“What is your role in the book?”
“I am your maid,” she said as if the answer should have been obvious.
“And what is your name in the Plot?”
“Why, it is Olena, my lady.”
“So you are a character, but the character is also who you really are?”
At this Olena looked still more puzzled. “My lady?”
“Hmm. Well, never mind.” Posy licked sauce off one of her fingers and tried to ignore Olena’s stare of horror. “I suppose since I am of the royal family, I will take advantage of my freedom and walk around the castle grounds for a while. If anyone asks where I am, you can tell them what I’m doing.”
“Very good, my lady,” Olena curtseyed one last time and disappeared quietly through the doorway.
Posy stood up with renewed energy. If only she had known this hours ago! The castle had to be extremely vast, and the grounds full of wonderful places to explore. As she headed for the doorway of her bedroom, the mist piped up, rushing over her shoulders and into her ear, Darling girl, you are not going to venture out in those shoes! And without a wrap! For shame, Princess!
“Oh, um.” Posy looked down at her light fabric slippers. She quickly exchanged them for a pair of smart-looking little boots she found in the scrolled wooden cabinet by her bed and grabbed a white fur cloak with a fluffy hood and threw it over her shoulders.
Posy enjoyed getting lost, really, although she knew in this castle full of guards and characters and mists, she could never really be alone. Nevertheless, she instructed the mist to stay in her room. She preferred to find her own way this time. It consented with a disappointed sigh.
After seemingly endless twists and turns down hallways that all somehow looked the same, and down several treacherously steep stone staircases, Posy finally emerged from the walls of the castle and into a courtyard. Sun spilled onto her and she sighed with pleasure. But the wind nipped at her cheeks and nose, and as she made her way across the cobbled courtyard and past a bubbling fountain, she pulled her cloak tightly about her shoulders.
Posy didn’t know where she was going. She just walked, a feeling of freedom overcoming her after being confined almost entirely in her room for two days. She eventually came to the outskirts of the gardens and saw the stables ahead of her.
“Good afternoon, mistress,” a young stable boy called to her and bowed as she neared one of the high wooden doors where he stood brushing a horse. “Would you like to ride today?”
“Oh, I, uh ...” Posy was taken aback. She never rode a horse in her life, and she knew without a doubt that now was not the time to learn. “No, I don’t think so today. Thank you, though.”
“Lad, what must you be thinking, asking the princess such a question?” A new voice emerged from the darkness of the stables and the speaker strode out into the sunshine. “After the accident that she has just recovered from? I wouldn’t be surprised if she never wanted to see a horse again!”
Posy looked up into the face of a young man about two or three years her senior. His hair hung in silken black waves to his shoulders, and his dark eyes swam with amusement and something like mockery as he took in her appearance from head to toe. He was certainly no stable hand, obviously, judging by his clothes and his way of speaking. Arrogant, Posy thought with a frown.
“Oh, excuse me,” his voice invaded her thoughts. “It was a head injury, wasn’t it?” His dark eyes bore into her, gripped her as if her response would answer more than what he asked.
Posy turned away from him, lifting her chin. “No, I won’t ride today,” she said haughtily. “But that certainly doesn’t mean that I won’t ever ride again. Thanks for your obvious concern, though.” She turned to leave and caught his eyes still on her. Their intensity made her want to squirm, or to run away. Instead, she swung to face him and said, too angry and flustered to care, “Isn’t there something you should be doing? Somewhere you need to be? You’re ... annoying.” She tried not to think about how childish the words sounded.
The black-haired young man gave a snort of derision, then shrugged and said, “Have it your way, then. Evanthe always did. Why should her ... replacement be different?”
Posy’s mouth dropped open, and the hand of the stable boy next to her stopped brushing the horse in mid stroke. She watched the young man’s back as he strode indifferently back into the stables. No one save Falak had yet been so blunt with her about her role here, and the fact that she was so out of place.
But she had seen something, only for a moment. Something had happened, behind his black eyes, so quickly she could almost convince herself it hadn’t been there at all. But not quite. What had it been? Fear? Sadness? Confusion? Perhaps all three. Posy suddenly felt deflated and empty.
Bells clanged raucously from a high tower somewhere as Posy made her way back through the gardens and into the castle.
* * *
Olena was waiting when Posy arrived back in her chamber. “My lady.” Olena dipped a short curtsy and said, “I am here to tell you dinner will be in an hour, in the Great Hall, with the king and queen.”
“I am to eat with the—with my mother and father?” Posy asked. “Is that ... usual? I mean, did I do that back before I had my—er—sickness?”
“Oh, yes, on occasion, Princess, although not always. Usually it was when—” Here she stopped a moment as if wondering if she should continue. “Normally His Majesty wants to sup with his family if he has something important to say about the Plot or one of the characters.”
“I see. All right, then. Can you help me get ready?”
“Of course, miss. I will help you change, and dress your hair for you.”
For the next hour, while Olena worked on fashioning Posy’s hair high up on her head, using hot tongs to make small ringlets around her face, Posy’s mind wandered. So, she would face the king and queen tonight. She had not seen the king since their alarming exchange in the corridor that morning, which now seemed so very long ago. She didn’t feel apprehensive exactly, but a nervous anticipation tingled through her. Maybe she would learn something more tonight.
When she was ready at last and stood before the mirror, Posy was captivated by what she saw. It wasn’t Posy at all, she thought. Perhaps everyone truly did believe she was the princess, if this was how she appeared to them. Beneath the pale shade of powder Olena had covered her face with and the delicate curls hanging to her shoulders, Posy searched for recognition of the self she used to see in the mirror.
Now she thought of it, what had she looked like? Something in this book, or maybe in the castle, seemed to hang over her, threatening to make her forget all she had known before. Posy attempted to bring up the image of her sister in her mind, her mother, her father, her house. She realized with a feeling of dread that she couldn’t. A cloud—a sort of fog—fought to cover things in her mind. She could feel it, tucked at the edge of her consciousness. She suddenly knew she had to leave this place as quickly as she could.
* * *
The mist led her to the banqueting hall, commenting on her appearance between directions. Posy nodded absently as it swirled about her shoulders like a cloak and murmured, I do believe that dress makes you look a bit taller than normal, dear.
“That’s great,” Posy said absently, her mind elsewhere.
“Daughter!” King Melanthius’ voice rang down the length of the enormous vaulted room as Posy walked through the doors. “Come—come down here quickly now. Let the queen and me get a look at you!”
Posy made her way as gracefully as possible past all the empty tall-backed chairs lining the long table. She looked up into the king’s face with some trepidation, wondering how to behave with him after their last conversation. But his face gave away nothing; indeed, he looked as if there had never been a harsh or awkward word between them. He smiled sincerely at her and scooped her hand into his large one, kissing it. Then he pulled out a chair for her.
“Evanthe, my darling,” the queen smiled placidly, her long wh
ite hands resting upon her lap. “I am so glad you are feeling well enough to join us this evening. Your recovery has been nothing short of a miracle.”
Posy felt cold when the queen spoke. It was as if her words were a script or a pretense. Even a mask.
“Yes,” Posy said, “I am feeling much better. Thank you, Your Majesty.” She found that though she had referred to the king and queen as her parents to Olena so as not to upset her, she couldn’t do it to their faces. They were most certainly not her parents, and she could not imagine them ever being so.
The king took his seat at the head of the table. The queen and Posy sat across from one another further down the table. Melanthius looked upon them both with a generous smile. “We are expecting a reader any day now, you know.”
“We are?” Posy blurted before she could stop herself. How can they know when a reader will come?
The king raised a black eyebrow. “Why, yes. We are always expecting a reader. It could be tomorrow—it could be in a week. Who knows? But we will get one, make no mistake. Our story will be told, princess. My story, your mother’s ... yours.”
“And ...” Posy took a nervous breath, “what is my story, Your Majesty?”
The king’s dark eyes squinted at her, and his mouth instantly drew into a tight line. In panic, Posy tried to change tactic.
“That is—with the accident, I have forgotten many things. I know that when the time comes for me to play my part in the Plot, I will do so. I just ... I would like to know ahead of time what is expected of me.” There was no reason the king should grant her request. Nevertheless, she had to ask, even if she was refused.
Queen Valanor gazed at her husband, and he frowned, drawing his bushy eyebrows together. “I believe I will tell you, Evanthe, since it is understandable that with your memory loss, you will want to be reminded. Tonight is not the time, though. Perhaps tomorrow afternoon? In my audience chamber.”
Posy nodded, relieved. If the king was willing to tell her of her own part in the Plot, it might not be so bad after all; although Falak had said it was a dark tale. Food appeared as servants swept into the room and conversation lagged for several minutes as their efforts were bent on eating. Just as Posy was beginning to breathe more easily, the great doors at the far end of the room flew open with a bang. Posy just managed to keep her mouth from dropping open, but her eyes widened in astonishment when she saw who strode into the room.
He, however, did not seem surprised to see her. His mouth pulled into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and he said in the mocking voice Posy remembered, “Ah, Sister. Good evening.”
The king growled, “Kyran, you are late, my son. We have started without you.”
Sister, thought Posy, son. Her heart quickened, and she kept her eyes on her plate. So he was a prince—the prince of the Kingdom. No wonder he had spoken to her as he had in the stable yard. What must he think of her, pretending to be the princess Evanthe—pretending to be his sister? Who would know better than he that she was an imposter? Posy flushed in mortification. When she finally found the courage to raise her eyes, she found Prince Kyran as calm as she was uneasy. He was busy consuming his food, ignoring her completely.
“Is that all you have to say to your sister, Kyran?” the king challenged, his small eyes on his son’s face. The prince went still, and Posy felt her ears burn. She wanted to say, “Never mind—it doesn’t matter!”
The prince lifted his dark eyes, and the look in them told Posy all she needed to know. Kyran knew without a doubt that she was not the princess—she could see that plainly enough—and he seemed to hate her for it. How could he not?
But when he turned his gaze to his father, Posy saw even more. The mockery he had directed at her had at least been open; the things she saw in his eyes when he looked at Melanthius made her shudder, and sent an unexpected pang of sadness into her heart. There was no respect there, and much anger. Posy felt fleetingly that perhaps there was a strange bond between her and the prince after all.
Then the prince’s face became a mask, and he said, “I’m glad to see you are better, Evanthe.” His voice was as blank as his expression. Melanthius nodded in wary approval and went back to cutting his meat.
Posy had never felt as relieved as when supper was over and King Melanthius stood. She was sweating beneath the snug bodice of her dress, and she had hardly gotten a morsel down. The king and queen bid her and Kyran goodnight and walked down the wide candlelit corridor arm in arm. Kyran turned swiftly on his heels and went the opposite way without a spare glance at Posy.
“Wait!” Posy surprised herself by calling. She walked quickly to catch up with him as he turned a scornful look on her.
“I know you despise me,” the words tumbled out of Posy’s mouth in her haste to justify herself. She knew enough by now, though, to be cautious, and she kept her voice low. “I am not the princess Evanthe. Of course I’m not! I don’t want to be here at all! My name is Posy, and I’m not even from this book—this world—whatever this place is! Your father ... he ... I tried to explain to him, but he ...”
“He wouldn’t listen?” Kyran’s face was still unreadable.
“No,” Posy shook her head. “I tried to tell him who I am, but ... he wouldn’t believe me.”
“Wouldn’t believe you—or wouldn’t allow you to speak the truth?” the prince’s face broke into a bitter smile. “You see, my father the king knows exactly who you are. Do you think he would mistake his own daughter any more than I would believe you are my sister? He merely wants you to take Evanthe’s place. What does it matter if everyone in the kingdom knows you are false? The crucial issue is whether the reader believes in you or not—not the other characters. The Plot—that’s all that matters,” contempt dripped from his voice.
“So,” Posy looked at him questioningly, “did you know your sister was going to run away?”
“No. I found out along with everyone else—after she was gone.” Posy saw sadness creep into his dark eyes just before Kyran looked down at his boots. “If she had told me—perhaps I could have stopped her. Or perhaps ...” his voice faded.
“Yes?” Posy asked quietly.
“Maybe I would have gone with her!” Kyran raised his eyes to Posy’s in defiance. “It’s not as if my father would have cared, really. Even now, Evanthe’s absence is only a burden to him. He doesn’t think of her safety. His only thought is for the part that was left open with no one to fill it. How can the precious Plot go on without her? Well, I suppose we’re lucky you’re here. At least my sister won’t have to go through with it again. Whenever a reader comes, she has to do it, over and over, every time the book is read. Why didn’t Father see she was bound to run away someday?”
“What?” Posy said slowly, her heart racing. “Go through with what?”
“So you don’t know? Well, I suppose you wouldn’t. If you were told, you would run away, too.” Prince Kyran laughed derisively. “Never mind. Don’t worry your pretty head about it.” He patted Posy’s curls patronizingly. She angrily swatted his hand away. Fear was gripping her like a vice, and she clutched at his arm before she could think.
“Prince Kyran,” Posy said, “you have to tell me what it is. What will I have to go through? What’s my part in the Plot?”
His face became serious, but he shook his head, the ends of his black locks brushing his cheeks. “I cannot,” he answered simply. “I am sorry for you, Posy. But you must ask my father or someone else to tell you. It would be as much as my life is worth to tell you this and risk your running away as well. I can’t have that laid at my doorstep. My father will probably try to give you a runaround story, but don’t let him. Demand the truth. When you find out, if you still want to stay, come and speak with me. Next to my sister you will be the bravest person I know.”
* * *
So, Posy thought, shivering and huddling under the thick layers of blankets on her bed, I am awaiting a terrible fate. The words made her want to laugh ... almost. A terrible fate. A phrase
to be printed on a book jacket, to draw the reader in. She suddenly felt so alone that it was like a physical pain. She curled into a ball, uncertainty and fear eating at her. The last thing she was aware of before drifting into a disturbed slumber were the silent tears that trickled down her cheeks and onto her pillow.
CHAPTER FOUR
Midnight Meeting
Posy dreamed of feathers ... a voice, smooth and imposing. She heard wings flapping and thought she saw her parents among them, behind them, and Lily, her little sister. She tried to call to them, get their attention, and found her voice choked within her throat, muted. Something was tickling her nose, and she lifted a sleep-heavy arm to whisk it away. It moved to her cheek, her ear, until at last she was thoroughly awake. She sat up in bed, breathing hard, certain someone was in her room. She looked to the window first, thinking of Falak, but saw nothing other than a bright crescent of moon, astoundingly large, and a bright scattering of stars.
Rubbing her eyes, Posy took in the room around her. The fire had almost completely died in the hearth, and the air held a creeping, merciless chill. As she reached to pull her blankets closer to her, a folded paper slid down from where it had been placed on her chest. Posy seized it and opened it, turning the page toward the light of the moon.
Come to the Audience Chamber immediately. You will learn all. Let no one see you.
There was no seal, no signature or indication of who might have left it. Olena slept in the room next to Posy’s, and for a moment, Posy thought about waking her. She decided against it, amused at the thought of Olena on a midnight escapade through the castle. It was probably something the real princess Evanthe would never have dreamed of doing.
Posy didn’t dress. She couldn’t have if she had wanted to; her clothes were so complicated they required a second person’s assistance. Her gown was long, but she threw a heavy robe over it and slid into her slippers. She would have preferred her boots, but somehow she thought stealth might not be a bad idea. Where are you going, dear? The mist swelled sleepily about her head as she went to the door.
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