Fool's Errand by Maureen Fergus

little Mateo in her arms and Meeka at her heels. At Meeka’s heels was Rachel, looking like a grubby ghoul on account of the smelly horse blanket she wore over her head to hide her startling likeness to the long-lost princess. Persephone had tugged off the blanket and tried to give her friend a hug, but Rachel had been quite unable to stop bobbing clumsy curtseys and babbling about what an honour it was to stand before Her most gracious Highness. Persephone had been much dismayed by this behaviour. Indeed, she did not know what she’d have done if Meeka had not come to the rescue by loudly whispering that although the court physicians would undoubtedly be eager to try to restore the girl’s addled wits by drilling a hole in her skull, she, herself, felt that a very large goblet of wine might do the trick just as well.
    Three very large goblets of wine later had seen Rachel bathed and comfortably curled up in a chair across from Persephone, laughing helplessly as Meeka solemnly imparted the happy, happy news that Azriel was not a eunuch after all.
    Now, upon hearing the door shut behind the last of the deliciously scandalized kitchen servants, Rachel flung off the covers and sat up amid the mountain of feather pillows.
    â€œI must say that being chased through the streets by a swarm of the Regent’s horrid New Men, half-drowning in a filthy moat, coming within a hair of being stabbed, trampled and pitchforked to death and generally being terrified out of my wits was well worth a night’s sleep in this bed,” she announced as she yawned and stretched luxuriously.
    â€œI know exactly what you mean,” said Persephone, recalling her first night in the palace.
    The two of them smiled at each other and then slid out of their respective sides of the bed in such unison that they looked more like one girl and her reflection than two separate girls. By the time they’d walked the ten paces to the table, Martha was already carving the roast pheasant, Meena was pouring tankards of mead, and Meeka was trying to feed a quail’s egg to Azriel (who’d spent the night on the hard, cold floor without even having tried to persuade Persephone that the bed was big enough for three). Meeta was breathlessly counting the honey buns to see if there were enough for each of them to have two and little Mateo—who’d insisted upon sleeping on the floor with Azriel even though he’d been offered a cozy spot at the foot of the bed—was standing near Azriel’s chair watching the rest of them with the hooded eyes of a hunted child.
    Persephone bade everyone good morning and was just about to point out to Meeka that Azriel could probably feed himself when there came a knock at the door. Martha immediately left off carving the pheasant to answer it. When she returned, she was carrying a folded, sealed piece of parchment.
    â€œWhat is it?” asked Rachel as she sat down at the table, pulled the nearest large platter of meat toward her and began to eat.
    Martha hesitated. “A letter,” she said, “from the king.”
    Silence fell upon the room.
    â€œWhat … what does it say?” asked Persephone.
    Clearly pleased to have been granted the honour of opening the letter, Martha broke the wax seal and unfolded the creamy parchment. “It says only that the king wishes to see you as soon as may be.”
    Persephone took a deep breath. The king was so kind and sweet that she did not think he’d be angry with her for having pretended to be someone she was not and for having run out on him without a word of explanation or farewell after having shown him great affection. However, as she was rapidly discovering, some men could be funny about things like that. Moreover, her very existence threatened King Finnius’s right to rule, and she had a fair idea that all kings could be funny about things like that .
    â€œI suppose that means our feast will have to wait until after