Princess Ben (12 page)

I seethed, again left ignorant. Enlightenment came swiftly, however. The next morning, I sat as usual in my breakfast nook, awaiting a meal for which I had no appetite. The pleasant serving maid today nigh quivered in fear.

"Do
you
believe, Princess Ben," she whispered, her eyes darting about, "that spirits fill this castle?"

"I have not seen any," I answered truthfully and, I hope, calmly.

"But lights burn in the Wizard Tower! Directly above your room!"

My hand jerked, spilling hot chocolate. "What is this you say? What tower?"

The girl's eyes grew even wider. "The tallest tower. It's called Wizard Tower—didn't you know that?"

"I am afraid I did not," I answered, buttering my roll with a trembling hand. "And lights burn in it? Doubtless it be only moonlight. You know what tricks moonlight plays."

"Might be. I've seen it myself, and it's hard to tell..."

Her reassurance faded. "No one can get to that tower, you know. There's no staircase or nothing—even a ladder won't reach. Do you ever hear anything?" She shivered, uttering these words.

"No, of course not. Besides, if no one can get to it, there couldn't be a light inside."

"But it's
magic,
don't you see? And what about the food missing from the kitchen—the cooks are in a state about it. They say it's a
witch.'"

I stiffened. "I prefer the term
sorceress. Witch
is so common."

At once, a barrier dropped between us.

I had not realized I could sound so much like Sophia. "Yes, Your Highness," the girl replied frostily. She curtsied and withdrew, and would speak no further about the subject, no matter how I probed.

Of course my indiscretions had not gone unnoticed! Now that I had sense enough to listen, I heard whispered conversations everywhere, fantastic tales that spread as mushrooms upon each repeating. That the castle had been built by wizards may well have been a source of pride, but it did naught to assuage present fears. Lady Beatrix and Monsieur Grosbouche muttered horror stories throughout
my lessons. As one might imagine, Hildebert stolidly ignored all talk, but she was unique in her skepticism. The queen made pronouncement after pronouncement against such chatter, to little effect, and at times the woman appeared just as anxious as Lady Beatrix herself. Not about witches, mind you, but about loss of control, for rumor is as destabilizing to authority as sorcery, if not more so.

***

Given the great challenges of my life at the moment—my nightly pilfering, my imminent marriage to some unknown specimen of imbecilic manhood, my endless quest for sleep, and now the risk of exposure as every castle resident sought that mysterious culprit—one would be right to express surprise at my growing passion for flying. Nevertheless, fly I did.

The spell was not easy. (Would any of them be?) True, my long hours practicing elemental air now worked to my benefit, but elemental air made up only one small part of the process. The broom's long solitude had faded its enchantment, which needed to be repeated from scratch. Again the wizard room aided me as cabinets unlocked to reveal desiccated bits of eagle's egg in a cloisonné tinderbox; a jar of powdered bat wings; bottled cloud mist (which looked
suspiciously like water, though I did my best not to question). Finally the broom pulsated with the slight tingle I had expected when first touching it.

At last came that fateful night when, trembling with excitement, I brought the broom into my cell; small as it was, it had more space than the wizard room. I chanted the nonsensical words, proud my memory served so well. With great precision, mimicking to the very best of my ability the diagrams in the book, I gestured the prescribed movements and poured elemental air across the broom's surface. I finished the ultimate flourish and dropped my hands to my sides. For a breathless moment, naught happened; then the broom rose into the air and hovered at seat height before me.

I shrieked in euphoria. Unable to contain my enthusiasm, I leapt aboard, grasping the handle so vigorously that the broom shot upward, smacking me against the ceiling with a crack that I was certain could be heard throughout the castle. Dizzy with pain, I fell forward, and the broom hurtled to the floor, depositing me in an ungainly mass of limbs, bruises, and tears. After a not inconsiderable time, I managed to gather my wits and dry my eyes, and noticed with relief that broom was far less damaged than rider.

I spent the rest of the night and several more introducing
myself to this unique transport. The key to navigation, I established, was to focus my sights on my destination. Of course, as I practiced only in my cell, my destinations were always quite close: the window, the door, the portal. I became quite adept at turning, as this constituted the entirety of my flight time. My rough men's clothing now proved even more essential, for I needed to sit astride, and in my nightdress the winter air chilled my exposed legs.

Oh, how I longed to soar through the sky! Past the stars, across the moon, over sleeping Montagne and its flag-adorned turrets. Even as I dreamt of this rapture, my wiser side spoke against it. Rumors of witchcraft now burned across the country. Sheep on Ancienne had gone astray; a shepherd boy had not been seen in weeks; spirits with cloven feet tracked ash across the ballroom floor. As far as the truth went, I had seen the ballroom myself, and the prints (well should I know) were only mice. Sheep had been disappearing from the mountain since time immemorial; rational men in rational times agreed the creatures must be tumbling into an unmarked ravine. As for the shepherd boy, I had no insights beyond the knowledge that I was in no way responsible.

Yet tempers were raw, and the castle's populace, tense over the impending ball and doubtless sensing in some intangible way the threat from Drachensbett, promised violence against anyone suspected of sorcery. Better to dart about my cell like a beetle trapped in a jar, and to enter the pantries only when my howling belly could bear hunger no more.

***

As the festivities drew closer, my days grew ever more oppressive. The ball had emerged as the social event of the winter. Overtaxed though Lady Beatrix might be, it was clear she took the greatest delight in her responsibilities, and were she to perish on the dance floor as the orchestra played its last notes, she would certainly consider her life more than complete.

I, on the other hand, felt precisely the opposite. I spent hours perched like a straw target while dressmakers pinned up fabrics and bemoaned my stature, Sophia snapping that I should stand straighter, as though posture alone caused my apple-shaped silhouette. All subterfuge surrounding the event had disappeared. My mate would be chosen whether I wished it or no; any small effect I might have on the decision would be determined solely by my abilities to charm the man I favored. Sophia spelled this out in grim detail, and it is a testament to her faith in tradition that she, despite all evidence to
the contrary and three-quarters of a year in my company, yet believed me capable of such wiles. Better I would have been at pulling parsnips out of my nose than charming any man, even if I so desired it, even if I quadrupled my studies in her unique curriculum.

However, as the saying goes, a clever chicken can escape the crock. I had my wits, my magic, such as it was, and, perhaps my greatest asset, my current reputation. If necessary, I would sleep through the event. More than once in my earshot the queen herself expressed fear of this outcome. Or, heeding the ceaseless warnings that rained upon me, I might simply play the glutton. If my greed had half the effect on the guests that Beatrix predicted, my task would be an easy one.

Kind Lord Frederick, employing the same remarkable intuition that had served him so many decades in service of the Montagne court, must have sensed my scheming, for one afternoon I found myself under his thoughtful eye as I struggled across the ballroom with Monsieur Grosbouche.

"How wonderfully you dance together," the lord said, choosing the high road of flattery over the boulevard of truth. "If Her Highness so consents, I should be delighted to escort her in the next movement."

I blinked, for rarely did I encounter formality put to such gratifying effect. Regaining my composure, I agreed to his request as Monsieur Grosbouche waddled to the nearest chair, grateful to retie his laces and free himself momentarily from his obstreperous student.

Never had I danced with a partner about whom I felt such consideration, and this unprecedented circumstance required all my concentration. Lord Frederick was a most thoughtful dance partner, and he refrained from grunting the time into my ear. The experience was so altogether foreign as to constitute another activity entirely. It was, dare I say, pleasant.

"My dear Princess," Lord Frederick began.

I stepped on his toes, then apologized most profusely.

"Do not give it another thought. A dancer should be so enthralled with his partner that he pays no notice to such trivialities."

To my great embarrassment, I blushed. That I might be a partner who enthralled had never before suggested itself.

Lord Frederick beamed. "What a joy it is to see you looking girlish. You pass so much of the day somber."

"The ball is quite demanding of us all."

"Ah, yes, the ball ... it seems the most trivial of undertakings, does it not?"

I nodded, grateful for the opportunity to express myself.

"And yet the fate of our kingdom may very well hinge on it. Did you not know that?"

"The queen implied so—she seems to care a great deal about it..."

"Indeed she does. She cares a great deal about
you,
Ben."

This statement caught me so off-guard that I nearly sent us sprawling. "She doesn't in the least!"

"She most certainly does. Remember, she has no experience with children."

"I am not a child!"

"Of course you are not ... But she, like you, is making the best effort she can."

I scowled. I did not appreciate the notion that she was making an effort. Nor did I want to dwell on whether I was.

"I speak to you as an equal, Ben. Nations larger than ours desire to claim us. If we are to survive, we must build alliances."

"I don't want to marry!"

"Nor do I wish it, not in circumstances such as these. But, odd as it must doubtless seem, a ball is as critical a display of strength as a marching army. Surely you desire to demonstrate our strength to the world?"

I nodded. I did want to display Montagne's strength; I was patriot enough for this.

"Your father would be quite proud of his little soldier. You are a soldier now; I hope you recognize that."

"Yes, my lord," I whispered. I would endure the upcoming festivities, however awful they proved, for my father, wherever he might be. What followed afterward I would confront in the passage of time.

***

The ball was the stuff of nightmares. Preparations reached a last fevered note; as the guests began arriving the day before the ball, Lady Beatrix outdid herself arranging them throughout the castle in a most politic fashion, with fires in every room against the March chill. A small banquet had been prepared for the early comers, for which I had the most elaborate assemblage of clothing. Interpreting my vow to Lord Frederick to denote the dance itself, I refused to attend, and had such a case of hysterics—false at first, but building to real emotion—that I was excused. Sophia could not have been more disgusted.

The day of the ball was spent preparing me much as one prepares a goose for Christmas, with the same ultimate effect. I was squeezed into my dress despite my ceaseless complaints that I could not breathe; powdered and scented almost to death; painted and primped and polished. My scalp was wrenched near to bits in an effort to squeeze my hair beneath the wig ordered especially for this event. Alas, no matter how the hairdressers struggled, they could not cram it into the hairpiece. Hildebert, boiling with frustration, at last took matters into her own hands and without so much as a word of warning snatched up a pair of shears and lopped off a great handful of my locks.

I was aghast; I would have burst into sobs had not the look on her face warned me off, and so instead I was forced to watch in the mirror, whimpering in misery, as she trimmed my hair short.

"All the ladies do it," she explained, jamming the wig onto my head. Having never witnessed Lady Beatrix wigless, I would not know, but tears ran down my sorry cheeks at this pointless and vicious indignity.

At last dusk fell. The orchestra started its first song, the notes flowing through the castle to fill me with dread. I stood glowering at my wigged and corseted, gloved and painted
reflection, my feet already aching in dance slippers more akin to pincers than shoes. "I look ridiculous," I stated, and it did not require a magic mirror to confirm that I spoke the truth.

I remember most how crowded the ballroom appeared compared to its empty vastness most days, and how everyone, man and woman alike, glittered in a polychrome sea of silks, jewels, and powder. I was of course expected to make a grand entrance at the top of the stairs; we had practiced this extensively, and I consider it my lone small victory that I did not end up in a heap on the bottom step. Instead the kings and queens, lords and ladies, princes and princesses, earls, dukes, knights, marquises, and other titles I scarcely knew hovered about to be presented, one by one. I could not recall their names if I tried.

That is not exactly true. I do recall Sophia herself introducing me to the Baron Edwig of Farina, for the hand he offered was, to my surprise, even clammier than that of Monsieur Grosbouche. The man's face was painted almost as thickly as Lady Beatrix's, and he clutched me as though I were a prize he would not quickly release.

"The baron," the queen said, "has traveled five days to attend this fete. He is most interested in making your acquaintance."

"I had heard tales of your loveliness," Edwig simpered, "but none does it justice. Perhaps someday you will match the beautiful queen regent herself."

I glowered at the man, wondering if he had any notion of how ridiculous he sounded. "I trust you are enjoying your stay in our castle?" I asked at last.