The Nine Princesses Novel

Chapter 62: Tour

Maelyn stormed out of the castle, needing a place to walk long and fast. The hot July evening felt like nothing compared to her rage. He had been here for only an hour and she already wanted to run away.

The castle sat atop a broad hill, mountains rising behind and forest sloping below. All of Runa had been built on land that rose gradually into the mountains, each town and village slightly higher than the one before it. Maelyn crossed the clearing to the fringe of Lumen Forest.

She took the Wending Way, a narrow trail that wiggled and squirmed a clumsy route through the forest, meandering around ponds and slipping between trees. Maelyn stomped down the hill, stumbling over roots as anger blinded her steps.

Why did he take such pleasure in tormenting her? For all his detestable qualities, Maelyn knew Uncle Jarrod was a shrewd king. He would know as well as she that Coralina was not queen material. He always had another reason. Could it all really be just to make Maelyn miserable? Surely, he had better use for his time than that.

His behavior was odd. Never before had he insisted on taking Father's bedchamber, rather than the room he normally used. And he had questioned her about Father's belongings until she assured him nothing had been moved or changed since his death. Since Uncle Jarrod possessed the sentimentality of a lump of coal, she couldn't imagine why he should care about this.

Her tromp dwindled to a weary amble. She didn't want to turn back, but the forest darkened with every step. If she didn't hurry, she'd be groping her way back up the hill.

Maelyn stopped suddenly. She heard hushed voices—very close.

She turned to the sound but saw only the bulging trunk of a Lumen tree. Her mind flashed images of bandits, ready to pounce. But no... she knew one of those voices.

She crept around the tree, sliding her hands over the marble-smooth trunk. Halfway around, she stopped and stared ahead of her.

The couple stood between two trees that leaned together, forming a pointed niche between their trunks. The young girl's hands lay comfortably on the man's shoulders and she whispered something that clearly pleased them both. The man's fingers slid through the girl's silk-fine hair as he listened.

Maelyn stood straight and tall. "Arialain!"

Arialain gasped and jerked away from the man. Maelyn recognized him now. That horrible Tofer, son of a merchant in Merridell. Barely seventeen years, and nearly as short as Arialain. He regarded Maelyn with calm amusement, as though enjoying her discomfort.

Maelyn's fury found no words. She rushed forward and seized Arialain's arm. "Home! Now!" She tugged Arialain up the trail without a backward look at Tofer. Arialain sobbed immediately. "M-Mae, please don't—"

"Not a word!" Maelyn snapped. "Have you forgotten everything Mother wanted of us? The son of a merchant!"

"I don't care!" Arialain cried. She looked back for Tofer, but darkness and thick trees hid the path below them. "We're not... we're not princesses, not really!"

Maelyn dropped Arialain's arm in shock. She faced her squarely. "Is that what you believe? Truly? That we're not real?"

Arialain shrugged, wiping away her tears. "When Mother and Father lived, it was real. To them we were princesses. But they're gone now and... and no one believes it anymore."

Maelyn's heart went cold. "How do you know? Who's saying that?"

Arialain shrugged again. "Tofer says... some people think we are living a lie. That we're... imposters... and not princesses."

The mention of Tofer heated Maelyn's blood again. "Whether you believe it or not, whether they believe it or not, we are princesses." She gripped Arialain's arm and pulled her up the jagged path again. "I won't let you throw that away—not on a merchant's son."

*********

"I'd forgotten how small this castle is," Uncle Jarrod said. "One could almost call it a manor."

Maelyn gave him the strained smile she'd worn all morning. "We prefer it small. Less trouble to care for." They walked along the corridor that led to most of the bedchambers—now thankfully free of livestock. Uncle Jarrod had instructed Maelyn to open the doors and then he'd sauntered around each room, scrutinizing every corner. She wondered if he expected to find the chambers riddled with mice and cobwebs since the servants had gone.

His own servant trailed behind them, sad and sickly as ever. He neither spoke nor looked directly at her, but Maelyn felt his gaze when she turned away. She wished Uncle Jarrod hadn't brought him. But she knew her uncle could not even change his shoes without assistance.

"Who does the cleaning?" Uncle Jarrod asked, clearly impressed with the immaculate rooms. Maelyn tried not to look smug. "Briette—the Chamber Princess. She's very efficient."

They turned into a tower at the corridor's end and started up a winding stair. "What's up here?" Uncle Jarrod asked. He looked cramped on the curling staircase, barely wider than himself.

"You haven't seen Arialain's chamber," Maelyn said. "Hers is highest in the castle."

"I don't envy her climbing up here every night," Uncle Jarrod grumbled. He turned to the servant. "My strength is waning. Fetch me some wine, and cold venison if they have it."

"We have it," Maelyn said, glad to see the servant go.

The stair ended abruptly at Arialain's chamber door. Maelyn turned the latch and let Uncle Jarrod in.

"Holy Noses," Uncle Jarrod said. "Barely more than a cupboard!"

The bed hoarded nearly all the floor space, begrudging a few corners for a chair, a wardrobe, and a scarlet trunk. Still, a red coverlet brightened the bed, painted apple trees adorned the walls, and the window gushed with sunlight. Maelyn thought the room looked cheery.

Uncle Jarrod shook his head. "My washwomen sleep in larger chambers."

Maelyn stepped past Uncle Jarrod and sat on the bed. She planted her hands on either side of her and turned hard eyes on the king. "All right, Uncle. I want to know why you're really here."

Uncle Jarrod frowned. "I am visiting."

"You visit less than once a year," Maelyn said. "We saw you last at Father's burial. I expected no more of you for a long time. I know you were curious about the servants, but you can see we are faring well without them. I don't know why you had to come at all."

Uncle Jarrod sunk onto the single chair and its slim wooden legs creaked in shock at his weight. "I did not expect your father to die before your twentieth year. It changes things."

"How?" Maelyn asked.

Uncle Jarrod rested a hand on his knee and looked at her steadily. "This life you've been given. In a castle. As a princess. Do you think you deserve it?"

"I know you never approved of what Father did," Maelyn said tersely.

"Nor am I the only one who doubted the wisdom of raising nine urchins into royalty. But that wasn't my question."

Maelyn's eyes dropped to his blue velvet shoes. "I never thought I deserved this life. None of us do—except maybe Coralina. It was a gift."

"And have you ever thought there may be someone... more deserving of this gift?" Uncle Jarrod asked, his words measured and careful.

Goosebumps prickled Maelyn's arms. "I don't know what you mean."

She heard the servant clomping up the stairs, no doubt bearing the king's wine and cold venison. Uncle Jarrod leaned back with an expectant smile. "We can talk of this later. Just think on what I said."

But Maelyn no longer wanted to talk or think about it.