The shows were held in batches, one in the morning and evening of each day, for a solid two weeks of festivities. Squirrel had, through bribery, strong-arming, and sabotage, managed to secure the last slot in the contest, giving her troupe the most time to rehearse her play. The other advantage was, when the king saw their performance, he would be able to decide that it had been the best, right then and there.

Squirrel woke the morning of the show, her body tingling with excitement. She threw open the tent and took a deep breath with her eyes closed, reveling in the sun warming her face even as the cold morning wind chilled it. Squirrel exhaled with a smile, and opened her eyes. The smile froze from her lips.

Across the pit of coals from her tent was Florence The Elephant’s cage. From Squirrel’s vantage, she could tell something was strange. Florence was lying down. Not that the elephant didn’t lay down from time to time, but it always folded its legs under itself, and leaned against the bars of the cage to support it. the way it lay now was flat on the ground, like a drunkard, or a dead animal.

Squirrel jumped over the fire pit and sprinted to the cage, running around to the other side, and the horrifying truth came into view. Beside the cage were the the remains of a half dozen fruit skins. Squirrel picked one up and saw a tacky black tarlike substance streaked across the fruit skin. Squirrel’s gaze travelled up and she began to shout for the rest of the troupe, choking back sobs, her gaze still on the eviscerated corpse of Florence.

The rest of the troupe gathered quickly, with Reginald and Cook storming out of their tents, already half dressed, as those two had already been preparing for their day. A few moments later, Phantom, Leyland, and the rest of the troupe stood beside the grim-faced Reginald.

“What happened?” Reginald asked, never taking his gaze away from the elephant. Florence had been a major part of their show, and the old elephant had had an endearing, kind personality. It was often said that only Cook and Reginald had seniority over Florence.

“I don’t know,” Squirrel said, shaking her head, her face beginning to crumple.

“Damn,” Reginald said, his fists tight at his sides. “I hope you enjoyed your retirement, Florence, short as it was.” Reginald reached a hand out to pat the elephant’s bristly head. The other members of the troupe grieved in their own way, most wept, Phantom stared at the corpse coldly, while Leyland was flushed red and muttering to himself. Cook seemed like he didn’t understand at first, then broke down and began to bawl like a child. Toren stood by and frowned, standing away from them as they mourned a companion of decades.

Squirrel ran her gaze over all of them, and even as tears ran down her cheeks, she took in each of their reactions. All their reactions except one. Squirrel raised her head, and scanned the surrounding members again, her heart hammering in her chest. “Where’s Finn?” she said aloud. Reginald’s head shot up, and his gaze scanned the crowd as well, before he met hers.

The mortification written on his face was all Squirrel needed, and she jumped away, sprinting toward Finn’s tent. “Wait, girl,” Reginald said, turning away from Florence to stop her. Reginald was woefully old and slow, stumbling and falling while Squirrel flew through the camp, toward her brother’s tent. Squirrel threw open the tent and let out a cry at what she saw.

Finn was bound to his cot, with thick hemp rope restraining his arms and legs. His hands and feet were purple and swollen. A rag was tied into his mouth, and the corners of his cheeks bled from the pressure of the gag.

Finn’s head was bowed, and his eyes were closed. Squirrel knelt down beside him and tried to untie the gag, but the damn thing was knotted and tight against Finn’s skull. Squirrel pulled out her knife and sawed through the knot. The gag went loose, and Squirrel pulled it away from Finn’s mouth, meeting resistance when it peeled away dried blood.

Reginald came into the tent, panting and holding his belly, his face red. The instant he saw Finn, he rushed forward and knelt beside Squirrel, hacking away at the thick ropes that bound Finn in place. As Reginald sawed at the last ropes, Squirrel began to call out to her unresponsive brother.

“Finn!” she said, shaking him. Reginald finished untying his son’s ankles and pushed Squirrel out of the way bodily.

“FINN!” he bellowed, smacking the young man across the cheek with all his weight.

Finn’s eyes snapped open, and he began to cough and moan in pain. Reginald breathed a sigh of relief and moved on to cutting Finn’s arms free. Finn stifled a scream between his teeth as the bonds around his wrists were relaxed, and blood began flowing through his swollen hands again.

Finn began to writhe in pain as the bonds on his arms were cut away. Finn moved his lower body, and his brows knotted, and he let out a short cry before falling deliberately still. Squirrel looked down and saw his feet lying against the cot at an unnatural angle.

“Finn,” she said, leaning forward, holding his face, trying to make him focus on her. “Who did this?” Finn squinted at her through the haze of pain and delirium.

“Saw Randall feeding Florence,” Finn said, moaning as waves of pain crested against his consciousness. “One of his guys grabbed me, covered my mouth…” Finn motioned to his mouth with his purple, swollen hand, before he began to sob.

“That’s all I need to know,” Squirrel said, her voice as promising as a thundercloud. “ Try to relax, I’m going to deal with him.” She stood and turned, marching out the tent, Her gaze set on the opposite side of the field, where Randall’s troupe made their beds. They were one of the few tent camps remaining. Some troupes had withdrawn, realizing they couldn’t compete, and others had been laughed out of the palace. The few that remained believed they had a shot at the prize.

Squirrel grabbed a hammer as she strode through the camp, her gaze unwavering. She heard the crackle and squish of frosted mud behind her, and Reginald grabbed her arm from behind, panting.”Don’t do it, Squirrel,” he said.

“Why not?” she demanded, turning on Reginald, whose grip on her arm was like iron. “Because no one deserves to get their legs broken? If anyone deserves it, it’s that fucker.”

Reginald shook his head. “Because they wouldn’t let you walk in there, never mind out again,” he said with a sigh. “Look, girl. If you go, you might knock a few heads, but it won’t be Randall’s. And then, they’d put you in the same condition as Finn, then we’d be truly sunk, and you won’t get your name.”

Squirrel froze for a moment, but the heat in her chest made her decision for her. “I don’t care, I’m going to go break that fucker’s legs,” she said, shaking Reginald off. Reginald lunged forward and grabbed her again, and she found herself with the hammer raised, glaring back at her foster father.

“Wait!” Toren said, jogging toward them, waving his arms. He stopped in front of the two of them, who swiveled their heads to look at him, frozen in place inches away from violence. “I can help.” Squirrel narrowed her eyes at the wizard, who explained.

***

Randall packed his trunk, jamming crumpled clothes into the back to make room for his personal wine bottles and the tools of his trade. The contest was going to be over tonight, and win or lose, they weren’t going to be staying here any longer. Randall hummed as he pictured the gold mine he was going to ‘find’ after he asked his question to the oracle. He had it all planned out. His heart’s desire was to find a gold vein, become a noble, and live a life of debauchery.

He’d ask the oracle where his heart’s desire was, and when she told him, he’d thank her, and say he’d set out to find ‘her’ as soon as possible. The nobles would sigh and smile and comment on how the lower caste were so romantic, squandering something as valuable as the answer to any question on a woman.

Randall knew however, that if he simply asked where he might find an unclaimed gold vein of epic proportions, nothing would stop those self-serving corpulent blobs from elbowing him out of the way and claiming the gold for themselves. After all, there was no rule saying they had to honor the spirit of the question. As soon as the location of a fortune spilled from the Oracle’s lips, it was anyone’s game.

Randall smiled to himself as he stood, cracking his back and slamming the chest closed, picturing himself returning in a few years, buying a plot of land and a title in raw gold, securing his future. Wouldn’t they be surprised when they saw that he’d found his true love?

Randall saw a fluctuation in the light of the room, and glanced up spotting Skinny, a heavyset man with an unfortunate nickname earned in his youth for the width of his cock.

“What do you want?” Randall said, turning toward his subordinate with his arms crossed. The big man stayed silent. He regarded Randal for a moment, then leapt forward with speed surpassing anything Skinny should have been able to muster. Skinny pulled a hammer out from behind his waist and slammed the head down on Randall’s left shin, which gave way with an audible crack.

Randall, who had thrown his hands in front of him in surprise, fell to the ground with a short cry. He felt his right foot twisted and pressed into the ground, and he looked over his shoulder, and saw Skinny standing on his foot with a fearsome rage on his face. Skinny stooped forward and with a quick blow, broke Randall’s other leg.

Randal tried to let out a full-throated cry, but was muffled when Skinny pushed Randall’s head down into his bearskin rug. Randal tried to push himself up, but a twist of his leg sent him bawling back to the ground. Cold steel touched his neck, and Randall froze. Skinny held the hammer against the base of his neck, looking down at him like a fish he was about to club to death.

“Shut up,” Skinny’s mouth opened, but a girl’s voice came out. Randall looked over his shoulder at the man in horror. “I hope you remember this.” the girl’s voice came again, and Randall decided that whoever this was, was definitely not Skinny. “If Anything like this ever happens again, I can walk right into your camp, and gut you, and there’s not a damn thing you can do to stop me.”

“Squirrel?” Randall whispered, his eyes tearing from the pain.

“That’s right,” Squirrel said, grinding Randall’s face into the brown fur. “Be afraid of me, you shitstain, because no matter how hard you try to protect yourself, I can walk in in broad daylight and break your legs again, as many times as I have to until I get my point across, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.”

Randall roared and pushed himself up, swiping at Squirrel, who was now visible beneath a semi-transparent shadow of Skinny. Squirrel leapt away, and brought the hammer down on his arm, flinging it to the ground. Randall hissed in pain and tried to stand, flopping back to the ground.

“Remember this,” Squirrel said, turning and walking out of Randall’s tent. Randall dragged himself after her with his arm, but by the time he made it out of the tent, Squirrel was gone.

***

Despite his dullness, Cook was an excellent nurse, attentive without being overbearing, and good at regularly changing bandages on schedule. Finn sat beside Cook, his legs in splints. He put his recovering hands to work kneading the dough that would become that evening’s meal. The rest of the camp desperately struggled to fill Finn’s absence.

Squirrel took Finn’s part, since she knew every line by heart, and Phantom took her place as the wire man for the prince’s tumbling scenes. They only had an hour of rehearsal, even as Tom and Hardy broke down some of their equipment and moved it to the stage in the palace, so Squirrel decided to rehearse the scenes with Toren.

Phantom was a long time member of the troupe, and could be relied on to fill any gap, and Squirrel had worked with him on other tumbling, so she instead focused on the most important scenes, the ones with Toren’s illusions.

The time went by quickly as they desperately walked through every step, twirl, and shake the prince would make, without using illusions, so that Toren wasn’t exhausted by the time the show started. Soon, Reginald came to the tent as the two of them were rehearsing the drowning scene. “We’re up in fifteen minutes, let’s go,” he said, his voice low.

Squirrel and Toren met each other’s gazes, and Squirrel shrugged. “We’ve done everything we can do, let’s head out,” she said, her body thrumming with nervous energy. They took every member of the troupe with them, ostensibly because everyone had a part to play, but mostly because Squirrel didn’t want Cook and Finn by themselves while Randall was still nearby.

If Randal came by and burned all their belongings, it was far better then returning to savaged corpses. Cook pulled along Finn, who rested in the back of the cart, his face pale as the shaking pained his wounds.

Reginal lead them in a procession wearing his Ringmaster uniform, a gaudy, eye catching suit. He shouted at the top of his lungs, advertising their original play. “We’ve saved the best for last, ladies and gentlemen!” he shouted, clearing the way for them even as he drew attention to himself. “This will be a show for the ages! Your future children will weep for having been born too late to witness The Castaway Prince!”

The crowd parted, and Squirrel felt the eyes of the peasant on her as they proceeded toward the palace, advertising for themselves as they walked, in full dress. Squirrel followed behind Reginald, her chest bound, and the prince’s gaudy outfit adorning her shoulders. Squirrel threw her chest out, spinning the flag in her hands in a lively manner, despite the gnawing worry that assailed her.

They walked through the streets until they found themselves shown into the palace through a side entrance, finally arriving backstage, where Tom and Hardy proudly stood beside the solidly built rigging for the performance. Squirrel looked over the wood platform and gave Reginald a nod as he gave her a silent ‘5 minute’ hand sign.

Squirrel glanced over at Tom and Hardy. “You did good work,” she said quietly, as she could hear the audience murmuring from the other side of the curtain. “If you keep anyone from making it backstage while we’re working, I’m willing to pay you that gold coin apiece.” Squirrel met their gaze, and the two carpenters nodded.

“Easiest gold I ever made,” Tom whispered, sitting down out of the way, facing the entrance.

“Thank you,” Squirrel whispered, before heading off to do the final preparation. Leyland arranged all the makeup kits and outfits by act, Toren found a good angle to watch the action and placed his thunder sheet nearby. Phantom was limbering up on the bars, high above the backstage.

Squirrel caught his eye and waved him down. Signaling for everyone to gather around, Squirrel addressed them quietly. “I broke Randall’s legs,” she said, before quieting down a cheer from the troupe. “The next thing we have to break is his pride. He’s a stubborn ass, and if his act is the winner, he’ll lord it over everyone, broken legs or no.” Squirrel ran her gaze over the assembled faces, her family of the last twelve years, and Toren.

“But he isn’t going to win,” she said, emphasizing every single word. “We’re going to make the fat bastards in the audience hit puberty all at the same time, and they’re going to thank us for it.” A low murmur of laughter sounded through the backstage, but Toren frowned. It was a running joke among commoners that nobles never hit puberty due to their shaven faces that never seemed to lose baby fat.

“As far as I know, this has never been done before,” Squirrel said, nodding to Toren. “So nobody is going to be prepared for it. And later, when we’re swimming in money and a noble patronage, we’re going to get Finn fixed and rub our big, hairy, collective balls in Randall’s face.”

The troupe stifled laughter, and Squirrel clapped her hands quietly, sending them to their places. Moments later, Reginald swept through, checking everyone’s staring point, straightening costumes, and checking the stage. He gave everyone a last look, nodded, and then stepped out from behind the curtain.

“Lords and Ladies!” Squirrel heard Reginald’s voice carry through the palace amphitheater “For your entertainment, we searched far and wide for a tale, one that could move men to tears, and make women shout with passion! After years of searching, we found such a story. The true story of a prince of a distant land, who proved the nobility of his blood through feats of heroism!

Squirrel and the crew waited behind the curtains, Leyland with his hand on the chord to open them at the signal. Squirrel’s body was tense, and her heart thudded in her chest, until Reginald gave the signal, and Leyland waited three breaths, then drew the curtains open, leaving Squirrel standing alone in front of a sea of richly clad bodies. They chatted, they rested their chins on their palms, Squirrel even saw the King’s eye drifting closed.

By this point in the competition, the nobility had grown numb to plays, and the attention they payed was minimal at best. Squirrel took a deep breath, set her jaw, and fell into Finn’s role. “It was in the nineteenth year of my, Fallion, the prince of Endwar’s life, that the gods would truly test me, pitting nature and beast against my incomparable noble will…” she said, letting her thoughts fade as the first act began.

The first act involved a spoiled princeling, eating dates and cavorting thoughtlessly, while the gods looked on in displeasure. The young man’s father, king of the land, decreed that the prince be sent to the war front near the western seaboard to dye the young man in the blood of the kingdom’s enemies, and prepare him for the mantle of responsibility.

The villain appeared on the scene, a gruesome hunchback, played by Leyland. Squirrel watched the reaction of the king as Leyland bribed the ship captain to alter his course and deposit the prince and his retainers on an uninhabited island. From the moment that Leyland shuffled onto the stage, cursed his common blood, and began behaving buffoonishly, She saw a smattering of laughter from the surrounding nobles, but the king himself sat up straight, his eyes wide and nostrils flaring at the sight of the hunchbacked villain poorly attempting to plot the demise of the prince.

“All you need do is alter your course slightly,” Leyland said, waving his long-fingered hands mystically. “And nature will do your work for you. I’m prepared to pay handsomely.”

“And what do you think to offer me that could compare to the life of the prince and his retainers?” Reginald, acting as the portly captain, asked Leyland, his voice projecting through the stands with a commanding tone.

“Why, a treasure beyond compare,” Leyland said, making more mystical movements with his fluttering hands. “An object that can change grass and weeds into meat and milk. It even reproduces itself, growing your fortune over time, simply sell the meat and milk, and you’ll find that you want for nothing.”

Reginald crossed his arms and glared at the hunchback in front of him as the nobles began to chuckle. “It’s that goat behind you, isn’t it?” he asked, his voice stern. Leyland paused and allowed the laughter to die down before he responded.

“Aye, but this goat has the key to create more of its kind in infinite number.” Leyland waved his hands around the goat.

Reginald, playing the captain, appeared to consider for a moment. “So it’s pregnant then?”

Leyland evinced a shocked expression while the nobles began to guffaw. “I-“ he said, before the ship captain kicked him in the chest. Leyland used the momentum of the kick to tumble backwards acrobatically down the ramp leading up to the faux ship deck, his rags fluttering around him even as the audience laughed.

Squirrel joined the captain on the deck of the ship, and the two of them set off. Squirrel watched the audience’s interest grow as Toren began to use simple illusions to add to the atmosphere of the ship, creating clouds and faux water flowing by them.

The assembled nobles began to chatter and lean forward in their seats, Squirrel saw from the corner of her eye, and suppressed a grin. Then the storm hit.

“Prince, please strap yourself to the deck!” Reginald said, approaching her with the wire. “It’s too dangerous for you to be out here, Sire!” Reginald bent down and secured the line for the swimming scene.

“Nonsense captain,” Squirrel shouted over the thunder and rain. “A gentle summer rain like this does little but build an appetite!” shortly after, with a flash of light, Toren directed an illusionary lightning flash to strike the center of the boat.

The nobles surrounding the stage shouted, recoiling away from the lighting, and then the stage hands cracked apart the two halves of the ship’s deck while Leyland provided sound with a splintering block of wood caught between two halves of a vice.

The storm raged around Squirrel, and the half a ship with Reginald on it was drawn off the stage, even as he shouted her name. Toren created a light that tinted the backdrop blue, rising the light up the boat, until it appeared that she and the boat were both under water. Phantom pulled on the wire, and Squirrel began to float above the submerged deck.

Squirrel desperately pantomimed untying her rope from the deck and then swimming upward, before she finally crested the illusory waves, and gasped for breath. Squirrel treaded water and waves, until a flash of lightning seared the eyes of the assembled nobles, and they gasped in surprise.

Squirrel took the chance to get a good look at the audience, and found that they were watching intently, leaning forward, their jaws slack, the king even had a small smile playing across his lips. The play continued with Squirrel clinging to the figurehead of the ship, washing up on the sandy shores of an uninhabited island. The prince and the figurehead, a rather well-endowed lass, developed a rapport, to the general amusement of the audience.

Squirrel even spotted the king chuckling as she engaged with a courtly dance with the seaweed-clothed figurehead. The prince overcame the difficulties of living alone on an island, and even began to construct a vessel to escape when the sea serpent began to hunt him.

At first the monster was implied, as a shadow fell over the scene, and Squirrel’s jaw dropped, and she ran for her life as Leyland performed the screeching cries of the beast from behind the stage. Then, when the audience began to relax again, squirrel stood up straight, brandishing her sharpened spear, dressed in torn rags, and addressed the audience.

“I’ve prepared myself monster, If you won’t allow my departure from this place, I shall simply have to go through you!” Phantom had snuck behind the audience, and used another instrument to generate the serpent’s piercing cry. The audience screamed with fright as the illusion of the thirty foot sea snake slithered between the rows and down to the stage. The king, whose seat was closest to the stage, watched on with a wide grin as the blue-green serpent slid right past him, while his guards shot to their feet.

The lights dimmed, and the prince looked up to the sky, then back to the oncoming snake. “Come then, you garden snake, I’m sure to be hungry when I’m done with you!” Squirrel shouted. The lights on the stage dimmed, and then Toren began to conserve energy, revealing the fight in short bursts as the lightning struck, and the audience watched in a cold sweat.

Squirrel began the part, dancing from flash of light to flash of light, struggling againt the illusion, until at last, she reached the end of the part, Heaving a sigh of relief inwardly, Squirrel twisted to jump up to the cleverly concealed platform she’d be impaling the serpent from. A twinge of pain shot from her ankle, and Squirrel collapsed to the ground, missing the platform entirely.

Toren saw Squirrel fall to the ground, and an instant of panic shot through him before he improvised. He brought back the light, and showed the audience the serpent rearing over the fallen prince before it lunged downward, it’s fanged mouth open. Screams ran through the audience, and Squirrel raised her spear, levering it between herself and the snake.

The spear slid through the illusion, appearing to ram through the creature’s brain. Toren added a spurt of blood for realism, and Leyland made the final cry of the creature as it collapsed sideways. Squirrel carefully followed the illusions movements with her spear, aware that it had no substance, and allowing the spear to slip right out of its head would ruin the audience’s belief. When the snake had stopped moving beside her, she pulled out the spear, and limped to the top of the platform, disguised as a rock, giving a victorious cry as the audience applauded. Another lightning strike hit the upraised spear in a bit of Toren’s impromptu mischief, blinding the onlookers so that they could precede with the next part.

The rest of the play went off without a hitch. The sprain wasn’t bad, and Phantom quickly wrapped her ankle while Reginald narrated the story. The prince returned to his kingdom, and punished to hunchback who had unsuccessfully tried to supplant him, giving him a fitting duty as the court fool. At the end of the play, the applause was deafening, and with Squirrel at the center, the entire ensemble bowed.

Squirrel glanced right and left and saw her troupe’s faces flushed and smiling, proud of the response they had earned. Toren had a wide grin, his eyes dancing around the hall of applauding nobility. The entire cast took two bows, and then left, leaving Reginald, Squirrel, and Toren standing onstage.

The king stood, clapping, and the rest of the amphitheater followed. After a round of applause, the king spread his arms, and the nobles quieted, sitting down. “I believe,” King Roland said. “That we have a winner.” A round of cheers came at his declaration. “I almost wish you could have gone first, so that this contest could have been over two weeks ago.” Light laugher rolled through the audience at his humorous tone.

The three of them bowed their heads, and Reginald spoke. “We’re honored by your words, your majesty,” he said, raising his head.

“Are you the leader of your group?” King Roland said, looking down at Reginald.

“Yes, at the moment, your majesty, but this play was conceived by my daughter, here, and the competition was a test for her to take my place. Everything you saw here was a result of her efforts.”

King Roland’s gaze settled on Squirrel. “Daughter, is it?” he said, bemused. “I knew the prince had too fair of a look to him.” The king settled back into his seat. “And him?” he pointed to Toren.

“An apprentice illusionist, your majesty, taking part in the play as an exercise, assigned by my headmaster as a graduation test.” Toren said, bowing his head.

King Roland rubbed his chin, the greying beard making scratching noises as he did. “Illusion, eh? I know of it, and I commend you and your headmaster on such a fitting use for your talents. I imagine we’ll be seeing more like you in the future.”

“Since we have determined a winner,” The king said, motioning to his guard, who set off. “I’m prepared to offer the reward right now, and take the rest of the evening off.” The king addressed Squirrel, who stood in the center.

“We would be honored, your majesty.” Squirrel said, projecting her voice across the crowd while suppressing the urge to jump up and down and shout.

A guardsman walked onto the stage, carrying a small box, a light strain evident in his posture. “The first reward, thirty pounds of gold.” The king spoke, and the guardsman opened the case, and three solid gold bars glittered in the dim sunlight that peeked through the recently unshuttered windows of the amphitheater.

“The second reward, royal patronage,” The king said. “I would be happy to arrange funding to bring the young woman’s imagination to life.” The surrounding audience chattered at the king’s bold declaration. As the crowd simmered, an old woman, her posture stooped, climbed down the stairs from the back of the theatre.

She had a misshapen nose and severe features, with warts hanging on the bottom of her jaw. “And the final, and some would say, greatest prize, is the right to ask the Yearly Question of the King’s Oracle,” Roland said, nodding to the old woman as she painstakingly came to stand in front of the stage.

Up close, the woman was frightfully ugly, and Toren recoiled instinctively from the hideous creature. The hag came to stand beside the king, and cleared her throat with a hacking cough, spitting a gob of phlegm onto the scarlet rug that lined the King’s Booth.

“Ask your question,” the old woman said in a voice that was reminiscent of a person being strangled. Her black eyes scanned the three of them, flickering with malice. Toren met her gaze for an instant, and a wave of inexplicable dread passed through him. As a result, Toren hesitated a moment too long.

Swallowing his fear, Toren stepped forward, and began to speak the question he had formulated after pondering for three days. “Who is-“ his words choked off when Squirrel stepped in front of him, striking his crotch with her fist out of the view of the assembled nobles.

It was all Toren could do to stay standing, struggling to breath while Squirrel stepped forward and took his reward.

“What is the name I was given at birth?” she asked, as the hag’s attention turned to her. Squirrel was more specific than ‘who am I?’ because if no one knew her by any other name, there was a possibility that the oracle would respond with ‘Squirrel’, and shatter her world.

The Hag squinted at her for a moment, then her eyes went wide, and a vicious smile crept onto her face. “Princess Ariana Heartglow Fellianore,” she said, staring down at them . The assembled hall of nobles was utterly silent, looking down at the girl on the stage in shock. The king’s eyes widened, and he looked from the Oracle to the girl on the stage.

Squirrel was stunned, she looked to Reginald, who regarded her with a pained look. “Girl-“ He began.

“She’s an imposter planted by a rival country!” came a roar from the King’s booth, “Kill the lot of them!” Squirrel stood stock still even as the guards began to draw weapons and converge on them, she had never really noticed how many of them there were, as they had stood impassively through the entire show, just a part of the scenery, now they approached menacingly, their expressions promising death.

Squirrel was jolted into movement as Reginald yanked her toward the backstage. “What I get for associating with nobles,” he growled as he pulled her behind the curtain. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw men with drawn swords converging around Toren, whose face was red as he collapsed to his knees.

Reginald dragged Squirrel under the platform that she had tumbled from in act three, during the prince’s return. Its upper edge was near one of the unshuttered windows leading outside. “Boost,” Reginald said, kneeling down in front of her with his hands cupped.

Squirrel looked down at her foster father. “what…” she began breathlessly.

“Always knew you were special, girl,” Reginald said quietly. “And I always knew associating with nobles would be the death of me, but saving a princess… It’s not a bad way to be remembered.”

Reginald looked up at her and shouted. “Boost!” his browed furrowed in a fearsome glare.

Squirrel reflexively put her foot on Reginald’s cupped hands, and with a grunt, Reginald propelled her up to grasp the bottom of the bar even as the curtain was opened by a man in armor. Reginald was old and slow, but he had a lifetime of muscle from heavy labor. He stepped forward and punched the armored man in the face. The man toppled to the ground, knocking down the guards behind him over as well.

As they struggled to get up, Reginald looked up at Squirrel and squinted. “I’ll take care of your brother, get out of here, Squirrel!”

Squirrel glanced at the window one leap away from her, and back down to Reginald. “I can’t leave you here!”

Reginald looked up at her, fury painting his face red. “You Godsdamned well better, or I swear by every star I’ll kill you before they have a chance to!” he screamed before turning away and running further backstage, where Finn rested. Squirrel bent her knees, looking down at the rope that would allow her to slide back down to the stage and help Reginald, ready to jump.

Squirrel felt hands on her back, and was suddenly shoved forward, overshooting the rope drastically, tumbling through the open window of the amphitheater. She caught a glimpse of Phantom behind her, readying himself for his own jump, when a crossbow bolt caught him in the chest, pinning him to the wall.

Squirrel cried out in desperation and pain as she began to tumble and slide down the sloped roof. A fine layer of dust that covered the roof of the palace amphitheater swirled around her as she rapidly approached the edge. Adrenalin fueling her, Squirrel caught the edge of the marble roof with her right hand, grunting with effort as her body weight settled on her fingertips.

Squirrel found herself dangling over open air. The amphitheater’s roof was supported by massive marble pillars, a body length apart. Squirrel looked down, and saw that she was hanging outside two of them, nestled four feet beneath the edge of the roof. The ground was a dizzying distance below her.

Squirrel heaved her other arm up, and began pulling herself up, throwing a foot up onto the roof. “She’s up here!” Squirrel heard the distant call, and she looked up to see a crossbowman calling to his friends. Squirrel tensed as the man’s gaze returned to her, and he brought the crossbow up to his shoulder.

With a grunt, Squirrel pushed herself away from the ledge, unhooking her leg, and dropping her body back beneath the line of sight, just as a crossbow bolt flew over her head. Squirrel pulled herself up to peek over the edge of the marble roof, and she saw the crossbowman reloading, while one of his friends drew a bead on her.

Squirrel swiftly dropped back down, looking below her again, nursing a crazy idea. Squirrel panted to bolster her courage and her muscles, before swinging her body backward, then, with a grunt and a tensing of her abdomen, Squirrel flung herself forward, releasing the roof to fall freely through the air.

Squirrel flew under the roof to the pair of pillars four feet away, desperately bracing herself between the two of them as she fell. The smooth stone slowed her descent somewhat, and Squirrel saw the pale white floor approaching rapidly. With a grunt, Squirrel put more force into her arms and legs, and she slowed just enough to avoid breaking anything as she hit the ground.

Squirrel hit the tiled stone outside the amphitheater, absorbing the shock with her legs, and tucking into a roll. A moment later, she came to a stop. Squirrel released her knees and lay spread eagled, looking up at the distant ceiling as she panted.

A guardsman stepped into her vision, peering down at her. Squirrel’s heart jumped in her chest, and she twitched, intending to roll away. “Are you all right, ma’am?” he said, leaning on his ceremonial pike and reaching down to give her a hand. “That was a hell of a feat, are you one of the Festival’s tumblers? I don’t mean to be a busybody, but you’ll want to avoid doing that in view of the nobility, they’ve got no sense of humor.” Squirrel squinted at the offered hand, then took it, letting him haul her to her feet.

Squirrel’s arms and legs felt like giving out, between the play and the slide down the pillars. “Thank you,” Squirrel said, and then glanced over his shoulder. The clamor from inside the amphitheater was becoming faintly audible. “Tell them you tried to arrest me immediately, okay?” Squirrel said, before she swung a fist back and plowed it into the kind guard’s exposed nose.

The man was entirely off the ground for a fraction of a second, his entire body going stiff, before he hit the ground, blood spraying from his broken nose. “I’m sorry,” Squirrel apologized as she turned and sprinted away, her sprained ankle sending lancing pain through her leg.

Squirrel ran towards the city gate as quickly as she could manage, her eyes blurring with tears as she swam through the steam of people going about their lives. Squirrel saw a hand dart toward her belt, but ignored it, desperate to make it out of the city

What was that? Squirrel asked herself as she ran. Why would he want the princess dead? Squirrel stopped limping and stood stock still for a moment, the stream of people parting around her. Am I the princess? Squirrel was willing to bet that her parents, whoever they were, had simply named her in honor of the newly born princess, who disappeared with her mother thirteen years ago.

Then why would my first name be Princess? A passerby shoved her out of his way with a growl, and Squirrel shook her head. Now wasn’t the time or place to worry about whoever had thought it would be funny to name her after the princess. Squirrel began to limp faster, toward the city gate.

After a few minutes of grimly pushing her way through the streets, the eastern wall came into view. It was late in the day, and the flow of traffic through the gate was primarily incoming. Squirrel hoped she could find a late-departing caravan to stow away with, and hopefully be tens of miles away before the King’s men could lock the city down and begin looking for her in earnest.

A shrill whistle and the sound of galloping horses sent shivers up Squirrel’s spine. She and the other pedestrians made way as a messenger, flanked by knights, galloped through the street toward the Eastern Gate. The messenger galloped past, his cheeks red from blowing through the shrill whistle, while the knights cast suspicious glances around them.

Squirrel gawked with the rest of the peasants, shading her eyes so that the guards couldn’t see her face. Squirrel stood behind a rather wide fellow, hiding the gaudy prince costume behind his girth. The knights passed by, arriving at the Eastern Gate. Squirrel cursed and ducked into an alley, taking off the prince’s overcoat and turning it inside out, changing it into a somber black mourning coat. It was still conspicuous, but at least it wasn’t what they’d be looking for.

Squirrel donned the coat and watched the street outside. Distantly, she heard the movement of infantry marching through the streets. Squirrel cocked her head to the side and listened closely, making out a voice rolling through the streets. “Return to your homes! There is a traitor to the crown on the loose, we need your assistance to find them! Call out to a guard if you see an unfamiliar girl with short red hair walking the streets! She is a spy, and wanted for questioning by the crown!”

“Fuck!” Squirrel said, watching the street for a hat, or some grease to rub in her hair.

“Excuse me,” came a smooth voice from behind her. Squirrel turned quickly. There hadn’t been anyone in the dead end alley when she had entered it, but now a man in dark clothes stood before her. He wore a close fitting ensemble of thick, tight-knit cloth, with supple leather gloves and fine shoes.

“Ah, I can see the resemblance,” the man said, and raised his hand.

“Who the hell-“ Squirrel began, when a leather-clad hand bearing a wet cloth wrapped over her face. Squirrel immediately began to thrash, knocked her head against the chest of the man standing beside her, his face just out of reach.

Squirrel quickly began to grow dizzy, the world seemed to spin around her, and then it went dark.