by M. A. Larson
She said nothing. Her supplies of sadness had run low. She felt mostly anger now.
“I heard about your gown.”
Her eyes flicked up, but he waved away her concern.
“Keeping up with idle gossip is one of my more enjoyable pursuits. It used to be the hunt, but I’ve slowed and the deer haven’t.” He smiled. She didn’t. “It is a pity about your gown. Your design showed sophistication and taste. Have you any idea what happened?”
Evie looked back to the floor.
“Yes. Such a pity we’ll never know who was responsible, isn’t it?”
She scoffed, but didn’t look up.
“I’ve spoken to the Headmistress about her on more than one occasion. I inquired as to how a cadet with such a basic lack of our four founding principles could still be among us. She told me to keep my warty nose out of Academy business.”
“What?”
“Do you think people stop being cruel as they age?” He shook his head sadly. “I have great admiration for Princess Beatrice and all she’s done for the Academy, but she has always disliked trolls. It is only my astonishing skill that has kept me in her employ for so long.”
Evie had never felt any great affection toward the Headmistress, but it seemed unnecessarily cruel to treat such a wise, skilled member of staff so harshly.
“I’ve trained the best princesses ever to wear the crown,” he continued, tottering toward her. “And all of them, to a woman, had horrible things happen in their lives. Truly awful things that made them doubt themselves.” He rested a scratchy palm against her cheek. The gesture was so tender and paternal that she had to fight back tears. “You know, the staff talks here at the Academy. And many of them gamble, the degenerates. You were everyone’s choice for first dismissal. Including me. I lost a week’s pay on you.” He patted her cheek and smiled down at her. “But you have fought and you have scraped and you have committed in a way that very few can. No one in any company has come as far as you have this year. No one. There’s a princess in you, Evie, and a cracking good one. You’ve simply got to allow yourself the chance to be great.”
He began to pack away sewing supplies into wooden tubs. “Surviving the Academy only becomes more difficult next year. If you’re planning to be here through the end, there is one thing you must absolutely understand. No victim has ever graduated from this Academy.”
She studied his bulbous back as he shuffled to the storeroom, letting his words linger.
“You are not a victim in this world unless you choose to be. And if that’s your choice, then you’ll never be more than a frightened girl lost in the woods.”
He paused in the doorway, rubbing his back with the heel of his hand.
“But the nature of choices is that there is always another.” And a great, mischievous smile crawled across his face.
EVIE SHIFTED from one foot to the other. The glimpses she caught inside the Piper of Hamelin Ballroom showed warm firelight and flashes of lustrous gowns. Music and happy chatter poured into the antechamber where she now waited. Only one couple stood before her, but the knight’s shoulders were so broad, the princess’s gown so billowing, she couldn’t see much.
“Please,” she said to the footman standing tall and stiff in the doorway. “I really don’t need an introduction—”
“Never been to a proper ball, have you? Everyone gets introduced.” He peered inside as a song ended to polite applause. With a nod to the couple in front of her, he lifted a silver trumpet and blasted a fanfare. “The daughter to King Pinzberg and Queen Fennels of the Kingdom of Stonearch Common, Her Royal Highness the Princess Elisabeth, escorted by the son to King Roland and Queen Schnoor of the Kingdom of Horn o’ the Ram, the Most Honorable Sir Alten!”
What a bloody waste of time. No one’s even listening. Why can’t I just . . .
Her thoughts faded away when the couple stepped forward and she got her first real glimpse of the ballroom. It was magic. Showers of candlelit chandeliers hung from the ceiling, bathing everything in a warm glow. The song of strings wafted down from the minstrels’ gallery. Girls in a stunning array of gowns swept across the floor, led by boys in full military regalia. As she watched the tapestry of elegance before her, she thought back to a day from her childhood. It hadn’t been a particularly memorable day, but for some reason it was the one that came to mind. Her father and mother had flown away across the mountains to search for new hunting grounds. She and her sister were left alone for several weeks, and before long their stores of smoked fish and deer meat began to dwindle. One day, driven by intense hunger, Evie spent hours crouched in the mud, lifting rocks and looking for scupperworms or bits of lichen to eat. Now, as she waited to be presented to a room full of her peers and teachers, she finally understood what Rumpledshirtsleeves had meant. Perhaps she had come farther than she thought.
“Well, I don’t know where your escort is, but it’s a shame to him he ain’t here,” said the footman. “Between you and me, you’re the prettiest one to come through yet.”
It was dark in the antechamber, but she was sure he could still see her blush. “I think he’s inside already. I’m a bit late.”
“He ought to have waited,” he said with a fatherly wink. “Give that lad a good cuffing when you see him, will you?”
The song seemed endless. All she wanted was to run inside and find Maggie and Remington and be a part of it all. But she had to remind herself that there were bigger things at play. The goal is to win, she reminded herself. Win here tonight, and there will be no Helpless Maiden. The thought helped to calm her nerves, but not her excitement.
“It’s Cadet Nicolina, is it?” He checked a small piece of parchment from his pocket.
“No,” she said with pride. “It’s Evie. Cadet Evie.”
He blew a harmonic on his horn, and Evie’s heart began to thump anew. “The daughter to the late King Callahan and the Queen Dowager Hardcastle of the Kingdom of Väterlich, Her Royal Highness the Princess Evie!”
She breathed in and held it, as though she were diving into the sea, then stepped inside. And now, all the people she had been watching and waiting to join turned to look at her.
She stood beneath the candles in Rumpledshirtsleeves’s moonsilk gown, a shimmering star come down from the sky to make all the others look ordinary. It glimmered the blue-white glow of the moon, not bright like a torch, but softly, like a reflection in a still pond. She took a few more steps inside, and even the musicians stopped playing. The fluid fabric slid across her skin like heavy water. Her hair, courtesy of Rumpledshirtsleeves’s assistants, rolled across her shoulders in soft waves, baby’s breath flowers swirled throughout like a miniature galaxy. When she first put the gown on, she thought back to one of Rumpledshirtsleeves’s earliest lessons, when he told the cadets that the design of a gown should highlight the girl inside. She couldn’t be sure, but as the fabric fell over her shoulders and swept down her body, the fibers seemed to glow just a bit more brightly than they had on the dress form.
“Evie, you look bloody gorgeous!” said Maggie, dragging Stanischild behind.
“Thanks.” She was smiling so much it started to make her self-conscious, but she couldn’t stop. “So do you!”
Maggie’s gown was dark emerald green, nearing black. Her auburn hair draped loosely over her ears, where it was pinned up in back. “I made Stanischild wait while I adjusted the hem. But it was worth it, wasn’t it?”
Stanischild gave a slight nod, barely disguising his discomfort. The music began again, and the ball slowly resumed.
“You should have heard the ridiculous introduction they gave me. For him,” said Maggie, jerking her head toward Stanischild, “it was titles and land and this and that, but for me they didn’t even mention Mum or Dad.” She glared at the footman, who didn’t notice. “Bloody cretin.”
“But that’s absurd. Surely we’re all the same in here.�
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“The curse of the common,” she said with a shrug. “The musicians are brilliant, though, aren’t they, Stanischild?”
He gave a prim smile, and nothing more.
“Is Remington here?”
“I think I saw him this way. Come on.”
Maggie took her hand and led her through the ballroom, with Stanischild trailing behind. Hushed comments passed between the other competitors, but they weren’t the vicious, needling remarks from the start of term; they were admiration and surprise.
“You’d better get started straightaway,” said Maggie. “I think the judging has already begun.”
Evie glanced up at the balcony that ringed the ballroom. Members of staff, princess and knight alike, sat at small tables observing the proceedings. She even saw Sir Osdorf shaking his head in disgust and making notes on a parchment.
“There he is,” said Maggie, dragging Evie up the tiered floor.
He was chatting with another knight cadet. She didn’t recognize him at first. He wore a black leather doublet with intricate embroidery and heavy silver braids. A sword hung in a gleaming scabbard from his hip, with matching buttons glinting from navel to neck. He looked sophisticated and rugged, a youthful version of the king he would one day become. He turned and their eyes met.
“Come on, we’ve got work to do if we’re going to beat her in that gown,” said Maggie as she led Stanischild onto the floor.
Evie stood alone, smiling, as Remington looked at her. He excused himself from the other knight and started toward her, but she couldn’t judge his demeanor. Other than the initial surprise, he didn’t seem to have much reaction at all.
“I’m sorry I took so long,” she said. “Rumpledshirtsleeves wouldn’t let me leave without alterations.”
He smiled, then took her hand. “Let’s get started, shall we?”
As he led her to the middle of the floor, she couldn’t help noticing the deference the other dancers gave her. Complete strangers seemed to have more awareness of her than her own partner. She tried to shuffle the thought away, but there was no denying that his coolness stung.
He turned to face her with a curt smile. “Ready?”
“I suppose so.” She inhaled deeply and reminded herself what really mattered about the Grand Ball: win.
He took her hand, then placed the other on her hip. As they moved across the floor, Evie’s confidence began to slip. She heard the music, felt the pressure from his hand guiding her, but she couldn’t concentrate on where she was stepping. His reaction had been so odd. She didn’t know what she had expected him to do or say, but she had expected something—
“You’re fighting my lead,” he said. She glanced up at the evaluators, whose faces were as blank as his had been. “What are you doing?” He abruptly stopped just as they were about to bump another couple.
“I’m sorry.” Focus, Evie. Forget about him and win.
They started off again, slipping into the rhythm of the music. She ignored the vacant look on his face and tried to focus only on the dance. Subtle pressure from his hands told her feet where to go. The music took over her thoughts, then trickled down through her body until it was the strings leading.
Evie and Remington glided across the floor, two bodies moving as one, swept along by music. She remembered back to the stories she had read in Volf’s book about Cinderella. This must be how she felt, dancing with her prince at the ball. She didn’t belong there, either, yet she charmed him with her grace and elegance. She didn’t belong there, either, yet she somehow made it through. She didn’t belong there, either . . . She didn’t belong there . . . She didn’t belong—
“Ah!” grunted Remington. He doubled over, clutching his knee.
“I’m sorry!” She looked up at the evaluators, mortified. Other dancers paused to gape.
“If you’re going to tread on my foot, at least try to make it the one that wasn’t savaged by wolves, all right?”
“I’m sorry, Remington, really.”
“It’s fine.” He straightened his uniform, grimacing through the pain. “Let’s keep going. But follow my lead, will you?”
He took her hand and they started off again. Her mind raced. Was he angry? Did the evaluators notice? Would it cost them the Grand Ball? Across the room, the footman announced the arrival of another pair of latecomers—
Steel clashed as Remington’s scabbard hit another cadet’s. “What’s the matter with you?” he hissed as he pushed Evie back.
“I’m sorry, I think I’m just a bit nervous.”
He offered an apologetic nod to the young man he had just bumped. “Any more mistakes like that and we’ve got no chance, do you understand?”
She nodded, though a small burst of anger flickered through her stomach. Every misstep so far had been hers, but she still didn’t care for his condescending tone. Perhaps he’s just nervous, too.
He stepped into the music and she stepped another way. He tumbled across her leg and landed in a pile on the floor. The others cleared a circle around them.
“Right, I’ve not come here to be made a fool.” He scrambled to his feet and limped off through the sea of cadets, leaving her alone in the middle of the floor. Gradually, the other couples started to dance again. She wanted to turn back time, to try to correct a night that had started so right and then gone so horribly wrong. But through her humiliation, that glimmer of anger returned. He had left her. Without any consideration of how she felt, he had left her. She pushed through the crowd, lifting the moonsilk from the floor as she descended the tiers.
“All right, Evie?” said Maggie, but she had no intention of stopping. She charged past the footman and through the antechamber, across the crimson silk rug that ran out the door, and down the stairs outside. Huge, luminous orbs hung from the willow trees, with torches flanking the doors. Crickets chirped and frogs croaked from somewhere in the darkness. Remington hobbled across the courtyard, then stopped when he heard her heels on the stone.
“What is it, do you want to throw me into a tree or something?”
“What’s the matter with you? Are you still obsessing about that dragon you killed, because I’ve told you it doesn’t matter!”
“I don’t appreciate being made a fool. I would’ve quite liked to have won this Grand Ball, but you saw to that, didn’t you?”
“You may have liked to win the Grand Ball, but I needed to,” she said. “It doesn’t matter to you, with your family influence and fame and all the rest, but this was my best chance to make it back next year.”
“Well, perhaps you shouldn’t have slung your partner to the ground, then.”
She shook her head in disbelief. How—when—did this all go so wrong? Then, without another word, she turned away and started to walk toward the barracks.
“Did you kiss Forbes?”
She stopped at the edge of the courtyard, where the torchlight faded to night.
“Answer me.”
“Did I what?”
“That girl, Malora’s friend, she saw you kiss him. In the Infirmary.”
“What, at the beginning of term? He kissed me! And just before that he had a snout and hooves!”
Remington opened his mouth to retort, but her response caught him completely off guard.
“He’d just gone from a pig to a human and he thought I had something to do with it, so he kissed me. And what bloody difference does it make if I did kiss him, and why in the world are you listening to Malora and her friends about anything?”
He took a step toward her, remorse in his eyes. “I . . . I didn’t . . .”
“Is that what this is all about? Bloody hell, at least feeling guilty about killing a dragon made sense!” So Malora had failed to keep her from the ball by destroying her gown, but she had still kept her from winning with a stupid piece of gossip.
“I didn’t believe he
r straightaway,” he said, “but it just kept niggling at me. I suppose I . . . Well, I suppose I was jealous of Forbes.” He sighed. “You have no idea how painful that is to say.”
“Malora,” she said, shaking her head ruefully. “Your best mate Malora was the one who tried to kill us that night, did you know that?”
“What?”
“She let the wolves into the bog. Your other best mate Forbes told me. She went to him because she wanted some sort of revenge against us.” Her eyes met his. “Because she was jealous.”
Remington chuckled dryly. “So this is what it feels like to be a fool.”
“Why couldn’t you have just said something instead of acting like a buffoon?”
“I don’t know.” His voice, his entire demeanor, had softened now that he knew the truth. “I’m sorry.”
He wrapped his arms around her, but it offered no comfort. She wanted more than a simple embrace. She wanted that moment of romantic magic that so many princesses of the past had experienced. The moment promised by the dragon’s blood and that night in the bog. She wanted to be kissed, to be lifted up and away into the sky where nothing of the dark, cruel world existed.
“Let’s go back inside. Perhaps it’s not too late—”
“Yes it is,” she said. A gust of wind blew up the hill from the Dortchen Wild, chilling them both. “Yes it is.”
They did go back inside, and they tried their best to salvage the night, but the music had lost its mirth. They held each other closer than before, but nothing could warm the chill around Evie’s heart, put there by her stepsister. All around them cadets laughed and smiled. Others sweated and focused intently, trying to earn final favor with the judges. It was almost as if Evie and Remington weren’t there at all.
They separated in the rush of bodies when the footman announced that the results of the ball would be read. While everyone gathered around Princess Leonore to see who took the prize, Evie drifted off to the side. Her moonsilk gown seemed a bit dimmer now.