Rescuing the Prince

by Meghann McVey

  A rather dramatic statement, but she did live in a time when minor infections could kill. I was willing to bet her work had saved more than a few lives.

  Lady Ariana secured the poultice to my leg with a strip of cloth with instructions to wash it daily with clean water and reapply the remainder she put in a midnight blue jar.

  I wanted to thank her. Tolliver had said she was a good person, and here she was helping me, all the proof I needed. But still, the words were stuck in my throat. I gathered my courage. “Thank you,” I murmured.

  “So you are not enchanted.” Lady Ariana’s feathery dark brows came together, and she pressed her petal-pink lips together.

  “No. Just shy.” So saying, I stared at my filthy bare feet, at her fine leather boots.

  “Better a bashful person than one constantly chattering insincerely.” It sounded like a royal proclamation coming from her. If I’d said something like that, Gerry would say it was a cop-out or an excuse.

  “My Lady,” I ventured. “You know about things others don’t.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The power hidden in a plant to save someone.”

  “Oh. Why, yes.”

  “Do you know about a black lizard, bigger than any bird, that flies and carries off large prey?”

  “It is well-known that dragons are only legend. So, too, a wonder such as you describe. I have seen incredible things in my life, but never a dragon or such as that. What is your interest in such a creature?”

  I sighed. “It’s not important.” I limped to the window with only a slight pain in my knee and pushed back the wooden shutter. Brilliant sunlight sent dust motes dancing. “I should find Tolliver. We must return to the castle soon.”

  “He is not far,” Lady Ariana said, joining me. “If it is nearing time for him to leave, he will be at the Old Forge…”

  Chapter Five

  Dinner Preparations

  Lady Ariana’s directions led me to the remains of a fire-ravaged house. Tolliver sat on the remnants of a wall, gazing at a forge overgrown with grasses and tiny flowers.

  “Leah,” he said when he looked up. “Welcome to my father’s forge. I always visit when I’m in Tarra.”

  “Lady Ariana sent me,” I said, hoping I wasn’t intruding on his private time.

  “It’s good to have company.” He smiled briefly at me before continuing to ponder the gray ruins.

  In the oddly comfortable silence, I listened to the birds chirp as they fluttered between the bushes, still lush and green, despite the faint autumn light.

  At last Tolliver stood. “They are good people in my second family. And yet…there is not a day that I don’t miss the man and woman who gave me life.” Tolliver sighed, then looked to me. “I’m glad you came. I’m sure my parents would have liked you.” My heart ached for him as he tried to smile through the tears shining in his eyes. “But there is no more time for thinking and remembering. We must hurry back to Castle Arencaster - what happened to your leg?”

  That conversation continued into our ride back. Tolliver, it turned out, had not seen my frenzied dash; he’d been in the back of the house helping his mother.

  Lady Ariana’s lack of knowledge about the dragon had made me curious and more than a little angry, not such much at her, but at the dragon and its rider. Still, I would find Gerry, even if the rider and I were the only ones who knew about the beast.

  “It sounds like a legend from the days of the First People,” Tolliver said when I’d told him what I had chased. “I would not recommend pursuing it. Catching the beast would put you in danger, and…” Here, Tolliver’s voice caught in his throat. My heart gave a little shiver. “I would not see you come to harm.”

  “I have no choice,” I said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The dragon brought me here.” For a minute, I debated whether to add that Gerry, too, was in this world. With any other person, mentioning my boyfriend would be a point of pride. Why was I so reluctant? “I believe if I find the dragon, I can find Gerry, too.”

  “Who is Gerry?” Tolliver inevitably asked.

  “Gerry is my boyfriend.” There. I’d said it.

  “Boyfriend?” Tolliver echoed. “What does that word mean?” He sounded bewildered.

  I tightened my grip on his waist. Of course they didn’t have boyfriends in this world. People probably knew each other for a week or less before marrying. “He’s, umm…” I grasped for words. “More than just a friend.”

  “Is boyfriend like what we call a husband?”

  “No.” Suddenly my fantasies about our wedding seemed remote and foolish. I blushed to remember them, glad that Tolliver was riding in front of me.

  “Do you…love him?” Tolliver said so softly I almost didn’t hear it over the wind in the trees.

  I said it a lot; Ger, rarely. “Yes,” I whispered. “I hope to marry him…one day.”

  “I see.” Tolliver’s shoulders, normally so straight, drooped. “He is your intended.”

  It was a generous view of our situation. Gerry had plans for his life. Sometimes I worried they wouldn’t work with marriage, but I didn’t want to get into all that. “That is a good word to describe it,” I blurted out, feeling that I had to say something. “Of course, we can’t marry if he is captured -”

  Tolliver glanced behind him, his eyes wide and questioning. “How is he worthy of you if he allowed himself to be taken prisoner?”

  “It wasn’t his fault.” I explained how seeing a dragon during a Southern California afternoon amounted to a miracle. “We were taken by surprise, to say the least. Not to mention, a dragon is huge and strong.”

  “If what you say is true, I must take back my harsh words.” Tolliver didn’t sound as if his heart were in it. “Though the idea of dragons is beyond my ken, you risk a brave undertaking for Autumnstead. If there is anything I might do to aid in your quest to find your beloved…”

  Mentally I pictured my roommate Momo (“Mo” for short) gagging at the description of Ger as my beloved. (She described their relationship as “hate at first sight.”)

  “I promise to aid you, My Lady,” Tolliver declared.

  “Thank you, Tolliver.” I wanted to throw my arms around his shoulder, or squeeze his hand or shoulder. But discussing Gerry had put miles of distance between us. There could be little doubt that our attraction was mutual, a development that made me freeze in indecision.

  They’re just feelings, I tried to tell myself. It’s nothing to feel guilty about if we don’t act on them.

  Uncomfortable silence weighed on us for the rest of the ride back. I wanted to speak just to break it but didn’t know what to say.

  Several times, Tolliver let Arbas wandered off the path, and once, he rode right into a low-hanging branch that smacked him on the forehead. I seized the opportunity to gasp over his injury, hoping we were done with the quiet at last. Unfortunately, I only got a stiff “I am quite alright, Lady,” out of him.

  So he didn’t want to talk. That was fine. In a sick way, his disappointment was a little flattering. I found myself thinking again of the gleam I’d seen in Tolliver’s eyes back at the stables. He hadn’t just been excited to hear about a new land, I saw now. He’d wanted to talk to me.

  It wasn’t meant to be, I told myself. Mutual attraction or not, I had a significant other who I loved very much. Furthermore, Tolliver and I belonged to entirely different worlds. If the circumstances were different, we never would have met in the first place. At least he knew about Gerry now and wouldn’t have the burden of false hope.

  By the time Castle Arencaster came into view, the trees’ shadows had grown long. We found Faxon pacing in the stables. He wore his wheat-blonde hair in a ponytail that reached the center of his back, and his lithe figure swam in his brown tunic and white undershirt. As Arbas clopped down the aisle, the slender soldier snatched the bridle and hissed up at Tolliver, “Why didn’t you take the whole day?”

  I hadn’t thought Tolliver
could retreat farther into his shell. His shoulders hunched, and his pitiful gaze conveyed both apology and reproach.

  “Don’t do this, Tolliver.” Faxon shook his head. “Where have you been?”

  “I wanted her to see our kingdom,” Tolliver said. “I thought it might help with the part she is to play.”

  Faxon sighed. “Your heart is in the right place, Toll. But suppose someone saw her? Or worse, what if she’d been captured by an enemy?”

  Despite facing the Latule guards, I hadn’t thought of that. My stomach flip-flopped at the foolish choice we’d made. Faxon helped me down, nearly crushing my fingers with his wiry strength.

  “No one of consequence saw,” Tolliver murmured. “I took her to see my family in Ivenbury and Lady Ariana.” Tolliver swung down from Arbas, his dark eyes wide and not really seeing what was before him.

  “Did you travel on the main road?”

  “No. In the woods.” Tolliver looked so guilty, I wondered if he was going to start sweating. Faxon noticed, too; as he asked the next question, he didn’t take his eyes off Tolliver.

  “Surely you didn’t leave out Latule. Their vindictive, unforgetting hearts are the reason it matters that Fiona is missing.”

  “I did,” Tolliver whispered. “They had a patrol at the mill.”

  “They’ve never stationed guards so far out before,” Faxon said, echoing Tolliver’s words from early that morning. “I wonder what they’re up to.”

  “They saw us,” Tolliver admitted at last.

  “I thought so.” Faxon nodded his approval of his own perception. “And how did you escape? I hope you taught them a lesson.”

  “I did my best, though we owe our safe return to Lady Ariana.”

  Faxon crossed his arms. “Be more careful, Tolliver. Based on your story, it seems no harm was done. Anyway, we’ll know at tonight’s banquet. It is given in your honor, you know.” His tone and flourish-filled bow mocked me.

  My honor? Oh, Princess Fiona’s. I really had to start thinking like her. There wasn’t much time left.

  “If you’ll forgive me, Toll, I must abscond with the lady. I, too, have advice I wish to give her to prepare for tonight.”

  “Very well.” Tolliver paused in leading Arbas to her stall and bowed to me. “Fortune favor you tonight, My Lady.” His dark hair tumbled over his face in a way that left me speechless.

  I was spared having to think of a response - courtly, clever, or otherwise - by Faxon motioning me to follow. He’d already made it to the stable door.

  “You’re filthy,” he said, eyeing me from head to toe.

  I stopped dead and started my usual reaction to disapproval: shrinking in to myself. I’d never witnessed it firsthand (obviously), but not a week went by without numerous coworkers and my supervisor complaining about it.

  As Faxon droned on about how I’d need a bath and to order the servants to wash my shirt and breeches, I remembered wishing at work that I really were Princess Cinderella so I could tell my critics off. (Cinderella was too kind and good for such behavior, but that was beside the point.) In Autumnstead, I was more princess than I was at Portalis Park. I still needed Faxon’s good will, but…

  “Faxon,” I timidly interrupted.

  “Yes?” he said sharply, using all his patience to stem the tides of wisdom he’d been offering me.

  “Would a guard speak this way to Princess Fiona?” It was hardly the assertive ideal Gerry always told me to strive for — unless speaking with him - but it made its mark.

  “I apologize, Princess. You are right,” Faxon said, which was a little farther than I’d intended this to go.

  “Umm, it’s okay, Faxon.”

  {****}

  Bathing in Autumnstead turned out to be a team effort. The female castle staff carried water from who knew where and lugged it to Fiona’s room, where they boiled it in a massive cauldron in her fireplace.

  I wasn’t about to let a bunch of ladies I didn’t know bathe me. Besides, I could just picture Fiona having some special mole or scar that I didn’t. While the servants waited on the other side of the room (it had taken many signs and false starts to make them understand what I wanted), I hid behind Fiona’s screen and did the best I could with the bath. The maids offered me neither soap nor sponge, just a cloth and scented leaves in the water. I debated washing my hair but decided against it in the end. The brisk afternoon air wouldn’t dry it in time, and it seemed better to attend the dinner with dirty hair versus dripping.

  After the bath, I had to get help donning my dress. To my relief, it looked nothing like the matronly garb Lady Arencaster seemed to favor. The cream-colored gown had a scoop neck, sheer, lace bell sleeves, and a belt of golden links. Its full skirts swept the floor, leaving a slight train ahead and behind me. In this era of collars to the chin, full skirts, and long sleeves, I guessed it was considered somewhat risqué. One of the maids braided my hair so tightly that my eyes teared. Then they festooned me with heavy gold jewelry and icy gems. I felt like a Christmas tree, clinking and clacking whenever I moved. The shoes came last, scuffed, ugly, heavy. I felt grateful my long dress hid them, though I’d still have to be careful walking or I’d clop like a Clydesdale.

  As the maids opened the bedroom doors to carry out the bath water I’d blackened, they started clucking about the dress and jewelry.

  Noticing Faxon leaning against the wooden rail outside, I forced myself to stand straight with my shoulders back. “Just like the real Fiona, right?” I whispered.

  His smoke-gray eyes danced as if he were trying not to smile. “Come. I will show you where the dinner will be held.”

  He led me to a room containing three long tables covered in red cloths. From the rafters hung flags and banners, and the walls sported coats of arms. Above the fireplace, an immense tapestry portrayed a feast.

  “Banquets start with the queen and princess greeting the guests at the door,” Faxon said. “First, show me your curtsy.”

  I lifted my skirts and sank down in the posture that my job at Portalis Park had made second nature.

  “Good,” Faxon said briskly when I lifted my head. “But do you know which of our guests merits the greater show of respect?”

  Uh oh. At Portalis Park, everyone, from kings to park-goers, got the same curtsy,. “No clue,” I admitted.

  “Then I will describe the most important ones.” Faxon proceeded to blow up my brain with the names, titles, and appearances of well over twenty individuals. At the end, I had to admit he was very observant and had a good memory for people’s characteristics, though it didn’t change the fact that I could only remember about three to five of them.

  “I am a slightly corpulent man, balding with black hair. I have a wife and child with me. We are all dressed in house colors of red and brown,” Faxon said at the end, to my mortification. “Show me how you curtsy.”

  Not knowing what else to do, I just did the standard Portalis princess curtsy again.

  “No, no, no! That was Lord Skyler Latule! He and Lord Ivenbury command the most respect of anyone here!”

  Oh, Latule. At least I remembered the name after Tolliver’s and my little adventure this morning.

  We went through six more descriptions. I got half right for curtsy depth. For the correct ones, Faxon fired follow-up questions at me: who was the individual he had named, and how aligned were they with House Arencaster?

  “Faxon,” I protested, “isn’t someone going to announce the invitees as they arrive?” We always had when Portalis Park hosted a private party.

  “Why would they do that?” Faxon countered. “Autumnstead is a small kingdom. Everyone knows everyone else already.”

  Except for me, I thought. “Why worry about names, anyway? I’m ‘enchanted,’ after all.”

  “These are important things for you to know,” Faxon insisted with a stubborn conviction that made me want to tear his silky ponytail out by the roots.

  About this time, Queen Arencaster entered the room with the servan
ts not far behind.

  Faxon melted into the shadows at the edge of the room. I just glimpsed a trailing edge of wheat blonde hair, a cat’s tail to go with his silent feet. And he was gone.

  “I was wondering if you’d know where to find the formal dining room,” Queen Arencaster said in a low voice.

  I shrugged, not knowing what to say. Had she actually planned to tell me something instead of expecting me to figure it out?

  “Our guests will be here soon,” Queen Arencaster said. “Guards on the castle road sent a messenger that the Latules have already been sighted.”

  “Ok,” I mumbled. Inside, my heart was turning somersaults. It was about to be show time.

  Chapter Six

  The Banquet

  As it happened, the Latules were not quite the first to arrive. A whole troop dressed in patches and rags entered in a clamor of talk and medieval instruments. To the last, their hair was red. I had never seen so many different shades in one place: copper, mahogany, strawberry, fiery orange, and a deep cranberry tone. It was as though they had each taken a swatch from the red section in the drugstore.

  “Good evening, Wagoners,” Queen Arencaster addressed them, making a bow so slight, it was practically a head nod. “Has this year given you safe travels?”

  The gypsies responded with Yes Your Majesty’s, head nods, and smiles before heading to the spaces between the tables and fireplace to set up. One stayed behind giving orders in a dialect I was unable to follow. Several youths, their unruly curls held back with colorful headscarves, left and returned several times with trunks and painted screens. Set pieces? How I wished ‘Fiona’ weren’t enchanted so I might ask about them. As they began to assemble a low platform in front of the fireplace, I took closer notice of the man directing the others. His flaming orange hair tumbled in waves to his shoulders, and gold hoops hung with flashing gems swayed in his ears. The sun had done some of the work browning his skin, but much of it, from the smell, was days’ old dirt. “What is the legend tonight?” Queen Arencaster asked him.

  “‘Princess Mersania: The Last of the First People,’” he said with a grand flourish that made his jeweled rings - at least one per finger - glisten. I just stopped my eyes from bugging out.