SEVEN
SHE WENT TO THE DANCING UNICORN AGAIN THAT night, her heart pounding in time with her footsteps.
The inn was full of people laughing and dancing. One large group of girls about Aurora’s age held hands and danced together near the stage. A couple of young men lingered near their circle, but they could not get a glance from the girls. The inn’s more sedate patrons sat farther away, gathered around tables and packs of cards, their conversations as loud as the music.
Tristan was leaning over the end of the bar, chatting to a group of older women. One of them raised a hand and slapped him lightly on the cheek, a coyly pleased “oh stop” kind of gesture, and Tristan reeled back as though he had been slain, grinning all the while. Trudy was cleaning mugs, and Aurora sank onto a barstool, swiveling to face the stage. Nettle had a band behind her, beating out an infectious rhythm. Aurora curled her toes around the slats of the barstool and closed her eyes.
“So,” Tristan said, sauntering across to her behind the bar, “you’re back.”
“I said I would be.”
“A girl who keeps her word,” Tristan said. “I like that.”
She smiled.
“You know,” Tristan said as he wiped down the counter with a cloth, “it is customary on the second visit for new patrons to tell their story. Who they are. Where they’re from.”
She wrapped her toes tighter around the slat, pressing into the wood. “I’m not very interesting,” she said. “I wouldn’t want to put you to sleep when you’re supposed to be working.”
“Liar,” he said, and he smiled again, like they were the best of friends. “Everyone’s got a story. I see you sitting here, crazy blonde hair, covered in dust, and I think, wow, what a strange thing she is. She must have secrets worth discovering.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you,” Aurora said, “but I’ve been told never to tell secrets to strangers. Maybe if you told me more about yourself, I’d be able to share.”
“You already know who I am,” he said. “Tristan, remember? But perhaps I can dig up some other stuff. If you insist.”
“I do.”
“Then let’s see.” He continued to clean, head tilted as though deep in thought. “First thing you should know about me is that I was born an orphan. Sounds impossible, I know, but it’s true. I spent my early life alone, scrounging food from the streets of Palir, until a group of traveling acrobats took me under their metaphorical wing.”
“Traveling acrobats?” She rested a hand on his arm, mouth open in feigned shock. “Not the famous acrobats of Palir?”
“The very same. Have you ever seen them, Mouse? They can spin twenty times in the air and land on their noses, all while singing folk songs of yore. A more impressive sight you’ll never see. I, of course, became their star performer.”
“Of course,” she said. “Why lie about being an acrobat if you can’t be the best?”
“Exactly,” he said. “People would travel for hundreds of miles to see my signature move.”
“Which was?”
“It can’t be described with words, Mouse.”
Aurora smiled. “Then I’d love to see it.”
“Better not. Nell wouldn’t be too happy if I kicked one of her customers in the head, and I’m all out of practice.”
“How surprising,” Aurora said. “Why did you stop?”
“I never intended to. But one day, when we were traveling to a distant land to perform, our ship was set upon by pirates.”
“And they didn’t appreciate your performance?”
“Strangely, no. They press-ganged us into service, and no number of backflips could change their minds. Luckily, I got on pretty well with them, once the ice was broken. I’ve got natural talent for more than just acrobatics, so it wasn’t hard to move up through the ranks. It wasn’t long before I was captain of the ship.”
“Lead acrobat and captain of a pirate ship,” Aurora said. “That’s a lot of adventure in . . . seventeen years?”
“Nineteen,” he said, “although you’re right. I’ve spent the last two years here. Life on the high seas got tiring after a while. I blame the seasickness. So I decided to come to the capital and make an honest living for myself.” His elbows landed on the bar with a thud. “So. Think you can beat that?”
“Of course I can. You see, my secrets are true.” Aurora leaned forward, resting her own elbows inches in front of his. “I was born a princess,” she began, “in a far-off land—”
“At least try to make it plausible.”
“Like your pirate tale?”
“Exactly.”
“I was born a princess,” she said again, “but I was cursed by an evil warlock at birth. I must always wander the land, he said, never resting, never finding comfort, until—”
“Let me guess. You find true love?”
“Who’s telling this story?”
“Well, me, by the looks of it,” Tristan said, but she glared at him, and he lowered his head with an unrepentant grin. “Fine,” he said. “Continue, please.”
“Until,” Aurora went on, her thoughts scrambling over every fairy tale she had ever read, “I find the answer to his impossible riddle.”
“Which is?”
“I don’t know. He never told me. That’s why it’s impossible.”
“Perhaps,” Tristan said, tilting forward so that his forearm brushed hers, “the lack of a riddle is the riddle itself. How do you solve a riddle that has not been asked?”
Trudy walked up to them, a tray in her hand. “You don’t have to talk to him, you know,” she said to Aurora. “I never do.”
“Trudy finds my charm so completely overwhelming,” Tristan said.
“I find your annoyingness so completely overwhelming. You’ve got things to do.”
“Yes, Prudence.”
“I’m serious, Tristan. A little help at some point would be nice.”
“I’ll help,” he said. “I promise. Just—not right now. Okay?” Trudy glared at him, but then her expression softened.
“Soon,” she said. “Or I’ll leave all the cleanup to you.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She shook her head and walked away.
“So,” Tristan said, after she had gone. “Did you ever find the answer to the riddle?”
“Not yet.”