The Ruby Moon (12 page)

Avery nodded. “Anything else? Nothing is too insignificant. Her size, shape, an accent, anything?”

Babs pressed his lips together and shoved his plate and utensils aside. “Well, she has strange eyes, I’ll say that.”

“Strange how?”

“I didn’t notice the first time we talked, because it was after sundown and she approached me when I came out of the tunnels. But when I talked to her in the fish market one morning, in fact the morning she gave me the gold coin, the sun caught her full in the face. Those eyes, I’ll tell you … One is blue and the other brown.”

Babs reached for an unused knife and fork, placed them on his plate of half-eaten food, and nudged it across the table to Avery. “You really should eat,” he said.

But eating was the last thing on her mind. She rose and solemnly strode back around the table, took the big man’s broad face in her palms, and planted a huge kiss on his leathery forehead.

“Why, thank you, ma’am,” he said. “I think.”

Avery hurried back to her bed where she stretched out and spread open the bulletin. She had looked at it a hundred times since Kendrick first gave her a copy, but now she saw it with new eyes.

Avery had been certain the king and queen were on the hunt for her, but if the fishwife was Queen Elizabeth, and if she had given Babs one valuable gold coin, she, too, might have access to such a handsome reward. It had always niggled at her anyway, why the king or queen wanted her alive when they would probably execute her anyway.

But Queen Elizabeth.
Why would she fake her death? And why would
she
pay to see me alive?

Avery stood in the shadows next to Kate as others prepared Ilsa for her big moment.

Ilsa looked strangely beautiful in a high-necked gown of silver brocade. Her smile was too tight, and her eyes lacked the sparkle of sincere happiness, but that dress and the elegant upsweep of her hair gave the illusion of beauty and sophistication necessary to a serious contender for lady-in-waiting.

Most of the ladies in Angelina’s court had come to their rank through title or wealth. Ilsa had neither, so the scouts had pickpocketed the wealthy so Ilsa would have enough to appear rich. Her clothes and jewelry completed the illusion, and Kendrick had invented an elaborate past he had drilled into her memory in the short time between Tuck’s decision and her appearance at court. Were Ilsa to forget a detail or find herself asked a question they hadn’t considered, she was to laugh, flutter her eyelashes, and pretend to be too modest to respond.

The irony.

“I still don’t understand why he chose her, Kate,” Avery said. “She doesn’t know the castle.”

“She’ll learn. And despite the danger, she
has
agreed to the arrangement.”

The arrangement was simple. If Ilsa was chosen, she would gather whatever inside information she could in exchange for the cabinet—Tuck and the council—guaranteeing her protection. Scouts would be stationed strategically to see to that. They established an elaborate code so Ilsa could communicate if she were in danger. Utter the right word and she would be rescued immediately.

Though the role would allow Ilsa to live better than she ever had as an orphan, it came with huge risks.

“She could die,” Kate said. “Queen Angelina is petty and impulsive. She accuses her staff of stealing anytime she feels like it. She sent her own cousin to the dungeon when an afternoon tea went poorly.”

Creams covered the star on Ilsa’s wrist, and she was instructed in no uncertain terms never to roll up the sleeves of her dress for any reason. As they removed the black ribbon knotted at her wrist, her closest friends still hung on her arms and seemed to cling to her words as if this were her last day on earth—which it very well could be.

“Don’t be jealous, Avery,” Kate said, before she went to stand beside Ilsa. She flipped open a satin-lined box to reveal a necklace of glittering black stones, and Ilsa’s friends responded with a chorus of praises.

Kate fastened the necklace around Ilsa’s neck and stood back to appraise her. “Stand straight. Be confident. Do nothing risky.”

Ilsa actually responded with a laugh, which made Avery turn away.

Ilsa’s friends were crying—big, gulping sobs. Ilsa pulled them into a bone-crushing hug, and Avery could tell from the look on her face that she planned never to return. She clearly believed she belonged on the queen’s court for real and was destined to remain there for life.

Avery started upstairs to rendezvous with Kate at the same grate from which she had observed the royal wedding. This was one spectacle she couldn’t wait to watch unfold.

Shoulder to shoulder with Kate, peering down through the grate to where the king and Angelina held court, Avery felt as if the Great Hall itself vibrated with anticipation. Clusters of single girls in glittering gowns and sporting intricate braids appeared to be doing their best to both look demure and draw attention to themselves.

Meanwhile, wealthy dignitaries brought their international scandals and personal squabbles before the king, who arbitrated from his elevated throne. The queen, slouched on her matching crimson velvet perch next to him, seemed to fight to keep her eyes open, twirling a long lock of her red hair around her index finger.

“She’s not happy unless she’s the center of attention,” Kate said. “But she will be soon enough. This has to be the first time a lady-in-waiting will be selected publicly. Ilsa had better get in there. No way she’ll be chosen if she’s late.”

“There she is!” Avery whispered.

Ilsa’s graceful entry turned heads, and to Avery’s surprise, she actually looked like she belonged. She appeared to introduce herself to some of the other girls and nodded politely to merchants, travelers, and adventurers as she glided into position. Occasionally she raised her chin and laughed, as Kendrick had instructed.

Finally the king concluded his business and ceded the floor to his wife. Oddly, Angelina seemed no more engaged and, still slouched and twirling her hair, whispered instructions to an aide. He barked at the candidates to line up, and as he called their names they advanced before her throne one at a time, curtsied, and nervously answered her questions.

One girl didn’t hear her name at first, and when the aide had to repeat it, the queen bellowed, “Never mind! Dismissed! Next!”

Another advanced too quickly and had to catch herself to keep from stumbling. She said, “Forgive me, Highness.”

Queen Angelina peered down upon her as if she were a smudge on one of the stained-glass windows. “I beg your pardon, young lady! Did someone ask you a question?”

“No, Your Ladyship. I just—”

“You spoke without being spoken to in the royal court, my dear. Next!”

When the young woman burst into tears, the festivities had apparently, finally, captured the queen’s attention. She sat up and raised a hand. “Ladies, your responsibilities will largely consist of representing the throne during functions much like this one. How you comport yourself here reveals your abilities—and limitations. It should come as no surprise that I seek someone with the ability to pay attention, respond with dispatch but not carelessness, decorum, and certainly no displays of emotion. Carry on.”

The queen asked several of the girls their family histories, their educational backgrounds, their interests and talents, and why they wanted to serve in her court. She dismissed some, midsentence, as too loud, two as too soft-spoken, one as too tall, and three as too fat.

To another she was particularly cruel.

The girl had curtsied and stood waiting as Queen Angelina merely stared down at her. Finally, as if surprised she was still there, she said, “Turn right. Now left. Now face me again.” Still the queen looked only curious, cocking her head as the girl flushed. “Repeat your name.” When she did, Angelina said, “Do you have family at court today?”

“My parents are, Your Highness, yes.”

The queen instructed her aide to call on them to identify themselves. From near the back of the hall, a tradesman and his wife in drab clothing stood, the man quickly removing his cap and smoothing his hair. He attempted an awkward, sweeping bow, and the woman a self-conscious curtsy as the queen stood as if to get a better look.

“I should have known,” she said, slumping back to the throne. “That answers any questions about pedigree, young lady. As for you folks, enjoy your day at court! First time here?” The man grinned and waved, and his wife grabbed his arm. “Well, you should have saved whatever you spent on this dress. If I were choosing dresses, she might have a chance, but she’s got a face for the farm. Next!”

A murmur swept through the Great Hall.

“Do you believe that?” Kate said. “Who would want to serve such a horrid witch?”

“Ilsa will fit right in.”

“Avery!”

The girl’s father appeared to shudder with rage as his wife wrapped him in her arms and pleaded with him to sit.

Though the girl herself had been dismissed, she appeared to be going nowhere. “Speak to me any way you wish, Highness,” she said, “but I will not have you humiliate people I—”

“Careful, miss!” the queen’s aide said, and like a flash a young man raced from behind a pillar and escorted the girl out.

“Yes!” the queen snapped. “Watch your tongue! I’ve had vixens executed for less.”

“Kate!” Avery said. “Wasn’t he one of ours?”

“He was! That was our mousy scout, assigned to Ilsa! What got into him? He’d better hurry back.”

The next half dozen candidates approached the queen warily, and most she dismissed with a wave in the middle of their answers to innocuous questions.

Finally, with eleven more candidates to go, the aide called for Ilsa. With all that had transpired, Avery thought she might actually have a chance to impress. And though Avery was disappointed not to be the candidate herself, she couldn’t deny the advantage it would be to the kids if Ilsa won. She found herself pulling for her rival in spite of everything.

Ilsa appeared not to have been rattled by the earlier confrontation and did well remembering her invented history. She may have gone a bit long with one of her answers, and it appeared the queen might be losing interest. But Ilsa signaled the mousy scout, who dramatically reappeared, facing the queen with an elaborate wooden box. At Ilsa’s request he raised the lid, and Angelina rose from her throne.

“For me?” she said.

Ilsa curtsied anew. “Your Highness.”

“What’s in the box?” Avery whispered.

“The result of much pickpocketing,” Kate said.

Angelina descended the throne and lifted one of the coins to the sun before returning it to the box. Scanning the ten remaining candidates, she said, “Did any of the rest of you think to bring your potentate a gift? Or did you assume today was all about you?”

She turned back to Ilsa. “Well played, dear.”

And then to the scout: “As for you, knave, what was your connection to the other girl, the homely, impudent one?”

“None, Majesty.”

“Yet your swift action spared her life. Why?”

“It seemed her motive was loyalty, Highness, not disrespect.”

The queen turned back. “Ilsa, is it? This is your servant? Keep him close.” She sauntered back up the steps to her throne and sat then beckoned Ilsa to follow.

Ilsa self-assuredly gathered her skirt and climbed to stand before the queen, who spoke so softly it was clear no one else heard. Ilsa bent and whispered in Angelina’s ear. The queen arched a brow and, for the first time, smiled.

Angelina instructed Ilsa to stand next to her with her hand on the armrest of the throne. “Now, allow me to repeat my question to the ten remaining candidates,” she said. “Did any of you think to bring a gift to your queen? Anyone? No one?

“Knave, again, I commend you for your valor. Leave the tribute with my aide as you depart. And now, Your Royal Highness, members of the court, honored guests, and beloved subjects: it gives me great pleasure to introduce the newest member of my court, a lady-in-waiting, Ilsa!”