After lunch, Rodric led Aurora to the queen’s chambers on the fourth floor of the castle. It was an airy suite of rooms, separated from the rest of the castle by guarded doors and connected by a private corridor that overflowed with flowers. Honeysuckle, Aurora thought.
The door to one room was ajar. The king, queen, and about twenty courtiers were gathered inside, some women chatting with the queen over their embroidery, others playing games with cards and stones. A plush red rug covered the floor, while paintings hung on every wall, depicting wild creatures and nobles at their feasts.
“Rodric!” The king had been talking to an older man, but he stepped forward when he saw the prince enter. “You finally joined us. Come here, come here. I was telling Sir Edward about your great victory. Maybe you could add in the details.” Rodric glanced at Aurora, but the king laughed before he could speak. “You two have had all morning together. Surely the princess can entertain herself for five minutes. She can spend some time with the ladies.”
Rodric gave Aurora a bobbing bow and hurried to his father. Aurora hovered in the middle of the room, watching the women as they sewed. “I received a letter from dear Theodora this morning,” one of them was saying. Their needles wove in and out of the fabric while the ladies barely glanced down. “Poor thing says she is sick.”
“Nothing serious, I hope?” the queen said. She looked at Aurora, and the message was clear. Sit here.
Aurora began to walk toward the group. Then she sensed someone standing close behind her. She turned. It was Prince Finnegan.
“Princess Aurora,” he said. “You look a little lost.”
“I was deciding where to sit.”
“A difficult choice,” Finnegan said. “There are so many excellent options.”
“What are you doing with our princess, Finnegan?” the king said. “Don’t try to sweep her away, now.”
“There will be no sweeping, I promise you that,” Finnegan said. “But who could resist getting to know a girl so beautiful?”
“She is a gem, to be sure.”
“Come on,” Finnegan added to Aurora. “Join us for a game of cards. Alexandra has won the past four rounds, and we really need someone to intervene.”
A girl with thick black curls laughed. “I can’t help it if none of you know how to play.”
“See how overconfident she has become?” Finnegan said. “Help us to defeat her.”
“I’m afraid I won’t be much help,” Aurora said. “I don’t even know the rules.”
“Then I’ll teach you. It’s all very simple. I’m sure that a clever girl like yourself will pick them up in moments.” She glanced up at him. Something about that phrase, “a clever girl like yourself,” made her feel like he was poking fun at her. Subtly, politely, but a jab she was supposed to notice nonetheless.
“I have always heard that the skill of the student reflects the talent of the teacher. In your capable hands, I am sure I will be winning within the round.”
“Excellent,” he said. He pressed a hand into the small of her back and steered her to the group of card players. “Someone fetch the princess a chair.”
A wooden chair was deposited beside Finnegan’s, and Aurora sat. Another man Aurora did not know was gathering the cards. He shuffled them with hand movements so quick that they all blurred together.
“Alexandra must deal,” Finnegan said. “Since she won the last fifty rounds. The princess and I will share a hand, so I can teach her how to play.”
Alexandra plucked a card from the top of the deck and placed it faceup on the table. “The unicorn is the red four,” she said. “Shall we play with the hunter this round?”
“No, let’s keep it simple,” another woman said. She had straight brown hair flowing over her shoulders. “As it’s the princess’s first game.”
Aurora would have thanked her for the consideration, if she had not suspected that this was the same woman who had called her “not quite bright” on the day she awoke.
“Considerate as ever, Carina,” Finnegan said. “Shall we begin?”
The cards flew into piles around the table as Alexandra dealt. “The rules are straightforward,” Finnegan continued. “On your turn, you can choose to take any single card from any player. If you have any matching pairs in your hand, you put them down. Whoever finishes the game holding the other unicorn”—he gestured at the red four in the center of the table—“is the winner. Trickery is, of course, encouraged.”
“What kinds of trickery?”
“Anything you can get away with,” Finnegan said. “If you’re caught cheating, you must do a forfeit. But only if you’re caught.”
Aurora picked up her hand and spread the cards into a fan. The unicorn was not there.
Finnegan leaned over her shoulder, his fingers brushing hers as he rearranged their cards. “We have much to talk about,” he murmured. “But we cannot say it here. Soon.”
She forced herself to keep looking at her cards.
“Who has the two of clubs?” one man said.
“I do,” said a woman with a brown braid hanging over one shoulder. She looked around, taking in all the expressions of her opponents, and then plucked a card from Alexandra’s hand. “Seems like a safe bet, considering how many other games you’ve won,” she said.
Cards moved back and forth quickly between players.
“Did you hear about what happened the other evening, down by the south gate? The road was barred, debris set on fire. I believe a few guards were injured.” Carina laid a pair of cards on the table and gave a dramatic little shudder. “My husband told me they’re concerned a rebellion is brewing again.”
“Rebellion?” The man beside her laughed. “Don’t be silly, my dear. A few bad-tempered peasants do not a rebellion make.”
“Oh, let’s not talk about such dreadful things,” Alexandra said.
“Alexandra is of the opinion that if you don’t think about something, it does not exist,” Finnegan said. “I’m surprised there’s anything left in her world at all.”
Alexandra gave a high-pitched little laugh. “Oh, Finnegan,” she said. “You’re too cruel.” She continued to smile, but her eyes looked furious.
The player to Finnegan’s right shifted forward. Aurora caught a glimpse of her cards. No unicorn there.
“So,” Finnegan said in her ear. “Who do you think has it?”
She glanced around as people battled over cards. She had little experience in reading people’s faces. But Alexandra, she noticed, kept glancing left and right. Her chair had crept back a couple of inches, as though she was trying to get a better view of other people’s cards. “Alexandra doesn’t,” she murmured back. “She’s trying to find it.”
“Anything else?”
She looked around again. “The man in the green cravat,” she said. “He isn’t paying attention to the cards he takes. It’s as though he doesn’t care, because he already has the one he wants.”
“Perhaps,” Finnegan said. “But unfortunately, that’s just Andrew. He cannot lie, so he prefers to leave it up to chance.”
“You two are quite off-putting with your whispering,” Carina said. “I feel like I’m the subject of a plot. It makes me highly suspicious of both of you.”
“She’s on to us,” Finnegan said in a stage whisper. “How will we hide?” Everyone around the table laughed. When play had moved on, he leaned even closer to Aurora’s ear. “She has it,” he said. “She’s trying to keep a blank face, but every time someone takes one of her cards, she glances at the one two from the left. Just a flicker of movement, before she can stop herself. There’s our unicorn, I promise you.”
“And how do you know that isn’t an incredibly advanced bluff?”
“Because, Aurora,” he said. “I know.”
Almost all the cards had disappeared by the time Finnegan reached out to take the suspected unicorn. He slipped it into Aurora’s hand without a word. It was the red four.
As the turns moved on, he reac
hed forward as though to consider their three remaining cards. With a flick of his finger, he slipped the unicorn behind another so that it could not be seen from the front. Aurora shifted her fingers so that it slid farther left.
When Carina moved to take it back, she took the wrong one.
Andrew dispatched the final pair of cards, and Aurora placed the unicorn on the table, smiling.
“A shame,” Finnegan said. “The whole court beaten by a beginner. I think I’m going to enjoy having this one around.”
Aurora fought back a frown. He had won the game, not her.
“I’m tired of this game,” Carina said. “Why don’t we play something else?”
Alexandra looked at Aurora. “Do you know any games, Princess? What did you used to play, before you came here?”
“Oh yes, something old-fashioned!”
“I am afraid,” the queen said, “that Aurora will have to teach you another day.” She stood behind Aurora’s chair, although Aurora did not know when she had appeared. “I simply must steal her away to my embroidery table. We have a lot to talk about.”
“Another time, then,” Finnegan said.
The queen nodded her assent. “Come along, Aurora,” she said.
Aurora stood up and followed her across the room. “I warned you to stay away from him,” Iris murmured as soon as they were out of hearing. “Do not allow him to reel you in.”
“We were only playing cards.”
“Yes, well. Finnegan never only does anything. He has his motives, trust me.”
The women glanced at them over their embroidery as they approached, but they offered little more than smiles and nods. The queen gestured at an empty chair and then sat down herself. She picked a piece of rough cotton off the table and passed it to Aurora.
“Practice on this, my dear,” she said. “We will measure your skill and see where it can be put to use.”
“I don’t know how,” Aurora said softly as she took the needle and cloth into her hands. A blush crept across her cheeks. “Needles . . . I wasn’t allowed . . .”
“Then it is time you learned,” the queen said. “You don’t have to worry yourself about pricking your finger anymore, after all.”
The needle felt cold and thin between her fingers. “That is true, Your Majesty.”
“See if you can stitch your name,” she said. “We can all guide you once we see your mistakes. Curses don’t last forever, dear.”
Aurora plucked at the material, trying to slide the needle through the cloth. The fabric snagged, and she pulled harder, keeping her eyes low. The women resumed their talk of courtiers and potential wedding guests, and Aurora dug the edge of the needle into the pad of her finger, rubbing it back and forth. It was too blunt to do more than dig a groove in her skin.
She glanced at the card table, now absorbed in another game. Finnegan had moved seats, so he faced her and the queen. He watched her over the top of his cards, an eyebrow raised.
She turned her attention back to her cloth, but she could still feel his eyes on her, long after she looked away.
NINE
WHEN AURORA GOT TO THE DANCING UNICORN that night, Tristan was leaning against the wall outside the entrance, weaving a coin between his fingers. He smiled when he saw her approach. “Mouse!” he said. “You’re here. Thought you were going to be late.”
“Late for what? Standing around?”
“Better. You know about the night fair, the one on Market Street?” He held the coin between his thumb and forefinger like a symbol of triumph. “After I got back last night, Dolores decided to tip me extra well. Happy to see me with a nice girl, she said. Wanted me to be able to do something special.” He grinned and flipped the coin in the air. “Who am I to refuse an old woman? So—want to go?”
Of course she wanted to go. But Aurora tilted her head, as though considering the offer. “I’m not sure,” she said. “What’s this night fair?”
“It’s fun,” he said. “Or as close to fun as you can get, for something in the fancy part of town. Jugglers and fire-eaters and fortune-tellers and music . . . I think Nettle’s performing there somewhere.”
“Don’t you have to work?”
“Nope! Got the night off. Thought Nell wasn’t going to give it to me after we ran off yesterday, but she’s got a soft heart. That and I promised to do extra dish duty for a week. So, shall we?” He offered his arm. Aurora linked her elbow with his.
“All right,” she said. “Lead the way.”
They took a different route from the night before, weaving through the alleys until they stepped out onto crowded streets. The castle towers peeked over the rooftops. As Aurora and Tristan moved forward, they got swept up in the crowd, the rhythm of their feet, every step dictated by the people in front and behind.
The road opened into a wide square that was thick with people. Market stalls lined both sides of the street, lit with lanterns and draped with colored cloth. Paper garlands hung between the trees. The air was a jumble of noise, people laughing and shouting, running on the cobbles, arguing with the stallholders, singing and bickering as they went.
“Is it like this every night?” Aurora asked.
Tristan laughed. “Of course not. One night a month, they close the whole street down. Full moon festival.”
“Full moon festival? Sounds a little witchy to me.”
“That’s the idea,” Tristan said. “All in honor of the princess. I guess they thought this racket would finally wake her up. It was a pretty good excuse while it lasted.”
“Does it need an excuse?”
“I hope not. Otherwise they’ll have to come up with another one.”
The market tables were full of impossible, wonderful things: reams of cloth, small brass figurines, bowls and shawls and necklaces that gleamed in the lamplight. One stall was piled high with books, tattered old leather volumes and bunches of paper held together with string. They were piled so haphazardly that they looked as though any movement would send them tumbling. One section had already collapsed into a mountain of books, spines facing in every direction. A woman rummaged through it, pulling them out almost at random, glancing at the titles, then setting them on top. Aurora leaned closer, her fingers itching to leaf through the pages.
Tristan followed her gaze. “You like books?” he said.
“Yes,” she said. “I do. Do you?”
“Not overly. My dad taught me to read, said it was important, you know? But I don’t come by many books these days. I’m kind of rusty.”
“Best way to get better is to practice.” She squeezed between other people’s shoulders until she reached the table. She grabbed the first book off the pile, leaves of paper bound with string. Devious Dan and the Treasure of Arak, the title read. A few of the pages had come loose.
“I loved those when I was younger,” Tristan said. “When I could get my hands on them, anyway.”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“You’ve never heard of Devious Dan?” Tristan pressed his hand over his heart as if in shock. “He’s only the most adventurous man in all of Alyssinia. There are, what, fifty books about him? A hundred? I thought you liked to read, Mouse.”
“I guess I never came across them.” She flicked the book open. The text inside was roughly printed, smudged in places, with crude outlines of drawings on a few of the pages. “He has adventures?”
“Lots of them. I had a set of the books back home, would always buy them when I had a spare penny. But I lost them. When I moved here.”
Aurora held the book out to him. “You should buy it,” she said. “Relive the adventure. Put that money from Dolores to good use.”
Tristan shook his head. “I’m too busy having my own adventures now,” he said. “But I can buy it for you if you want. My treat.”
“I couldn’t possibly,” she said, but her fingers curled tighter around the pages.
“Yes you could,” Tristan said. “It’d be easy.” He held up the coin. “Excuse us,” he
said to the shopkeeper. “How much for this one?”
As Tristan bargained over price, Aurora pressed the book against her stomach, a smile spreading across her lips.
“Thank you,” she murmured, after money had changed hands and the pair of them had stepped away. “Really. You didn’t have to do that.”
“I did,” Tristan said. “Can’t have you deprived of a good story, now, can we?”
They kept walking, Aurora clutching the book tight. Musicians played on street corners, and groups of dancers performed to the beat, flipping in the air and whirling with ribbons as crowds of people watched. Aurora and Tristan paused at the edge of one group, watching a man balance on top of a long, thin pole. He began to juggle huge clubs, and the audience applauded.
Up ahead, a band stood elevated on the edge of a stone fountain, singing and beating out a jaunty rhythm, while dancers whirled in a circle around them.
Aurora bounced on the spot at the edge of the square, her heels rising and falling in time with the drumbeat.
“Want to dance?” Tristan asked.
She had never danced in her life. She had practiced a little, moving around her tower in slow motion while her mother dictated the steps, but never around other people, and never dancing like this, people spinning without any order to their movements. “I couldn’t,” she said, but Tristan was already pulling her forward, slipping into a gap in the crowd. A girl gripped Aurora’s hand, their fingers meeting around the curled-up book, and she was swept into the circle, skipping, almost running, her legs tangling with strangers’. Hands released, and bodies twisted together and apart, spinning on the spot, Tristan’s grip firm on her waist. Then another stranger grabbed her hand, and they were dancing in a circle again. Aurora’s hair flew about her face, and all the colors of the street blurred together, the greens and browns of the clothes, the orange glow of the lamps. There was an ordered kind of chaos to the steps, movements dictated by the music and the will of the crowd, and Aurora closed her eyes, letting it sweep her along.
They spun until they were dizzy, and then Aurora pulled Tristan away, stumbling out of the square, laughing so hard that her side ached.
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