“Apples!” Vilkit shouted. And the chamberlain never shouted—he was fiercely proud of always keeping his temper—but today he was shouting at his favorite provisionary. “Where are the apples? You promised the bakers Androvale apples by yestermorn, and you still don’t have them today!”
“I told you, Vittorine apples is just as nice and bake up just as tasty. Sea deliveries are always chancy. But you insisted on bringing them across the bay. Chamberlain, t’ain’t my fault if the ship ain’t on time.”
“Get out of my sight and go stand on the dock and watch for the ship,” said Vilkit, regaining control over his voice. The bakers would use local apples if they had to, but Vilkit had his heart set on offering the queen apple tarts made from Androvale’s crop.
And he recognized that he was going to such lengths not because he feared she would puncture his eardrum, but because he wanted her to say, “Oh, Vilkit, how thoughtful!” as he often heard her praise others.
Vilkit circled “apples” on the long list in front of him. He was always so on top of everything, but the press of events was making him anxious that he would forget an important task.
A man knocked on his door. “Chamberlain, we are ready for you to approve the Harvest Archway.”
Vilkit kept making a few notations on his list while he spoke, “And I am ready to come see your handiwork, in half a moment. There. Let us go.”
The archway stood in the middle of the Great Ballroom. It stood about three paces wide and over three paces tall: large enough for a couple to dance through. The decorators had made it out of slats of a silvery wood and festooned it with bunches of grapes and lacquered autumn leaves. Planters built in the bottom held vines, ablaze with flowers, that climbed the lattice.
“Very nice, very nice indeed,” said Vilkit, admiring their handiwork. “What’s that hook for, at the top?”
“Ah,” said the decorator. “A little extra touch. What with Her Highness favoring the birds so much, we’re going to hang a birdcage—but not until the fest night. Don’t want to stress the nightingales, and don’t want to spoil the surprise.”
“A lovely idea. I won’t breathe a word. Now this is anchored sturdily enough for the first night, but you can replace it the—”
At this moment Her Majesty and Lady Percia entered the ballroom. Vilkit and the decorator bowed.
“Were you coming to check on the Harvest Archway, Your Majesty? You needn’t have; as you can see—all is in readiness.”
“Oh, no, Vilkit. I’m leaving those arrangements to you,” said the queen.
“Actually,” said Lady Percia, “we came to do a little run-through of the Harvest Reel. And I need two men for partners. I would have called in two guards, but you gentlemen will oblige us, won’t you?”
Vilkit quaked. “Naturally,” he answered, trying not to stutter. “We would be honored.”
Percia took the poor decorator’s right hand in hers, so Vilkit offered his to Queen Cerúlia.
“We are all at your command, Percie,” Her Majesty said, with an amused face that put Vilkit more at ease.
Lady Percia led them through the reel. The first time, she walked them through the steps slowly, clearly, and with lots of encouragement (as if she’d been teaching dance all her life), occasionally stopping to adjust the angle of someone’s foot or arm.
On the third occasion she stopped to adjust the queen’s left arm, the queen said, “Percie, give it up—my left arm won’t go any straighter, and this hurts my shoulder.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” said Lady Percia. “Very well. From now on we will use only right arm twirls.”
She ran them through the reel at half speed. Then she took them through it at a normal tempo, clapping out the beats, though still calling out the moves.
Vilkit had never had so much fun in his life. Had he danced as a child? He must have, but since he’d gone into service he’d only watched gentry dance, never participated himself.
At the end of the reel he bowed low to his flushed and laughing partner.
“Wonderful,” enthused Lady Percia. “You were all wonderful.”
“Your Majesty,” said Vilkit slowly, “do you suppose that at the end of the evening, after the guests dance, the servants might have the pleasure?”
“Vilkit!” said his liege. “The staff is invited to partake throughout the evening! Well, the serving boys should put down their platters, and we wouldn’t want all the cooks to desert the kitchen at once, but everyone must dance. I’m afraid that Lady Percia insists, and on matters of dancing, we are all at her command. I will leave it to you how to arrange rotations.”
“Thank you, gentlemen, for obliging us,” smiled Lady Percia, and the two women left the room.
“Yes. Well! Where were we?” Vilkit asked the decorator, slightly dazed.
“You was asking about the swap-out.”
Vilkit must have looked puzzled, because the decorator continued. “When we have to change the decor. That’ll be no problem. We will have this gone the next morning, so we can bring in the Fountain.”
“Any birds with the Fountain?”
“No birds. But I do have another surprise up my sleeve.”
“You know your business. I’ll leave it to you,” said Vilkit, clapping the man on the shoulder and walking back to his office a little dizzy.