The Truth-Teller's Tale Page 2

  Within two days of learning the news, he had written to the royal arboretum and ordered two full-grown trees to plant in the green area behind the inn. One was a kirrenberry, the tree of silence. Sit beneath it in spring or summer and its limbs, with their flat dark leaves, would stretch noiselessly above you; in autumn or winter, you would hear no rustle from its slim branches as they shook in a frenzied breeze. It was traditional for Safe-Keepers to plant a kirrenberry tree on their property so that anyone desperate to tell a secret would know where to go to speak in safety.

  A few yards away from the kirrenberry, he planted a chatterleaf, the tree that Truth-Tellers had taken as their emblem. This was a species that was never silent at all. Its lime-bright leaves made silky whispery sounds during any light spring breeze; even in the dead of winter, its bare twigs and branches rattled against one another like sticks in a drummer’s hands. Birds of all types were drawn to its lush greenery, and once settled on its springy branches they would commence to sing endless arias. Crows and ravens made their nests among its upper reaches and engaged in unending gossip. A whistle from a chatterleaf would yield a deep and satisfying sound, like a foghorn in Merendon harbor or the bellow of a small, angry animal.

  I loved that chatterleaf tree more than I could say. I loved the varying sounds it made depending on what kind of wind stirred its branches—a shushing susurration if the breeze was faint and the leaves had almost all dropped away; a clattering, jabbering, conversation when wilder winds whipped up off the ocean; and a rich, sad, moaning when spring storms lashed through Merendon, shaking all the rafters and bending the trees nearly double.

  But during no storm and no season did the kirrenberry tree make a sound.

  The first person to come by the inn and inspect our new acquisitions was Roelynn Karro, daughter of the wealthiest merchant in town. She was our age exactly, because she had been born when we were only three days old, and she had been our best friend ever since we could remember. She had dark hair of a rich chestnut hue, and her eyes were a complex hazel. In personality, she fell somewhere between Adele and me. She could keep her counsel, if she felt like it, but she was never so happy as when she was discussing some friend or recent event. Though she was the richest girl in the city of Merendon, I often doubted that she was the happiest. Her mother had died when she was quite young, and her father was a gruff and greedy man whom everyone respected but no one liked. His first name was Delton, but you had to think hard to remember that; everyone in the entire town referred to him simply as Karro. Her older brother, Micah, seemed to have assumed the task of raising her, though he did a slipshod job of it, as you might expect from a boy of fifteen. The result was that Roelynn was as wild as a summer bramble and just as prickly.

  She admired our new greenery, though. “Very nice,” she said, putting her hand on the smooth bole of the chatterleaf tree and swinging around it in one complete revolution. “And I thought the new sign out front looked quite pretty.”

  Adele giggled. In honor of our new status, our father had rechristened our inn the Leaf & Berry and had just hung the plaque this morning. “We must have the only inn in the kingdom with that particular name,” my sister said.

  Roelynn swung around the tree a second time, rattling the trunk enough to send a few of the resting crows off in search of more stable perches. “Listen to those birds!” she exclaimed. “Are they never quiet?”

  I shook my head. “The nightingale sings till dawn, and the songbirds call out the entire day.”

  “Something to listen to, then, when you wake up in the middle of the night,” Roelynn said. “Or when you don’t want to think too much during the middle of the day.”

  I gave her a sharp look. “What wouldn’t you want to think about?” I demanded.

  She shrugged. “Oh—anything. All the little problems of the day. I like your tree, Eleda.”

  But she liked Adele’s equally well, and the two of them sat on the ground beneath its thin branches for a good ten minutes, neither of them saying a word. I grew restless and went inside the inn to see if there were any tarts to spare. When I came back outside, Adele and Roelynn were sitting on the green bench that was situated midway between the two trees. I sat beside Roelynn and shared the treats.

  “So the two of you are professional women now,” Roelynn said. “Will you have customers come to call? How much will you charge? Will your parents set aside a room for you to hear secrets and pronounce truths?”

  Adele and I looked at each other across Roelynn’s figure. These were questions neither of us had thought to ask yet. “I suppose we will eventually,” I said at last. “But—I mean—we’re twelve years old. Who’s going to trust us with important news?”

  “I would,” Roelynn said.

  Adele gave her a searching look. “Do you have important news?”

  I felt that squeeze on my heart that I had learned meant the truth was obvious. “Yes,” I said. “She does. Roelynn, what is it?”

  “My father has made a deal with the queen,” she said. She didn’t sound very excited about it. “He’s going to handle all the royal shipments that go through the port of Merendon. He’s going to become a very wealthy man.”

  “He’s already a wealthy man,” I said dryly.

  Roelynn nodded. “He’ll be almost as rich as the queen herself, or so he says. He thinks maybe one day she’ll grant him a title and he’ll become a nobleman. It’s all he can talk about.”

  “I’d like to be rich,” Adele commented.

  “Me, too!” I replied. “But, Roelynn, you don’t sound happy about it at all.”

  She sighed and leaned against the back of the bench. “He says he wants Micah and me to start behaving like gentry. He doesn’t want us to go to the Merendon school anymore—he wants us to have private tutors. He wants us to dress in better clothes and—and—”

  “He wants you to make different friends,” I said.

  She nodded glumly. “He says you’re daughters of tradesmen.”

  “Well, we are,” I said.

  Roelynn tilted up her small, pointed chin. “I don’t care,” she said. “You’re my friends.”

  Adele was smiling. “We’ll still be your friends,” she said. “Nothing will change that.”

  Roelynn hesitated before speaking again. “And so I hope,” she said. “But there’s something else, something that might take me away from Merendon forever.”

  We both leaned forward and spoke in matching voices. “What?”

  “My father has decided I should marry the prince.”

  We both stared at her.

  Roelynn nodded, even more glum. “It’s true. He thinks this new shipping contract is just the beginning. First, he’ll get all that money. Then he’ll win a title. Then he’ll propose to the queen that she should marry her son to me.”

  There was a moment of silence. “That’s ridiculous,” I said flatly. “Prince Darian will be married to some—some—highborn lady of Wodenderry. Or even a foreign princess! I love you dearly, Roelynn, but you’re just a merchant’s daughter.”

  “You might speak a little more kindly,” Adele murmured.

  Roelynn sighed. “No, she’s telling the truth. Of course. And yet my father seems to think that my future is all but assured. Maybe he has even discussed it with the queen already, I don’t know. Maybe that’s why she gave him the shipping contract. But I don’t want to marry the prince! I don’t even know him. I want to fall in love with a handsome man, and marry him, and live in Merendon the rest of my life. Why shouldn’t I be allowed to do that?”

  “You should,” Adele said firmly.

  Roelynn nodded and then crossed her arms over her chest. She looked very small and very, very stubborn. “Well, I can tell you this right now, and you can repeat it as the truth or hide it as a secret, but I will not marry the prince at my father’s command.”

  I smiled a little. “I don’t think that’s something I’ll need to announce just yet.”

  And then Adele asked
a strange question. “What about Micah?” she said. “Does your father intend for him to marry the baby princess?”

  I gave her a frowning look, because who cared about Micah? He was tall and thin, with Roelynn’s dark hair and fine features; he was always in a hurry and always appeared to be struggling with greater cares than he could really handle. I had never liked him all that much.

  Roelynn shook her head. “I don’t know. He hasn’t said so. My guess is that my father would want Micah to marry the daughter of some rich merchant in Lowford or Movington. Expand the freighting lanes, you know.”

  “Does Micah always do what your father wants?” I demanded.

  “No,” Roelynn said, smiling faintly. “More often than I do, but not all the time. They have terrible fights sometimes.”

  I shook my head. I wanted to say, Your father is a dreadful man, and I can tell you that I wasn’t the only person in Merendon who thought so, but it seemed to be one of those truths that didn’t have to be spoken aloud. “Well, I don’t suppose there’s anything you or Micah can do just now,” I said practically. “So I wouldn’t worry about the prince or anything else at this moment.”

  Adele came to her feet. “No,” she said. “Let’s just go buy ourselves some ribbon and make bows for our hair. We’ll talk about all this some other day.”

  Though it would be years before we did.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Two months after Melinda brought us the news of Princess Arisande’s birth, a more official announcement went out. Messengers traveled down all the main roads of the kingdom on behalf of the queen and her husband. Truth-Tellers welcome. Safe-Keepers requested. Come see the new royal infant.

  Even so, my mother probably would not have had the nerve to present her daughters at the royal palace—she had been outside Merendon only twice in her entire life—but my father thought it would be the event of a lifetime for us, an opportunity not to be overlooked. They discussed it for a few days in private, while Adele lingered near doorways and crouched by keyholes trying to overhear, and then refused to tell me what she’d learned.

  In the end, though, we did go to Wodenderry.

  My father’s uncle watched the inn while the four of us traveled to the royal city. Never had I seen such a spectacular place! The streets were wide enough to let two traveling coaches pass in different directions; the buildings were all grander than the house that Roelynn lived in, and that was the biggest building in all of Merendon. There were so many people out, night or day, that the streets were never empty and the air was never still. I did not think even a kirrenberry tree would be able to cast a silent shadow anywhere over those crowded boulevards and abbreviated lawns.

  We stayed at a small, respectable inn that Melinda had recommended, and my mother made friends almost immediately with the matronly woman who managed the place. We hadn’t been on the premises more than half an hour before she and my mother were comparing notes about cooking, cleaning, and caring for customers. My father had already braved the few blocks closest to the inn and come back to report on the wide variety of shops and restaurants he had discovered.

  “You three girls will want to go shopping,” he said. “After we come back from our visit with the queen.”

  It was hard to believe that Adele and I were actually in Wodenderry to make our curtsies to Queen Lirabel. It was hard to believe even as, the next day, we essayed the crowded streets and made our way directly to the royal palace.

  It seemed like there were hundreds of people at the palace before us—guards in formal livery, noblemen and -women in the finest clothes imaginable, and gawking peasant folk who stood outside the wrought-iron fence and peered inward. Our own little party was somewhere in the middle, respectable but hardly well-to-do. The guards at the gate asked our business and waved us inside when my father explained.

  “Go to the blue parlor,” they told us. “That’s where the others are gathered.”

  It took another twenty minutes and consultations with another seven or eight guards to locate the blue parlor. This was a large, pretty room with floor-to-ceiling windows and furnishings of blue, yellow, and ivory. Five others had arrived before us—none of them young enough to be accompanied by their parents. Excitement had sustained me this far, but I began to wonder what business Adele and I really had among such exalted company. Two twelve-year-old girls come to make their pronouncements over the newborn princess? It was laughable, really. It was hard to believe that even my optimistic father would have ever thought this was a worthwhile idea.

  None of the others spoke to us while we waited. I amused myself by trying to guess which ones were Safe-Keepers, which Truth-Tellers. The old, grim-looking woman with the hot blue eyes was clearly a Truth-Teller; all the others stayed as far from her as they could, not wanting to have their clothes critiqued or their motives examined aloud. There was a tall, heavy man who sat by himself in the corner. His face looked both watchful and sharp; I thought he could be one of those rare Truth-Tellers who kept as many secrets as he pleased. Across the room from them sat two women and a man, laughing and talking in low voices. Safe-Keepers all, I thought, for it was strange but true: Safe-Keepers, at least the ones I knew, all seemed sociable and at ease with the world, despite all the dreadful secrets they knew and must keep buried in their hearts. Truth-Tellers, who could release their burdens aloud every day, were often nasty-tempered and fierce, and many of them were friendless.

  I couldn’t honestly say that I would rather be a Safe-Keeper than a Truth-Teller, but I certainly did not want to end up feared and unloved. I vowed at that very moment to be the kind of Truth-Teller who knew how to make friends as well as offer unpopular revelations. I did not expect the task to be an easy one.

  We had waited perhaps an hour before we were joined by an entourage. A pair of footmen entered the room, so sumptuously dressed that at first I thought they must be royalty themselves. One clapped his hands for silence, the other announced the arrival of the queen. They folded back to stand on either side of the door, and then three women entered the room at a rather more leisurely pace. It was easy to spot Queen Lirabel, not just because her image was stamped on all the coins of the realm, but because of her majestic carriage. She held herself very straight; the gold crown circling her black hair never looked to be in danger of falling off. She was dressed in a stiff purple gown embroidered in gold, and rings sparkled on most of her fingers.

  Beside her walked a fair-haired woman with an easy smile and a Safe-Keeper’s guarded eyes. I knew this must be Fiona, close advisor to the queen. I did not know the whole tale, but there was some mystery about her. She had been discovered only fifteen or sixteen years ago in some backwater village, but had come to Wodenderry when it was discovered she was related to the queen. I thought she looked interesting and full of secrets.

  Behind them walked a nursemaid carrying a baby. The nurse was plainly dressed and older than the other two women—clearly someone who had had much experience raising children and would not go wrong with such a precious charge. The baby herself was dressed in the most elaborate gown of white silk and ribbons; its hem practically dragged the floor. She was wide awake and curious, her dark blue eyes taking in the sights of the room, her tiny fist pressed against her rosebud mouth. Her cap of fine hair was as black as her mother’s.

  The nine of us were all on our feet and curtsying or bowing as our gender dictated. I peeked up from under the fall of my hair to see Queen Lirabel nodding graciously.

  “Thank you. I’m so pleased you are here. Thank you for taking the time to come to Wodenderry and offer your insights to the princess,” she said.

  All of us straightened again and watched her. The footmen brought over three chairs, and the women sat, but the rest of us remained standing. The queen looked meditative. I saw Fiona’s bright eyes pass over the others in the room and then come to rest on Adele and me. Unconsciously, I reached for my sister’s hand and found hers already outstretched, seeking mine.

  “How shall w
e do this?” the queen asked, as if speaking to herself.

  “Let us proceed by age,” Fiona suggested, “and do the greatest honor to our oldest guest.” She nodded at the mean-eyed old woman leaning on her cane.

  “Let us do so,” Lirabel said, and the crone shuffled forward. The nursemaid positioned the baby in her lap so that the child’s grave eyes seemed to look up at the intent old woman. I thought such a scrutiny might make me cry even at the age of twelve, so I was impressed that Arisande did not seem to be unnerved in the least.

  “She will be a good girl, loyal and true,” the ancient Truth-Teller proclaimed at last. “She will be the jewel of your court when she is a young lady, and she will support her brother when he becomes king. You need have no fears for this one.”

  Lirabel looked pleased, but she merely inclined her head in a regal manner. “Thank you. Your words are greatly appreciated. The footmen will show you to the door and give you a small gift for your trouble.”

  Adele’s fingers tightened on mine. Gift? We had not expected any recompense for our troubles. Merely being in the presence of royalty was honor enough for us.

  Next to approach the queen’s tableau was the heavy man with the unreadable face. He, too, studied the tiny princess a moment before making an observation. “She has a kind heart,” he said at last. “Many people will love her.”

  This made Fiona smile, though Lirabel seemed less delighted by promised kindness than prophesied loyalty. “Thank you,” she said nonetheless. “Your words are welcome. The footmen will take care of you now.”

  He left; one by one the Safe-Keepers presented themselves to the women and the baby. Safe-Keepers don’t tell you what they’re thinking, of course. They merely nod, and look enlightened, and then offer those irritating, enigmatic smiles. Fiona’s amusement increased as she watched them, and the queen’s expression grew more stony. My guess was that a three-month-old baby had very few secrets to impart and that the Safe-Keepers really had no role here, and everybody knew it, and nobody wanted to say so. Still, the queen thanked all of them for taking the trouble to travel to Wodenderry, and one by one they curtsied again and exited through the door.