A Princess of Landover

by Terry Brooks

  “Well, in your case, finding you hung from a tree limb by an angry kobold who just happens to serve my father would be a prime example.”

  “That was a case of mistaken identity. It wasn’t me. Probably wasn’t even a G’home Gnome, although there are some among us—as there are some among you—who do not obey the rules of the tribe. But if I were pressed for an explanation, I would think it was probably another kobold—perhaps even the one who accused me.”

  He nodded with some degree of self-satisfaction, and she wanted to smack him. “Bunion doesn’t lie and he doesn’t have any reason to steal things to which he has free access,” she pointed out. “Besides, Parsnip saw you, too. That suggests you might want to rethink your explanation. The fact is, Poggwydd, you were somewhere you shouldn’t have been. You weren’t invited into the castle, let alone into the kitchen and the pantries. This is an example of being where you aren’t supposed to be for a purpose that shows no consideration for others.”

  The G’home Gnome pouted. “I would have paid it all back, you know. Eventually.”

  “Well, if you hadn’t done it in the first place, you wouldn’t have had to worry about paying anyone back. And you could have asked for whatever it was you took. Maybe Parsnip would have given you what you needed. Next time, you should just ask for me.”

  He shook his head. “No, I can’t do that. You are a Princess. Why would a Princess even be told I was asking for her?”

  She brushed back her blond hair. “We’re getting off the point. We were talking about proper behavior. Or lack thereof. G’home Gnomes suffer from a failure to recognize what proper behavior is. If they want to be accepted by others, they have to earn their respect.”

  Poggwydd snorted. “How is that supposed to happen? Everyone’s already made up their minds about us.”

  “And you don’t do anything to change those minds. Besides ‘finding’ things in people’s houses, you manage to latch on to their pets, too. Often right out of their pens. And then you eat them.”

  “That is a lie!” Poggwydd leaped to his feet, flinging his arms about, his wizened face screwed up like a walnut. “We do not eat pets. We eat wild creatures we find wandering about. If they happen to be pets that have strayed, what are we to do about that? How are we to know? People blame us, but they don’t want to share that blame! If they took better care of their pets, these things wouldn’t happen!”

  Mistaya scratched an itch on her nose and smiled. “Why don’t you stop eating cats and dogs altogether? There are plenty of other things you could eat. Squirrels or birds or voles. Or even bog wumps, if you could catch one. Eat some of those instead.”

  “Bog wumps!” Poggwydd was horrified. “Do you eat bog wumps? Does anyone?”

  “Well, I don’t,” she agreed. “But I don’t eat cats and dogs, either.”

  The gnome sat down again. “I don’t think you know what you are talking about.” He gave her an accusatory stare. “I think you are badly confused about all of this.”

  She pressed her lips tightly together in frustration and nodded. “Why don’t you just think about what I said,” she suggested finally. “In the meantime, stay away from the castle. If you need food, come ask for me. I will tell everyone I am to be told if you do. Is that all right?”

  Poggwydd folded his arms across his skinny chest and hunched his shoulders as he looked away from her. “I might just leave. I might just go back to where I came from and forget about trying to make a home here. I don’t think this is going to work out.”

  She got to her feet. Couldn’t argue with logic like that, she thought. “I’ll come back and see you again tomorrow,” she promised. “We can take a walk and not talk about anything, if you like.”

  He shrugged. “If you can spare the time.”

  She left him sitting there looking off into space, pretending that nothing she said or did mattered to him, that he was above it all. She had come out to talk with him after hearing from Bunion the whole of what had led to the little fellow being strung up by his heels, wanting to do something to prevent it from happening again. Bunion and Parsnip could promise that it wouldn’t, but if they caught Poggwydd again where he wasn’t supposed to be she wasn’t all that sure the promise would mean anything. Kobolds were not known for their generous natures, and even though these two were her friends, friendship only went so far.

  As she strolled back through the grove of Bonnie Blues toward the castle, she tried to decide what else she could say that would make a difference. She needed to do something besides brood on her situation as a former Carrington student, an identity she was trying to put behind her at this point. Her father hadn’t said anything more about her suggestion that she go back to being tutored by Questor and Abernathy, but she had a feeling he was considering something else. No one had indicated what that might be, not even her two would-be tutors, who kept hemming and hawing around the subject whenever she brought it up to them.

  So now she was thinking that it might be a good plan to come up with an idea of her own, a project that would convince her father that she was doing something useful. Working with the disadvantaged had always appealed to her, and there was no one more disadvantaged than the G’home Gnomes. If she could demonstrate her ability to change even one of them for the better, then her chances of being allowed to try to do so with all of the others would be greatly improved.

  However, Poggwydd wasn’t doing much to cooperate, and she was starting to think this might be tougher than she had thought.

  She was still mulling this dilemma over, paying little attention to anything around her as she meandered out of the forest and onto the roadway leading to Sterling Silver, when she suddenly found herself face-to-face with Laphroig of Rhyndweir and his entourage. There were six or eight of them, all on horseback save for the driver of the carriage in which Laphroig was riding. She didn’t realize who it was right away, still distracted with thoughts of Poggwydd and G’home Gnomes, and so she stood where she was as the procession rolled up to her and stopped. By then, it was too late to consider an escape.

  Laphroig flung open the carriage door, leaped down, and hurried over to her. “Princess Mistaya,” he greeted warmly, reptilian tongue flicking out as he executed a deep bow.

  “Lord Laphroig,” she returned warily, only barely managing not to call him Lord Lafrog. She had heard Abernathy use the nickname often enough that she had begun doing so, as well.

  “So wonderful to see you!” he declared effusively.

  He grasped her right hand with both of his and began kissing it effusively. Rather forcibly, she extracted it from his grip and gave him a meaningful frown. “It’s not that good to see me. But thank you for the compliment.”

  She had learned something about diplomacy while growing up a Princess in her father’s court. You were always polite, even when what you most wanted was to be anything but.

  “I hadn’t dared hope that I would be so fortunate as to encounter you personally on this visit. But now that I have, I shall consider it an omen of good fortune.”

  She nodded, taking in his strange outfit. “What is that you’re wearing?” she asked, unable to help herself. “Why aren’t you wearing black?”

  “Ah, you’ve come right to the crux of the matter,” he replied, giving her a knowing wink. “My clothing is not the usual black because my visit is not the usual visit. It is a different reason entirely that brings me to Sterling Silver. I have been to see your father concerning you.”

  “Have you?” She felt a sudden chill sweep through her. “About me?”

  “I have requested permission to court you with the intention that you should become my new wife and the mother of my children!” he declared, sweeping the hat from his head and bowing deeply once more. “I intend that we should marry, Mistaya.”

  It took her considerable effort, but she managed to keep her face composed and her emotions concealed. “You do?”

  “Your father has already said he would consider the matter. I shal
l use that time to come calling on you regularly. I shall make you see that we are the perfect match.”

  In your dreams, she thought instantly. But what was this about her father agreeing to consider the matter? Shouldn’t he have dismissed it out of hand? What was he thinking?

  “Lord Laphroig.” She gave him her most charming smile. “Do you not already have a wife? Are you not already spoken for?”

  A cloud of gloom settled over his froggy features. “Unfortunately, no. A terrible tragedy has occurred. My son passed away quite suddenly less than two weeks ago. Dear little Andrutten. A fever took him. My wife, in her grief, chose to follow him into that dark realm of death, and now both are gone and I am left alone and bereft of family.”

  “I’m sorry, I hadn’t heard,” she said, embarrassed by her ignorance.

  She remembered his wife, a pale, slender woman with white-blond hair and sad eyes. There were stories about that marriage, and none of them was good. She had never seen their child.

  He bowed anew. “Your condolences mean everything.”

  “I should think you would be in mourning for them,” she suggested pointedly. “For a suitable time before courting anyone.”

  He shook his head as if she were clueless. “I will be in mourning for them forever. But duty calls, and I must answer. A Lord of Rhyndweir requires a wife and sons if he is to fulfill his duties. I must not leave the Lordship imperiled, even for as long as thirty days. I must provide an heir to reassure my people.”

  Whatever this was about, Mistaya was certain that it had nothing to do with duty and obligation. Laphroig was up to something, just as he was always up to something, and somehow his machinations had found their way to her doorstep. She decided to lock and bar the door before it could be forced.

  “My Lord, I am hardly a suitable match for you,” she declared. “I am young and naïve and not yet well trained in the art of wifely duties.” She nearly gagged on this part. “I am best suited for continued study at an institution of higher learning—as I am sure my father has told you.”

  Laphroig cocked his head. “It was my understanding that you had been dismissed from Carrington.”

  She stared at him, sudden anger boiling up as she realized that only a spy could have provided such information. “I intend to continue my education elsewhere.”

  He smiled. “This in no way hinders my plans for you. You can be tutored at Rhyndweir castle for as long and extensively as you like. Tutors can be engaged to educate you on any subject.” He paused. “Save those only a husband can teach.”

  She flushed bright red despite herself. “My Lord, I think you fail to understand the situation—”

  He stepped forward suddenly, standing right next to her, his head bent close to her own, his protruding eyes fixing on her as if she were a troublesome child. There was a possessive quality in that stare that repulsed and frightened her.

  “I think, perhaps, it is you who fail to understand, Princess,” he whispered. “Understand me. I am set upon this match. I am set upon you as my wife, and so you shall be. Do not think for a moment that anything will change this. Not even your father.” He paused. “You will come to realize this soon enough. You will come to accept your duty to me. Things will go easier for you when you do.”

  He stepped back a pace, but his eyes were still dangerous. He took hold of her wrist and held on tightly. “No one defies me, Princess. When they do, there are unpleasant consequences.”

  Suddenly she thought of his wife and child, both dead, and then of his older brother, dying mysteriously, and his younger, not much older than herself, disappeared and never found. An awful lot of people connected to Laphroig had come to a bad end, and as she stood there facing him she knew with a chilling certainty that this wasn’t by chance.

  “My father is waiting for me,” she managed, barely able to meet his gaze now. “I have to go.”

  He smiled, releasing her wrist. “Of course, you do. Good day, Princess Mistaya.”

  He climbed back into the carriage without giving her another glance, and the entire entourage moved away in a rumble of wheels, a thudding of hooves, and a creaking of harness.

  Mistaya waited until they were out of sight, and then she set off for the castle in a white-hot heat.

  Ben Holiday was at his writing desk, signing work orders for a project that the crown had approved to build a new bridge spanning the Clash Bone Gorge below the Melchor, when Mistaya stormed in, throwing open the door to his study without knocking and then slamming it shut behind her.

  “Why did you give The Frog permission to court me?” she demanded, coming to an angry stop in front of his desk, face flushed and hands on hips.

  He blinked. “I didn’t.”

  “Well, he says you did. I bumped into him out on the road, and he told me the whole story about his plans for our marriage. He said he asked you if he could court me and you said he could!”

  “I said I would think about it.”

  Her lips tightened into a white line. “Oh, that’s all right, then. Obviously. What’s wrong with me? Of course, you have to think about it! How can you make an informed decision otherwise?”

  “I told him that to buy myself a little time, Mistaya. You know how it works when you’re dealing with the men and women in power. Hasty answers—even when you’d like to give them—aren’t always the wisest way to go. Besides, his proposal caught me by surprise, too.”

  His daughter scowled. “I think you made a mistake, Father. A very big mistake. I think you needed to tell him straight out that your daughter isn’t going to marry him on the best day of his life and he ought to just forget about it. Putting him off just encouraged him. He thinks you’re seriously considering giving him permission. He practically hauled me off to his castle right then and there! He thinks the matter is settled in all but deed!”

  She leaned over his desk, her anger a bright fire in her green eyes. “I do not appreciate being dragged into court matters. I am not some piece of furniture to be given away to anyone who comes around asking! I don’t care if you are King of Landover! I am not a bargaining chip! If you don’t get that, then maybe you’d better do a quick study on the laws of emancipated women in the twenty-first century. Remember how it works in the world you came from, the one you sent me back into to learn more about life? Well, that’s a lesson I learned early on. You don’t give away young women to rich old men!”

  “What are you talking about?” Ben leaped to his feet, anger surfacing in him now, too. “Rich old men? Laphroig? He’s not all that much older than you! Anyway, that’s not the point! I have no intention of ‘giving you away,’ as you put it—not to him or to anyone else! But people like Laphroig don’t understand how things work in my world, so I can’t just drop that on them without exercising some diplomacy—”

  Mistaya slammed the flat of her hand on his desk. “You aren’t listening to me! He thinks you have already agreed! He implied that it would be smart for me just to go along with his wishes and not to argue the matter. He threatened me out there, Father! He warned me that he was used to getting what he wanted and that I was going to be his latest acquisition whether I liked it or not!”

  Ben straightened. “Threatened you?”

  “Yes, threatened me!” She straightened, folding her arms across her chest. “He frightens me. I don’t like him, and I don’t want to have to see him again. I’ve heard the stories about his brothers. And now his wife and child are dead, too? And he wants me to marry him?” She shook her head. “I want him kept away from me. He’s dangerous, Father. Bug eyes and lizard tongue or not, he’s scary.”

  They stared at each other for a moment, and then Ben nodded. “I agree with you. I already sent Bunion to see what he could learn about the death of Laphroig’s wife and child. We should know something by tomorrow.”

  He held up his hands hastily as he saw the anger flood back into her cheeks. “Not that this changes anything where you are concerned,” he added quickly. “But I think it bet
ter if we find out the whole of the story. It may be that Laphroig has overstepped himself, and we can do something about it.”

  “So what about me?” she demanded. “Will you tell him he can’t court me, and you won’t give him permission to marry me?”

  Ben took a deep breath and exhaled. “I will. But there’s something else we have to talk about, too, and we might as well do it now. Questor, Abernathy, and your mother and I have talked about how you should continue your education. We all understand that you do not want to go back to Carrington. So we won’t ask that of you. But we also agree that continuing your studies here at Sterling Silver isn’t the best choice, either. So we’ve come up with an alternative—one that might actually help us all better deal with Laphroig and his marriage proposal.”

  She eyed him suspiciously. “What is it?”

  “We want you to go to Libiris as emissary to the throne, to reorganize the library.”

  She smiled brightly. “Do you, Father? What a terrible idea. I’m not going.”

  “Wait a minute.” Ben held up one hand to ward off whatever else she might be thinking of saying. He could scarcely believe his ears. “You’re not going? Just like that? You haven’t even heard my reasoning! Why are you refusing me out of hand?”

  “Because, Father.”

  “Because? What does that mean? Because why?”

  “Because,” she repeated, putting emphasis on the word. She scowled at him. “Put yourself in my position, if that’s possible. How would you like to be sent off to Libiris for an indefinite stay? Libiris is the backside of beyond! Questor told me all about its history during our studies. There’s nothing there, and the place is a wreck! So now you want me to go there and put it back together? Me, a fifteen-year-old boarding school dropout? Because I’m so qualified for this, maybe? I don’t think so. I think this is just an excuse for getting me out of the way. How do I know what you’ll do about The Frog once I’m away?”

  Ben was suddenly furious. “Doesn’t my word count for something with you, Mistaya? Do you think I would go back on it?”