“And what about you?” he said. “What are you supposed to be? A princess?”
I had had enough. “Yes. I am a princess. And this is my castle. And my father, the king, has ordered me to take you to meet him.”
“What?”
“It is true, John. Well, at least the part about Father wanting to see you. So why don’t you come? You can complain to him all you want.”
John stared at me for a moment, his eyes flashing. Then, as suddenly as a summer storm, the anger left his face and he smiled. “Now you’re talking,” he said, rushing to the door.
Holding the door open, he turned to me. “After you, my lady,” he said, bending to me in a poor imitation of a bow.
I walked outside and, escorted by the soldiers, started down the corridor. John sauntered by my side, talking nonstop about the amazing realism of the guards’ weapons and costumes that “put to shame the ones Dan had created for the play.” He marveled at the authentic look of the stone walls and tapestries. Not even the acrid smell of the fat-burning torches failed to cool his upbeat mood.
I listened to him, nodding here and there at his enthusiastic comments, relieved that no answer was expected of me. In my mind, I was terrified. Nothing good could come of my parents meeting John. And what John’s reaction might be to Father’s demands, I didn’t dare to imagine.
Too soon we reached Father’s quarters. The sentries at the door came to attention and crossed their spears with an ominous clank of metal. Then they stepped aside and opened the door for us. Without hesitation John rushed inside, while I ran after him as fast as my long skirts allowed. Wishing against hope that he would keep quiet, I curtsied to my parents.
When I looked up, Father had left the throne where he had been sitting and was now standing in front of John. Taking John’s hand into his, he shook it firmly, as if he had done this all his life.
I blinked and looked again. Mother was now smiling at John, leading him to one of the windows.
In broken English, Father asked John about his studies and his plans after college, while I looked on in disbelief. Was this the same person who had threatened to kill John a minute ago? Baffled by the sudden change, I kept silent, and while they discussed John’s hypothetical future in California, I searched my mind for a way to convince John to stay so that he could have a future at all.
My thoughts kept returning to the same basic question: Why should John ever agree to live in our backward world without computers, electricity, or even running water? I couldn’t imagine how anybody in his right mind would. Anybody except Mother, of course. But Mother had stayed because—as unbelievable as it seemed to me—she was in love with Father. And John, to my deepest regret, didn’t love me. But what if . . . what if he were to fall in love with me? Wouldn’t he want to stay then?
I had to give it a try. After all, I thought, if Don Julián had talked my sister Rosa into marrying him, why couldn’t I persuade John to marry me? John was likely to be impressed by my being a real princess, as he had never seen one before. Besides, he already liked me in a friendly kind of way. All I needed was a romantic setting to spark the flame, and he would be at my feet in no time. And so when we took leave of my parents, my mind was made up: thanks to Father’s narrow-mindness, my forbidden wish to date John had now become the only way to save his life.
John, I was happy to see, was in the best of moods. “Andrea,” he told me after the guards had closed the doors behind us, “your father is a remarkable person. I totally admire his creativity. It was kind of disappointing when he refused to explain how he made that cool sky projection last night. Oh! And by the way, Andrea, you didn’t help me much either.”
“I’m sorry. But I . . .”
John did not wait for me to find a suitable excuse. “It’s all right,” he said. “I’m sure he’ll tell me some other time. Right now, he’s invited me to stay for as long as I want and enjoy his kingdom, as he calls it. I’ve accepted. We’re in winter break after all. And besides, this recreation of a medieval castle is so authentic, I wouldn’t mind having a closer look. So if you’re not busy, why don’t you show me around?”
I nodded.
“Great. So why don’t we start by getting some breakfast? I’m starving.”
John found the kitchen fascinating. His eyes widened as he looked at the rabbits, partridges, quails, and waterfowl hanging from the ceiling, and he asked all kinds of questions. Without pausing to hear my answers, he walked up and down the tables, watching as the kitchen apprentices kneaded the bread, cut the vegetables, and mixed the meat with spices, talking to them in his outspoken and friendly way. Luckily nobody could understand a word he was saying, and my translation of his enthusiastic comments was dutifully censored. I was certain the servants, uneasy already by being addressed directly by someone they took for a lord, would not appreciate being called quaint and old-fashioned.
Finally I managed to steer him to the hearth where the porridge was cooking. Rejecting any help, he so eagerly applied himself to pouring it into bowls that he badly burned his fingers. He insisted that such a delicacy was worth the pain.
We were crossing the courtyard on our way to the stables when John stopped. Further down by the ramparts, some squires were training. His eyes bright with excitement, John stared. “Can I join them?” he asked, already moving toward them.
I bounced after him and jerked at his arm. “No, John. You can’t.” My voice, higher than I had intended, betrayed my fear.
John turned to me. “Why not? Isn’t this a great opportunity to expand on what you’ve already taught me?”
“Yes, yes, of course. But I . . . you . . . you need to make an appointment.”
John shook his head. “What a drag! They’re obviously having a ball. And look at their weapons. They look totally accurate. Right from a history book. Not like those fake ones they used in the play.”
If I were not careful, I thought as I dragged a reluctant John away from the ramparts, Father would not have to worry about killing him. He would get himself killed on his own. And again the urgency of my rescue mission weighed on me like a ton of rocks. But as soon as we reached the stables and I saw Flecha’s head over the half door of her stall, I forgot all my worries.
Flecha was happy to see me—more so than my parents had been, I thought with a pang of anger—and in her enthusiasm, she rubbed her muzzle against my chest, hitting me so hard I fell to the ground. With a bruised ego and dust and hay all over my gown, I struggled to my feet while John laughed.
When I asked him if he could ride, John told me he had ridden before in a place he called “summer camp.” But knowing his exaggerated optimism about his abilities, I asked the stable boy to find us the tamest horse in the stables.
The boy dutifully complied and came back with a brown pony I was sure even Rosa could have mounted. John didn’t want to ride it at first, saying it was way too small for him. He was right, of course, as he was several inches taller than the average man in my world. But I refused to let him ride any other horse, and eventually he agreed. We rode out of the castle. Steering clear of the village to avoid further complications, we headed east along the river until we reached the outskirts of Mount Pindo.
As always, watching the solitary mountain looming majestically over me, I was overcome by awe. It was no wonder that the Xarens, the old inhabitants of my world, had made it the dwelling of their gods. With its summit lost in the clouds and its slope deep into the waters, the mountain seemed to hold heaven and earth together and apart in an impossible balance of wills.