Rhy’s expression changed from delight to worry.
She must have caught a cold, I thought, sitting next to her.
“You should rest in your room,” Bella said. “Such a warm day . . . the exertion . . .”
“I’m not tired. Reciting always gives me energy. You know that.”
But she continued to sit. Ordinarily, after declaiming, she could almost leap tall trees.
“Now it’s my turn to entertain.” Rhys still looked worried. “Apprentices aren’t supposed to, but . . .” He smiled ruefully. “I can’t resist.”
He took Meryl’s place at the fountain. “I can use those clouds.” He took out his golden baton and pointed it upward. . . .
And we were in a fog so thick that when I looked down, my arms faded into it above the elbow.
I heard Rhys say, “No. No.”
The fog vanished, and a compact little cloud floated above the fountain. A roll of thunder came from the cloud—lighter and sweeter than ordinary thunder. It was little-cloud thunder, without lightning but with rhythm, ta-dum dum, ta-dum dum. The cloud pulsed in time to itself, a dancing cloud.
I smiled. Meryl was smiling too, leaning against my shoulder. I looked up at Bella, whose face was impassive. She wasn’t to be won over so easily.
Rhys raised his baton again. A wisp of cloud came to hang in the air next to its thundering cousin. Rhys pointed his baton at the wispy cloud, and it began to wave as if in a stiff wind. We heard the wind, first loud SHHH, then soft shhh, loud SHHH, soft shhh.
Ta-dum dum SHHH, ta-dum dum shhh, ta-dum dum SHHH.
Now Rhys returned to the little cloud with his baton, and the little cloud started to rain. The raindrops hit the paving stones with high metallic taps and low slurpy plops and sharp plinks and soft thuds, making music, merry silly gurgling music.
Meryl and I were laughing, and even Bella was smiling. I found myself bobbing in time to the clouds, and Meryl was conducting with her finger.
Then Rhys began to sing, compounding the silliness, his voice sliding all over the scale, high falsetto one moment, bass the next. “Thank you for my presents,” he sang. “Thank you, Princess Meryl, for declaiming, and thank you, Mistress Bella, for my doily, and thank you, Princess Addie, for my cushion. Thank you for being my new friends.”
He raised his baton, and the music came to a wild crescendo. Then, with a wave, he sent the clouds back to the sky. He bowed.
We applauded, and I clapped until my palms tingled. I expected Meryl to heap praise on him, but she was silent. So I said, “That was enchanting, wasn’t it, Meryl?”
She nodded, smiling. Then she stood. “I’m tired. Bella, I’d like to—”
“Excuse us, Rhys.” Bella leaped up. She put an arm around Meryl’s shoulder. “She must be getting a cold. Rest will be the cure.”
“Thank you for the entertainment,” Meryl said. She curtsied and turned to leave.
I turned too.
“Wait, Princess Addie,” Rhys said. “Can you stay a moment longer?”
I blushed and nodded, feeling glad, wondering what he’d say.
They left, but he didn’t speak. He just stared after them. When they disappeared around the grape vines, he faced me, and there were tears in his eyes.
“Some of you die so young.” He looked up at the sky. “I talked about it with Orne, my teacher, but he only said, ‘They live briefly. That is their lot.’” Rhys shook his head. “He has no sympathy. Your sister . . .” He stopped again. “Oh, Princess Addie. I hate to say—
“What?” My voice rose. “What?”
“It began today. She didn’t have it yesterday. It happens that way. Princess Meryl . . . has the Gray Death.”
Chapter Seven
* * *
“MERYL?” I FORCED a laugh. “This morning she ran from her chamber to the stable, and then we rode for an hour.”
“I’ve seen it too often. I lived in a village . . .”
Meryl have the Gray Death? She couldn’t. Not Meryl.
“It’s impossible,” I said calmly. “You don’t know her. Meryl is the last person who’d get it. She’s too strong. She’d refuse to get it.” My voice rose. “And how would you know? You’re not an elf. You’re not even—”
“I’ve seen hundreds sick with it.” He took my hands.
I pulled them away. “She isn’t sick. You’ll see.” I ran to the castle. She couldn’t be sick. I’d find Milton. He’d tell me she was fine.
Milton wasn’t in the apothecary. Two elves I hardly knew were there. I heard Meryl’s name, but that meant nothing. I wheeled and ran.
Bella stood in the hall outside Meryl’s chamber, weeping. I dashed by her and opened the door.
Meryl was in a nightdress, sitting up in bed, Blood-biter in her lap. My heart lifted when I saw her. She looked like herself. She was Meryl—only in bed in the middle of the afternoon.
Milton was arranging anemones in a vase on the table next to the bed. Anemones! Flowers of the dying. I flew at him and pulled them out of his hand.
“She doesn’t need these!” I ran to a window, cranked it open, and threw them out.
“Milton says I have the Gray Death.”
I turned around. I saw how afraid she was. Her eyes were huge. But she was never afraid.
I ran to her. “Milton’s wrong.” I glared at him. “You’re frightening her.” He wasn’t frightening me. She didn’t have it.
He met my eyes, and his were the saddest I’d ever seen.
I sat on the bed and hugged her hard.
“Blood-biter feels so heavy, Addie.” She turned it over in her lap.
It couldn’t! “You’re tired. That’s all. Does anything hurt?”
She shook her head. “When Milton said I had the Gray Death, I didn’t believe him either. I went to Blood-biter to prove him wrong. I wanted to show him my swordplay. But I could barely take Blood-biter down from the mantelpiece.” She choked out a laugh. “How will I slay monsters and save Bamarre if I can’t lift my sword?”
“You’ll slay monsters,” I said. “You’ll slay a hundred monsters. If it is the Gray Death, you can battle it and win.”
She laughed again—half sob, half laugh. “I’m not supposed to be the one who gets sick. I’m supposed to find the cure.”
“If you fight the disease and win, you will have found the cure,” I said.
How could she be so sick? I watched her face. I couldn’t tell what she was thinking. Generally I knew, but now I didn’t.
She couldn’t have the Gray Death.
A warm breeze wafted in from the open window and, along with it, the shouts of the servants’ children playing in the garden.
Meryl said, “Addie, this morning in the stable, before you came down, I spoke sharply to one of the grooms. He was only dawdling a little. You would never have scolded. If I had been kinder . . .” She stopped and then went on. “If I had been kinder, do you think the Gray Death would have left me alone?”
I shook my head, unable to speak. Finally I said, “It’s not your fault you’re sick.” I repeated, “It’s not your fault, and you don’t have it.”
Father and Rhys came in, followed by Bella. I curtsied. Milton bowed.
“Good afternoon, Father,” Meryl said.
He advanced to the bed in his usual stately way, his expression as serene as ever.
That meant it couldn’t be true. If it were true, he’d be rushing to her. He’d be distressed. Even he would be.
“Daughter . . . Meryl.” He turned to Milton. “Are you sure she’s ill?”
“Yes, Sire. It’s the Gray Death.”
Father pulled a small worn book from the pocket of his mantle. It was his constant companion, his beloved advisor.
He said, “I consulted The Book of Homely Truths.” He opened it and read, “‘Half measures will not root out a canker.’ In the past I’ve sent emissaries to search for the cure to the Gray Death. Homely Truths tells me that this is not enough. I must go myself.”
“Daughter . . .”
“Yes, Father?”
He put out his hand to touch her but then withdrew it. “Farewell. I’ll leave in the morning. Come, Rhys.” He started for the door.
Rhys looked at Meryl and then at me. He bowed and followed Father.
As soon as the door closed, Bella hurried to Meryl. “Slide under the covers! You’ll get chilled.”
She was trying to treat the Gray Death as if it were a cold. That brought my tears, and with them, belief. Meryl had the Gray Death. I ran out of the room.
In the corridor the flood came. I went into my chamber next door and threw myself on the bed, sobbing.
I saw a thousand images of Meryl—Meryl practicing her swordplay, Meryl galloping on Bane, Meryl poring over her battle strategy books, Meryl listening to my worries, Meryl comforting me, Meryl telling me stories, Meryl saving me from a specter. Meryl strong, Meryl cocky, Meryl brave. Meryl.
I wept and wept, but then I made myself stop. I forced myself to swallow my tears and made myself breathe slowly, deeply. I would not cry over her as though she were already dead when she wasn’t going to die at all.
She would fight the Gray Death and win.
Or Father would find the cure.
I remembered the ancient prophecy: The Gray Death would be cured when cowards found courage and rain fell over all Bamarre. Father seemed to have found courage, so perhaps the other part would come true too.
There was hope. The clouds hadn’t cleared since Meryl declaimed. Clouds might be gathering everywhere in Bamarre. Rain might be on the way.
And Meryl was so strong and lively. Why couldn’t she defeat the Gray Death?
I wondered what had happened to Trina, although it didn’t matter. Trina was no Meryl.
I laughed bitterly. I’d spent years worrying that Meryl would leave Bamarre castle and be killed. I’d never thought she could stay home and be killed.
Chapter Eight
* * *
I DIDN’T SLEEP that night. I listened for rain, and I cried again and couldn’t stop myself.
Eventually dawn came. No rain, but the skies were still cloudy.
I dressed and hurried downstairs to see Father off. But in the courtyard I found only a yawning lad with a broom. He informed me that King Lionel had just sat down to his breakfast.
Why did he tarry? Meryl couldn’t wait. I rushed to the banquet hall and hovered in the doorway. Father was there, chewing slowly, nodding slowly at something the councillor at his left was saying.
I wheeled and ran to the stables. Grooms dashed here and there. One was saddling Father’s charger. Several knights were seeing to their own horses, instructing their squires.
Somewhat reassured, I returned to the castle. Meryl was still asleep, although she never slept past seven and it was now almost eight. Milton was in a blue chair, knitting. He nodded at me when I came in. I sat down in the window seat.
Every few minutes I looked down at the courtyard to see if Father had come out. I began to wonder if he’d changed his mind.
At nine thirty Meryl opened her eyes. She smiled at me, and then I watched her remember that she was sick. She stopped smiling and squeezed her eyes shut. She opened them again in a wide-eyed stare, her angry expression. I’d seen her look this way a thousand times, at bad news about monsters, at Bella’s silliest rules, at Father’s cowardice. Never at me.
I stood to go to her, but she shook her head.
“Leave me alone, Addie.”
I sat down again.
“No, I mean go away. Milton can stay with me.”
Why was she angry at me? I started for the door.
“Addie?”
I turned, hope rising.
“Milton will find you when you can come back.”
I went to my room, my dismissal an added misery. I looked out the window, but the courtyard was empty. I thought repeatedly about barging in on Meryl and refusing to leave.
At last, shortly before noon, Father and his knights began to gather. I ran downstairs, relieved to be doing something.
I was surprised Father was taking only fifteen knights. There should be a battalion at least. No, the entire army should march out to save Meryl, every knight, every archer, every pikeman.
The knights made a busy, noisy scene—armor clanking, horses stamping and snorting. In the midst of it all Father sat calmly on his horse, gazing at the land beyond our drawbridge. He was in full armor, although his helmet was in his lap.
Go, I thought. Leave. You’ve wasted enough time.
A small crowd had gathered. Rhys was there, standing near a knot of Father’s councillors. I went to him, and, as always, he bowed.
I curtsied and then spoke softly so only he would hear. “Do you know where Father plans to go?”
“I heard him say he would go first to the elf queen, since she knows the remedy for many ailments.”
But that made no sense. If Queen Seema had known the cure to the Gray Death, she would have told her elf nurses about it. What’s more, the high road east to her castle was the best and safest in Bamarre. Father had found courage in a small way, if he had found it at all.
He saw me and gestured for me to approach. I did, dodging a prancing stallion on my way.
“Good-bye, Daughter. As The Book of Homely Truths tells us, ‘Departure is a new beginning for those who depart and for those who remain behind.’ May it be so.”
“Farewell, Father. May success ride with you.” Save Meryl. Save me.
He pulled on his helmet and spurred his horse. His knights fell into place behind him. They were off. I looked up at the sky, hoping the clouds were thickening.
When Father and his knights had crossed the drawbridge, I turned back to the castle, Rhys at my side. I’d been away from Meryl for hours. Surely she’d let me in now.
Rhys said nothing, but I felt his sadness.
“Meryl is going to be fine,” I said. “She’ll get her strength back, or Father will find the cure.”
Rhys was still silent.
I stopped walking. “Can’t you do something for her? You’re a sorcerer.”
“Oh, Princess Addie.”
“Isn’t there some magic to make her stronger or to make the Gray Death weaker?”
He kept shaking his head. He looked like a fool, wagging his head. What were sorcerers good for? I started walking again, faster.
“We don’t have enough power. Only fairies do,” he said, keeping up with me easily.
“I know,” I murmured, sorry for making him feel bad.
Neither of us spoke for a minute. Then he said, “King Lionel has instructed me to fly to him every day until I have to go to our citadel.” He added, “There’s a ceremony for the apprentices. I wish it weren’t taking place so soon.”
“When will you leave?”
“In a week. I’ll be gone nine days.” He held the wooden door to the stairway open for me. “Until then, the king will let me know his progress every day, and I’m to advise his council.” He paused.
I looked up.
He was blushing. “And you too.”
His blush gave him away. Father would never remember me unless Homely Truths told him to.
Without thinking I asked, “Must you go to your citadel?”
“Yes. I must.”
“Can’t you arrive late?” I was begging. It was shameful, but with Meryl sick and shutting me out, I needed someone to . . . protect me? Tears pricked my eyelids again. I was such a coward. Like Father.
Rhys said, “I can’t arrive late. I’ll be drawn there whether or not I want to go.”
“Oh.”
We walked the rest of the way in silence. I wondered if Meryl was still angry at me.
When we reached her chamber, I paused. What if she still didn’t want me? I knocked.
“Come in.” Her voice sounded gay.
I saw Bella first, seated in
a red chair by the fireplace. Then I saw Meryl. She was up and dressed, standing at the foot of her bed. Milton, holding Blood-biter, stood a few feet from her. Meryl opened her arms to me, and I ran into them.
She whispered into my neck, “I’m sorry, Addie. I was too angry to be with anyone healthy. I won’t send you away again. Besides, I won’t be sick for long.” She tilted her head back. “I realized something.”
I looked down at her.
Her eyes were shining. “It’s what the specter meant. This is my next adventure! The Gray Death. You see, if it’s an adventure, it can’t be inevitable that I die.”
Could she be right? I smiled back at her, nodding. Of course she was right!
“Now stand back and watch. Milton, give me my sword.” She took it from him and raised it with both hands. Her arms shook from the effort. She lunged, lost her balance, and came down hard on one knee. Blood-biter clattered on the tiled floor.
We all rushed toward her.
“No!” She waved us away. “I will stand up on my own.” She heaved herself up and stood still, panting. “See, Sir Gray Death. I can do what I want.”
But she couldn’t. She could hardly do anything.
Bella was weeping. I was horrified. Meryl was losing strength so quickly! If she continued this way, the next phase, the sleep, would come soon. After that she would have only twelve days left.
Rhys picked up the sword and gave it to her.
“Thank you.” Using both hands, she lunged, and this time she didn’t fall.
That was something.
“There,” I said. “You did it.”
“Put it away, please.” She held the sword out to Rhys, her arms trembling again. “I’ll practice more later. I think I’ll walk now.”
She headed for the door. She moved slowly but easily, I thought, till I saw her clenched fists and the vein throbbing in her forehead. At the door she turned and started toward the window.
The rest of us watched in strained silence.
By the fifth crossing she was breathing hard. She kept going for three more lengths, however. My legs ached and I gasped along with her. I had to bite my tongue to keep from begging her to rest.
The Two Princesses of Bamarre Page 4