by Unknown
Could Lally not ask for one sliver of kindness from the servants of this palace? Squinting through her tears, she ladled a small serving of bread soup into the specially-prepared bowl. King Aelwyn would not wish for any more. He would likely have one spoonful and reject the rest. Staring at the oil spots floating atop the pot of soup, Lally’s stomach turned that the King might discard it. How could she allow that? Reaching for the soup bowl to throw its contents back into the pot, she found it had disappeared. Liam too was gone. Lally’s face burned at the thought of the King, upstairs at his feast, eating her dreadful meal. The soup pot mocked her. Curious, and fearing Cook might never let her eat again, she slurped broth from the ladle. The soup tasted nothing like Cook’s.
Sinking to her knees, Allerleirauh crawled to the hearth like a wounded animal. Resignation to a life underground sat heavy on her heart. When Cook descended the stairs, Lally was raking the cinders with her hands.
“What are you playing at, hairy animal?” Cook cried, her voice muted by the gloom hanging about Lally’s head. “Never mind that. When you were peeping in on the feast, did you see the beauty in the dress as gold as the summer sun? I missed her myself, but the word is all about the palace: the King’s mad for this gorgeous princess and nobody knows where she’s from or where she’s got to!”
Allerleirauh whirled about. Did Cook suspect? No, she was merely gossiping. “What said the king of this golden woman?” Lally inquired, coating her anxiety in a casual tone of voice. She shook the soot from her fingers and rubbed her palms on the skunk’s fur of her mantle.
“Well, ‘course, I didn’t talk to his highness directly. It was one of the guards what told me. Boris. That big tall beast of a man. Gentle as a lamb, he is. So, I saw Boris running about the palace and I asked him, ‘Boris, what’re you playing at traipsing around when you ought to be guarding King Aelwyn?’ That’s when he told me about the girl what the king laid eyes on. Hair of gold and a gown to match. She didn’t stop to chat, but fled the great hall. At once, the king had his guards block the palace exits, but she never arrived at any of them.”
Lally’s heart pounded. “Do the guards know where she went?”
“No, that’s the mystery of it. She certainly hasn’t left, but she’s nowhere to be found. The king is desperate for her. Says she’s a stunning beauty.”
Beneath the hairy mantle, Lally effervesced. She smiled at the impression she’d left with good King Aelwyn. He wished to find her! He wished to find her… Perhaps he knew she was Princess Lally of the Southern Kingdom. What if he wished to imprison her as his enemy? Oh, there was far too much to fear.
“Oy, hairy animal!” a nasal voice shouted from the top of the kitchen stairs. It was young Liam. “The king wants to see you.”
Gott im Himmel, he knew indeed! “Why on earth would his highness wish to see me? I am of no consequence to anyone.”
“Well, it was you what made the bread soup, weren’t it?”
Without warning, Lally was struck in the back of the head with a dull object. When she spun to see what hit her, Cook stood there wielding a carrot. “I warned you, I did!” the mottled woman shouted, shaking the carrot like a giant orange finger. “I said, I did, ‘Don’t you go getting hair in the King’s soup!’ and what did you do? There’ll be no more scraps for you, hairy animal. And what’s more, if there’s any consequence for me, you’ll feel the wide end of this carrot against your head.”
What they accused could not be true! She had removed her mantle to prepare the soup. Ah, but she wore it while serving the king’s portion. Resigning herself to her fate, Lally let her shoulders slouch. She trailed Liam up the stairs. Cook followed closely behind. “You’d better hope our king looks more kindly upon you than I do, little beast,” she hissed as they entered the great hall.
There were fewer guests about than when Lally was there earlier. Perhaps the gathering was over now. Unlike before, hardly a man or woman looked in her direction as they strode toward the king. When Liam announced their arrival and shifted sideways, Lally found herself standing once again before King Aelwyn. She suddenly felt naked, and wondered if the king could see her golden gown under the layers of peltry.
“Who are you?” he inquired. His voice was soft as velvet, but it reverberated deeply within her body. Her mind shot back to the hiss of Snake’s voice, and the harsh brogue of Wolf’s. If only she could add the king’s pelt to her mantle…but Allerleirauh’s place was not in the palace. She lived underneath it. Her place was in the darkness of the cellar cabinet, under layers of peltry.
“I am nothing,” Lally replied, falling to her knees before the king. “Please do not trouble yourself to punish a dirty beast. I am of no consequence to anybody.”
The king laughed. “I have no desire to punish you. Tell me your name.”
The “L” was on her tongue when she bit her teeth down. She realized, in the entire time she’d worked under the cook, nobody in the palace had ever asked her name. “They call me ‘hairy animal,’” Lally responded, staring at the marble floor. How did they make it so smooth and so shiny?
“And that is your name?” the king asked incredulously. “Hairy animal?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, your highness,” Laim corrected, kicking Lally in the small of her back. She bit her tongue to keep from crying out in pain.
“Yes, your highness,” Lally whimpered.
“And what is your function in my palace?” the king continued.
If she could only remove the wolf’s mask, he could see the pain in her eyes. “I am good for nothing but to have carrots thrown at my head,” Lally replied. If only she could go to sleep in the woods and never again awaken. She was good for nothing, good to no one.
“Come now,” the king replied, his voice soothing as a warm bath. “You have some function here, I gather. I am told you prepared my soup this evening.”
“Yes, your highness,” the cook chimed in. “Yes, that is God’s own truth. The hairy animal cooked that soup. I didn’t get one look at it before it left the kitchen, so if you found a hair, that’s naught to do with me.”
The king turned his attention to the loud woman. “You are the cook, then?”
Cook smoothed her apron proudly against the fat of her belly. “Yes, your highness, I am that.”
“Then it is your responsibility to look over every morsel of food intended for my table, is it not?”
Cook’s throat made a sound like a cough combined with a cluck. “Well, yes, but, you see…”
“Never mind,” the king interrupted. “We are not here to discuss your ineptitude.” He cast his warm eyes over Lally. “I knew immediately that soup was not prepared by Cook. It was not over-salted and over-boiled. It was not made in haste, but with great care. In fact, I have never before tasted such a fresh and delicious bread soup.”
Allerleirauh sat upright like a thirsty flower to water. “There was no hair in it, then?”
“None at all,” replied the king. “I did, however, find this.”
Against the rosy flesh of the king’s palm sat a gold thread.
“What is it?” asked Liam.
“It’s a string made of gold!” cried the greedy cook. “Well, where would a hairy animal get a thing like that? She must’ve stolen it from amongst the small treasures I’ve accumulated. Yes, come to think on it, I did have a gold thread like that.”
Again, the king cast his gaze upon Cook. “Do you mean to tell me this gold thread belongs to you?”
“It surely does,” Cook lied. “Might I have it returned to me please?”
King Aelwyn cast a dubious gaze over the portly woman, but handed her the thread nonetheless. “After tomorrow’s festival,” he continued, “I should like for the hairy animal to prepare my soup again. I enjoyed it very much.”
The king cast a glorious smile over Lally as he rose from his throne. He extended his hand to offer support. The moment she placed her hand in his, she recalled her place and occupation. Quickly, she stole it away only to
see she’d dirtied his palm with soot from the hearth. Her face felt hot. She couldn’t breathe inside her wolf mask. The mantle needed to come off. Now!
Fleeing the great hall, Lally ran down the kitchen stairs and into her small cupboard. Off came the mantle. Her gown shone like the summer sun. She breathed in deeply, but the air of the cupboard smelled of the onions and potatoes that also made their homes there. If only she had a mirror. She wondered what others had seen when they looked at her. Was she lovely? Or were they fools to think so?
Removing the golden gown, Allerleirauh slipped into her snakeskin bustier and tattered black skirts. This was her rightful clothing. Lying on the three glorious dresses, Lally pulled her pelts overtop of her and closed her eyes to sleep. Tomorrow would be a better day. Tomorrow she would be fearless.
Chapter Six
Lally worked tirelessly alongside Cook to prepare for the evening’s festivities. The topic of the gold thread was not broached. Neither did Cook mention the hairy animal’s soup being declared superior to hers. The large woman did, however, begin hitting Lally with three carrots instead of one.
Liam and the other servers came and went with the dinner. For an hour and a half afterwards, Lally tried to work up the courage to ask Cook if she could go upstairs. Every time she opened her mouth, the words ran back inside. What sense was there in asking? Cook was certain to say no. Lally remained quiet, sweeping the hearth. The silence weighed heavily on her.
“Quit getting under my feet,” Cook grumbled, kicking at Lally’s forearm. “Why don’t you go upstairs for half an hour and watch the festival? Get yourself out of my way for a while.”
Lally looked up to see if she was serious. There was something like a smile on the cook’s lips. Was this an act of generosity? Unimaginable! “Thank you,” Lally said, rising quickly in case the capricious woman changed her mind.
Which gown would she wear? Offal had mentioned his favourite was the one as brilliant as the stars, so perhaps she should save that dress for a special occasion. Washing the soot from her hands, Lally pulled her snakeskin bustier over her head and kicked the black skirts to the floor. She slipped the gown as silvery as moonlight over her naked flesh.
Peeking through the cracks in the cupboard door, Lally waited until Cook’s back was turned to race out and leap up the staircase. When she arrived in the great hall, nobody was there. The festival could not have concluded so early, could it? The muted sound of laughter rang from outside. In her snakeskin boots, Lally crept over to the great doors at the far end of the hall. The laughter grew louder. She heard music now, also. When she pushed the heavy door with all her might, a new world opened up to her.
Hundreds of guests wore outfits of rich yellow, deep orange and blood red cloth. The dark night was illuminated by candles and oil lamps that appeared to be hovering in the sky! On closer inspection, they merely hung from cords tied to tree branches, but the illusion was nonetheless spectacular. Tents were set up with food and cushions. Musicians down the path played wild tunes on the pan flute, drums and hurdy-gurdy. A group of maidens danced together in a circle, muddying their skirts for their mothers to clean. Lally hadn’t a friend in the world, nor a mother to wash her skirts.
Her heart winced when she caught sight of her darling King Aelwyn dancing with another woman. Had he forgotten so quickly about the girl he loved last night? Lally felt cheated and…oh, how silly of her! The dancing man was not the king after all. Her mind played tricks in the low light. Pressing on through the crowds, she stopped dead before a curly-haired child dancing on her father’s feet. The girl leaned back, holding tight to her father’s hands. Her bright eyes twinkled under his gaze. Lally’s stomach turned. That poor child had no idea what breed of monster her dear papa would become in a few years. No…she mustn’t think that way. She mustn’t assume all fathers were as wretched as her own.
When a hand fell lightly on her shoulder, Lally cringed. Every muscle in her body tightened spontaneously. With a desperate yelp, she knocked the hand away and spun around. But it was not her father. Not at all.
“I do apologize,” said King Aelwyn, remaining at a safe distance. “I would have called out your name, but you haven’t told it to me yet.”
Lally exhaled with a wave of relief. When she gazed about, she noticed the guests had cleared a wide circle for them. She inhaled the warm night air. Her heart floated above the tents and streamers and lamps. All eyes were on Lally and her silver dress.
“Please, call me Allerleirauh,” she told the king.
“Allerleirauh,” he considered. On his tongue, the name was far less ugly than it had been. How badly she desired for him to speak her true name. But Lally was hidden somewhere, forgotten under layers of peltry and sparkling gowns. “A most unusual name,” he continued. “It means, ‘many layers of raw furs,’ does it not?”
Did he know she and the hairy animal were one? No. How could he? And yet…
“I haven’t a clue,” Lally said dismissively, scratching her nose. When she noticed the black soot beneath her short fingernails, she hid her hands behind her back. The king seemed perplexed by her bizarre actions. Lally wished she could take it back or cover over the insult somehow. “Shall we dance?” she proposed, placing her hand upon the king’s forearm. The warmth of King Aelwyn’s dark flesh reawakened some forgotten aspect of Lally’s nature. Her slouched shoulders rolled back. She stood proud and upright, propelling herself towards him. The king smelled of spearmint, frankincense and tree bark. All familiar scents, but the combination enchanted her.
The king chuckled as though in disbelief that she might ask him to dance. “Formidable idea,” he responded.
When he placed his large hand at the base of her back, Lally remembered the feeling of wanting something more than sleep and table scraps. His eyes were warm pools. Sympathetic. They understood. Many months’ deprivation surfaced in her body as an aching void. She could wait not a moment longer to relieve the ache. Reaching up to touch the king’s soft cheek, Lally pulled him down to her height. She kissed his softer-than-silk lips. The king had chewed spearmint after dinner; she could taste it mingling with spices in his warm mouth. Her core whirled, even as she stood still. It was the dress silvery as moonlight that made her bold.
King Aelwyn raised his head away from hers. He suddenly seemed so far away. He appeared stupefied, befuddled and besotted. “Who are you, Allerleirauh? I’ve never met a woman so enchanting.”
Lally placed a hand on the king’s arm. His jacket was the colour of a sunset. “I know not who I am. I know not where I go. I know only where I come from, and that I wish to forget.”
Her throat gasped for air as Lally pressed herself close to the king. They danced, though her face no doubt betrayed her raw pain. Could she not feel happy for even a moment without remembering the past? There was no justice. The world was a place of suffering. Snake knew suffering. He died because of her.
“Allerlierauh?” King Aelwyn said, interrupting her self-loathing. Only the pan flute played now, its lilting tones floating into the sky. “You are from the South, are you not?”
A nervous pang hit Lally in the pit of her stomach. She could not admit that she originated from a warring kingdom. “No, of course I am not from the South. I am a Northerner like you.”
The king stopped dancing. He glared at Allerleirauh as though he were waiting for something. He must have known it was a lie. Perhaps he knew who she really was. “Most people call me ‘your highness,’” he remarked. Offering a crooked smile, he picked up the dance.
“Oh!” she cried. A wave of relief washed over her. She could hardly afford to make these silly mistakes, but she was used to meeting royalty on equal terms. “Yes, of course! Your highness. I forget myself. Pray, do forgive me, only I’m unaccustomed to socializing with royals.”
Would the king believe these lies? Of course he would not. If Lally did not fill the silence, he would ask where a non-royal might have received such a stunning silver gown. “From whence come yo
u, King Aelwyn? I mean, your highness. Only, your appearance is not as that of most Northerners. I hope you take no offence at my remarking so.”
The king’s countenance hardened. He looked away from Lally. Silence sat between them like a mountain of stone. Offering her apologies, she begged King Aelwyn to disregard the question. “You see the tone of my flesh and assume my origin to be in the Hot Kingdoms.” His gaze softened as he sighed in frustration. “True, my mother hailed from the Hot Western Kingdom, but I myself have never visited that area. I was born in the North and have lived through its balmy summers and frigid winters my entire life.”
“How did it come to pass that you were born here in the North?” Lally asked. Why anyone would leave the hot kingdoms for the cold ones puzzled her.
The flautist was joined by the drummer and a fiddler too. “In the time of my grandparents, the Hot West and Northern Kingdoms were keen trading partners. It was decided that, in order to contribute variety to our monarchies’ bloodlines, the kingdoms would also trade royals. When my mother, the heiress of the Hot Western throne, reached a marriageable age, she was sent here to wed my father, the Northern prince. My father’s younger sister was sent to the Hot West, where she rules to this day. This has prevented our royal bloodlines from becoming too pure. When a monarchy’s lineage is unmixed, illness and insanity become rampant. The Southern Kingdom is a perfect example…”
Lally suffered a cramp at the mention of her father’s kingdom, but she did not allow the king to see her suffering. He continued, “Our neighbours have obsessed about pure bloodlines, and what is the result? We all know the tale. Lunacy has consumed King Galyn’s once-brilliant mind, to the point where he obsesses about marrying his own daughter!”
A sweat broke on Lally’s palms. The king’s statement was true, but why did he have to speak of it so loudly? Others were certainly listening. Must everybody know of her misfortune? They knew already, perhaps…
“Are you talking of the bawdy princess Lally?” an excessively fat man asked. “She was asking for it, with all her gallivanting around the kingdom!” The man snorted with drunken laughter at Lally’s misfortune. She bit her lip with all her might. Any pain but that pain! She would rather feel the sting in her physical self than think upon her father’s lunacy, or imagine the maltreatment she might have endured had she not fled his castle.