Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
The sudden tumble to the ground didn’t hurt Stefano, but it did startle him.
He instinctively hopped out of the open cage and leapt several feet away.
When he turned around to check on Henry, he saw a commotion of some sort, but the height of the plants around him obscured the details.
So he hopped again, this time onto the mown grass—and was almost trampled by hurrying human feet.
Stefano panicked, jumping around wildly for a few moments until he caught sight of the pond. With a croak of relief, he launched himself into the welcoming water and immediately swam away.
The serenity was immediate. Not just a sense of safety, away from stomping human feet, but also the cool embrace of water on thirsty skin.
He swam fast, delighting in the strength of his body.
When he passed beneath the wide leaves of a floating plant and discovered a cloud of tiny fish, he swallowed several of them, filling his empty belly.
There were larger fish here as well, much bigger than him, each one a kaleidoscope of whites and oranges, blacks and yellows.
He might have worried about being eaten, except they were fat and swam slowly, as if barely awake.
They ignored him, probably because they were too well-fed by humans to care about a frog.
Humans.
Stefano almost gasped when he suddenly recalled who and where he was. And oh gods, what had happened to Henry?
By the time Stefano climbed out of the pond and hopped beneath a small bush, the scene had calmed down. Some humans remained, standing and talking to one another, but they weren’t running around anymore, so being trampled was less of a danger. There was no sign of Henry, however.
What if these people had hurt him? What if they’d killed him? If Stefano had been his old self, he could have run up to the nearest person in authority and demanded to be reunited with his lover.
But what could a frog do? Nothing, of course. Which meant he needed to stop acting like a dumb animal—or a frightened boy—and act like a man.
Stefano jumped into the pond, entering the water so smoothly that he barely made a splash.
It didn’t take many powerful kicks before he’d crossed to the island, where he scrambled onto the grassy bank.
There were no shrubs or flowers to hide him, but his back and limbs were green, so if he remained still, it was unlikely that any of the humans would notice him.
In fact, the four people on the island seemed deep in animated conversation, complete with arm-waving. “I don’t think he was an assassin,” said the one in the canary-yellow dress. “He didn’t look like one.”
The one in the sapphire dress gave her arm a little push. “And what, exactly, do you think assassins look like?”
“I don’t know. But this man was very handsome, wasn’t he? And young. Granted, his attire was odd.” She wrinkled her nose.
“Ah, so assassins are ugly and old but wear fashionable clothing. I see. Thank you for sharing your expertise on the subject, Sunigilda. What other wisdom have you to impart today?”
The one in yellow—Sunigilda—pushed Sapphire Dress back, rather harder.
Sapphire Dress squawked; the third person, whose dress was emerald, laughed loudly; and Stefano wanted to slap all of them.
Didn’t they care that his Henry was missing and endangered?
And what about the imminent crisis facing their country at King Cyrus’s hands?
Didn’t they care about that? Yet they were hardly more than children, he realized.
And although Stefano was older by several years, until recently he’d paid just as little mind to politics or to the concerns of anybody other than himself and Henry.
He recognized the fourth young woman, who’d been watching but remaining silent.
Although he’d never met her, he’d seen a painting.
Philip had waved it in front of Stefano’s nose in an attempt to convince him to marry her.
In person, Princess Dianora was, in fact, very pretty, with the sort of good looks that were without artifice and would probably only become finer with age. Right now she looked thoughtful.
“Why would an assassin come here?” she mused aloud.
“To murder you, of course.” Sapphire Dress appeared a bit too gleeful at the prospect, as if this were an exciting story instead of real life.
“But why? I’ve never offended anyone.” Dianora rose and walked a few steps across the pavilion, where she bent to pick something up; Stefano couldn’t see what. She returned to the stone bench and sat again. “He wasn’t an assassin,” she said with an air of authority.
“I agree with Her Highness,” said Emerald Dress primly. “I didn’t see any weapons. Although I suppose he could have intended to do her in with his bare hands. Or with a stone, or—”
Dianora raised her palm. “That’s enough. I don’t think he meant to harm me. Perhaps he simply wanted to meet me. Or he might be a lunatic. Or… I don’t know. The guards will find out what he intended.” She looked unhappy at this.
Stefano was more than unhappy—he was appalled. Images came to him of Henry being tortured. It was easy to picture that, given how many times Stefano had seen him beaten. It was unendurable to know that Henry would once again be in pain because of him.
Since squatting here in the grass was accomplishing nothing, Stefano crept a little closer.
He was aware of how small he was compared to these young women, how vulnerable.
One wayward foot could end him, and then Henry would be alone for good.
He wanted to call out a plea, but forming words was so difficult, and he couldn’t imagine the princess would simply sit there and wait for him to become comprehensible.
Besides, what would he say? “Free my beloved and then kiss me, Princess”?
As he dithered, Dianora reached into her lap and tossed something at Sunigilda, who made a startled noise but caught it. “First six lines of Hagash Usa,” said Dianora.
Sunigilda immediately launched into reciting a poem. Stefano had heard it before, during his lessons, but didn’t remember what the foreign words meant.
Puzzled, he watched as Sunigilda threw the item—a gold-colored ball that glittered in the sunlight—to Sapphire Dress and said, “Maldio’s Theorem.”
Sapphire Dress responded with a string of terms that Stefano guessed was a maths equation.
The game continued, each of them throwing the ball and then ordering the catcher to recite a bit of academic knowledge or a song.
A pleasant enough pastime for four young women of noble blood, Stefano supposed, but a form of torture to him as he thought about Henry’s plight.
Then Sunigilda threw poorly, the princess missed the catch, and the ball landed close to Stefano and rolled into the pond. The four of them quickly ran over, nearly stepping on Stefano, and gazed mournfully into the water. “Can any of you see it?” Dianora asked.
None could. The pond was surprisingly deep and much of its surface was covered with leaves.
“That ball was a gift from my father when I was small,” said Dianora.
“It’s quite valuable. Perhaps I should have the guards or servants look for it.
” She cast her gaze around, but the guards had disappeared with Henry and had not returned or been replaced.
A terrible lapse in security, Stefano thought.
King Cyrus would have had the responsible officer beheaded for it.
And there were no servants in sight. A few bystanders watched from across the pond, but they all wore finery, and none seemed eager to help.
Stefano gathered all his courage and hopped in front of the princess. “I’ll fetch,” he said. Or tried to. He didn’t know if she understood.
The princess’s companions screeched and scrambled away; Dianora gasped and took a quick step backward. She neither ran nor attacked him, however. “What?” she demanded.
“Fetch. Ball.” As a frog, his heart usually beat slowly, but now it pounded so hard and fast that he wondered if it was visible through his skin.
After a very long moment, she bent and, frowning, gently scooped Stefano into her hands. She lifted him so they were eye to eye. “I think this is a trick. Speak again,” she commanded.
Stefano swallowed. “Help. Ball.”
“It is you speaking! I’ve never heard of a talking frog before. What kind of magic is this?”
He wasn’t really a talking frog, of course, but explaining the curse was beyond his current abilities. And he was feeling increasingly frantic with every minute that passed, knowing that each of those minutes might be filled with agony for Henry.
“Ball,” he said as insistently as he could.
“Oh! You’re offering to fetch my ball. Yes, that would be lovely.” She gave him the smile of a person who was accustomed to having everyone do her bidding but was being polite about it. Stefano himself had likely displayed the same smile many times.
Stefano blinked at her. “Kiss. Me.”
She immediately wrinkled her face in disgust, and the friends standing behind her made ew noises. Ridiculously, this hurt Stefano’s feelings. He wasn’t as handsome as Henry, but he wasn’t ugly either, and he’d always thought they made a pretty couple.
But of course this was not the time for vanity. “Kiss,” he repeated. It was a very difficult word to say. “Ball.”
Dianora’s gaze shifted suddenly, as if she was looking at something behind him.
He couldn’t see what that might be and couldn’t turn around in her grip, which was firmer than he liked.
But then she gave a quick nod and returned her attention to him.
“Fine. Bring me my ball and then I shall kiss you.” And she tossed him into the pond.
The ball had been bright in the sunshine, but searching was difficult in the murky water. The light was mottled due to leaves floating on the surface. Plants grew on the pond bottom, their gently waving fronds obscuring what lay at their base.
Stefano looked around frantically, trying to tamp down his rising panic as he nosed and poked through debris and soft mud.
His movements caught the attention of some of the big fish, which swam slowly closer, rather ominously.
He’d never been hunted before but was fairly certain it was happening now.
Acting on instinct, he froze with arms and legs outspread—looking, he hoped, like a piece of vegetation floating aimlessly. The fish came a little closer and then, either growing confused or losing interest, swam away. Stefano was afraid to move.
Afraid.
Hadn’t his fears put him and Henry in this situation to begin with?
Hadn’t his fears kept him from standing up to his father for years, leading to Henry being subjected to beatings that left him scarred?
Fear hadn’t just unsettled Stefano’s stomach over the years.
It had made his and Henry’s lives inestimably worse, and it was well past time to find the courage to work past that fear.
All right, Stefano scolded himself silently.
You’ve searched before for things that were difficult to find.
Tiny insects in thick brush. Minuscule footprints and scat and gnaw marks of rodents.
Birds’ nests hidden in tree canopies. Even frogs, dozing on the banks of a pond.
You’ve found those things by being careful and methodical. You can damn well find a golden ball.
He began moving again, but it wasn’t the agitated kicks and sweeps of before.
Now he surfaced briefly to get a better idea of where he was in relation to where the ball had gone into the water.
He did his best to plot a likely trajectory—which wasn’t so different from projecting where to shoot out his tongue at a flying insect.
Then he drifted slowly along the bottom, looking with his eyes but also probing with his long front toes.
And there, at last, was the ball.
It was nearly as large in diameter as Stefano and much heavier; gripping it was difficult too.
He struggled for a while before getting it balanced on his back and then painstakingly rising close to the surface.
Several times as he swam toward the island, the cursed ball rolled off, and he had to get it into place again.
He was strong for his size, but this burden seemed beyond his ability—until he remembered that Henry had spent years burdened with Stefano and had never complained.
It felt as if it took years, but eventually Stefano managed to crawl to the very edge of the water where he remained, the ball weighing on his back.
Princess Dianora gave a happy cry and scooped up the ball. “It did it! It got it back to me!”
“Kiss,” Stefano reminded her.
Clutching the ball, she hurried away with her friends. They trotted over the bridge and then, accompanied by a pair of guards, toward the palace. She never looked back.