AND WOKE to the master of occasions declaring Sir Stephan the winner. The crowd cheered. The knight straddled my chest, laughing, pouring water into my nose, my mouth, my eyes. I was glad he was still alive.
He stood and I scrambled up. He hadn’t really won.
From her balcony seat, Princess Eleanor cried, “Are you all right?”
I called up, “Yes.”
The next contestant, a young woman, was unknown to me. I pulled her down, too, and her meaty scent set me off again. The cycle repeated. I fainted again and woke up wondering if unconsciousness would continue to save both me and my opponent. I remembered my uncontrollable response to the dragons.
Wormy’s turn. This was different. His scent, his closeness, overwhelmed me with love as well as hunger. We both fainted.
King Imbert himself came onto the field and stood over us. I got to my feet and curtsied. Wormy tried to stand but slumped back.
I crouched. “I can treat—”
“Mistress Evie, rise.”
I stood. “Yes, Sire.”
“Would you be this useless if you joined us in a fight against other ogres?”
“No, Your Majesty. Ogres don’t make me . . .” I trailed off. I didn’t want to say the next word, hungry. Or even tingle.
“Make you what?”
“Er . . . faint, Sire. I never fainted when I lived among them.”
“If you can’t stop fainting here, you’re useless. I’d command you, but it might do no good. Can you stop?”
I didn’t think so. “Maybe if I eat something.” Breakfast seemed long ago. Their scents might not affect me as much if there were food in my stomach.
“Then eat. We’ll wait.”
And watch. I walked to the table and, on the way, had an idea. I returned to the king, who still stood in the arena. “Your Highness, may I have a word with Princess Eleanor’s cook?”
“She can hardly cook a delicacy for you here.” But he gave his leave, and the fairy joined me at the table.
“It’s their scent when we’re fighting. Please make me not faint and not eat them, as you made me not stink at the ball.”
“Give me Lady’s scarf, if you please, Mistress.” I did, and she took a knife from the rows of cutlery, marched to the disgusting end of the table, cut two onions in quarters, and knotted them into the scarf. “Let’s see.” She tied the scarf around my head so that the evil bundle hung under my nose.
Ugh! Ugh! My eyes watered. The onions overwhelmed all other scents.
Couldn’t she have just cast a spell?
She guessed my question. “The magic would have been too big, Mistress. I’m sorry. But I have made it so the scarf won’t fall off and the onions won’t spill out until you no longer need them. Small magic. Do you think you won’t faint now?”
I wasn’t sure. I might vomit.
The crowd laughed as I returned—the ogre version of a horse with a nose bag. King Imbert shrugged and went back to his seat.
Wormy stood at the edge of the arena, swaying a little. “Evie, I’ll be back. I’m just dizzy.” He started for the castle entrance.
I lifted the scarf. “Tell Trunk to give you auntwort tea.” I lowered the scarf back in place.
Another knight, Dame Kezia, entered the arena, moving with the bounce of a born athlete. I spread my feet and bent my knees a little. She mirrored my stance. We circled each other warily. I waited. From watching me before, she must have expected me to hurtle at her. I decided to let her come to me.
King Imbert cried, “Notice the ogre’s wiliness.”
Dame Kezia waited, too, but I believed I could outlast her. She’d want to impress the king, and I knew I couldn’t. Finally, her circles tightened. She was preparing to pounce, I was sure of it. As soon as I could get to her with my longer reach, I grabbed her upper arm, pulled her close.
I didn’t smell meat and didn’t tingle and was able to keep my senses. Dame Kezia stiffened with surprise. I seized her neck and waist and raised her over my head.
She writhed, kicked, arched her back, to no avail. If I’d wanted to kill her, I could have, easily, by dashing her to the ground and breaking her skull. Instead I carried her to the stands, where I set her down. I backed away and curtsied.
The master of occasions intoned, “Victory for the ogre.”
Dame Kezia, recognizing her defeat, wobbled to the other contestants.
Princess Eleanor, Mandy, Mistress Daria, and Squire Jerrold applauded. After a blink, Prince Peter joined in, shouting, “Well done!”
Princess Eleanor cried, “Hurrah for Mistress Evie!”
I said, “Your Highness, I beg of you, instruct your master of occasions to say my name.”
The king did so.
My next five opponents were as easy as Dame Kezia had been, but then I rolled on the ground with Sir Owen, a massive man, for a minute or two before I punched his ear and his chin and ended the fight. He recovered quickly when my victory was declared and I stood away—I hadn’t harmed him seriously.
Of all I fought, Squire Jerrold proved hardest to defeat. He was fastest, cleverest, and relentless. We battled at least a full five minutes—punching, rolling, jumping up, pulling the other one down, pinning each other, squirming free—before I finally caught him from behind, my arms confining his, my legs scissoring his.
“I concede!”
I released him, and he bowed to me, the only one to do so, the true, courteous prince.
King Imbert stopped the demonstration. I removed the nose bag.
“This was discouraging,” the king said, “but enlightening. No wonder we have so little success. We must be even more in awe of my heir for his accomplishment.”
The heir bowed in his seat.
King Imbert said, “Is there anything that might have been done to defeat you, Mistress Evie?”
Everywhere in the kingdom, movement ceased.
I said the obvious. “In a real encounter, there might be no fighting. If they had enough members, a band would instantly persuade the humans into submission.” Could I think of anything to help? What? Oh! Why had no one thought of this? “We should stop our ears. Wax! Soldiers should put wax in their ears at the first hint of us.”
The silence continued for a moment. Then excited talk broke out. Princess Eleanor cried, “Hurrah for Mistress Evie, healer and tactician!”
King Imbert held up a hand. “Promising, if there’s no trick in it.”
Didn’t he remember I’d saved his life?
Seemingly, he did, or he was more thoughtful than I’d seen before. He descended and bid me follow him out of the arena. The guards started after us, but he waved them away, saying, “She wouldn’t dare.”
When we passed the contestants’ bench, Prince Peter stood to join us.
The king held up a hand. “I’ll relate all to you.”
“I’m eager to hear.” Prince Peter sat again. I saw a frown, instantly erased.
King Imbert led me far enough from everyone that he didn’t have to stand near me and smell me and we still wouldn’t be overheard. He also half faced away from me. I was sure the sight of me troubled him, too. “Mistress Evie, I noticed an oddity in what you stated just now. You said ‘we should stop our ears,’ and then ‘at the first hint of us.’ In the first you placed yourself as human, in the second as ogre. Explain, if you please.”
My heart threatened to explode out of my chest. Lucinda, please! If I must keep this form forever, let the king understand the truth. Let me be protected.
I opened and closed my mouth like a fish in air. I swallowed. I choked. Tears of effort streamed down my cheeks. No words came, except, “I’m sorry, Your Majesty.”
“I believe you are.” He climbed back to the balcony and spoke again, this time for all to hear. “If my knights and soldiers can’t hear the ogres, they won’t be persuaded and there will be fighting. Mistress Evie, I ask you again, can you think of anything else to aid us?”
We were bigger, angrier, hungrier, less afraid, had fangs and poisonous nails. No.
Yes! “If the soldiers fight in pairs, they’re likely to have more success. Ogres never cooperate.” Forgetting my fangs, I grinned. “Even if cooperation occurred to them, they wouldn’t be able to stick with it.”
This was greeted with shouts and universal applause.
The banquet table had been cleared during the combat. Now, led by Trunk, a line of serving maids brought dinner out. The people in the stands and those in the balcony descended to partake. The townspeople spread blankets on the field and opened picnic baskets. The tower clock chimed noon. Four more hours.
When I backed away from the table with a full plate, Trunk followed. “Master Warwick is in the apothecary.”
“How is he?”
“Sleeping.”
Good.
Trunk scowled. “A physician tended to him.” He pointed at an elderly man approaching the banquet table from the castle entrance. I remembered that, when I’d first treated him, King Imbert had wished for a physician named Sir Titus.
“Did he dose Wormy?”
“He called it a decoction.”
“Did he say what was in it?”
“No. Master Warwick wanted to return here, but the physician told him to rest. I watched him sleep while I stirred and chopped and rushed about.”
The master of occasions announced that the jousting would start in an hour. I loaded my plate again. I wasn’t to joust.
But when everyone was settled to watch, he proclaimed a change. “King Imbert has considered Mistress Evie’s suggestion. We shall return to hand-to-hand combat, this time in pairs against the ogre foe.”
Me.
The master of occasions announced the pairings. Wormy wasn’t mentioned. Prince Peter and Squire Jerrold were to face me together. Had Prince Peter arranged that? I thought of Princess Eleanor’s warning, but he hadn’t known people would be paired. He couldn’t have anticipated this.
I retied the nose bag. First to fight me were Dame Kezia and Sir Owen, who placed themselves on either side of me so that I could see just one or the other.
At once, they both attacked.
In a frenzy of fury, I pushed both away at once. Dame Kezia stumbled. I leaped on her but remained aware of Sir Owen. I heard a hiss. He’d unsheathed his rapier. Unfair!
I circled her throat with my left hand. She clawed at my arms, my face. Ha! Couldn’t make me uglier. I tightened my grip. Her face began to blue.
I felt the air stir and knew Sir Owen had launched himself. Without looking, I reached up. When his body hit my hand, I used his momentum to hurl him over my head, backward to the dirt.
He lay still. Had I killed him?
Had he landed on his rapier? No. There it was, in the dirt, unbloodied.
Had I killed Dame Kezia? I let her go and stood. After a long half minute, she opened her eyes.
Sir Owen groaned.
I raised the nose bag. “Ogre ears are sharper than human.”
Prince Peter stood. “Our turn.”
So eager?
He descended to the arena, where Squire Jerrold joined him.
I lowered the nose bag back into place. Squire Jerrold crouched, tense, ready for anything. Prince Peter slouched, smiling. I remembered how lithe he was. He might be the one to watch, more than Squire Jerrold. And the squire didn’t want me dead.
There we stood, the false prince paired with the true, against the ogre, also false—for a few more hours.
Let them come at me. I crouched, too. The humans fell silent, except in the stands, where a baby cried.
Prince Peter whirled like a top, surprising me, diverting my attention. Squire Jerrold hurled himself at me. The crowd cheered. The squire and I went down, rolling over and over, trying to pin each other. Prince Peter perfectly timed a kick at my head. I took the blow, and, brain reeling, grabbed his ankle, pulling him to the ground, both of them on top of me.
Defeat Squire Jerrold first; then Prince Peter would be easy. The muscles in my trunk, shoulders, and thighs bunched. I rolled them both over so I was on top, ignored Prince Peter, and rained punches on Squire Jerrold, but he twisted—
—and Prince Peter screamed.
Squire Jerrold and I jumped up and away.
A rapier lay on the ground. Blood spurted from Prince Peter’s thigh.