by Joel Ross
She gripped the saddle horn with both hands. “I’m going to be sick.”
“Exactly!” he said. “But not yet!”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“You’re going to fall off the donkey.”
“Very possibly, if you keep talking to me!” She took a shaky breath. “Give me a few moments to acclimate to the motion.”
“She’s not a bad girl, Gongong,” Sally said. “As long as you don’t laugh. Burros aren’t stubborn, you know. They’re just deep thinkers. They like to ponder.”
“I mean on purpose,” Ji told Roz. “You’re going to fall off on purpose.”
“I am?” Roz asked.
“When we pass the manor, you’ll fall off and make a racket. That’s a good time to be sick if you want. Then Sally and I will run for the chimney and grab the stuff before Mr. Ioso pops both our heads off.”
“He’ll pop one head for sure,” Sally said.
“That’s the downside of my plan. But I can’t think of a better one.”
“Okay,” she said.
“Sound good?” he asked Roz. “You can do that?”
Roz tightened her grip on the saddle horn. “Of course. It’s as easy as”—she showed Ji a wavering smile—“falling off a log.”
“Good,” he said. “I’ll tell you when.”
The goblin pen disappeared behind them. The orange rays of dawn brushed the fir trees, and a flock of golden wagtails hopped around a lawn.
“Roz isn’t like you and me,” Sally told Ji, as the coach swayed along the path. “She was born for better than falling off a donkey.”
“I know that,” he said, and saw Roz stiffen. She didn’t say anything, though Ji knew that she didn’t like being coddled.”But she’s tough, and she’s our friend.”
Roz unstiffened, and maybe a glimmer of gratitude showed in her face. Ji didn’t know. He didn’t look. He just kept walking . . . and felt a little more hopeful, for some reason.
The coach wheels rattled across the stone bridge. Then Ji drifted to the other side of the burro, to be closer to the manor. That way, he’d have a head start when Roz started making a distraction.
Except the coach suddenly veered off the carriage path, away from the manor. The horses clip-clopped onto a little-used trail that joined the main road a mile past the manor. They were taking a shortcut, and Ji was losing his chance to run for the chimney.
“Oh, no,” he groaned. “No, no.”
“Shall I fall off now?” Roz asked. “I’ll fall now if you’d like.”
Ji shook his head. “We’re too far! C’mon, Ji. Think, think, you gormless buttonhead . . .”
He rubbed his neck as the coach led them away from the manor. He couldn’t lose all those beads and baubles, all that silver and silk! He’d spent months stealing his loot, and Chibo was lost without it. But what could he do? Lead the burro under the coach wheels? Tell Sally to bite Mr. Ioso’s face?
“There’s no way,” he finally said, his throat tight and his eyes swollen. He’d failed. He’d done everything he could, and he’d still failed.
“All that stealing for nothing,” Sally said.
“Yeah.”
“That’s another reason we shouldn’t act dishonorably. Because it might not help.”
Ji wiped his face with his palm. “Well, not stealing wouldn’t have helped, either.”
“What shall we do now?” Roz asked.
“Raise money in the city,” Ji said. “I guess.”
“Plan B?” Sally asked, perking up.
“Yeah,” he said. “I mean, no! Not jousting, that’s plan C.”
“Then how?”
“Maybe cheating, maybe stealing.” He shrugged, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I don’t know yet.”
“You’ll figure something out,” Roz told him, and sounded like she believed it.
15
THE COUNTRYSIDE CHANGED, becoming flatter and greener around Summer River, which flowed the length of the valley. As noon approached, rice paddies stretched across flooded fields instead of stepping down hillside terraces. The sun was reflected in the shallow water and rippled around teams of oxen pulling plows.
Despite the blue sky, the day felt cloudy and grim to Ji. He’d lost everything, every bauble and bead. Months of work, months of hope . . . all gone.
The coach rolled onward, far ahead. He thought about running away, except why bother? Where would he go? What would he do? He still needed to get to the city to save Chibo. Without a single copper coin to his name.
“I’m hungry,” Sally said.
“Drink more water,” Ji told her.
She kicked a dirt clod. “I bet there’s a whole feast in the coach, with tamales and noodles.”
“And dumplings,” Ji said.
“And sausages.” Sally sighed. “I’m starving.”
“Do you want to ride for a while?” Roz asked.
Sally frowned. “The burro’s for you.”
“I don’t mind walking.”
“It’s not right. You’re almost a proper lady. You’ve got a surname and everything.”
“We should call you Miss Songarza,” Ji said.
Roz ignored him. “I could use a break. Gongong isn’t exactly cushiony, and my bottom’s about to fall off.”
Sally started to answer when sunlight flashed from the road ahead. Ji squinted downhill, shielding his eyes with one hand. “What’s that?”
“Mirror Lake,” Roz said. “The largest in the realm.”
When it came fully into view, Ji felt himself smile. The lake looked peaceful and grand at the same time, with villages and towns built snugly on the shore. A few fishing boats drifted across the still surface, and birds swooped and dived and splashed.
“Makes me want to jump in,” he said.
“Do you know how to swim?” Sally asked.
“Nah,” he said. “But it’s got to be easier than jousting.”
“For one thing,” Roz said, with a laugh, “you don’t need armor or—”
A horrible bray shattered the peace. Gongong the burro laid her ears flat on her head and lashed out with her rear legs, bucking wildly.
Roz shrieked and started tilting off the saddle. She windmilled one arm and Sally snatched at her leg to keep her mounted while Ji grabbed for her wrist. She whacked him in the ear before he caught her, and Gongong bucked twice more.
An instant later, it was over. Gongong stood there, placid and peaceable, like nothing had happened.
Roz slid from the saddle, her eyes huge and her breathing fast. “Oh my! My-oh-my! Oh! My!”
“Sorry,” Sally told her, stroking the burro’s nose. “But I warned you not to laugh. When you do, Gongong bucks.”
“I’ll never laugh again,” Roz vowed.
Which made Ji want to laugh, mostly to see what happened.
“Don’t you dare!” Roz told him.
“What?” he asked, trying to look innocent.
Sally climbed onto the burro, and they followed the path downhill toward a small village. The gold-and-red carriage waited outside a sturdy timber-framed inn, and two villagers watered the horses and checked their hooves.
“Hey!” Sally said, riding closer. “That’s my job.”
“Don’t give them any ideas,” Ji told her. “Or they’ll make me clean their boots.”
Nosey and Pickle strolled from the inn, holding embroidered parasols. Brace followed behind, his shoulders slumped—which made Ji scowl. Even now, heading to the city to train for a fancy rite, the twins were ruining Brace’s triumph.
Lady Nosey pointed her parasol across the road, and Brace slouched toward a dusty strawberry-guava bush.
“How come the stable girl is riding?” Nosey asked Roz, when they neared. “Shall we have Mr. Ioso whip her?”
“I chose to walk,” Roz said, though Sally slid from the saddle just in case. “Thank you very much.”
“I don’t even know why you’re tagging along,” Pickle told her. “We
don’t need a governess, much less her little sister.”
“Although she’s not exactly a ‘little’ anything,” Nosey said, stroking a strand of her gold-painted hair.
“I was surprised to see you along, too,” Roz told Pickle.
“Our mother insisted that Proctor escort us to the city for training,” Lord Pickle said. “And introduce us to the Summer Queen. She even sent Butler ahead, to help make Proctor’s town house comfortable for us.”
“Is that right?” Roz said, faintly. “How very . . .”
“Killed,” Ji muttered.
“Speak up, boot boy!” Nosey snapped.
“How very kind, m’lady,” Ji said.
“Of course she’s kind. Our mother is . . .” She trailed off at the sound of hoofbeats. “Oh! How tiresome.”
She and Pickle stepped beneath the awning of the timber-framed inn, while Sally tugged Gongong behind the coach with Ji and Roz.
Five riders thundered toward them from the direction of the city, wearing the Summer Queen’s armor, with swords and shields and jaguar-hide boots. Ten more rode past, then ten more after them. Dust clouded the air, and Ji barely heard Sally’s gleeful shouts above the clomp of hooves.
He watched her, though. Her hair danced and her eyes shone. She shoved Gongong’s lead into Ji’s hand and peeked around the coach. Another few soldiers rode past, and then a great armored warhorse heaved to a halt, all rolling eyes and flaring nostrils.
Ji backed away along the side of the inn. Slowly. Carefully. Not because he was scared of a massive snorting warhorse or anything. Just to protect Gongong.
“You like horses, girl?” the soldier on the warhorse called to Sally.
“I love ’em!” Sally told the soldier. “And swords, too—is that chain mail you’re wearing? Does it get hot? Where’s your helmet? Do you know how to joust?”
The soldier smiled. “I’ve never used a lance,” she told Sally, wiping a strand of brown hair from her sweaty face. “I’m a common soldier, not an officer.”
“I’d totally use a lance!” Sally announced. “Where are you heading? Is there a war? Am I missing out?”
“We’re riding to the mountains,” the soldier said. “And it’s not war—not yet. But the ogres are restless.”
“Ogres,” Sally said, her eyes shining. “Awesome.”
“They might invade.”
“An invasion! Double awesome! Are you going to vanquish them?”
The soldier smiled again. She looked like she might laugh, so Ji tugged Gongong even farther away. The burro snorted along the timber-framed inn, past a row of bushes bursting with yellow daisies. Ji stopped beneath a window as more riders thundered along the road. When the brown-haired soldier galloped away, Sally turned to Roz, waving her arms in excitement, probably explaining how she’d win an invading contest.
Ji tugged the lead, but the stupid burro refused to budge. So he pushed from the side. Gongong still didn’t move. She just nibbled his shirt. He bonked her nose and she gave him a cross-eyed stare, then chewed on an overgrown daisy bush.
“Move your stupid face,” he muttered.
“My concern,” Proctor said, from inside the open window, “is that we’re running out of time.”
Ji fell silent. Well, he didn’t just fall silent. He plunged silent. He plummeted silent. He careened through the bottom of silent and tumbled—silently—out the other side.
“That’s the cavalry riding past, m’lord,” Mr. Ioso said. “Which means Her Majesty is defending our borders against the ogres. Of course the beasts are too weak to attack before the rite, but . . .”
“She’s pushing them deeper into the mountains, just in case?” Proctor asked.
“I believe so, my lord. And the goblins are restless.”
“The goblins are worthless.”
“They’re weak alone,” Mr. Ioso said. “But if they join forces with the ogres . . .”
Footsteps sounded as Proctor paced inside the inn room. “The realm is at risk until the Diadem Rite chooses an heir. I hope you’re right that this is the correct child.”
“Nothing is certain in matters of magic, my lord,” Mr. Ioso said.
A meaningless chuckle sounded through the window; Ji hoped Gongong didn’t hear it. “So you keep telling me.”
“And all of my castings pointed to Primstone Manor.”
“Brace’s bloodline is impeccable,” Proctor said, a satisfied edge in his hearty voice. “However, if this rite doesn’t select an heir, the next one may be too late. How is the queen’s strength?”
“Her Majesty is mighty.”
“And ancient,” Proctor said. “Check on her.”
After a pause, Mr. Ioso said, “Yes, my lord.”
A metallic clink sounded from inside, then a splash. Ji glanced warily at the open window and chewed on his lower lip. C’mon, Ji, just creep away. Clink-clink! Glug-glug-splash. No spying, no peeping. Clink-splash. Get out of here, you chuckle-knuckle! Don’t even think about peeking in the window!
Ji peeked in the window.
Sturdy wooden chairs surrounded a square table. A bouquet of sunflowers rose from a vase, and Proctor stood behind one chair while Mr. Ioso sat in another, pouring water into a polished copper bowl on the table. As he poured, he spun the bowl. The water inside sloshed and . . . glowed.
White light shone on Mr. Ioso’s face, and outside the window Ji swayed, flushed and dizzy. Magic. Magic. Mr. Ioso was a mage. One of the handful of people who the Summer Queen lent a tiny bit of her power to. The stories said that they had to eat the heart of a mermaid to prove themselves worthy of wielding the royal magic, but Ji didn’t really believe that. At least, he didn’t think he really believed it.
His grip tightened on the burro’s lead until his hand throbbed. But throbbing was nothing; Mr. Ioso’s hand glowed. White light swirled around his fingers and rose like steam from the copper bowl.
The sunflowers in the vase twisted and twined. Buds formed on the sides, then grew into tiny ears of corn. Ji gawped in amazement. That must’ve been a side effect of Mr. Ioso’s magic! The sunflowers were turning into cornstalks, or at least into a twisted combination of sunflower and cornstalk.
When Mr. Ioso gestured, a sheet of water rose above the bowl and hung there, unmoving. “The queen’s power flows like water, my lord,” he told Proctor. “Can you read the ripples? She is as strong as a hunting eagle, while we’re just blue-bats.”
“And how long will she remain strong?”
“There’s only—” Mr. Ioso stopped suddenly when the sheet of water inflated into a round globe.
Except not a globe: a head.
A woman’s head, five times life-size, with a wide mouth and square chin and short black hair—and a golden crown. Hovering above the copper bowl, made of water but looking like flesh and blood.
“Your Majesty!” Proctor cried, and dropped to his knees.
Mr. Ioso bowed from the waist but stayed in his chair, focusing on his magic. When his hands brightened, the sunflower-cornstalks wilted and drooped.
“Art thou inquiring into my fitness to rule?” the queen asked Proctor, her voice somehow both soft and loud.
Ji stared at her in breathless awe.
“Never, Your Majesty,” Proctor said. “I am merely worrying over your remaining strength, like a mother hen with a nervous disposition.”
The queen’s laughter sounded like the bubbling of a spring, and Ji gripped the reins tighter. If Gongong bucked, Proctor would notice them! But apparently the bubbling-gurgle didn’t sound like real laughter, because the burro just stamped a few times.
“Thou art forever insolent!” the queen said, her voice amused. “Explain thyself.”
“Your Majesty is no longer a young lady in her tenth or eleventh decade,” Proctor said. “For the past five years, every Diadem Rite has failed to find an heir. Now time is running out. Your Majesty wields all human magic.” His gaze flicked toward Mr. Ioso. “Even the mages simply borrow scraps of your power.
And after a successful rite, the new prince or princess will still need training. We must find an heir soon or face catastrophe.”
“Thou servest my realm truly, in spite of thine unmannerly words,” the queen said, her dark eyes twinkling in the water. “Thou art correct; this rite must appoint an heir. And so it shall.”
“There will be a new heir?”
“Verily, for I have felt it,” the queen said, and the sunflower-cornstalks blackened and shriveled.
Ji gaped at the dead flowers. That was the “balance” that Roz had mentioned in the bone crypt: magic always had a cost. A chattering water-head spell was incredible, but it warped the sunflowers into bizarre hybrids . . . then sucked the life from them.
Proctor bowed again, and sorrow sounded in his usually merry voice. “I pray that I won’t live to see the end of your reign. I pray that even after Lord Brace becomes your heir, he will not take the crown until long after I’m gone.”
For a second, Ji didn’t understand. Then he realized that Proctor was saying he hoped the queen would live for so long after the rite that Proctor died before she did.
The queen’s liquid head inclined gracefully. “Thou art certain that this young gentleman is the strongest candidate?”
“I merely hope,” Proctor said.
The queen closed her eyes, and the water shimmered. Rivulets trickled and ripples spread. As the queen’s face melted, she said, “Yes, yes. I sense a child near thee. One who is fit to wear the crown and protect the realm. My true heir . . .”
The globe of water splashed into the copper bowl. The glow faded from Mr. Ioso’s hands and the sunflower-cornstalks crumbled to ash.
Ji ducked out of sight, his heart pounding like a six-legged horse galloping across a field of drums. The world tilted and shook, and his mind reeled. The queen. The actual Summer Queen, in a bubble of water, saying that Brace might end up king!
He leaned against the wall beside the dead cactus, waiting for the world to stop spinning, and—
Wait. The dead cactus?
Ji blinked. Whoa. What had happened to the daisy bush? The green stems and yellow flowers had turned into gray stalks and cracked needles. Mr. Ioso’s magic must’ve transformed that too, just like the sunflowers.