Chapter 18 The Royal Menagerie
The Royal Menagerie
Of all the strange and wondrous places on the grounds of Rathe Castle, the menagerie was Arris’s least favorite.
Near the orangery holding the great dream tree and beside the gardens and labyrinth, the menagerie was hardly noticeable, for it resembled nothing more than a copse of trees with only a low, circular stone wall to demarcate where the animals lived.
Once one entered, it was something else entirely.
Acres and acres had been twisted and pinched off, and only the enchantments of the stone wall kept the vast expanse of land in place.
Arris knew this because when he was eight years old he had pried a gap through the stone so that he could spy on the animals inside only to have an entire tropical jungle attempt to squeeze itself through the opening.
His mother had been furious. Arris thought she was mad that he had broken the wall or wandered farther than he should, but her anger was on behalf of the creatures.
“At the very least, you could leave them their privacy,” she said. “Their situation is miserable enough.”
Arris did not understand. “But … but they seem happy?”
The sky bears who belched clouds liked to lope toward him and eat from his hands before floating off and away, while the firebirds who made their nests in volcanic pits did not burn him when he came near.
Even the great two-headed lizard in the lake rarely raised either of its heads when Arris tossed rocks in front of it.
“Because they have no choice,” said Yzara. “Their very wills have been tamed and bound by the menagerie. They do not even know they are imprisoned.”
Arris had been horrified. “Then free them!”
“We cannot,” said Yzara. “They are too rare. Many of them are the last of their kind. If they were free, they would be hunted. It is not a perfect solution, but at least they are safe. The very least we can give them is some dignity, yes?”
Over time, the menagerie had changed. Arris had persuaded his father to stop accepting exotic beasts as gifts from other kingdoms. Slowly, the menagerie was becoming a place of rehabilitation rather than recreation. Now it was a source of pride … but Arris still couldn’t bring himself to enjoy it.
Every time he stepped foot inside the menagerie, he felt a rush of embarrassment.
The menagerie formed a trail, separated by manicured lawns, benches and fountains.
Every few paces, a separate vista revealed itself and one need only step through that archway to find oneself in a lush jungle, sandy desert or cool forest. The creatures had room to hide, but they never did, for their fears had been removed by the menagerie’s enchantments.
Inside, all manner of beasts awaited visitors.
There was the gigantic snail nearly the size of an oak who ambled over roots in search of a mate, not knowing that it was the last great snail in existence.
At the desert archway, the scorpion-tailed cats liked to roll over Arris’s feet, purring and marking his legs, oblivious to the fact that their native land had hunted them to near extinction for their poisonous pelts.
In the mountain vista, the rock owls had come to associate Arris with mice, and no sooner would he appear than they would soar out from their boulders, graceful despite their feathers of granite and quartz.
They were exquisite birds, beloved of fantastical taxidermists and obscure apothecaries who considered their rocky plumage to hold great healing properties.
Arris hated how sweetly they sat on his shoulders, chirping and fighting over mouse scraps.
Their trust in him was unearned, and Arris always left the menagerie feeling that he had stolen something from them.
Visiting the menagerie was the closest Arris ever came to understanding how others might feel whenever they met him.
Did they also find him docile, cheerful and utterly and completely trapped?
Did they marvel over his riches as if they were the most resplendent of plumage and wonder how he might look as a trophy?
Beneath Arris’s sorrow for the beings lay an emotion that shamed him, for it was pride.
If there was only one difference between himself and the menagerie beasts it was this: at least he knew he was trapped. At least he had that dignity.
The morning after the first trial, Arris arrived at the menagerie early.
Whatever emotion the place evoked in him, Arris wanted to desensitize himself to it before the contestants arrived.
Once he stepped through the main gate he was met with a dozen conflicting smells.
There were the smells of spruce-sweet mountains and boulders heated by the sun’s glare; plums rotting in autumn leaves and the charnel saltiness of the ocean.
Beneath it all lay the unmistakable tang of the animals. All of this, Arris had expected.
What he didn’t expect was that he was not alone.
Walking along the pathway was Zoraya, the beauty from the Glimmers. She wore a shining purple dress that matched the amethysts braided through her hair. A pleasant swoop went through Arris’s chest when he saw her glance shyly in his direction.
“Your Highness,” she said, walking toward him before curtsying.
Arris reached for her hand and kissed it lightly. Zoraya smiled.
“You’re here early,” he said. “How are you finding the menagerie?”
“Oh, it’s beautiful,” she said, sighing.
“My mother told me stories about the vanishing hue sparrows that once lived in the Glimmers. I never thought I’d actually see them alive, but when I walked past the cave pavilion I saw what I thought was a cluster of emeralds …
but when I reached out to touch them, they flew apart into a dozen little birds.
I feel as though this place has broadened the appetite of my dreams.”
“That’s a lovely sentiment,” said Arris, and he meant it.
How beautiful to see a place and take away only the dreams it might inspire.
“You’re the first to arrive,” said Arris, looking about the empty path. “Unless the others have met an untimely end all at once.”
“Unfortunately, no,” said Zoraya, before laughing. “I am only jesting, of course.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder. “I suppose everyone is still getting ready.”
“Ah, that makes sense,” said Arris. “Shall we take a walk, perhaps?”
But Zoraya was not finished.
“I always get dressed far too quickly, it seems,” she said. “You see, my mother forbade me from wearing face paints of any kind, and now I don’t really know how to apply such artifices, whereas for other ladies, it takes them ages to apply their cosmetics.”
“Cosmetics is a formidable art,” said Arris, thinking warmly of how he and Yvlle used to perch on their mother’s vanity to watch her get ready for court functions.
Zoraya looked annoyed. “I often wish other girls would befriend me and perhaps show me how to apply such paints and pretty falsehoods, but for some reason, other girls turn away from my company.”
“Really? How sad … They seem like a friendly lot though?” said Arris. “Perhaps if you ask them to instruct you in cosmetics, they will show you?”
Zoraya stopped fidgeting with her hair and glared at Arris. “So you’re saying that I need cosmetics?”
“What? No?” Arris blinked. “But you just said—”
“I’m so lonely all the time,” said Zoraya, taking in a shuddering breath. “But sometimes I think I inflict such isolation on myself so that I will never know rejection. Particularly when it comes to love…”
Arris paused. Her words had taken him by surprise.
“What?” asked Zoraya, alarmed. “Did I say something wrong, Your Majesty?”
“No, no … not at all,” said Arris. “I am very much in agreement with you.”
“You are just being kind,” she said, moving closer. Her voice was breathless. “You must think me a fool.”
Zoraya had beautiful eyes. They were as dark as caves and as bright as the jewels found within them. Arris very much wished to kiss her.
“I think anyone who makes themself vulnerable to such a thing as love is brave,” said Arris. “And I would rather be a brave fool than a cowardly sage.”
Zoraya smiled at him. He had not noticed until this moment that her teeth were a touch crooked. It charmed him.
“I think for the right person, I too would be willing to be a brave fool,” said Zoraya, closing the space between them.
Zoraya draped her arms about his neck and pulled him into a kiss.
Her body seemed to melt against his and Arris’s senses went aflame.
Her hair was cold silk against his hands and she tasted very pleasantly of mint.
Zoraya smelled like midnight honeysuckle and sandalwood, which Arris thought was curious because it seemed like every girl he kissed smelled vaguely of sandalwood and it wasn’t even that he liked the smell of it so much as he had come to associate it with kissing and therefore his whole body was quite attuned to it.
It was a wonderful kiss and his only real complaint was that it was cut short by the sound of footfalls—
“Your Majesty!” cried out a dozen or so voices.
Zoraya broke the kiss with a breathless laugh. “May we both find ourselves to be lucky fools, Prince Arris.”
The next few hours were surprisingly pleasant.
He found Orinthia in the frigid tundra pavilion, where he watched her search the snowy field for the Aatosian ice hare, not realizing that the creature had been dogging her steps and dusting off her footprints the whole time.
Arris revealed the hare’s presence by throwing a snowball at it, and the startled hare dropped its invisibility.
Orinthia had shrieked in delight and when she smiled, Arris saw that her eyes and nose crinkled.
“Got you!” she said, happily reaching for the creature.
But it bolted away into its snowy warren.
“They’re mischievous and very proud of their camouflaging abilities,” said Arris, joining her. “I’m not sure he took too kindly to me revealing his whereabouts.”