After a moment, she answered in her soft whisper, “River.”
“River,” he chittered shrilly. “I see, I see!” He turned and darted away again, and the watcher soon lost sight of him. Only quivering leaves hinted at his location, and then even those returned to stillness.
She looked again across at the princess’s wall. “Frail,” the creature had said. It could be days before she caught a glimpse of Princess Scylla. She curled back into her nest with a sigh.
Coronation Day. The princess would be crowned Queen of Rellant. So many of the kingdom’s people had thronged to the village and surroundings since yesterday. Many were camped on the horse games field, and in the pastures around the castle... even on the sides of the roads. And the coronation feast would mean food and people everywhere – opportunity, but danger too, for a small abandoned child.
***
“What do you think?”
Princess Scylla stared into the tall, framed mirror in front of her. Something of a castle wonder, it had been imported some years before at great cost by the king as a gift for Queen Maris. Some foreign craftsman had carved the ridiculously ornate wooden frame, and it leaned against the wall in the queen’s chambers.
It had been a long day already, although it was still before noon. Scylla was wearing the dress that Minda had altered. Of simple cut and in the deep black of mourning, it now had a wide collar in cream draping across her upper back, and extending from her right shoulder to her waist on the left. Minda had also added cream fabric to the sleeves, hanging in dramatic folds from her elbows to her wrists.
“You can’t make a skinny troll look like a queen,” she scoffed, but her voice lacked conviction. Sorrell stood behind her looking in the mirror, a look of approval on her face. Minda’s efforts had paid off in the end, and even Scylla could not disagree.
However, not everything had proceeded smoothly.
Minda had altered the dress to suit Scylla’s small frame and had also washed and combed her long and untidy black locks. Then she began to cut.
That had not gone so well.
Scylla had sat in silence while Minda combed out her straggly hair, and while she cut the left side to just above her shoulder. When she moved around to the right side, Scylla had suddenly recoiled.
“Stop!” she ordered. “Do not cut anymore!”
“I cannot stop here,” Minda pointed out.
“I do not want it cut! Leave it! I will braid it or something.”
“You have several inches of hair on this side, and close to three feet of length on the other.”
“I do not care!” Scylla’s voice was harsh. She drew a deep breath.
“Princess.” Sorrell, who had grown tired of lying flat on the bed but could do little other than shuffle slowly around and watch, said calmly, “Please do not throw a tantrum if you can help it. Minda is not Queen Maris – she is giving you a presence suitable for the coronation.”
“She cannot make a troll into a queen! Stop.”
“The late queen liked to call her the Princess Troll,” Sorrell explained to Minda. “The queen’s ladies followed her example... and even worse. They were vicious when the king was not around.”
“I am sorry that happened.” Minda looked regretful. “Her mother would have been so very angry.”
“I do not remember my mother and I do not care.” Scylla glared at her. “I will leave my hair as it is.”
“I wonder...” Sorrell was looking at the princess’s hair thoughtfully. “As your hair does need trimming... the last few inches look ragged and brownish from all the split ends.”
“You wonder what?” Scylla demanded. Should she let Minda continue or not? Part of her wanted to acquiesce, the rest of her teetered on the brink of hysteria.
“I think... maybe cut it in a long angle from the short side to here.” Her finger traveled from the cut section – below and behind Scylla’s left ear – across her back and near the ends on the right side. “Cut off a few inches of the ragged ends on the right and angle it up to the short side.”
“It would look like a raven’s wing.” Minda wore a troubled expression.
A raven’s wing! With sudden interest, Scylla stared at herself in the mirror. She fingered the long strands on the right side. Sorrell was right, the ends were faded and frizzy. In contrast, the short side was black and glossy and moved like silk when she turned her head.
“A raven’s wing!” She sat upright for a moment, looking in the mirror. “I will have a raven’s wing,” she decided.
“You could braid it up when you want it out of the way, or leave it free,” Sorrell pointed out.
“Sorrell, you cut it,” Scylla directed her. “Minda, give her the scissors!”
With an unreadable expression, Minda held out the scissors to Sorrell, who did not take it.
“I?” she demanded. “Pardon me, Princess, have you forgotten that my arm is broken and so are my ribs?”
“Oh... Well, then, if you will, Minda.”
“I have never cut a raven’s wing,” Minda said with a return of humor. “However, this could look quite striking if you allow it to hang free.”
“Tell her how to cut it, Sorrell.”
“From here to here, and then an angle like a wingtip from here,” Sorrell pointed out.
Minda cut the long angle steeply from the left side and then on a lesser angle to the front. The split ends fell to the floor along with the rest of the tendrils that were cut away. She was left with about two feet of hair on the right.
“Well, it is lighter,” she said, looking in the mirror again and flicking the hair around. “A raven’s wing! I wish I had thought of that before... I believe I will have it braided up for the coronation on this side, but leave the short side free. Or perhaps braid the short side and leave the long side free.” She pondered. Minda carefully pulled back the left side, leaving the raven’s wing. Then she let the shorter side hang free and gathered up the long strands on the right.
“Like that,” Scylla decided. “Braid up the wing and leave the short side free.”
“As you wish, Princess. It gives you a very striking look,” Minda agreed. Her deft fingers pulled back the raven’s wing and braided it, and she coiled the braid into a knot at Scylla’s neck.
Sorrell was nodding. “It is asymmetrical but no one will know how asymmetrical it truly is!”
“Very elegant... strong,” Minda said as they all three inspected the results in the mirror. “Now may I call in one of the late queen’s ladies for further assistance? To shape your brows and apply some powder and paint.”
Scylla gave a grand nod of consent, but when all that was accomplished, she stared into the mirror with a slight frown.
“You don’t think either your late mother or her successor appeared in public without some artistic improvements, do you? Now, you see, the dark lines here make your eyes look wider and larger, your cheekbones have been emphasized, and you have more color in your face. And...” Minda continued as Scylla took a breath to speak, “that long hair weighed you down. Pulling it back did not suit you. Did you never have it cut before?”
“She never let anyone cut it,” said Sorrell. “She protested so violently when the queen tried to improve her appearance that it was deemed safer to leave us in peace.”
“I thank you for accepting my suggestions,” Minda said. “Now just one thing more... How you sit.”
“How do I sit?”
“You’re hunched over and you appear to be frightened, or defensive.”
“Or dangerous,” Sorrell offered.
“Dangerous is somewhat acceptable, considering the legend that has sprung up around you in the past few days. A power to be reckoned with... that may be a more suitable persona to take on.”
Scylla looked in the mirror again. The glossy dark hair on the left side swung forward when she hunched her shoulders, as she was now doing.
“Think of a string tied to the top of your head. It is pulling your head up and the
rest of your upper body with it. Your head, neck, and shoulders are now in line, your chest is no longer collapsed, and your stomach is flat, not pouched. You look alert... strong, not like Queen Maris’ nonsense – the skinny troll that wishes it had never been dragged out of its cave.”
“How long do you expect I can hold this pose?” Scylla protested.
“If you get tired, you may lean back against the chair back. But remember the string... it is held high by the kings and queens that went before you... It is your destiny!”
“Curse my destiny! So I am to be a puppet, am I?” she snapped. But she imagined the invisible string holding her up and even she could see the improvement. Up came her chin, her eyes flashed dangerously, and her mouth was a firm line... or as firm as it could be over her large crooked teeth.
“Exactly! In public, you will show yourself as a power to be reckoned with!”
“You no longer sit like a troll – you are much more...” Sorrell paused.
“Much more regal,” said Minda with satisfaction. “Remember that. Do not squint, do not duck your head, and do not collapse your chest. You are the queen!”
The queen who was preparing to be crowned ducked her head, squinted, and sagged into a defensive posture. In the mirror, her image now looked troll-like, even with the dress, the hair and the artistic improvements. A troll dressed up like a queen and sitting in the grand, carved queen’s chair – how tiresome. With a sigh she imagined the string pulling her into Minda’s recommended posture, and slowly straightened up.
“See – you cannot make a skinny troll look like a queen,” she scoffed in the end, but Sorrell was nodding.
“I think she has made you look like a queen.”
Minda seemed quite pleased with herself, as did the woman who had applied the powder and paint. Even Coltic gave a nod of approval when he came in off the roof garden with Prince Leon and the girl who was minding him.
“Now... as you are unable to walk on your injured ankle, you’ll be carried out in this chair by the Queen’s Guard. Is that not so, Captain Coltic?”
He nodded. “I suggest you have Bart Smith’s weapon in hand. If you want to stand up, you can lean on it.”
She shuddered, her mouth twisting in dismay.
“I’m unable to accompany you,” Sorrell reminded her. “You should take the sword as Coltic suggests.”
“If you had not used it in your own defense, you would now be dead and the kingdom would be in turmoil,” Coltic pointed out.
Minda was nodding, as was Sorrell.
Coltic said, “It’s very unlikely you’ll find yourself under attack again. The Queen’s Guard is on high alert and will surround you. However....”
“One never knows,” said Minda crisply. “Highly unlikely, but you must keep the sword at hand.”
There was a commotion, the far door opened and Chancellor Mako walked in. In the corridor beyond the door, there seemed to be a whole troop of soldiers in full gear.
The princess turned her head and gave Mako her most queenly glare, chin up and mouth clamped shut.
There was a moment of silence in the room. Then he said, “Good lord! Who could this be and what have you done with the princess?” He circled the chair, inspecting the gown, her hair, and even her eyebrows.
“Chancellor!”
“Is it you, Princess? I would know that voice anywhere!”
“Would you!” She inspected him in return. His eyes were bright, the corners of his mouth upturned, and color glowed in his face – in short, a man fully enjoying the day’s mission. He wore an embroidered short cloak over his court uniform... still a soldier but now in ceremonial dress.
“Is Minda a magician that she has transformed you thus?” he asked.
“Obviously she is. Do not stare at me! Shall we get on with it? And how soon will it be over?”
“Can you hear the noise surrounding the castle?”
“Do you mean that humming... rumbling, or whatever it is?”
They all listened. It was an excited, muted roar, starting with the buzz and clanking from the soldiers outside the door and, to all apparent evidence, surrounding the castle on all sides.
“The castle is full, the courtyard is full, all the streets of the town are full... the whole countryside is full of Rellant’s people – celebrating their new queen!”
“Good Goddess.” She looked around at those in the room with her. Other than the whiny little prince, who was dragging at the girl’s hand, everyone’s eyes showed a similar gleam of excitement. She felt none of it. On second thought, perhaps a little, but outweighing the excitement was dread. Pure dread.
“Lady Sorrell!” she snapped. “You will accompany me.”
Sorrell gave her a startled look in return. “I do not believe I can.”
“If you do not, I will not go!”
She felt the weight of all their eyes. Outside, the hum, like thousands of excited bees, set the very walls vibrating. Scylla felt the urge to unleash a terrible scream. She opened her mouth and began to draw in a quivering breath.
“All right... all right then,” said Mako, hastily. “Coltic, you will support Lady Sorrell if necessary. The princess needs whatever assistance we can offer. Is it possible, Lady Sorrell?”
Sorrell’s pale face was drawn. She shook her head and rolled her eyes in annoyance, looking as if she would like to slap Princess Scylla. “I hope I do not die... out there, in front of everyone. It is all I can do to stand up, I am standing up only because I cannot stand to lie down!”
“I am sorry, Sorrell, I cannot do it without you,” Scylla said in a half-suffocated appeal.
“I am sure you could if you tried,” came Sorrell’s disagreeable response. “Nevertheless... What is the plan? And what am I to wear? Not this nightgown!”
Scylla noted that Mako, Coltic, and Minda were all looking at Sorrell with sympathy and some worry. Then they looked back at her with apprehension, no doubt wondering which role she would choose to play. The Princess... or the Troll?
“It’s close to the appointed hour. We will assemble in the Great Hall... The lords and ladies are already taking up their places. There will be some ceremony and the high priest of the court will be the one to crown our new queen. Then there will be a celebratory feast, which I am told will be of legendary proportions. And music, of course, along with some entertainment... I hope you will be able to find some enjoyment in the proceedings, Princess.”
“I do not expect so!” she snapped. “The idea of it makes me ill!”
“I understand,” Mako bowed his head. “Thank you for carrying out... your...”
“My destiny? Curse my destiny!”
“I hope you don’t mean that,” Minda said. “What you are doing will avoid turmoil and havoc in the kingdom. This is for our land, for peace, for prosperity, our households and the welfare of the common people. Rellant is worth all of our efforts. Yours, mine, and that of Mako, Coltic, and even Sorrell, as much as it may cost her.”
“Do not forget what this is costing me!” said Scylla nastily. She ground her teeth and shook her whole body with revulsion. “I never expected to be queen... never! Also, do not forget to bring the prince out. I want it understood that he has my protection. And make it clear that you, Mako, are the chancellor of this kingdom – my right hand – and that Lady Sorrell of the Hunt is my favored left hand!”
Mako nodded. He turned to Minda. “Are we close to being ready to go?”
“I believe there is a suitable gown,” interjected Minda. “It should fit Sorrell. It is one of the late queen’s court dresses but not one of the more fancy ones. We will need a few minutes to dress her.” She was inspecting Leon, who stared up at her, his mouth open. “That one was looking very princely twenty minutes ago...” Now there was a scuff on one knee, his tunic was half off his shoulder, and one shoe was missing.
“Here’s the shoe,” said Coltic, picking him up and making the necessary adjustments while he squirmed.
“I and th
e girl will stay here. When Prince Leon becomes too restive, have some soldiers bring him back to these rooms.”
Minda took Sorrell and the dress into Scylla’s alcove and a few moments later, Sorrell emerged looking quite spectacular in the court dress, a dark-green, simply cut gown with a high neck and waist, and loose sleeves to her wrists. Minda had pulled back Sorrell’s chestnut hair into a looped braid.
“Excellent!” said Mako. Both he and Coltic, along with Minda, were eyeing Sorrell with admiration and approval. “I believe we are all ready!” He cast a sharp eye around the room and at the princess, with a fresh gleam of the excitement that drove him.
Princess Scylla froze, her hands gripping the arms of the carved chair. Against her knee she felt the weight of the decorative swordstick, although what she would do with it she did not know. The double doors to the queen’s chambers were thrown open and four sturdy soldiers of the Queen’s Guard marched in. With direction from Minda and Mako, the soldiers picked up the chair as if Scylla and her swordstick weighed nothing and marched back out of the queen’s apartment.
Down the corridor they went, down the grand stairway and then to the right through another corridor, on the way to the Great Hall of the castle. She had attended many dinners and grand occasions here, as part of the royal family. Then, however, the king and queen and their sons had commanded the attention of those in attendance. Scylla and her handmaid, in general, drew little attention, and she had done her best to ensure it stayed that way.
“Sssssst! Sssssst!” There was an odd little sound. No one seemed to hear it but her. Where was it coming from? Not the soldiers who carried the chair, which swayed and lurched with their stride.
“Princess!” A little louder now, and irritated: she knew that tiny but piercing voice.
“Keet?” Scylla parted her lips and spoke softly without moving her mouth.
“I am here! Do not crush me!”
Her glance flickered down. Why would she slide into a dream now? Here?
Sure enough, there he was between her hip and the side of the chair, clinging to and mostly hidden in the folds of her mother’s dress. He showed his teeth for a moment. What a nasty little face he had.
A Princess of Sorts Page 13