Fairest by Gail Carson Levine Page A

manservant? Or the king?
    Or Prince Ijori?

CHAPTER ELEVEN

    I CRANED MY neck and watched the queen until she disappeared around a castle wall. The window opened on a cul-de-sac. I could see only castle walls, a rectangle of grass, a rectangle of gray sky.
    The duchess would be expecting me by now. She’d be livid.
    Ivi had a good heart. She couldn’t be so kind to me if she hadn’t. The king couldn’t have fallen in love with her otherwise—although he hadn’t said a word about her heart in his Wedding Song. I sang a snatch of it.
    â€œShe has thunder
    Â Â  and lightning,
    Â Â  rage and joy.”
    A gust of wind blew into the cul-de-sac. It whipped my skirts up around my waist, exposing my legs. I kicked and wriggled in a useless effort to cover them.
    I wanted to scream with frustration.
    But then the whole castle would know. I’d be the ugly ox who’d gotten herself stuck in a window with a door inches away.
    As time passed, I grew certain the queen had forgotten me. I decided to scream after all. “Help!”
    No one came.
    I pushed and wriggled again. The window frame bit into my hips, my stomach, and my buttocks. Dame Ethele’s reticule jabbed into my right hip.
    The reticule! Perhaps I could pull it out and gain an inch or two. I tugged and yanked on its strap. My fingers turned red, but the reticule was as stuck as I was. I was grinding my teeth so hard, my jaw ached.
    Then I had to laugh. If I missed a few meals, I’d be able to get out.
    I heard the distant roar of a cheering crowd. It had to be the centaur spectacle.
    I heard footsteps. I shouted, “Help!”
    Perhaps if I twisted diagonally to the window frame, I could pull the reticule through. I twisted, sending pain down my legs.
    A man’s voice sang, “What’s that I hear? A damsel in distress?”
    The reticule was out. I’d done it! I squirmed and writhed and gained an inch back into the chamber.
    â€œI’ll save you, sweet maiden.”
    Now that I thought I might get out, I wanted him to go away. I thrust myself forward and gained another inch.
    â€œPerhaps you’ll thank me with a kiss.”
    Go away!
    His footsteps were close by. I illused and sent my voice as far as I could, wherever it would go. “Kind sir, hurry please, for I sorely need you.”
    The footsteps stopped. “Where are you, lovely maiden?”
    I sent my voice a different way. “Here I am.”
    I pushed into the room, progressing inch by inch.
    â€œWhere?”
    I was free!
    â€œOh, where?”
    He’d see me if I exited into the corridor, so I left through the outside door. I heard cheering again and followed the sound. The clouds were lowering. Rain was on the way.
    The lists’ stands were filled, although the arena was empty. I supposed the performance was between acts. There was the duchess, looking grumpy and ill-used in a first-row seat. She was facing straight ahead and didn’t see me. If she had, she would likely have scolded me before everyone. Luckily, there were no seats near her. I climbed to a back row, ready if she needed assistance.
    Spread before me were more colors than in a garden. The stands were draped with cloth—blue cloth here, gold cloth there, green cloth somewhere else. Pennants flew the purple-and-silver Ayorthaian coat of arms. The lords and ladies were gaily clad—the men in their doublets and slashings and brilliant hose, the women in their gowns and ribbons and puffed sleeves.
    I saw Prince Ijori and Oochoo, two rows up, with the king and queen. Ivi was laughing and clapping, with no thought for me, trapped in a window. But perhaps she had sent a servant to save me, and the servant had been derelict.
    The arena was set up with hurdles, too high for ordinary horses. Centaurs streamed in, six stallions and six mares. The muscles of their horse bodies flowed into their human torsos and arms. The tight doublets of the stallions and