oOo
VI
JOURNEY
When Zelda awoke, Impa was gone.
In her place stood a chambermaid with a lantern, gazing with anxious expression down at her. "My lady?" The girl's voice was a breath among the rustles, bumps, and murmurs that drifted in from the outer chambers. "You must rise now. The Gerudo lord will be off soon."
Zelda slipped from bed. "Where is Impa?"
"I cannot say, my lady. She sent for us, with instructions to have you ready and your things carried out to the horses—but when we got here, she was gone."
Panic twanged deep in Zelda's stomach.
But the chambermaid did not give the princess time to brood; she took Zelda's elbow and drew her toward a wooden tub. There were other chambermaids, their faces a kaleidoscope of lamp-lightened skin and shadow. The lantern made their expressions look raw and haunted.
They bathed her, in water so cold that it burned. "I'm sorry we couldn't warm the water, my lady," the first chambermaid kept saying, "but we got so little notice."
"I see," Zelda murmured, through shuddering teeth. She wondered if anyone in the castle, beyond Impa, the Gerudo, her father, and herself, had realized that she would be leaving quite so soon. Even as the chambermaids dried and rubbed her with talcum powder, the realization that she would soon be quit of these walls did not seem quite real.
The chambermaids dressed her in a gown of blue linen, then helped her into a fitted jacket, outer petticoat, and gloves: riding garments. "I will be riding all the way?" Zelda asked, watching the bent head of the girl who laced up her boots. Zelda had reflexively imagined that a litter or a caroche would carry her as far as Lake Hylia. She had never quite considered the realities of traveling with the Gerudo.
Indeed, Zelda had never closely considered this new chapter in her life. She felt like a blindfolded horse, guessing nothing of the road before her, content to tiptoe along. It was safer that way—folding herself into Hylian histories and astronomical treatises, taking her meals when they were set before her, never acknowledging that she was a woman grown, a woman betrothed, a woman who could no longer command the protection of her father's house.
"I could not say, my lady," said the chambermaid, breaking into Zelda's thoughts. She knotted the last lace and rose. "The Sheikah lady just gave us instructions that you were to be dressed for riding."
"A horse, surely?" another chambermaid piped up.
"Of course a horse, silly girl," said the first maid, under her breath, but not so low that she could not be heard.
"Only—I've heard the Gerudo ride wild boars," the second girl continued. "As big as the one as got himself speared by King Daphnes, all them centuries ago."
"Hush," said the first maid. "The princess shan't be riding a boar."
"But down in the kitchen they say the Thief Lord himself do!" The second chambermaid sounded bewildered, as if she did not understand why her companion contradicted her story. The first chambermaid pinched her.
"Shut up!" she hissed.
"Thief Lord?" Zelda tilted her head at the quarreling girls; under the weight of her attention, they sobered. "Is that the name by which Lord Dragmire is known?"
The first girl bobbed. "Apologies, my lady." She shot her companion a sour look. "She's new to service, young—her tongue runs off with her."
"Do not apologize, please. I merely wondered—" But Zelda could see in the girl's shuttered expression that the chambermaid had said her piece. The princess let the matter drop.
"If your ladyship would follow me to the salon." A third chambermaid poked her head around the door. "We've brought you a tray from the kitchens."
"Thank you." Zelda paused. "Has the Lady Impa returned?"
"I have not seen her, your ladyship, no."
Zelda's mouth tightened. The thought of eating, with Impa missing and Zelda's departure so near, soured her stomach.
"Princess?" The chambermaid cast Zelda an anxious glance. "Will you come?"
"I will eat on the road," Zelda said and slipped past her. "Thank you for your trouble."
The door of Zelda's quarters stood open. Manservants and chambermaids carried trunks and bundles out into the hall, overseen by a handful of stewards. The princess moved among them, careful to steer clear of the baggage. Her progress caught the servants off guard: they staggered to a standstill, mumbled her name, attempted obeisance.
Zelda followed the stream of servants out of her rooms and down the hall, toward the courtyard. She hoped that she had not miscalculated, hoped that she would find Impa outside, dogging Lord Dragmire, protesting his injustice.
The entrance hall swarmed with servants and courtiers, some Gerudo, most Hylian. The hall was quiet, humming with low voices, as if the people moving through it were in the Temple, at worship. The hush chilled the princess.
Through the open double doors, Zelda could see a long rope of pack animals and horses, silvered by a full moon. The Gerudo escort sat mostly a-horse; it was the Hylian courtiers who still scrambled around on the ground, overburdened with baggage and awkward in their long-toed slippers and flowing sleeves. She caught sight of a Hylian sage, robed in russet-red, clambering stiffly onto a horse with the help of two squires.
She recognized other faces: the old, withered Gerudo, Kotake, in riding trousers, with a shawl about her head and shoulders to ward off the predawn chill; the servants girls Nabooru had brought to Zelda's chambers; Nabooru herself, hands clasped behind her and legs spread in a militaristic stance. She stood, at attention, beside Lord Dragmire's horse. On her other side stood a woman, her white braid hanging to her hips, gazing over the crowd, stretched to her full height.
"Impa," Zelda breathed and hurried over.
Impa spotted her the instant she moved. She left Nabooru's side and met Zelda halfway.
"Have you spoken with Lord Dragmire?" Zelda clutched at the Sheikah's forearms. Her insides curdled with anticipation.
"I have." Impa breathed, sharply. Her hands tightened. "He will not allow me to come."
Dread washed into Zelda's throat, vinegary and stale. "Why?"
"It does not matter now."
Zelda twisted in the Sheikah's grip. "It does. Impa, I must find him, I must—"
"No." Impa forced her back around. "It is done."
"I cannot simply give you up—" Zelda's throat contracted.
"And you will not. Hear me, princess." Impa leaned close. Her words brushed Zelda's ear, warm and wet; the princess shivered. "I have accepted Nabooru's offer. Her girls will serve you on your journey, and when you have arrived in the desert, Nabooru will see that the girls assigned to you can be trusted."
"Trusted? To do what?"
"To give you my letters. To arrange visits." Impa hunkered down and cupped Zelda's face between her hands. "To be good to you."
And at this, any fight that might have remained in Zelda left her. She sagged. "I see."
"All is not lost. There will be letters. Visits. Nabooru has promised to speak to Lord Dragmire. You must, as well. Make him see reason. I am your companion, not your nursemaid. Not anymore."
Zelda covered Impa's hands with her own. "Perhaps he does not wish me to have companions," she said and heard the coldness in her own voice.
Impa made a sound of disgust deep in her throat. "Do not speak so. If you are to live among the Gerudo, Zelda, you must be more than this—self pity."
Zelda stiffened. "I do not know what you mean."
Impa's gaze turned to flint. "You do."
Zelda pulled back. But Impa had tucked her palms behind the princess's head, curled her fingers at the nape of Zelda's neck. "You are a Hylian princess," Impa said. "Act like one."
For a moment, she looked so fierce, so unlike herself, that Zelda nearly jerked away. But there was an exhaustion in the Sheikah's eyes that Zelda had never seen before. It gave her pause.
"Tell me that you will do as I say," Impa said.
"Princess!"
Nabooru's voice echoed over the thrum of activity. Zelda looked up. Lord Dragmire's regent sat astride her horse. She held up an arm. "Princess," she called again. "We ride, now."
Zelda's gaze shifted past Nabooru. Lord Dragmire had materialized, mounted, and sat with his hands folded upon his saddle horn. The moonlight faded his shirt to the color of milk, bleached the Gerudo embroidery of his riding vest to a formless motif as pale as blood in water. His eyes roved among the Hylians. He looked bored.
She stared at him until she caught his eye. They regarded one another for so long that Impa's hands fell away and she turned her head to see what had commanded Zelda's attention. When she caught sight of Lord Dragmire, her lip curled back and she grunted with disapproval. But Lord Dragmire had eyes only for the princess. He sat, motionless, until Zelda inclined her head. He turned his horse toward her with a single, careless flick of the reins.
"Mount up, princess," he said, in a voice that cracked through the murmur of people, baggage, and horses. "We ride."
Zelda watched his horse approach, one deliberate, thunderous clop at a time, until it was upon her, past her.
She opened her mouth and pushed out her voice as loud as it would go.
"Yes, my lord."
Lord Ganondorf Dragmire did not look back.
oOo
Princess Zelda mounted her horse with the help of several courtiers, a clambering gaggle of men stuffed into jerkins too brightly colored and brashly embellished for that hour of the morning. A few tried to kiss her hand, as they expressed their congratulations. She nodded, jerkily, and wiped the drool someone had left on the back of her hand onto her skirt.
Impa pressed her hand and stood beside her as the crowd parted to allow King Harkinian through. The King of Hyrule looked dressed for a funeral, in a sable jerkin and grey hose. The toes of his shoes were short and blunt. He wore a wool tabard emblazoned with the crest of the Royal Family: a bird, outlined in gold braid, with its crimson wings stretched above the Triforce that sat in place of its head.
He took Zelda's hand and squeezed it, too hard, then lifted his voice and turned toward their audience. "Be a good wife, my princess. The goddesses bless good women who are dutiful and modest. I wish you happiness. Hyrule is grateful."
He glanced back to her. Her stomach knotted; she wondered if she should kiss his cheek, as a good daughter would. She bent toward him.
"Do not shame me," he said, when her face was inches from his.
She froze. "Never, my lord."
He dropped her hand and turned his back. The courtiers parted as he strode away.
oOo
Castle Town lay silent, sleeping, as the Princess Zelda and her escort filed through the square.
The princess had never seen the town so deserted. She disliked the echo of horses' hooves in the narrow streets, shrank from the vagrant dogs, the glittering eyes of silent townsfolk, lost behind window glass, torches, the moon-tossed shadows of columns, archways, and balconies.
A phalanx of guards watched Zelda as they saluted; she saw how their heads turned to follow her.
The company moved like ghosts through the torchlight that illuminated the gatehouse. The horses rumbled across the drawbridge. Zelda listened to the lap and murmur of the moat.
And far too soon, the town and bridge shrank away, as the company kept west, until the moonlight revealed only a wending, mountainous passage when Zelda looked behind her.
She could not even see the towers, the red pennants, the crenellations. Cliffs loomed to either side of her. It was as if Hyrule Castle had been wiped away by a goddess's hand.
oOo
The ride to Gerudo Valley was long and exhausting. It lasted four days.
By the afternoon of the first day, Zelda ached so fiercely that when she staggered from her horse, she was saved from falling only by the strong arm of a Gerudo. She recognized the Gerudo as one of Nabooru's girls, the tallest one. She could not remember the girl's name.
The girl eyed the princess sideways, as Zelda tottered in a circle, in an attempt to ward off cramps.
"Does my lady not ride?" the Gerudo girl asked, finally. Her voice was unexpectedly soft, her words touched with laughter. Zelda took the girl's loose smile and sly glance for mockery.
"I ride." The heat of the day had sharpened Zelda's voice and left her unsteady on her feet. She turned away. But even as she did, she heard her sharp tone and was sorry. She glanced back. The Gerudo's expression had clouded over.
"But only very little," Zelda amended. She turned back, a little awkward, not quite able to meet the girl's eyes. "I… I suppose I will have to grow accustomed to it."
"Oh yes," the girl said. Her voice was dismissive. "Or my lady will make a bad Gerudo."
The disdain in her voice stung.
oOo
The first leg of the journey took the cavalcade westward, within sight of the Great Hylian Bridge. At twilight, they stopped at Lake Hylia's sole inn—Fyer and Falbi's Watering Hole of Fantastication, a labyrinth of sooty walls and damp floors. The landlord—a lanky, ill-dressed man with popping eyes and a desperate grin—stumbled over himself in his haste to show his regal guests to their chambers. He took to Zelda like a cat to cream, much to the princess's dismay.
"The honor—!" he said, grasping her hand and sweeping a bow so low that his tulip-shaped hat brushed the floor. "Your ladyship—never would I have imagined the day—!"
"Yes," said Zelda, flinching backward as he straightened and the tulip hat whipped past, inches shy of hitting her nose.
"I hope this lakeside Elysium will delight you, your ladyship. I shall order a feast prepared in your honor! A salute from a cannon—"
"A cannon—?"
"My fantastic friend and comrade, Fyer, runs the Human Cannonball down on the waters of Lake Hylia," the landlord said. "Simply say the word, and I will have him fire a round in your name! Or perhaps—" And here his eyes glittered, "you yourself would like to go skyward! Say the word, your ladyship, and Fyer will shoot you toward the sun! For half price!"
"Oh," said Zelda. "I would not like to be shot from a cannon. No thank you."
"Indeed. A cannon is perhaps too rough." The landlord looked thoughtful. "But you may still fly, your ladyship! This very watering hole is the site of the renowned Falbi's Flight-by-Fowl. Simply say the word and you can fly a Cucco down to the lake. There are adventures to be had! Money to be won! And all of it for the low price of fifteen rupees."
"Truly." Zelda disengaged her hand. "I do not wish to fly, either by cannon or Cucco."
The landlord shook his head and looked at her with pity. "A shame. But Fyer and I shall always be here, should you ever change your mind!"
Zelda smiled tightly. "I do not think I will."
He looked her up and down, as if he did not believe her. "Well," he said, "do enjoy your stay, your ladyship." He bowed and whisked himself off to the kitchens.
oOo
Zelda stayed in a room between Nabooru and Kotake's quarters. Her chamber smelled of sweat and fish and overlooked the lake. Zelda was gazing out of the window, down into the water, when a knock on the door made her jump.
"Yes?"
"Princess?" The door creaked open to reveal Nabooru. "I hope you have been comfortable so far."
"I have been." Zelda turned to face her. "Thank you."
"Kotake and I have ordered supper. Will you join us?"
"I will."
A grim-faced kitchen drudge brought bowls of cinnamon stewed cabbage, ale-flavored bread, and hippocras to Nabooru's room. "Swill," muttered Kotake, when the drudge had gone and the women sat eating. She prodded her cabbage with a knife. "There is more cinnamon than vegetable in here."
Zelda, who had been enjoying the cabbage, tried to sop up the cinnamon sauce with her bread a little less enthusiastically.
"We will be home soon," Nabooru said, around a mouthful of bread.
"Not soon enough." Kotake quaffed her hippocras, winced, and coughed. Nabooru eyed her across the table.
"Lady Kotake?"
The older Gerudo massaged her throat. "There is mustard seed in this hogwash."
Nabooru sipped her own drink and grimaced. "Well."
She smiled at Zelda, who had been watching the Gerudo askance. Nabooru set her tumbler on the table and said, "How do you find this meal, princess?"
"It is adequate."
Kotake snorted. "Now that is faint praise."
"I have never eaten in a Hylian inn before," Nabooru continued. "I hope they are all not like Fyer and Falbi's." She paused. "But when we reach the desert, there will be caravansaries. Great, sprawling inns with vast courtyards and good beds. The food is not too bad, either."
"I see," said Zelda.
Nabooru rose and stepped over to the window. "See those cliffs?" She pointed to the rightmost edge of the lake, where crags jutted toward the black sky. "There is a mountain path that snakes up among them. Up, until the lake is a thumbprint—and then down the other side, until the rocks turn to dunes and you are in the desert."
She went still, her finger pressed to the windowpane.
"It will be good to go back," she said, so low that Zelda almost did not hear her.
oOo
The princess huddled, that night, among dank sheets, hiding her face from the moonlight. She had lain awake ever since she had retired, had heard her maids settling down and had listened to the creak of the inn's patrons returning to their rooms. She brooded until her mind was feverish with thoughts of her old bedchamber; of Impa; of the black hole that was the desert, crouched among the cliffs, waiting to swallow her.
Of Lord Dragmire and what he would do to her once she was his wife.
oOo
The cavalcade left Fyer and Falbi's Watering Hole of Fantastication early the next morning, as dawn turned the cliffs surrounding Lake Hylia to pale rose. They began their ascent into the mountains surrounding Gerudo Desert.
The climb continued into the early dusk, when the company halted and made camp. Zelda ate again with Nabooru—savory veal cakes softened in hippocras and followed by dates in wine syrup—while the servants put up her tent. She bent over a slender volume of Hyrulian poetry, hoping it would discourage conversation. Eating with Nabooru was safer than sitting by herself, where any courtier might take her solitude as a sign of distress. But the princess was not eager to talk with the Gerudo woman. The climb had exhausted her. She felt limp and emptied out.
But Nabooru appeared unaffected by the day's exertions—indeed, she moved with an energy unlike any she had displayed back in Castle Town. She swigged her hippocras and scarfed three little cakes. She eyed Zelda's book, until the princess noticed her.
"What are you reading?" Nabooru asked.
"Poetry."
"I can see that." The older woman laughed. "But what it is about? Who wrote it?"
"Various authors." Zelda leafed through several pages. "Hylian mostly. And Zora. A few Gorons."
Nabooru lifted an eyebrow. "No Gerudo?" She spoke lightly.
"One." Zelda paused. "She writes very movingly of war."
For the briefest of moments, Nabooru's brow furrowed. "I do not doubt it. Let me guess: the poet is Yessmin of Gerudo Valley. 17th century; The Thief's Song?"
Zelda looked at the Gerudo in surprise. "It is The Thief's Song, yes. Do you know it?"
Nabooru snorted. "What Gerudo does not?"
Zelda blushed. "Of course."
"Have you ever read other Gerudo poets?" Nabooru asked.
"A few."
Nabooru's face cleared. "That is good. Yessmin is not our only poet." She plucked a date from her bowl and flicked the extra syrup from it. "And war and theft are not our only concerns." She tossed the date into her mouth. Zelda turned back to her book.
"You would like the library," Nabooru said, after a moment. "We have two, actually. One in the Spirit Temple. The other is in the palace. Ganond—Lord Dragmire—he curates that one."
Zelda's head snapped up.
"Yes." Nabooru gave a wry smile. "War and theft are not our only concerns. Though…" Her smile grew rueful. "I cannot rule out theft entirely."
Zelda closed her book. "May anyone go into the libraries?"
Nabooru laughed softly. "You are not simply anyone, princess."
When Zelda did not reply, Nabooru continued, "I have been meaning to ask you. How do you like the girls, then?"
Zelda blinked. "The girls—my maids?"
"Hmm." Nabooru popped dates into her mouth and nodded.
"They are very kind. They are good at what they do."
The Gerudo girls, whose names Zelda still did not know, were indeed competent: that morning, they had had Zelda dressed and on her horse before the Hylian maids had fully awoken. The rapid pace of the journey bewildered the Hylian girls—they moved slowly and rode awkwardly, too used to caroches and litters to find the saddle comfortable. The cut of their dresses made travelling cumbersome. Were it not for the attention of the Gerudo girls, Zelda would not have fared much better.
But the princess could not be at ease around the Gerudos. She wondered if they resented her, a second mistress when they already waited on Nabooru. And they spoke Gerudo with such quick, fluid grace that Zelda could not follow their conversation; she could only guess, from the way they giggled, and their hooded eyes followed her, that they taunted at her. She shrank, especially, from the arch glance of the Gerudo girl who had helped her from her horse the first day. She winced to remember their conversation.
"Keep them," Nabooru said now. "They'll attend to you when we reach the Valley."
Zelda stiffened. "I would not want to deprive you—"
Nabooru waved a hand. "Never mind me. Consider them my gift."
Zelda retired to her tent at the end of the meal. A Hylian maid helped unlace her traveling gown. "Will that be all, your ladyship?" the girl asked.
"Yes." Zelda slipped beneath the blankets strewn across her cot. "Would you please hand me the lantern? I wish to read a bit."
When the girl had given her the lantern, Zelda found the page where she had left off in her book: a collection of philosophical verses written by Hylian sages. Her fingerprints smudged the vellum.
But she had lost interest in abstractions. She thumbed through the pages, eyes glazed. Stray thoughts intruded: the warmth of Lord Dragmire's hand when he had escorted her into the great hall. The way he had stroked her neck. The heat of his caress, haunting her to distraction.
She drew in a sharp breath, shut her book, and turned down the lantern. Her eyes swam. Her head pounded.
And when she slept, she dreamed of Gerudo Desert.
The desert was a chasm, a scar ripped through the belly of the earth. Lord Dragmire stood beside her. They looked into the scar together.
"All this," Lord Dragmire said, "is yours."
She looked at him. "I do not want it." Her voice rasped. "I want to go home."
He laid his hands upon her shoulders and leaned down. "This," he said, and she felt the prickle of his smile curling against her skin, "is home. Yours. Just as you are mine."