Kingdom of Ruses Read online

  The midsummer festival was the biggest celebration in Lenore. It commemorated the day centuries past when the Eternal Prince had swept down upon a winged serpent, leading an army of magical creatures to save the land from encroaching barbarians. Legends told that he had annihilated the entire opposing force in only a day’s time, and that afterward, on Midsummer’s Day, he was proclaimed Protector of Lenore.

  Most of the events for the festival were planned by Parliament and by the citizens. There would be food and games and entertainment galore. The Moreland family, however, had the task of orchestrating the presence of the Eternal Prince. Even though they had a physical person this year rather than a doppelganger, there was still the question of where he would appear and for how long, whether he would speak and what he would say, and what sort of magic he would display as proof of his station.

  Charles was all for conjuring griffins again, since they had created such a lovely spectacle before. Edmund wanted something more “exciting,” like a parandrus or a bonnacon.

  “What exactly is so exciting about an animal that sprays burning poo on its enemies?” Charlie wanted to know.

  “It sprays burning poo on its enemies,” Edmund replied, as though this was self-explanatory.

  “It’s just not sanitary, Ed,” said Charlie. “Besides, do you have any idea how difficult that would be to conjure? Not to mention how many people might get injured, and how they would blame the Prince for summoning such a ridiculous animal to a festival!”

  “Makes for good fertilizer,” said the Prince as he sat reading a book, “but you have to leave the field fallow for three years for it to work into the soil. You can grow almost anything after that, though.”

  Viola didn’t know whether he was joking or serious. Her former conviction that such creatures were purely fiction had been called into question when she was confronted with her own origins, so she could hardly make the argument that there was really no such thing as a bonnacon at all when she was no longer certain.

  Edmund was too stubborn to accept that such a beast would be far too difficult to conjure and control in crowds, so this particular argument went on for a few days before Charlie finally set him in front of the beast-chart and told him to come up with his own creature to be conjured. Edmund took to the task most willingly, but Charlie confided in Viola afterwards that if Edmund wanted a creature conjured, Edmund would have to do the conjuring.

  “I’m all for an aerial creature myself,” he added. “That way, it flies around and people can see it, but you don’t have to worry about them touching it or getting injured by it.”

  “To think that all of this could have been avoided if you hadn’t conjured griffins last year,” Viola had replied dryly. Charles merely grinned at her.

  Viola herself did not have much to worry about with regards to the festival. Since they already had a Prince, she didn’t need to worry about doppelgangers, and she certainly wasn’t going to summon any strange creatures. Instead of engaging in the conversations, she spent the majority of her time performing menial chores, or else copying passages about the nifaran for the Prince’s later perusal. He had gone through several books himself, but he showed no inclination toward deciphering the older scripts. Indeed, he vastly preferred to pull Viola down next to him and make her do it for him. Her only means of combating this overly familiar behavior was to transliterate as much as she could from the older scripts beforehand.

  That didn’t seem to stop him from teasing her so much, though.

  “Viola, dear,” said her mother one morning about ten days after the Prince’s arrival, “could you run to the market for me? Charles has left for guard duty, and Edmund has gone off to school, and I need some cherries for one of my recipes.”

  Viola was not supposed to go into the city by herself, but her mother had never heeded that, more than confident of her daughter’s ability not to get into trouble. It was Viola’s own fault for being such a responsible child, she would say.

  “I was supposed to wait upon the Prince this morning,” Viola cautiously told her. “Are none of the palace servants available to go?”

  Her mother frowned unhappily. “I don’t trust them to choose the best fruit, or to bargain for the best price. And the last one I sent claimed not to have received any change for the money I sent with her, when I’m certain the groceries did not cost that much. You’ve been awfully attentive of the Prince lately—surely he would understand if you’re a little late this morning.”

  After these words her mother looked so pleadingly at her that Viola could only sigh. “I’ll get my things. Just a minute.”

  She headed toward her room, but she took a detour toward the hidden staircase. She felt the need to make her excuses beforehand rather than informing the Prince afterward why she was late. As she pushed aside the panel at the top, she discovered that he was already in the library. He looked up from the notes he was poring over and frowned in confusion at her chosen entrance.

  “I’ve just come to tell you that I have to run into the city on an errand, so I’ll be late this morning,” she said. “You have plenty of books to occupy your time, though, I’m sure.” Before he could respond, she’d shut the panel tight and was back on her way downstairs. She collected her coat and hat and returned to her mother for the list and money. There was more on it than cherries, she noted.

  “I’m sorry to be such a bother, Viola,” said her mother apologetically, “but I have a pie in the oven, and I dare not leave it to run to market myself. I’ll send a piece up to the Prince with you by way of apology.” Then she smiled, pressed her purse into her daughter’s hand, and propelled her out the door.

  Viola frowned as the door shut behind her. It was troublesome to have a would-be pastry chef for a mother sometimes. As a girl, Elizabeth had dreamed of one day opening her own bakery, but after she married Nicholas, that dream had become impossible. Thus, she lived it vicariously by baking various confections for her family and the palace staff—not to mention the Prince himself, who was quite fond of her culinary creations, and especially so now that he actually existed.

  The palace grounds were well-kempt as would be expected, but not so overly large. Lenore was a small country, and its palace had been built with that in mind—not to overshadow the rest of the city, but to compliment it in proportion and with a due measure of dignity. Viola walked briskly in the summer morning air. She might have been able to get to and from the market in less than an hour under the best of circumstances, but luck did not seem to smile on her today.

  Just as she reached the palace gates, an all-too-familiar voice called, “Viola!” With sinking stomach, she turned to find Victor Conrad trotting toward her. His handsome mouth curved into a smile. “I’m glad I caught you,” he said as he neared. “I’ve only seen glimpses of you these last several days, and it seems ages since I’ve actually been able to speak to you. I hear the Prince is keeping you very busy lately.”

  “The midsummer festival is coming,” Viola coolly replied. “There are preparations to be made, and he likes to be informed on all of them. It’s only natural that I should be busier.”

  “Of course, of course,” he said with that winning smile. “You do seem to be very important to the Prince—he’s always sending you on errands and such. Are you on one for him right now, then?”

  “No, for my mother,” said Viola. “And it’s not so much that I am important to the Prince, but that I’m a Moreland. Charles used to attend to most of his needs, but since he’s fulfilling his military duties now, he doesn’t have the time. Edmund is still too young to be wholly relied upon, so I am to fill the void until he’s old enough.” Victor’s father had said something about Viola being important to the Prince as well, and she wanted that sort of rubbish to be silenced as soon as possible. The last thing she needed was for that statement to morph into some sort of rumor throughout the palace—the maids were notorious gossips, and Viola had no desire to be pitched into a made-up amorous relationship with an
equally made-up Prince.

  “And what will you do with all of your free time once Edmund is old enough?” asked Victor.

  “I hardly know. That’s not for two or three years yet.”

  “A girl your age should be entertaining suitors, not running errands for a capricious ruler,” he said, and he appraised her with knowing eyes.

  “And just how many suitors do you think would have the courage to approach the Prime Minister’s daughter?” Viola inquired.

  “You might be surprised,” said Victor. His faint smile gave her a twinge of unease. His words themselves betrayed no intentions on his part, and Viola was inclined to believe that he was only being friendly, simply because it was easier to believe that than to ascribe all manner of ulterior motives to him. Not wanting him to make any sort of declaration, she merely sniffed and turned away.

  “I doubt it,” she said, and she resumed her path through the gates.

  Victor caught her elbow. “Where are you headed?”

  She pulled from his grasp and frowned. “Only to the market.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  “That’s not really necessary, thank you,” she said stiffly. She wasn’t a child who needed to be babysat, and she wasn’t some idiotic miss suffering from delusions of infatuation. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am in a bit of a hurry.”

  “Viola, don’t be so coy,” said Victor. “When a man asks to accompany a woman on a tedious errand, he does so only with the most noble of intentions.”

  “I don’t really have the time or inclination to argue the nature of your intentions, Victor. I really just want to run to the market and back as quickly as possible, and things always seem to take longer with two people rather than just one. It’s more efficient for me to go by myself.”

  He placed one hand over his heart and affected a pained expression. “Your talk of efficiency wounds me,” he said.

  Viola was starting to get annoyed. “Have you nothing better to do than bait young women at the palace gates?” she inquired tartly. “Please, Victor, if you have any regard for me at all, you’ll respect my wishes and allow me to proceed on my own.”

  An unhappy frown crossed his face. “Well, if you put it that way, I don’t have much choice, do I? Of course I have regard for you. I wouldn’t wish to go with you otherwise.”

  Just as Viola was beginning to despair of ever getting rid of him, someone called his name from further up the path toward the palace. Victor turned to discover a guard waving frantically to get his attention. The soldier joined the pair at the gate and presented Victor with a pale envelope. Viola noticed Lord Conrad’s seal on the letter and watched curiously as he opened it.

  Victor’s eyes perused the page, and then he glanced up at her apologetically. “It seems my own mother is in need of my assistance,” he said with a charming smile, and Viola thought he must be lying. Whose mother wrote them a note on such official-looking stationery? “I must beg your pardon, Miss Viola, and leave you to your task alone, in accordance with your wishes and against my own.” Without warning, he snatched up her hand and made a very pretty bow over it, kissing it quite formally.

  Viola thought that she should have been more moved than she was. Meanwhile, the soldier goggled at the act, and she could only imagine what sort of stories would be circulating through the palace by the end of the day.

  Victor released her hand after giving it an intimate squeeze. “Goodbye,” he said pleasantly.

  “Goodbye,” said Viola with a frown. She watched as Victor and the guard turned and walked back toward the palace. Only when they started their ascent up the stairs toward the main entrance did she turn again to the gate and her own errand.

  “Honestly, I thought he would never leave,” said a familiar voice as she passed through. Viola whirled to discover the Prince leaning against the outside wall, casual as could be.

  “You!” she cried, and then her voice lowered to a hiss. “What are you doing here?” She stalked forward to where he stood and glared at him fiercely. “How did you get out here?”

  “My dear girl, I walked,” said the Prince with an imperious sniff.

  “What were you thinking?” she demanded.

  “I was thinking that I wanted to see the city, and that you didn’t even have the decency to invite me along before you disappeared back downstairs.”

  “Of course I didn’t invite you along,” said Viola. “You’re not supposed to leave your apartments!” She cast a self-conscious glance around, only to discover that the nearby guards were completely ignoring her.

  “I’ve a rather advanced stealth-spell going on,” said the Prince in answer to the question on her face. “They can see and hear us, but they’re not paying any attention to it. Try not to break through it by becoming too shrill though, if you please.” Then, before she could reply, he hooked his arm in hers and started down the street.

  “You,” said Viola in a low voice. “You shouldn’t be leaving the palace. If you have a stealth-spell on, does that mean that people will be running into us? The market streets can get very crowded, you know.”

  “Hmm,” said the Prince. “I suppose I ought to drop it, then.” The next moment, Viola could hear his footfalls against the pavement beneath them. She looked up at him inquiringly, but he stared straight ahead, never so much as acknowledging her gaze.

  “You shouldn’t be leaving the palace,” she said again.

  “You shouldn’t be running off places without inviting me,” he replied, “especially if you’re going to tell me so beforehand. I thought that if you didn’t want me along, you wouldn’t have come to make your excuses.”

  “If I had wanted you along, I would have invited you!” said Viola cruelly.

  He spared her a knowing smile. “No. You’re much too proud to be so direct. Even if you did want me to come with you, you wouldn’t ask me outright.”

  She bit back her retort as the truth of his words stung her. She wouldn’t make any personal requests of him, for fear that he might misinterpret them. But it wasn’t pride, she thought defensively. It was self-preservation. Even now she couldn’t bring herself to tear her arm from his grasp, when she had been all too ready to do so with Victor only moments previous.

  “I am sorry that your boyfriend wasn’t able to come,” the Prince abruptly remarked, “although I suppose that would have made for a rather awkward outing, for I still would have insisted upon joining you.”

  “My what?” Viola spluttered. “Victor Conrad is not my boyfriend! I don’t even like him! And I strongly suspect that the only reason he talks to me is because his father wants him to pump me for information!”

  “I hardly think that’s the only reason,” said the Prince, his voice dry. “That was Lord Conrad’s son, then? How interesting.”

  “It’s not interesting at all,” said Viola, more to be contradictory than for any other reason. “Yes, he’s Lord Conrad’s son. He’s been prowling about the palace ever since his father ascended to that seat in Parliament.”

  “Do you meet with him often?”

  “Only by chance,” said Viola, “as you witnessed just now. Why?”

  He looked askance at her. “I was just wondering if I needed to find you a replacement—a girl your age should be entertaining suitors, you know.”

  Viola wrenched her arm away from him and glared. “Don’t think—” she began hotly, but the words choked in her throat. “Given that I now know what I am,” she said in a lower voice, “I hardly think that entertaining suitors is even an option for me. I’m perfectly content to serve the Prince.”

  “And I’m perfectly content to have you serve me,” he replied with an easy smile. Even as her fingers itched to slap him, he reclaimed possession of her arm and hooked it in his own again. “Now, what sort of errand are we running, and where is this Market Street, anyway?”

  Since he seemed inclined to cooperate, Viola resigned herself to having him along for the errand. “Don’t get lost,” she warned as she gu
ided him toward the crowded morning markets.

  The city was abuzz with preparations for the festival, and there was a general air of eager anticipation among the citizens. It was no different in the market place, where buyers and sellers haggled for the best prices and the best wares. Viola found the fruit stalls and chose the very best cherries she could find. She might have paid too much for them, but the stall owner was in such a good mood that she didn’t have the heart to argue aggressively. There were several other items on her mother’s list, and as she loaded them into her basket one by one, the Prince watched the crowds with detached interest.

  “That’s the last thing,” Viola said as she placed a bundle of carrots into the basket and turned back toward the palace. “Was there anything in particular you wanted to see while you were out and about?”

  The Prince hummed and looked around. “Is it all like this, or are there any shops?”

  “There are shops on the next street over—bakeries and patisseries, even a café. Mother never needs anything from those, though, because she bakes everything herself.”

  “Let’s have a look, though, shall we?” he asked, and in lieu of waiting for her answer, he again threaded his arm in hers and walked in the appointed direction.

  It had been ages since Viola had ventured to this particular street. Her mother had brought her several times when she was younger, to try some of the sweets and to get ideas for her own baking, but as she grew older her father had raised objections to their leaving the palace grounds. It was not safe for the Prime Minister’s wife and daughter to amble among the people of the city as though they were ordinary citizens themselves. There had once been an attempt on the Prime Minister’s life, a couple generations back, and Viola’s father cited this as an excuse for them to exercise more caution.