Lies of Golden Straw

by E. L. Tenenbaum

  But I was too bound up by golden chains to fly. I faded in and out of a fretful sleep the rest of the night. I found no solace in the awakening dawn, felt no hope when the key turned in the lock and the door opened to release me back into the world, knowing it would only be for a little while.

  The Trappings of a Tale

  The morning began much like the morning before it. The captain unlocked the door with Kirkin, and, after some inspection, loaded the gold threaded bobbins into two black velvet sacks. They tied them tight then paraded me back to the throne room where an ever-growing crowd of onlookers waited expectantly. Lady Mulberry, of course, was right up front, again offering suggestions which her royal nephew told her would be well considered.

  As before, the king took his time examining the bobbin he pulled out of the bag, playing the anxious crowd with his slow, studied review of the thread. He passed it along to Sir Grigory behind him, and he to the jeweler beside him, and so it went for every bobbin in the sacks that had each taken two strong men to carry.

  “The materials will be tested further over the course of the day,” the king announced shortly, and that was the end of this part as far as he was concerned. He looked down at me. “Some rest?” he suggested.

  “Yes, thank you, Your Majesty.”

  As I was escorted back down the long aisle, the crowd’s eyes turned to follow me. Though the little streams of water on either side weren’t very wide, they were still a thick barrier no one dared step over. However, a few tried to reach out and touch me, as if the magic hidden somewhere within my person could be transferred over to them. Things haven’t changed much since that day, except now, being in the position I am, not many dare touch me without permission. Not if they want to keep their heads at least.

  Three servants fluttered about me the moment I stepped back into my room. One wrapped and unwrapped a measuring tape around different parts of my body. One held up various materials to my cheeks, my hair, my eyes. The other took notes, sketched, and gave her overall opinion, her voice mixing with the others in what was as decipherable to me as the chattering of birds.

  “What’s all this about?” I called, catching them just as the last one was about to pull the door shut behind her.

  “The king’s banquet, miss,” she replied, her tone suggesting I must have already known.

  “Banquet?” I questioned.

  The servant smiled wistfully. “We’re to make you a most beautiful dress,” she explained. “His Majesty won’t say as much, but we know you’ll be an honored guest.” She giggled then, as if we were school friends trading secrets. “If it’s isn’t too bold of me to say, I think the king’s rather taken a liking to you.”

  “W-What?” Such a conclusion wasn’t as obvious to me.

  “Well,” the servant elaborated, “it’s no one’s birthday, there’s no holiday, and you’re the only new person who’s come to visit in the last three days! Plus, His Majesty specifically summoned and assigned us to you. Now, I really must go, there’s so much to do.”

  She turned before I could stay her further, but that didn’t stop me from mentally correcting her in my mind.

  Firstly, a king never needs an excuse to hold a banquet. He can make any day a holiday, and there was always someone in the kingdom with a birthday. His whim was really all the reason necessary.

  Also, I was not here visiting. I was no honored guest. I was here against my will.

  Additionally, considering the growing crowd of onlookers in the throne room, I doubt no one new had come in the past three days.

  Lastly, if there was to be a banquet, and I was to be invited, that must mean the king would not be locking me in a room to further test me that night. That reassurance alone was enough to make me want to collapse in relief.

  Perhaps this really would be over soon.

  Somewhere, Heaven laughed.

  Still, that didn’t actually explain why the king was holding a banquet and why he would want a simple miller’s daughter to attend. Would he be putting me on display? Challenging me in front of everyone? I wasn’t naïve enough anymore to think this banquet wasn’t part of a larger plan. But how? And to what end?

  I dwelt on all those little details throughout the bath that was supposed to be relaxing. I finally gave up on finding answers and climbed into bed, leaving open the windows but closing the drapes so I could sleep without locking Merlin out. If Merlin came back.

  Just as I was drifting off to sleep, a familiar weight sank down beside me. I glanced up through half-shuttered eyes as Merlin tugged me nearer to him.

  “I didn’t think the king would test you a second time,” he said by way of apology. He buried his mouth in my hair and lost a kiss in there somewhere. “I had turned back, but didn’t see you anywhere on the road, so I just kept flying.”

  “It’s all right,” I muttered, settling comfortably against his familiar heartbeat.

  “I have a message for you, from your father,” he added.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  I felt his body shift, and soon heard the crinkle of paper as he pulled the note out of his pocket. He opened it and held it up before my weary, bleary eyes.

  I shook my head. “What does it say?”

  Merlin raised the paper to his eyes and read in a dispassionate voice, “Daughter, be safe.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it.”

  I made an exasperated sound and swatted the paper from Merlin’s hand. It seemed my father could only summon poetry when he was spinning one of his lies. Merlin gave a soft chuckle, then fell silent.

  “How did you manage it this time?” he soon whispered to me.

  “The little man came back,” I replied, the last words slipping with me into sleep.

  Merlin shifted and forced my head up. I tried to snuggle back down but he wouldn’t let me. His violet eyes fixed on me and forced me to look back. “What little man?” he demanded. “Millie, you must tell me everything about him.”

  “He’s just an odd, magical man,” I said dismissively.

  “Millie.”

  So I told him whatever I could, but even then it was a struggle and half my words were lost in whispers. The warm arms of sleep tugged at me all the while, the bed was just so comfortable, Merlin just so safe. His eyes narrowed more and more as I spoke and he wanted me to tell him everything again, but I couldn’t find the energy for it.

  “Please,” I begged him, “please, Merlin. Sleep.”

  He gave in and let me rest my head again. “Okay, we’ll speak about it later.”

  “Later,” I agreed, but I can’t say for sure that I actually said it out loud.

  I awoke quite suddenly from a loud squawk and the sound of the balcony doors slamming shut. I sat up quickly, then froze as the room spun around me.

  “What—” I began. “What was that?”

  The three seamstresses were back in the room. One of them was brandishing a silver service tray, still aimed at the window as if whatever threat they’d locked out was intent on immediately returning.

  “There was a bird in your room, miss,” one of them informed me through pursued lips.

  “A bird?” I stuttered back.

  “A white bird with purple feathers,” she elaborated.

  “Oh.” I tried to turn my head so they couldn’t see my smile. I hoped they hadn’t hurt Merlin too much while batting him out.

  One of the other seamstresses appeared at my side. “Miss, if you are ready, we must try on the dresses or we won’t have time for alterations.”

  “Dresses?” I questioned, my mind still floating in a haze of sleep.

  “For the banquet tonight,” she reminded me.

  “Yes, of course.”

  Silly me to have forgotten. I threw back the blankets and ungracefully rolled from the bed.

  “Let’s get to it.”

  They had made two dresses, and though both were near completion, each still carried little wisps of threads and faint smudges of
chalk indicating work unfinished. Quite frankly, they were the most beautiful dresses I had ever laid eyes upon, and that included the finery I’d seen in the throne room the past two days.

  The first dress was made from a vivid coral silk so light it felt like I was wearing pieces of fluttering wind. The skirts were full and layered, falling down naturally from the waist so they swished merrily about my feet, dancing easily along the floor as I walked. The front of the dress was ruched in wide sweeping angles from shoulder to hip where it was all gathered and cinched with a mint green carnation. They’d even found a matching mint green necklace for me to borrow, which twisted around my neck much like the vines along the palace walls.

  It felt so right from the moment I stepped into it, that I didn’t want to try the second one on. I did run my fingers admiringly over the design though, feeling the soft green satin and fine embroidery so the women wouldn’t feel as if I’d been unappreciative of their work.

  An hour after the fitting, which I spent on the balcony reveling in the warm sun and the cool breeze that assured me I was still alive, the three women returned with the finished dress.

  I allowed them to poke and prod, twist and tuck, trusting them to make me presentable enough for a royal affair. The completed creation was absolutely lovely, and I am not ashamed to admit that I rather liked it. The dress fit impeccably, the necklace was the perfect touch. My hair was gently swept away from my face and piled to one side on the back of my head, leaving out just a few tendrils to bounce freely about. They’d studded my golden locks with green and coral gems to make my hair glint and twinkle in the light. On my feet were shoes wrapped with the same ruched material as my dress. A soft, minty perfume was dabbed behind my ears and at the nape of my neck. Some daubs of red lipstick and a flickering of rouge later, they pronounced me ready.

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” I gushed to each servant in turn, as they stepped back to admire their work.

  “If it’s not too forward,” one piped up, “you look very lovely, miss.”

  I laughed, suddenly giddy with the prospect of an event that demanded such a state of dress. “I’ll be glad to sing your praises to anyone who agrees,” I replied.

  This caused all three to flush and stammer, so I assumed it had been the right thing to say. Minutes later, there was a knock at the door, and one of the servants opened it to reveal Kirkin waiting outside.

  “You’ve drawn the short straw again,” I remarked.

  Kirkin’s eyes were wide. “I can assure you, miss,” he finally managed to say, “there was no drawing.”

  He didn’t quite make sense, and I giggled because I knew he was trying to be chivalrous. Without asking, I took his arm and tucked mine through it.

  “Miss?” He looked at me questioningly, still struggling to keep his demeanor professional in the face of my unanticipated transformation into palace belle.

  I smiled coyly. “Kirkin, you know it would be unseemly for a lady to trail after her handsome companion instead of prominently arriving on his arm.”

  Kirkin blushed a lovely shade of red. I could have kissed his check and my lipstick would not have been visible until the blood faded. “Yes, miss,” he stammered.

  “Millie,” I corrected him, “my name is Millie.”

  “Yes, Miss Millie,” he replied, and I left it at that.

  As we walked to the banquet hall, I made a firm resolution to enjoy myself that night. I still didn’t know what the king was up to, if something would be done to put me on the spot in front of all his guests, or if he really intended to allow me one night of respite before, well, before whatever it was he planned next. With all that out of my control, all I could do was live up every moment until the final one.

  The room didn’t quiet when I walked in, but I could hear whispers following me as I entered the banquet hall on Kirkin’s arm. He led me up to the head table on the dais where the king sat comfortably on a large chair, flanked by Sir Grigory and other persons I assumed to be very important. His expression was neither bored nor cunning, which was really to say that he looked like his rather regular self. Though he did have a tendency to wear well-made and understated clothing, as if he channeled any possible flair into the palace walls, there were two points of opulence that did not go unnoticed by me, or probably anyone else, that night.

  Firstly, the king was wearing a short cape, carefully stitched with very familiar-looking gold thread.

  Also, the king was dining on a glistening tablecloth, woven from the same gold thread.

  Additionally, the king was carefully appraising my new look, and the general sense I received was that he was pleased with what he saw.

  Lastly, Lady Mulberry overtly drew every eye toward me when she too-loudly announced, “She cleans up rather wonderfully. Wouldn’t you agree, Rupie?”

  The king had the good grace to hide his chuckle somewhere in the depths of his goblet.

  Despite the fact that I was not locked in a room and tasked with spinning, I would still not be allowed to relax that night as I was seated next to Lady Mulberry and her hateful Pomeranian fox. The front of its hair had been pulled up and pinned with a bright pink bow, so it was unmistakable that its ill-meaning gaze was focused on me. If Merlin hadn’t been so unceremoniously shooed from my room, I would have asked him to change that dog into anything else. A rug. A shoe. A fly I could squish into a rug beneath a shoe made of cow leather.

  To make matters worse, our table was very close to the king’s dais, so we were within relative ear-and-eyeshot of him. The message was quite clear: nothing I did that night would go unnoticed.

  By then, I was beginning to question the sanity of our king and our people’s willingness to follow after him.

  The first course passed pleasantly, despite the growling fuzz ball propped up on a cushion on the seat behind me and its owner. Thankfully, the owner was engaged in conversation with the person on her right, so I was left to pick at my food in peace. Though I did spend some of the time wondering which food, if any, would give the little dog food poisoning.

  As this was my first time at a royal event of any kind, I really wished to openly survey my surroundings. I wanted to see and take note of everything, I wanted to experience every taste and every sound so that when my father, and perhaps my children too, would ask about my adventure to the palace, I could tell of every minute detail. I was already stealing furtive glances over my bowl of cinnamon-and-squash soup, taking note of the dress and mannerisms of the noble men and women in attendance, counting the knights at the end tables, noticing the minstrels and merrymakers sprinkled throughout the room. Each time I dared peek over at the king, he was engaged in conversation with someone or other. It occurred to me then that I really knew very little about how a kingdom was run, and that this unremarkable man before me must be doing a fair job to be keeping his people safe and content.

  I had turned my attention back to my soup, tasting slowly to pick out the flavors blended together to create that marvelous dish, when Lady Mulberry effectively ruined the exercise for me.

  “Tell me, girl,” she said with a sharp tug at my elbow, the first words she’d directed straight to me since I’d come, “you must be very special where you come from.”

  “No, not really,” I said, trying to end the conversation with a short reply I quickly realized was the wrong one.

  “A-hoy!” she trilled. “Not so special, then?”

  I scrambled for something to say, to at least attempt to staunch the wound I may have unwittingly opened. But all I found were more lies, so I scrambled to plug the hole with them. “That is to say,” I began, “that is to say, there are some others like myself.”

  “Others?” she questioned. “We’ve not heard of your type before.”

  She didn’t say “type” like it was the good and wondrous thing the rest of the court seemed to think it was. She didn’t seem impressed with or convinced of the notion of magicals without purple eyes.

  “We keep to ourselves,
as you can understand,” I explained.

  Once the lie was born, it slipped easily from my tongue.

  Was this how Father felt every time he opened his mouth to speak? Did he feel the lies slide out as easily as the truth so it became difficult to differentiate one from the other?

  “‘We?’ Who are these others?” Lady Mulberry demanded to know.

  I racked my brain for something, anything to tell her. Perhaps, I’d have been more prepared had I been the one to start the lie about my talent to begin with. But I was not used to being the storyteller, so I turned to Father’s realm for a story that would do. I plucked out one I knew well enough, though I hurriedly smoothed out some creases and straightened some crooked lines that had always bothered me when he told it.

  “Well, for example,” I said slowly, drawing out the story as I knew Father would, “in our village, there is a shoemaker who employs elves to do his work.”

  “Elves to do a man’s work?” she doubted. “That isn’t possible.”

  “Oh, but it is,” I countered earnestly. “For you see, this shoemaker, while outwardly a simple man, is also very special.”

  “So you claim.”

  “Well,” I began, ignoring her skepticism. “I’ll tell you how it all came to be, then you may decide for yourself.”

  My offer was met with a noncommittal stare, which I figured was permission enough to move forward.

  “Our story is of a shoemaker, who though poor, was a very kind man.”

  I laced up Father’s sailor boots without further consideration, and it wasn’t long before they molded to my feet.

  “There came a time when the wheel of misfortune forced him to sell most of what he owned. The little that remained, he shared, and when the last of his shoes didn’t sell, he gave them to a person even poorer than he.

  “He had but one last strip of leather left, so the shoemaker decided to make a final pair of shoes, before he traded his tools for food, and his talented hands found work as a hired laborer the rest of his days. This was a last chance to do what he so loved.