Stray (19 page)

“D
id I tell you that my adviser is bringing Westerly tonight?” Linnea asked as Aislynn tucked another pin into her red hair. The monarch princess's elaborate braid started behind one ear and came around the back of her head in a twisted spiral. It looked almost like a rose.

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Aislynn gently nudged the braid to make sure it was secure. As she slipped the rest of the pins into her pocket, Aislynn felt a strange stiffness in the material of her uniform. Pushing her sleeve back, she was surprised to find several dried circles of wax down the side of her robe.

“I haven't seen him since I've been at school,” Linnea continued as Aislynn quickly scratched the wax off.

“He's very tall, very . . .” Linnea seemed to search for the word. “Very reasonable.” The monarch princess had been talking about Westerly nonstop since his birthday gift to her—a thoroughbred pony—had arrived the day before. “Adviser Lennard thinks we would make a very agreeable match. And I'm inclined to, well, agree. He's practically a part of my family already.”

While Aislynn laid out the undergarments, Linnea counted Westerly's admirable attributes on her fingers. “He's intelligent, brave, clever, and thoughtful. Wasn't that pony thoughtful?”

Aislynn got the impression that Linnea was looking for approval, not an opinion. So Aislynn did as she had been doing all day and nodded silently while she focused on lacing the monarch princess into her new corset.

“Take a deep breath,” she said, tugging hard.

Linnea did so, holding on to the edge of the vanity as the boning cinched her already tiny waist. After that came the massive petticoat and then, finally, the dress.

It was truly spectacular, with a sweetheart neckline trimmed with lace, slim-fitting sleeves, and a matching red silk sash—but instead of being tied in a bow, the large ribbon fluttered down the back of the dress. Across the hem glittered a thousand crystal beads, as if Linnea had just emerged from the sea, droplets of water caught on the satin.

The monarch princess looked exquisite, but she wasn't looking at her reflection. Instead, her eyes were cast downward as she chewed on the corner of her lip.

“It's all right to be nervous,” Aislynn said, remembering how scared she had been before her first ball.

“I'm not nervous,” Linnea insisted.

“Of course not.” Placing her hands on Linnea's shoulders, Aislynn turned her toward the mirror. “You look beautiful. Westerly will want to dance with you all night.”

Linnea gnawed on her bottom lip. “That's what I'm afraid of.” Her eyes were round as she looked up at Aislynn. “What if I forget the steps?”

“What do you mean?” Every noblewoman was trained in dancing. Daily. Aislynn knew the monarch princess had a tendency to skip classes, but it seemed impossible that she would be
that
inept at waltzing.

“I know them,” Linnea amended, to Aislynn's relief. “I've just . . . I've never practiced with a partner. None of the other girls would dance with me. What if I step all over Westerly's toes? Everyone will be watching us!”

Aislynn hesitated. Though her own dancing skills were middling at best, her height had usually forced her to perform the man's role in class. It was often the only time the other girls would interact with her.

“I'll practice with you,” she finally said, lifting her arms to the starting position.

Linnea gave her a skeptical look. But Aislynn grabbed her hands and put one on her shoulder and held firm to the other. Her own free hand went to the monarch princess's waist.

“Just pretend I'm Westerly,” she suggested, which made Linnea giggle.

“You are almost as tall,” she said.

“Ready?” And with Linnea's nod, they were off.

Aislynn kept the rhythm.

“One-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three, keep your head up,” she coached as they glided across the room.

“Sorry!” Linnea apologized each time her heel caught Aislynn's toes. But as they kept dancing, her steps became more confident and Aislynn's feet were less abused. By their tenth turn around the room, the monarch princess was barely making any mistakes and they were both laughing.

Aislynn stopped so they could catch their breath. “I don't think you'll have any problems tonight,” she said with a smile.

“I'll just pretend Westerly is you,” Linnea joked, her cheeks flushed. Smoothing her dress out carefully, she settled at her vanity and opened the top drawer. “He wrote me today,” she said as she pulled out the letter. “He says he's looking forward to seeing me again and he hopes I am feeling the same.” She chewed her lip again. “I suppose it isn't a romantic letter, but Westerly's not one for flowery language. Not that I mind, of course. I much prefer a straightforward approach.” But that sounded like less of an opinion formed by the princess herself, and more like one she had been given. “Adviser Lennard has often said that romance is one of the many follies of women.”

“My adviser used to say that as well.” Aislynn remembered Adviser Hull's lectures on poetry, which he had deemed unnecessary frippery. Poetry was something to be shared between ladies-in-waiting, not expected from husbands, who had more serious thoughts to entertain. “But my father used to write the most wonderful letters to my mother.”

“He did?” Linnea tried to turn around, but Aislynn stopped her so she could repair her hair, which had come a little loose during their dancing.

“He did.” It had been a long time since she had thought about her parents, but in that moment Aislynn was flooded with a memory of her father waltzing her mother around the foyer after a party, their laughter floating up to her as she watched them from her perch at the top of the stairs. The memory was rich and full, and Aislynn was surprised to feel the twinge of loneliness that accompanied it. She shook it away. “He told her once that she was as lovely as freshly fallen snow. . . .”

Linnea stared at the toes of her shoes and sighed. “I think my father was terribly romantic as well.” It was the first time the monarch princess had ever mentioned her parents.

“I think you should carry Westerly's letter with you tonight.” Aislynn plucked the letter from the top of the vanity and tucked it into Linnea's silk bag. “Just to remind you that he's waiting for you.” She placed a hand on the princess's shoulder. “There's nothing wrong with a little romance, once in a while. Even if it is one of our follies.”

“You're right.” Linnea smiled and turned around to examine herself in the full-length mirror. The princess in the reflection was a marvelous thing, regal and beautiful, but Aislynn saw that her eyes were filled with nervousness and doubt.

“How do I look?” Linnea asked.

Aislynn smiled, feeling nothing but pride and excitement for her young ward. “You look wonderful. Are you ready?”

A bell sounded. The ball was about to begin.

Aislynn discovered she enjoyed parties much more from a distance. From her designated spot, nearly hidden by the immense tapestries, she watched Linnea, who wore a blinding smile as she was Introduced. Just watching the monarch princess enjoy herself was more fun than Aislynn had ever had at any of the parties she had attended, except perhaps her first one.

The room was gorgeously decorated. Trellises stood in every corner, the morning glories somehow coaxed into blooming early. The tables were overflowing with sunflowers and roses as red as Linnea's gown. The vibrant color made her stand out in a crowd of blue, green, and yellow. Strewn on the gleaming ballroom floor were lush gardenia petals, so that every step the dancers took would perfume the air. It seemed Madame Moira and Elderwood Academy had spared no expense for the only living monarch of the Eastern Kingdom.

At Linnea's side at all times were two men. Aislynn already knew Adviser Lennard, who smiled graciously at everyone who passed, greeting the men with a shake and kissing the hands of the women. The younger gentleman had to be Westerly. Aislynn studied him as carefully as she could from her place against the fairy godmother's wall. He had obsidian hair, gray eyes, and was so sallow that he looked almost unwell. He was very tall and towered over Linnea. He seemed to stare rather sourly at everyone except her, and offered only the occasional awkward smile.

“The latest news about the stray . . .” Hushed muttering came from Aislynn's left, where several of the fairy godmothers were sharing forbidden gossip. Everyone knew it was improper to speak of a royal maiden once she had strayed.
The Path
stated that all knowledge of her should be erased, as her memory could prove just as dangerous as her presence, but Aislynn still strained to hear. Could they be talking about Maris? Or had yet another girl joined Josetta's army?

“Did you hear about her parents?” Juliana asked, and there was a slow rustle of shaking heads. “They believe she was taken.”

“Ridiculous,” Thea said quietly, sounding scandalized. “They're just trying to save her reputation and their own.”

“Shh, shh, shh,”
Cecily said urgently, and the group went silent as several couples walked by. But once they had passed, the fairy godmothers remained quiet, their conversation unfinished.

Aislynn directed her attention back to the dance floor, where Linnea was now waltzing with Westerly. They looked wonderful together, his blue suit a perfect complement to the red of her gown. His expression had softened slightly, but she was more radiant than ever, eyes shining brighter than every candle in the room. They glided across the floor with no indication that the monarch princess was anything but a perfect, practiced dancer. Aislynn was filled with pride and satisfaction. It didn't last.

“My goodness. Ashy-linn, is that you?”

Aislynn turned to find Violaine standing beside her. The other fairy godmothers quickly dispersed, scattering like startled mice that had just seen a cat.

“I can't believe it! What luck!” Violaine let out a piercing laugh. “I was so hoping for the chance to see you in your uniform one day.”

“As always, it's been a pleasure to see you, Violaine.” Aislynn gave a shallow curtsy and started to walk away, but the other girl's tiny, clawlike hand stopped her.

“I don't think I dismissed you.”

Aislynn gritted her teeth. “I am not your fairy godmother.”

“How dare you?” Violaine tightened her grip on Aislynn's arm, pulling her close. “Let's not forget the precariousness of our situation,
stray
.”

“I beg your pardon.” Linnea's sweetly polite voice interrupted them. “Haven't you been taught that it's rude to touch things that aren't yours?”

Violaine quickly let go of Aislynn and dropped into a deep curtsy.

“Your Majesty, if I had only known that this was
your
fairy godmother, I would have acted differently.” Violaine rose, an innocent smile plastered across her face.

Linnea gave an unimpressed sniff and took Aislynn's hand. They turned to leave, but Linnea took only one step before stopping abruptly. Glancing down, Aislynn realized that Violaine was standing on the hem of the monarch princess's dress.

“Is there something else you wish to say to me?” Linnea's eyes were hard as stone, but her voice quivered just a bit.

“I only wanted to compliment Your Majesty on your appearance this evening.” Violaine batted her eyelashes. “It's been said that you inherited your looks from your mother. I was merely wondering if there's anything else you inherited from her side of the family.”

It felt like the air had been sucked out of the room.

Suddenly Aislynn felt a surge of magic, but it wasn't coming from her. She glanced at the monarch princess, whose face was white.

“Come with me,” said Aislynn, tugging her hand. But Linnea jerked forward. Violaine's foot was still on the hem of her dress, causing her to stumble. Grabbing a nearby table kept the monarch princess from falling, but it was too late. Before she could pull her away, Aislynn felt magic pour from Linnea. The table began to shake.

Glasses began to burst one by one, splattering wine all over the tablecloth, sending broken glass shooting through the air. Yowling like a cat, Violaine leaped away, her green dress splashed with red. A shard of glass flew across Aislynn's cheek, but she barely noticed. Quickly pushing up her sleeve, Aislynn grabbed Linnea's hand and placed it against her own arm.

It felt as though her bones were on fire, splintering from the heat. A red, twisting burn spread from beneath Linnea's hand across Aislynn's skin.

Then, as suddenly as it started, it was over. Quickly, the monarch princess pulled her hand away, her face filled with shame and horror. Violaine and her ruined dress had disappeared into the crowd.

“What happened here?” Madame Moira crunched shards of broken glass into the polished floor as she stalked up to the girls.

Even the music had fallen silent, and all eyes seemed to be focused on them.

“Who did this?” demanded Madame Moira.

Aislynn stepped forward, shielding Linnea from the rest of the ballroom. “I did, Headmistress.” Aislynn's confession drew shocked murmurs from the crowd.

“I see,” said the headmistress, clearly doubtful.

Then the dancers parted, and Adviser Lennard appeared with Westerly at his side. The young man stepped carefully over the broken glass and draped his jacket around Linnea's shoulders, practically swallowing her whole.

“Are you all right?” he asked quietly. Her tiny, pale face nodded uncertainly.

“I think it would be best if you come with me,” Adviser Lennard said to Aislynn.

Head bowed, she followed him out of the ballroom. Just before the door swung shut behind them, she heard the music begin to play again.