Travellers in Magic by Lisa Goldstein Read Free Book Online Page A

thirty years out of date. And once or twice it seemed that the ladies-in-waiting laughed and talked about her. But there was nothing she could do about that.
    Every day the princess improved, everyone told her so. She made fewer and fewer mistakes. The servants hadn’t laughed at her since that first day. Her accent still wasn’t perfect, but she never said anything at the major functions, and nobody seemed to notice. (She noticed that the women hardly talked until after dinner anyway, and then only among themselves.) Still, when the prince told her that they had to be back at the palace in a few days she felt apprehensive.
    The palace was far more confusing than the country house. There were hundreds of people, each one with a different name and a different function, and she was supposed to remember them all. Some of the more important servants looked like nobility, and some of the least important of the nobility looked like servants, so that she could barely keep them straight. And the king was here, the king who seemed jolly enough but who always made her nervous. How did he really feel about his son marrying a commoner?
    Here people were always whispering to her, warning her about other people. “Do you see that woman there, leaning against the pillar?” a minor prince said to her one night at a dance. She nodded. “That’s the Lady Flora. She was the prince’s sweetheart, before he met you. You’d better watch out for her.” She nodded again, puzzled. What could either one of them do? The princess was married, the Lady Flora was not: what did the man mean by “watch out for her”?
    One night after a concert in the small dining room (the one that sat twenty-four people) the young woman who played the harp came up to her and slipped a note into her hand when no one was looking. The princess looked up, startled, but the harpist had already crossed the room. She took the note to bed with her and got up to read it after the prince was asleep. She had had some schooling before her father died so she knew how to read. She laughed to think that she might have had to ask someone to help her read a note that was so obviously intended to be private.
    â€œWe are in desperate need of your help,” the note said. “If you love liberty and justice—and we know that you do, being of the people yourself—please respond to us through the harpist. Your friends.”
    She crumpled the note and burned it with the candle she had used to read by. What did it mean? Who were these people who called themselves her friends? They were working against the king, that much was clear. Did they expect her to betray her king, her husband the prince?
    She could not sleep at all that night. In the morning, instead of going to her lessons, she sent for the young harpist.
    â€œYes, my lady?” the harpist said, coming into her room.
    â€œI want to talk to you,” the princess said. She stopped, immediately at a loss. What did she want to talk about? “About your note.”
    â€œYes, my lady?” The harpist was clearly nervous.
    â€œYou can’t—surely you can’t expect me—” The princess stopped for a moment, silent.
    â€œI had nothing to do with it, my lady!” the harpist said, alarmed. “They just asked me to deliver the note, because they knew I’d be safe. I’m not a revolutionary—I just play the harp. Truly, my lady.”
    â€œI believe you,” the princess said. “I—What’s your name?”
    â€œAlison, my lady.”
    â€œWell, Alison,” the princess said. “I—I just wanted to know who it was who gave you the note. No, no, I don’t ask you to betray anyone!” she said hastily, seeing the girl become alarmed again. “I’m curious, that’s all. Who are they?”
    â€œThey?” Alison said. For a moment the princess thought the girl might be half-witted. “I