"Should we go fetch them?" Dot asked.
"I don't know," Rian said. "Perchance they made up after the rather noisy fight last night and it was… exhausting." He waggled his eyebrows. We all made faces of disgust.
The fight had been terrible, with screeching from Frit and roars from Bil. From the few words I had heard, I knew far more about their crumbling marriage than I wanted to. Several of the circus folk had knocked on the door to Bil's cart, timidly asking if all was well, and Bil had screamed at them to stay away if they valued their jobs.
The sounds stopped past midnight, but it had taken me a long time to fall asleep.
This morning had been subdued, but now we all felt the stirrings of unease. Some of the performers stretched half-heartedly, but no one wanted to begin until we knew where Bil was. He always started the practice of the morning, no matter how bitter, or hungover, or busy, swinging his cane aloft and shouting "Fly, me lovelies!"
"Bethany, go see where Bil and Frit are, would you, my dear?" Drystan drawled, studying his nails.
Bethany, who was only lounging in the stands to watch, heaved herself up and went to investigate. The clowns and the acrobats stretched, and Tym and Karla warmed up Saitha the elephant, but we were all waiting.
Bethany returned a quarter of an hour later, pale.
"Frit's gone," she said as we clustered around her.
"Gone? What do you mean?" Dot asked.
Bethany blinked rapidly at her. "He struck her last night I'm guessing, and badly, and so she's left Bil, and left us." People made sounds of dismay. Frit had been well-liked by all in the circus. I had even liked her, as much as I had been frightened of her and what she had pieced together. I wondered how much she had taken out of the safe when she left. Pride and gratitude in equal measures surged through me – though she might have stolen, she did what she had to do to survive, and she had not shared my secret. At least, I did not think she had.
"How is Bil handling it?" Jive asked.
"Not well. He nearly brained me with a candlestick when I asked after him. I don't think he'll be coming out today. I think it is best we get on without him, and make this circus the best show we can."
We practiced all day, with Drystan leading us. He was quite a good taskmaster; harsh but fair, telling us when we did something that was not right but praising us when we did something well. What was more surprising was that everyone followed him without complaint. He was a natural leader. I hid a smile as I flipped around the trapeze bar and Drystan called out encouragement below. Bil would have to watch out for Drystan.
Bil appeared for practice three days later. He looked terrible and quite obviously had not bathed, eaten, or drunk anything other than whisky since Frit had left. That day, he sat in the stands and watched Drystan lead us in practice. He did not speak a word. The next day, he stood next to Drystan, still silent. The day after that, he hoarsely led us again in practice, with Drystan assisting when Bil floundered. Bil took over the last day, but the fire seemed smothered. There was no swinging of the cane, and no triumphant shout of "Fly, me lovelies." Our next lump of pay came as promised, but of course without the bonus.
The circus was as ready as it was going to be. The doors opened for the first show of the season.
I dressed for the pantomime performance in the privacy of my cart. It felt very strange to have a full skirt swish against my legs for the first time since early spring. I had snuck into the market and bought the Lindean chest binder, spending almost all of my money. It took barely any time to step into the stretchy yet stiff fabric, pulling laces at the front to hold down my small breasts with ease. I stuffed the bodice of my gown with cotton. Looking into the tarnished mirror, I plaited my hair away from my face at either temple and piled the rest onto my head in an elegant bun, leaving one curl to frame my face. Anna had taught me how to style my hair in this way, and it worked well enough even though my hair was much shorter now.
I applied the cosmetics I used as an aerialist, but stained my lips and applied rouge to my cheeks. After clipping earrings onto my lobes and draping a cheap necklace around my neck, the familiar face of Iphigenia Laurus looked at me. This Gene was different; her face was leaner and more determined, but it was her.
The princess dress was made of a cheap cotton velvet in dark green. I covered my elaborate hair with a scarf. I would wear another cap when I performed on the trapeze, as there would not be time to do anything but quick touchups before the final act of the pantomime. Disguises upon disguises.
I pulled my thin coat and made my way to the big top. It was half an hour before the show was due to begin, but already a crowd queued outside of the tent, and many others milled along the beach, their small faces turning to look at the tent as they passed. The warm weather had chased away the grey clouds.
I slipped into the rear entrance of the tent and entered pandemonium. Everyone rushed about, rummaging through the spare costume chest, painting their faces, stretching, and practicing lines. The dimly lit changing area offered some privacy for the performers, and I set out my all my costumes in a particularly dark corner.
The atmosphere of the tent had been transformed for the cultured and more affluent city of Imachara. Glass globes wrapped in gold, blue, and green scarves softened the light around the stage. The air was hot and muggy with so many bodies in such a small space. No one was immune to the heat; the noblewomen had servants to flap fans for them, the merchant women flapped their own fans, and the poor wiped their faces with kerchiefs.
Bil strode into the center of the ring in a new waistcoat and top hat and his cane polished to a high shine. He introduced the audience to the circus with the same vigor I had always seen. I would never know that this was a man broken, who cried loudly in his tent at night while everyone pretended not to hear.
The Vestige machine filled the tent with fog, lightning and stars, undercut by the scent of dried rose petals.
When the fog cleared, the king was in his castle, counting coins on a desk decorated with a globe of the Archipelago in his study. He chuckled as he clinked the coins together, occasionally twirling the globe.
Drystan, who played Leander, our hero and fair Prince of Kymri, tiptoed onto the stage, making an elaborate shushing motion. In a stage whisper that carried about the tent, he said:
"
The King doth count his golden coins with glee
But 'tis never enough for his fine Tree
To his left, to his right – all are his foes:
Until he rules the Archipelago."
I stood in the wings, awaiting my cue, smiling as Drystan, as Leander, charmed the audience, describing the heinous crimes of the king throughout his long reign. He instructed the audience to hiss whenever they saw the king appear in a new scene. Leander found an adorable boy in the front row about ten years of age.
"What is your name, young sir?" he asked.
"Eddie," the boy said, nervously. "Your Highness." He clutched his mother's hand.
"Well, brave Eddie, can you hiss as loud as you can, to show the others how it should be done?"
The boy hissed – a whisper nearly lost in the big top.
Leander clapped. "Most excellent, my young sir. Perhaps I shall turn you into one of my knights when you are grown. But until then – how do you feel about a sword?"
The boy crinkled his brow. "A sword?"
With perfectly timed sleight-of-hand, Leander produced a wooden practice sword and handed it to the boy, who took it with delight. I smiled in turn as I peeked out at the stage. This was why I loved the circus: those looks of wonder, of shocked pleasure and delight at watching the fantastic.
The boy "sheathed" his new sword in his belt and gave Leander a little bow. Drystan had chosen his volunteer well.
The king, oblivious to the talk of princes and swords, finished counting his gold, sweeping it into a chest and laughing. Leander motioned frantically at the king. The audience hissed. The king glanced around, as if he had heard the wind blowing.
"Iona?" he called, stroking his gigantic false beard and moustache. "Iona, child, where are you?"
That was my cue. As Iona, I entered the stage, somber and nervous, curtseying. "My lord father," I said.
"Hello, my daughter. You must wed soon," he declared. "We have known the time must come, my sweet." He rested a hand on my head.
The gesture reminded me of my father's hand on mine, the only sign of affection he ever gave me. I pushed the memory away and focused on the role of Iona.
"The princes of the colonies will be coming to compete for your hand," the king said. "You may choose whichever one your heart desires most."
I raised my head. "Thank you, Father."
"I only wish for your happiness." He tucked the chest of gold underneath his arm and sauntered from the stage.
I spat on the ground, shocking the audience into laughter.
"I can choose between a child, an old man, a man who treats his citizens badly, or the one who pinched me when I was little until I cried. How will I ever find love among them?" I ran off the stage in tears.
The tumblers performed their opening act, shirtless and oiled. I heard a scandalized gasp for every appreciative one from the women in the audience.
The pantomime returned. A line of men stood waiting to be presented to Princess Iona. The clowns wore finery of sequins and large crowns. They were noblemen of the highest order, or figurehead princes from the colonies that the king already ruled. They introduced themselves, flattering me with gifts. The prince of Linde, stooped with age, gave her a carved wooden box and said her eyes were brighter than all the stars in the heavens. The prince of Girit, a local boy of four, gave the princess a flower and simply called her pretty. Another swaggered and thrust cloth-of-gold into her arms, listing the various reasons why he was the perfect man to marry.
I turned aside from the princes. "Perhaps I should choose the child!" I exclaimed to the crowd. "So far he was definitely the nicest."
Only one prince remained. The foreign prince of Kymri, Leander. He bowed low, the false jewels and gold of his historically inaccurate doublet catching in the light.
My face filled with awe, a hand covering my mouth. Drystan came to me, grasping my hands in his. He spoke Leander's words of love, but in the magic of the stage and the costume, the words seemed charged:
"
How is it that I dare to speak to thee?
Some spirit of love has o'er taken me
Oh, strike me, stone me, good Lady and Lord
I am too base to call her my adored
."
All of the other characters faded off the stage, leaving Leander and Iona alone. Drystan kissed me deeply in front of the audience. The tips of his fingers grazed my cheekbone, his stubble scratched my skin. He smelled of greasepaint and a faint but not unpleasant musk. My faithless lips responded, and I glared at him guiltily when we broke away. He only smirked as he bent over my hand and bid me a saccharine rhymed farewell.
The clowns performed next, chasing each other around the ring, hitting one another and yelling rude jokes to tease laughter from the audience. Just as it seemed that they would leave the ring, they ran through the crowd, throwing bright confetti, flipping down the narrow aisles. I only paid half a mind to them, my thoughts lingering on the feel of Drystan's lips on mine, and the drop of my stomach, almost like swinging from the trapeze.
The pantomime continued.
"Whom did you prefer, of the suitors you met yesterday, my daughter?" The king asked, scribbling on a bit of parchment.
"I… quite liked the Kymri prince," I answered, bobbing my head shyly.
The king set aside his quill. "The Kymri prince? Are you sure?"
"More than anything!"
"The Kymri colony has the least dowry to pay…" Around the time the play was originally written, Kymri and Northern Temne were the only colonies that had successfully avoided the Elladan regime. While the king wanted to add to his rule, Kymri was little more than sunbaked golden sand, and not worth the effort to dominate. That all changed when the black gold of oil was discovered beneath the sand.
"The Kymri prince? Has he made you an offer, my daughter?" the king asked.
"He… he has told me he loves me, Your Highness."
The king laughed. "Love? Love is like holding water in your hands. You might have it for a time, but it escapes, leaving you with nothing."
I crossed my arms over my chest. "You said that I could choose whomever I wished. Do you honor your promise, my lord?"
"All right, all right," the king said, holding his hands in supplication. "I will think on it. But I have already decided that the chosen beau must prove his worth."
I gasped. "You can't mean…"
The king leaned in so close to me I could see the cotton balls of Fedir's false beard.
"Yes, my dear, I do." He stepped back and threw his arms wide, the glass globes bathing him in light.
"He must defeat three of my beasts to prove that the Lord and Lady bless the union."
"The beasts…" I moaned, falling to the floor. "Please don't do this, Father. I love him!"
The king grasped me by the upper arm, dragging me upright. "You know nothing of love yet, my little bird."
I fought from his grasp. "You cannot do this! You'll kill him!"
"Aha," the king said, waving a hand in front of my face. "Only if the Lord and Lady wish it."
"If you wish it, you mean!"
"That's blasphemy, my child. Watch your tongue. I hope your lover wins and brings you happiness." The king laughed. The audience hissed. He left.