Once a year we throw a party here in town
Once a year we turn all Paris upside down
Ev'ry man's a king and ev'ry king's a clown
Once again it's Topsy Turvy Day
It's the day the devil in us gets released
It's the day we mock the prig and shock the priest
Ev'rything is topsy turvy at the Feast of Fools!
Topsy Turvy—Hunchback of Notre Dame
They leave for the castle early the next morning, Dustin still sound asleep and swaddled against Dustfinger's chest. The walk to the castle isn't necessarily long, but the road is clogged by other entertainers and merchants that plan to do some business in the courtyard as well.
"I swear it," one of the Motley Folk is saying in a loud voice. "I saw the Bluejay a few nights ago! He's not just some song made up by the Inkweaver!"
"Hush," scolds a minstrel. "You're going to bring the Adderhead's wrath down on us all if you keep on like that!" Dustfinger glances back to Julianne and arches his brows. He's heard snatches of conversations about a Bluejay since his return, but nothing concrete.
"What are they talking about," he asks.
"The Bluejay is one of Fenoglio's stories," she answers, looking around as though trying to catch one of the Adderhead's spies nearby. "He's meant to be a folk hero like Robin Hood, but someone's taken to bringing the stories to life. An outlaw that wears a mask of blue jay feathers has already robbed tax collectors twice and killed a game warden."
"Truly?"
"Yeah, the Adderhead has put a price on his head." She's still gazing around, drawing closer to Dustfinger and their son. She looks genuinely worried, fingers wrapping tighter around his arm as she speaks again. "The songs describe him in painstaking detail; hair like moleskin, a scar on his left arm from a dog's bite, and a voice that could tame even the angriest of bears."
"That sounds just like—"
"Yes, it does." Her lips press into a thin line, though Dustfinger isn't sure if anger or sadness is what causes the reaction. "He modeled his hero after Mo and I told him how little I appreciated that. Why couldn't you just rewrite the story of Robin Hood, I'd asked him. He's already passing off Keats's works as his own, why not that, too?"
"It's not like your father will ever come here."
"Both his kids are here, Dusty. He'll find a way to get to us." He knows it's the truth, knows the fierce ache that losing children leaves in your heart. It makes you feel raw and ragged, an exposed nerve. "Sometimes I hate Fenoglio."
"I understand, little bird." She leans her head against his arm as they continue to walk, pushed along by the tide of people. They walk the rest of the way in silence until the castle comes into view, all intimidating stone interspersed with bird nests and fairies. "It hasn't changed at all." Julianne looks up at him with sad eyes and he gets the sense that nothing at all is the same.
"Just wait." It takes a while to make it to the portcullis, their way blocked by crossed spears.
"Reason for visiting the castle," a guard says.
"I'm a minstrel, which you well ought to know by now." Julianne's voice is stern as she glowers up at the guard. "The Prince requested me specifically."
"And what about the one you're with? Did the little Prince ask for him as well?"
"The one I'm with has a name, Garen. Study him closely and you'll know who he is." The guard, Garen, narrows his eyes behind his helm and then they go wide as understanding settles on him like a ton of bricks. Garen shakes his head a little and glances at his companion, the other guard heaving out a yawn and moving his spear.
"Dustfinger's dead." Garen looks between them like they're trying to trick him. "I heard all the stories. He ran off years ago and a giant stepped on him. You're an imposter."
"Observe, Dusty." She gestures at Garen with mischief dancing in her eyes. "The eyes are open, the mouth moves, but Mister Brain has long since departed." The other guard smacks Garen with the blunt end of his spear and Garen reacts accordingly, moving out of their way for them to pass.
"As I said," Dustfinger says dryly," nothing much has changed. Garen's father was just as stupid." The outer courtyard is already swarming with people, but Julianne doesn't falter as she leads the way over to a low wooden stage that's been set up within range of another platform holding three highbacked thrones. "The Laughing Prince's sigil has changed."
"He changed it after Cosimo was killed by the fire-raisers." When Dustfinger had last been here, the sigil had been a lion on a green field surrounded by white roses, now the lion is weeping silver tears and those roses are wrapped round a broken heart. "He asks for laments from Fenoglio and sad songs from me on occasion. I hate the sad things."
"Is that why you don't mind the little Prince summoning you at odd hours? He only wants happy things and lullabies."
"Exactly." She heads up onto the stage and takes the pins out of her hair to let it hang free in glossy curls. Her dress is one of Roxane's old favorites, a white top and purple skirt that flares out whenever she spins. "How do I look?"
"Like that gypsy that you liked so much in your world." She grins brightly, bouncing lightly on her toes. She really does look remarkably like Esmeralda in that moment and he half expects a knight in golden armor to come and charm her. He'd have to start throwing punches if that happens. "What are you going to sing first?"
"No friggin' idea. I was hoping Jacopo would have some requests."
"Some Tolkien?"
"I love those songs. They're beautiful." She sighs and there's a longing etched so deeply in her face that it makes his heart beat faster in understanding. When he first came to her world, he'd had nothing familiar to comfort himself with, no songs that seemed to fit. He'd missed the music.
"Sing one for me, little bird." She opens her mouth, ready to do just that when the doors that lead to the inner courtyard open to let out visitors. Dustfinger recognizes the silver gray cloaks, intimately knows the emblem they'll boast of a slender Adder readying to strike. He grew up a poor boy in Argenta, after all.
Everything in the courtyard goes still, all the peasants and Motley Folk scrambling to get out of the way of the armed horsemen. Sunlight flashes where it catches on their breastplates; the two riders at the front stand out from the other soldiers, one redheaded with a foxtail cape to match and the other boasting a silver nose and green robe shot through with silver.
Dustfinger knows those men well enough after having dealings with Basta, Firefox had been Capricorn's second-in-command years ago and Piper had been his minstrel. The Adderhead comes last on a stocky white horse, larger than Dustfinger remembers, older but no less horrifying. He's a butcher, Resa had written three years ago and Dustfinger can't help but agree. A butcher wrapped in the silks of a Prince.
"Does he still wear the jewels at the corners of his nose," Dustfinger asks, a faint whisper of sound. Julianne nods and points to her middle finger without taking her eyes off the advancing Prince. And how could Dustfinger ever forget the ring the man always wore on his middle finger? It had been pressed into warm wax to seal his mother's death.
It appears they're going to leave without problem, but then the Adderhead seems to spot someone in the crowd and urges his horse to a stop. Dustfinger climbs onto the stage next to Julianne to see better, spotting curling black hair and the hulking form of a bear. Julianne is moving before he can stop her, squeezing through the crowd until she's standing beside Dustfinger's old friend. Dustfinger follows suit, all too aware of the baby sleeping in his arms.
"Well," the Adderhead says in a voice that rings out in the oppressive silence. "It appears we're being graced by the King of the strolling players! Last time I saw you, your head was in the pillory in my castle courtyard. When will you honor us with another visit?" The Black Prince delivers a mocking bow, only a hint of his fear visible in his dark eyes.
"My apologies, Your Grace," he replies in a voice that's like a cool balm to Dustfinger's stuttering heart. "My bear didn't care much for our last visit. The pillory was a bit tight around his neck." The Adderhead's thin lips twist into an unpleasant grin that makes Dustfinger sick.
"Perhaps next time we'll use a good rope and a gallows of oak." His eyes flick down and to the side, catching on Julianne. She keeps her chin up, defiant to the end. "Oh, and the songbird is here as well. How wonderful. You know, a pretty neck swinging from the gallows would give my castle a nice change."
"Your neck would look even better, Your Grace," she says without hesitation. Dustfinger would smack the back of her head if it wouldn't draw the Adderhead's gaze to him and his son.
"Watch that tongue of yours, Julianne. I'd hate to upset my grandson by carving it out."
"Perhaps we'll pay you a visit after the Bluejay honors you," the Black Prince says. It's moments like these where Dustfinger reflects on his choice in friends. These two are too bold for his taste. "Think of it, you'll have him to entertain you while Julianne sings you a pretty song and I can ask my bear to dance." A whisper spreads through the crowd, but it's abruptly cut off when the Adderhead turns in his saddle to glare at them.
"You little—"
"I've always wondered why you let old Silvernose ride ahead of you instead of on a silver chain behind you like a tame minstrel." Piper turns in his saddle, looking ready to run the Black Prince down, but stays in his place after a gesture from the Adderhead.
"I'll be sure to send for the two of you once I've got the Bluejay in my castle." He urges his horse onwards, him and the retinue leaving the courtyard and the terrified residents behind. It's not until the Adderhead's no longer visible that life rushes back through the crowd.
"Dustfinger," the Black Prince exclaims, drawing him in for a long, tight hug. Dustfinger used to live for these hugs when they were both orphans, any kind of contact that wasn't a slap or a lashing. Back then it had just been him and the Prince trying to scratch out a living in Argenta, now they're grown and Dustfinger still hesitates to let him go. "I should let my bear eat you for not coming to see me!"
"I'm afraid this little one came first," he says. The Prince's gaze drops to Dustin, the toddler blinking awake with a small yawn. "Do you know him?"
"Of course I do. Dee and I are good friends." Dustin smiles even as he rubs the palm of his hand over his eye, his free hand reaching out until the Prince shakes it. "Roxane introduced Julianne to me when she was healed enough to work."
"He's a miracle worker," Julianne says, cupping his cheek with one hand. "I'm not good with flowers, so singing is the only way I can make any money." The Prince laughs, a deep from-the-belly sound that makes something in Dustfinger finally relax because that sound means home.
"Tell me, where have you been these past twelve years? The songbird says you've been trapped in a book."
"She told the truth," he says, though the words stumble on his tongue just like they used to for Darius. "Her father lured me into a new story and I had no way back here for twelve years. Believe me when I say I tried my hardest to get back here." The Prince's expression sobers and there's grief in his eyes that Dustfinger's all too familiar with.
"I'm glad you're back even if you do smell of fire. The boy, the one with the curly hair, did he find you?"
"Yes, Farid will be here soon." They'd left while everyone else was still asleep, but Jaime should be here soon with Jehan and Farid. "I hope he and the girl didn't cause you any trouble."
"None at all. They're sweet kids." There's a trumpeted fanfare before they can say much else, announcing the arrival of the birthday boy. Dustfinger turns with the others to watch as a little boy around five or six practically sprinted for the platform with the chairs, his mother following after him and Brianna following after her. Brianna's sixteen now, favoring her mother's looks all apart from her red hair.
"I'd better go," Julianne says, nodding toward her own platform. "Royalty awaits."
"Good luck, dear." She pats his cheek and Dustfinger's shoulder before striding away with an extra skip in her step. She loves this, performing for an audience that isn't demanding things of her. Capricorn isn't here to watch her with those silver dollar eyes, Basta's not here to leer at her. "She's a good lass."
"Yes, she is," Dustfinger agrees. "With any luck, our son will grow up to be just as good." He glances down at his son and Dustin's watching him with hooded eyes. "Come, let's go watch her perform. I've always liked the sound of her voice."
"Her voice could rival even Roxane's."
"It was certainly enough to get Capricorn's attention." The Prince tenses beside him and looks over at him in shock. "He and Basta came with me into her story and they didn't lose an ounce of their monstrousness. They hunted her and her family, tried to keep her locked in a room beside Capricorn's so she could sing whenever he wanted. If I were a better man, I would have killed him myself instead of letting her father do it."
"She's never mentioned the fire-raisers to me, but then she doesn't talk much about her past. She mostly focuses on Dee's future. Isn't that right, little man?" Dustin laughs, a bright sound that makes Dustfinger's heart lighter. "Go on and watch her sing. I've got a bear to wrestle."
Dustfinger turns as his friend heads off, spotting Julianne as she dances on the stage. She's gotten better these past two years, almost graceful as she moves from one step to another.
"Chip the glasses and crack the plates," she singing, loud and wonderful as one spin transforms into a backbend. "That's what Bilbo Baggins hates! Cut the cloth, tread on the fat, leave the bones on the bedroom mat, pour the milk on the pantry floor, splash the wine on every door! Dump the crocks in a boiling bowls, pound them up with a thumping pole. When you're finished if they are whole send them down the hall to roll! That's what Bilbo Baggins hates!"
The little Prince rises with thunderous applause, jumping up and down and cheering with a few others. Coppers pour into the wooden bowl at Julianne's feet, a couple of gold ones from the little Prince. Julianne bows low to the Prince and then starts a new song with a wink at someone in the crowd. Dustfinger isn't sure who it is at first until fire lights up and the cheers start.
"Fast learner," he murmurs with a smile. Farid summons fire with sure fingers and a few whispered words, the flames slow to respond, but responding all the same. He makes quite a show and Julianne provides words for it, not even bothering to dance now that she has Farid nearby.
When they're done, the cheers have doubled and both their bowls are overflowing with coppers, Jacopo cheering loudest of all. If Farid doesn't watch it, he might be summoned to Court to perform like Julianne is. Who knows? Perhaps the boy would like that, but it would make Dustfinger feel caged.
Some of the crowd parts to allow the pair through, Julianne taking Dustin into her arms and pressing a loud kiss to his cheek. She's smiling and even presses a kiss to Dustfinger's cheek before heading farther into the throng.
"Where's she going?"
"Meggie's here," Farid says, pointing toward the Prince's platform. Dustfinger can spot her just beyond the platform, tall and willowy like her mother, wrapped up in Julianne's arms while Fenoglio holds Dustin. He doesn't look too happy with the chore, but Meggie's got the baby soon enough and Dustfinger can hear his son's laugh even over everything else.
"Go on and see her," Dustfinger says, feeling rooted to the spot. "Give her my regard, but don't point me out. Where she goes, the author is sure to follow and I don't have the patience for him today."
"Are you alright?" He smiles down at the boy, his boy, and feels a burst of pride in his chest. He's seventeen now, nearly a man grown but still a child in so many ways. Dustfinger isn't going to rush him into growing up, he wants his children to enjoy their youth for as long as possible.
"I'm just fine."