About all the problems with this mighty fine plan.
To succeed, a lowly maid had to pretend ‘Lady-ness,’ pretend manners, and pull off an entirely fake upbringing. The clothes were convincing. But wearing the gown and jewelry of a lady far above my station over my shoulders and wrapping my body in the softest of fabrics and rich silk—none of that made me anything other than a servant in a nice dress.
I needed more if I was going to succeed. I needed knowledge gained from years of understated things. Bits of history only nobles would know. Marcus was insistent that I learn my character’s assumed name, then her mother’s full name, her sisters’ names, as well as the name of her pets and three best friends. It was dizzying, trying to hold a whole other life in my head.
For the better part of the last day, he rode next to my horse, talking of a world so foreign it might as well have been on the surface of the moon.
I knew none of it.
“They will know I am a fake,” I objected. “This can’t work. They will see. I am not good enough to wear these things. In a year, I could never afford any of it, even the corset.”
He looked at me, glanced down at my tiny waist and full chest. Marcus said nothing. A slight smile played on his face. He rode alongside me, confident in a way I never would be.
Marcus kept telling me details, amazing, tiny bits of information. He poured the sights and sounds of GildingMountain into my ear for well over ten hours. The way his voice lowered to a whisper, when he got lost in memory… I listened as if my life depended on it. Because it very much did.
Marcus talked. And talked. “Get them to lower the drawbridge,” he emphasized my mission, “...and open the inner gate for a search party for your dear husband. That’s it. We will do the rest.”
He spoke about GildingMountain until I felt like I had grown up there. Like I could smell the valley in the high mountains in the rush of spring glory—I had been there, lived there all my life. Marcus kept talking about this place, high in the northern ranges with detail and care and an abiding fondness.
“If I survive this, I will have to visit there, one day.”
“Visit?” Marcus asked, his mind on other things.
“GildingMountain,” I explained, “You make it sound like a palace out of a dream. Built of ice and snow, with a throne room surrounded in orange trees and impossible things. I would not believe such a place existed if you hadn’t told me about it.” Wind whipped through the pheasant feather set in my hat. I straightened a wandering curl of red hair that hung down across my shoulder. “I am surprised you could ever leave such a place. It sounds like heaven.”
“Even heaven didn’t hold all of its angels,” Marcus muttered. “Some fell all on their own.”
I looked over at the only person I might dare call a friend. It was hard to see the cruelty of privilege from my viewpoint. “Even a servant such as yourself could do pretty well, living on clouds…”
I shouldn’t have said that. Jealousy is an ugly coat to wear.
“Sorry,” I pitched my voice just loud enough that he could hear. “Not to embarrass you. The palace you describe, well, it feels a great deal better than the ‘lice-infested hovel’ your prince called the inn. And that’s the only place I have to call home.”
We both fell silent for a while. The gulf between us—delicate, complicated, and impossible to cross lightly.
A few long minutes later, Marcus changed the subject.
“Tomorrow you will leave our campsite on foot and travel the rest of the way without us.”
I looked at the heavy dress, the expensive fabric, the elaborate jewels, and swore.
“How far will I have to go in those impractical shoes?” That was the question that I blurted out—not the swear words I wanted to employ with gusto. I hoped Marcus heard all the swearing that littered my tone. Still, I didn’t whine.
It’s much more likely I’ll be killed by petty thieves before I walk very far in that preposterous gown and gems.
Marcus looked concerned as he considered the distance. “I’m sorry,” he replied finally. “There really is no other option. You must be travel-worn. Your clothes must be stained and dirty in order for the Storm Guards to believe the kernel of your story.”
“Marcus,” I started. Then I stopped, letting the syllables of his name fade in the wind.
“Yes?” He heard me, even a whisper under my breath. He listened. I had to look away. It was hard to accept one genuine man in the pigs wallow of inconsiderate men that had littered my life up to that point. Leaning in close, closer, touching my lips with his own, Marcus kissed me. His breath felt like a butterfly landing on a flower in the afternoon sun. His eyes closed as he held me. I slowly closed my own eyes, just to concentrate on feeling the softness of his kisses. Twice, he kissed me, lingering near. Brushing my bottom lip with his own, Marcus spun my world around.
Who is this man? Is this really happening? I couldn’t help but wonder. Being near Marcus left me breathless for the first time in my life. There was so much more to say, to figure out. I couldn’t concentrate.
Right now, I needed an answer more than I could afford to fall into the grasp of passion. Marcus.
“I-if I don’t come back, if this plan doesn’t work, will you do one thing for me? Will you save Corinne from the grabbing hands of drunken men? You could protect her. Would you? If I fail, will you find my little sister?”
He looked at her, reining in his horse. After a moment, he pointed to the sky and said, “You see that star? The one visible in the daylight?”
I looked where he pointed, peering at the brilliant blue sky and then I saw it. One shining little dot among all the wash of blue and white. One star so determined to shine it ignored the sun. One stubborn little star. I nodded, “I see it.” I spoke.
“It’s not a star. It’s a planet. Many learned people thought for years it was a star or even a goddess. Myths of angels sprung up about the glowing light. They thought it was heaven. They were wrong. It is a whole other world. It isn’t jealous of the sun, in fact. The planet of Celestian is much too proud for that. We live here, in this little world, content to stare at the distant stars and watch lifetimes go by. But there, in that far away land, people live in the middle of miracles. Surrounded by impossible dreams and things that defy the pull of the earth. Technology that floats, people who fly.”
I was caught by the images, sewn like precious pearls into his words. I kept looking at that tiny, bright dot and wondering how so many things could be… Another world? A distant land that rivalled the sun in brightness? Flying people?
Then I looked at him again, uncertain. Marcus burst out laughing.
Startled, I gasped and then I giggled. Impossible things, they were only stories, nothing more. Mother used to tell Luchinda and I the same silly tales.
Ridiculous. The whole yarn. Marcus was clever. He distracted me, enchanting me worry with words, with legends and childrens’ stories. He kept laughing, pleased. I couldn’t tell if he tried to make a fool of me. My face went stone still. The laughter left my eyes as I caught his gaze.
“Will you?” That was all I said.
I waited.
When my smile stopped, his laughter died. “Let’s just get this task done. The axe of the Stormjen Lords stands between us and our hom-.” Marcus corrected himself. “His rightful throne.”
***
Ahead of both our horses, the rest of the group rode solemnly.
He looked at the prince and the kingsmen who surrounded his royal purple cloak. Following his gaze, I did, too. Each man held one hand on a weapon at all times. Every one of them were lethal men of war.
No hesitation. No fear.
They should have been afraid. Their entire plan rested on the wits of a kidnapped servant girl.
Something didn’t feel right. Why are experienced warriors so confident I can pull this off? What do they know?
I shook off that nagging feeling.