Page 24 of Yellow Belly

Humans.

Stefano almost gasped when he suddenly recalled who and where he was. And oh gods, what had happened to Henry?

By the time Stefano climbed out of the pond and hopped beneath a small bush, the scene had calmed down. Some humans remained, standing and talking to one another, but they weren’t running around anymore, so being trampled was less of a danger. There was no sign of Henry, however.

What if these people had hurt him? What if they’d killed him? If Stefano had been his old self, he could have run up to the nearest person in authority and demanded to be reunited with his lover.

But what could a frog do? Nothing, of course. Which meant he needed to stop acting like a dumb animal—or a frightened boy—and act like a man.

Stefano jumped into the pond, entering the water so smoothly that he barely made a splash. It didn’t take many powerful kicks before he’d crossed to the island, where he scrambled onto the grassy bank. There were no shrubs or flowers to hide him, but his back and limbs were green, so if he remained still, it was unlikely that any of the humans would notice him.

In fact, the four people on the island seemed deep in animated conversation, complete with arm-waving. “I don’t think he was an assassin,” said the one in the canary-yellow dress. “He didn’t look like one.”

The one in the sapphire dress gave her arm a little push. “And what, exactly, do you think assassins look like?”

“I don’t know. But this man was very handsome, wasn’t he? And young. Granted, his attire was odd.” She wrinkled her nose.

“Ah, so assassins are ugly and old but wear fashionable clothing. I see. Thank you for sharing your expertise on the subject, Sunigilda. What other wisdom have you to impart today?”

The one in yellow—Sunigilda—pushed Sapphire Dress back, rather harder. Sapphire Dress squawked; the third person, whose dress was emerald, laughed loudly; and Stefano wanted to slap all of them. Didn’t they care that his Henry was missing and endangered? And what about the imminent crisis facing their country at King Cyrus’s hands? Didn’t they care about that? Yet they were hardly more than children, he realized. And although Stefano was older by several years, until recently he’d paid just as little mind to politics or to the concerns of anybody other than himself and Henry.

He recognized the fourth young woman, who’d been watching but remaining silent. Although he’d never met her, he’d seen a painting. Philip had waved it in front of Stefano’s nose in an attempt to convince him to marry her. In person, Princess Dianora was, in fact, very pretty, with the sort of good looks that were without artifice and would probably only become finer with age. Right now she looked thoughtful.

“Why would an assassin come here?” she mused aloud.

“To murder you, of course.” Sapphire Dress appeared a bit too gleeful at the prospect, as if this were an exciting story instead of real life.

“But why? I’ve never offended anyone.” Dianora rose and walked a few steps across the pavilion, where she bent to pick something up; Stefano couldn’t see what. She returned to the stone bench and sat again. “He wasn’t an assassin,” she said with an air of authority.

“I agree with Her Highness,” said Emerald Dress primly. “I didn’t see any weapons. Although I suppose he could have intended to do her in with his bare hands. Or with a stone, or⁠—”

Dianora raised her palm. “That’s enough. I don’t think he meant to harm me. Perhaps he simply wanted to meet me. Or he might be a lunatic. Or… I don’t know. The guards will find out what he intended.” She looked unhappy at this.

Stefano was more than unhappy—he was appalled. Images came to him of Henry being tortured. It was easy to picture that, given how many times Stefano had seen him beaten. It was unendurable to know that Henry would once again be in pain because of him.

Since squatting here in the grass was accomplishing nothing, Stefano crept a little closer. He was aware of how small he was compared to these young women, how vulnerable. One wayward foot could end him, and then Henry would be alone for good. He wanted to call out a plea, but forming words was so difficult, and he couldn’t imagine the princess would simply sit there and wait for him to become comprehensible. Besides, what would he say? “Free my beloved and then kiss me, Princess”?

As he dithered, Dianora reached into her lap and tossed something at Sunigilda, who made a startled noise but caught it. “First six lines of Hagash Usa,” said Dianora.

Sunigilda immediately launched into reciting a poem. Stefano had heard it before, during his lessons, but didn’t remember what the foreign words meant.

Puzzled, he watched as Sunigilda threw the item—a gold-colored ball that glittered in the sunlight—to Sapphire Dress and said, “Maldio’s Theorem.”

Sapphire Dress responded with a string of terms that Stefano guessed was a maths equation. The game continued, each of them throwing the ball and then ordering the catcher to recite a bit of academic knowledge or a song. A pleasant enough pastime for four young women of noble blood, Stefano supposed, but a form of torture to him as he thought about Henry’s plight.

Then Sunigilda threw poorly, the princess missed the catch, and the ball landed close to Stefano and rolled into the pond. The four of them quickly ran over, nearly stepping on Stefano, and gazed mournfully into the water. “Can any of you see it?” Dianora asked.

None could. The pond was surprisingly deep and much of its surface was covered with leaves.

“That ball was a gift from my father when I was small,” said Dianora. “It’s quite valuable. Perhaps I should have the guards or servants look for it.” She cast her gaze around, but the guards had disappeared with Henry and had not returned or been replaced. A terrible lapse in security, Stefano thought. King Cyrus would have had the responsible officer beheaded for it. And there were no servants in sight. A few bystanders watched from across the pond, but they all wore finery, and none seemed eager to help.

Stefano gathered all his courage and hopped in front of the princess. “I’ll fetch,” he said. Or tried to. He didn’t know if she understood.

The princess’s companions screeched and scrambled away; Dianora gasped and took a quick step backward. She neither ran nor attacked him, however. “What?” she demanded.

“Fetch. Ball.” As a frog, his heart usually beat slowly, but now it pounded so hard and fast that he wondered if it was visible through his skin.

After a very long moment, she bent and, frowning, gently scooped Stefano into her hands. She lifted him so they were eye to eye. “I think this is a trick. Speak again,” she commanded.