The sky behind the towering mountains had long since faded to navy by the time all five Canyons were ready. Before piling into the carriage, Tess lingered on the manor stairs. She sighed at the stables, wishing she could steal into Jesse’s stall and ride to the castle on her own. Perhaps she could sneak past the crowds and find Prince Linden herself, without footmen or servants or parents to slow her down. Then she’d tell that man exactly what was on her mind. But there was no hope of slipping away tonight, not without embarrassing Papa. Tess sighed again and trudged toward the carriage.
They rolled onto Nobleman’s Road. Through the window, Tess brooded at passing nobles in their curricles or on horseback, their gazes strained forward by good breeding. Ever since returning home from Redfoot Academy, Tess had sensed a new smallness about the cluster of distinguished homes atop Glademont’s cliffs. Down in the city of Redfoot lived a more colorful array of people, from all kinds of families and walks of life. Perhaps the people were right to question Tess’s authenticity as a Glademontian citizen, pampered as she had been up on the cliffs. But surely the prince had seen something in her that she would one day be able to reign with humility and understanding?
A full moon rose between thin clouds, and eventually the royal carriage turned north, revealing in the distance Glademont Castle at the base of Zere Mountain, the highest peak in the Gull Mountain Range. The castle, with its assortment of stout towers chiseled from the rock of the mountain, sparkled with lanterns and torches.
“Try to be calm,” Lady Matilde said, smoothing her gown and pressing the strands of her twisted bun. “A lady keeps her emotions in check. Wait until you have a private moment, then kindly tell the prince how you feel. Do not accuse him, dear. He is the prince.”
Sir Brock arranged his palms over his knee and leaned forward to catch Tess’s eye. “A royal marriage is different than other unions, Tessy,” he said with that serious tone he used when advising the queen. “As princess, you will not so much make demands as see to your duty. Prince Linden does just the same, as does Queen Aideen. Marriage, family, friends . . . your duty takes precedence over them all.”
“Have they no duty toward me?” Tess said. “If not the queen, then at least the prince?”
“Of course,” he said. “But in this case, as you are just beginning to know each other, I believe patience is your best ally.”
Dahly cleared her throat and whispered in Tess’s ear, “I could not disagree more.”
The air in the carriage grew thick and hot, pressing on Tess’s temples. “Thank you, everyone, for your concern. I am perfectly capable . . .”
The royal carriage turned and rolled between two towering holly trees. They had arrived at the royal lawn and gardens that stretched before the castle. Tess leaned her head against the glass to study her future home. Rough, weathered stones stacked thick and high on a rectangular wall loomed ahead. Only the broad coned roofs of the castle towers could be seen over the wall’s silhouette. Was this the gleaming future she hoped for? In that moment, a thin dread tugged at her heart.
Then something atop the outer wall caught Tess’s attention. Half a dozen sentries pointed spyglasses south toward the valley and west toward the Hinge Forest. Never had Tess seen so many sentries. Glademont was famously a peaceful dione. What were they looking for? Before she could speculate, the buzzing of a gathering crowd pulled Tess’s attention to the castle’s outer gate.
Dozens of cheering citizens greeted the royal carriage at the foot of Glademont Castle’s imposing wall. The Canyons eventually lurched to a stop, and the driver shouted to settle the horses. Tess didn’t expect to meet a crowd before entering the castle. Was there no one to escort her in?
The incessantly polite footman opened the door, and Tess waited for her family to step out before her. More and more citizens pressed in, peering around their neighbors and twittering with excitement. A happy ovation pealed from the crowd as her father stepped out—the queen’s most trusted advisor. The people loved him, and he deserved their affection. Tess squeezed her eyes shut. She could do it, too. She could serve the dione well.
While the rest of her family exited the carriage, Tess’s heart thumped so loudly the footman had to call for her attention. Fighting her apprehensions, she put on her best diplomatic smile and took his hand. Tess alighted on the cobblestones, and the citizens cheered and waved their hats. She nodded with regal gratitude, hoping her curls would not fly into view.
But when the carriage door closed behind her, the men replaced their hats and the women stowed their handkerchiefs. One of them murmured nearby, “Not so fine up close, is she? And no royal escort?” Her companion shrugged. “Stage performers are like that. So graceful from afar but terribly awkward in person.” They pushed forward to pass through the gate, no longer interested in the royal carriage and its occupants.
The thumping in Tess’s ears doubled. Why had Prince Linden not come for her? Was she really such a disappointment? She forced herself not to meet Dahly’s eyes, in case she heard the gossips, too. Horrible busybodies.
Dropping her gaze to focus on her silk slippers, Tess saw they were half submerged in a puddle.
“This way, my lady.” A royal servant with a striped feather in his hat offered his arm.
Struggling to regain her composure, Tess followed her family through the inner courtyard where stable boys and footmen hurried past one another to attend straggling guests. Dozens of torches and the protection of the wall made the courtyard mercifully warm. She stole a glance behind her at the sentries, high above. Were they laughing at her pitiful reception? Reaching the end of the cobblestones, Tess was ushered up the deep steps to the castle itself. Maple leaves, gourds, and golden beads garnished the great doors, and the servants who took Tess’s cloak were similarly decorated.
General Frost Bud, the royal governor, pattered toward the Canyons inside the castle entrance. “Sir Brock, Lady Matilde, may Xandra bless you tonight and always.” A stocky terrier with a fanned tail, General Bud displayed a colorful array of medals of honor on his breast. “Lady Tessamine.” He lowered his solid, charcoal head. “May your marriage be starlit. The dione awaits the coronation with great joy.” His tone implied that he was never joyful if he could help it.
Tess curtsied gracefully, covering her wet shoes with her crimson skirts. “Thank you, General. The stamina of the dione will certainly be tested, with six more nights such as this.” She glanced at the floor and forced a playful smile. The voices of hundreds of guests trickled into the entrance hall from the left. Above Tess’s head, shadowy, rough rock like a great cavern glinted dimly with mirrors and chandeliers.
“You are too kind.” General Bud answered as though he were observing some disagreeable weather. “But I can assure you, Glademont is more than up to the task. A seven-day feast is nothing compared to the Jubilee Month. You may be too young to remember.”
Lady Matilde poked at her bun while the servants carried away the Canyons’ outer garments. “General, I hope we have not kept the prince waiting.”
General Bud simply snorted—a short, businesslike noise—and led them to the left, out of the entrance hall and under the vaulted ceiling of the west hall. Four richly dressed servants shouted through the crowd. “Make way. Make way, there. To the side, citizens.”
Soon the Canyons and their escorts arrived at the doors to the banquet hall and were asked to wait to be announced. Tess stood on her wet toes to see how the banquet hall looked on the first night of her wedding festival. At the far end, below the stained glass windows, a cramped orchestra played before a bony conductor with feathery hair. His already-small frame shrank under the soaring glass, where sacred constellations and moon phases hung in muted ripples. From a narrow endless table down the left-hand side of the room, smells of roast fish, vegetable pies, and sweet wines tempted Tess’s nose. Guests had already begun grazing on the sumptuous spread, finding chairs or stools where they could.
/> “Lady Matilda Canyon and his lordship, Sir Brock Canyon, royal advisor to the queen,” the doorman cried over the din. Tess’s parents descended the staircase toward a circle of nobles. She smiled. Announcing an advisor after his wife broke with tradition, but Sir Brock insisted. Their unusual entrances had always made Mother bashful and Papa proud. Tess’s usually upturned lips slumped to a frown. How could Tess’s father respect her mother so much but insist Tess not seek the same respect from her betrothed?
Knowing there would be no announcement for them, Dahly and Ryon slipped into the banquet hall, leaving Tess to stand alone. She pulled her crimson sleeves at her wrists, dropped her shoulders, and assumed a demure yet elegant posture.
“Lady Tessamine Canyon, princess-to-be of Glademont,” the doorman shouted. A few nearby scholars turned out of curiosity, but the majority of the attendees seemed not to hear. Tess stood a moment longer, twisting her pearls, then was escorted aside by an infuriatingly sympathetic servant. By the time the orchestra began the traditional royal anthem, another noble family stood at the banquet hall entrance. The doorman waved the orchestra off.
“Vermin and vinegar.” Tess covered her face. “Of all the humiliating . . .”
Ryon appeared next to her, staring at his feet and tugging his hair. Large formal events always made him anxious. Tess clenched his upper arm, ignoring his wince.
“Come, we shall have a word with His Highness.”
They started for the crowd.
Chapter 2
Tess and her reluctant brother edged along the banquet hall floor. She searched the throng, nodding to a few bowing citizens. The first evening of the wedding festival had drawn an enormous crowd. Nobles, scholars, advisors, and their spouses chatted and twirled across the floor. Clusters of children stood under the balcony while small yet imposing terriers patrolled, keeping behind the columns that ranged about the perimeter of the grand hall.
Villagers from the valley well outnumbered the nobles from the mountain. Mostly Redfooties from the capital had come, for they were used to parties and crowds. In addition to these, a few families from the fishing town of Green Reed had made the long journey from the rocky shores of the Miri River. Helping themselves to trays of wine, the friendlier pony breeders from Foggy Plains had shed their loose wools and rough shirts for finer clothes. But even damask fabric purchased from Redfoot could not conceal their ruddy complexions and windblown hair. Despite circulating complaints that Tess was too highborn to be a true Glademontian Commoner Queen, the plains folk were the most inclined to show Tess some appreciation when she passed. They were the most inclined to show appreciation anyway, pleased as they were to be drinking free spirits.
Across the room, Tess finally spotted Prince Linden making his way toward the orchestra. Even had he not been wearing his gold circlet, he would have stood out by his unusual height. She gathered her skirts and ushered Ryon forward.
“My lady.” A breathless young villager blocked Tess’s path and lowered herself into a clumsy curtsy. “Forgive my impertinence, but I have brought my daughter from the cliffs tonight just so she could meet you.”
They were cliffdwellers—shepherdesses from the reclusive village of Wallaton—and the first from that poor area Tess had seen that evening. The woman who spoke held the hand of a tiny girl in a plaid jumper with a head engulfed in airy white curls. Her cheeks and neck were red as cherries.
“How nice.” Tess nodded. Could Prince Linden have disappeared already?
“Her name is Belle. Her grandfather took her to Redfoot to see you dance The Ashes of Dorian Minor last spring. She’s always asking to me to play the wise empress so she can twirl like a gem dryad. I can hardly get her to spin wool these days, she’s so taken with the story.” The woman flashed an enormous smile. A pleasant crease just under her lower lip reminded Tess of someone. . . .
“Did you enjoy it?” Tess asked Belle, forcing herself to be attentive. The curls bounced up and down. “I’m happy you did.” Tess began to warm to her. “You know, I sewed the skirts for Fyrian’s costume myself? My sister and I had a wonderful time dreaming up what a gem dryad might look like.” Tess felt like laughing at the memory but found she couldn’t.
“From what I have heard, it was a night for dreaming,” Belle’s mother said. She smiled and touched Tess’s elbow, and suddenly Tess was overcome with the desire to stay in the company of these shepherdesses. How long it had been since someone paid her a genuine compliment. In fact, this was precisely how she had hoped the people of Glademont would receive her. A little girl wasn’t exactly a parade in Tess’s honor, but it was something.
“Would you care to dance?” Tess asked, grinning.
Belle shivered with delight, and the ringlets bounced again.
Tess turned to ask a terrified-looking Ryon to wait a moment. Stepping forward, she gently supported Belle’s rough, small hand in her palm and placed another palm behind Belle’s back. Leading with a simple three-step, Tess beamed reassuringly at her partner. The little shepherdess returned the smile with an awed gasp. The fluttering behind Tess’s ribs felt good. She could sense the crowd’s eyes on her. This was what it was like to be the princess. These were the whispers she had hoped to hear, the enraptured faces she hoped to see.
Then an image of Prince Linden bloomed in Tess’s memory. She recalled the day of the betrothal ceremony, when Tess was officially presented before the queen. His expression was far from awed; it was annoyed. He looked at her like a fly in his soup. . . .
Someone let out a squeak at Tess’s feet, and the gasps of the onlookers pulled her to the present. Her dance partner had tumbled to the floor. It seemed Tess had forgotten to shorten her strides for Belle. Horrified, Tess knelt to help. Then Belle’s young mother appeared.
“No matter, my lady,” she said sweetly. “May the stars bless you. Belle will remember this night for a thousand more.” The woman gave her daughter a quick, comforting hug, and they disappeared back into the crowd. The fluttering in Tess’s chest had turned to a panicked throbbing, and she found herself unable to meet the embarrassed gazes of the onlookers.
A gaggle of academy girls snickered and threw tipsy curtsies at Tess while they passed. The irony with which they offered their respects was not lost on Tess. The memory of Prince Linden’s obvious disdain returned to Tess’s mind. She covered her pearl ring with her palm.
The music ended, and Tess thanked the skies for a distraction. Across the room, beneath the stained glass windows, Tess heard the conductor arguing with his musicians. The brass players in the top rows gestured their disapproval, and Tess thought she heard one of them say, “Come now, sir. She is quite a talent.”
One hand now gripping Ryon’s shoulder, Tess crossed to the conductor’s stand. When she could finally see the cause of the commotion, Tess shook her head with exasperation. In the percussion section of the orchestra stood Dahly with a sheepskin drum strapped across her shoulder. Tess thought it fortunate the Colonel was not present to bark a few choice words.
“This is an outrage,” the conductor spewed. “The sister to the princess is not a hired musician.” The crowd laughed, which only seemed to rile him further.
Amid the noise, a piccolo player seemed to come upon an idea. Putting his instrument to his lips, the portly fellow began a rendition of a folk favorite, “The Inn on Nobleman’s Road.” Dahly grinned and pulled her borrowed sheepskin drum to her hip. The rest of the orchestra rolled in with gusto. All around Tess, citizens raised their voices for the chorus:
Have you ever traveled far enough
to reach the end of the road?
The swinging bridge of tar and stuff
will barely carry your load!
But rest your head in the finest bed from the meadows up to the sea.
The moon and comets will tuck you in,
and the winds will sing you to sleep.
Oh! Have you
ever traveled far enough
to the Inn down on Nobleman’s Road?
Have you ever traveled far enough,
in this land where the Heart is at Home?
“My lady,” Prince Linden said. Tess spun. The gold buttons on his ivory coat flashed as he bowed. When he straightened, he looked lanky as ever, still as angular in his movements. And he could still make Tess’s heart gallop with his soft eyelashes and round, serious chin. He wasn’t the handsomest man Tess had ever known, but something about Prince Linden’s determined, earnest forehead made him irresistible. Curse him.
The nape of Tess’s neck warmed under her bundled hair. She hoped the wisps had stayed flat since the last time she looked in a mirror. “Yes . . . hello,” she said.
May I have this dance, she wanted him to ask. Instead, Prince Linden caught sight of her brother.
“Master Ryon, how did you like your gift?” he said, shaking Ryon’s hand. Tess’s brother beamed. It was just like Ryon to hate crowds but feel at ease with the crown prince.
“I’ve never liked anything better, Your Highness,” Ryon replied. “Yesterday I shot a trout straight in the eye and ate it for lunch.”
The prince grinned while Tess stifled her shock. “Impressive. You have better luck with it than I have with a longbow.” The prince shook his head in mock despair.
“Your Highness,” Tess said after a difficult swallow. “Forgive me, but you confuse my brother. Of course, Ryon, he does not mean he actually shoots a longbow.”
A muscular fellow of about seventeen meandered into their circle. “His Highness shoots a longbow like my sister ties a satin bow.” Nory Rootpine bowed, placed his goblet on a passing tray, and cracked his fingers against his jaw. “In other words, he needs more practice.” He winked at the prince and then saluted to Tess. “Hullo, Lady Tessamine. Many blessings, and all that.”
“Evening, Nory. Good of you to join us,” Tess said with a cold glance.
Fyrian's Fire Page 2