A True Princess

by Diane Zahler

We listened. Faintly, far in the distance, I could hear hoofbeats. Excited, I asked, “Is it the road? Are we near the end of the forest?”

  “Stupid girl!” the nisse snorted. “Listen.”

  We listened again. The hoofbeats were closer, and we could hear the baying of hounds. Nearer and nearer, louder and louder the hoofbeats rang, and now sounded a horn so deep and loud that it seemed to rattle the trees and shake the very ground we stood upon.

  Swiftly the nisse turned and ran until he found a copse of trees standing close together, and we followed him. He urged us into the center of the thicket. “Sit, cover your ears and eyes, and do not look, no matter what,” he warned us. We crouched together and pulled our cloaks over our eyes.

  “But what is it?” I whispered before I put my hands over my ears.

  “It is Odin’s Hunt, of course,” the nisse replied shortly. “Now be quiet—and do not look!”

  I fought the overpowering urge to look. I do not know whether it was the magic of the Hunt that tugged at me, or whether it was simply being told we could not look that made me long to uncover my eyes. As the Hunt came ever closer, the sound of the horn called to me, even through my hands pressed hard against my ears. Join us! it seemed to sing, and the hounds bayed, Join us! Join us! as the riders thundered past. I squeezed my eyes shut and huddled against Karina as the ground beneath us shook. On and on it went, and I tried to guess how many riders, how many horses and hounds made up the Hunt. Dozens, scores, a hundred?

  At last the sounds faded into the distance, and we dared to uncover our ears and push back our hoods. I opened my eyes to see the nisse sitting cross-legged beside us, puffing on his long-stemmed pipe.

  “Odin’s Hunt,” I said with apprehension, remembering what we had heard from the lords we had met at the inn. “Does this mean we are going to die?”

  “You didn’t look, did you?” the nisse asked. We shook our heads. “Then you’ll live, most likely. But there will be a change.”

  I remembered the blue lord’s words—ah, then everything was changed—and the terrible sadness in his voice. “What kind of change?” I asked uneasily.

  “Oh, stop your chattering,” the nisse snapped, his moment of patience over. He tapped out his pipe and rose. “Come along. We’re almost there.”

  Almost there! The words galvanized us, and we jumped up as well, eager to find the end of Bitra Forest. I looked around as we left the thicket and saw that there were no hoofprints, no disturbance in the dirt, no sign at all that Odin’s Hunt had passed by.

  We followed the nisse, and as we did the trees gradually began to thin. At first it was barely noticeable, but then the air became a little brighter, a little fresher. I saw a shaft of sunlight fall to the ground and we moved faster, pushing through underbrush. Finally, we saw an end to it. The trees simply stopped. Beyond them stretched a green field sprinkled with flowers, and far in the distance were snow-tipped peaks: the Hamarr Mountains that I had heard marked the far edge of the North Kingdoms.

  We stood at the edge of the wood, oddly reluctant to move from the trees and onto the field. After having been so long sheltered under the giant evergreens, we felt we would be unprotected, too visible, without them. As we paused, unwilling to start across the field, the nisse bowed extravagantly and tipped his red cap to us. Then he turned and walked back into the forest. We stared after him in consternation.

  “Wait!” I called at last. “Where are you going?”

  The nisse turned back, rolling his eyes at the question. “Home,” he replied curtly.

  “But . . . where do we go next?” Karina pleaded.

  “That depends. Where do you want to go?”

  “To the palace of Dalir,” I replied.

  The nisse pointed straight ahead, across the field. “That way,” he said. “It’s in Gilsa Town.”

  “Well,” Karina said, “we are very grateful to you for your aid. Are you sure you won’t go on with us?”

  “Now, why would I do that?” the nisse snapped. “You’re safely out of the forest, and I’m needed at the farm. Who’s to know what damage has been done since I left?”

  Karina nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, I am sure they need you there. Do take care of Father. And the baby, when it comes. And . . .” I wondered if she was going to ask the nisse to care for Ylva, but even Karina could not be that forgiving. “And thank you,” she finished. She took a step forward and seemed about to hug him, and the look of utter panic on his face was too much for me. I snorted with laughter. The nisse glared at me, and before I knew it—thump!—I was flat on my back in the pine needles, the wind knocked out of me. By the time I could breathe again and had struggled to my feet, the nisse was long gone. Karina could not help laughing.

  “At least he didn’t set me on my head,” I grumbled, brushing pine needles from my sleeves. “Good riddance!”

  “Oh,” Karina said, “he wasn’t really that bad. A bit short-tempered, but really very generous.”

  Despite myself, I had to agree. “And,” she added, looking rather pleased, “while you were lying in the dirt, he told me his name.”

  “Oh, what is it? Tell!” I begged. But Karina shook her head, mischief flashing in her eyes.

  “I’ll never tell, never!” she vowed. “I promised him I wouldn’t.”

  “If I guess, will you tell?” I beseeched her, and she nodded.

  “Is it Rumpelstiltskin?” I joked, and she laughed again, though I could see the shadow of her brother’s absence in her face. To amuse her then, I guessed every strange or silly name I could as we left the gloom of Bitra Forest and walked out into the sun-warmed light of day.

  On the far side of the field, we could see the road, and on it were travelers. We reached it quickly and strode along, glad for its even surface. I soon noticed that the people we passed looked at us rather doubtfully. I had not set eyes on a mirror for ages, but I saw Karina’s face and knew that mine must be just as grimy, my hair just as tangled.

  “We must look a fright,” I said to Karina, and she nodded, trying to comb her fingers through her knotted blond curls. It was a wonder that the travelers did not run from us in alarm.

  The road branched and branched again, gathering more travelers with each split, but we kept straight on. I saw traders go by with laden carts, and merchants riding fine horses, so I knew we were near Gilsa. At last we stepped through the oaken gates and onto the cobblestones of the bustling, well-ordered town. The houses were stone and strongly built to withstand the long, harsh winters, and there were shops selling wares of all sorts. We saw tailors and cobblers, fishmongers and butchers, furriers and barrel makers. There was even a sign maker’s shop, to provide brightly painted signs for all the other shops.

  When we passed a bathhouse, I said to Karina, “Before we go to the palace, we must clean ourselves up. They will not let us in looking as we do.”

  “But what shall we do when we get to the palace?” Karina asked anxiously. “We can’t just go in and start looking in drawers and cupboards for a jeweled clasp.”

  “Nor can we ask about it,” I agreed. “I have been thinking that we should try to get work there. As servants, we’ll be able to look about freely.”

  “And what if the clasp is with the royal jewels?” Karina moaned. “Whatever will we do then?”

  “We shall steal it,” I said firmly, and her eyes widened at the thought; but then she nodded.

  “For Kai,” she reminded herself, pushing open the bathhouse door.

  Once inside, we peeled off our filthy dresses; then we scrubbed and scrubbed until our skin glowed, and washed each other’s hair until it squeaked. We washed our clothes and put on the one clean dress each of us had left in our packs. I felt like a new creature entirely when I was dressed, and I could tell Karina felt the same.

  Bathed and refreshed, we set out for the castle. We had not gone far before we saw two of the lords we had met at the inn coming toward us. Karina nudged me in surprise as they approached.

  “Lad
ies,” Sir Erlend said, and we curtsied. He extended a hand to help me rise as the taller knight did the same for Karina. “We are glad to see you in Gilsa, out of harm’s way. Often on our journey we spoke of you and worried about your safety.”

  Karina seemed quite tongue-tied, so I replied. “We arrived safely, sir, in part because of your friend’s generosity. Without his sword, we all might have been lost.”

  “So the sword was used!” Sir Erlend said with great interest, and I proceeded to tell the story of our encounter with the brigands. The lords praised Kai thoroughly for his courage, but then Sir Erlend asked, “And where is your brave companion?”

  “We have had to leave him in Bitra Forest,” I said unhappily. “He looked on the Elf-King’s daughter; and as you warned, the elves have taken him.”

  Karina bent her head as tears began to fall. The knights grew very anxious then, one offering an embroidered kerchief, the other moving uneasily from foot to foot. Like the men I knew—Jorgen and Kai—these two could not bear to see a woman cry.

  Sir Erlend said at last, “I am very sorry. Sir Ivar and I would put our swords at your service on Kai’s behalf, but it would do no good. The swords of humans have no strength against the elves there.”

  “That is why,” the tall knight, Sir Ivar, told us, “the changelings taken from Gilsa are never recovered.”

  “So there have been many taken,” I said, thinking of the children at the elvish feast.

  “Many indeed,” Sir Ivar agreed sadly. “They wander into the forest—for the elves cannot come out, you see. They have as little power here as we have there. Even the royal family has lost a child, though that was long ago.”

  “How terrible,” I breathed. Then, because I knew Karina would not ask it herself, I said, “And your other friend—the owner of the sword—is he in Gilsa as well?”

  The lords exchanged a glance. “Ah,” said Sir Ivar, “he has . . . other responsibilities. But I am sure he will regret missing the opportunity to see you ladies again.” He nodded to Karina as he said this, and she blushed deeply, lowering her eyes.

  “Please give him our regards,” I said, to cover Karina’s embarrassment. “And thank him for the sword. We are greatly in his debt, the more so because we can’t return his weapon. The elves have it now.”

  “Our friend will understand,” Sir Ivar assured me.

  I gave him a grateful look and said, “If you’ll excuse us, we are on our way to the castle to find work.”

  “Ask for Agna there, and tell her I have sent you,” Sir Erlend said. “She will not deny you employment.”

  With that, Karina and I thanked him and took our leave.

  We walked through the winding streets up a hill to the palace, which perched atop the town like an extravagant hat. Made of blue-tinted stone, its ornate turrets flew deep blue flags. As the breeze unfurled the flags, I saw they were decorated with stars and moons, and I thought suddenly of the blue lord’s cloak. Could he be a courtier in the palace?

  At the servants’ entrance we were stopped by a guard, who told us to wait in the entryway for the housekeeper. We sat uneasily, smoothing our clothes and hair and inspecting each other’s faces for dirt. After nearly an hour, the housekeeper, Agna, a no-nonsense woman with graying braids wrapped around her head and dark, keen eyes, marched up to us and asked sharply where we were from and what we could do. At the mention of Sir Erlend, though, she softened. It was plain to see that he was a great favorite of hers, and without further ado we were hired as chambermaids.

  Karina and I followed Agna up many flights of stairs, past the bustling kitchen and pantries and the staterooms and the royal family’s floor until we reached the top of the palace, under the eaves, where the servants slept. The room was empty at this time of day. Tall windows lined two of the walls, and there were numerous beds, each with a small wooden table beside it. Karina and I stared at each other, trying to imagine a household that required so many maids to run it.

  Agna interpreted our look correctly. “There’s as many manservants,” she stated, “and the cook and I, and the butler as well. And the gardeners, of course, and the stableboys, and the herdsmen. This is a palace, girls, not a sheep farm in the country!” But she said it kindly, to put us at our ease. She pointed out the two beds that would be ours, and I was pleased to see that mine was nearest the door, so I could come and go at night when I couldn’t sleep. It would make my search for Odin’s clasp easier to have that freedom.

  “Settle yourselves,” Agna advised, “and then come down to the kitchen. There is a midday meal where you can meet the others. After that I’ll explain your duties, and you can begin this afternoon.”

  She left us, and we unpacked our meager belongings, hanging our still-damp dresses in the common closet. I stroked the blanket at the bottom of my pack and pushed the pack to the back of the closet, behind the rows of shoes and boots. Then, without exchanging a word, Karina and I quickly searched the room, looking under beds, in the drawers of each bedside table, even in the pockets of the clothes in the closet. There was no sign of any finery, let alone a jeweled clasp.

  “We’ll find it elsewhere,” I told Karina as we neatened our braids, smoothed our skirts, and brushed the dust from our boots. Then we descended the servants’ stair to the kitchen. It was a cheerful place, with a blazing fire that was too warm, on this summer day, to stand near. The cook, Elke, was a stout woman with red cheeks and a loud, jolly laugh. Kelda and Griet were her helpers, both about my age; and they served us soup and bread at the long kitchen table. There were four upstairs maids—Hulda, Janna, Petrine, and Birgit—all welcoming enough. The manservants were too many for me to keep straight that first day, but they seemed friendly. Several of them made a point of speaking to Karina. Her golden hair and blue eyes stood out in the crowd of dark-haired, dark-eyed people, though there was one man, Kettil, with bright red hair.

  “From the east,” whispered Janna when she saw us looking at him. “I have my eye on him!”

  “And what of you?” Birgit asked Karina. “You look of an age to marry. Have you a husband in mind?”

  Karina blushed crimson, and I laughed and teased her. “Karina loves a handsome lord, but we do not know where he lives, or even his name.”

  “Lilia, stop!” Karina protested sharply, and I looked at her, surprised.

  “Oh, a mystery!” Birgit cried. “Tell us about him.”

  Karina shook her head and would say only, “He is very gentle, and very kind.”

  “He sounds lovely,” sighed Janna. “Will you see him again, do you think?”

  “He is so far above me in rank,” Karina said softly. “Even if we were to meet again, nothing could come of it.” Her voice was sad as she said this, and I rose to her defense.

  “You are the equal of any lord,” I said fiercely. “If he did not want you because of your birth, he would not be worthy of you.”

  “You never know,” Birgit mused. “Perhaps you have a little royal blood in you. All the girls for miles around are hoping that is true of them, so they can pass the test and marry our Prince Tycho!”

  “Oh, the test,” I said, recalling the traders’ discussion of it in the inn. It seemed so long ago now—when Kai was still with us. “What exactly is it?”

  She shrugged. “No one knows. The girls come to the palace, stay a day and a night, and go home again. None of them will say what happens, but none of them has been chosen for the prince. It must be that they are not true princesses.”

  “But how do you know if they are or not?” I asked.

  Birgit shook her head. “There must be a way to tell, I am sure. I have this.” And she pulled from her pocket a little pamphlet and held it out to me. It was titled How to Tell a True Princess, written in very florid script. I opened it and read. A princess’s birth and upbringing instill in her the desire to behave in a way befitting her rank. She does not call attention to herself, nor does she engage in behavior unbecoming to a refined lady. Below that I saw a list of r
ules. The first item stated, A True Princess Does Not Eavesdrop. Immediately I felt the heat rise in my face as I remembered sitting below the farmhouse window in Hagi listening to Ylva and Jorgen as they talked about me. I skimmed the rest. A True Princess Does Not Perform in Public. A True Princess Does Not Gossip. A True Princess Does Not Travel Unattended. Reading over my shoulder, Karina giggled.

  “I suppose we might as well not try the test!” she whispered to me. I folded the pamphlet closed.

  “Where did you get this?” I asked Birgit, handing it back to her.

  “In town, at the bookseller’s,” she replied.

  “The bookseller probably wrote it,” I remarked. “Or his daughter did, longing to be a princess herself!”

  The maids laughed.

  “It seems a foolish thing, to make a bride pass a test to prove she is worthy of the prince,” I said.

  Birgit nodded. “They say the prince does not want to take a wife, but the king and queen insist on it. He turned down every princess they suggested, for this reason or that—one’s nose was too long, another had hair too thin, a third did not converse with ease. And then they devised the test.”

  “But why?” I asked. “Why would he not want to marry?”

  “Perhaps,” Janna suggested, a faraway look on her face, “he is waiting for true love.”

  And with that Agna entered the kitchen. Birgit stuffed the pamphlet back into her pocket, and she and the other maids finished their meal quickly and scurried off.

  Agna told us to attend to the staterooms on the floor above. “Stay away from the throne room,” she warned us. “The prince will be holding audiences all day. We clean that room while the royal family dines—though it will just be the prince tonight, as King Ulrik and Queen Viveca are away.”

  We mounted the stairs one flight and hurried down the long hall, awed by the marble floors, the paintings on the walls of pale noblemen and ladies with dark hair and violet eyes, the gilded vases bearing heavy, drooping white peonies and vivid red roses. Everything looked already spotless to me, but I ran my feather duster over each surface, fearful of missing a speck of dirt and facing the kind of wrath I had once heard daily from Ylva.