Gadolor

Harvest Moon

Yellow light from lanterns glowed on the walls of Esthen’s buildings. There were strings of them everywhere, lighting the whole marketplace with soft, homely circles. Overhead, the sky became a rich indigo as the first stars came out. The West was a blaze of color. People rushed around the court, getting tables ready, lighting candles, and adding to a pile of wood that would soon be a great bonfire. This was the Harvest Feast, held on the last full moon before the days began growing short.

Yesterday, Sebastian had come back to the wall, as he promised. He and Entressa talked about the betrothal, and Sebastian told her more about his adventurous life. He hadn’t pretended she was someone else this time; in fact, he was very kind.

They both sat, Entressa atop the wall, Sebastian against a house opposite it. “You’re not happy about marrying the prince?” Sebastian asked.

“Oh, I am! He’s the hero of all. He saved Esthena from Sombron’s hand. I just. . . I don’t know him, that’s all,” Entressa answered haltingly. “They say he’s a courteous knight. But I’ve never met him.”

Sebastian caught his wooden spoon, which he was twirling. “He hasn’t visited you?”

“They’re busy fighting in the North now, and he’s needed there. I don’t even know what he looks like. I do wish I could meet him. Is that wrong, Sebastian?” He shrugged. “I am thankful for the work they’re doing, keeping us all safe. I just wish I knew what he is like.”

“I think that’s a fine wish,” Sebastian agreed.

“He’s coming for the feast, though,” Entressa said hopefully, “I’ll meet him then. All the same, I think I’ll be quite nervous when the moment comes.”

Now the sky was dark and the feast began. All the tables were laden with food. A whole heard of cattle had been cooked for the meal, with mounds of fruits and cakes and breads piled high. Food, music, and dancing were the main items at this gathering. Entressa sat in the queen’s chair and gave a traditional blessing. Firelight leaped on the houses’ walls, throwing reckless shadows across the court, as people danced with equal vigor. Some played music, some sang, some danced or ate, and some did it all at once.

King Austin was there, feasting and telling stories with knights. The simple circlet on his head distinguished him from other men. There was a wrestling contest and a marksman’s contest, where the best soldiers tested one another.

After the first round of eating, Entressa went with the other maidens outside the city to dance under the moon. The great white orb smiled down from her place in the heavens, blotting out nearby stars with her brilliance. The fields and forest lay under the pale unearthly gaze from above, a dreamy wasteland where a crowd of maidens ran together. Nightly summer sounds joined the noise of revelry from the city.

This was Entressa’s favorite part. Bare feet stepping among the soft crop, skirts swirling about the legs. Hair flying about the face, laughter choked by breathlessness. It was beautiful to grasp another girl’s hands—who could be anyone’s daughter, for darkness hid their faces—and swing her round like one’s own sister. Here, Entressa didn’t need to worry about carrying a posture fit for her office. She was merely another maiden at the Harvest Feast.

There was never really a signal, but they all knew when it was time to return. All at once they set off, leaving trampled beans to some farmer who would be glad they had danced in his field. Cheers erupted as the maidens’ stampede brought them back, panting and disheveled, to the firelight. Some united with their lovers and the dance began afresh.

Entressa had sat at a window earlier that day, watching the castle’s sunny courtyard. Amid a great clatter of hooves and a cloud of dust, a group of horsemen rode in. The blue banner of Astor fluttered among them with its coat of arms, a three-tongued flame that was divided into four parts. The prince was expected today, but even though she’d never seen him, it was clear he was not among the messengers.

He had been delayed again. “The wild ones at our west are pressing the forts hard,” an emissary told her, “Only Andel knows the country well enough to command our forces there. He sends his deepest apologies.”

“Fear not, Sir,” Entressa had said, “I am only glad he is protecting us so well. I’m sure he will come when he can.”

The emissaries from Astor were there at the feast, standing with her father. Entressa wanted to ask them about Andel. Was he a good dancer? Did he laugh much, and did he eat a lot? But she was too bashful. Instead of the prince, she danced with a stranger, who bowed and gave thanks for the honor. Sebastian the juggler was there, his flashing smile matching his flashing knives as he tossed them in great arcs. They caught the light, sending fragments of fire across his smooth face, which was always laughing jovially. Entressa watched in awe.

— § —

Entressa woke, half stifled in the motionless night. White moonlight lay on the floor. The tall, pointed window let it in, its shutters flattened to the wall. Though the window was open wide enough to let a man jump through, there was no breeze on this stale late summer night. Even the crickets could barely be heard.

She slid out of bed and walked to the window, bare feet rubbing the stone, with the silver light all around. The windowsill was only knee-high, so Entressa set one foot on it and leaned out, hoping to taste a breeze. All the city slept. One or two watchmen ambled through the streets with their lanterns swinging. The moon was there in the sky, a distant white coin with a little dent on one side, as if someone had taken a very small bite of a cookie. Several days had passed since the feast, and something had been tugging at her mind.

What was it? Was it the portrait at her father’s bedside, the motionless face that was a void in her heart? She often studied that portrait. She had tried countless times to conjure a memory, some slight image in her mind besides the painting. But to her shame, not even the passing flicker of her mother’s face found its way into her dreams.

What about the stranger who slept tonight in the northern waste? He was a war hero, and a courteous man by all accounts. But when he unbuckled his sword, would he be pleasant to live with? Would he laugh at her jokes? Entressa didn’t know how to be a queen; being a princess was hard enough.

The princess’s knuckles strained at the stone’s corners as she leaned farther and farther out, hoping to see more stars, hoping to feel fresh air. She could see the wall below her and the drop that waited, should her fingers slip. She knew she ought to go back to bed and sleep, but couldn’t.

What about the juggler? That thought surprised her. What about his flashing smile, his sharp-tongued wit, or the way he treated her like a girl of his own rank, almost like his own sister? They had met again yesterday, talking over the wall. What about his stories of freedom and adventure in the wide world?

A new sort of fear woke in Entressa’s heart, causing her to pull back from the window and sit on the bed. She was princess of Esthena, betrothed to Prince Andel, who would rule both countries in the coming years. But here she was, becoming friends with a traveling boy who lived without restraint or worry, enjoying all his tricks and stories.

It was beneath her to love a commoner. The duty of royalty wouldn’t allow it. But thinking this was a mistake, for as soon as the word love entered her mind, she couldn’t put it away. “I can’t love Sebastian. I wouldn’t dare,” she said, but saying it aloud was a mistake too. The words love Sebastian lingered in the air, tickled her ears, and wormed their way into her heart, where a strange new fire burned. “How could I? I wouldn’t dare,” she said again.

She strove to force it out of her mind. I have to stop seeing him, she told herself. The thought brought a lump to her throat. Eager to escape from it—to escape from everything, really—Entressa drew her feet up into the bed and lay back on the pillows.