Then Prince Corin drew his sword, and the battle began.
At first, the knight started slowly, as he had with the first suitor. But Prince Corin didn’t slow down. He kept his shield up and his sword moving, never exposing a weakness for the knight to attack.
He’s good, Jesse thought, although he knew his limited experience with sword fighting made him a poor judge. Still, the murmur of the crowd showed they were surprised that the island prince showed such skill.
The knight must have realized this too, because he struck out in a series of blows that made his sword blur to everyone watching. Still, Prince Corin met every strike with his sword, blocking it with a sickening clang of metal on metal.
“He’s doing well,” Jesse said, allowing a little hope into his voice.
“It’s not over yet,” Silas said grimly. “This knight’s a master. I can see it in every move he makes.”
“Did you see how he easily parried Corin’s Auctian thrust?” Parvel added. “He probably knows every trick of swordplay in all of Amarias.”
Jesse fell silent. Who was he to comment on a swordfight? Until leaving the inn with Rae and Silas, he had never even held a weapon, much less learned the technique of one-on-one combat.
Now it was Prince Corin’s turn to strike. Unlike the knight, he never stayed in one place, choosing instead to use some of his precious energy to dart about, trying to catch the knight off guard.
But, no matter how impossible it seemed with his heavy armor, the knight was always there to block the blow. Only once did Prince Corin’s blade connect with the chain mail. That was a mistake, because as Prince Corin drew back his sword, the knight struck at his unprotected shoulder.
The crowd gasped as Prince Corin staggered back, but somehow he still managed to block the next thrust.
“He’s going on the defensive,” Silas muttered. “Not good.”
Come on, Prince Corin, Jesse urged him in his mind. Even though he knew it was selfish, he wanted the prince to win for another reason. If he was eliminated from the tournament, he would go home, and then Jesse and the others would have no way to rescue Rae or find the Forbidden Book. He has to win. For all of us.
Though his shield and sword still blocked every blow, Prince Corin was being pushed back, toward the wooden barricade. Jesse knew it could be his imagination, but it looked like Prince Corin was slowing down just a little. His reactions were just a split second later, his arm movements just a little heavier.
Like everyone else in the crowd, Jesse could not look away, jerking his head back and forth around the heads of people in front of him as he tried to keep the arena in view. Even the cheering had died down as the fight went on.
It was clear that the knight knew he was winning. He began to hold back, using slower and lighter blows as he drove Prince Corin closer and closer to the edge. It seemed like he was showing off the grace of his swordplay now, placing each step in the sawdust like an elaborate dance.
Prince Corin wasn’t concerned with any form at all. He was merely surviving, blocking blindly. Jesse caught a glimpse of his face. It was covered with sweat. He looked exhausted enough to crumple to the sand at that very moment, without any blow at all.
Finally, the back of Prince Corin’s foot hit the barrier. His shield slumped down, and the arm with the sword sagged, as if refusing to rise again. Jesse held his breath with perhaps half of the crowd.
The knight knew that this would be the last blow. He paused, then brought his right hand up, spinning the sword through the air to his left.
“Barett’s pass,” Parvel said in awe, as it happened. “Never seen it done in an actual fight.”
Before Parvel had even finished speaking, the knight’s left hand struck out at Prince Corin.
And found nothing there.
Prince Corin had used the split second while the knight was executing his trick play to leap on top of the wooden barrier, balancing on the edge.
Only it wasn’t balancing, not like Jesse and his friend Eli had done on the bridge as children, tottering back and forth. Prince Corin was just standing there, as steady as if he was on the ground.
“You were right,” Jesse shouted to Parvel over the noise of the amused crowd. “The knight knows all the tricks of Amarias. But he doesn’t know the ones of the island of Dagen.”
After the slightest of pauses, probably from sheer surprise, Jesse decided, the knight was back to fighting as if there was nothing unusual about directing blows at an opponent who stood a distance above you.
The first few blows did nothing at all. Prince Corin danced around them as if they were nothing but a troublesome fly. Finally, with a frustrated shout, the knight drew back and cut the air with his sword as if he were a reaper taking down a sheaf of wheat.
To the delight of the crowd, Prince Corin just jumped into the air, avoiding the blow altogether. As he came down, landing neatly with both feet on the barrier, he lightly tapped the knight’s helmet with his sword—twice.
The crowd roared with laughter. “Now this is a show!” a raspy-voiced old man declared. “Almost hope he makes it to the next round, just to see what he’ll do next.”
This latest trick appeared to make the knight angry, because he struck out harder than ever. Keeping his shield up higher to block the blows from above, he swung his sword toward Prince Corin.
A step to the side was all that Prince Corin needed to do to dodge it.
“He’s playing with the knight,” Silas said, sounding amazed. “Wearing him down, making him angry.”
Prince Corin hardly seemed to be the same weary, surrendered opponent he had just minutes before. He kept raining blows down on the knight, not doing any major damage, but not getting hurt either. Mostly, he just used his incredible balance and speed to avoid the knight at every turn.
“He was faking, all the time,” Jesse said, his voice rising. “He wasn’t tired at all. He was getting the knight to let his guard down.”
If Silas and Parvel heard, they didn’t respond. They, like everyone else, were staring straight ahead.
Jesse turned back to the arena, just in time to see Prince Corin jump into the air, launching himself, feet first, at the knight. It’s not possible!
With one last shout, the knight fell. Prince Corin seemed to turn in mid-air, landing neatly beside him in the sawdust and touching his sword to the knight’s chest.
Everything else was drowned out by the roaring of the crowd.
“He did it!” Jesse shouted, pumping his walking stick into the air in his excitement. “I can’t believe it! Isn’t it great?”
But Parvel wasn’t listening. He was staring at the other side of the arena. “Silas, Jesse, look!” He pointed.
Jesse had been so caught up in the action of the swordfight that he hadn’t paid much attention to the stands. There, sitting on the ground next to the royal stand, was Rae. As Jesse watched, she stood and began to make her way through the crowd.
“Come on,” Parvel urged, breaking into a run. “We have to talk to her!”
Jesse followed, limping along with his cane. For once, he was glad for the swarm of people, because it slowed Silas and Parvel, allowing him to keep up.
“Rae!” Jesse called, though he knew she was too far away to hear. He pushed through the crowd as Rae hurried toward the wall of the palace.
She didn’t turn, and, after speaking a few words to a Patrol member at a door in the palace wall, ducked inside.
Jesse, Silas, and Parvel stopped, looking uneasily at the guard. “We have to get in there,” Jesse said at last.
“How?” Silas asked. “I doubt we can just knock.” There was no answer.
Then Parvel started laughing his deep, warm chuckle. “I have an idea,” he said.
Chapter 9
“This is never going to work,” Silas grumbled as they walked toward Lady Tar
alyn’s tower. He was holding Prince Corin’s island lute at arm’s length as if it would turn into a snake and bite him.
“Yes, it will,” Parvel insisted. “We will be admitted to the tower, find Rae, leave, then return the instruments to Prince Corin’s tent.” As usual, Parvel glossed over any potential problems.
“It’s the only way in,” Jesse pointed out, “and it’s worth a try, anyway.” Silas just muttered something under his breath. It was mostly undistinguishable, but Jesse heard the word “crazy” a few times.
They approached the tower of the palace where Rae had disappeared. Jesse tried to walk confidently, like a traveling minstrel might. But even he started to wonder if Parvel’s plan would work. The Patrol member at the door looked even meaner close up.
“State your business,” he growled.
“A gift for Lady Taralyn,” Silas replied, bowing humbly to the guard, “from a suitor.”
“No gifts from suitors allowed in,” the guard said, shaking his head. “Governor’s orders. He doesn’t want anyone talking to her or encouraging her with romantic nonsense.”
Jesse groaned inside. Of course not. Silas told us how protective the governor was of his daughter. We should have guessed this would happen.
“I know that, sir,” Silas said respectfully. “But the governor cleared this one himself. Must be from his choice for the lady.”
The guard grunted. “I hear he’s trying to rig the tournament so one of his own nobles gets to marry Lady Taralyn. Not fair, if you ask me.”
“But, if the governor says that the lady gets the present…”
“…then she gets it,” the guard finished. “All right, then.” He opened the door and escorted them in.
Silas had told them that Lady Taralyn would probably be in her chamber. “Servants handle all visitors to the nobility in the outer chamber,” he had said. “Chances are good that Rae will come out to greet us.”
So Jesse was surprised when the guard knocked on a door inside the tower and announced, “Present for you, Lady Taralyn, from one of your admirers.”
“Come in,” a voice said.
Jesse held back a gasp as they entered the room. It was hung with sheer, gauzy curtains and detailed tapestries that must have taken years to create. A small couch was smothered in tiny pillows, and gold was practically dripping off the chandelier that brought the only light to the room.
And, on the far side of the parlor, the most beautiful woman Jesse had ever seen was lounging on a silk chair. Her skin was smooth and pale, but it was her hair that commanded the most attention. It rippled nearly all of the way down her back in a mass of curls, a stunning orange waterfall, bright as the fireflax blossoms Jesse’s mother used to grow beside the kitchen door.
“You’re dismissed,” Lady Taralyn said to the guard, sounding rather bored. Despite himself, Jesse liked the sound of Lady Taralyn’s voice. It reminded him of the Dell River outside his hometown of Mir—low, calm, and musical.
The door closed again. “If I may, my lady…” Silas began.
“You must not speak unless spoken to,” Lady Taralyn interrupted. She paused and fanned herself with a thin sheaf of folded paper. Jesse guessed her tiny white hand had never seen a day of work. “Now, then,” she said, straightening up, “what is this gift?”
Jesse wanted to say, “That’s what Silas was trying to tell you when you cut him off,” but he restrained himself. We’re in the palace now, he reminded himself. And we’re slaves. We have to follow their rules.
“We bring the gift of a song,” Parvel said. “A declaration of love from one of your many suitors.”
Lady Taralyn stood and glided over to them, her white gown barely rustling. “How romantic!” she cried, her eyes glittering with excitement. This close, Jesse could see that they were as green as the grass of the palace lawn.
Jesse blinked, taken aback by this sudden change in emotion.
Lady Taralyn was staring at them expectantly, a child-like smile on her face. “Well, then. Let’s hear it.”
Wait. Suddenly, Jesse was struck with the meaning of this. He held no instrument. But I can’t…. This wasn’t part of the plan! Rae was supposed to come out, and we were to leave without ever seeing Lady Taralyn!
Silas looked nearly as panicked as Jesse, but Parvel was just smiling in amusement. Jesse wanted to throw something at him.
Why, why didn’t I carry the flute instead of Parvel? he groaned inwardly. What am I supposed to do?
“Well?” Lady Taralyn said, tilting her head at him in annoyance. “I’m waiting.”
Jesse didn’t want to think about what she would do if he didn’t sing, or, worse, if she discovered their deception.
There seemed to be only one option. I’ll have to sing a love song.
Jesse tried to force some noise out of his dry throat. “The introduction, please,” he said, waving at Silas and Parvel.
Silas took the lead, strumming a few chords. Some of them sounded a bit off, but that was masked by the free, easy melody that Parvel wove with his panpipes. From the sound of it, either Parvel actually knew how to play the instrument, or he was just naturally talented. It sounded like a real song.
A song that you have to provide the words to, Jesse reminded himself.
So, as Lady Taralyn’s eyes were fixed on him, he began. “The fairest maiden,” he sang, trying out a few basic notes, “I long to see as to your tower I look.” Rhyme, you have to rhyme! “So lovely is your curly hair, unmatched in any…book.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Parvel laughing, which made him skip a few notes on the panpipes. But Lady Taralyn was still listening with rapt attention, as if he were the greatest poet of the king’s court.
“Your gaze like emeralds, skin like silk, your smile all I see. Your voice, like music to my ear, rings through eternity.” He was out of rhymes, so he stopped abruptly.
This is getting painful. He let Silas and Parvel play a brief instrumental interlude as he scrambled to think of the next verse. Some detached part of his brain told him that Silas was getting better on the lute, choosing chords that harmonized with each other.
Parvel nodded at him, and Jesse began again, “O that I may yet see your face, and fight the rest away. And so at last my love to keep, before the end of day.”
He hoped the desperation on his face was enough to cue Silas and Parvel to stop. With a flourish that replayed the main melody, Parvel ended, taking a bow.
Jesse followed his lead. To his surprise, as he raised his head, he saw Lady Taralyn clapping. She’s just being polite, I’m sure.
But the smile on Lady Taralyn’s face seemed too bright to be anything but genuine. “How beautiful,” Lady Taralyn said, closing her eyes, as if in rapture. “Which suitor sent you?”
Jesse glanced at Silas and Parvel. “He prefers to remain anonymous.” No sense in ruining Prince Corin’s reputation with my poor singing.
“No matter,” Lady Taralyn said, turning away from them with a smile. “I already know.”
Jesse stared at her. “You do?”
“Of course. It’s obvious from your strange dress. It must be the foreigner from the islands. My maid saw the first part of the sword fighting and told me about him.”
Lady Taralyn turned from them and pulled one of the gauzy curtains away from the wall, and Jesse couldn’t keep himself from staring. There, gilded in scrolled silver and crusted with amethysts, were three huge mirrors.
They were the most beautiful things Jesse had ever seen, sparkling and glittering in the light. They must have cost a fortune! he marveled.
Suddenly, Lady Taralyn’s eyes widened, and she jerked away from her reflection. “You must not tell him,” she said suddenly, turning to them. “I forbid it, under penalty of death.”
Jesse could only stare in confusion. “Who?”
She pressed he
r lips together in a tight line. “The suitor from the islands.”
“Don’t tell him what?”
She frowned at him. “Surely you see. It’s clear that I haven’t applied my facial powder yet.”
Jesse still didn’t say anything, no less confused than he was before. “I have freckles,” Lady Taralyn said, as if it should be obvious. Although she tilted her chin boldly, as if daring them to make a comment, there was a hint of shame in her eyes.
Sure enough, there were light dots speckled across Taralyn’s delicate nose. But she makes it sound like a bad thing.
Lady Taralyn leaned closer to the mirror, staring at herself. “Mother had the face powder ordered from District One so I could hide them. I’ve been wearing it for years. The freckles have mostly faded now, but I can never risk going out in the sun, or they might reappear.”
“What’s wrong with freckles?” Jesse asked, feeling hopelessly out-of-touch.
She just shook her head. “You are not of this district, nor of the class of nobles. You cannot understand.”
“Lady Taralyn,” Parvel said gently, “outward beauty is not the most important thing in life.”
Lady Taralyn gave a short laugh. “That’s not what Mother says. Or Chancellor Doran. He’s the one who insisted that I not attend the tournament. Though he did not say so, I suspect he feared that the suitors, seeing me, might not wish to marry me. Beauty, after all, is the highest quality a noblewoman can have.”
Jesse blinked, thinking at first that Lady Taralyn was joking. Could she really be blind to her own beauty?
“Who is Chancellor Doran?” Parvel asked.
“He’s the chief scribe and Father’s adviser, though I don’t understand why. I wouldn’t trust him at all.” Lady Taralyn shrugged. “I suppose he oversees records, perhaps drafts the documents that Father signs. I’ve never bothered to ask. Anyway, I don’t like him at all. He frightens me.”
Curse of the Forbidden Book Page 8