THE NEXT DAY, Wormy came to Trunk’s kitchen. In his tentative way, he hovered just past the guards at the door. From there, he set off my tingle.
“Master Wormy!” Trunk led him to the worktable. “Sit! My porridge is just cooked. I make it with ginger sheep’s milk. Best thing for you.”
Wormy sat but refused the food. “Evie, last night’s supper isn’t sitting well.”
In silence, I mixed a draft of mugwort, culpepper, and ginger tea. When it had steeped, I pushed the mug across the table to him, keeping my distance for fear of steam shooting out my ears.
He drank it down. “Evie, I volunteered to be in the exercises, and the king said yes.”
“You could get hurt! I could hurt you!”
He shrugged.
Sir Peter could injure him, too. “Why participate?” He didn’t go in for that sort of thing.
“You’ll be in it. You may need . . . I don’t know what. Something. Trunk agrees that Sir Peter is bad. He may try to harm you.”
Trunk said, “I told him he’s rotten at the root, Mistress Ogre.”
“Evie, if I’m in the exercises, I’ll be right there.”
Injured or killed. “You mustn’t!”
“I must.” He stood. “I feel better.” He paid my fee, bowed, and departed, probably off to assist Frell’s needy again and woo his sweetheart.
The kitchen felt empty without him.
By the next morning, November 20, only today and tomorrow and the day after until four o’clock remained until I’d be an ogre forever. Soon after I reached the apothecary, a red-eyed Lady Eleanor entered and immediately set herself to pounding herbs in my mortar . . . without choosing which herbs.
I said, “That will treat a cold and grow a mustache.”
She didn’t even smile, just shook her head and glanced at Trunk, his two cook’s helpers, the manservant scrubbing the tiles, and the guards. I suggested a walk and took the blanket I kept on hand in case I ever got another patient who needed it. When we left the kitchen, the guards fell in behind us.
In the corridor, Lady Eleanor addressed them with a wheedle in her voice. “Gentlemen, I hope you don’t intend to eavesdrop on our confidences.” She set off.
They followed, but at a distance.
The day was beautiful, a contradiction of a day, the air chilly but the sun shining with enough warmth to suggest winter would never come. We passed a grove of small trees pruned to the form of candelabra. She led me to the low wall that bordered the moat, far enough from the drawbridge to give us privacy—as if anyone would approach the reputed corpse eater.
Together, we watched the glassy, half-frozen water. The guards were far enough away that I could sense Lady Eleanor’s emotions, which were mostly shame.
“You need a proper cloak,” she said.
I supposed.
“I’m finding my courage. I have a request.” Her chest rose. “I want a love potion. I beg of you, give—”
She’d discovered he didn’t love her? “For Sir Peter?”
“For me. I was happier when I loved him. And if there’s a potion to make me admire him again, too, I’d like that as well.”
“A love potion will dull your wits while it lasts, but you need your wits. And you’ll have to drink it again and again.”
She addressed the moat water. “I was witless ever to love him. How much more foolish could I become?”
“What happened?”
The story tumbled out. She didn’t look my way. “After the supper, Peter stayed, I think because my dear parents expected him to. Mistress Evie, I’d never been happier. Lucinda’s gift didn’t matter. Why would I want to break the promise that would extend my happiness forever?”
That fairy!
“Father and Mother left us in the blue parlor. When the door closed, I ran to Peter and threw my arms around his neck.”
Which I wanted to wring.
“He removed them and walked to the window. These were his exact words: ‘Affection, darling, is for display. When we’re alone, I prefer to be unencumbered.’”
“What did you say?”
“I was confused. I sat down. In my mind I ran through how I might have angered or disappointed him. I told him I was sorry. He asked me how long my parents would expect us to remain alone together. I begged him to tell me what I’d done.”
I clenched my fists.
“He merely stared out the window. After a minute, he hummed the gavotte we’d danced earlier. That’s when I started weeping. I was sure he despised me, that for some reason his love had turned to hate, that I had done something dreadful. If only I could recall it, I could set it right. Finally, I gasped out, ‘Do you still love me?’
“He said in a dry voice, ‘As much as ever, darling.’ For an instant I felt better, and then I understood. That was his promise, which he couldn’t change because of the fairy, to love me as much as he ever had. I croaked out, sounding like a frog, ‘You never did.’ The villain said, ‘It’s not in my nature, love.’”
She waited for me to speak.
What to say? “He’s very bad.” It sounded inadequate.
Below us, a child’s boat glided by on a slow current.
“Yes. He wanted my money and now—”
“And your rank and beauty.” I felt for her, but the moat was stocked with trout. I hadn’t eaten fish since I’d changed. I thought I’d like a dozen.
“Squire Jerrold wasn’t slandering him. I know that now. Peter didn’t kill the ogres. I didn’t ask, but I’m sure. How could I have been so easily duped?”
I swallowed my hunger. “How could I have been? He charmed me, too. In the Fens. I believed he loved me.” Gently, I turned her shoulders. “Look at me. Imagine the self-deception I indulged in. Sir Peter would as soon love a warty toad as me.”
She threw her arms around me and hugged me.
When she released me, I said, “I miss my mother.”
Her face melted, which made me weep, too. I wondered what the watching guards thought.
I recovered first, because my grief was old by now.
Finally, her sobs quieted. She set her feet, drew her shoulders back. “We’re both the fairy’s victims. I won’t weep over Peter again.”
“Good!”
“You’re my model of fortitude. Courage.” She smiled. “Humor.”
Oh my. In the years to come, I’d repeat her words until they became my motto.
Her eyes widened. “Peter started the rumors about you.”
“Yes.” I whispered, in case a guard had ogre-sharp ears. “We aren’t the only fools. He’s also entranced the king.” I wished I hadn’t promised the master not to tell anyone the truth about Squire Jerrold. Lady Eleanor, raised in the ways of the court, might have had an idea about how to get the squire recognized as crown prince even without the master’s help.
“Oh! I’ve been too caught up by my trouble to think of His Majesty’s.” She started back to the castle. “King Imbert will be wiser than I was. He’ll realize, or Peter will give himself away.”
The guards followed us.
I feared she was underestimating Sir Peter and, alas, overestimating the king.
When we reached the castle courtyard, she stopped, and the guards kept a polite distance.
“I have a declaration to make.” She took a deep breath. “Before I met him, I didn’t love anyone, I mean, other than my family and my friends. I swear to go back to that. I wasn’t unhappy then. My mother says I have a strong spirit. My spirit will be my fortress.”
“Bravo! You don’t need a potion.” What she needed was an amulet to protect her, and I didn’t deal in those. “Does he realize you no longer care for him?”
She considered. “I don’t think so. He came by yesterday, but we weren’t alone for a moment. It was all a charade. He must have noticed I’d been weeping, but he’d expect that if I did still love him.”
“Try not to let him know. Don’t trust him. Even when you think you’re not trusting him, make sure you aren’t.” I hardly understood myself, but I meant every garbled word. “Remember how wily he is.”
She nodded. “How fortunate I am you’re my friend.” She laughed. “When I came to the castle, I thought myself the unluckiest maiden in Kyrria.”
Back in the kitchen, the scullery maids scraped carrots, peeled potatoes, and turned the roasts without their usual chat and giggles. Trunk pounded a steak with a meat hammer as if he hoped to kill the animal all over again. As soon as he looked up, he shooed his helpers from the room. “Do something else awhile. Pick herbs for tomorrow’s stew and for the day after that.”
They hastened out.
He said, “Mistress Ogre, now I know why the master never called him King Imbert. A real king can tell a good man from a rotten cucumber.”
“What happened?” I asked.
“Imbert has proclaimed the impostor his heir!”