good. I am not sure what Cordon has done, but this has a taste I’ve never experienced before. Every meal outside tastes the same, like fish and salt. When I’m done, my belly growls, wanting more. I wipe my chin and realize it’s wet, then look down and notice my stupid white garment has an orange stain down the front. Perfect.
“You’d best change before the princess sees you looking like that,” a voice says.
It’s Burbur. She has her cart with her and is placing little shell-and-seaweed sculptures at the center of each table. Ridiculous decorations. Considering all the ridiculous decorations I’ve already seen in my short time in the castle, that poor woman probably never rests.
“Change?” I ask. I was thinking I would find some water and try to wash it out. After all, I’ve only been wearing it a day. I’d worn my old tunic a thousand-plus tides without changing.
“Of course. You’ll wear a fresh garment after every formation. I’ve hung yours in your room.”
“But that isn’t—”
“It’s the king’s orders. Besides, pressed together with the commoners, our garments tend to get dingy and smelly.” She presses her lips together. “Now, go on, hurry. If the princess sees you, she will be upset.”
Muttering to myself about how unnecessary it all is, I jump to my feet and scurry up the formal staircase, trying to find my way back to my room. At the door, I pull back the curtain to find that all the little trinkets are back in place on the damp vanity. Other than a few wet spots on the stone floor, there’s nothing to indicate the room was underwater a short time ago. As promised, a new gauzy white garment is hanging near the doorway. It’s probably just my mind playing tricks on me, but it looks even shorter than the other one. I quickly change into it and realize I’m right—this one hits only my midthigh. I think of Star’s bare navel and wonder if this is the way it’s supposed to fit.
As I’m turning in front of the mirror, trying to stretch the material to at least graze my knees but getting nowhere, a form appears in the door. I know from the flash of pink that it is the princess. She’s wearing a scowl. “I must have forgotten to mention. After every high tide you must, immediately, come up to the tower to see if there is anything you can do for me.” She shakes her head. “Come at once. I require a bath.”
I follow dutifully at her heels as she leads me to the winding staircase to the infamous tower. There is a bell at the base of the tower, small, shiny brass. Here, the hallway is nearly black except for the light streaming through a small window, open only a crack. I inspect the walls, and then I realize that the window is not closed off. It is not a window at all. It’s simply a hole in the wall. There are markings surrounding it, and they remind me of my scars. Some are mere scratches, but others are deep, jagged slits, crisscrossing the wall, as if somebody had been digging away at it, trying to loosen the stones. Trying to make the tower fall?
“What is—” I begin, raising my finger to point, but she silences me with a loud shush. Her eyes linger on it for a moment, and she shudders, then hastens her pace up the stairs.
All of us commoners have seen this tower every day of our lives, but I know I am one of only two or three who will have actually had the luxury of going inside, so my heartbeat echoes in my ears as I climb. It’s dark here. We climb a dozen stairs, then a dozen more, and just when I think the passageway will never end, a cheerful light glows ahead. It illuminates the stone walls of the tower so that a white line of salt is visible; below this line the stone is worn and gray, dotted with a rainbow of mold, and above it, it’s polished and black. This must be where the tide reaches. I marvel at it, noting that we still climb twenty or thirty more steps before we reach an enormous black door, blocked by two royal guards. Star waves them away
“You’d best change before the princess sees you looking like that,” a voice says.
It’s Burbur. She has her cart with her and is placing little shell-and-seaweed sculptures at the center of each table. Ridiculous decorations. Considering all the ridiculous decorations I’ve already seen in my short time in the castle, that poor woman probably never rests.
“Change?” I ask. I was thinking I would find some water and try to wash it out. After all, I’ve only been wearing it a day. I’d worn my old tunic a thousand-plus tides without changing.
“Of course. You’ll wear a fresh garment after every formation. I’ve hung yours in your room.”
“But that isn’t—”
“It’s the king’s orders. Besides, pressed together with the commoners, our garments tend to get dingy and smelly.” She presses her lips together. “Now, go on, hurry. If the princess sees you, she will be upset.”
Muttering to myself about how unnecessary it all is, I jump to my feet and scurry up the formal staircase, trying to find my way back to my room. At the door, I pull back the curtain to find that all the little trinkets are back in place on the damp vanity. Other than a few wet spots on the stone floor, there’s nothing to indicate the room was underwater a short time ago. As promised, a new gauzy white garment is hanging near the doorway. It’s probably just my mind playing tricks on me, but it looks even shorter than the other one. I quickly change into it and realize I’m right—this one hits only my midthigh. I think of Star’s bare navel and wonder if this is the way it’s supposed to fit.
As I’m turning in front of the mirror, trying to stretch the material to at least graze my knees but getting nowhere, a form appears in the door. I know from the flash of pink that it is the princess. She’s wearing a scowl. “I must have forgotten to mention. After every high tide you must, immediately, come up to the tower to see if there is anything you can do for me.” She shakes her head. “Come at once. I require a bath.”
I follow dutifully at her heels as she leads me to the winding staircase to the infamous tower. There is a bell at the base of the tower, small, shiny brass. Here, the hallway is nearly black except for the light streaming through a small window, open only a crack. I inspect the walls, and then I realize that the window is not closed off. It is not a window at all. It’s simply a hole in the wall. There are markings surrounding it, and they remind me of my scars. Some are mere scratches, but others are deep, jagged slits, crisscrossing the wall, as if somebody had been digging away at it, trying to loosen the stones. Trying to make the tower fall?
“What is—” I begin, raising my finger to point, but she silences me with a loud shush. Her eyes linger on it for a moment, and she shudders, then hastens her pace up the stairs.
All of us commoners have seen this tower every day of our lives, but I know I am one of only two or three who will have actually had the luxury of going inside, so my heartbeat echoes in my ears as I climb. It’s dark here. We climb a dozen stairs, then a dozen more, and just when I think the passageway will never end, a cheerful light glows ahead. It illuminates the stone walls of the tower so that a white line of salt is visible; below this line the stone is worn and gray, dotted with a rainbow of mold, and above it, it’s polished and black. This must be where the tide reaches. I marvel at it, noting that we still climb twenty or thirty more steps before we reach an enormous black door, blocked by two royal guards. Star waves them away
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