The Truth-Teller's Tale by Sharon Shinn
We had walked through the vegetable garden, past the orchards, and down to the street before Adele relaxed her grip on my hand. She hadn’t said a word since I had made my startling pronouncement, though her face had looked as pale as Roelynn’s. I glanced over at her now, as we wove through the pedestrian traffic on our way back to the inn. Her face was composed and unreadable as ever, but flushed with a delicate color. She looked pretty, and she hadn’t looked pretty for weeks. She looked happy.
“It has to be true,” I said, “or I couldn’t say it.”
She gave me a radiant smile, then leaned in to kiss me on the cheek. I swear she actually skipped a few steps down the street. “I know,” she said. “I believe you.”
Every morning for the next week, I woke to find Adele lying on her bed, watching me. Every day, as soon as she saw me open my eyes, she said, “Micah is coming home today.”
Every morning for the first six days, I replied, “That isn’t true.”
The seventh day, I said, “That’s true.” I felt an insistent tension in my heart, an excitement and a conviction both impossible to ignore.
We were both on our feet and dressed within minutes. It was a school day, so we left a vague note for our parents saying that we had had to leave but would come back later with good news. We ran through the streets to Roelynn’s house, slipping like ghosts through the early morning fog. At the kitchen door, we managed to convince the cook that we really had to see Roelynn, it was terribly important, and she assigned a young abigail to lead us silently upstairs to the room where Roelynn slept.
She wasn’t sleeping. She was watching the door, as I imagined she might have been watching it every day for the past week. “It’s today?” she said, sitting up in bed.
“It’s now,” I confirmed.
Soon the three of us were racing toward the harbor as fast as our feet would take us. We could see the ocean from almost every vantage point, count the tall masts of the docked ships—and spot the potbellied white sail of the small merchant vessel that was coasting toward land on a die-away breeze. We ran even faster, till our lungs burned and our legs ached and our cheeks were red with exertion. We arrived moments after the anchor had been let down, and the gangplank had been lowered to the pier. We were there in time to see a tall, thin figure come limping off of the deck and make its way carefully, painfully, down the swaying surface of the wooden walkway.
Roelynn shrieked and flung herself at him with such force she almost carried both of them into the water. Adele and I were only a few steps behind, but we hung back once we had reached them, not wanting to intrude on their reunion. I could hear Roelynn’s voice, sobbing into his shirt, “You’re alive, you’re alive, you’re alive,” and Micah’s voice in astonished counterpoint, “But how did you know I would be here? This morning? On this ship?”
And then he looked up, and he saw me, and by the expression on his face, I knew that he understood the role I had played. He thanked me with his eyes while he kissed the top of his sister’s head. I was shocked at how emaciated his body looked, how drawn his features were. Wherever he had been, he had suffered greatly. I felt a sudden great wave of affection for him, this man I had always thought so dull, so uninteresting. What a tale he must have to tell of terrors he had survived! And what a good man he must have been all this time, though I had never known it, if two of the people I loved best in the world had been made so happy by his return. I found myself studying his face and finding in it all sorts of virtues I had never realized he possessed—strength of will, and courage, and kindness. It was the face of a decent man, I realized, one who could be trusted never to fail you. His face was lovable, even if it would never be handsome.
And then he looked at my sister, and his face changed, and I realized I had been wrong again. At that moment, he was beautiful.
Micah’s return was a nine days’ wonder in Merendon. Karro could not very well decree a holiday in honor of the event, but it was clear to everyone that Summermoon would serve as a de facto celebration. Never was the town to see such a festival! Karro had engaged entertainers from all over the kingdom to come to Merendon. He had bought out the cellars of the vintners and ordered half the livestock of the county to be slaughtered to serve his dinner table. I never laid eyes on Karro between the day of Micah’s return and Summermoon Eve, and yet it was impossible to escape the sense of his joy. His son had returned. Karro was Karro again.
And Roelynn was Roelynn and Adele was Adele, though for each of them their happiness was tempered with the remembered horror of loss. So easily this story could have ended another way—so likely, they knew, that sometime in the future it would. They were deliriously happy now, but they were both haunted; they would not forget to be grateful for this remarkable bounty, and they would not forget that it might be snatched away again at any moment.
Adele never shared with me what words passed between her and Micah when they finally got a chance for a private conference. If Micah swore that his brush with death had made life more precious to him—if it had made him realize that he could not give up Adele, no matter what his father demanded—she did not mention it to me. As far as I knew, nothing had changed between them.
But Adele had changed. It was difficult for me to say exactly how. She had always been quiet, so her silence was nothing new. She had always been self-possessed and hard to ruffle, so her deep, unshakable tranquillity did not particularly excite attention now. But something had happened to her, laid its mark and color on her soul. I think it might have been merely the fact that she loved him, and he was alive. Perhaps she simply became an adult that summer, learning to handle an adult’s fears and rewards, the truly terrible and truly wonderful things that children never have to endure.
Her experience put her a year ahead of me, but I was not far behind, and neither was Roelynn. The very next year, all of our lives changed forever.
Part Two
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The year that Roelynn, Adele, and I turned seventeen, we prepared for the grandest Summermoon festival that Merendon had ever seen. Adele and I were particularly happy because we had graduated from school in the spring; Roelynn’s parade of private tutors also had come to an end. We were all very certain we were young ladies now, the kind who could be expected to enjoy themselves at Summermoon. Indeed, the whole town braced itself for a rare and brilliant celebration as Karro began planning for his now-traditional ball three months in advance.
Word soon spread that Karro had invited seven families from Wodenderry to attend the ball, and six had accepted. All six were blessed with beautiful young daughters of marriageable age, so it was not hard to see what Karro’s intentions were. If Adele minded the intrusion of such competition, she did not say so. Roelynn herself thought it very funny that her father would think any highborn young lady could be induced to believe that Micah was excellent husband material.
“For I love him very much, you know I do, but he’s not a courtier,” she told us one afternoon in spring. “He is not the sort of man a girl pines for and sighs over. I’m sure all of these girls are very put out to be forced to come to Merendon for a provincial ball when you know the queen will be having her own much more elegant affair in the royal city.”
“I thought the queen had been invited to your father’s ball, too,” I said.
“Well, of course, she’s been invited, but she declined most graciously,” Roelynn said.
“And the prince?”
Roelynn giggled. “Oh, he was invited. But it turns out he’s already accepted an invitation in—where was it? Oakton.” She named a rather unfashionable town on the west edge of the kingdom.
“That seems unlikely,” Adele said.
“Most unlikely,” Roelynn agreed. “So I can’t help but think he’s going off with his cronies somewhere on some disreputable jaunt. One hardly likes to speculate what it might be.”
Of course, we did speculate for a few moments, but since the three of us had all led rather sheltered lives,
Roelynn shook her dark head, her eyes wide with innocence. “No! I am quite fancy-free at the moment and determined to stay so. Men are more heartache than they’re worth, I’ve decided.”
Naturally, what this really meant was that Roelynn would be ripe for falling in love with the next unsuitable man who came along.
He happened to be the dancing master’s apprentice.
The dancing master and his young assistant arrived at our inn one night most romantically, in a driving rain. Father ran out to take their coal black horses to the stables down the street, while Mother and Adele fetched them towels and blankets to dry their hair and faces and soak up the excess water from their cloaks. I stirred up the parlor fire and scurried back to the kitchen to see what we might have on hand so late at night, for it was almost eleven. All the other guests (musicians) were sleeping, and the four of us had been getting ready for bed when the urgent pounding had come at the front door. Adele and I had hurriedly thrown patched cotton gowns over our thin nightdresses and run down the stairs to discover the cause of the commotion.
Two late travelers, arriving in a storm. Two attractive young men, I might add. Well, this was certainly worth staying awake for.
By the time I came out of the kitchen with a tray of hearty snacks, the new guests were ensconced in big cozy chairs before the fire and looking rather more comfortable. Father was back, totally drenched but appearing genial as always, and he was asking them questions about their trip as Adele and Mother set up small serving tables beside each chair. I put plates of food on each table, then stepped back beside Adele to lean against the parlor wall. Both of us were trying to turn invisible so that we would be allowed to stay up as long as possible. Both of us were staring at the new arrivals with frank curiosity.
One of the men had dark curly hair and a dark curly beard and snapping blue eyes that looked as if he thought even this wet ride had been a fine adventure. He was eating with gusto and paused every once in a while to toss Mother a word of praise for the taste of the roasted chicken or the fineness of the bread. Meanwhile, he answered all my father’s questions about the condition of the roads behind and volunteered comments about the lodgings they had sampled while they traveled. He might have been in his mid-twenties, though the beard made it hard to be sure. His clothes, now steaming a little before the fire, looked as if they had once been very expensive but had been used so long and mended so often that now they betrayed a sort of faded gentility. Of course, they could have been just travel clothes; he might have much more splendid outfits in his luggage. His hands were large and blunt, but well cared for; he wore a large ruby ring on his left hand but no other sign of wealth.
It was impossible not to write him down as a member of the gentry who had fallen on hard times.
His companion ate just as heartily but hardly said a word. Still, he was so beautiful that even in his silence he drew the greater portion of our attention. He had fine, straight, ash blond hair; it probably fell some way past his shoulders, though it was difficult to tell, since it was tied back with a plain black ribbon. His cheekbones were amazingly sharp and his eyes were a mossy brown, and the combination of colors and angles gave him a somewhat elfin appearance. When they had come in, it was obvious that both men were tall, but when they were seated, the fairer one looked slim and delicate. I thought he was a few years younger than his companion, perhaps a few years older than Adele and I. His clothes, too, were fine but faded. If he wore any jewelry at all, it would have to be a pendant under his shirt where no one could see it. Though he did not look as if he could particularly afford such adornments.
Father finally got tired of inquiring about the condition of the roads and asked the only questions that Adele and I were really interested in. “So! What brings you to Merendon? And how long are you staying?”
The dark-haired man looked at the fair one. “We’ve heard there’s to be a big ball here at Summermoon,” the older one said. “Organized by some rich merchant in town.”
Father nodded. “Yes, Karro’s held such a ball for the past few years. A great event it is.”
“I’m a dancing master from the royal city,” the guest continued. “And this is my apprentice. We thought there might be some young ladies—and possibly some young gentlemen—who would appreciate a chance to brush up on their skills. Unless balls are commonplace here and everyone feels quite secure in their waltzes and their cotillions,” he added.
Adele squeezed my hand, but neither of us looked away from the two men in the big comfortable chairs. Dance instructors here at our inn! The Leaf & Berry would be the most popular destination in town.
“A dancing master!” our mother exclaimed. “Bless me, I don’t think I’ve ever met such a person. And all you do all day is teach other people how to move their feet?”
Adele gripped my hand again, this time in mortification. Our mother was a wonderful woman, but she didn’t always see the point in frivolity. It would be a dreadful thing if she offended these elegant creatures and sent them off to look for accommodations elsewhere.
But the curly-haired stranger was laughing. “Yes, that’s all we do. Quite a ridiculous waste of time, wouldn’t you say? But it makes our patrons happy, and it allows us to spend time more agreeably than we would pursuing an income through hard labor. We always practice indoors, so we can work whatever the weather, and we’re usually well fed and well treated. Now and then our grateful clients toss an extra gold coin our way or hand down a fine garment that no longer fits them. . . .” He gestured at his own silken clothes. “It is a life just this side of elegance, and it suits me admirably.”
His companion gave him a droll look out of his dark eyes, and the dancing master laughed. “Alexander finds different aspects of the life to be more enjoyable,” he said, but did not specify. Adele and I could figure that out for ourselves, however. Alexander was so handsome that there was no doubt half of his customers fell in love with him, certainly the young girls whose mamas were trying to teach them the finer points of etiquette on the dance floor. I imagined he might be quite a dangerous man to invite into certain homes. I hoped the dancing master was able to keep his assistant more or less in check.
“Well! Would you be wanting to set up classes here at the inn?” Father said, glancing around the room with a measuring eye. Now Adele and I clutched each other with joy. “If we moved the furniture out . . . how much space would you need?”
The dancing master looked around the room with great interest, his blue eyes bright with calculation. “It’s a little smaller than we’re used to, but—yes, I think it would do quite well. Sessions of, say, six students at a time, plus my assistant and myself. I think we could manage to move around the room with a certain amount of grace. What do you think, Alexander?”
Alexander looked up from his plate of food and grinned. It was hard to believe, but he was even more good-looking when he smiled. “I think this will do excellently well,” he said in a melodious drawl.
The dancing master nodded decisively and braced his hands on his knees as if planning for negotiations. “Then we’d like to engage your services for the next few weeks,” he said to Father. “Two bedchambers and this parlor, for our exclusive use. We will advertise and schedule our classes, but we want this room to be available to us at any time we might wish.”
“There’ll be a fee, of course,” Father said.
“Of course.”
Mother and Father withdrew a few moments to confer. Alexander finished the meal on his plate, then sopped up the extra sauce with his bread. For such a slender man, he seemed amazingly capable of eating; he looked as if he could have started over from the beginning and consumed another complete meal. Then again, perhaps his gypsy life made regular mealtimes rare, and th
Adele stepped forward. “There’s more in the kitchen if you’re still hungry,” she said.
Alexander looked up at her, and a dazzling smile crossed his face. “No, this was just enough,” he said in that beautiful voice. “But I was taught to let nothing go to waste.”
His master snorted at that, so I guessed there was a story there, but not one I was likely to learn. I, too, stepped away from the wall. “More ale? Some water?” I suggested. “Or shall we clear the dishes away?”
As if for the first time, the two men seemed to see us both. I could see their eyes flick from Adele’s face to mine and back again. “By the crown and scepter, you’re twins,” the dancing master exclaimed. Not a very original observation, but he seemed so delighted that I couldn’t help but smile anyway.
Alexander was also smiling most attractively. “Identical twins,” he added. “People must get you mixed up all the time.”
“They do,” Adele said. “It can be very entertaining.”
The dancing master was scanning us with close attention. “But the eyes are different, aren’t they?” he said. “And you wear your hair the opposite ways.”
I had to admit I was impressed. Most people failed to notice those slight variations until they were pointed out, and even then they could not remember which twin was which. “We favor our opposite hands, too,” I said, holding up my left hand while Adele extended her right.
“Still, that’s not much help for a man who comes across you suddenly and tries to figure out which one you are,” the dancing master said in a slightly dissatisfied voice. “How do people tell you apart?”
Adele, as always, was highly amused by the possibility of confusion. “They can ask us our names,” she suggested.
“And those names are?”
“I’m Eleda. She’s Adele,” I answered. “But sometimes Adele answers to my name. I never answer to hers.”