Heartless (11 page)

“Well, I . . .” Una did not finish but quietly slid into place. A servant set a plate before her, and she started cutting her meat in silence. Only after she’d cut each piece in half several times over did she dare raise her eyes and ask, “Will Prince Ger . . . Will the princes not dine with us this evening, Father?” She hoped her voice didn’t tremble as much as she suspected it did.

Felix, who was sipping coffee, snorted and burnt his tongue, cupped a hand around his mouth, and bawled for water. During his uproar King Fidel could not speak and Una was left to wonder. But when her brother finally quieted, her father turned to her and said, “Prince Gervais left for his own country early this afternoon.”

Una’s heart stopped a moment. She put a napkin to her face. Left? Already? After only just expressing his feelings to her that morning? She pressed the napkin a little harder to her mouth. Perhaps she had not encouraged him enough? Perhaps he had thought she did not return his affections?

“Will he come back?” she asked.

“I should hope not,” Felix said, gently touching his tongue with thumb and index finger.

Una frowned at her brother. “What do you mean? You liked him well enough last night when you were talking of hunting and sport and such things!”

“My opinion has changed since,” Felix said, squinting at her. “Where have you been all day that you haven’t heard?”

“Haven’t heard what?”

“About his – ”

“Children!” Fidel interrupted. “Felix, this is not common knowledge, and while I know that it soon will be, court gossip being what it is, I would rather you were not the principle source.” He turned to Una. “Certain news reached my ears late this morning concerning the behavior of that young man.”

Una could feel the red blotches rising and dancing over her nose. Had he heard of the song in the garden? Was that somehow improper behavior? It had seemed innocent enough. “Why, Father, I – ”

“It appears that Prince Gervais is currently banished from his father’s house for enormous gambling debts,” Fidel said quietly. “He is not permitted home until he can pay them. Pass the salt, Felix, please?”

Una’s mouth opened and closed again.

“Marriage to a rich princess is a fine way to fast money,” Felix said.

Awkward silence filled the room, broken only by the sounds of Felix cutting his meat.

“Are you sure?” Una asked at last in a small voice.

“Quite,” King Fidel said. “I had heard rumors of his habits before now, of course, but the evidence presented this morning was enough to convince me that I did not want him singing any more love songs in my garden.”

“Did he do that?” Felix asked, looking up from his plate.

“But what evidence, Father?” Una demanded. “A man should not be presumed guilty, and what could possibly – ”

“A promissory note written out to one of Farthestshore’s knights,” Fidel said. “Gervais owes Aethelbald’s servant quite a sum, which he is unable to pay.”

“Aethelbald,” Una whispered.

“Signed and sealed with Gervais’s signet ring.” Fidel shook his head. “The poor boy did not try to deny it but packed up this afternoon with hardly a word. I think the thumping he got in the practice yard may have knocked some of the silver from his tongue.”

Felix chuckled quietly to himself.

Una’s mind, however, could fix on one thing only: Prince
Aethelbald’s
knight. Who but Prince Aethelbald himself would bring this information before the king? Una glared so hard at her coffee that it almost reboiled. “May I be excused, Father?” she asked and rose without waiting for a reply.

“You don’t want your meat?” Felix called after her, but Una did not hear.

There were no servants in the hall, so she stopped and leaned against the wall, her fingers pressed to her temples. This was not how things were supposed to happen! Gervais was supposed to propose. She was supposed to accept. They were supposed to marry and . . .

Her spinning thoughts jarred to a halt. Did she
want
to marry him?

Of course she did. She was in love with him, wasn’t she?

Her thoughts worked up speed and spun on while tears gathered in her eyes.

“Princess Una?”

She looked up. Prince Aethelbald stood before her.

“Are you unwell, princess?” he asked. “Should I summon – ”

She knew he was speaking, but she could not hear for the roaring in her ears. A bundle of words gathered in her throat and burst out in a mad jumble. “What did you could your business
dare
you!” Her eyes burned. “Never want to speak why did you can’t
stand
you!”

“Princess?” He took a step back, his face full of hurt and confusion.

“Are you – ”

“Don’t pretend you knon’t dow – don’t know – what I’m talking about!”

“I don’t presume to know, but I could probably guess,” he admitted.

“Prince Gervais – ”

“What business of yours I’d like to know. What business, well?”

“Princess, I never claimed – ”

“How dare you blacken his name how dare you to my father!” Una wanted desperately to spit out elegant barbs, but all that came out was an emphatic, “Don’t want you mister noble go away not your business!”

If nothing else, her body language was unmistakable. Prince Aethelbald took another step back and bowed. “Princess, I understand – ”

“You don’t!”

“ – your distress, but permit me to defend my – ”

“I don’t want your paltry defense!” she tried to say, though it came out, “I paltry don’t want you!” and she turned on her heel and stormed away.

He followed behind a few paces and spoke quietly. “I did not go to your father, Una. I spoke to Prince Gervais on behalf of my servant to whom the prince owes a great sum. I urged Gervais to speak to King Fidel himself and admit his position, as any honorable man would.”

Una gathered her skirts, tilted her chin, and rushed up the stairs to her rooms, leaving Aethelbald behind.

–––––––

Una passed her evening imagining all the brilliant things she should have said to Aethelbald but didn’t, but jolly well would next chance she got, so help her! They were most of them verbose, all of them witty, and each would have fallen flat if stuttered, but she didn’t consider that. She penned them in her journal and practiced them in her mind until they rolled perfectly off her imaginary tongue and Prince Aethelbald, cowed, crawled into his place.

The thought did nudge the edge of her mind now and then that perhaps Aethelbald had been right. After all, he hadn’t spread rumors. Gervais had done a fine job of blackening his own name.

But she refused to dwell on these thoughts, for she might have come to the conclusion that she owed Aethelbald an apology, and that could not possibly be true.

Nurse was no help.

“Spoiled, money-grubbing wastrel,” she muttered as she tidied the princess’s room. “Thank heaven Prince Aethelbald called him out, the scalawag scamp.”

Una, who sat at her window looking out at the rising moon and writing out the final touches on an exceptionally fine verbal dart, turned on Nurse with a frown. “That’s not what you said about him yesterday. Yesterday you thought him fine and clever.”

“Well, perhaps he is fine and clever,” Nurse said, “but that doesn’t change the rest of him. And the rest of him is a scalawag scamp with no thought for anything but his own pleasure!”

“He did speak to Father himself, though,” Una insisted. “That took courage, don’t you think? Only a fine man would be willing to admit his own shortcomings so humbly.”

“I’m not saying he’s devoid of virtue, but that doesn’t make him less of a shyster, a two-faced . . .”

The flame of love was well and truly smothered in Nurse’s breast.

Una turned back to her window with a heavy sigh and gazed out to the darkening horizon. “Did he really love me, Nurse?” she asked.

“Gambler, debtor, or otherwise, do you think he really loved me?”

“Phfff, what does it matter? Whether he did or not, he loved himself more. Hoping to marry you for money, the scoundrel. . . .”

“Maybe he loved me, though, and didn’t care about the money? Maybe my fortune was only an extra blessing?” Una’s brow puckered. “Do you think that’s possible?”

Nurse shook her head. “Think what you like if it makes you feel better, but I say good riddance to him even so.”

Una slumped, her chin in her hand, and absently stroked Monster, who was curled in her lap and purring, unconcerned whether or not the world crumbled to little pieces.

Maybe I wasn’t worth loving more than himself?

The moon seemed a little less romantic than before.

9

The following morning, Una’s head ached like nobody’s business, and she tried to feign illness as an excuse to stay in bed. Nurse would have none of that.

“But my head is splitting in two!”

“It’s doing a remarkably neat job since I can’t see so much as a seam.”

“A history lecture would kill me today, Nurse. Truly it would!”

“I don’t doubt it. Now, up!”

Was there a time, Una wondered as she plodded to her tutorial, when she had actually wished for more excitement? Not even a week had passed since the Twelve-Year Market had seeped out of the Wood like so much mist before retreating again, leaving in its wake rather a lot of hassle and confusion. If only that wretched Prince of Farthestshore hadn’t come, she might even now be celebrating her engagement to Gervais!

And well along the road to marrying a gambler and debtor.

“Preeeowl?” said Monster, tagging her footsteps.

Una sighed down at him. “I won’t be grateful, cat,” she said. “That Aethelbald had better just take himself and his suit and hightail it back to wherever he came from, because I will not be grateful, heaven help me!”

But she thought it best to discard all thoughts of giving the Prince a tongue-lashing. No, a frosty reserve should achieve the same result and perhaps prevent her from sounding like a fishmonger’s wife. She took her seat in the classroom, vowing a vengeance of absolute silence with all the solemnest oaths she could invent and refusing to look at her brother as he tried to pass her notes.

Monster sat at her feet, sniffing and twitching his whiskers. As the tutor shuffled through his notes, gave that first introductory “Ahem,” and began his lecture on the Imposter’s War and the building of Oriana Palace, the cat made a slinky exit.

–––––––

Monster passed through the halls of Oriana, his tail high as a banner, and the servants made certain not to get in his way, being under strict orders from their princess to “treat him nice.” Thus in that small way, Monster received the respect due a lord, and he accepted this as his right, scarcely deigning to acknowledge those he passed.

He made his way to the barracks and the out-of-the-way quarters where the Knights of Farthestshore had taken up residence. Though as knights they should have been housed in finer chambers within Oriana itself, they knew how uncomfortable their otherworldly presence made the palace folk and chose instead to keep quietly to themselves, avoiding even Fidel’s guards.

Massive Oeric and the smaller knight, Sir Rogan of the grass-green eyes, sparred together in the yard. They parted as Monster passed right between them, rolling their eyes but bowing as he went, though he could see neither gesture. The dark-skinned knight, Sir Imoo, sat on a bench nearby polishing a long dagger, and he rose at Monster’s approach and bowed as well. Only the Prince of Farthestshore, also seated and watching Oeric and Rogan fight, did not rise. To him alone did the cat make reverence.

“Good morning, Eanrin,” said the Prince.

“Good morning, my lord,” said the cat and, after putting up his nose to gauge the height, hopped up onto the bench. “Pray continue,” he said to Oeric and Rogan, and they returned to their sparring. Sir Oeric’s sword was wooden, but the smaller knight used a real blade. Even when he made a hit, there was no chance of its piercing Oeric’s rock-like hide.

Monster groomed a paw some moments while the Prince continued to watch his knights. Then the cat said, “My Prince?”

“Yes, Eanrin?”

“If you don’t mind my saying so . . .”

Aethelbald waited, then gently prodded, “Go on.”

“What you lack – and I mean this in the most respectful sense, you understand.”

“I’m listening,” said the Prince of Farthestshore.

“What you lack,” said the cat, “is confidence. For while you rule the vast stretches of the Far World and master the Wood Between with a powerful hand, from the boundaries of the Netherhills to the stretches of the Final Water and beyond, you simply don’t have the first idea when it comes to women.”

Sir Imoo, intent on his knife, snorted but turned it into a cough.

Prince Aethelbald said, “And what would you suggest?”

“I may be but a humble house pet,” said the cat, “but if there is one thing in which I hold complete confidence, it is the conviction of my own desirability.”

“Spoken like a true cat.”

“No matter how antagonistic the object of my current affections may be, a well-timed purr, a sweet trill, an expertly hunted and scarcely nibbled gift will work magic every time! Consider, my Prince.”

Aethelbald raised an eyebrow. “You suggest I take up mousing?”

“Shrews work well too. I leave toads for Prince Felix. On his pillow.”

“And we all know how great is his affection for you,” muttered Sir Imoo.

Monster acknowledged him with a sniff. “Exactly! And if all else fails, my Prince, you can sing. Every princess loves a chap who will serenade her from the garden on a moonlit night. I do it myself every full moon, filling the night air with the dulcet sounds of my voice!”

“Until the housekeeper throws cold dishwater at you,” said Sir Imoo.

The cat flattened his ears. “That old hag is tone-deaf.”

The prince met Imoo’s gaze over the blind cat’s ears, shaking his head slightly. Then he said to the cat, “Eanrin, much though I appreciate your concern – ”

“I live only to serve, my Prince.”

“ – I think you must let me make my suit in my own way.”

“By circumnavigating the girl at every turn? Mrreeeowl! Is that the spirit that won the undying devotion of Gleamdren the Fair, Queen Bebo’s golden-eyed cousin?”

“And when did you actually win Lady Gleamdren’s devotion? Last I’d heard she was not speaking to you.”

“A minor setback.”

“For the last thousand-odd years.”

“But I sensed a distinct softening in her demeanor when I visited Rudiobus last century. She looked at me once.”

Aethelbald smiled. “She would have found it difficult to throw her shoe at your head without looking at you, Eanrin.”

“Ah yes. You heard about that, eh? The true sign of thawing heart, I tell you! The more antagonistic they seem, the more certain you can be that they are struggling in the deepest throes of turbulent emotion! Believe me, my Prince, I know about these things. Am I not the most celebrated romantic lyricist of all the ages? You can be certain your ladylove is secretly pining away for you, and her sharp tongue and icy face are mere masks to disguise the depths of her feelings! It is your task – nay, your
duty
– to take every opportunity to remind her of your ardent love. Bring her flowers. Write her sonnets. I’ll write them for you if you wish, and you needn’t tell her. It’s sure to work. She’ll get so exhausted refusing you that she’s bound to give in eventually!”

Silence followed, broken only by a
thunk
of the wooden sword and Sir Rogan’s yelped, “Ow!”

Then Prince Aethelbald said, “Eanrin.”

“My Prince?”

“Why don’t you go chase a ball of yarn.”

–––––––

Then it was three weeks later, and summer arrived in a blaze of glory, full of sunshine and buttercups and balmy afternoons.

Una’s mood did not match.

One such afternoon, Una tossed aside her embroidery, grabbed her journal, and escaped outside, ignoring Nurse’s calls for her to mind the sun and not burn her nose and did she remember her hat?

“Bother the sun, and bother my hat,” Una muttered, slipping into the hall. She wanted nothing more than to be left alone and wished for all the world that she could disappear. Yet that was impossible. As she hurried down the hall, she passed innumerable footmen and maids, all of whom bowed or bobbed curtsies as she went by. On her way downstairs she crossed paths with an elderly courtier and his wife, neither of whom she knew, but both of whom bowed and greeted her with, “Good afternoon, Princess Una.”

She remembered once, when she was younger, reading an adventure tale in which the princess heroine had disguised herself and crept out of the palace and into the countryside on a grand and glorious quest. Granted, this had led to rather a lot of unpleasantness for the princess, but Una had been inspired nonetheless.

That very afternoon she had commanded one of her maids to loan her a gown, rubbed ashes from the fireplace all over her hands and face, and taking up the maid’s bucket of dirty water, stepped boldly from her chambers.

The first footman she had encountered had bowed low and asked, “May I help you, princess?”

Una had given up disguises since then.

Out in the gardens, sunlight greeted her, and she tipped her unprotected face up to enjoy its brightness. Let her nose burn! At least it would disguise any blotches.

What she desperately needed, she thought, was half a moment to herself to sort through some of her thoughts. That moment would not happen in her chambers, nor anywhere within Oriana’s walls. Neither were the gardens a suitable place for a girl in need of quiet, for gardeners and their clipping shears abounded, giving her sulky looks as she passed, as though daring her to think she served any useful purpose while they and their ilk labored in the summer sun. She nodded to them and hastened on her way, trying not to call attention to herself.

Clematis and trumpet creeper bloomed bravely against the heat, climbing the southern wall. Una did not want to walk among them today. Flowers, she found, lacked their former romance, ever since a certain serenade in a certain garden. She picked up her skirts and hurried down the path. Blossoms arched with special elegance over Southgate, which was small compared to the main gate on the western side of the palace. Southgate was trafficked only by servants, grocers, and gardeners.

Today as Una approached the gate, she heard shouts, rough and angry. The sounds startled her, and she slipped behind a shrub and wondered if she dared continue her present course. The shouts grew louder.

“Oi! If you don’t let me through, I’ll be certain it gets back to your superior officer, and you’ll wish you’d never – ”

“Right. As though you’ll be on chatting terms with my superior officer. Listen, mister, we don’t let just anyone come trampin’ through here, and anyone who tells you otherwise – ”

Una peered over the shrub and saw two guards at the gate. Guards always stood watch there, but she’d never noticed them until today, for Southgate was such an unobtrusive corner of the palace. But now both guards were growling and struggling, big hands clamped down hard on the arms of the most outlandish character Una could remember ever seeing.

He was dark complexioned, but his outfit dominated any other impression he might give. He was dressed in bright yellow with stripes of red and blue running at all angles throughout the costume. The collar and sleeves were cut in odd triangles and, of all things, had little silver bells tied to the ends of them. Una blinked several times and pulled back behind her shrub.

But the stranger had already seen her.

He lunged forward, almost breaking free of the guards, shouting and holding out a hand. “Lady! Fair lady!” he cried. “You seem of a gentle nature. Tell these blackguards to unhand me – ”

Una ducked away, taking another path before the guards spotted her. She heard several angry shouts and the sound of blows. “And take your hat with you!” one of the guards bellowed.

The iron clang of the gate shutting rang in her ears. Una hurried down the path between snapdragons and lilies, wondering what sort of man could induce the palace’s ever-lenient guards to shut the gates in his face. It felt almost like an invasion or something from a history book. What a terrible thought!

But rather romantic in a way.

Una smiled a little to herself as she made her way deep into the gardens, away from the palace and the gates.

White marble statues of old kings and queens of Parumvir stood at regular intervals down the paths of the seven-tiered garden, with the occasional legendary hero standing bravely between trimmed hedges. On the seventh tier, nearest the edge of Goldstone Wood, was even an old marble statue of the Bane of Corrilond, a long and serpentine dragon. The body was somewhat startling, curling as it did down the side of the path, then arching at the neck so that the jaw could open wide enough for Felix to stick his head inside, as he often did when he and Una walked together. The expression on its face was hardly menacing; it reminded Una of Monster yawning.

It was a quick walk from the top tier to the seventh if one took the cobble stairway cutting directly down and didn’t stop to explore the various levels. Halfway down the hill, the gardens ended abruptly, swallowed up by Goldstone Wood.

Una loved the gardens of her home, but much more she loved the Wood.

To be sure, horses refused to step into its shadow, and men and women trembled at the thought. But to Una, the Wood had always been a place of solitary comfort, filled with memories of her childhood, and these days providing the one place where she knew she would not have to face anyone.

She stepped into it now and breathed deeply. Goldstone Wood smelled old. Not musty or antique. Certainly not like Nurse’s smell of dried lavender, nor even like the smell of the aged books in the library, with their spidery handwriting in faded ink. The Wood’s smell altered according to the season. Now, in early summer, when Una stepped into the shelter of the trees, she took a deep breath of rich, green air, full of health and a hint of some nameless spice that carried up from the sea below.