little less cumbersome than the best dress. Una made hardly a sound as Nurse put her together and styled her hair. She needed to look exceptional for the dinner, and while she did not feel very pretty in her finery, she would have to trust the Parumvir fashion experts, for tonight her engagement would be announced.

–––––––

When Una came to the dining hall, she found it locked up, no sign of a feast or festival anywhere. Frowning, she made her way to the smaller private dining room used by her family most evenings. The footman standing at the door opened it to let her enter, and to her surprise Una found only her father and brother in the room, already eating.

“What are you all made up for?” Felix asked around a mouthful.