Violet Eyes (15 page)

“Yes,” Arianna replied. “She brushed my hair for about five minutes, and I didn’t feel anything.”

“There must have been some mistake then,” Genevieve said slowly.

“I don’t think there’s a mistake,” Arianna said. “I think they don’t want us to know what the real tests are.”

Violet glanced over at Genevieve. “We were thinking the same thing last night,” she said.

“This is ridiculous,” Goldie countered. “Why would they go to such lengths to hide what they were doing?”

“Maybe so no one could cheat,” Violet said guiltily.

“But how? I mean, none of us are likely to tell each other what we’ve discovered. We are all competing against each other. I mean, I think I was the first one
to take the silk thread test, and I didn’t tell any of you that the silk threads were right, right, left, right,” Goldie said.

“You mean left, left, right, left,” Violet corrected.

“You’re both wrong. It was left, right, left, right,” Arianna said.

“Actually, it was a trick test,” Genevieve said very quietly. “Every single thread was silk.”

Violet looked sharply at her. “Really?”

She nodded.

“Is it possible that they changed it each time, so we couldn’t get the answer from each other?” Goldie asked.

Violet shook her head. There would have been no way for Richard to accurately predict how the threads would be when it came her turn, if that were the case. “How many of you do embroidery?”

“Not me,” Goldie said.

“Or me,” Arianna answered.

“You know I do,” Genevieve said.

“So you were the only one who could have possibly told the difference between the cotton and the silk threads.”

“What does it all mean?” Goldie asked.

“It means we have no idea what the real challenges are testing us on,” Violet whispered.

There was silence for a moment as the four let that sink in.

“That changes everything,” Goldie finally said.

Around them the others were finishing breakfast
and getting up from the table. “Time to head outside,” Arianna said.

Violet stood up, palming a couple of berries from her plate as she did so. The others didn’t notice, and together they left the table and headed into the gardens.

Violet showed Genevieve the berries and offered her one. The other girl shook her head. Soon they were on a grassy expanse where the other girls, Richard, his parents, the steward, and a few servants waited.

“Princesses, for this challenge we will test the sensitivity of your skin. You will remove your shoes and walk barefoot across this expanse of grass,” the steward said.

“To what end?” Arianna asked.

“We expect that the grass will cut your feet if they are delicate.”

One of the girls Violet didn’t know very well fell to the ground in a faint.

Arianna crossed her arms over her chest. “I refuse.”

“Are you afraid, my dear?” the king asked.

“No, I am not. There is no point in participating, because I already know the outcome. I swim in the ocean at home. I walk on pebbles and rocks and sand. The grass will be as nothing to my feet, and I will walk across uninjured. If you think that all true princesses bleed easily, and are soft and weak, then it is best that I withdraw now.”

Violet watched in fascination as the king and queen whispered together for a moment.

The king turned back. “We respect your choice to decline the challenge. We ask that you respect our request that you stay at least until tomorrow.”

Arianna nodded and stepped back. Violet gazed at her with admiration for having spoken up. Still, Arianna did not wish to win the competition and marry Richard, so she lost nothing by refusing the challenge.

“Who would like to go first?” the steward asked.

Genevieve stepped forward. “I will go.”

“Are your feet also strong?” the king asked.

Genevieve shook her head. “No, quite the opposite. I have never walked barefoot anywhere, and I expect to be injured.”

“You may proceed.”

Genevieve slipped off her shoes and began to walk across the grass with slow, pained steps. When she turned to walk back, Violet could see the tears rolling down Genevieve’s cheeks. Violet ran to her friend and stopped her. Violet bent and picked her up as she would a sack of grain.

“I can do it,” Genevieve protested.

“And you have done it,” Violet said, carrying her back. “The steward only said you had to walk across; he said nothing about walking back.”

When they had returned to the cluster of princesses, Violet set Genevieve down gently. The bottoms of both of Genevieve’s feet were actually bleeding.

“Why did you do this to yourself when you don’t even want to win?” Violet whispered.

Genevieve smiled and whispered back, “To take the focus off of you and what you’re about to do.”

A couple of servants rushed forward with bandages, and Violet left Genevieve to their care.

Violet stood and watched as several others crossed the grass. Several suffered some sort of injury, but none as severe as Genevieve’s. When it was Goldie’s turn, Violet watched her take off her shoes and was stunned to see her scratch the bottom of her left foot with her fingernails. By the time Goldie came limping back, blood had oozed from the wound.

Then Violet and Celeste were the only ones left. Celeste went first, and she had barely gone two steps when she cried out and sank to the ground. Servants hurried forward to help her stand. “I can do it,” she said breathlessly. She took several more steps and then collapsed, needing to be carried back.

Violet took a deep breath. The berries were still in her hand. She looked over at Richard, who nodded encouragement. Then she looked at his parents and wondered what they possibly hoped to accomplish with such a test. Violet didn’t want to do it. It was ridiculous. She couldn’t pretend to be something she wasn’t any longer. Violet prepared to slip off her shoes and walk across the grass. She glanced over at Genevieve and hesitated. The other girl had sacrificed so that Violet would have the chance to fake her own injury and pass the test. If she refused, then Genevieve had injured herself for naught.

Violet bent, pulled off her shoes, and smashed
the berries in her hand onto the bottom of each foot. Then she stood and walked as calmly as she could across the grass and back. She briefly displayed the bottom of each foot and then hastily put back on her slippers. Then she met Genevieve’s gaze, and the two shared a grim smile.

Dinner that night was brief, as many of the girls just wanted to rest from the day’s ordeal. Three more girls, including the one who had fainted before she could walk across the grass, were put out of the running. To everyone’s surprise Arianna was not one of them. This confirmed for Violet that the challenges were a pretense and not the real test. Violet still had no idea what the real tests could be; all she knew was that ten princesses and three tests were all that remained.

Violet was ready with some table scraps for Duke when he padded into the room. “Good boy,” she whispered as she took the parchment from him. He eagerly gobbled down the food she presented him. Violet sat down at the table, lit the candle, and began to read.

Violet. I can’t find out anything about tomorrow’s test. Keep your eyes open and expect anything. I’ll try to help if I can. Yours, Richard.

C
HAPTER
T
EN

Violet barely slept, tossing and turning all night. When she awoke, she couldn’t shake the fear that had plagued her all night. This was only the fourth test of six, and she had no idea what it was, much less how to pass it.

Richard and his parents were absent at breakfast, which was considerably less elaborate than it had been other mornings. Each girl had a bowl of stew set before her. The food was hot and bland. It reminded her of many stews that she had had at home, and Violet ate hungrily.

Around her, the others made faces as they nibbled at the food. “The carrots taste okay,” Goldie finally said.

“You have carrots? Where?” Genevieve asked, craning her head to see Goldie’s bowl.

As breakfast came to an end, Violet couldn’t help
but wonder why no one had mentioned anything about the next test. When a servant came to clear her dish, Violet asked where the steward was.

The man gave her a shrug and an apologetic smile but said nothing. She glanced around and discovered that none of the servants would meet her eyes.

“Something doesn’t seem right here,” she said, turning to Genevieve.

Genevieve looked pale, and sweat was beading on her forehead. “Something doesn’t seem right here,” she echoed, eyes glassy.

“Are you okay?” Violet asked in alarm.

“I don’t think any of us are,” Goldie said.

Violet glanced over and saw that she, too, looked sick.

“I think I should have gone home yesterday morning,” Arianna said through lips that trembled.

Violet glanced up and down the table and saw that every girl looked terrible except for Celeste. “What’s wrong with them?” she asked her.

Celeste sneered. “They ate the food.”

“But so did I, and I’m fine.”

“Then you must be used to eating peasant food. I wouldn’t have served that to a dog.”

Violet trembled with rage as she stared at the heir of Lore. She glanced around, and there was no one in the room other than them and the sick princesses. Violet rose from her seat. She could teach Celeste some manners. She could send the princess of Lore running from Cambria. No one was watching, and
she would never have a better opportunity.

Violet approached Celeste. “You’ve pushed me once too often,” she said.

“And what are you going to do about it?” Celeste sneered.

“Let me show you,” Violet said, clenching her fists at her side.

Before she could strike out at Celeste, a sobbing sound distracted Violet. One of the girls was on her hands and knees, wincing in pain.

There were still no servants in sight. “We have to help them,” Violet said, turning back to Celeste.

Celeste was staring at the stew still in front of her.

“Are you listening to me?” Violet asked. “They’re sick; we have to help them.”

“The food made them sick,” Celeste said in a monotone. “It is peasant food. Their stomachs can’t handle it.”

“Then we need to help them.”

“You don’t understand,” Celeste said, looking up at Violet with slightly glazed eyes. “This is the test.”

Celeste grabbed her bowl of stew and poured it into her mouth.

“What are you doing?” Violet cried, trying to snatch the bowl away from her.

Celeste twisted so Violet couldn’t reach it, and a moment later set the nearly empty bowl on the table. “I’m going to be sick,” Celeste groaned.

“The stew couldn’t have hit your stomach yet,” Violet protested.

“Not that; the taste,” Celeste said before sliding onto the floor in distress.

Violet stared at Celeste, disbelieving, then turned her attention to the others in the banquet hall. Several girls clutched their stomachs in pain, a couple other girls were crying, and at least one had passed out in her chair. And despite everything Violet had thought and felt and feared, she knew then that she might dress like them, even learn to act like them, but she would never truly be one of them.

Violet turned and hurried toward the kitchens. Her arrival there stopped all the servants in their tracks. Violet grabbed the woman who seemed to be in charge, noting that she wouldn’t meet her eyes either.
They all knew the food would hurt the girls
, she realized. “Please help me. I need something to soothe the princesses’ stomachs. There’s a root Father Paul sometimes uses.”

Before Violet could begin to describe it, one of the other cooks handed her a small bowl. Inside were cuttings of the plant Violet needed. “Thank you,” she said. “I’m also going to need towels and water.”

A few of the servants started to gather supplies at Violet’s request, as Violet dashed back to the hall. Kneeling down beside the first girl to have gotten sick, Violet said, “Look at me,” shaking her shoulder.