“I am not your property,” I said.
He made no acknowledgment that I’d spoken. “If you want to be helpful, you can come with me to the castle and see if you can get an audience with Princess Margaret. I think she knows more about the Black Knight then she lets on.”
“Why?” I asked, too curious to press the issue of property rights further.
“Everyone else in the court is either speculating about his identity or predicting what sort of havoc he’ll raise when he finally forces Edmond into a fight. But not her.
She sits by, content as a cat.”
“Maybe she’s just not a worrier?” 184/431
“It’s her family that’s being challenged. If they’re driv-en from the throne, her life is in peril too.” I noticed the space, or lack of it, between us, but I didn’t step away from Tristan. “Do you think they have a romantic relationship, then?”
Tristan shook his head, but without much conviction.
“If the Black Knight wanted her hand in marriage, he would have gone about things differently. A knight that powerful would have been useful to the kingdom. King Roderick would have gladly given his daughter to him if it would have made the knight an ally.”
“Then why do you think she’s so unconcerned about the knight?” I asked.
Tristan shrugged and smiled at me. “A page could never ask those sorts of questions of a princess. But perhaps a visiting lady could find some answers.”
Chapter 12
We didn’t leave that night, which frustrated me since it seemed that once we had a plan, we should get started right away. But things worked slowly in the Middle Ages. We couldn’t jump into a car, drive the eight miles to the castle, and then throw the spears in the trunk. We needed horses.
No self-respecting lady would walk the distance to the castle. And besides, no one ever defeated a dragon on foot. So Tristan went off to buy horses and saddles, which cost me three necklaces and two rings, and also diminished our spice supply quite a bit.
After dinner, everyone sat around the fire and listened to Tristan tell stories from the Chronicles of Narnia. One man requested he tell the story of the enchantress Savannah, who toyed with men’s affections and then banished them to strange lands.
I stared at Tristan and said, “Oh, definitely—I want to hear that story.”
But Tristan just blushed and said it was time to turn in for the night. Before we went to bed—and people in the Middle Ages pretty much went to sleep when the sun went down—the innkeeper filled a tub with hot water for 186/431
baths. The people didn’t change water in between baths, so I was doubly grateful that I got to use the bathwater first. It totally paid to be rich in the Middle Ages. And despite Tristan’s snide remarks about the luxury items I’d brought with me, he didn’t turn me down when I offered to let him use my soap and shampoo.
We woke up the next morning at sunrise—everyone did. Tristan had bought me a tawny brown mare with a pale, flowing mane. He gave me instructions on how to use the reins, instructions that apparently no one had given the horse, because she did whatever she pleased.
She went as fast or as slow as she wanted, sometimes dawdling to sample grass along the path and other times running to catch up with Tristan’s chestnut brown stallion. Tristan kept yelling really useful hints to me like
“show her you mean business” and “she won’t listen to you unless you’re firm with her.” I tried being firm, but apparently the horse had already figured out that she was much bigger than I was, and basically ignored me altogether.
For part of the trip, the path took us through a forest.
Tristan pulled out his sword then, and rode with it grasped in his hand. His gaze swung between the trees, and he told me in a hushed voice that he was watching for thieves who sometimes waylaid travelers on this road. I never saw anything out of the ordinary, though, 187/431
and we passed through the forest with only the birds and a grazing doe taking note of us.
Eventually we came to the castle walls. The guards let us in without question. They knew who Tristan was and he told them I was a lady from his land who wanted to pay her respects to Princess Margaret.
We brought our horses to the stables and Tristan gave a boy some coins to tend to them. Then Tristan walked to the armory to buy spears and order armor, a task that would take a good part of the afternoon since he had to be measured for it. I made my way toward the castle.
I had expected the grounds to be mostly empty, but it looked like a miniature version of a city within the walls.
Several shops lined the castle perimeter. Chickens ran free, pecking at the grounds one moment and then scurrying out of the way of pedestrians the next. Washerwomen set linens out to dry. Others pulled buckets of water from the well.
Some men unloaded large barrels from a wagon and I heard them discussing the banquet that would be held in three days’ time. It was the twenty-fifth anniversary of the inauguration of King Roderick, and they were expecting guests from all over the kingdom.
I walked slowly toward the main entrance, trying to think of what to say to Princess Margaret and how I could get information about the Black Knight. Right 188/431
now, I only knew what little Tristan had told me yesterday and a few more facts he’d mentioned on the ride up.
According to Tristan, the Black Knight had first ridden to the castle gates several months ago, challenging the knights of the court. Now that no one would accept his challenges, he only came every couple of weeks. He’d sit atop his black warhorse just beyond the drawbridge and shout, “Are there no knights who support the heir of the throne? Is not Prince Edmond capable of defending his title?”
This was the sort of thing that basically angered and embarrassed the court. Once, while the Black Knight was shouting all of this, Prince Edmond had sent six guards to knock him off his horse, drag him inside, and make his identity known. But the Black Knight had defeated all of them. Their swords had simply bounced off him like they’d been nothing more than twigs. That’s why everyone thought he was enchanted.
After that incident, the Black Knight vowed that one day soon he would come back and take revenge for such treatment. If anyone found the courage to fight him in the meantime, they could ring the tower bell three times to signal a competition to be fought just outside the castle walls.
It would be normal enough for me, a visitor to this land, to ask Princess Margaret questions about the Black 189/431
Knight. It wouldn’t be normal, however, if a visitor started spitting up snakes during the conversation. I hadn’t told Tristan about that little habit of mine.
I also worried that Princess Margaret would recognize me as Cinderella. True, it had been eight months ago and I’d been dressed in rags and smeared with soot when I met her, but what if she was one of those people who never forgot a face— especially if it was a face that had dumped a pitcher of mead over a noblewoman’s head? Would the princess assume I was an impostor?
I was thinking about these things so intently that I almost didn’t notice the man. I only saw him because all the children had stopped playing and stood in an eager line to watch him come out of the castle.
“It’s Lord Pergis,” they whispered to one another.
“Perchance he’ll do some magic for us.” I stopped walking and looked at the man. He had a full gray beard, eyebrows sprouting in disarray over deep-set eyes, and a cap that looked more like it belonged on a peasant than anyone of importance. He wore an embroidered maroon robe that nearly swept the ground, and the circles and stars on the fabric shimmered as he strode out of the castle and walked toward a wagon.
A young man, perhaps a few years older than myself, followed after him, hauling a pack on his back that was 190/431
even bigger and looked considerably heavier than the one I’d brought with me. My gaze automatically stopped on him, the way it does whenever a good-looking guy comes into view. He had thick dark hair and brown eyes that reminded me for a moment of Hunter. His maroon robe—just as long as the wizard’s but without any em-broidery—hid most of his build, but his shoulders were broad, and I could tell by the ease with which he hauled the pack around that he was muscular.