“Good night, Prince.” I smiled.
Chapter Two
The next morning, I played piano while Eunice knitted. Afterward, she invited me to accompany her to Rhoda’s herb garden. While I snipped primroses, she read aloud the herbal remedies from Dixie’s writings.
“Wron loves to hunt. He spoke endlessly about the Swamp Woman who carried a gun,” Eunice said. “He is no longer allowed to go on his lengthy hunting trips, not with Alia expected any day.” She sighed. “You know how men are—you keep them home too long, and they begin to feel caged.” She lifted her eyeglasses, studying the page. “She also penned Parsley. Heaven knows we have heaps of it.”
“Perhaps a hunt will do him good.” I looked up from my snipping.
“Not with all of the counterfeits lurking about. We need him here.” She shook her head. “Did you hear much about the Wells’s travel plans?”
“King Wells? Oh, it was all very hush-hush.”
“That sounds like Francis.” She sighed. “Your hair is beautiful. It is definitely your best feature. What color is Princess Alia’s hair?”
“Auburn,” I reminded her.
“So you said. The last batch of counterfeits said that Alia’s hair is gold and luxurious.”
“Her hair is long and auburn.” I rose to my feet to peer over her shoulder at Dixie’s scribblings.
She appeared only slightly uncomfortable at my nearness. “You are remarkable, Dory. I have really only known you for two days, but I am quite certain that I want you to stay in Yonder, indefinitely.”
“As a servant or a free person?”
Her chest inflated and her chin tipped up. “As my royal pianist, of course.” She turned to head back toward the kitchen.
“I should inform you that I am betrothed.”
“To whom?”
“The son of one of my father’s friends. I plan to meet him when I’m well.”
“Well . . .” She glanced back at me as she crossed the threshold into Rhoda’s white brick kitchen. “Royal pianists are often allowed to marry.”
I carried the basketful of herbs, and followed her inside. Pots and pans hung from an oval rack suspended from the high ceiling.
The giant woman chopped turnips with a huge knife. It was only my second time seeing Rhoda in the daylight, and my pulse quickened.
“Rhoda, you’ve met your new roommate?” Eunice asked.
“We have not been properly introduced,” I interrupted. “Rhoda was up earlier than I this morning.”
“Oh, well then, Rhoda, this is Dory. She has swamp pox. She is a new addition to our staff and, as you know, plays the piano beautifully.”
“Are they painful?” Rhoda held a hand to her own mottled cheek.
“Awful, and they are beginning to itch again, but I am not contagious.”
“Where is Needa?” Eunice asked, searching the countertops for something.
A gnomelike creature no more than six inches tall stepped out from behind an earthenware crock. She was adorable, like a child’s small doll.
“Here is Needa,” the gnome said. Frowning, she crossed her arms behind her. Blonde plaited pigtails poked out from beneath her green pointed hat.
I tried not to stare. I’d heard of gnomes but had never seen one before. They were rarely seen, rarely captured, but stories flourished in Blue Sky that they were real.
“I’m sorry; I’m staring,” I whispered.
“Needa Gnome,” Needa said, tapping one foot. “Long-term prisoner of Yonder. I’m one hundred years old now, Queen Eunice. I should be courting and marrying, and instead . . . I am seasoning.”
“Needa is of great help to Rhoda. She is in charge of all of the herbs and spices for our dishes. Now, Needa, politely greet Dory, our pianist.”
With a half-hidden scowl, Needa curtsied.
“I’ll return to my knitting.” On her way out of the kitchen, the Queen added a regal wave.
“You’re one hundred years old?” I had no idea gnomes lived so long.
“Yes. My great-grandmother lived to be three hundred and sixty-eight, and she would have lived longer had she not been trampled by a horse. My great-grandfather is well over four hundred. He may or may not be alive. I haven’t been home for eleven years.”
“You’re a prisoner?”
“Yes, of the Twelve-Year War. So is Rhoda.” Needa held out her hand toward the large woman.
“I am not a prisoner; I am like family,” Rhoda said, chopping a turnip.
I walked around the extensive brick island, trying to familiarize myself with the room. “I do not know much about cooking; I know more about serving, but I will help in any way I can.”
“Serving is good; I will let you serve,” Rhoda bellowed.
“Where are you from, Needa?” I asked.
Carrying her shoulders low and her knees high, Needa raced across the top of the island toward me. “I’m from Evland.” She panted. “I heard Yonder soldiers in the forest, and I hid in a hollowed round of wood. One of the soldiers picked up the wood for the fire, found me, and put me in his pocket. And, of course…” She flung her forearm across her forehead, with dramatic flair. “Queen Eunice fell in love with me.”
I bent down at eye level with her. “When I was in the Forest Maze, there were little people hiding in the ferns.”
“They are not gnomes. They are forest fatties.” Needa tapped her toe, crossing her arms in front of her. “Gnomes are not as round or as rowdy.”
“After I heal here, I will visit Evland,” I decided out loud. I would find Felix’s white brick cottage with its sweeping view of the valley.
“We will escape together.” Needa squealed and jumped up and down.
Rhoda clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth.
“I am not a prisoner of Yonder,” I whispered. “I’m a visitor. I will help in exchange for room and board. When I am healed, I will visit Evland.”
Needa slowly smiled. “You are a prisoner of Yonder; you just don’t know it yet.”
“I am paying my month’s time. That was the agreement.” I held my ground.
“Everyone in Yonder serves the king.” Needa twirled the tail of one of her braids. “You will see.”
There was much clatter as Rhoda took a large soup pot down from the band of hanging kettles. “Queen Eunice said you will take your meals with us.”
“See.” Needa smiled. “You are just like us—prisoners of Yonder.”
“I will make you cabbage soup.” Rhoda slid the turnips into a large iron pot. “My mother said cabbage cures all. We will see.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Rhoda, has Duron always been in charge of cooking the prisoners’ food?”
“I make them a very nice meal each Christmas. They are always excited.”
“Knot wanted me to ask if you’d make him peach pie.”
“I will not make peach pie until Prince Wron’s wedding.”
Rhoda’s peach pie must be very special. I was glad that I liked peach.
“But I will make Knot gooseberry.” Rhoda smiled and began to hum.
ΦΦΦ
Rhoda, Needa, and I took our lunch in a dining alcove off the kitchen. The arched window above the table had a lovely view of the herb garden. Like a centerpiece, Needa sat at a gnome-sized toile-painted table in the middle of our table. While their plates were heaped with slivered partridge, mashed turnips and gravy, and petite peas, my lunch was a bowl of cabbage soup. The shimmering gravy on their plates made my mouth water. Everything is better with gravy. Life is better with gravy.
Rhoda bowed her head. “Good Lord above, thank you for the delicious meal that I made and for Dory, our new friend. Help my cabbage soup to heal her pox, and for Needa to stop talking about Evland. Yonder is home. Help her to be happy. Amen.”
Needa frowned, picking up her fork. “When you’re one hundred years old, we’ll see if you’re still happy here.”
Rhoda shrugged and took her first bite of mashed turnips and gravy. “O
h my”—her large round eyes fluttered open and closed—“this is the best gravy that I have ever made.” She carved her first bite of partridge.
Wait! Partridge was meat!
Wide-eyed, I stared as memories of the giant women with their long, stringy hair thundered out of the woods. “Waaaait!...” I exclaimed before the forkful entered the gallows of her mouth.
With her dark brows gathered, Rhoda stared at me.
“I thought you were a vegetarian.”
“Lent is over.” Rhoda’s eyes rolled back in her head as she savored her first bite.
Had Knot lied? My roommate—a female giant—was a meat eater, and a meat lover. Oh, if it had only been Lent when we’d traveled through Shepherd’s Field!
I peered down at the gray cabbage broth. It reminded me of the soup at Greda and Sadie’s home, except there were no lentils or carrots floating in it. I swallowed and summoned the courage to take a sip from the pewter spoon. The broth needed salt, meat, potatoes, lentils, carrots . . . A strong bitter taste followed my first sip.
Behind us, someone cleared their throat in the doorway. Over my shoulder, I saw that it was Prince Wron. I hoped he needed me for something, so I might escape the cabbage soup.
“Sorry to interrupt, ladies.” He smiled and bowed slightly, a sweet gesture on his part. “I saw Leeson in the village, Dory, and he requested your presence today in auctioning off one of your horses.”
“I would love to.” I rose and set my napkin on my chair.
“Eat your soup.” Rhoda pointed a drumstick-sized finger to my bowl.
I remained standing and glanced at Wron.
“Dory, as you will soon learn, Rhoda is queen of the kitchen.” His cheeks bunched, but he did not break a smile.
Rhoda pointed to my chair. “My cabbage broth will heal you. Sit down.”
Though I tried to think pleasant thoughts, each spoonful of Rhoda’s cabbage soup that traveled down my throat threatened to crawl its way back up.
“We must hurry, Dory,” Wron said from the doorway.
I inhaled deeply and glanced at him. It’s easy to hurry through sourdough bread slathered with honey, or mashed potatoes and gravy—I eyed the remaining portion on Rhoda’s plate. But not this. I glanced down at the gray broth. Never had my body been so offended by food.
“Hurry, Dory.” Wron’s voice was firm.
I gulped a large spoonful. My throat gurgled. My body heaved like a human wave to the point that when I gripped the sides of the table, it shook. And then there was calm.
I peered at my swampy reflection in the bowl. I was almost done. I spooned the last bite. Onderyay! I was done.
“Every drop.” Rhoda pointed her drumstick-sized finger in my bowl.
The apples of Wron’s cheeks bunched. Was he suppressing a laugh or simply impatient?
I downed the remaining drop, rose from the table, and set my napkin on my chair.
“Collect your dishes. I am not your mother,” Rhoda said.
“Thank you for the soup, Rhoda.” I collected my dishes and set them near the sink.
“Why does she get to go to the auction?” Needa asked. “You have never taken me to the auction.”
“You know I spoil you, Needa,” Wron said. “We need to hurry; Leeson is waiting for us.”
I followed him out of the kitchen and through the Great Hall.
“Where are you going with my pianist?” Eunice asked.
“I am accompanying Dory to auction, where she will sell one of her horses.”
“Don’t take too long. I . . .”
Her voice did not reach the hallway. Wron chuckled as I grabbed my cloak from my room. To keep pace with Wron’s strides, I had to lift my long skirt and jog after him.
“I pray I heal tonight, because I cannot down another bowl of Rhoda’s cabbage soup,” I said, trying to stay up with him.
“No one looks forward to Rhoda’s cabbage soup, but her heart is right.” When we exited the gatehouse, a legion of guards followed us, both on horseback and on foot.
“Well, I won’t eat it again. I cannot stomach it.”
“You must. For Rhoda.”
“I won’t. Her soup is torture.” Simply the thought of tasting the soup again triggered my gag reflex.
“In Yonder, it is not good etiquette for a woman to have the last word.”
“Even if she is right?” I asked.
He halted in the middle of the cobblestone street to look at me.
I lowered my head. In the bright sunlight, I did not want him to see my pox.
“What is wrong?” he asked.
“Don’t look at me. It is difficult enough for me to leave my room, much less be viewed in broad daylight.”
“You were absolutely fine until you saw the mirror.” A lock of dark hair fell forward into his eyes.
His words unraveled some of my memories of Felix. “Yes, but now I know what I really look like.” It was difficult for me to admit it.
“Now that my mother and Rhoda are intent on your healing, you won’t need to worry for long.” He continued his hurried pace, and I had to work to keep up with him. At the end of the main village street, the auction was in sight.
Friday’s auction had a larger turnout than Wednesday’s. While I waited in line with Leeson and Plenty, I soon lost sight of Prince Wron. I did not see him among the uniformed soldiers on horseback who lined the periphery of the village square.
“The Swamp Woman is here,” someone murmured in the crowd.
“The Swamp Woman’s here.”
A nearby woman patted her teenage daughter’s shoulder. “Even though she is sick, she still has good posture.” The mother glanced at me.
Her daughter pulled her shoulders back and lifted her chin.
“Will she ever play again at The Bell Tower, now that she is the Queen’s?” Such murmurings rippled near me in the crowd.
Ahead of us, a dirty hog on a leash squealed. The hog brought in seventeen dixels. Next, a handsome pair of white doves brought in three dixels. Then it was my turn. Leeson stayed behind me in the crowd while I led Plenty to the center of the square. I flipped back my hood, but this time my hair was not greasy and thick with dust; it was clean and rippled down my back. The murmurings hushed.
“This is the last of my horses that are for sale,” I spoke loudly. “Her name is Plenty, and she also has a fine leather saddle. Her late owner often said that she is ‘a horse of plenty.’” To show the crowd Plenty’s gentle and obedient nature, I took hold of the reins and led her about the circle. “She will still have plenty of energy left after a long, hard day. She will eat more than plenty of grain, as you can see from her stomach of plenty, and she will help you harvest your fields to abound with plenty. Who will give me fourteen for Plenty?”
A uniformed guard opened the bidding with ten dixels, and then it continued until it reached thirty. I searched individual faces in the crowd, and for a moment thought the bidding was complete.
“Tell us about Plenty’s owner,” a farmer said, as he gripped the bibs of his overalls.
I looked to the mediator, a tall man with a sharp nose and a dark beard. He nodded for me to continue.
“Tell us about Plenty’s owner,” someone else yelled.
The crowd’s curiosity surprised me. I had to be careful. These were my future countrymen. If I called Felix my father, they would always remember. The audience waited with keen interest.
I cleared my throat. “Plenty’s owner fell victim to the giants before Shepherd’s Field, also known as the Giants’ Snare.”
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
“The giants were awakened from their winter slumber earlier than we’d expected. When I rode through the Giants’ Snare, Plenty’s owner served as a distraction.” I raised my chin. “He was a stocky man, as robust as Duron, Yonder’s gaoler. Plenty never complained of the weight she carried in life, as must neither you nor I.” My gaze scanned the crowd. “Is thirty the final bid for Plenty?”
&
nbsp; “Thirty-two,” said one of the royal guards.
“Thank you.” I nodded.
“Thirty-three,” said the inquisitive farmer. The bidding continued until it was in the mid-forties, which I now understood was very high.
“Fifty,” someone said from amidst the royal guards.
The crowd awed and then hushed.
“Thank you.” Nodding, I looked around me at the citizens of Yonder. “Surely fifty is plenty for Plenty.”
I walked across the square to hand the reins of Plenty to the highest bidder. Amidst the regiment, the man who slid off the horse was not a guard, but Prince Wron without his royal cloak. The crowd dispersed as his people bowed. I bowed as well, hiding my surprise.
Wron walked over to where I knelt and motioned for me to rise, and then for everyone else to rise as well. Taking my free hand in his, he raised it high into the air. “I am touched by the bravery of this woman that you have named the Swamp Woman.”
Surprised by his words and actions, I shook my head.
“Now, Dory . . .” he murmured under his breath as, holding my hand high, he turned with me about the circle to face the crowd. “Be as brave tomorrow, should you need to eat another bowl of Rhoda’s soup.”
My future countrymen clapped.
Chapter Three
I handed Leeson the fistful of dixels that I’d received for Plenty. He slid them into his coat pocket and, with a shake of his head, clutched the lump of coins tightly to him.
From a distance, I watched Wron speak with the farmer who had also bid on Plenty. Wron removed the horse’s leather saddle, and then handed the farmer the reins. My heart swelled from the generosity of his offer.
With the saddle strewn over his shoulder, Wron strode toward us. I realized that a host of guards stood round about me—Yonder’s royal pianist.
“Elza, my wife, would like you to visit for coffee,” Leeson informed us.
Surely Wron wouldn’t accept Elza's offer, not when his mother wanted me home to play piano.
Wron glanced at me and then up to the clock tower before nodding. “We can stay for a short time, Leeson. One cup.”
The Piano Girl - Part Two (Counterfeit Princess Series) Page 2