Heartless (14 page)

“Ah, yes,” King Fidel said, coming out of his doze and nodding to Leonard. “I’d almost forgotten. I asked you to entertain us tonight, didn’t I?”

“Quite so, Your Majesty,” Leonard replied. He was clad still in the boldly striped yellow costume and somehow looked more ridiculous than ever in the context of the familiar sitting room. He carried a lute not unlike Prince Gervais’s.

Una, glad to quit the privacy of her thoughts, plopped Monster onto the floor and got up to greet Leonard. “I told you I’d get you a job, didn’t I?” she whispered, smiling.

“Don’t count unhatched chickens,” he whispered back. “Your father has declared little need for a full-time Fool, and I may yet find myself out on my ear.” He began tuning his instrument, which plunked sourly in his hands. “But I should not have this opportunity were it not for you. I hope I can properly repay your kindness. He would not have given me a chance but to please you.”

“It does please me,” Una said. “But make him laugh and you’ll be hired on your own merit.”

“I shall endeavor to oblige, m’lady.”

“Una,” King Fidel said around his pipe, “come sit by me and let the jester play.”

Una obeyed.

Leonard finished his tuning and struck a deep minor chord. “Hark!” he cried, assuming a sinister pose and strumming the same chord again. “Hark unto the tale I must relate. This is no tale for the faint of heart!”

Felix looked up from his game of sticks, trying and failing to seem uninterested.

“This is no tale for timid womenfolk, no tale for young children or babes in arms.”

He strummed again, a deep
bloooome
.

“This is a tale to make your blood race, your head spin, your eyes cross and recross.”

Blooome!

“This is a tale of darkest terror in the face of deepest inconsequentiality.”

“Huh?” said Felix.

Una giggled.

The jester continued to play and half sang, half told his story. His singing voice was deep and not beautiful. But he sang with spirit, and the point was the story not the melody.

“There was a lady of fairest face and vapid mind

Who one day sat a-knitting.

A-knitting, a-knitting, ho!

Who one day sat a-knitting.”

He told how a dark monster, a fiend of evil form, set upon this lady while she sat alone in her chambers one evening. He told of her horror as she faced the beast. He told of her attempts to flee, but the creature blocked her path. She tried to hide, but again and again the monster foiled her plans. Once she bravely took up a weapon to slay the beast, but to no avail, and found herself at the end of her means, standing upon a silken chair as her nemesis crawled toward her.

At the last possible moment, her hero came in the form of a portly maid, who squished the creature with a handkerchief and proceeded to revive her lady with smelling salts.

Una and Felix were both gasping with laughter by the end, not so much for the story itself as for the way the jester told it, with exaggerated expressions of fear, outrage, courage, and beastliness, leaping about the room even as he strummed his instrument. King Fidel chuckled heartily, and when she glanced his way, Una saw Prince Aethelbald grinning.

“Excellent.” King Fidel applauded with his children as the jester played the final sour chords. “Sir Jester, we are glad indeed to have you among us. If you are half as skilled at mopping floors as you are at spinning stories, we may just find ourselves at an agreement.”

An eyebrow twitched on the jester’s face, but he swept the hat from his head and bowed. It was an elegant bow, Una thought. Courtly, even.

12

In her dreams that night Una walked a path she did not recognize through a desecrated garden.

Once these grounds must have been beautiful. The sweep of the hill, the remains of elegant shrubberies and groves, bespoke care and artistry. But all was grim and wasted about her, all the land one great grimace of pain. No growth grew higher than Una’s knees before it was chopped and trampled, as though some brute force could not bear to catch a glimpse of thriving green and had blasted all to grays and blacks. Even the sun, where it shone through an iron sky, appeared as a red scar overhead.

She walked the path she did not know, approaching a great palace she did not recognize. It was not Oriana but some other structure of foreign build. What once may have been elegant minarets were now crumbled towers, giving the appearance of having been chewed. Stones that may have been rich with color were filmed over with ash.

As she looked at it, Una felt hatred rise in her soul. What a wicked place this must have been, what an evil house to deserve such ruin. Never had she loathed a place so much.

Yet her steps took her forward.

He waited in the doorway, the man with the dead-white face.

“Princess,” he said as she drew near, “you have come to me.”

She opened her mouth to answer. But instead of words, a scream filled her throat and poured out like rushing water. The sound filled her inside and out, a blinding, numbing, dreadful noise.

“Where are you?” His voice roared, dark beneath the white shriek of her scream. “Where are you? I’ve waited long enough!”

Una woke in a sweat. The ring on her hand pinched, and her fingers burned. Sitting up, she tore the coverlet away; it seemed to cling and suffocate her like a snake squeezing her in its coils. Shuddering breaths gasped out of her, and she rubbed her face with her burning hands.

“Preeowl?” Monster nosed his way out from under the quilt and tried to insinuate himself into her lap. But Una pushed him away. Drawing a long breath and trying to calm her heart, she slipped out of bed and staggered to the table with the pitcher of water.

It was empty. The maid must have forgotten to refill it.

“Dragon’s teeth!” She pulled open the curtains. The window was already ajar, but the summer night offered no cooling relief. She felt tears sting her eyes and rested her head for a moment against the window frame.

Never before had she remembered her dreams on waking. But tonight the vision stayed in her mind as vividly as if she still walked in that blighted garden. As vividly as if she gazed even now into the eyes of the white-faced man.

Memories of other dreams trickled in on the edge of consciousness as she stood there looking out on the garden. She did not understand them, but she wondered now how she could have forgotten. Her fingers throbbed, and she longed for water.

The moon burst through a cloud and shone down upon her face. Suddenly, even more than water, Una yearned to walk in that light, to breathe it in and feel it cool her inside.

“Meea?” Monster put up a paw and touched her knee.

“Go away,” she said, glaring down at him. She hastened across the room to her wardrobe and withdrew a bedgown from its depths. She put it on and slipped from the room.

A few servants stood at various posts in the long halls of Oriana, but most of them dozed so late in the night. Una moved past without disturbing them and made it all the way out to the gardens without encountering a single waking soul. No lanterns were lit on the garden paths, not at this hour. But the moon was bright, and her eyes adjusted to its light enough to walk the familiar paths. The gravel path hurt her bare feet, but she scarcely noticed for the pain in her hands.

Monster trailed behind her, a silent shadow.

She did not walk far. She did not need to. Breathing in great gulps of moonlight, Una felt the heat slowly leave her. The tightness of her ring lessened. But when she looked at her hands, she was surprised to see scarlet burn lines across her fingers. Even in the dimness of the moon’s glow, the raw red was discernible. She clutched her hands into fists.

Farther down the tiered garden, a wood thrush sang. Its silver voice floated on the warm air and ran like water around her. She turned toward the sound and gasped.

Prince Aethelbald walked toward her, up the garden path. The moon cast his shadow before him.

He saw her at the same moment. He stopped, and Una could not see his face in the shadows. Drawing her bedgown more tightly around her, she waited for him to either come or go.

“Preeowl?” Monster loped ahead of her, scampering to Aethelbald’s feet. The Prince knelt down and stroked the cat’s head, murmuring something that Una could not hear. Monster flicked his tail and gave several chattering squawks. Then he dashed off into the bushes as though he’d suddenly heard a mouse. Una felt abandoned by her pet as Aethelbald straightened and continued up the path to her.

“Princess,” he greeted her, and she prepared for the questions – “What are you doing here? Why are you up at this hour?”

But instead he said, “I am leaving.”

Leaving?
Her brows drew together, and she clenched her fists as she wrapped her arms about herself. Somehow Una could think of nothing to say.

“I must go at once,” he said.

Slowly she nodded. Aethelbald showed no sign of making good his word and dashing off immediately but stood a long while in silence before her. At last Una managed to whisper, “Why?”

“One of mine is threatened,” he said, “far away south. The danger has been mounting, but soon it will be unbearable. I must go before it is too late.”

“Do . . . do as you must, Prince Aethelbald.” Una looked down at her feet and drew another shaky breath. The pain in her hands was agonizing. She thought she might scream.

Aethelbald reached out and took one of her hands. This time she did not pull it back but allowed him to turn it palm up. The burns showed ugly in the moonlight. Gently Aethelbald touched the wounds, and though something in Una urged her to run as far away as she could, she stood silent, unmoving. His touch was soothing, and some of the terror of her dream withdrew.

“Una,” he said gently, “I do not want to leave you. I go because I must.”

Again she tried to speak, but her tongue was thick in her mouth. Her frown deepened, and her fingers curled as though forming claws.

“I will return to you.”

She took a step back, but he did not release his hold. Setting her chin, she tried to drag her arm back, but still he held on. Then her eyes flashed and she glared up at him. “I . . . I don’t want you to return!”

She regretted the words the moment they left her mouth. But they were gone beyond recall now. Hurt flickered over the shadows of his face, but he held her hand just a moment longer.

“Nevertheless, I will come back for you.”

His eyes were kind, but they frightened her. Why had she thought to venture out alone at night? What could possibly have possessed her? Some idiotic dream? The images flooded out of her mind as swiftly as they had flowed in, and she was left feeling deeply embarrassed, conscious only that she stood in the moonlight before the last man in the world with whom she wanted to stand in moonlight.

“Please, Una,” he said, “let me tend your hurts before I go. . . .”

She hauled her hand away and backed up so fast that she stepped on the edge of her bedgown, nearly pulling herself down. The hem ripped, long and loud, and she knew she would be in for another scolding from Nurse when the damage was discovered. Angrily she snapped, “I have no hurts, Prince of Farthestshore! I don’t know what you’re talking about! I am perfectly well, my hands are perfectly well, all would be perfectly well if only you would leave a girl alone for once! Can’t I even take a stroll without you hounding my footsteps? Go already, if you’re going to! I wish you’d gone ages ago! I wish . . . I wish you’d never come!”

Tears sprang to her eyes and dripped down her cheeks, and she just knew he could see them. Dragons eat him! She whirled about to go, but even as she rushed toward the garden door, she heard the crunch of his boots on the gravel as he hastened up beside her.

“Una,” he said, and put out an arm to block her path. Aethelbald did not touch her, but she drew back as though bitten. “I love you, Una,” he said. “I will return to ask for your hand. In the meanwhile, please don’t give your heart away.”

The next moment, he was gone.

Una stood alone by the garden door, gazing out across an empty garden. In the east, the sky was just beginning to lighten, though many stars gleamed overhead.

She returned to her stuffy chamber and crawled back into bed. Before falling asleep, she glanced at her hands. There was not a mark to be seen. Burying her face in her pillow, she fell asleep.

–––––––

Hours later, the Prince of Farthestshore and his three knights were gone. When Una made what she hoped were disinterested inquiries over breakfast, her father informed her that Aethelbald had taken his leave of Fidel the evening before and set out from Oriana before dawn.

“I guess you finally drove him off,” Felix said, glumly stirring his oatmeal.

“I did no such thing. I merely made myself clear. And what do you care? You didn’t exactly treat him as the favored guest!”

“I don’t care,” Felix shrugged, but his long face suggested otherwise. He imagined returning to his fencing practice in company with his attendants, and the thought gave him no pleasure. “Let him go, I say. It’s not like we ever
needed
him.”

“No,” Una said. “No, we certainly never needed him.”

But she had no appetite that morning.

Weary after her restless night, Una excused herself from lectures and returned to her rooms. As she turned into the east wing, where her chambers were located, she spotted a servant hard at work, mopping. She paused in surprise as recognition slowly caught up in her tired brain.

“Leonard!” She shook her head and stepped down the hall toward him. “I hardly know you without your costume. Where is your hat?”

The jester, looking singularly unjesterly in a baggy brown smock, dropped his mop with a splash and straightened. “Princess Una.” He gulped. “Hullo. Yes, I’ve come to quite a state, haven’t I?”

“What are you doing?” Una demanded with a laugh.

He smiled back, but his smile was forced. “It would seem I am unable to earn my bread with full-time foolery. I must harden myself to the rigors of the baser tasks a man can stoop to, such as mopping the floors of those who . . . Well, it is employment, isn’t it? A fellow must be grateful.”

“Oh,” Una hastened to say, “please, I didn’t intend to make fun. This is only temporary, anyway, isn’t it? You won’t have to work like this for long, I’m sure.”

Leonard raised an eyebrow. “You are kind to your humble servant, m’lady.” He nodded curtly, then stooped to retrieve his mop.

“No, truly, I am sorry,” Una said. “You really are a wonderful jester, you know, and I’m sure you’ll find work – ”

“I have sufficient work, obviously. And don’t you think it odd for a princess to apologize to her cleaning staff?” He bowed and turned away. His arms worked furiously back and forth, pushing the mop.

Una, having never before been brushed off by one of the servants, could think of nothing to say. She hurried down the hall, shaking her head and wondering why she felt embarrassed.

But before she’d gone far, Leonard called after her. “M’lady?”

She stopped, surprised, and looked back.

The jester stood with both hands on the top of the mop stick, rubbing the back of his leg with the opposite foot.

“M’lady, I don’t think you should accept the Prince of Farthestshore’s suit,” the jester said. “When he returns. If he returns.”

Una drew herself up. “I don’t see what business it is of yours, my good man.” She spoke coolly in what she thought of as her regal voice. But the red blotches crept over her nose anyway.

Leonard stared boldly back at her for several moments before averting his gaze to study his feet. “Of course, a floor scrubber’s opinion counts for nothing, m’lady.”

Una hastened on to her rooms.