Tournament of Ruses

by Kate Stradling

  He tipped his head. “At your service.”

  A sudden memory struck her. “But didn’t Viola say you were gone for six months?”

  The smile slipped from his face. His mouth puckered as he thought how best to explain that discrepancy.

  “There’s a difference between the Prince and the office of the Prince,” Charlie spoke up from the corner. “You’ve seen already that Will sometimes goes beyond these apartments without the pomp and ceremony of his office. As long as the people believe that the Prince is here, what does it matter whether he really is or not?”

  She considered this. “But surely if he left Lenore for that long, his absence would be noted.”

  “What do you think we’re all magicians for, sitting around on our thumbs?” Charlie replied, scorn in his voice. “I can conjure half a dozen princes for you in an instant!”

  Her mouth hung open. She looked to Will, who seemed quite perturbed by this turn in the conversation, and then back to Charlie, who exuded utmost confidence in his statement.

  It made sense. Due to the secrecy that surrounded the Eternal Prince, faking his presence would not be difficult at all. If he could disappear for half a year without anyone’s notice, they must have been quite proficient at the act. This, of course, brought a new question surging to her mind.

  “Then why do you need a real prince at all?” she blurted.

  Charlie actually grinned. Flora was so used to his scowls that this unexpected expression took her breath away.

  “Now wait just one minute,” Will interjected, drawing their attention. “I rather like my job. I’ll thank you not to reason me out of existence.”

  “Life’s a little easier when he’s around,” Charlie allowed.

  “I suppose so,” said Flora.

  Will pulled her up from the couch. “Pin on your brooch and head downstairs. Brownies aren’t known for being patient. As for you,” he added to Charlie, but then he just shook his head and sighed, as though the young soldier was a lost cause.

  “My shift on guard duty starts soon,” Charlie said. “You two should probably take Edmund along with you, since he’s supposed to be with Flora right now anyway.”

  It was the first time he had ever used her given name instead of calling her Miss Dalton. He hadn’t even spoken directly to her, but instinctive delight blossomed within Flora all the same. It was a childish reaction, but Charlie had held her at arm’s length through formal address while Viola, Edmund, and Will had all treated her like a friend. It wasn’t as though she relished being at odds with Charlie, either. Maybe he didn’t despise her as much as she thought…?

  Will was less tactful than she was. “Oh, is she Flora now instead of Miss Dalton?” he asked teasingly.

  Charlie glowered. He looked as though he might lob the book in his hands directly at the Prince’s head.

  Flora thought it best to intervene. “I’ve always been Flora,” she said. “Can I leave here on my own, or do I need an escort out the doors?”

  The two men exchanged a glance. Will’s expression was all mischief. “Go on, Charlie,” he said. “Escort her.”

  “Viola’s right,” Charlie replied as he strode to the exit. “You’re an utter idiot. Come on, Flora, or else the guards will talk about how you were left alone with the Prince.”

  She spared an apologetic glance toward Will as she went. A deep frown creased his brows, and she strongly suspected that the insult he had just received would not have been nearly as effective had Charlie not mentioned its origins. Of course Viola had called him an idiot to his face on previous occasions, but an utter idiot—and in a comment apparently made behind his back—was a higher level of contempt.

  But then, perhaps Viola had never said any such thing. The Morelands, after all, were not above passing off rumor as fact.

  Chapter Nineteen: Lady-Killer

  Exactly two days have passed since we officially instated the little troop of brownies here at the house. My part was easy enough: I had only to draw some magic from the well and hand it off to Will, who then sent me inside to wait while he did everything else. I saw neither hide nor hair of a brownie, and I expect I never will.

  They’ve already begun to make their mark, though. There’s a growing pile of stones within the well’s tree-ring, and little tasks around the garden have been completed despite the cold weather. In particular, the broken panes of glass in the greenhouse have been replaced and some of the shrubs have been trimmed back and covered for protection against the icy weather.

  These are both things that were on my list to get done. If I didn’t know better, I’d think that they’ve been reading this diary for ideas.

  According to the bestiary Charlie had loaned Flora, brownies were nocturnal creatures. They were called “brownies” because everything about them was brown: their hair, their skin, their eyes, even their clothes, including the brown hats and shoes they were supposed to wear. However, it also said they refused to show themselves to humans, which caused Flora to wonder how the author could describe their appearance so authoritatively.

  But then, Oggie was probably not the only brownie who had ever broken the rules.

  Aware as she now was of their presence in her house, she began to notice little changes from one day to the next. If Mrs. Finch mentioned a scuff on the wood floor, it would be polished away the following morning. Windows were spotless, and not a speck of dust showed anywhere. The handful of servants in the house tended to their assigned chores, of course, but there were several items of maintenance that none of them performed, and that they each assumed someone else was doing.

  According to the bestiary, the brownies reveled in this anonymity. Far from expecting thanks or credit for their work, all they wanted was a bowl of porridge and a saucer of milk left out for them by the hearth every night. Cook already observed this ritual (even if she did think she was leaving an offering for hobs), so Flora decided not to worry about the creatures any further.

  She had plenty else to worry about, after all.

  Friday morning found her, as usual, ensconced in her office at the palace. She had practiced seals with Edmund for an hour, and now she was studying on her own. Viola usually came to drill her on her language skills, but she had not yet appeared. Flora, rather than working through the dry, hand-written grammar, had turned her focus instead upon the old botany book.

  A noise in the corridor beyond her office drew her attention. A deep, resonant breath snuffled against the crack beneath the door, and something pawed at the wood.

  Flora’s blood froze in her veins. She’d heard those sounds before; they distinctly belonged to an over-curious jaguar. She’d never seen Gregor roaming the palace halls, but he was definitely out there now, and she had no idea what to do other than stay put and pray that he moved on.

  To her dismay, the pawing grew more insistent. Gregor growled for entrance, a harrowing noise that sent a shiver up Flora’s spine.

  Behind her, a loud, staccato rhythm rapped against the window. She whirled in utter terror.

  On the other side of the glass, Will grinned and waved one cheerful hand.

  Flora flew to the latch, relief and confusion vying within her. “What’re you doing out there?” she demanded.

  Will hopped down from the small ledge on which he’d been perched. There was a thirty- or forty-foot drop to the palace grounds below, but he seemed oblivious to any danger. “I told you before: I can’t leave my apartment through the front entrance as I please.”

  He would have said something more, but a yowl at the door interrupted him.

  “Confound that cat,” Will muttered, and he moved to answer the summons.

  “You’re not letting him in, are you?” Flora asked fretfully.

  “I can’t very well leave him out there. He won’t hurt you, but they’ll send the guards to round him up if anyone sees him, and he doesn’t like that.” He opened the door, and the jaguar immediately wormed into the office.

  As he passed, Will
put out a hand to catch his collar, and missed. Gregor sprang to the top of the desk and glared at Flora as though she were his mortal enemy.

  She managed to stifle her instinctive shriek, but she still backed into the furthest corner from the great cat.

  “Get down, Gregor,” said Will, and he dragged the animal from the desk. “You’re making her nervous.”

  Gregor continued to glare.

  “He likes you, Flora,” Will assured her.

  She wasn’t convinced. “Can you take him away now?”

  “Do you want to come with us?” he asked hopefully.

  “No, thank you.”

  “You don’t even know where we’re going,” said the Prince with an amused smile.

  Flora eyed the jaguar nervously. “That’s all right. I have to study.”

  “Oh, you can bring that with you.”

  She chose a different tactic. “I’m waiting for Viola.”

  “But Viola’s not coming,” he replied. “Didn’t she tell you? Her interview’s today. I’m off to spy on it. Are you sure you don’t want to come too?” He dipped his head to catch her attention. Flora broke her nervous observation of Gregor to meet the Prince’s golden stare.

  Viola hadn’t mentioned her interview. Augustina’s was today, Flora knew, and it made sense that “Moreland” would follow soon after “Markham.” She hadn’t given it too much thought, though; her own interview was over, so mentally she had already moved on to the next major stage of the tournament, the exhibition.

  “Well?” the Prince prompted.

  “You’re spying?” Flora asked suspiciously. “Is that allowed?”

  “I’m the Prince,” he replied with a grin. “Everything’s allowed. And this place is brimming with odd little spyholes. Do you want to go or not?”

  She did. Her focus shifted to Gregor, who still favored her with an accusing glare. “Is he coming too?”

  Will hedged. “Well…”

  Her courage failed her. “I have to study, your Highness.”

  “Gregor, you’re ruining my fun,” the Prince remarked to his pet. At long last, the jaguar broke his fixation on Flora to look up at his master. A rumbling huff vibrated from his throat. He looked back at Flora—almost wistfully so, to her eyes—and then, after another resigned huff, slinked back through the door and disappeared into the hall beyond.

  “He’s very understanding sometimes,” Will said as he watched the creature go. “You don’t have to call me ‘your Highness,’ you know,” he added off-handedly. “In fact, it’s probably better if you don’t when I’m not walking around with some elaborate headdress covering my face. Now grab what you’ll need and come along.”

  He took it for granted that, with Gregor out of the picture, she’d gladly accompany him.

  And, well, he was right. Flora’s curiosity spurred her to obey without protest. She gathered up her language books and the notebook she was using for her translations. Then, she followed the Prince, pausing only to lock the door behind her.

  Will traversed the palace without fear of being seen or recognized. Flora wondered at his boldness until she realized that there were no sentries posted along the route they took. This was odd. There were always sentries, stationed all over the place. Before she could question this phenomenon, though, the cause of their absence was made manifest.

  “It’s over here! Quick! Chase it back to the Prince’s quarters! Has anyone found the Prime Minister or Charlie yet?”

  Gregor dashed across a junction ahead, followed by a cluster of cagey soldiers. Will pulled Flora into a doorway to keep out of sight as they passed.

  “He’s a useful diversion, I have to give him that,” he said. “They really shouldn’t chase him, though. He acts tame, but he’s vicious when he wants to be.”

  Flora stared up at him in wordless horror.

  Will favored her with a wry glance. “Come on,” he prodded.

  They soon arrived at a narrow door, one that reminded her of the door Edmund had led her through to spy upon the Prince’s processional. Misgivings welled within her, but she could hardly question Will’s right to go where he pleased. He motioned her to enter ahead of him.

  “Aele thu,” he intoned, and fire sparked on a lantern that hung just within the door. Will swept it up with one hand; by its light they traveled ten steps down a spiral staircase, to another door. “We have to leave the lantern out here,” he explained. “We’ll have to keep our voices down, too, or they might hear us. Ready?”

  She nodded, and together they passed into a tiny alcove that overlooked the palace banquet hall. Below, the five-member committee was already interviewing a candidate. Flora and Will were concealed behind a decorative panel of scroll-cut wood, so that they could see into the room but remained hidden from its occupants. Flora settled into one corner with a perfect vantage point of the proceedings below and just enough light to read her language books.

  They remained untouched upon her lap, however. Watching the interviews from this bird’s-eye view fascinated her too much.

  The committee finished with the first candidate, who left the room. The next one entered.

  Flora perked up. “That’s Augustina!” she whispered.

  Will’s brows arched, and he gave the scene his full attention.

  Below, Lord Winthrop began the interview, grilling Augustina like she was undergoing a criminal investigation. Flora was gratified to know that he carried his austere attitude through more interviews than just her own. She wondered how he would behave towards Georgiana when the time came.

  Augustina maintained an admirable poise. Flora suspected that she had availed herself the use of Mrs. Olivette’s test questions—and to her credit, for even the most accusing queries did not take her by surprise. When Mrs. Moreland inquired about her favorite dessert, she replied a little too readily, though, as if she had anticipated this question in particular and rehearsed how she would respond.

  “She did well,” Flora remarked after the interview had concluded.

  “She did,” the Prince agreed.

  “Mrs. Moreland, with all due respect,” Lord Winthrop said in the lull below, “might you consider varying your inquiries from one interview to the next? I don’t mean to criticize, but the order of your questions is too predictable. By now every candidate knows exactly what you intend to ask.”

  Elizabeth Moreland didn’t bother to look up from the notes she was scribbling. “Unlike the rest of this committee, I did not submit my list of possible questions to an inquiring third party. It seems only fair that I should ask the same ones in the same order, so that those candidates not fortunate enough to have access to that third party’s services might have confidence in some of their answers, at least.”

  More than one committee member bristled.

  “There was no rule prohibiting committee members from sharing possible questions,” Lord Winthrop argued icily.

  “Then perhaps they should have been shared generally instead of with an institution that requires subscription,” said Mrs. Moreland. “Not all of the candidates can afford such luxury.”

  “What’s she talking about?” whispered the Prince.

  “It sounds like Mrs. Olivette really did get the list of interview questions,” said Flora. “I wonder how she bribed the interviewers.” There was a bribe, of that she was sure. The upper classes never did anything for altruistic reasons.

  Three girls cycled in and out after Augustina. The committee was just wrapping up with a fourth when the door to Will and Flora’s secret alcove suddenly swung open. Both occupants looked up guiltily.

  Charles Moreland stopped short on the threshold. “I might’ve known,” he muttered upon seeing Will. When his gaze moved past to Flora, he scowled darkly.

  “Now don’t glower like that,” said the Prince. “I practically dragged her along with me. What’re you doing here, anyway?”

  “What do you think?” Charlie retorted. “Viola’s up next.”

  Will immediately pul
led him into the room to sit between him and Flora. Charlie settled uncomfortably in place, a furrow between his brows. Briefly his eyes met Flora’s, but she self-consciously looked away.

  The spyhole was barely large enough for three people, and suddenly seemed much smaller than it had mere minutes ago. As the interview below concluded, Flora reflected on how bad it looked for her to be discovered alone in a dark nook alongside the Eternal Prince of Lenore, and by Charlie, of all people. She hadn’t realized when she agreed to this outing, but the situation itself was improper, even if nothing improper had occurred.

  “Gregor was roaming the halls earlier,” Charlie whispered to Will.

  “Did they chase him back to my rooms?” Will replied in the same hushed tones.

  “No. He leapt out a window and disappeared into the gardens. I think he must’ve found Edmund out there, or something.”

  “Oh, good. Ed’ll take care of him, then.”

  “Any idea why he was roaming in the first place?”

  “I caught him at Flora’s door and sent him away again,” said Will negligently. “Lucky for you—you’re sitting in his spot. Better Charlie than Gregor, eh, Flora?”

  She started nervously and then mustered a wan smile. Of course Charlie was preferable to a huge, predatory cat, but that wasn’t saying much. At the moment she didn’t particularly want his attention on her any more than she wanted Gregor’s.

  “Viola’s coming in,” she whispered, to draw their focus back to the room below. Indeed, Viola had entered through the great double doors and approached the committee.

  “Look at her walking like she owns the place,” Charlie muttered.

  Flora glanced toward Will, expecting a response, but he said nothing, riveted as he was on the demure blonde as she primly sat down. His expression reflected pure and utter adoration, so much so that Flora was embarrassed to witness it. She fixed her own eyes on the interview, more ashamed than ever. What would Viola have thought if she had happened upon Will and Flora together instead of Charlie?