My Faire Lady

by Laura Wettersten

  “Let’s go,” Cassie says, and flips our OPEN sign to CLOSED. I follow behind her, unsure of where the jousting field is in relation to the face painting tent. It’s a relief, too, to be doing something with her. I’ve worked with people before who I didn’t become friends with, but I can’t stand the thought of anyone disliking me. Especially since I haven’t given her a reason.

  We head down the hill and cross over the main road. The crowd is gathering fast, all headed in the same direction, and I have to concentrate on Cassie’s stick-straight blond hair so I won’t lose her. Even though I saw the field this morning, it was empty, and that memory doesn’t prepare me at all for what we find.

  The field is a huge oval of uneven dirt and mud, guarded all around the edge by a simple wooden fence. The two longest sides both have bleachers, although one side is plain wooden bleachers and the other looks like a giant luxury box, with sides and a roof to provide shade, and King Geoffrey’s crest painted in a pattern all over it. In the middle of that is a smaller box where the king himself is sitting. If this were a lacrosse game, the box side would be for the home team, the plain wooden bleachers for the visiting team.

  Unfortunately, we’re too late to sit on the pretty side, so we have to take a seat in the last row of the wooden bleachers. Fortunately, from this height I can see everything, and I catch a glimpse of royal blue and silver at the right side of the field.

  Jeff—erm, um, King Geoffrey—stands and gestures grandly from his throne in the box. He calls out a greeting in a voice magnified by a hidden microphone, and the crowd quiets. Then, with great showmanship, he tells us the plot of today’s joust.

  “Lords and ladies of the realm! This morning, our honorable Sir Richard, the king’s champion, was unseated by a mysterious knight in black from a far-off kingdom!”

  The crowd boos and I have to chuckle. We don’t take kindly to mysterious knights who unseat our champions in King Geoffrey’s realm. No, sir.

  Jeff continues his tale in an exaggerated accent. “Sage, the kingdom’s only lady knight, challenged the knight in black for the sake of the realm’s honor, but sadly was also defeated by the knight in black.”

  The crowd makes a collective noise again, this time an “Aww” of pity, and I see Sage hang her head in shame.

  “The realm’s last hope, then, is Sir Christian, newly knighted and ready to prove his loyalty to the king!”

  A pleasant shiver ripples through me at the sound of his name over the loudspeakers, and Christian rides through the center of the ring, his horse trotting proudly as he waves and the crowd goes nuts.

  Cassie and I are on our feet too, cheering and whistling for him. I know that Will explained how the stunts work, and that everything is scripted, but it’s exciting anyway. It’s clear they work hard to put on a good show that grips the imagination and won’t let go. I’m caught up in it, just like the oblivious crowd. I want to see that mean old knight in black get knocked off his horse, too.

  Honestly, it kind of reminds me of sports matches back at home, with us cheering on the lacrosse players and wanting to see them knock the hell out of each other. And just like the lacrosse players at home, it seems like everyone wants a piece of the knights.

  Just as I’m thinking it, I see Christian ride up to the fence that keeps the crowd from stepping on the jousting field and bend down to take a daisy from a girl’s offering hand. She’s young, maybe ten years old, and she’s wearing a crown of flowers and a Renaissance dress she must have bought from Lindy’s shop. Christian bends lower, points to his cheek, and the little girl gives him a bashful kiss.

  The crowd goes absolutely wild for that, and while I clap, I have to admit: I’m jealous of a little girl. So far, she’s gotten much closer to him than I have.

  Cassie’s laughing next to me, and she leans in to whisper, “He’s such a flirt. That poor little girl doesn’t even know what hit her.”

  Neither do I, I think.

  King Geoffrey goes over the rules with the two knights and they bow to signify that they will honor them. The knight in black, who I now realize is Grant, the badger, goes off to the left, Christian goes to the right, and squires run onto the field to fit on the rest of their armor and give them lances. Then, at a signal I neither hear nor see, they turn on their horses, the squires scatter, and the two knights ride hard at each other.

  There’s a harsh thud and then a crack as Christian’s wooden lance breaks in half. I scream. Luckily, I’m not the only ninny who’s horrified. Several women around me also screamed, and Cassie gasped so loudly that she almost drowned me out. I look at her, and she’s covering her mouth as if she could retroactively quiet herself down.

  She turns to me, sheepish. “I know they don’t get hurt, but it’s hard to watch sometimes.”

  “No joke.”

  The next round, Christian is the victor, sending Grant’s lance flying several feet from his horse. Cassie turns away so violently that her hair whips me in the face. She laughs at herself, saying, “I know, I know. I’m a wimp.”

  The third round is winner take all, since they’re tied. Christian, of course, knocks Grant clean off his horse with a showy strike of his lance. He circles the felled man, then jumps off his horse, making a spectacle of withdrawing his sword and lowering it until it’s at the tip of Grant’s nose. Grant holds up his hands in the universal sign of surrender, and everyone in the crowd loses their minds. Satisfied, Christian sheathes his sword and climbs back on his horse, doing a victory lap while the crowd chants his name. King Geoffrey’s kingdom has the honor of a champion once again.

  The crowd starts to filter out and for a while it’s chaos as people push in different directions. Cassie and I stay seated, content to watch the knights in the ring as they shake hands with one another and joke around. Christian dismounts, picks up some of the flowers that have been thrown to him, and pulls off his helmet. He shakes out his dark hair and then presents a flower to Sage, bowing deeply. Sage accepts the flower and hugs Christian, their armor clanging together. It’s cute and familiar and it makes my chest hurt with jealousy.

  “Ro! Thought I’d find you here.”

  Cassie and I turn at the sound of the voice, and Suze is walking toward us, somehow graceful even though the ground is nothing but mud. When Suze reaches us, she cocks her head to the side, looking at Cassie.

  “Mind taking the face painting tent alone the rest of the day? Ro’s rooming with me, and I’d like to get her settled in.”

  Relief spreads through me that Suze, so far the coolest person I’ve met here at the faire, is going to be my roomie. Cassie seems decent enough now, but she isn’t nearly as fun, and everyone else is a complete stranger.

  Cassie hesitates; for a moment I think she’s going to tell Suze no, but then her shoulders drop and she nods. “Sure. I guess.”

  “Best get along then,” Suze says pointedly. “There’s always a rush after the joust.”

  Cassie slides off the bleachers and starts back to the tent, not even bothering to say good-bye.

  I grin at Suze. “Everyone pretty much does what you tell them to do around here, don’t they?”

  “If not, I make them,” Suze says with a wink. She holds up a keychain full of shiny, brassy keys between us. “Come on. The fairy dollmother gave me the keys to her car. You need an air mattress. Trust me, those cots Jeff provides? Infested with spiders. Or worse.”

  I don’t want to imagine what could be worse than a spider infestation, nor do I want to find out.

  Air mattress it is.

  7

  WEEK 1—TUESDAY

  The accommodations at King Geoffrey’s Faire are somewhat lacking. Everyone lives in tents, and not the high-tech kind that campers use. These look like standard issue military tents. They’re green canvas, have a pole in the front and the back to keep them upright, and the doors are flaps that can be tied together for privacy, if you consider three lousy strings tying canvas together privacy. The whole thing is set up on a wooden platf
orm, so at least you’re not sleeping on the ground, but still, it’s kind of the pits. Added to that, the nearest bathroom—erm, latrine—is on the other side of the campground, meaning to get to it you have to go over the river and through the woods, dodging tree roots and mud puddles, keeping an eye out for lions and tigers and bears.

  Oh my.

  As we get settled in, I keep repeating to myself that I wanted remote. In other words, I asked for this. Still, this lifestyle is going to take some getting used to. It’s a far cry from Kara’s beach house, that’s for sure.

  Somehow, Suze and I manage to arrange the tent so that my air mattress and all my stuff can fit next to hers. It defies the laws of physics, since the mattresses alone take up nearly the whole floor, but all our meager summer possessions are piled at the foot of our new beds, and there’s still room for a very small walkway between them.

  “So this cheating boyfriend of yours . . . ,” Suze says, continuing our conversation from earlier in the car, when she asked what had possessed me to apply for a body art specialist job. “Should we go egg his house or something?”

  I laugh at that, and I’m grateful for the sentiment. It’s exactly the kind of thing Kara and Meg said to me after I found out about Lacey, and it tugs a little at my heart. I hadn’t told Suze about the fight with my friends; I hadn’t felt the need to burden her with all the drama in my life in one fell swoop.

  “Nah. Just help me find a hot guy so I can drown my sorrows in sexiness all summer,” I tell her, and it has all the sass I’d been aiming for during my lunchtime shift.

  Suze grins at me—a mischievous, I-know-something-you-don’t-know grin. “Maybe you can find someone tonight.”

  “Tonight? Why? What’s going on tonight?”

  The grin gets even more impish. “Put on something cute. We have plans.”

  I decide to trust Suze. I choose jeans and a turquoise, one-shouldered top that Kara bought me, which earns me a thumbs-up from Suze. She’s in jeans herself, and a peasant top that looks homemade, like she’s still half in the Renaissance world. Regardless, she looks stunning, and if she’s looking for someone tonight too, she’s definitely going to hook him.

  Suze pulls me out of the tent and in the opposite direction of the main part of the faire, back toward the parking lot, where the woods grow thicker and darker. The sun has started to set, and the light is a weak, purplish gold. The trees over our heads are so thick with leaves, however, that after only a minute of walking, it seems like we’ve entered the dead of night.

  I want to ask her where the heck we’re going and why, but I don’t. I’m enjoying the suspense, which is something I’m not used to liking, but tonight it’s exactly what I need. There’s something about the woods, and maybe the faire itself, like everything’s a little magical if you just trust in it. I let Suze lead me farther and farther away from the light, hoping that fortune favors the bold.

  The music is the first thing I hear. The same flutes and drums I heard my first day at the faire and all day long today are calling out into the woods, getting louder with each step. It takes me a moment, but I recognize the song and start to laugh. It’s Katy Perry. In the style of a Renaissance band.

  Suze laughs with me, turning her head back to look at me. “We know how to party out here. Just wait . . .”

  As the forest opens up into a clearing, I can see that she’s right. There’s a bonfire raging in the center of the clearing, its flames reaching up to lick at the purple sky over our heads, the dark smoke billowing into the heavens. It looks as if everyone who works at the faire is here, all gathered in the small clearing. Some people are sitting on felled trees. Some are standing, gathered in groups, chatting and laughing and clanking leather and wooden mugs together. Some are standing farther away, where the light doesn’t quite reach, paired off already for a romantic evening. For a moment I am hit with a rush of homesickness—this is so much like our beach parties, and if I wasn’t here, I’d be at home on the beach with Kara and Meg. But Kyle would also be there, which is a point in the King Geoffrey’s Faire column.

  When Suze and I stumble into the center and park ourselves next to the fire, everyone stops what they’re doing to look at us. Even the flutists and drummers stop. Suze seizes the moment and hops up onto a bench made of logs, pulling me up next to her. As I clumsily try to get my balance, Suze hoists our joined hands up to the sky and shouts, “King Geoffrey’s Faire, this is your new face painter, Ro Duncan. Let’s teach her how to have a good time, Renaissance style!”

  About thirty mugs are raised in the air and a boisterous, jubilant shout rises up over the crackling sounds of the flames: “Huzzah!”

  After the toast, there’s laughter, more chatter, and a few cat calls. Suze laughs them off, turning to me again. “Welcome to your summer home, Ro. It’s paradise, I promise.”

  I look over Suze’s shoulder to the fire and the people gathered around it, all smiling and laughing, and I’m inclined to agree with her. Honestly, it’s already better than the nights I’d spend at the mall at home. It’s far more interesting, anyway.

  “So this is an official Renaissance Faire party?” I ask her, my voice tight with excitement, and Suze wrinkles her nose.

  “Well, not really. We usually have a bonfire that’s officially sanctioned on Sunday nights, since we have Mondays off.” Suze winks. “But this is clearly a special occasion.”

  I give Suze a wry look. “I can’t possibly be the special occasion. So what’s going on? Spill.”

  Suze’s grin is made of pure mischief. “The special occasion is that Jeff is conveniently predisposed at the moment. A meeting with the tourism board or something. We didn’t ask too many questions. All we know is that he’s not here, and you know what they say. . . . When the king’s away, the peasants have their day!”

  With a laugh, Suze grabs my hand and takes me around, introducing me to everyone there. In a matter of minutes, I feel like I’ve known most of them my whole life. I’m overwhelmed by how welcoming they are and how excited they are to meet me. At some point, a mug is thrust into my hands, and even though I have no idea who put it there or what’s inside, I take a sip. My eyes widen and I hum with delight.

  “Mead,” someone whispers in my ear, and I realize it’s Will. I turn to him, thankful for a familiar face, as I’ve lost sight of Suze, and the names of all the people I’ve met are blurring together in my head into one indecipherable blob.

  “It’s good,” I say, and I can hear the surprise in my tone.

  “We make it here. In the Jouster’s Pub. Someone, I won’t say who, broke into the stash tonight.” I narrow my eyes at him and he gives a startled laugh. “Not me, I swear! But I took a vow of silence, and you can’t break me, Ro.”

  I giggle at him and take another sip. “It tastes like honey.”

  He nods. “Just wait until you have it warm. When it’s rainy and chilly, heat some of this up and you’ll feel like you’ve got some of the campfire inside you. Just be careful. It tastes so good that you forget how strong it is. Trust me. Made that mistake many times my first summer . . .”

  He winks again, and then he’s gone, off to join a group of guys on the opposite side of the fire. One of them, a boy about my age, is clearly doing an impression of Jeff, sticking his lower lip out comedically, his eyes narrowed to slits, barking orders at the other guys about the proper way to lace your boots and memorizing the brochure. He can’t keep up the impression for long and soon devolves into laughter, his white teeth flashing brightly against his dark skin. I chuckle with him and turn away, looking for someone else to talk to.

  On the edge of the bonfire light sits another group, this one serious and muted. Even in the dark, Christian’s eyes stand out: two pale sapphires shining in the dusk. I take a long pull from the mead in my mug and make my way toward him, hoping the alcohol might give me some courage that I’m not feeling yet.

  Christian’s gaze slides to me and the corners of his mouth curve, subtly, but enough for me to
see it as a welcoming sign. He shifts a little, making room for me on the log next to him.

  Everyone in his group is hunched, leaning forward over a makeshift table in the middle. There’s a deck of cards, divvied out to everyone in small stacks, and a shot glass next to every player’s hand.

  “Cheers, Your Majesty,” Christian whispers to me. When he does, he leans close so that his thigh touches mine. It’s thick and warm, and even with the slight contact I can feel the tension and strength of his muscles. I lean closer, making the connection solid, and his mouth curls into a more obvious smile.

  “You don’t have to address me as your majesty,” I whisper back, doing my best to keep it light, teasing.

  Christian turns his face toward me. He licks his bottom lip slowly, then returns to his sly smile. “It’s a drinking game. Numbers. Requires a lot of concentration.”

  As he speaks, I can’t help but notice how perfect his mouth is—full and luscious and completely kissable. I wouldn’t mind nibbling a little on that bottom lip, either, if the opportunity arises. And I hope it will.

  One of the players in the circle puts a five of diamonds down on top of Christian’s shot glass, and Christian groans. I look at him, confused.

  “Now I have to pull an ace if I want to drink again,” he explains, but I don’t understand why. He looks at his hand, fanning the cards out so I can see them. He points to the queen of spades next to his thumb. “Let’s get them all back.”

  Christian throws out the queen into the middle pile, sending a challenging, mocking look all around the circle. They all lean forward to look at the card he’s laid and laugh.

  “I knew he’d do that. I blame you, Grant. You know Christian always takes the bait.”

  I know the voice and look up at the source, surprised I didn’t notice her before. It’s Sage, and she’s grinning ear to ear, gazing at Christian affectionately. It’s then I realize I’ve placed myself in the knights’ circle (their round table? Ha!). It’s not just Sage and Christian, but the others I’ve seen jousting as well, like Grant and a handful of the squires. I’m taken aback by the fact that Christian easily let me into their group, which has already given me the impression that they’re tightly knit and very protective of one another.