Lies of Golden Straw

by E. L. Tenenbaum

  The last afternoon before the visiting king and queen left was a quiet one and I admit to absently roaming the halls just to hear the sound of my heels clicking against the floor in the absence of their noise. My husband was busy somewhere in his offices, and the servants had taken all the children out to the lake for the day, where they would indulge their favorite activity: boating. King Arlando and Queen Ariel had stayed behind to oversee the packing of their belongings and look after some last minute details for their journey home.

  Or so I thought.

  The music drew my feet to the drawing room well before the rest of me recognized where I was going or why. Even if I had the will to resist, I wouldn’t have, because, though the person playing the piano was talented, but not more so than any of our court composers, the woman singing made every other voice I’d heard before sound like the screeching of our neighboring Prince Daimyon’s pet bat, whom I’d only met once and very briefly.

  Even now, even having heard that voice again over the years, I still struggle to find the words to encapsulate a sound that cannot be contained. It wasn’t intangible because it was a voice carried on waves that cannot be seen by mortal eyes, but because it contained within it the very sound of the waves, the majesty of the ocean, the wonders hidden beneath the sea. It was colorful and teaming with life, mournful and gray, vast and reflective, a true mirror of Heaven above. It didn’t pierce the heart but the soul, singing a wordless melody that said everything, while assuring that nothing need be said. All was understood, all was known, all was right in the music of that voice.

  Stepping into the drawing room, I was startled to find King Arlando at the piano, but was even more stunned to find that his wife was the bearer of that beautiful voice. Not unlike my outwardly unremarkable husband, she had within herself the power to create something truly extraordinary. The king played the piano with his eyes fixed on his wife, trusting his fingers to find their way so he wouldn’t miss a moment of her song. Ariel, for her part, sang from a place deep within herself, a place far away from the rest of us, only occasionally daring a glance at her husband.

  The song wound down and for a moment no one spoke. Since I met the queen, I had suspected from the purple hue in her sea-blue eyes that she possessed some sort of magic. Hearing her sing confirmed it. Ariel noticed me by the door and beckoned to me warmly.

  “I-I-I apologize f-f-for intruding,” I stammered.

  “We were just finishing,” Ariel reassured, still holding a hand out to me. Then, turning to her husband said, “Thank you, Arlando.”

  The king stood and took the hand not offered to me. He gallantly bowed and pressed his lips to it, and when he rose, he snuck an impish kiss onto his wife’s cheek as well. Ariel giggled and watched him as he left, not breaking her focus until he was out of sight.

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt,” I said the moment I had her attention again.

  Ariel waved a dismissive hand. “You weren’t interrupting,” she said kindly.

  She squeezed my hand then used it to help lower herself onto the piano bench. She rubbed her swollen belly.

  “The babies always like it when I sing,” she told me shyly.

  “I liked it, too,” I understated. “Your voice is…it’s magical,” I finished lamely, but wasn’t quite sure what other word could touch upon the majesty of what I’d just heard.

  Ariel laughed merrily, a gleam in her eye. “It is a gift,” she conceded.

  Her hand stopped suddenly, and she grabbed for the hand that she hadn’t quite let go of. She pulled it toward her and gently positioned my palm on her stomach, laying hers on top to keep the correct placement.

  “There,” she whispered, “do you feel it?”

  I didn’t feel right in my half sitting, half bent state, waiting with my hand on her stomach, but I did suddenly feel a small thud which caused all protestations to die away.

  “The baby,” I whispered.

  “The baby,” Ariel confirmed with a radiant smile.

  I pressed my hand further, wondering if I would feel more. Ariel watched me partially amused, partially proud. She caught my wondering eye.

  “This,” she said, indicating the baby growing inside her, “this is magical. On my life, I’d stake it as the most wonderful magic of all.”

  I listened to her without responding, because really, what was there to say? From what I knew, Ariel was an only child, something I knew well enough about. But she’d chosen to have a bundle of children, to give each one the sibling she’d never had.

  And what was I doing? Cowering in the shadows? Afraid to have one, ignoring what I could have. The little man hadn’t shown himself in over five years. Surely, he’d moved on to other mischief. It made sense, even if the constant clenching around my heart told me otherwise.

  I was foolish enough then to think that if he really took one, I would simply have another one, and another one after that. I didn’t understand that the first time I held my son, looked into his scrunched face, I would swear that he would always and forever be the only one. No matter how many children I had after him, each one would always be the only one.

  But that day, I only thought that I had finally found the real magic in me all along. From that day forward, I stopped taking the bloodapple before the king came to spend the night. Because I never really could resist the pull of magic after all.

  Seven months later, my stomach was swelling from the baby growing within, and, true to his word, my husband took me to the portrait hall to pick out names. We took our time passing by each portrait of the kings and queens that had ruled before, happy and content in the future that awaited us with the new life we eagerly anticipated. I leaned on my husband’s arm, flush with the promise of motherhood, a glow strong enough to make any worries recede into my faraway past.

  Rainn had been so excited when he found out I was finally carrying his heir that he’d actually lifted me up and spun me around before quickly setting me down and verbally chastising himself, “We must be careful, we must be careful.”

  That didn’t mean he couldn’t pull me onto his lap and launch into a tirade about “the little one” as he traced the supposed figure on my stomach. It took five months for me to stop thinking of the other little one I had met each time Rainn spoke of our baby.

  “Perrington Wallington the Third,” Rainn intoned, standing before a stern looking man who’d ruled at least a century ago. “Our son would be Perrington Wallington the Sixth, however.”

  “This from a man who will not be called Rupert?” I challenged.

  “Very well then,” my husband said as he ushered me on to the next portrait. “Remember her? Queen Wilhelmina Lucille Argamette,” he intoned, “she who ended all war with Maridonia, and brought everlasting peace between the two kingdoms.”

  “Wilhelmina,” I repeated.

  “Really?” he asked incredulously.

  “I’m just sounding it out,” I defended. “Besides, you said I could pick.”

  “I did,” he conceded. “But, Wihelmina?”

  “Wallington?” I countered.

  “It’s better,” he agreed.

  “I’m only thinking out loud.”

  Rainn raised his eyebrows questioningly but didn’t respond. Well, he had said I could pick the name, from all the names down here, no less. I wandered away from him and walked all the way toward the end of the line, intending to work my way back toward him.

  I paused in front of my husband’s portrait, my own beside it. Whoever had painted him had done a fine job, not because he was rendered handsomer than he was, but because he looked how he was, which was his own kind of handsome. The way the king stood was unassuming, yet he still commanded the painting. The pose was true to life, in which I had often noticed how frequently glances from far more handsome men skittered his way, seeking his approval. And not just because he was the king, but also because he was just that kind of person, intelligent, approachable, the kind people wanted to please. His painted eyes were open and
inquisitive, in one hand he held the same scepter as all rulers in the hall, and from the other sprang forth a river, roaring forward from five gushing waterfalls sprouting between his fingers. There was life in this painting and there was wisdom, there was reality and there was a dream.

  “Whoever could you be studying so intently?” Rainn teased.

  “The man who may share his name with his descendant, but not his son,” I retorted.

  Rainn chuckled and I shared in his laugh. It was easy then to think that the child I was carrying would grow old enough to marry and have children, to name a son after his grandfather even. And who would he marry? A noblewoman or a neighboring princess? Ariel’s new baby girl who had inspired the life I now carried, perhaps? I forced away the tightening of my heart, refusing to let that other little man interfere in what was such an important day for me; the day I chose a name for my child. I wanted so much to give that permanent something my mother had never given me.

  I stepped past Rainn and stared at the next portrait. The king looking back at me was cheeky, arrogant, confident, and absolutely unperturbed that he was standing in nothing but his undergarments.

  “Jacob Bergamon Rupert, what is this?” I exclaimed, addressing the portrait directly.

  Rainn came to see what had set me off and chortled when he saw the painting I was examining in shock.

  “That’s Father,” he said fondly. “We called him the Emperor.”

  I scrunched my brow. “We’ve had no emperors.”

  “Right, well, he thought himself important enough to be one,” the king replied.

  “Whatever does that mean?” I questioned. “And if he’s so important, why couldn’t he afford any clothes?”

  Rainn laughed again. “About that,” he began, “that all started when a pair of palace tailors decided to teach him a lesson.”

  I peered again at the almost naked monarch. There were many lessons he seemed to need, and I couldn’t fathom how two tailors could take it upon themselves to make certain he learned them. Who were they to take their monarch to task?

  “What type of lesson?” I wanted to know.

  “Well,” Rainn said, “it was really no secret that Father, while a decidedly decent ruler, was also a rather vain man. More than once he was accused of paying more attention to his dress than the people he was supposed to make sure were well enough to dress. He would cut a banquet down to half its size and channel those monies into making newer and grander clothes to parade about in.

  “His tailors finally decided they had enough of his preening and determined it was up to them to teach him a lesson. For a few weeks, they huddled together in whispered conversation, deliberating breaking off whenever someone else passed by. They shared sidelong glances and secret understandings, enough so they finally raised suspicion and the emperor confronted them about it.

  “‘Come now,’ he said, ‘what’s all this secrecy about?’

  “The tailors glanced one to the other in mock nervousness. ‘Your Majesty must forgive us, for we really cannot say,’ spoke the braver of the two.

  “‘Nonsense!’ Father replied. ‘Speak up and speak all, or it will be your heads.’

  “The tailor who’d spoken reluctantly stepped forward. ‘It seems Your Majesty, there are rumors of a new material that is the most precious and scarcest ever made, with colors so beautiful they cannot even be named.’

  “‘Yes, yes,’ Father cut in impatiently.

  “‘However, the material is invisible to anyone unfit for his position,’ the tailor continued. He hung his head in shame. ‘I am embarrassed to say that we have gone to seek it out for His Majesty’s new wardrobe, but I was unable to see it.’

  “Father gestured to the tailor behind the one who’d spoken. ‘And you? Have you seen it?’ he demanded to know.

  “The tailor slowly nodded his head. ‘It was the most extraordinary material I have ever seen or touched,’ he said solemnly.

  “‘Very well, then,’ Father commanded, ‘I expect you to bring me this material first thing tomorrow morning. We shall fit it for a new suit soon as you arrive.’

  “‘But Your Majesty,’ cried out the first tailor, ‘what am I do to?’

  “Father looked down his nose at this surely unworthy tailor. ‘You will assist this better man as he deems necessary. Perhaps then you will become fit enough.’

  “The tailors expressed their gratitude and bowed out of the room.

  “They came the next morning to Father’s private chambers and made a show of setting up the tools of their trade, long mirrors, measuring tapes, scissors, and chalk, all with the gravitas meant to accompany the showing of the new magical cloth.

  “Finally, when all was set, when all was done, with great seriousness and with great ceremony, the second tailor very carefully brought out the new material.

  “Silence met his showing as Father and his servants strained to see the magic he was holding up for their admiration. Solemnly, the tailor pinched two sides of the material and shook it out for the emperor to fully consider. Father said nothing at first, because there was in fact nothing to see, yet the tailor made a great show of holding something.

  “The emperor then remembered the words of the first tailor who admitted to not seeing the cloth because he was unfit for his position. Not wishing to suffer similar embarrassment, he walked over to the tailor and went about seriously inspecting what really wasn’t there. Finally, he nodded sharply and stood before the mirrors, arms outstretched, stance ready for his fitting. Immediately, his servants broke into choruses of praise, because, though they doubted the material existed, they could not express their suspicion before an emperor who claimed to see it himself.

  “So the work began on the new suit of clothes. The emperor ordered the tailors to have it ready for his birthday celebration, which included a grand parade down the capital center. The tailors began work in earnest, day and night snip-snipping at nothing, measuring shadows and light. Anyone who stopped to check in on their progress was treated to the spectacle of the tailors sewing and pressing air, but none wanted to admit the suit was invisible to them, rendering them unfit for their positions.

  “Two days before the parade, Father went for one last fitting, after which he proclaimed his delight and ordered that money, silk, and gold be heaped upon the tailors for their fine work. The day before, he commissioned his portrait to be painted in his new suit, and replaced it with the one that was originally here. That night, he slept with the suit in his room, too excited and too unwilling to let what wasn’t there out of sight.

  “The next day, Father rose early and stood patiently as the tailors dressed him layer after layer in clothing that didn’t exist. When they were done, he, and his servants, oohed and ahhed the end result. The tailors bowed out humbly and quit the palace with their new riches for good soon as the emperor left for the parade.

  “The procession began at the foot of Raedryn and wound all the way up to the palace steps. Along the way, the emperor rode his royal horse dressed in nothing but his undergarments, all the while waving and cheering to the crowd of onlookers who were shocked by his appearance then chagrined when they learned why they could not see his magnificent clothing.

  “It was only when he rode up to the very palace steps that a young child dared call out, ‘But the emperor is wearing nothing at all!’

  “The child was quickly quieted but not before others heard and knew his words to be true, for a child has no position to fear losing. Though no one dared say a thing, doubt began to grow in the minds of all present and quickly spread throughout the capital streets. Could it be the little boy was right after all?

  “And yet, Father never switched the portrait back,” Rainn finished with a flourish toward his half-dressed forbearer.

  “What happened to the little child?” I asked, my hand protectively flying to my stomach.

  The king smiled slyly. “Well, he was proven right, in time.” He paused. “He was also crowned king himself, in ti
me. And deemed fit for his position, I hope.”

  I studied him and found what he wasn’t saying. He had been that little boy, the one then and now who could always see past the deception. I quickly turned my attention back to his father.

  “So the painting still hangs,” I said, half in question.

  The king smiled. “Just as he wanted it,” he replied.

  “Why?” I wanted to know.

  The king studied his father’s face. “This may be an answer of my own imagination, but I truly believe that Father knew the material never existed. I don’t think he was trying to play along so much as challenge anyone to contradict him on what he claimed to be true. But no one dared to. No one but his own son. It makes a man wonder what the people around him are about.”

  “And leaving it here,” I pressed, “is still part of that challenge?”

  “In some ways, I suppose,” Rainn replied.

  So many things made sense about my husband and king then, why he was such a simple dresser, how he could have the care to create a palace such as this without having a care to adorn his own self. However much he loved his father, he didn’t wish to fall into his trappings, into a life wherein his servants lied to uphold a lie he gave credence to so as to test the veracity of the men around him.

  It also explained how that moment in the throne room could be so important to him, how he could fall for a simple miller’s daughter who did nothing more than challenge him to lose a façade. The emperor had ridiculed himself to dare the truth out of any man brave enough to stand by something he considered higher than his monarch. My king, a child, had been the one to speak up, and in turn, I was the one who’d dared challenge him. He thought that made our relationship real, that I had agreed to his proposal to drop the façade before me, and that he would get no less from me.

  Perhaps. For I did as best as I was able. But how can any man trust a liar who promises to never lie?