While Martha bustled about, putting out candles and tidying up the discarded ballroom finery, Eliana lay quietly propped against her pillows. She studied the gold ring on her finger. A simple band with no adornment. It could be any ring, any ring at all.
So why did she know—know with absolute conviction—that it was her mother’s own ring returned to her at last?
How had she lost it? Was it when her stepmother threw it away in the ashes, declaring it nothing more than trash? Or was it during those three nights of spinning, which seemed weirdly hazy in her memory? One way or another, lose it she had, and her heart had ached at the loss.
But how in the world did the oak-leaf man get it? How did he know it would mean so much to her?
Memory plucked at her conscious mind. But with it came the searing pain that had become all too familiar during her stay at Craigbarr. Eliana could not help the moan that escaped her lips as she sank back into her pillows. The pain swept over her in a hideous wave.
“Oh no!” exclaimed Martha. “Is it that bad headache again?” She spent the next hour soothing Eliana’s forehead with cool cloths until at last her lady fell into a deep but troubled sleep.
In her dreams Eliana heard the oak-leaf man saying, “To remember me by . . . To remember me by . . .”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Of Dancing and Games
The following night the ladies-in-waiting returned to Eliana’s room, this time bringing with them a gown of silver edged in blue stones. It was more elegant and lovely than her dress of the previous night, but Eliana knew it would pale in comparison to the gold dress which was even now being finished by the queen’s team of industrious seamstresses.
She was relieved when the same mask was brought to her. She had worried that if her mask were changed, perhaps the oak-leaf man would not recognize her in the crowds. But then, would she recognize him? She had not, she realized long after the fact, succeeded in getting his name from him the night before.
“Tonight I’ll ask again,” she whispered even as the ladies styled her hair and placed jewels about her neck.
One lady lifted Eliana’s hand, prepared to slide a ring into place. She paused, frowning, and said, “What is this?” indicating the gold band Eliana already wore.
“Oh. Please, I would much rather wear it,” Eliana said, which wasn’t really an answer, but she didn’t know what else to say.
The lady looked at the ring again, comparing it to the small starburst of gems she held. “It’s very plain, Lady Gold-Spinner,” she said.
Eliana nodded, and her cheeks flushed a soft rose hue. “It was my mother’s,” she whispered.
The lady looked for a moment as though she might protest. But then something like understanding seemed to pass over her face. She shrugged and put away the starburst ring.
A knock at the door; Martha hurried to answer it. Once more, men-at-arms waited just outside, ready to escort Eliana to the ball.
“Your mask, Lady Gold-Spinner,” said one of the ladies.
Eliana slid the moon-and-sun mask into place, lifted the hem of her voluminous skirts, and stepped out among the guardsmen.
King Hendry and his queen stood again on the steps above the ballroom, greeting guests as they arrived. King Hendry pushed his lion mask up onto his forehead when he saw Eliana approach, fixing her with a terrible gaze that made her knees tremble. “I understand you did not dance with my son last night,” he said, his voice a growl that matched his mask all too well.
Eliana tried to curtsy, teetering dangerously in her nervousness. “Forgive me, Your Majesty!” she said. “Your son did not ask me to dance.”
“Didn’t he?” Hendry shot a glare over his shoulder to where the prince stood, several steps further down, laughing with the fox-masked Princess of Syntorell. “Didn’t he . . .”
The next moment Eliana found her elbow held in the king’s tight grasp, and she nearly tripped as he dragged her down the stairs. “Ellis!” he bellowed.
So this was how she would meet the prince, the man she was expected to marry. Pushed at him against his will by his angry father. Eliana’s face flamed so hot behind her mask that she feared it might melt down her cheeks. If only she could slip away! If only she could . . .
She blinked. Then she drew a deep, gasping breath.
For she found herself standing under the pillars near the garden door, far across the crowded ballroom from the king and his son. And, somehow, she still had not been introduced to Prince Ellis!
Though her beauty outshone that of every other woman in that room, no one saw the golden-haired lady who stood in the shadows by the grand staircase. She did not wish to be seen, so a veil of mystery covered her, shielding her from all eyes. Even those who half caught a glimpse—a glimpse of loveliness that would rival the most glorious spring sunrise—wandered away in a blinking daze, wondering why their hearts suddenly hurt with nameless longing.
Queen Titania listened to the angry voice of King Hendry just above her.
“I told you I wanted you to dance with her tonight! She’s going to be your bride, and I need you to be seen with her at this ball before the Reveal!”
“I know, Father,” Prince Ellis replied sullenly. “I haven’t seen her though. I mean I don’t know what she looks like, if you’ll remember, and she’s wearing a mask anyway. If you happen to spot her, point her out to me, and I’ll introduce myself.”
“You’d better!” King Hendry raged, little caring if nearby guests heard him over the sweet strains of music playing. “You’d better dance with her till her feet bleed!”
“Whatever you say, Father,” said the prince, heaving a deep sigh.
Titania chuckled merrily like a lightly babbling brook, sending ripples of mirth out from her shadowy hiding place and making all the mortals nearby smile, though they couldn’t have said why. Then she looked out across the crowds, searching for the girl in her moon-and-sun mask and for that beautiful bronze mask of oak leaves she had carefully repaired for the faerie captain. Surely he had arrived by now. Where had the two of them gotten off to?
In her eagerness to spy the lovers, she completely missed the mischievous little imp face peering down at her from a high perch in the chandelier over her head.
“Oh, what a naughty majesty you are!” Oberon’s servant Puck whispered, and giggled so hard that the chandelier shook and wax dripped from its candles to spatter on the floor far below.
Eliana waited near the pillars, hoping the oak-leaf man would search for her there. Time passed, and he did not come.
Masked strangers nodded to her, possibly recognizing her moon-and-sun mask from the night before, though they did not know the lady who hid behind it. She always smiled in response, a nervous smile, and hoped none of them would stop and try to speak to her. She did not know how to talk to these nobles and dignitaries, and the idea of trying to navigate the difficult waters of courtly conversation filled her with dread.
She looked down at the gold ring on her finger. What a comfort it was here among all this glittering glamour! So simple, so plain—so beautiful like her mother.
“To remember me by,” the oak-leaf man had said. Why would he say such a thing? It sounded as though he intended to leave her forever, with nothing more than a token by which to recall her one delightful evening in his presence. But had he not promised to return to her tonight?
“I hoped I would find you here.”
The longed-for voice shot through her heart. Eliana looked up through the eyeholes of her mask, and there stood her oak-leaf man, his face lit up with a smile.
“May I have the honor of this dance?” he asked, much as he had the night before in the garden.
Eliana did not even speak an answer. She merely gave him her hand, and he swept her onto the dance floor, right out into the center. Her stomach turned with terror that was not altogether unpleasant to find herself so deep in the throng of merry-makers. But the oak-leaf man’s hand guided her with gentle confidence, and she relaxed in
to his hold, trusting him completely. Her knowledge of the complicated steps was faulty at best, but with him as her partner, she did not think she disgraced herself too badly.
They danced through an entire set. Then the oak-leaf man raised a hand, signaling to the musicians. By some magic, they understood him and immediately started playing a new tune—a simple tune, one that Eliana knew quite well.
“The Cobbler’s Reel!” she exclaimed, laughing up into the oak-leaf man’s smiling face. “This is just a village dance!”
“But much livelier than any of the tunes we’ve had yet, don’t you agree?”
“Oh, absolutely!” Eliana lifted the hem of her skirt with one hand, her feet lightly picking out the spritely paces of this reel, which she knew very well indeed. Yes, it was merely a country dance, silly and ungainly compared to the stately tunes of court. But the grace of a spring breeze lifted her spirits, and she whirled with her partner, her skirts fluttering like the petals of a silver rose. Through it all he smiled, and his smile was so beaming that an intoxication like wine filled Eliana’s head at the mere sight of it.
The song came to an end. The musicians blinked as though waking from a daze then started back to work, playing a much more somber melody. Eliana cast the oak-leaf man a regretful glance but then placed a hand to her racing heart. The Cobbler’s Reel had left her winded.
He led her from the floor back to their quiet corner near the garden door. “One moment,” he said, and slipped away, returning soon after with a cooling drink, which she accepted gratefully.
She noticed then the color of his eyes. The oak-leaf mask was so intricate, and his smile so bright, she had hardly bothered to look beyond them before. Now she saw that his eyes, peering at her through the eyeholes, were a color she had never before seen on a man—a bright green, like a blade of grass.
His smile softened, and something about his gaze held her transfixed. “Eliana,” he said gently, “you really are beautiful.”
She blushed and managed to tear her gaze away, looking down at her glass of cider instead. “How would you know? I’m wearing a mask.”
He shook his head. “Beauty is not a matter of appearance. It’s about what is inside you.”
Suddenly his eyes locked onto the edge of the crowd. Without a word he caught Eliana by the elbow and whisked her away to the other side of the pillar.
“What’s wrong?” she asked breathlessly.
“Nothing. Nothing at all.” He hardly seemed aware of her just then, gazing around the pillar, his mouth a grim line. “There was just . . . someone I thought I recognized.”
“It wasn’t my stepmother, was it?” Eliana asked with a nervous laugh. Craning her neck, she barely made out the plume of a shabby mask across the room. Something about the angle of that head reminded her of Mistress Carlyn, and she wondered if her stepfamily had come to this night of the ball after all, though she had yet to meet them.
“I’m not the only one avoiding someone, I see,” the oak-leaf man said, grinning down at her then.
She glanced up at him then frowned slightly. “Before I forget . . . What is your name, good sir?”
His grin froze, remaining on his face only by an effort. “Do you not know?”
“You never told me.”
He bowed his head down close to her own. One of his large hands took one of hers, and his fingers pressed against her gold ring. “But perhaps . . . perhaps you remember?”
There it was—that memory, so close! So very close, she almost could lay hold of it!
But with it came the pain.
Eliana gasped, and if the oak-leaf man had not possessed such quick reflexes, her cider glass would have shattered on the floor. “Eliana!” he said, his voice full of anxiety. “Are you all right?”
“I . . . I want to go to the garden,” she whispered. “Fresh air will help.”
He nodded. Letting her take his arm, he escorted her out the door. A cool breeze washed over them like a moonbeam over stone. Her lungs filled with the fresh evening, and the pain in her head slid away like the memory of a dream.
“I am sorry to take you away from all the fun,” the oak-leaf man said, his voice so gentle and kind. “We can go back if you wish.”
“Why would I give up the company of a friend in exchange for strangers?” Eliana replied. “I much prefer a friend.”
He took her to the bench where the sweet-peas bloomed, and they sat and watched the stars sparkle and the moon sail through the sky. Though the stone was cool beneath them, the warmth they shared seeped into their souls. Eliana smiled behind her mask as the oak-leaf man’s hand enveloped hers.
An hour was spent so, only the two of them watching the sky and listening to the distant noise of the ball inside. Suddenly the man stood up, and the icy claws of night scratched at her skin. When she reached for him, he knelt before her.
“I have a gift for you,” he said.
As Eliana watched, he opened his hand. There, coiled in his palm, lay a gold chain. When he held it up, she saw that it was a necklace. Her mother’s necklace.
“Where—where did you get this?” Eliana gasped, putting out her finger to touch the chain, her face full of wonder. “I thought I had lost it.”
He did not answer but, leaning forward, placed the necklace around her neck, clasping it under her hair. For a moment they paused as though frozen, so close that she could feel his breath on her face. With only a fraction of movement, she might lean forward and kiss him . . . if only she had the courage!
Eliana could hardly breathe. She whispered, “I know you, don’t I? I know . . .”
“Eliana,” he said, his voice strained and full of some powerful emotion she hardly dared name. “Eliana, when I come to you tomorrow night, you have only to speak my name. Then I will be yours forever.”
“But you’ve never told me your name!” she exclaimed. He moved as though to rise, and she quickly reached out, grasping at his shoulders. “Please tell me!”
He was too quick for her, however. He slipped from her grasp like running water and stood before her, his masked face lost in shadows. “I will come tomorrow night for the Reveal,” he said. “In the meanwhile, try to remember.”
A swift movement and a kiss on her forehead.Then the oak-leaf man was gone, a fleeting wisp of a breath. The distant church bells tolled twelve deep notes in the night.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Lingering Threats
The following morning Martha woke Eliana with a breakfast of sweet porridge and a glass of milk to drink. When she saw that Eliana was finished and moved to take away the tray, she asked if her lady had enjoyed her second night at the ball. “Did you dance with the prince?”
Eliana frowned, her hand unconsciously straying to the gold necklace, which she had worn to bed. It lay half hidden beneath her nightgown, but she felt its contours through the thin fabric.
“Martha,” she said without actually answering her maid’s question, “what is Prince Ellis like?”
“Oh, very handsome, my lady!” Martha replied, eyes shining. “No taller than me I’d say, but strongly built. His hair is golden like the king’s, and he has dark eyes like the queen. Such a striking young man!”
“But what is he like?” Eliana persisted. “Do you know anything of him personally? Is he . . . is he kind?”
“Very much so!” Martha blushed at the enthusiasm of her own words and lowered her eyes. Then, emboldened by Eliana’s patient listening, she continued, “I’ve never met a man more gentle than he.”
“You’ve met him then?”
“Well, you know . . . not on any official basis, mind you!” Her maid shook her head hastily at the silliness of this very idea. “But once I was coming up the back stair with a heavy basketful of laundry, and who do you suppose I bumped into? Prince Ellis, slipping down the back way, trying to escape his tutor! He did not see me, and we hit each other hard, scattering laundry everywhere! I scolded him roundly—then realized who he was. Oh, I thought I would die
of shame!”
Eliana listened round-eyed to this story. As no more than a miller’s daughter herself, she found the idea of meeting the prince under such circumstances nothing short of horrifying.
But Martha smiled at her memory. “The prince, though . . . he was such a gentleman! He apologized so prettily and helped me fetch every stitch of that laundry. ‘I’m afraid it might have to be re-washed,’ he said, just as though he felt bad for me. Me! Nothing but a lowly housemaid who spends her whole day scrubbing and cleaning. Then he said, ‘This seems awfully heavy. Shall I carry it back down for you?’
“I tell you, my lady, I thought I might well faint, so overcome was I! Of course I told him I’m used to carrying much heavier burdens and made my escape as swiftly as I dared. But . . . well, I never forgot that one encounter.” Martha’s smile dimmed a little, though it remained as sweet as ever. “Sometimes I happen to see him across the way, and I’ll come close to catching his eye. And I wonder if it’s possible Prince Ellis remembers me as well. Though I doubt it very much! Why would he, after all?”
At this, Martha picked up the breakfast tray and hurried away, leaving Eliana to contemplate this new information. She had no way of knowing whether Martha’s idealized encounter with the prince was entirely accurate or merely a romantic young housemaid’s fancy. But if it was true and Ellis was a man who could speak with courtesy to a housemaid, perhaps he would not prove too difficult for Eliana to get to know.
She felt the looming dread of all those rumors once more—rumors that King Hendry intended to marry his son to Lady Gold-Spinner. To her! Twice now she had disobeyed her sovereign (albeit unintentionally) by not meeting the prince. Tonight . . . tonight, no doubt, she would meet him indeed.
And would the king insist on a betrothal?
Eliana’s stomach turned at this thought. For no matter how she tried to tell herself that Prince Ellis might not make for such a bad husband . . . how could she marry him? How could she give him her hand when she knew perfectly well that her heart belonged to someone else?
The Spinner and the Slipper Page 9