Born to Rule by Kathryn Lasky

sympathetic.” Lady Merry drew her hanky from the bodice of her dress and began wiping her brow.
    “Gilly, call my corset maid to come and loosen my stays. I can’t write all trussed up like a stuffed goose. Got to get blood to the old brain. Now, don’t you worry, dearie. We’ll have you back in action shortly.”
    At least I told Old Snorty a thing or two, Alicia thought as she returned to her bedchamber. Gilly had just finished helping her out of her many layers of clothes. Alicia had stood still as a statue as Gilly fussed with the numerous tie strings, hooks, and buttons, all the while muttering, “It simply isn’t fair, Your Highness. Everyone knows that the old goat has to have it out for somebody every year. They say whipping boys went out of style years ago, but now, by Saint Sebastian’s bones, I think that the Snort can be said to have herself a whipping princess.”
    Well, she won’t have me! thought Alicia, flinging herself angrily on her bed. Then she happened to look at the weeb. She always left his cage door open now, so he was perched on her bedpost. It was hard to imagine she had ever been worried about a silly old songbird. Troubles changed minute by minute. Troubles that might seem huge a few minutes before were not worth a pinch of pigeon doo now! That thought made her giggle.
    “What are you giggling about, milady?” Gilly asked. “It’s not a giggling matter, I daresay.”
    “No, it’s not, I suppose,” Alicia said, wiggling into her lacy white nightgown. She shivered as she climbed into bed, and then turned and stared at the weeb again. He had perched on her bedpost to read over her shoulder. Then she suddenly remembered that the night before, she might have heard a trilling sound after she had fallen asleep.
    She knew for sure now that she had felt a cold presence as she slept every night. It was almost like a mist, but a cold mist. It was a dream of snow and moonlight and, yes, birdsong!
    Something was happening at night in her chamber. Whether it was a bird singing or a ghost visiting, she wanted to be awake, to hear it and to see it. Could it be a female weeb coming into the chamber while she slept? Could there be some connection between the bird and the presence and the book? Was the bird singing to the presence?
    She decided to stay up—at least until the time when the night drank up the moon. She would read into the small hours of the morning. And then she might sleep. If the weeb sang, she wanted to hear it.
    Alicia reached for her book and stroked its cover. She kept the weeb’s golden feather as her bookmark. It was odd; sometimes she could have sworn she left it in one place, but when she opened the book the feather would be in another, as if calling her attention to a particular letter in the book. As Alicia began reading, she once more vowed to stay awake.
    But then, as the moon rode high in the sky, she yawned, and her eyes began to feel heavy. She sat up straighter against the great mass of pillows. She needed to stay awake. She needed to find out if indeed there was a ghost, a spirit that was somehow linked to the bird. Why would it come back now, for a little mute songbird? She had to know. But eventually the words began to blur on the page, her head drooped, and her chin touched the lace flounce of her nightgown. She was asleep.
     
    “Rats!” Alicia muttered as she sprang from her bed. How had she fallen asleep? It was still night, she noticed, as she pulled back the covers and got out of bed.
    She went to her window. All the turrets and towers of the castle wore snowy peaked hats. “Winter again.” She sighed. The drawbridge was up, but she could see that the moat had frozen over. There was a brilliance to the night. A glistening white blanket of snow covered the fields. The Forest of Chimes looked as if it were made of lace. The path of moonlight across the snow blazed silver and seemed to beckon her.
    Alicia thought about Princess Kinna’s remedy of finding a