Whenever-kobo by Emily Evans Page B

you dress, milady.”
    The older woman was a no-nonsense, bustling kind of person. She said, “You must hurry to break your fast. They’re serving the mid-day meal in the hall.”
    I rolled out of bed and opened my mouth wide to yawn, feeling fuzzy-brained. Break my fast. Breakfast. Got it.
    They helped me dress. A floor-length purple gown fell over the shift and laced up the front. I rubbed my hand over the wool. We never wore wool in Texas. It was softer than I’d have thought.
    The lady led me down the hall and I took in details I’d missed during my late night entry: tapestries, heavy wooden furniture, and a large number of rooms. The dining room was packed with people who had no problem staring at me as I walked toward the empty seat by Callum. I greeted King Mael, who made a kind of general announcement that I was a family friend from far away and a ward under his protection. I waved, taking in the bright colors of everyone’s clothes and the medieval atmosphere. Pretending I was at the renaissance festival helped me handle things with more aplomb than I should have had in these circumstances. Or maybe being chased by assassins and saving royalty added confidence. I didn’t try to analyze it too much.
    I examined the gummy cereal-looking substance in the wooden bowl in front of me and then looked at Callum. “What is this?”
    “Porridge.”
    I knew the word from Goldilocks, but it didn’t really clarify anything for me. I poked at the top with the spoon and imagined quicksand. “And that is?”
    Callum made a thinking sound with his tongue and said, “Oatmeal.” He said it like the word was foreign and I guessed they used porridge in modern Ireland.
    I lowered my voice and asked about the betrayers.
    “Locked up.” Callum tapped the stem of my spoon with his own. “Try it.”
    “Mmhm.” I made a noncommittal noise. The oatmeal, sweetened with honey, had a dense consistency. Not bad. Not good, but not bad. Mom cooked better.
    King Mael leaned forward. “Word has gone throughout Ireland, and my countrymen have begun arriving for the swearing-in festivities. Do you have such things where you’re from?”
    “We celebrate with festivals. They make money for the community.”
    Mael nodded. “Describe them, if you would.”
    “There’s the crawfish festival. And an award goes to best shucker. People vie for the title.”
    King Mael stroked his chin, and his eyes brightened. “We’ll have games. We’ll make it an annual event marking my reign. Thirteen contests on the thirteenth.”
    I winced.
    King Mael said in a considering tone, “We can find the greatest warrior and offer him a position in my household.”
    Callum nodded. “That will strengthen your inner circle.”
    “And test intellect,” I said. “We have academic contests where I’m from. The smartest man or woman could become a member of your advisory council.”
    “Woman?” the King asked with doubt in his voice.
    I put both fists on the table and leaned forward to make my point. “Yes, woman. Ireland has elected two women presidents.”
    “Elected leaders. What of the royal family?”
    I had to start keeping my mouth shut. He may live in a barbaric age, but again, he was smart. “They’re there. It’s complicated. They serve a charitable, improve-the-world function.”
    “But taxes fund them?”
    I nodded.
    King Mael snorted. “But the ruler could be royal?”
    “If he or she runs and is elected, yes.”
    Callum stayed silent while King Mael seemed fascinated, and again I told myself to shut up. Letting King Mael’s interest feed my ego was going to be detrimental to his helping us leave. “I really don’t know much about Ireland or European history.”
    “Where are you from?”
    Somehow, it was a shock to realize not only had my country not been founded, but western civilization didn’t even know it existed yet. I was here more than a hundred years before Christopher Columbus would make his voyage. I tried to think of