A True Princess

by Diane Zahler

  “Who are you, girl?” he asked me, fixing his green eyes on me.

  “Lilia, Your Majesty,” I said, trembling.

  “Hmmm,” he murmured. “I think not. I think I know you. I think you once were mine.”

  “Yours?” I whispered.

  “A day ago, a year ago, a decade ago, I took a baby girl with eyes like spring violets. Were you that child?” He searched my face, looking for clues. While he looked on me, I could not lie.

  “I do not know,” I said.

  “I took that babe—but she was taken from me. The only one I have ever lost! Was that you?”

  “I do not know,” I said again.

  Finally he glanced away from me, and I breathed in deeply. “It is too late now,” he said dismissively. “The young ones can be controlled, but you are far too old to be biddable. Yet you have interrupted us and seen what you should not have seen. You must stay and be our captives.”

  With that careless command, the elf archers were on us, and in an instant Karina and I had our arms bound and were tied to a tree. We pulled hard against the ropes that held us, but we could not loosen them. Ove lay beside us limply, as if enchanted, his head on his paws.

  Kai was given a place at the table, for the Elf-King’s daughter clearly thought he was a fine plaything. She sat beside him and fed him tidbits from each of the countless courses that the elves’ servants began to bring to them.

  Dish after dish of the most marvelous and exotic fare came to the table. There was peacock, roasted whole and displayed with its feathers fanned. There was an enormous savory pie that, when the Elf-King’s daughter cut into it, released a flock of warbling yellow birds. I thought again of Hansel and Gretel, and the memory of what happened to them when they ate the enchanted gingerbread house kept me from yearning too much for the feast I saw.

  As the courses moved past us, I tried to undo the cords that held us to the tree. “Karina,” I whispered, “can you reach the knot on my rope?” She struggled, but the ropes were too expertly tied, and again we sagged against the trunk.

  Then I began to observe the servers. Many of them were nisses, their faces sour and scowling beneath their red caps. I recalled then how the nisses in our area disappeared each year at Midsummer, and I realized that they all must be summoned—unwillingly, it seemed—to serve at this yearly banquet. Karina too must have noticed, for she whispered, “Look!” I followed her gaze and saw our own nisse, carrying a crystal decanter of ruby wine, his frown as pronounced as if it were bitter vinegar. I caught his eye, and to my surprise he looked directly at me and gave a tiny nod and a wink. My heart lightened, just a little. He was our own nisse, after all, pledged to protect us. Perhaps he could help. But did that pledge hold so far from the farm? And if it did, was there anything a nisse could do against the immense power of the Elf-King?

  I was distracted from my thoughts then as I saw a different kind of server come into view, staggering beneath his platter. The silver oval held an enormous fish roasted whole, with a smaller roasted fish emerging from its mouth, and a still smaller fish spilling from that one’s mouth, and so on and on until the last fish, a roasted minnow so small that it could barely be seen. The dish was extraordinary, and the servant who carried it was a child, a human boy, barely bigger than the largest fish on his serving dish. I nudged Karina, and she nodded. She had seen him too. It is a changeling! I thought. Was the Elf-King telling the truth? Had I once been a changeling too?

  More children came into the clearing now. Some carried delicacies: a spun-sugar cake in the shape of a palace, with sugar turrets flying ribbon-candy flags, and mounds of candied fruit in colors so vivid that it pained the eyes to look on them. Some stood on tiptoe to remove dirty cutlery and replace it with clean forks and knives and spoons. Some, the very youngest, washed the elves’ hands with soft cloths.

  “Look at their clothing,” I told Karina urgently. “Many are wearing garments that have not been seen for decades, or even longer.” There were toddlers in long, rough-made woolen shirts and young children wearing wooden shoes. Girls wore dresses with bodices or skirt lengths that had gone out of fashion before Ylva was born, and boys were in knee breeches from days long past.

  “I can’t make sense of it,” Karina replied, watching the children and their strange garb.

  The elves ate and drank and made merry. Elvish minstrels played on harps and lutes, and tumblers pranced across the soft grass that grew in the clearing. Even as hungry, tired, and frightened as we were, we found it a marvelous show; and I realized I had stopped straining to get away.

  At last the elves were satisfied. The nisses and children removed the empty platters and dishes, leaving only the goblets. The Elf-King rose from his golden throne, holding his glass high.

  “A toast,” he cried in a voice like music. “On this Midsummer’s Eve, we drink to the sun!”

  The elves cried, “To the sun!” raised their goblets, and drank. Then the nisses carried away the long, heavy table and chairs and brought wood for a bonfire. With a word from the Elf-King, the fire lit itself, and its flame roared up through the gap in the trees that marked the clearing. Karina and I could feel the blaze’s heat, and we shrank back against the tree.

  The Elf-King and his courtiers disappeared with Kai into the woods; and the ladies, led by the Elf-King’s daughter, began to dance about the bonfire. Like their leader, all were tall and silver haired and dressed in shades of green, but none matched the beauty of the Elf-King’s daughter. Around and around they went, casting herbs into the flames with each circle they made. Together they chanted the names of the herbs they threw: “Orris and herb of grace; dog rose and verbena. Plumeria and elder flowers; savory and avena.” Each herb caused the flames to roar upward and turned them a different color: orange, cobalt, deep purple, scarlet.

  Karina and I exchanged glances. This dance was familiar to us, something we had seen many times. Karina had even been a part of it once or twice. I wondered if the purpose of the dance was the same here as it was in our village. For us, it was intended to show us our future husbands. The first male a girl saw after the dance was supposed to be her truelove. Of course, the boys and young men of the village knew to hide away from those girls they did not like, or to try to place themselves in the path of the ones they fancied, when the dance was ended. It was all a game, a part of the wild, joyous celebration of Midsummer, and no one took it seriously.

  Here and now, though, the dance seemed very serious indeed. The elf women did not laugh or even smile as they circled the bonfire, and the face of the Elf-King’s daughter was set with purpose.

  At the height of the dance, I felt a tug on my arms and was shocked to see our nisse. His face was grimly determined as he struggled with our bindings. Our wrists were rubbed raw where we had pulled vainly against the ropes, but the nisse had some small elvish magic to work with, it seemed. In a rasping voice he muttered strange words as he toiled, the first I had ever heard him speak. In a few minutes we were free, and we crept backward with the nisse, our eyes still fixed on the wild dance.

  “Run,” the nisse commanded. “Run, and do not look back. Never tell what you have seen.”

  Oh, how I longed to obey! But I remembered the changelings, the poor babies and children who must be missing their families. How could I leave them there? And I ached to think of Kai, his merry blue eyes and blond curls and the smile he saved only for me. I thought of the way he had looked when he’d said he did not want to herd sheep without me, and I knew all at once that I did not want to do anything—anything at all—without him. No, we would not abandon him to the Elf-King’s daughter.

  “We must get Kai,” I said, and Karina nodded in agreement.

  “He is lost to you,” the nisse said matter-of-factly. “There is nothing you can do for him. You can only save yourselves, you foolish girls.”

  “He is not lost,” I said with a decisiveness I did not feel. “We’ll not go without him.”

  The nisse rolled his eyes. “H
umans!” he said, with both scorn and pity in his tone. “I cannot help you, then. I wish you luck, for you will need it!” With that he disappeared into the woods, and at that moment the music and wild movement of the dance ended.

  The Elf-King’s daughter looked to the trees opposite us. Kai appeared, his face expressionless, and walked over to her as if pulled by an invisible chain. When he reached her, she placed a delicate hand atop Kai’s blond curls and spoke one word:

  “Mine.”

  Karina and I both cried out “No!” in a single breath. Ove barked furiously. But at a glance from the Elf-King’s daughter, he subsided and lay on the ground, whimpering. The ladies looked at us in great surprise.

  “No?” the Elf-King’s daughter repeated gently. She laughed, a sound so lovely and contagious that again I had the urge to laugh as well and suppressed it only with the greatest effort.

  “He—he is my brother,” Karina stammered.

  “Then you shall be my dearest sister,” the Elf-King’s daughter said fondly to Karina. She laughed again, and despite myself I smiled. A look of tremendous confusion passed over Karina’s face. I thought that in her place I might give in, for the notion of being sister to the Elf-King’s daughter seemed at that moment something greatly to be desired. But I struggled against the idea; I would not give in to the elvish magic. Resolutely, I stepped forward.

  “He is human, a mortal,” I said. “He is not one of you. You cannot have him.”

  “I cannot?” the Elf-King’s daughter repeated. “I cannot? I cannot?” Her face twisted and changed in her fury, and all at once I could glimpse on her lovely features shadows of the terrible things she had seen and done in her endless lifetime. She seemed to grow larger and larger as her rage increased, and she towered above us as we shrank away from her. She raised her arm, and I was sure that whatever magic she summoned would be the end of us.

  “Daughter, enough,” a voice commanded, and she froze, her arm still raised. Behind her stood her father, the Elf-King, in all his terrible magnificence. I could see now that his countenance was young and old at the same time, with all the beauty of youth and all the weariness and dissipation of age. His eyes were fathomless, pools of deepest green that had seen the passing of eons. When I looked at him, I knew with all my heart that I was looking at a great danger, and yet I could sense that even such a creature loved his daughter. He gazed at me as he had before, and this time I held his eyes with mine.

  “You are free,” he said in a musing tone, “and yet you remain. How very strange.”

  I gathered my courage and spoke. “We will not leave without Kai.”

  “The boy?” the Elf-King asked. “But my daughter wants him.” He smiled indulgently at her.

  “Is there . . .” I paused, thinking hard. “Is there nothing she wants more?”

  The Elf-King’s eyes widened, and I could see that the question interested him.

  “After all,” I continued rashly, “he is human. He will grow old and die. Then she will have nothing.”

  The Elf-King’s daughter, listening, pouted. “Father, can we not keep him young, like the changelings?”

  “No, daughter,” the Elf-King said in his silken voice. “He is already too old. He must wither and die.”

  The Elf-King’s daughter stamped her foot petulantly. “But I want him to stay young, Father!”

  “Is there anything you want more, my dear?” the Elf-King asked, echoing my words.

  She thought, and I saw again the passage of time play across her face. Then her expression cleared, and she smiled happily.

  “There is one thing,” she said to me. “There is a jewel.”

  “A jewel?” I repeated stupidly.

  “Oh, it is not just any jewel,” she told me. “It is old, older even than our people, I have heard. It has great power. It is Odin’s own cloak clasp, dropped as the Hunt passed by.”

  “But how do I get it?” I asked in a faltering tone. “Where is it?”

  “It is in a palace not far from here,” she said. “I can feel that it is there. When Odin dropped it, long ago, I looked for it; but it was already gone from the forest. A boy had found it, and he hid it in the palace. I think of it there often. It calls to me, but of course we cannot leave here to get it. That is what I want. If you can bring the jewel to me, you can have this boy back.” She motioned to Kai, who stood unmoving.

  I looked at Karina, and she nodded.

  “I shall bring it to you,” I said. Then I added recklessly, “But I want the changelings as well.”

  I saw the Elf-King’s lips narrow, and Karina’s nails dug into my palm.

  “You ask too much, girl,” the Elf-King said in a deceptively mild tone. “Who would serve us then? And most of the families of those children are long gone. They were taken decades, centuries ago. To whom would they go?”

  “I don’t care!” I exclaimed. “I want Kai, and the changelings too.”

  “And I want the clasp,” the Elf-King’s daughter insisted. “Father, with it I could call Odin to me. He would have to come when I called! Wouldn’t you like that?” Her tone was coaxing. “You would have that power over him then. And it is very pretty and would look well on my own cloak.”

  The Elf-King thought for a moment. Then he smiled tenderly at his daughter. “Beloved child,” he said, “you know I can deny you nothing. It shall be as you desire.” To me he said, “Bring me Odin’s clasp from the palace of Dalir, and you shall have your friend, and the changelings as well.”

  “Do you swear it?” I persisted. “Do you swear on . . . on Odin himself?”

  The Elf-King’s brows drew together in anger, and I stepped back, suddenly terrified. I was sure that I would be struck down by some terrible elvish magic. Whatever had made me ask him to swear?

  But the Elf-King’s daughter said, “Oh, swear it, Father! You know the clasp is worth it. Why, we will be stronger than Odin himself with it! Or so the stories say. It will be amusing to find out, will it not?” She laid a soft hand on her father’s arm, and I could see him growing calm again.

  “Very well,” he said at last. “On Odin himself I swear it. The clasp for the boy and the changelings. However, I will grant you only a fortnight to bring the clasp here—a fortnight in human time. And the boy must stay with us until you bring it.”

  “Oh!” Karina cried in dismay. I knew she wanted to protest, but I also knew we had no choice. We had to leave Kai there, and we had only two weeks to find Odin’s clasp. We had pushed the Elf-King as far as we could—much further than I would have thought possible, had I dared to consider it beforehand. We had a chance now, and we must take it.

  “Come,” I said to Ove. But he did not follow. Instead, he cocked his head, looking from me to Kai and back again.

  “Very well,” I said gently. “You can stay and protect Kai.” I petted him, hoping that this was the right thing to do.

  I began backing away, pulling Karina with me. Before we had gone far, I stopped and spoke again.

  “From whom did you take me, sir?” I asked the Elf-King.

  He turned once more to us, and I could see the question play across his face as he searched his ancient memory for the answer. But he did not reply. Instead he began to laugh; and his courtiers, his daughter, and her ladies laughed with him as they disappeared into the trees, gone in an instant, as if they had never existed.

  Chapter 6

  A True Princess Does Not Gossip

  Karina and I turned then and fled. We both wept as we ran, aghast that we’d had to leave Kai and Ove in the thrall of the Elf-King’s daughter. Before long, though, we had to slow to catch our breath, and finally we halted, unsure of what direction to take. I looked around wildly and spied a flash of scarlet that I was certain was not a redbird—for when had we seen or heard any bird but the falcon in that dreadful place? I was sure it was our nisse.

  We started out again, trying to catch up with the nisse, but he hurried on ahead of us. When we slowed, he slowed too; and when we
stopped to drink at a stream, he stopped as well. We tried walking in another direction, and he just stood where he was, waiting for us to turn back.

  At last I lost patience. “Go around to the left,” I instructed Karina, “and I will go to the right.” As the nisse tried to follow our movements, we circled him and turned back, then stood before him, hands on hips.

  “Well,” I said. “What are you doing here? Why haven’t you returned to the farm?”

  The nisse adjusted his cap and smoothed his long beard. Then he shrugged. “The farm, the people—who’s to say which needed me more? And you have given me treats. I like treats.”

  I smiled, remembering the scraps of food I had left out for him. “So you’ve decided to guard us?”

  “To guide you,” the nisse corrected me irritably. “Out of the forest. You humans are too stupid to get through on your own. Wolves, elves—it’s hard to believe you’ve come this far.”

  “But what if the Elf-King catches you?” I asked. “Does he know you freed us?”

  The nisse shrugged again, but I could see that he looked a little uneasy. “He’ll probably have forgotten that by now. He’s lived so long that he remembers only the most important things. And you are my people. It’s my duty to keep you safe, much as I’d rather not.”

  “Well, thank you,” I told him. “We are very grateful for your help. . . . Wait, do you have a name?” No one I knew had ever found out a nisse’s name.

  The nisse scowled. “Of course I have a name. What a ridiculous question.”

  “Well, what is it?” I asked.

  The nisse gave me a scornful look. “That, missy, is none of your business. Now, are we going to walk, or would you like to stand here until the wolves come to eat you?”

  We quickly gathered up our belongings and set out again. After a short while, the nisse held up his hand and said, “Listen.”