Page 14 of The Tsarina's Favorite
“You’re Mikhail.”
I turned to the direction where the voice originated and found myself staring into a pockmarked mountain range, peaks and crags forming something akin to a face, large dark eyes the only waypoints around which I could determine other features like a nose and a beard.
“You’re Mikhail,” he repeated.“The prince.”
“I’m Mikhail.The chicken.”
The strange face formed a canyon only recognizable as a smile by the display of teeth.He clapped his fully-formed child-sized hands together.“Even better.”
“I fail to see how.”
“What use have most people for princes?They are dogs bred for aesthetics, not intelligence or purpose.Better to be a chicken.”
“Should I not prefer to be a dog then?”
“Never.”The little man’s canyon smile spread.“No one would think to chain a chicken.”
The corners of my mouth pulled upward — a surprise when I thought I might never have a reason to smile again.“Who are you that you are so insightful?”
The man bowed to me.“I am Drook.”
“It is my pleasure to meet you, Drook,” I intoned politely, unable to shed the niceties the way I had been stripped of everything else.I almost offered my hand, but refrained as it was impolite to offer a gloved hand, and I had been threatened with dismemberment should I lack any component of my costume in the presence of another.“Would that we could have met under other circumstances.”
“Other circumstances are not always better circumstances.”
I could not deny that observation.
“And we have met,” Drook said.“Before.When you were at court.”
Before, when I was a prince and he was but a lowly jester.Before, when ladies flirted with me in an attempt to become my new princess, and nobles wanted to play cards for a chance at my fortune.Before, when I had never spared him a moment to ask for his name as one polite individual to another.Or that of any of the others who amused us.
I had the good graces to blush beneath the beak for my prior indifference and superiority.I was the lowliest one here now, and as my former peers had done, I fully expected that the jesters too would expel me for not truly belonging among them.
“I was never afforded a formal introduction,” I told him, gathering as much dignity as I could.“My apologies.”
“Unnecessary.”He buffed his nails on his coat lapel.“I like my reputation to precede me.”
“Indeed,” I assured him, thankful for his gracious excuse to explain my prior haughty incivility.“I heard you recite a poem about The Kind and Fair Protectors of Ilyichia the other day.”
His brow lifted, and so too did the corner of his mouth.“I composed it myself.”
“Masterfully done.”
“Thank you.”
He sat on the edge of the basket, settling in for conversation.
I asked, “Do you believe that The Kind and Fair give the tsarina magic to uphold the kingdom?”
“It’s what everyone says.”
“So you don’t believe it?”
“I think the belief in it is traditional and in this modern age, metaphorical.”He shrugged.“It’s good for art, but I don’t believe in actual magic.”
While I too did not believe in magic, his assessment relieved me.The tsarina already wielded so much power that I shivered to think she could have more to misuse.
“How do you account for the sightings of the firebird,” I persisted, “if you do not think the magic of The Kind and Fair is real?”
