“No crying now,” she scolded. “You will ruin your perfect eyes.” She smiled at me, meaning it as a playful jest, and a swell of gratitude warmed me.
“Tell me what His Majesty is like,” I said.
Greta tapped the applicator brush against the lip of the blush container. “He is very handsome,” she started. “And tall, and his holdings increase by the day.”
None of this interested me, as handsomeness was subjective and I didn’t need a large palace to be comfortable. “What of his favorite food?”
“I do not know, my lady.”
“Does he like animals?”
“I do not know, my lady.”
“How does he take his coffee in the morning?”
At this, Greta stalled completely. “I do not know, my lady.”
I allowed her to finish my makeup without another question. Lucia and Helena had disappeared into the bedroom, and Greta escorted me through the doorway. A canopied bed sat in the center of the room, with a rug peeking out each side. The carpets blended nicely with the deep eggplant color of the walls and the dark mahogany of the hardwood floor. A small contingency of plants guarded a wide glass door, beyond which I saw only darkness.
The navy blue draperies had been pulled back, and I imagined the effect they would have when released. They would block all light, turning the purple on the walls into shadows, and the browns in the rugs into blacks, and the creams of the linens on my bed into kohls.
“The tornado has passed?” I peered through the glass door.
“No, dear,” Helena said. “Beyond that door lies a protected courtyard. The winds will not reach down here unless the tornado travels directly over this house.” She moved to the window and released the drapes so I could no longer see outside. As predicted, the room felt closed off from life outside, devoid of color, existing in only gray and ecru.
“What is to say the tornado will not pass directly over this house?”
“His Majesty has his sorcerers casting protection spells.” Helena smiled in a way I thought she meant to be comforting. It only increased the pressure in my stomach. “The tornado won’t bother us here.”
I wondered whom the tornado would bother as a result of the spells, but didn’t voice this thought. I wished these servants would leave me so I could cast a song of my own, perhaps discover what the Prince was like. Knowing I couldn’t risk it, not with all the other magic I had already used, I remained silent as Lucia held up dress after extravagant dress, merely nodding if I wanted to try it on or dismissing it with a shake of my head.
I finally selected a dark blue dress made of thick, yet somehow flowing fabric. It stuck to my chest in what Greta called, “all the right places,” and flared outward around my waist and hips. For this, I was grateful. I’d given no thought to my figure for some time, and while I was not corpulent, I certainly didn’t fall in the desirable category.
What was Olive thinking? A squeeze of the old fear returned. Where did the losers go after they were dismissed? Surely the application would’ve outlined what would happen to the girls the Prince didn’t choose. Thoughts of servitude mingled with the familiar fears of death at the hands of a tyrant.
For a brief moment, I considered trying to win the role of the Prince’s bride. I wouldn’t need to stay up late at night embroidering. I could send bags of money to Olive in Iskadar, where she could tend to Grandmother’s garden, and grow fields of roses, and arrange beautiful bouquets.
As quickly as the fantasy had come, it vanished. Surely I wouldn’t win this contest, if only because I couldn’t allow anyone to use me or my magic for their own purposes.
If I won, Olive would be—
“Echo.” Lucia brought me out of the useless spiral of my mind with her soft voice. She supplied a pair of strappy shoes with a small, pointed heel and instructed me to circle the room. I felt wobbly, certain the ground would simply vanish beneath me, but I managed to make the circuit.
She took the shoes and disappeared into the closet. When she returned, she bore a pair of silver sandals with jewel-encrusted straps. The heel gradually wedged upward. Again, she asked me to walk around the room.
This heel gave me little trouble, and I felt more secure walking in the sandals. Lucia smiled shyly at me and ducked through the doorway, leaving me alone. I thought about the suite with its magnificent carved door and delicious, healing water. I wondered who had lived in these rooms before me. Did the Prince have a bride-selecting ceremony in every country he conquered? Did he have wives all over the world?
I could discover this room’s secrets with a few notes. I dared not perform the spell-song, not in my current situation. I hoped a time would come where I could release my voice, uncover the secrets of this palace, and find my freedom.
But that time was not right now, with my stomach growling and a slight ache behind my temples still throbbing from my previous magic usage. As if bidden by my appetite, Helena, Greta, and Lucia entered the room.
“Your escorts will be here in minutes to take you to your dinner with His Majesty.” Helena said.
Suddenly, I didn’t feel so hungry after all.
Six
Matu arrived with the same soldier I’d seen throughout the city. Helena shooed me into a different hallway, and out a different door, saying, “Take care of her, Castillo.”
I shot a glance at the guard named Castillo, trying to learn something about him just by looking. The same easiness I’d experienced on the street and in the tunnel comforted me now, but I didn’t welcome it. I’d have to be extra vigilant to figure out what his role was, and why he influenced me so easily.
“Good evening,” Castillo said, bowing slightly at the waist.
I nodded, staring into the bright light of the gas lamps lining the hall. Matu and Castillo stared openly, their eyes skating from my ridiculous shoes to the top of my head. My skin burned like fire, and just when I thought I couldn’t take them looking at me anymore, they both turned and started down the hall.
I followed in their wake, my wedged heels clunking against the stone. Every so often, we passed a closed door. Nervousness struck me as I tried to keep track of the doors and hallways and turns. I’d never be able to find my suite without casting a location song, something I couldn’t do easily and keep my abilities concealed. Though no one had warned me against using magic, I knew I should not.
I stumbled, either from fear about finding my way back to Helena or because of my continued exhaustion.
“You’re not to be alone.” Castillo spoke over his shoulder, his voice sounding deeper and wider than it had in the street. “Either Matu or I will escort you within the compound.”
“Compound?” I asked, even though I’d meant to say thank you. “Like a prison?”
“No.” Castillo slowed his step. He turned and pinned me with that same intense stare that found me from darkened doorways and across crowds in the market. His eyes shone like a lantern on a dark country night, and his hair curled slightly over his ears. His skin glowed under the gaslight, and I couldn’t look away from his face. If the Prince looked anything like Castillo, becoming his bride might not be so bad.
Immediately, I recalled the idea. Olive would warn that such thinking testified of my childishness as well as my country upbringing. Back in Iskadar gossip flew like swift crows, and my girlfriends and I used to twitter over the boys in the village.
I’d left Oake with an empty promise that I’d write. He’d taught me many spells and chants over the years we’d worked together. He told me I needed to find my voice, and he hoped to be around when I did because it was going to be spectacular, but never once did he tell me how to survive inside palace walls.
“This is just a very large house,” Castillo explained. “We call it a compound because it is a bit hidden from the public. That’s all.”
I accepted his answer with a nod, noting that I needed to figure out how hidden this compound was. “Is His Majesty as handsome as you?” The moment the words left my
mouth, I covered it with a hand. My eyes stretched wide and breathing became difficult.
Castillo leaned away from me for a moment before the edge in his eyes melted into something softer. “You’ll have to tell me after you meet him.”
I shot a look toward Matu, who stood in the hall watching us. Castillo followed the glance, and the guards exchanged a tight-lipped smile at my expense. The unrest building inside of me rose to my throat.
I lowered my hands and folded them over the too-tight bodice of my dress. “Good looks don’t make up for overthrowing a country and imprisoning young women in compounds.”
“I never said they did,” Castillo replied. He gestured down the hall behind him. “Perhaps you can judge for yourself whether His Majesty is worthy of your attention.”
Matu strode forward, his pace matched by Castillo. I scurried after them, feeling much like I had when I’d left Oake and fled Iskadar. Like I had no other choice.
#
His Majesty sat too far away for me to tell if he matched Castillo in handsomeness. My face burned at the memory of my troublesome tongue. Why must my every thought fly from my lips?
Olive often criticized me for such things, but she had no idea that I agreed with her—and that I was no closer to a solution than she’d been.
The grand ballroom in which I stood held at least four hundred other young women, and seemed to stretch for miles in every direction. Ornate chandeliers dripped golden gas-produced light from the peaked ceiling. The amount of fuel required to simply light this room for a couple of hours would have kept Olive and I in heated quarters for years. Intricately carved tables filled most of the space, with the Prince and his entourage seated at the far end on a raised dais.
I wobbled on my wedge heels just inside the door where Matu and Castillo had left me. Castillo had whispered, “Table forty-two, princess. We’ll be right here when you finish,” before disappearing into the hallway and sealing me in this massive ballroom.
The girls nearest me cast sideways glances as I began making my way toward table forty-two. My dress clung to my body just as theirs did; our makeup had been painted on similarly. But my hair shone like black gold, and I wished for something to cover it.
A flutter of excitement stole through me as I remembered what Greta had said about my hair ensuring His Majesty would notice me above the hundreds of other bridal candidates. Then I remembered that I didn’t want to be noticed, that I had spent the past thirteen months in Umon perfecting invisibility.
At long last, table forty-two came into view. I stood halfway toward the dais, and yet I still could not properly glimpse the Prince. Curiosity burned in my blood. I’d never seen royalty before—tyrant or not.
I found a placard with my name elegantly printed in dark purple ink and took a seat in the carved chair. The china on the table gleamed in a blindingly white assortment of cups and saucers and plates. The yellow gold around their rims matched the striking candlesticks standing as centerpieces. The cloth spilled across the table in a deep red the color of pomegranates, and the liquid in our crystal goblets matched perfectly in both taste and color.
I sipped my nectar nervously, casting glances at the other girls at the table. Though idle chatter rang through the hall, no one at my table spoke. I replaced my goblet and twisted to look at the girl seated next to me. “I’m Echo del Toro.”
She looked at me with wariness in her eyes. After flicking her gaze back to the dais, she said, “My name’s Gazelle.”
I smiled, letting it spread across my face. “Nice to meet you.” I looked pointedly to the girl next to her.
She rolled her eyes and said nothing.
“Nice to meet you, too,” I said with just a little too much dryness in my tone. She glared harder, but the girl next to her reached across the space between us. I shook her hand.
“I’m Mariana Ekelenes.”
“Nice to meet you.” I repeated the sentiment several more times as I met girls with names I couldn’t possibly remember. The nameless girl sat with her arms crossed during the entire exchange. She stared at us all, her anger growing more evident on her face. I wondered if someone had submitted her application too, and that had caused the furious tremors in her fists.
Just when she opened her mouth to speak, the loudest bell I’d ever heard sounded. I clapped my hands over my ears the way I’d done when I was eight years old and had snuck into the belfry to try my hand at ringing the village emergency bell. That noise sounded like a whisper compared to the gong still reverberating through the hall.
I felt foolish for only a moment before I noticed that every girl at table forty-two had done exactly as I had. Even Ms. Nameless.
When the ringing stopped, a man stood on the dais, wearing long charcoal-colored robes. He was too far away to note hair or eye color, but the set of his jaw indicated that he was not any more pleased to be here than I was.
“Welcome, ladies,” he boomed, his voice magically amplified. “His Majesty welcomes you to the opening feast.” He held up his right arm as part of the spell to make his voice carry through the huge room.
“He will speak to each of you this evening, and individual and group gatherings will begin in the morning.”
My throat seized, and emotions warred inside me. First, hope that perhaps I could improve my situation in ways I hadn’t imagined. The more defiant part of me vowed that I wouldn’t speak with the Prince—now or ever. I felt torn, my thoughts switching from one camp to the other every other moment.
“But first,” the robed man said. “Please eat.”
Servers emerged with platter upon platter of food. The air filled with the smells of freshly baked bread, long-stewed meats, and garlic-roasted vegetables. When the plates arrived, I ate with gusto, hoping to reclaim the energy I’d lost during my earlier magical releases—and to calm the squirmy feeling in my stomach.
#
I deliberately kept my focus on the happenings at table forty-two so I wouldn’t track the Prince as he made his way through the ballroom. Unfortunately, the girl behind me at table forty-three provided a running commentary for everyone within twenty feet.
“He’s looking everyone in the eye.” She paused and gasped dramatically. “He’s not speaking to every person. Rather, he’s saying hello to entire tables and moving on. Table two . . . three . . . four . . . ”
And on and on. Though I didn’t look up from my china, I always knew precisely where the Prince stood. When she said, “Table forty,” I sucked in a breath and held it for a moment.
I pressed my eyes closed and told myself to calm down. He was just another man. I had bought thread from a man this afternoon in the market. I had sewn for them, bargained with them, kissed them even.
The Prince wasn’t a god; he was no different than the merchant. I told myself these lies, trying to eradicate the fear of losing my power to the songs of his magician hunters, of helping Olive by somehow winning him over.
I felt, rather than saw, his presence at table forty-two. When I raised my eyes to his, I was wrong. He was, in every way imaginable, different. He held his shoulders with dignity; his polite smile revealed full lips, and strength and confidence radiated from him without so much as a word. He clasped his hands in front of his body, completing the stunning image of sophistication. I wondered how long he’d worked to perfect his image.
“Good evening, ladies. Thank you for joining me.” His voice oozed over the table, causing several girls to erupt into giggles. I could do nothing but stare. His hair fell in chocolate-colored waves, short yet splendid at the same time. His eyes pierced each person he looked at, telling them that he was the one in charge, that his word would decide things in the end.
He nodded from girl to girl, complimenting their hair or their dress or asking them if the meal was satisfactory.
The part of me that wanted to impress the Prince had the idea to stand. As I did, the Prince’s gaze gravitated toward me. “And how did y-you—” His eyes caught mine as he tripped ove
r his words. The girl behind me at table forty-three gasped so loud, it sounded like a shout. The Prince blinked, which seemed to allow him the moment he needed to fold himself back into his tight box of perfection.
“What is your name?” He drew closer to me.
Though I needed to respond lest he think me slow, I simply stared as he approached. My stubborn half told my body to sit down! but it did not obey.
The Prince flicked his wrist toward his scribe, who immediately made a note on a scrap of parchment. Probably of my idiocy.
His Majesty stopped directly in front of me and held out his hand. I numbly put mine in his, surprised to feel the warmth in his skin thaw my vocal chords. He wore a tailored navy suit, the color almost identical to my dress. Red stripes adorned the chest, an indicator of his royal status. Gold glinted at his wrist and rimmed every button in his jacket.
“Your name?” he asked again, raising my hand to his lips. His kiss sizzled against the inside of my wrist, sending heat up to my shoulder.
“What’s yours?” I asked, the pomegranate wine swimming in my head. A moment too late, I realized my mistake. Of the hundreds of salivating girls here, only I could be so brash as to ask the Prince his name.
A hush settled over the room as if a magician had uttered a silencing poem. One, two, three heartbeats passed while everyone absorbed the weight of my question.
The Prince broke the spell with his laughter, filling the ballroom with a thunderous sound. Instead of joining him, tears pricked behind my eyes. I blinked quickly, pushing them back.
He turned to his scribe. “Oh, yes. First, please.”
I had no idea what he meant, but the black-robed man scratched another note.
“Perhaps you will tell me your name tomorrow.” The Prince released my hand and turned to table forty-three. I sat down clumsily, replaced my hands in my lap, and stared at the intimate spot where his lips had been, imagining a bruise blooming and snaking around my wrist like a bracelet.
Embarrassment kept me from participating fully with the other girls. The word tomorrow kept parading through my thoughts, drowning out the mindless chatter about the Prince’s good looks.
Echoes of Silence Page 4