On the Isle of Sound and Wonder Read Online Free Page B

wanted all the more to get it right now.
    There was a knock at the cabin door as he began to loop the silk around itself. A moment later, the rumpled head of Truffo Arlecin, reluctant fool and sometimes servant, appeared around the doorframe, sleepy-faced and uninterested.
    “Highness,” mumbled Truffo, “they’ve gone up to dinner.”
    “I’m almost done,” answered Ferran, glancing at him in the mirror. “I just have to tie this.”
    Truffo lounged against the wall, yawning, and crossed his arms. “Same knot?”
    “Yes.” Ferran’s brow wrinkled as he carefully began the process of tying the folded knot.
    “Why not just a regular one? S’only dinner. No heads of state to impress. Excepting your father, of course,” Truffo added.
    Ferran did not answer, his brow still furrowed in concentration. Truffo sauntered a little further into the room, his arms folded, eyes idly casting about the chamber. Ferran hesitated as he tried to remember which way the silk folded next. Truffo was staring at him again, dark eyes unimpressed and laconic. Ferran pulled a face and exhaled slowly through his nose. The silk slid from his fingers, dissolving into a loose loop about his neck, and he rubbed the bridge of his nose to hide his embarrassment.
    “Staring at me like that really isn’t helpful, Truffo,” muttered Ferran.
    Truffo’s eyebrows wandered upward toward his smooth dark hair, which was kept short in the current sleek fashion. He was a few years older than Ferran’s eighteen, but his face appeared childishly woeful much of the time. Truffo’s hair was black, where Ferran’s was an unruly brown, and the clown was an inch or so taller—a point of envy for Ferran. Over the years, the dullness of Truffo’s dark brow and slight pout had become a familiar moue which irked Ferran, but for some reason was endearing to Stephen, the valet, and Ferran’s father, the king.
    “Sorry, Highness,” drawled the fool, lowering his gaze demurely.
    Ferran turned in exasperation. “Can you do a regular knot?”
    Truffo pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Is that the one where the big bit goes over and around and then back into the small bit?”
    Ferran blinked. “Yes . . .”
    “Nope, can’t do that one,” said Truffo, and shuffled out of the chamber. “Dinner’s served, and all that.” The door swung shut behind him, and Ferran sighed.
    He wrestled the green silk necktie into a standard sort of knot—although a bit lumpy—and ran his hands through his hair to flatten it down a bit more like Truffo’s. The fool might be a bore while abroad, but he was a good-looking fellow, if the opinions of the courtiers were anything to abide by, and Ferran was of an age that found him reluctantly staring at his own wardrobe and throwing furtive glances at himself in mirrored surfaces.
    Someday I’ll be king, he thought grimly. He thought about it often these days. I don’t look like a king. I don’t even look like a prince most of the time. Just . . . nobody.
    Ferran made his way out of his cabin and down the long, rosy-lit corridor toward the stairs leading up to the recreational deck, and ultimately the dining hall. This corridor in particular had a nice solid feel to it, despite its narrow length. It was almost enough to make Ferran forget how high up in the air they were. He was not prone to airsickness or seasickness, but thinking in too much detail about the altitude of the Brilliant Albatross above the waves made him want to skip dinner altogether.
    The Brilliant Albatross was comfortable, though, and so far their trip had been smooth, even enjoyable. They had sailed away from Neapolis several weeks ago, then taken to the air once the wind had settled, and ultimately landed in Tunitz for his sister’s wedding. Now that Coralina had wedded the prince of Tunitz, most of the wedding party was flying home: Ferran, his father, his uncle, and an assortment of servants, including Truffo, the valet, Stephen Montanto, and of