Linnet and the Prince

by Alydia Rackham

  Therefore, I just had to wait. Wait until the time allotted by my mother had passed. Wait until her brothers from the mountains were poised to strike. Wait until I knew the layout of the caves. Then, I would get near Rajak when he was alone somehow—for though I could not deceive, I was good at sneaking—and kill him that way. He would see me as an enemy, know me as an enemy, before I did it. Perhaps we would fight. Good. I had no quarrel with killing him in fairness. Then I would join the Bràithrean and escape, and help drive the Badi out of Hilrigard.

  I let out a long, deep breath I had not known I was holding. My tears stopped. I reached down, untucked the top blanket and scooted under it. I lay down on the soft mattress, rested my head on the fluffy pillow, and though I think someone came in with a tray of food, I could not lift my head to see. I fell asleep in moments.

  Chapter Five

  I woke up to the light of six lamps burning. I jerked into a sitting position, panting, my heart hammering a jagged beat against my chest. Then I remembered where I was.

  I took deep breaths and closed my eyes a moment, trying to calm down. Then, I slid out of bed and stood.

  There had been light in my bathing room yesterday—light coming down from outside. If it was still night, it would be dark in there. I stepped to the side door and opened it.

  As the quiet rush of water greeted me, I saw soft light peeking down through that high hole in the ceiling. It was near dawn.

  I left that door open, and returned to my bed. A brief glance showed me where a tray of food had been left on a little table sometime after I had fallen asleep. I made a face as I neared it. Dead, curled up, shiny black scorpions on a bed of thin leaves lay there next to a little loaf of bread. These people actually swallowed these? I took up the bread and ate it instead, then drank all the water in the glass next to it.

  I then went to one of the lamps, took it up, and lit the other ones in the room until I could see clearly. I put it back, opened my trunk, and pulled out my undergarments. I took off my sleeping clothes, donned my undergarments, slippers, then slipped on my sister’s pearl-colored gown. I listened to the skirt whisper as it fell down around my ankles. I tied it in the back of my neck, and secured the sash around my waist. I looked at myself in the vanity mirror for a moment, then unbraided my hair.

  The oil and Ayah’s tight braid had created thick waves in my chestnut locks, and made them shiny and soft. I dipped into my trunk again and found, within the folds of the few other garments, a small circlet of mine, and a white gold ring my father had given me for my fourteenth birthday. I set the circlet atop my head, put the ring on my right hand, then picked up the horse necklace and fastened it around my neck. For a moment, I gazed at my reflection—my pale skin, blue eyes and pink lips set off by my dark hair and white gown. I lifted my chin.

  Now I looked like a princess.

  A tap came at the door. I turned toward it, but before I could say anything, Ayah had unlocked it and come in. She was carrying a small wooden box in both hands.

  “Such a dervish through the whole court,” she was muttering. “Never seen anything like…” She saw me. She stopped. For a long moment, she just stared at me, her eyes tracing the lines of my dress, my arms, hands, hair, and finally my face.

  “What?” I asked. She considered.

  “You remind me of a story I heard when I was a girl—the tale of the White Princess...”

  I clasped the horse pendant between my fingers.

  “What is it about?”

  She shook her head.

  “Not now. Not when there is so much…” She trailed off, glancing down at the box in her hands. She cocked her white head at me. “Henna would not look well with that dress.”

  I arched an eyebrow.

  “Probably not,” I said, though I hardly knew what henna was. I clasped my hands together, trying to keep them warm—but my voice disobeyed my restraint, and asked the question that had been plaguing me all day.

  “Will King Niro be attending the wedding?”

  “No, Ayah shook her head, setting the box down on my vanity. “He is far away, conquering the Northern Marshes. We do not know when he will be back.” She looked me up and down again, and wrinkled her brow further.

  “You will not wear a Badi dress?”

  It was my turn to shake my head.

  “No.” I turned back to my reflection. “It’s best for everyone to know all at once that I’m from Hilrigard. I don’t want anyone to be surprised.”

  Ayah did not agree with me—I could feel it. But I did not look at her. They might make me live in a cave and eat this inhuman food and marry a monster, but they could not force me to dress like them.

  “Very well, I am glad you are ready, then—there is too much to do in the wedding hall,” Ayah sighed. I frowned at her.

  “The wedding—”

  “The place where you will be married. It is hard for the decorators and arrangers to put together. Very confusing, many questions.”

  My puzzled expression remained. She sighed again, glanced at the door, and said:

  “No one has been married this way for seven generations.”

  My eyebrows went up. But she was heading back toward the door.

  “I will come get you when it is time,” she said, left, and locked the door behind her.

  LLL

  In my kingdom, people always married in the spring, in the morning. The wedding was conducted outside, on a broad, sunny lawn called the Honey Glen. All of the people who could possibly come gathered there, and waited in two groups. The husband-to-be waited at the far end of the glen, next to the man who would direct the vows. The bride walked in between these two groups, proceeded by seven girls who danced and threw flower petals in the air. The bride would walk through this shower of petals toward the man she was to marry. The ceremony was brief, and sealed with the woman kissing the man’s cheek, and then the man kissing the woman’s cheek. Everyone would then proceed to the table where the gifts were laid out, and the new couple would open each, and thank the giver. Then there was a feast, and a dance that lasted long into the night.

  But I soon learned that the Badi did not do it that way. I was lost from the first step out my door. But so, it seemed, were they.

  Ayah came for me, and directed me out into the corridor. There, Steward Jahin met me, and inclined his head, and he and Ayah glanced at each other. Ayah gave him an uncertain look, so he beckoned to me. I followed him. Ayah trailed behind.

  It was cold in this hallway. My train slid behind me on the smooth stone.

  Then, the steward stopped. I halted. He turned to me.

  “See how the stone on this floor is gray?”

  I glanced down.

  “Yes…?”

  “Follow it.” He looked at Ayah again. “We have been instructed to tell you that you must go on alone.”

  My blood went chill. I did not like the sound of that—and I had left my knife in my room.

  My hands closed into fists, but there was nothing I could do. And so I nodded once, turned, and followed the gray hallway.

  I soon left Ayah and Steward Jahin behind in the half dark. My slippers padded steadily as I measured my strides.

  Sounds caught the edge of my hearing. It almost sounded like voices—singing. And some sort of horn, drums, and stringed instruments. I hurried my pace, listening, though careful to stay in correct hallway. I turned left once, then right, and—

  The hallway opened up into a vast anteroom. The floor was a mosaic of rings of fire. To my right was another dark hallway. To my left stood a pair of carven double doors taller than the peak of the mead hall of Hilrigard. And ahead of me, striding toward me out of the shadows of his own corridor, was Prince Rajak.

  He wore a sweeping scarlet-and-gold, long-sleeved cloak that dragged on the floor behind him. He wore a black-and-gold breastplate, black trousers and boots, and a glittering golden belt. His hands bore dark brown, intricate designs—henna, I imagined—and each forefinger bore a wide,
jeweled ring. His face was as striking and fierce as ever I had seen him—even more so, as he had outlined his obsidian eyes with black khol, and drawn a line from the outside corner of each eye across each temple.

  My stride broke, but I made myself keep walking. His mouth tightened when he saw me, and he looked me up and down. He said nothing. We stopped in front of each other.

  This was the first time I had stood this close to him. He was so tall, and gazed down on me like a wild shadow—a shadow that could see straight through me.

  He turned toward the doors and held out his arm, elbow bent, palm up. I was bewildered. He watched me. I swallowed. Then, with a hand that I tried to keep from shaking, I reached out, slid my hand up and took hold of his elbow.

  His jaw tightened. He took hold of my hand with his right, pulled it so our arms linked, and then he pressed my palm down flat against his. I glanced up at his angular face. He stared straight ahead. I wanted to wince.

  The next moment, the massive doors swung inward. I jerked, facing forward. And my mouth fell open.

  The glowing chamber before me could have swallowed ten mead halls. Its ceiling was so tall it could almost be the sky. I was surprised there were no clouds. Several rows of blazing torches, held by glittering jeweled sconces, hung from the sunset-colored walls and stuck out from the two rows of pillars that marched away from us—each pillar was as thick as four oaks. My mind swam. How could they have built such a place?

  Badi banners also adorned the walls and pillars; banners bearing pictures of people as eating, drinking, riding and swimming.

  And below those banners, a thousand people waited for us.

  I had never seen such finery. The women wore vibrant red, blue, orange and yellow silks and sheer veils, gold jewelry and hair ornaments and their bare skin was decorated with henna. The men were just as ornately-adorned in billowing shirts, embroidered vests and silk trousers, and a different pattern of henna. But they did not stand in two groups. They sat on the floor, all in a crowd, and stared back at us. As if they did not know what to expect.

  The music hit me then. Musicians at the far end began to lead the wailing singing, play the flute, strum strings, and beat a drum. Rajak stepped forward. I had to follow him, although there appeared to be no place to put our feet.

  The people shifted, just enough for us to step on the floor instead of their clothes or hands. The train of Rajak’s cloak and my dress swept over the shoulders of the people we passed. I felt the hem of my dress sliding through many curious fingers. I shivered. He stiffened his arm, crushing mine against his side. I fought to show nothing on my face.

  It took us a long time to get to the front of the room, but Rajak was not in a hurry. He did not look at me, or at the floor where the people sat. His eyes were fixed on the other end of the room. I tried to do the same, but I was certain I would step on someone and fall.

  At last, we arrived at the far end of the huge hall. A bearded, long-nosed, robed man wearing a white head-covering that hung all the way down to the floor stood up on a step, holding a small scroll in his gnarled hands. He watched Prince Rajak with strange intensity, as if uncertain how to proceed.

  Rajak stopped us in front of him. He took a deep breath, then nodded at the man—the man who must be the Marryer. The musicians fell silent. The Marryer cleared his throat, and glanced back and forth between the two of us.

  “By the command of Rajak, Prince of the Upper Regions and Iriy River Valley, this marriage shall be conducted in the fashion of the ancient kings, before the fall of Raj-Shahzad, according to the vows of Harith and Kanta.”

  A ripple ran through the crowd. It was almost a murmur, but they were too solemn to speak aloud. The Marryer cleared his throat again, and with palsied hands, he unrolled the scroll. He looked at me again.

  “Princess Linnet, daughter of King Peliar of Hilrigard: if you vow to be henceforth this man’s only wife, to be his devoted love, comforter and friend, and a faithful mother to his children should you bear them, then swear so by kneeling before him and saying:

  ‘I belong to you. To you alone I will give my hand, until death takes me.’”

  I stared at him. And then I turned my eyes upward to Rajak’s. His eyes locked on mine, and his eyebrow flickered, as if in threat. He waited.

  I belong to you…

  The Marryer shifted his weight. The crowd held its breath. Rajak waited.

  My stomach turned hard. I was doing this. I was actually doing this. I was pledging myself to a man I did not know, a man I hated, a man who had murdered my father…

  I closed my eyes. I had come this far. There was no way I could go back.

  I forced my stiff knees to bend. I lowered my head, and sank down to kneel on the hard floor. I kept my eyes closed.

  “Princess Linnet?” the Marryer prompted. I gulped, trying to breathe.

  “I…belong to you,” I managed. “To you alone I will give my hand…until death takes me.”

  “Prince Rajak,” the Marryer said. “If you accept her vow, place your right hand on her head and say: ‘I am grateful.’”

  For a moment, I just sat there. And then Rajak’s hand rested on the crown of my head.

  “I am grateful.”

  He withdrew his hand.

  “Princess, please rise up.”

  All my muscles trembled now. But I opened my eyes and got back to my feet. The Marryer turned to Rajak. I regarded the old man with dull eyes. I knew the like of what he was about to say: “Do you swear to only beat this woman with a stick less than the width of two fingers, and only press her to give you ten children, and only starve her if she has defied you twice—”

  The Marryer cleared his throat once more. Then he swallowed hard, as if he could not believe what he was reading. Finally, he took a deep breath and spoke.

  “Prince Rajak, son of King Niro of Nazre: if you vow to be henceforth this woman’s only husband, to be her devoted love, comforter and friend, and a faithful father to her children should she bear them, then swear so by kneeling before her and saying: ‘I belong to you. To you alone I will give my hand, until death takes me.’”

  I came back to myself in a rush. My eyes flew back and forth between the Marryer and Rajak. My lips parted, but my shock made me mute.

  Rajak’s head bowed. And the next instant, he got down on one knee, and spoke clearly.

  “I belong to you. To you alone I will give my hand, until death takes me.”

  My heart hammered. I stared at the top of his raven head.

  “Princess Linnet, if you accept his vow, place your right hand on his head and say, ‘I am grateful,’” the Marryer said. I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. My brow tightened. I looked up at the Marryer. He gave a tight smile. I turned back to Rajak. He did not move.

  I stretched out a trembling hand. My fingers rested atop his soft, black hair.

  “I am grateful,” I breathed. I took back my hand. He lifted his eyes to mine for a moment, then arose. We both faced the Marryer. He read the last line of the scroll at the top of his voice.

  “Henceforth, you are one. Your hearts beat together. Never shall either of you seek love or satisfaction from one outside this union. If one of you meets Death before the other, the one who remains shall never take another for a mate. Every need of one must be sought for in the other. This is now written, and can never be undone.” He raised a hand and smiled at both of us. “Blessings upon you.”

  The musicians struck up a lively, whirling tune, beating the drums. Those in the crowd knew the song—and broke out in a loud shout of a single Badi word. Then the musicians began to sing so loud, with looks on their faces that appeared to be joy. And the thousands of people watching got to their feet, and backed away, leaving a large space in the middle of the floor. But the way to the great doors was blocked. I was lost again.

  Rajak grasped my hand and pulled me out in the middle of that huge space.

  “What are we doing?” I hissed. He looked at me.

  “We d
ance, to seal the vows.”

  I shuddered.

  “I don’t know how to—”

  “I do. I will lead you.”

  I tried to protest. But he stepped beside me and slid his arm around my waist. He took up my left hand in his, and drew my arm across his chest. And then he whirled me around. His arm tightened around me as we spun. My skirt and his cloak flew out behind us. The people clapped in rhythm, and the rapid-fire words of the singing soared. He let go of my waist but kept hold of my hand. Suddenly, he flung me out and I twirled in a tight spin, then he pulled me straight back into him. For just a moment, my nose was an inch from his, and his black eyes caught mine. Then he whirled me around again, took my waist and we spun in a great circle, until I was dizzy. But I could not fall down—Rajak’s arm supported me.

  “Let me lead,” he growled in my ear. “Watch the steps.”

  I looked down. I saw his feet move in what seemed to be a quick, unreadable pattern. But as I listened to the frenzied music, heard the beat, and watched how he stepped, I saw it begin to make sense. I decided to try, if for no other reason but to keep from tripping and enraging the Badi prince.

  I stumbled twice at the beginning. But he did not say anything more. And all at once, I could dance.

  He twirled me again and again, pulling me back to him over and over, only to spin with me. It was only after several minutes of concentrating so hard my head hurt that I realized that all the guests had joined in, and were dancing all around us in a flurry of jingling trinkets, flinging skirts, and vibrant colors. I smirked to myself, satisfied with how quickly I was learning.

  Rajak never missed one step, never stepped on my hem. And he made such deliberate movements that I never had to guess which way he was about to go. Gradually, I felt his arm relax around me, and his tight hold on my hand softened. We moved easier that way, and I managed to step with more grace.