I untied it from around my waist and expected it to feed me.
Nothing happened.
I heard hooves. I ran to the north window. Four riders. None of them Father—I knew how he sat a horse. I practically threw myself down the ladder. Father must have remembered he loved me. I was a Bamarre but not loathsome. They were going to take me back to camp!
At the bottom I raised my hood to cover my hair as well as it might.
The lock turned. The door opened just wide enough to admit one guard, and he came in sideways. They hadn’t come to release me. In the moment of light before the door closed behind him, I saw that this one was clean-shaven, with thin lips and a sharp nose.
“Let me out, please. I’ll never forget you if you do.”
“No, young mistress.” He set down two satchels and a jug. I had a silver coin in my purse. I offered it to him to let me go, but he ignored it and left in the same sideways fashion.
Fa—Lord Tove—still hadn’t revealed that I was a Bamarre, or the guard wouldn’t have called me young mistress.
The tower pressed in on me again. My frenzied self gibbered that I would die here.
Still, I hauled the satchels and the jug up the ladders. In one satchel, I found, wrapped in burlap, an entire wheel of cheese and two loaves of hard bread. The jug contained water mixed with vinegar, which made the water safe to drink.
The second satchel held a mat and a blanket. At least Lord Tove didn’t want me to freeze to death. Did that mean he still loved me? That he merely needed time to get used to the truth?
Under the blanket, I found my book of poems, the seven-league boots that Lady Mother had given me, and the other sundries I’d brought from home. He must not have recognized the boots, or he may have just told the guards to bring me my things except for my weapons.
Funny. Jailed with boots that could take me anywhere.
What if I put them on and took a step? Might I tear through the walls and be free?
Or be battered to death?
Better to die than remain imprisoned.
The prospect of escape calmed me. Food first. With my little knife, which no one had taken from me, I cut a wedge of cheese and a chunk of bread and imagined where I’d go.
Funny again. Eating hard bread and cheese when I had a tablecloth that could produce a feast.
This tower rose in western New Lakti; Kyngoll lay to the west and northwest; home, or my former home, beckoned from the northeast; my first parents lived in the eastern village of Gavrel, where I’d been taught two Lakti families also lived, and an unknown number of the Bamarre.
For a minute I considered going to Kyngoll in the boots, but I doubted I’d be welcome. I stuffed the food and my things into a single, bulging sack.
No large lakes lay to the east. I wouldn’t drown. If I was unlucky enough to arrive in a village, I’d simply take another step—if the enormous boots hadn’t fallen off in transit.
As soon as I pulled the first one on, it shrank to fit my foot! It was still filthy and worn, but it fit perfectly. I held out my foot to admire this wonder. Then I donned the other marvel, which also molded itself to my foot.
I stood, faced the southeast window, lifted my sack, and stepped—
—and was forced to the floor by a swirl of light. Halina took shape.
I hadn’t seen her angry before and wished I weren’t seeing it now.
The light illuminated her in an orange glow. She pulled me up and jabbed a finger into my chest. “Fool, thoughtless . . .”
My chain mail dug into me with each poke.
“. . . caring only for yourself.” Her finger stopped, but her jaw still jutted forward, and her eyebrows still slanted alarmingly upward.
“What?” I choked out.
“Did you think—if you thought at all—that magic boots are toys? Stepping into a wall! This fairy would be standing over a corpse.” A smile replaced the anger. “This fairy doesn’t think you’re usually a fool.” She touched my cheek. “You’ve done well, except for almost destroying yourself. Your hair is growing beautifully. I was proud when you decided you couldn’t continue as Tove’s daughter.”
I blurted out, “Why do I matter to you? Why do the Bamarre?”
Her gaze shifted away from me. “We—fairies—lost a battle. Not here.” She waved her hands around the tower. “In our realm. I was there, part of our failure. The result was that monsters came to Old Lakti, though they can’t go anywhere else. If the Lakti hadn’t crossed the Eskerns, the Bamarre would be free. Who knows what your life would have been? Your sister’s life? The life of every Bamarre subject of New Lakti? That’s why this fairy cares.” She vanished.
Into the air I said, “How can I free anyone if I can’t free myself?”
“Perry?”
Halina must have kept me from hearing hoofbeats. I tripped on my hair as I rushed to the north window.
Willem gazed up at me. No horse. He’d come on foot. “Perry?”
Did he know? Had Lord Tove told the truth about me?
“Why are you here?” he said, revealing he didn’t know.
I wasn’t ready to tell him and lose my only friend. “Hello, Willem.” Yesterday’s wind had died to nothing. I didn’t have to shout. “You’re not fighting today?”
Kindhearted as ever, he didn’t press me. “No, but Lord Tove is.”
Of course.
“I told Father I didn’t want to, and he said I’m too young anyway.” He shrugged. “I didn’t admit I never want to fight again. Tomorrow I’m to help the armorer.”
Probably to give me time, he told me about camp doings. A tent had caught fire and, accompanied by great hilarity, the blaze had been extinguished with slop buckets. But then he came back to his question. “Why are you shut up here? And why was your maid sent home in chains?”
“She was?” Poor Annet!
At least she was alive.
He nodded and waited.
What could I say?
The truth. He liked that in me, and what difference would it make? “Lord Tove put me here because he found out I’m a Bamarre.” Would I disgust Willem, too?
“What? Am I going deaf again?”
I repeated myself, fairly shouting the words, and felt my face redden. “My birth parents were Bamarre.” Everyone knew I’d been adopted.
He stared up at me. “You’re not a Bamarre.”
“I am. Lord Tove despises me.”
“You can’t be.”
I waited.
“If you are, everything we were taught is wrong. You’re not weak, for one thing.”
“I might be weak if I’d been raised a Bamarre.”
“But the Bamarre are supposed to be naturally weak.”
“I can’t bear being penned up in here. That’s weak.” Why was I arguing?
“But you are bearing it.”
True, even though gusts of terror kept whipping through me. I asked, despite a different fear, “Are you still my friend?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Why wouldn’t I be? You haven’t changed.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
MY NEXT BREATH filled my lungs, unobstructed by swallowed tears. I was bathed in gratitude for having such a friend.
“Who told you you’re a Bamarre?”
“A fairy.”
“A fairy?”
“Halina. She made my hair grow.” I pushed a lock between the bars and fed it out. The ends dangled a few feet above his head. Soon, they’d reach the ground.
He shook his head in surprise. “Why?”
“I wish I knew.” I began my story, starting with Lady Mother in my parents’ cottage.
He took a step backward. “She stole you?”
“And Annet.” I went on, and it was a relief to tell, because I saw Willem’s sympathy—and no disgust. I omitted only that Halina expected me to free the Bamarre, us Bamarre.
At the end he said, “I know why the fairy picked you.”
“Why?”
“If I had a purpose, I’d choose
you to carry it out. I don’t know what her goal is, but you’re strong-willed and—”
“Even though I’m a Bamarre?”
He just continued. “And determined. Unafraid.”
Except of confinement.
“Thank you.” I did have those qualities. “Why do people think I’m here?”
“It’s rumored that Lord Tove now blames you for getting us captured.”
“Me, not you?”
“They think I’m excused because I killed a Kyngoll. They all want to talk about that.” His face turned a darker shade. “I’m getting credit for modesty.”
“If you enjoyed the killing, you still wouldn’t want to talk about it. You are modest.”
“You don’t boast, either.”
“But I’m happy to explain how I run fast or how I fence well. Even if no one asks, I’ve been known to tell anyway.”
He grinned, and I felt pleased. I’d never before said something amusing on purpose.
“Perry . . . I have to leave. If I’m not there for the noon meal, Mistress Clarra will search for me. I’ll try to come tonight.”
I doubt I’d ever smiled so widely.
He blinked up at me, almost as if I’d shined the pendant at him. “I’ll find a way.”
“Can you bring shears? I can hardly walk with all this hair.”
He frowned. “How would I get them to you?”
“You can tie them to my hair. I’ll pull them up.”
He ran off, arms close to his sides, knees high, as I’d taught him.
Cheered beyond anything I could have expected, I went on smiling.
Perhaps I would read some poems. I turned from the window and saw my hair eddying across the floor, dunes of hair, a landscape of hair.
If I braided it, at least it would be a little shorter.
The task filled most of the afternoon. Just keeping the strands separate was job enough, and pulling the whole length of each across the other took time. I picked out spiders, spiderweb strings, clumps of dust, and pebbles. When I couldn’t untangle the knots, I braided them in.
While I labored, I pushed away my fear and banished thoughts of Lord Tove and Lady Mother. However, I couldn’t help thinking of Annet. In my mind’s eye I saw her stony face. Did she think I’d betrayed her?
What had she told Lord Tove? Had she mentioned Halina?
She’d be in a cart, wouldn’t she? They wouldn’t make her walk, would they?
How had she thought of me, these years? As a Lakti or a Bamarre? Had she ever loved me?
Had I loved her?
Yes. She was my companion always, there for my victories and my defeats, as difficult as Lady Mother. I loved them both. The difference was, I’d struggled to please Lady Mother. I hadn’t tried to please Annet.
Finished, the braid snaked back and forth across the floor. I wrapped it around my waist to get it out of the way and returned to watching the beautiful free countryside outside the window. Between the tower and the Maze cypress woods that grew to the south, about forty feet away, was a fountain, which no longer spouted. Around the fountain, a mosaic of tiles had been laid.
The tiles showed white birds against a background of black. Doves, I thought idly.
But as I stared, the white dove tiles receded, and black tiles pushed forward against a field of white. The black tiles were cats! I clapped my hands and smiled.
I continued to stare. After a minute, the birds returned. Then the images shifted back and forth.
Oh! The bird was the Bamarre, the cat the Lakti, one the prey of the other.
Eventually I tired of looking. Hungry, I tried again to use the magic tablecloth. I shook it out. Nothing happened, except the part that dragged on the floor got dirty. Were the words Sir Lerrin had spoken a magic spell?
The tablecloth had been folded, and Sir Lerrin had held it. I did as he had.
“Tablecloth, set . . .” No. “Good tablecloth, set . . .” No. “Good tablecloth, please set thyself.”
It pulled away from me, hung in the air a moment, then opened. It hesitated, as if seeking a table, before spreading itself over an invisible one, the cloth falling crisply from edges that weren’t there. Cautiously, with my jaw probably flapping, I pressed down several inches in from a corner. Hard, like an actual table. And there was no longer a speck of dirt on the cloth.
Food arrived, not the largesse of last night, but more than I could eat: half a stewed capon; two enormous poached goose eggs; asparagus, which, without magic, could be had only in spring; slices of roast mutton; a half-moon loaf of bread; raisin pudding; dried dates and figs; and walnuts already shelled.
Daylight dwindled while I ate. I noticed that my hair continued to grow. I had begun the braid at the nape of my neck, but now loose hair descended to my waist.
When I could barely see what I was eating, three candles appeared in silver candlesticks and lit themselves. Beeswax candles! A pure light, little smoke, and no stink of rancid meat that tallow candles gave out.
I finished eating, but I didn’t make the food disappear because the candles would vanish too.
“Perry?”
I ran to the window.
Willem, who had a torch, asked about my light. “I saw the flickering halfway from the camp.”
He crowed in triumph when he heard that I’d stolen Sir Lerrin’s tablecloth.
I explained about the candles.
“Oh.” He paused. “I don’t think you should use the tablecloth at night unless I’m here with the torch.”
Ah. If guards came after dark they’d see the light and discover how I happened to have it, and they’d take the tablecloth. “Thank you.”
He grinned. “You should thank me. This is the kind of advice you give me.”
“Which you receive with ill humor.” Had I ever teased anyone before?
“But after an hour of thinking, I’m always grateful.”
I liked banter!
“What does the tablecloth bring a prisoner? Not just hard cheese?”
I told him. “It’s not fair I can’t share.”
“It’s not fair you’re in there. I have the shears.”
I had an idea. “You can bring them up.”
“How?”
I told him.
He laughed. “Peregrine, Peregrine, let down your hair!”
I pushed my braid out the window until it reached Willem’s head, which was tilted back, his mouth open in astonishment. I doubled the cord of hair I still held and tied it around a window bar, so that Willem’s weight wouldn’t pull on my scalp. “Ascend!”
He planted his torch in the ground and tucked the shears into his belt.
My view of his climb was blocked by the windowsill. Don’t fall!
Remembering Sir Lerrin’s words—Good tablecloth, I thank thee for a fine meal—I dismissed it.
When Willem’s face appeared above the windowsill, I summoned food again. Cleverly, the tablecloth created a table right at my elbow, and it delivered more food and four candles.
The windowsill projected far enough from the tower for Willem to sit. Before I could offer him food, he passed the shears between the bars. “I have something else for you.” He loosened the drawstrings of the purse at his waist.
My heart raced. The Lakti rarely gave gifts.
He extracted a snail shell and passed it to me.
I loved it. “It’s beautiful! I’ve never seen one with so many colors.” It was striped blue, brown, ruby, and white.
“It never held a snail. It’s made of resin and clay.”
I couldn’t tell.
“When something troubles me, I hold it in my hand. The feel of it is soothing.”
“It is!” Smooth, and I could trace its shape as it curved in on itself. “Might it break easily?”
“I don’t think so. I’ve dropped it many times.” He lowered his voice, as if anyone could hear us. “It has magic.”
“If you hold it to your ear, you can hear the sea, right? Even though it isn�
��t real?”
He smiled. “Try it.”
I put it to my ear.
“Surprised? I’m—”
His voice was uncomfortably loud. I took the shell away.
“—not sure how far you can hear with it, maybe half a mile.”
“Where did you get it? Is it fairy- or sorcerer-made?”
“I don’t know. My father’s mother gave it to me for my last birthday. She said I shouldn’t use it to eavesdrop.” He puffed out his cheeks on a long exhale. “But you should. It could save you.”
It might! “Thank you!”
“Do I smell lamprey?”
There was lamprey in a green sauce, a roast duck, fat mushrooms stuffed with cheese, buttered carrots, braided bread (had the tablecloth noticed my braid?), and pear-and-custard pie.
But the bowls, even tilted sideways, didn’t fit between the bars. I passed Willem a duck drumstick and a folded-over slice of bread. Our hands touched. My breath caught.
He mumbled thanks and looked as surprised as I felt.
To cover my discomfort, I said, “I’ll have to feed you the rest.”
When he smiled, his mouth tilted up more on the right. No one else had such a smile.
I speared a slice of lamprey with my little knife and poked it between the bars. He brought his face close to eat.
I dropped my knife, luckily inside the tower. “Sorry!” I put the dirty bit on the tablecloth and wiped off my knife. The fallen food and the grease stain shrank and vanished.
“Oh!” Willem cried.
“When you send the food away, everything shrinks.” It was easier to talk than to think about the nearness of his mouth.
He may have felt the same, because, between bites, he asked about my escape from Sir Lerrin.
“I feared I was a coward by not killing the guard, but now I’m glad.” The Kyngoll had been nothing but kind. I added, feeding Willem half a mushroom, “I wouldn’t have left without you.”
“I didn’t think you would.” He paused. “If not for you and Father, I wouldn’t have gone back with Lord Tove. I liked the Kyngoll. They wouldn’t have made me fight.”
If not for you. I’d hold that to think about later. I said, “It’s possible they’re pleasant only so prisoners don’t resist.”
“You sound exactly like a Lakti.” He shook his head, seeming bewildered. “Since I left you, I’ve been noticing the way we treat our Bamarre servants but not the Lakti ones and what we say about the Bamarre while they’re standing right there.”
The Lost Kingdom of Bamarre Page 9