by Aya Ling
“Well,” the king cleared his throat. “To tell the truth, I also thought Aunt Matilda was carrying things too far when she insisted that you enroll. How about we give it a year? By the time a year is up, we can tell Aunt Matilda that you have done your best, but that the path of a warrior isn’t for you. If you have at least tried, it’ll be easier to argue with her.”
But she didn’t want to go to the Academy for even a day, much less a year.
Gladys, however, offered an uplifting suggestion.
“Why not try and find some noble Rivieran lord to marry, Your Highness?” she said. “Since many princesses are refusing marriage, surely there has to be more young men looking for a bride. You won’t have much competition, if any.”
Ari brightened. What a great idea! If she got herself engaged to some duke or count, Great Aunt Matilda couldn’t possibly force her to attend the Academy. And if she could settle down in Riviera—life would be wonderful. Not that she didn’t like Linderall, but it would be so much better to be living in Riviera, the most prosperous and powerful kingdom on the Continent. Think of all the gowns she could buy! The shoes! The jewelry!
“All right,” she said, her eyes flashing. “I shall go to this Academy, but I shan’t expect it to be long. I’ll find someone to marry!”
Two: The Disastrous Journey
Ari had never been so irritated in her life.
The same could go for Great Aunt Matilda. Which, given her age, was something worth mentioning.
Ari had been doing her packing for Riviera, when there was a loud rap on the door and Great Aunt Matilda burst in. Once she beheld the state of the room, the old lady’s eyes bulged and she demanded to know what on earth the princess was doing.
“Packing, of course,” Ari said, trying to decide between a gown of turquoise green and another dress of emerald green. Both looked superb on her, but she wouldn’t be able to shut the lid of her trunk if she tried to take everything.
Cloaks, surcoats, and kirtles lay scattered on the bed; girdles, belts, and tippets were carelessly draped on several chairs. The dressing table was overflowing with necklaces, bracelets, and headdresses. A nervous-looking Gladys hovered near the small changing room where Ari usually got dressed every morning.
“We are going to training school, not a silly ball,” Great Aunt Matilda said. “All you need is a good, serviceable set of traveling clothes. Not to worry—” she mistook the look of horror on Ari’s face, “—nowadays it’s no longer forbidden to wear breeches and trousers. I, myself, have encountered on my way here a couple of girls who were dressed just like boys.”
“I am NOT wearing breeches and trousers!” Ari said loudly. “They are ugly and uncomfortable.”
“They are practical. Do you want to trip on your gowns when fighting an enemy, or tear your skirts when climbing walls?”
Ari scowled and muttered under her breath. Was it not for the dagger hilt protruding from Great Aunt Matilda’s leather boot, she would have ordered the old lady to be banished from her chamber at once.
“And you only need ONE mirror.” Great Aunt Matilda handed her a plain, round-rimmed pocket mirror. “None of those dreadful floor-length ones, for gods’ sake. Have some pity on the poor horses that will draw the carriage.”
“But I can see only my face in this!”
“Seeing your face is plenty enough,” the old lady scoffed. “You will be dressed in plain, simple clothes. What need is there to see your whole body?”
Ari wondered if there was some way she could vanquish this witch. But then she remembered that she had long forgotten how to wield a sword, or had any training in hand combat. Even though Great Aunt Matilda was nearly four times her age, from hearing the sound of her lead-tipped staff thumping on the floor, Ari was not inclined to take any chances.
In the end, Ari was only permitted to bring one ornamental item: her late mother’s bracelet. It was an exquisite work of silver filigree encrusted with tiny gemstones. The fact that the bracelet was bequeathed to her, when her mother was lying on her deathbed, made it even more cherished in her memory. Great Aunt Matilda had given in reluctantly, based on the reason of sentimental value rather than vanity.
Most of the courtiers were amused to learn that Princess Arianna would be going to the Rivieran Royal Academy of Fighting Arts. It was well known that the princess could not even pick up a heavy sword, much less use it in swordplay.
Once the news got around the castle—which was pretty fast, since the Linderall court was small—the high chancellor proposed a round of betting.
“Ten gold pieces that she won’t last more than a week.”
“Put me down for twenty.”
“But with Lady Matilda supporting her—I’d say a month.”
“Are you insane? Can you imagine Her Highness going around in a suit of armor? Or wielding a lance on horseback?”
Loud laughter came from every courtier. The prim, vain young princess who only cared about fine gowns and jewelry—what a ridiculous idea!
Tobian, the sword master, however, was uncertain.
“Her Highness is inept only because she chooses to remain so. If she hadn’t given up easily when I gave her lessons, she could have made a name for herself.”
No one believed him. Bets were taken until the king found out and ordered them to stop. He would not have his daughter’s future being jested and gossiped about.
They set off three days later. Ari complained that they hadn’t packed enough luggage, but Great Aunt Matilda did not share her opinion.
“You will have everything you need at Riviera,” the old lady said. “What else do you have to bring?”
“We need more supplies for the journey,” Ari said, looking apprehensively at the forlorn wagon that carried their luggage and provisions. “If it’s going to be a month’s journey, this is hardly sufficient.”
“There will be inns on the way,” Great Aunt Matilda said. “And we can hunt and catch our fill when traveling in the wilderness.”
Catching animals and eating them in the wild did not sound the least tempting to Ari, who had never dined without fork and knife.
Great Aunt Matilda also refused to bring an army for protection, despite the prime minister warning that ogres frequented the path leading to Riviera. She ordered two coachmen to drive the carriage, and Howard to stay watch at night.
“You have the greatest swordswoman in the world and the only living giant to protect your daughter,” she told the king. “A big procession will slow down our pace and attract attention. We need to reach Riviera as soon as possible.”
Gladys was worried, since Great Aunt Matilda had told her she was not to accompany the princess.
“But Her Highness needs me to brush her hair every night,” Gladys protested. “She needs help with fastening her girdle properly, and lacing up her shoes, and...”
“Then it’s high time she learned to do those things herself,” Great Aunt Matilda said grimly. “Trust me, she won’t be wearing a girdle or laces when she goes to Riviera. I’m going to cure her of all this frivolous nonsense.”
Ari leaned back in the carriage and shut her eyes, determined not to speak to Great Aunt Matilda. She would have liked to run away, but seeing the bright dagger point the old lady was currently cleaning, she had to settle for a lethal glare instead.
After a while, it got boring sitting with an old lady one would much rather ignore, so Ari lifted a corner of the curtain and peered outside.
It was cloudy and windy, and the temperature was falling, despite it being spring already. Ari rarely ventured beyond the castle walls; there were few places in Linderall worth going to. For Linderall was a small country located in the far east of the Continent, where the land was rocky and steep. There were some spectacular views of the mountains, but there really wasn’t anything to do. If not for Great Aunt Matilda’s international fame, according to Gladys, few people on the Continent would know anything about the remote “mountain-folk.”
Perha
ps it wasn’t such a bad idea to leave Linderall. But seeing Great Aunt Matilda polish one dagger after another, Ari could not help feeling a sense of impending doom.
Before nightfall, they stopped at an inn right on the border of Linderall. To the west lay Tintagel, the second largest country on the Continent.
The inn was a drab-looking structure of timber and stone, though the innkeeper was brimming with enthusiasm at having the famous Lady Matilda as a guest.
“Lady Matilda! Princess! Please, come in right away. It is cold outside.”
“Oh, this is nothing compared to the snow storm I experienced on a northern island miles from the Continent,” Great Aunt Matilda said airily.
Ari, however, was eager to step inside. Not only was the wind chilling her bones, but her bottom felt bruised from the carriage ride. Linderall was not called the Land of Mountains for nothing. Now and then the carriage would jolt from a slope or twist, causing Ari to squeal and groan, while Great Aunt Matilda folded her arms and admonished her for being so pathetic.
“All the more reason you should go to Riviera. Honestly, the delicate state you’re in is a disgrace.”
A light drizzle had started when they got off the carriage. Ari sneezed twice.
“This comes from being brought up in the castle,” Great Aunt Matilda said disdainfully. “A year at the Academy, and we’ll have you trudging in snowy weather without needing a scarf.”
“I need a roaring fire in the hearth,” Ari said, pulling her wrap around her tightly. “And I need it NOW.”
“Certainly, Princess,” the innkeeper said, waving over a girl who looked a few years older than the princess. “Peony, show Her Highness and Lady Matilda to their rooms.”
The bedroom was the ugliest room Ari had ever seen. The walls were stone gray and devoid of pictures or tapestries, the floor was bare except for a rug in front of the fireplace, and the chairs didn’t even have cushions on them. Ari sat on the bed and grimaced. The bed spread was made of some coarse wool the color of brownish-orange, and the pillow was hard and knobbly. She doubted if she could sleep well in the bed.
“Would you like a hot bath now, Princess?” Peony asked, after she lighted a fire. “You must be weary from a day of traveling.”
A bath sounded good. Her body was sore and aching from sitting in the carriage for an entire day.
Peony and a couple of other helpers brought a large wooden tub in the room and filled it with hot water.
Ari sank into the tub amid the steam and let out a contented sigh. It was nice, though back at home, she was used to bathing in water scented with cinnamon and thyme, while Gladys waited upon her with herbal tea.
When she was washing her hair—which took a long time, given its length—someone pounded on the door.
“Aaaargh!” Ari immediately lowered herself in the water.
“Arianna!” Great Aunt Matilda’s bossy voice echoed through the door. “Time to go down for supper!”
“But I haven’t even finished my bath!”
“Then end it right now! You’ve been in there for so long, I wondered if you drowned. Haul yourself out of the water this instant! Remember, when I was fighting the Great Wars, I didn’t even have the chance to bathe for days.”
Ari groaned. However, she didn’t fancy another pounding on the door, so after rinsing her hair the best she could, she got out and dried herself, grimacing at the rough-spun material of the bath towel. She should have brought her own towels.
The collar of the dress seemed too high, so Ari looked at herself in the mirror. Drat, she was wearing the dress in reverse; what should be in the back was actually in front.
Then, after she had finally got the laces on her back done, Ari lifted a strand of her damp hair and stared at the mirror. She couldn’t let it completely down, not when it was clean and smelling of soap. It would certainly get in the way at dinner.
But she didn’t know how to dress her hair when she already had a hard time washing it by herself. Oh, how she missed Gladys.
Ari opened the door cautiously and peered into the hallway. Peony happened to be in the corridor, sweeping the floor.
“Hello,” Ari called. “Will you please come and help me?”
Once Peony was in the room, Ari held up the hair brush and said, “I want to have my hair done in the ramshorn style, if you please.” Ramshorn hairstyles were extremely popular at the moment; it was done by coiling the hair around the ears to create an effect like a ram’s horn. Ribbons and silken veils often adorned the “horns.”
“Ramshorn?” Peony repeated, looking bewildered.
It appeared that she knew nothing of hairstyles in fashion.
“What hairstyle do you know?”
Peony pointed to her own head. She had braided her hair and crisscrossed the braids over her forehead. Ari admitted that the hairstyle didn’t look bad, but she had seen almost every servant maid in the castle sporting the same hairstyle.
“All right,” Ari sighed. “Just fix my hair, as long as it won’t be in the way when I eat.”
“Your Highness has such lovely hair,” Peony said wistfully, as she started braiding Ari’s hair. “So long and thick and pretty.”
Ari tried to smile modestly but failed. She always regarded her hair as one of her greatest assets.
When Peony was finished, Ari surveyed herself critically in the mirror. Actually, she didn’t look bad in the “commoner” hairstyle. She also realized that she probably wouldn’t have much help with hairstyles on the journey, not to mention at the Academy.
“Teach me how to braid.”
When she came down for dinner, Ari was aghast to find a hunk of greasy pork sitting on her plate, along with a huge slab of apple pie slathered with copious amounts of whipped cream.
“What are you staring at?” Great Aunt Matilda demanded.
Ari glared at the food, as though it was insulting her.
“I can’t eat this. It’s detrimental to my figure.”
Great Aunt Matilda sent her a withering look.
“You ought to be grateful that you can have a good square meal. During the Great Wars, I had to live off tree bark and rats.”
Ari crossed her arms, irritated. She was tired of Great Aunt Matilda mentioning the past. As if it was her fault for not being born during the Great Wars.
The innkeeper, however, was quick to oblige. He whisked away the pork and pie, brought a plate of brown bread studded with nuts and a bowl of hot oatmeal.
“Perhaps this will be more to your liking, Princess?”
The bread was too dry and the oatmeal too watery, but she had no choice but eat. Oh, how she wished that she was back in the castle, where the royal cook knew exactly what she wanted! How she missed the small, succulent cuts of lamb chops and the fine red wine imported from Tintagel!
Halfway through the meal, a small boy padded into the common area and stopped short at sight of Great Aunt Matilda, who certainly looked intimidating with her assortment of daggers and arrows.
“Papa, Papa!” The boy tugged on the innkeeper’s apron. “Who is she?”
The innkeeper grinned. “Remember the tale of The Lady who Slew a Dragon, and The Great Wars of Linderall? Who was the lady that led our troops and brought peace to us?”
The little boy’s mouth fell open. “The great Lady Matilda is her?”
Great Aunt Matilda continued to eat, though there was an extra twinkle in her eye.
“Why don’t you ask her yourself? Go on, Jem.”
Jem took another look at Great Aunt Matilda and hesitated.
But Great Aunt Matilda pushed aside her plate and smiled at the child. It was the first time Ari had seen her smile. “Do you know the best way to defeat a dragon, Jem? Especially a large one that is bigger than your house?”
Jem shook his head.
“Come here, and I’ll tell you a story.”
As Ari struggled to finish her meal, Great Aunt Matilda sat before the hearth and enthralled her audience with a tale of how s
he battled a scarlet dragon thirty years ago.
“Dragons are extremely dangerous, needless to say, but the scarlet dragon is a particularly nasty species,” Great Aunt Matilda said, a faraway look in her eyes. “Scarlets are usually twice the size of an average dragon, their tails are studded with spikes as long as my staff here, and they can fly as swift as an eagle—despite their enormous bodies. One spurt of fire from a Scarlet can render a cottage completely to ashes, I’ve seen with my own eyes.”
A few other children shuddered.
“I remember when the Dark Lord employed a herd of Scarlets to ravage Linderall. I was still in Riviera then—just received my shield from the Academy. Once I got the news, I asked Riviera and Tintagel for help. With troops from those two kingdoms and our own Linderall army, we managed to defeat the Scarlets. That was one of the most difficult battles during the Great Wars. Not until I discovered the one vulnerability in Scarlets—the soft spot on their underbellies—did we truly have a chance of driving them back.”
“I remember that time,” an old man sitting in a corner rasped. “Houses were burned. Entire villages destroyed. If it weren’t for Lady Matilda, we would be slaves of the Dark Lord.”
“It wasn’t just me, the other kingdoms pitched in as well,” Great Aunt Matilda quickly said, though she looked pleased nevertheless.
Ari shoved the last bit of dry bread down her throat, feeling disgruntled. It was all very well that her great aunt was a renowned and respected warrior, but why was she expected to follow the same path?
Ari didn’t think things could get worse, but they did. She had grumbled at the rustic food and paltry furnishings in the inns they stopped at for the first couple of days, but as the days passed and fewer houses came into sight, they had to set up camp in the wilderness.
For meals, Great Aunt Matilda and Howard hunted for deer and rabbits, sometimes even catching trout with bare hands. Ari had to learn how to light a fire—a skill she struggled to master after plenty of coughing and wheezing in the smoke. She also had to eat without any utensils; she had never felt so uncivilized! But there was only one other choice: go hungry.