Before Syrah could mount a croaking, clammy protest, Rapunzel placed him gently on the wet handkerchief.
“He’s staying with me,” she said, and she gave him a kiss. “Aren’t you, Prince Frog?”
If Syrah had been human, he would have picked up Rapunzel and spun her around just to hear her shriek with joy. She could not conceive of how much he appreciated her. She had no idea he was a person, let alone a prince, yet she treated him with dignity. Usually. And one day, he would reward her. He would take her to the Olive Isles, and he’d show her everything there was to see. Jack too. The three of them would have fine times together, when he could really talk to them. Someday.
Someday soon.
AT the mouth of the grand tent, Governor Calabaza greeted the delegates. Before Rapunzel approached him, she popped Syrah into her pocket. He wriggled, wanting to stay up on her shoulder so that he could locate Deli, but Rapunzel closed her fist.
“Don’t be the way you were the time we went to Cornucopia,” she warned.
Syrah went limp. Last time they had traveled to Yellow Country, Rapunzel had spilled a cup of wine. It had puddled around his legs before he could bounce away, so he had absorbed some of it and ended up disoriented. He had still managed to find Deli and get into her pocket, but when she’d taken him out again, he had been too confused to react — and then it was too late. Jack had caught him and buttoned him into a pocket, and he hadn’t been able to escape again. That little misadventure had cost him nearly seven months.
He gave a weak, subservient croak to convince Rapunzel that he could be trusted. She petted his head with her thumb. “Good frog,” she murmured, and she removed her hand, leaving him surrounded by folds of fabric and tamped down by the wet handkerchief that Rapunzel shoved into her pocket after him.
“There you go,” she said, and he felt her hand patting the pocket. He waited in wet, muffled darkness as Rapunzel climbed the steps to the palace.
“Good evening!” boomed Governor Calabaza. “And you are —”
“Rapunzel.”
“Ah,” said the governor weakly. “Rapunzel. Of course. The witch is dead, yes? Completely? You’re certain? Well then, my hat is off to you! Excellent work, excellent — enjoy the feast!”
The level of noise went up as Rapunzel and Jack entered the tent, and Syrah could no longer distinguish their voices over everyone else’s. Conversations mingled with the sounds of busy forks and fiddles, and for three-quarters of an hour or so, Syrah remained hidden, pondering his options.
He could jump for it, he supposed, and go hunting for Deli. But there would be quite a forest of shoes to get through without being stampeded. Still, it would be easier to avoid notice now, while everyone was moving. If he tried to sneak out while the delegates were seated at dinner, someone would see him hopping along, and then Rapunzel would catch him, and Jack would put him in a drawstring pouch, and —
“No. I need sleep.”
Deli’s voice. A thrill coursed through Syrah. He raised the top of his head out of Rapunzel’s pocket and saw that she had carried him just outside one of the tent’s side doors. Torches threw light upon the sand and grass around them.
“If you could just keep an eye on the boys for another hour —”
“Ma, please,” said Deli. “Not tonight.”
Syrah rolled his eyes toward her voice, and though he expected to see her there, it didn’t prepare him for the sight of her. She wore the same dress she’d worn last year at the wedding in Cornucopia. She even had yellow starflowers in her hair. He stared at her, struck still. It was like time hadn’t passed — except that it had, and he’d been miserable. She had made him miserable.
Now she was there, right in front of him. He wanted to go to her, to make her understand who he was — but how? Hop up to her? Try to leap to her shoulder? Croak in her face until she paid attention?
Her mother, Roma Gourd, twisted one of the rings that sparkled on her slim fingers. “It’s very hard to enjoy a party when the triplets aren’t supervised,” she said, her pretty face drawn into a frown. “We brought Honey to watch them, but I guess she’s sick now, and if somebody doesn’t keep an eye on them, they’ll set fire to the place, you know they will.”
Deli shook her head. “I’m competing first thing in the morning, Ma. I’ve been working toward this for three years.”
Syrah croaked his agreement, but nobody noticed; his frog voice blended right in with the nighttime noises of the lakefront.
“Please, sweetheart,” said Roma. “Just help me for an hour — one hour, and then I’ll take over. And I won’t lose track of time this time, I promise.”
Deli hesitated.
Say no, thought Syrah. Tell her to do it herself. They’re her kids, not yours.
“All right, Ma. I’ll watch them.”
Syrah croaked indignantly, but no one heeded. Deli followed her mother back toward the tent, and Syrah wondered, in sudden alarm, if he should leap for her right now. Maybe, somehow, he could shimmy up the side of her skirt and find a way into her pocket.
He had almost decided to jump for it when a metallic gleam caught his eye. In the near darkness, several meters beyond the torches, stood a yellow carriage with golden sheaves of wheat crossed on its door.
The governor’s carriage. The Gourds’ carriage. And one of the windows was open. He could jump into that carriage, wait until the Gourds left the party, and get a ride back to wherever they were staying. It was a much better plan than trying to hitch a ride in Deli’s dress. Syrah readied himself to spring.
“Hey, Rapunzel.”
Syrah tensed. He knew that voice immediately: Cassis Swill, the launchball player from the clothing shop.
“Want to talk launchball?” asked Cassis lazily. “Or did you come out here to get to know me?”
“It’s too loud in there,” said Rapunzel, who sounded subdued, just like she had earlier. She was thinking about the witch again, Syrah was certain.
“Right,” said Cassis. “Are you courting that guy you’re with?”
“Courting?” Rapunzel sounded puzzled. “What are you trying to say?”
“Never mind, I get it,” said Cassis, laughing. “It’s none of my business.”
“What isn’t?” said Rapunzel, whom Syrah knew was honestly confused. Courting was not a subject that had come up in her travels. Jack certainly hadn’t broached it, though Syrah had often willed him to.
“So,” said Cassis. “Want to take a walk with me?”
“Where?”
“Along the shore.”
“It’s dark.”
“Yeah. And it’s quiet.”
“That’s true,” said Rapunzel, with a sigh. “All right.”
Syrah pressed the long line of his mouth together. This was the moment of escape, and he knew it. Rapunzel wouldn’t notice until later.
But there was something about Cassis he didn’t trust.
He leapt from Rapunzel’s pocket and landed silently on the sand. He shifted himself back into a dark shadow along the outside of the tent, thinking. If he hopped fast enough, he could probably find Jack somewhere in the tent.
And get trampled.
He didn’t have to find Jack, he told himself. Rapunzel could make her own choices, after all. She wanted to do things by herself — she said so often enough. If she wanted to take a walk in the dark with some glib launchball player who was hoping to take advantage of the fact that she’d been raised in a tower, then that was up to her.
Syrah glanced longingly at the governor’s carriage, but he didn’t hop toward it. Instead, he bounced toward the open tent flap and rolled his eyes upward, then left and right, scanning the crowd inside the tent. He hopped inside, squeezed behind a sideboard, and wiggled his way between the wood and the tent wall, until his head poked out at the other end. He surveyed this new section of the room, but saw no Jack. And now there were only two choices: stay close to the wall and try to get around the perimeter of the tent without attracting notice
, or leap into the crowd and dodge a lot of boots, some of which had spiked heels.
A full skirt swept past the sideboard, and Syrah took advantage of the cover. He hopped alongside the skirt as its wearer made a wide circle around the room, passing another open tent flap. Syrah hopped just outside it, where he could easily watch the guests in the room from a new angle.
No sooner had he taken up his post than Jack emerged from the crowd, deep in conversation with a compact man who wore several medals pinned to a sash around his torso. Syrah recognized him as a glass-mountain grappler who had already had a long career in the sport.
Jack’s back was half-turned to the tent flap. He laughed at something the grappler said, then nodded energetically. Syrah leapt back through the doors and made his way directly toward Jack, dodging two pairs of boots and one puddle of spilled wine, and he threw himself against Jack’s calf. Jack looked down, startled.
“Prince Frog,” he said.
“Prince what?” said the grappler.
“Never mind,” said Jack, bending down, but Syrah leapt away before Jack could grab him. He glanced back to see Jack coming toward him, his expression both irritated and determined. Syrah turned and bounced again, leaping away through the open tent flap and bouncing along toward the shore of the lake. He moved rapidly, trusting that Jack was quick enough to stay on his heels.
“Prince Frog,” Jack growled. “Come back.”
Syrah did not. He led Jack onward, all the way to where the lake lapped at the sand — but now Jack was on him, Jack had him by the leg. Syrah wiggled and writhed, but Jack clamped him in both hands and laced his fingers together. Syrah was effectively jailed. He jerked helplessly, but couldn’t move much — the pain was too acute. He went still.
“That’s it,” said Jack. “I’m putting you in a jar and poking holes in the lid —” He stopped short. “Rapunzel?”
Syrah could not see. He had no idea what Jack was witness to. But he could feel, through his belly’s close contact with Jack’s palm, the thoughts that were suddenly alive in Jack’s head.
Can’t stand this — I love her — I don’t want to ruin us — Skies, what if I ruin —
“What are you doing?” Jack said aloud. His tone was incredulous. “Where are your shoes?”
“I wanted to put my feet in.”
“Looks like you put half your dress in.”
“I didn’t mean to. I didn’t know it would be so deep right away.”
“And get away from those plants, would you? That’s juggetsbane. It’s toxic.”
“I thought it was watercress.”
“No, around the edges, there’s a light brown … Look. I know you want to do things on your own, but this is serious. Until you know how to swim, you shouldn’t be in the lake by yourself.”
“I wasn’t by myself. Cassis was with me.”
“Who?”
“That boy from the shop. The launchball player. He went to get me a drink.”
Jack was quiet for a minute. When he spoke again, his voice was neutral. “Should I go?”
“Why?”
“So you can talk to Cassis.” Jack’s tone was heroically noncommittal, but Syrah, who was cradled at his chest, could hear the heavy thudding of his pulse and could also feel, through his belly, Jack’s absolute panic and despair. “I don’t want to get in your way.”
“What do you mean?”
Jack unclenched his laced hands, and Syrah looked out from between his fingers to see Rapunzel standing knee-deep in the lake, holding her gown up out of the water, her golden hair lit by the moon. If Syrah had been a man, and if Rapunzel hadn’t been like a little sister to him, he would have called this a kissing moment.
Jack set Syrah down on a rock. He kicked off his fancy shoes, rolled up his fancy trousers, and waded into the water beside Rapunzel. Syrah knew he ought to head for the carriage now, but he couldn’t. Not yet.
“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Rapunzel said, tilting up her face to catch the moonlight. “So much better than inside. All those people.”
“A lot of people will be watching you tomorrow, when you compete.”
“That’s different. I won’t have to talk to them and answer their questions, and —” Her voice caught. “They always want to know how I killed her,” she said, so quietly that Syrah almost couldn’t hear her. “They want me to describe how she died.”
“Who does?”
“Everyone.” Rapunzel turned her face and wiped it on her arm. “I came out here to get away from it, but then Cassis asked me questions too. It’s just a story to them. Like at the Copper Door. But — to me —” Her breath hitched.
Jack put his arm around her waist, and she rested her cheek against his temple.
“Remember when we went swimming in the Red Glade?” he asked, after a moment.
“You went swimming. I almost drowned.” But Rapunzel’s voice sounded a little stronger.
“Remember when you climbed out of that ravine?”
She nodded. “I think my arms still hurt,” she said, and laughed a little. “Remember when you chased those bandits because you liked my hair?” she teased, and elbowed him.
“Yes,” said Jack quietly. “Rapunzel, I …”
Syrah tensed. Finish that thought, he demanded silently. Do it right now, or I swear I will jump on your head and puke flies all over you.
But Jack did not finish. He looked like he might do the puking himself. Rapunzel pulled back to look at him, and froze. “What’s wrong?” she said. “You look so serious.”
“I … feel serious.”
“About what?”
“You.” Jack’s voice was low.
“Me?” Rapunzel frowned. “Why?”
Jack hesitated. “You’ve been out of the tower a long time now,” he said. “You’re getting pretty used to the world. And that’s great — I mean it. I’m glad.”
But he didn’t sound it, and though Rapunzel was naïve, she was no fool. She eyed him. “Jack, what’s this about?”
“You don’t need my help anymore,” he said. “Not really.”
“So?”
“So maybe you won’t want me around so much.” He paused. “You might want to go separate ways. Spend time with new people for a while. Like Cassis.”
“Him?” Rapunzel looked alarmed. “Do you want to go separate ways?”
“No, but …”
“But what? You’re my best friend. I love you. And I do need you. You make me happy — don’t you know that?”
Jack studied her for a moment. He nodded.
And then he kissed her.
Rapunzel let go of her skirt, and it fell into the water. For a moment, she didn’t seem to know what to do; her hands flew up as though she might push Jack away at any second — and then she flung her arms around him.
Syrah cheered silently.
It was time for him to go.
He hopped quickly and quietly up the beach, toward the governor’s carriage. He croaked with amusement when he passed Cassis, who stood outside the tent with two drinks in his hands, scowling down at the shoreline. When Syrah reached the carriage, he leapt onto the wheel, hopped up to the windowsill, and rolled his bulging eyes to cast one wistful glance back at the silhouettes on the shore. He felt a momentary twinge of guilt — Rapunzel would be heartbroken when she couldn’t find him — but he would make it up to her one day. When he was a man again, he would explain.
Thank you, he thought, and he wished he could say it. For everything.
Then he leapt into the governor’s carriage, leaving Rapunzel and Jack behind.
WHY the sudden need for secrecy?”
The deep voice startled Syrah so badly that he gave an involuntary and unfortunately very loud croak. The carriage was no longer empty as it had been before, but he’d been too distracted to notice.
“You lied, Calabaza,” came the reply, and Syrah recognized the hard, pitiless voice instantly. Grandmother Luffa. “You promised me. But rumor has it that you’ve chan
ged your mind.”
Syrah, who had landed just inside the window on a leather armrest, had no sooner found purchase with his gelatinous toes than he heard the carriage door open and felt the slap of Royal Governor Calabaza’s hand swatting him away. He barely felt the inside of Calabaza’s mind — Never giving this up, don’t care what she says — before he fell back outside.
“I’m running for governor, Mother,” said Calabaza as Syrah hit the ground. The carriage door swung shut. “You can’t stop me.”
Consternated, Syrah hopped under the carriage and across to its other side. He sprang up onto the spokes of the front wheel as conversation drifted out from the carriage windows.
“I will not allow Yellow Country to remain a monarchy,” said Luffa. “I did not liberate this nation to see it make the same mistakes as every other fool kingdom in Tyme that values its royal bloodlines over the will of its people.”
Syrah heard this with some surprise — and a little flare of anger. His royal family, after all, ruled one of those fool kingdoms. He wondered if Luffa had ever spoken so openly in front of Nana Cava.
He missed Nana Cava. He couldn’t wait until tomorrow and the ATC. There, he would find his family — and they would find him. His nana would know him. Somehow, with those half-blind eyes of hers, she would see him. She always had before.
“Oh, calm down,” said Calabaza dismissively. “We’re not a monarchy. The people elected me, didn’t they?”
Syrah leapt from the top of the wheel, up to the armrest of the driver’s bench.
“Every time you run for governor, people vote for you out of a sense of duty and tradition,” said Luffa. “They even call you Royal Governor — it’s a kingship by another name, and you know it. If the position does not pass to someone who is not a Gourd, our democracy will never find its feet.”
“If the people don’t want me, they can vote for whoever runs against me,” said Calabaza cheerfully. “That’s the point of your little democratic experiment, isn’t it?”
Syrah agreed. Luffa had given her people the vote, and now she had to live with whatever they chose. That was what made democracies so stupid. She should have stayed queen — then she could have made up her own laws, disowned Calabaza, and passed her crown to anyone she wanted.
Transformed: The Perils of the Frog Prince Page 7