The Puppet Queen: A Tale of the Sleeping Beauty

by Mira Zamin

Over the days following the misadventure, the dispersed members of my family reconverged upon Aquia, spouses and children in tow. Evra and Ceara, both a handful of years older than me, had already been wed, Evra to the heir of another emirdom and Ceara to one of Ghalain’s wealthiest lords. In addition to having borne twins, my mother had also birthed triplets, and of Gareth, Necolai, and Danyal, only Danyal was unmarried and still lived with us. While Ceara trained with our mother as heir to Aquia, Gareth and Necolai had enlisted as officers in the army and spent much of their time in Nyneveh, the capital—that is when they were not returning home to Aquia or to their wives’ abodes to eat us out of house and hearth. When my time came, I did not know what I would do. Marriage, certainly, but I hoped that wedlock would not be the pinnacle of my achievement.

  The days after Beya’s revelation, I moped around the palace, avoiding servants and family alike. My parents had yet to officially reveal the news to us, but whenever I met my father’s gaze, I thought I read reproach.

  “Selene!” Auralia sang out as she entered our room. She did not understand why I had become so quiet and had been doing her best to draw me out of my shell, even suggesting a return to the creek, an idea I had shot down with untoward vehemence. Still, her cheery demeanor did not flag, but I could not help but think that had she known of the curse and my fault in it, she would not have been so concerned with my well-being. “Mother and Father have called a family meeting!”

  An icy lump formed in my throat. “Alright.”

  She lowered her voice. “I wish you would tell me what the matter was, Lina. You have been acting so queer since the night of the creek. What happened?” She had posed the same question hundreds of times in the same warm and concerned voice.

  I only bit my lip in response, knowing that I did not deserve such a caring sister.

  “Very well,” she huffed. I trailed listlessly behind her into the library where my parents lounged in twin leather armchairs surrounded by their children. Built long ago by an Emir of Aquia as a courtship gift, the library was a narrow room, but tall, with grand windows and book-lined shelves for walls. The curtains were drawn against the night and a carefully-contained fire burned in the hearth, throwing up shadows against the dark wood.

  With a sense of foreboding, I folded into the soft crimson rug, ignoring Evra’s gesturing towards the seat beside her.

  “What’s toward, Mother?” puffed Necolai. He had recently been promoted to captain and was never far from his uniform. The mustachios were a new affectation and had I been in any other mood, I would have joined Gareth, Danyal, and Gieneve in their mockery.

  “Yes, Mother,” Gareth said, stroking a pretend mustache and puffing out his chest. Nic affected not to notice.

  “Don’t taunt your brother,” my mother chided, although her perfect lips quirked with laughter. Taking their cues from her, Evra and Ceara hid their smirks behind their hands.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it, no sir,” said Danyal, mimicking Necolai’s deep baritone precisely.

  Nic reddened. “I will have you know—!”

  “Boys, boys,” Father said seriously, but his indigo blue eyes, which were just like mine, were amused. “We have important family business to discuss today.”

  “Ooh,” chorused my siblings and then promptly broke out into laughter. I remained silent.

  “I’ve birthed a family of jesters!” my mother bemoaned, pushing back a lock of golden-brown hair.

  “Yes, and they have inherited it from you!” my father shot back to their enjoyment, but the grin quickly faded from his face. He reached out a hand and squeezed my mother’s fingers.

  She took a deep breath and spoke. “I am afraid though that there is a very serious matter your father and I need to discuss with you today. Some of you may know some of it—or all of it—but you should hear the whole story from us.”

  Evra and Ceara nodded with hesitant wisdom, and the triplets suddenly grew serious, but Gieneve and Auralia seemed perplexed, clueless. Auralia tried to meet my eye, but I stubbornly traced the diamond and leaf-patterned rug.

  “We should not have waited this long to say something,” Mother added, anxiously twisting the yellow silk of her dress.

  “But we...we did not wish to cast a shadow over your lives,” Father continued. He crossed his legs and his shining black boots reflected flashed red-gold with candlelight.

  “Well, what the bloody Seasons is it then?” Gieneve demanded, her doll-like countenance fierce. Looking around, she said, “Seems as if everyone here has a clue as to what’s going on except Rory and me.”

  Auralia glanced my way again and this time, I could not look away fast enough to avoid her. I could read the betrayal on her face. I had never kept a secret from her, especially one that was apparently this immense. She bit her lip and then looked down, locking her attention onto her amaranth gown.

  My mother and father elaborated on the story, maintaining the same narrative Beya had established. Evra reached out and held Auralia’s hand tenderly when they began speaking of the curse itself.

  “Selene had fallen ill that day and so you were the only one at the Naming ceremony, so, I think, the curse would have fallen on both you and Selene, but it ended up being only you,” Mother explained to Auralia.

  Father said, “This is also why we tried to keep you as close to the Mehal as possible. We saw how the djinn was able to, thankfully, alter the curse, but what if the Pari found you and reverted it back to its original form—or worse.”

  Mother laughed, a brittle sound. “It was lucky that you were the one cursed—we would have had a time keeping Selene within the grounds.”

  “Lucky. Yes,” Auralia replied through cold lips.

  “Oh, that’s not what I meant, dearest!” Mother cried with sincere regret, but Auralia dashed from the room.

  Mother rose stiffly and raced after her. I should have joined her, but I was bound to my place by the questions pouring from my siblings.

  Ceara turned to Father. “I understand why you wished to keep Auralia close, but why not Selene? What if the Pari found her and used her to magnify the curse?”

  I shivered. Had I been endangering my family with my ramblings?

  Father shook his head and cold relief swept through me. “They would know Auralia. After all, she had been marked by powerful magic, both their own and that of the Djinnat. How would they recognize Selene from any other Aquian or any other family member? I acknowledge there was a small risk, but for a life cut short—” Father choked and could speak no more.

  “Have you tried breaking it? Finding a way around it?” Evra asked quietly, a sorrowful tone in her musical voice. Her heavy lashes were downcast.

  Clearing his throat, Father explained, “We have spoken to counselors, to the djinn to ask them to look further into the curse, but there is nothing they can do. We sent an embassy to the Pari some years back, but they transformed the dignitaries into asses.” He coughed.

  “Well, that wasn’t too much of a stretch,” Danyal quipped, astonishingly keeping his good humor.

  “So, in two years, we shall all be…asleep?” Evra said. Her brow quirked.

  “Yes,” Father answered heavily. “I am afraid…I have failed you children.”

  No—I have failed you! I thought in despair.

  Eyes shining, Gieneve laid her head on Father’s knee. “It was those bleeding Pari, Pa.”

  Necolai twisted his hands in frustration. “I cannot believe that this is it, that we are predestined to this fate. This is how it will end?”

  “Not an ending,” Ceara said. She had always been the coolest, the most intellectual of us. I had always thought that if she had not been heir to Aquia, she would have donned black robes and lived her life as a scholar in one of Ghalain’s universities. “At the very maximum, an eternity of somnolence, but should Auralia’s ‘one true love’ awaken her, then we can rise much sooner.”

  “Yes, I feel much better now, Ceara, thanks,” Gareth drawled.

&nb
sp; Ceara’s expression darkened, but in her non-confrontational way, she remained silent.

  Gareth turned to me. His dark hair brushed the shoulders of his cream-colored coat. “Looks like it’s all your fault, Len.” He laughed. “Talk about damned terrible timing, eh?”

  I choked, turning my suddenly tearful eyes away from my family.

  “Gareth…” my father said warningly.

  But I was certain I heard a note of accord.

  Chapter Three