If silence could hush, this silence did, as though the world’s winds had stilled and all creatures ceased moving.
“Even a king cannot ignore the feelings of his only child.”
But she’d told me he arranged the betrothal. What a liar he was!
“I have approved their union. Dear subjects, think how safe Lepai will be with His Lordship defending us. Think how strong we will be with His Lordship leading our attacks. My daughter and His Lordship will wed, and, in due time”—he chuckled—“but not very soon, I hope, Count Jonty Um will succeed to the throne.”
Princess Renn threw her arms around the king’s neck and kissed his cheek. He looked pleased with himself. Why not? A happy daughter and greater riches.
I discovered I was happy, too. This ogre would be a better ruler than either the king or his daughter. King Grenville had no kindness and the princess was too flighty. Count Jonty Um’s character combined steadiness and compassion.
She spun in her chair to her betrothed. Rising halfway, she kissed him on his cheek. “La! It is lucky you are tall.”
His arm went around her. It was an awkward gesture, but his smile was certainly glad.
Mmm . . . I thought, wishing I could tell if he loved her. I liked the princess and didn’t want her in a marriage without affection. Whatever he felt, however, he would be good to her. Perhaps that was enough.
Sir Misyur cried, “Hurrah!”
The cheer was taken up with gusto by the servants, listlessly by the guests. When the voices died away, Sir Misyur said, “My lord, tell them the sort of king you’ll be!”
Count Jonty Um stood.
He should have remained seated, I thought. His shadow crossed the dais and darkened a few feet of the lower guest table.
“My friends . . .” He sounded husky. “My friends . . .”
I looked around the hall. Master Thiel and his brothers raised their knives and ate again. The brothers’ wives did the same. Goodwife Celeste turned the twine around her wrist and whispered into her goodman’s ear.
“Your Highness . . .” His Lordship paused, consulting the ceiling not far above him, as if words might be written there. He swayed, but steadied himself with his hands flat on the table. “Thank you. My friends . . .”
Princess Renn said, “Jonty Um, tell them not to worry.” She faced the guests below her. “He’ll be a good king. La! When he’s been king a week, you’ll forget he’s an ogre.”
His flushed face deepened to scarlet. People stopped chewing. Knives and spoons halted in the air.
Let them think about something besides the princess’s foolish words. I threw my wine bottle to the floor, hard, so it would certainly break. Purple sloshed on my kirtle.
The crash broke the spell. After a moment of surprise, conversation resumed. His Lordship sat without delivering a speech.
Cellarer Bwat rushed to me with a length of linen and began to mop up the wine and broken glass. I bent to help.
The king twisted in his golden chair. “Did the girl splash me?”
Cellarer Bwat examined King Grenville’s cloak hem, where I saw stains as big as my hand. “Not a drop, Your Highness.”
Greedy Grenny returned to his gluttony. “Of course I wouldn’t have minded being splashed. I never object to anything.”
Cellarer Bwat whispered, “Excellent, Elodie. Well done.”
I thought this was sarcasm until he patted my hand.
A servant carved the peacock while the second wave of courses issued from the kitchen. Soon I would be called upon to perform. The tale of Princess Rosette seemed too complicated now. But what to do instead? Possibilities ran through my mind, none of them right: too long, too sad, tedious.
As I poured water for the princess, Master Thiel’s brother Frair choked. His wife slapped him roundly on the back. He spit out a morsel of food.
And I knew what to mansion: a scene from Toads and Diamonds. The tale had no dogs or thieves and not much of a betrothal, so it was little like the present circumstance, but I knew it well enough to perform unrehearsed.
I was still frightened. How mad to debut before a king! And Master Sulow would probably be watching, too. My hands were so slick with sweat, I feared I would drop a pitcher or wine bottle. Yet my feet were numb with cold.
Two boys and a girl of my approximate age began to set up scenery against the wall beyond the end of the long table. They put out a tidy lady’s chair, an enormous chair, four pillows.
I deduced the three were Master Sulow’s new apprentices. They seemed unremarkable—no flourishes as they set the pillows on the chairs and brought in three large wooden pots planted with rosebushes. Not so much as a glance at the audience. If they were portraying Little Masters Humdrum and Little Mistress Humdrum, they could hardly have done better.
But maybe Master Sulow had instructed them to mansion these vacant characters. The true selves of the apprentices might be much different; they could be mansioning prodigies.