by Anna Jarzab
With nothing in particular to do, I drifted around the walk-in closet, looking for something new to wear. I didn’t get the obsession with changing clothes every hour, but it was something Juliana did, so I had to do it, too. Her style was definitely different from mine; when left to my own devices, I pretty much lived in jeans and T-shirts, but the only jeans I found in Juliana’s closet still had the tags on them—tags that, even though I didn’t know the exact value of a dollar in the Commonwealth, gave me the impression that they cost. Juliana favored dresses, but her supply of them seemed infinite and I couldn’t decide which to wear.
Gloria poked her head in. “That one,” she said, pointing to a green silk wrap dress. I nodded and quickly changed into it.
The door slid open and the queen entered, followed by a yappy little dog, and a small, stooped woman the queen didn’t bother to introduce. The queen didn’t greet me; she didn’t even look at me, or seem to register that I was there.
“Myra,” the queen said. “Bring in the dress.”
“Hello, Your Majesty,” I said, bowing my head to the queen as Gloria had taught me.
“Leave off with that, Juliana,” the queen said, rolling her eyes. “I can’t stand it when you’re false to me in private.”
“But I’m not—” It was difficult, knowing what to say to the queen. On the one hand, I was aware how acrimonious Juliana’s relationship with her stepmother was, so if I wanted to be convincing, I ought to have snapped back, stuck up for myself. But Gloria had warned me that I needed to act like Juliana’s time at St. Lawrence had brought her to her senses. I needed to play the part of a penitent princess, one who had accepted her fate with grace and dignity, one that wouldn’t fight back—someone Juliana had never actually been. And yet, if I was too good, the queen would become suspicious. It was a total minefield, and if I wasn’t careful, I was liable to get blown up on the spot.
“Let’s get this over with, shall we? Gloria, open the curtains. It’s so dark in here.” The curtains were almost completely open, sunshine pouring in, but Gloria dutifully pulled them apart as far as they would go while Myra, the small, dark-haired seamstress, summoned a porter into the room. He carried a large garment bag that almost overtook him; it looked heavy, and I was nervous about having to wear whatever over-the-top wedding dress Juliana had chosen.
The queen barely spoke as Myra hoisted and tucked and strapped and strung me into the dress; instead, she sat on the sofa, stroking the yappy dog and quietly judging.
When Myra was finally finished, she turned me around to face the mirror.
“Wow,” I said when I got a look at myself.
“It’s a very lovely dress, Your Highness,” Myra said.
“You’re not kidding,” I said. The dress was gorgeous. The skirt was made of white satin covered in lace, sumptuous layers of cascading fabric that seemed to go on forever. The biggest surprise was the bodice; judging by the contents of her closet, I would’ve expected Juliana to choose something low-cut, maybe even strapless, but it had a modest sweetheart neckline and a scalloped lace overlay with delicate capped sleeves.
“You’re going to have to let the dress out a bit, Myra.” The queen sighed. “I hope you’ve got some extra fabric. The princess seems to have gained a bit of weight since you last measured her. Don’t let your mouth hang open like that, Juliana, it’s very unbecoming.”
“I haven’t gained weight,” I protested. I knew I shouldn’t be taking the queen’s comments so personally, since they were meant for Juliana, but I couldn’t help it. It felt personal.
“It’s too bad of you to eat so indulgently less than a week before your wedding,” the queen continued. Gloria was not amused; she glared at the queen from her seat near the window, out of the queen’s line of sight.
“The dress fits like a glove,” I told Myra.
“It does, Your Highness,” Myra admitted. Now it was the queen’s turn to glare at someone.
“Don’t alter it at all,” I said. “But if it will make you happy, Your Majesty, I’ll watch myself at meals until after the wedding.”
“I told you, leave off with that ‘Your Majesty’ business.” The queen yawned. “I see what you’re trying to do, and I won’t stand for it, I simply won’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re trying to pretend as though you’ve seen the error of your ways and come back from St. Lawrence a changed woman,” the queen said. “This sudden meekness—it’s so transparent. I don’t believe it for a second. You’ve never been a good actress, despite your flair for the dramatic.” The sound she made then was more a bark than a laugh, and she flourished her hands in the air as if she was about to conjure a dove.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said. Myra began the process of extracting me from the complicated dress.
“Just know that I will be watching you,” the queen said, getting up from the sofa and letting her dog leap from her arms onto the floor. “And if you do anything—anything—to upset your father or endanger the reputation of the Crown, so help me I will see to it that you are sent someplace much more tedious and remote than Canada. Do you understand me?”
Canada. Even I knew that was an oblique reference to Juliana’s mother. I felt a sudden urge to snap back, but I couldn’t—it would just give the queen another reason to jump on me, and that was the last thing I needed. I couldn’t begin to imagine what would happen if the queen found out I wasn’t Juliana, but it wouldn’t be good.
“I understand,” I said.
The queen shook her head, and I noticed something more than disapproval in her expression—there was a little bit of sadness there, too. I wondered what that was about, but it wasn’t as though I could ask.
“Although,” I said as Myra began to extract me from the wedding dress, “I happen to like Canada.”
I’d just gotten back into the green silk wrap dress I’d been wearing earlier when two children tumbled through the door, chasing each other and shrieking with laughter. They launched themselves at my legs, giggling and snorting into the soft folds of my skirt.
That’s right, I thought. Juliana has half siblings.
“I win!” the boy crowed. I searched through my memories of Thomas’s briefing to dredge up his name—Simon. Age: seven. And Lillian was the little girl, age four. I put my hand on Simon’s blond head, Lillian’s being too far down to reach.
“Were you racing?” I asked. The little ones were completely charming. I loved them at first sight. Lillian nodded, grinning. She was wearing a lavender dress with matching shoes and white tights, her hair curled and secured by an enamel clip into a bouquet of tight ringlets.
“Yes, and I won!” Simon announced.
“Good job!” I bent down so that I was more equal to their height. “Although I don’t know that it’s fair, you’re so much bigger than Lillian.” It was easy to talk to them. They were the only people I’d met so far in Aurora who seemed to pose no threat.
“I’m fast!” Lillian pouted.
“I know, I know, of course, you’re very fast,” I reassured her. Lillian wrapped her arms around my neck, and when I stood she did the same with her legs around my waist. Lillian nestled her face into my hair and sighed deeply.
The queen didn’t seem as enthralled with the children as I was, but maybe that was because she was used to them. She pried Lillian off me and set her down on the floor, where she began to fuss and beg to be picked up again. The queen ignored her.
“Where is Genevieve?” she called out. “For heaven’s sake, what is the point of having a nanny if she’s not even going to watch the children!”
I bent down to soothe Lillian. “Maybe they got away from her somehow.”
“Yes, that’s just what I need, more wild, uncontrollable children!” the queen cried.
“I’m not your child!” I snapped, losing control for a moment. Gloria’s mouth puckered in anxiety as the queen fixed a hateful gaze on me.
“And thank God fo
r that,” she said with venom. “Simon! Lillian! Come along. Let’s go find your incompetent nanny.”
“Sasha,” Gloria growled when everyone had gone. “You shouldn’t speak to the queen like that.”
“I know.” I sighed and sank down on the bed.
“She’s difficult,” Gloria said, choosing her words carefully. “But she’s under a lot of pressure. She’s only doing it to get a rise out of you—out of Juliana, I mean—and if you play into it you’ll only get more trouble in return.”
“I don’t know how Juliana does this,” I said. “From the outside, her life must seem so perfect, but …”
Gloria nodded, sitting down next to me on the bed and putting her hand on top of mine. “I’ve often thought that, too. But this is the only life she’s ever had. I’ve known Juliana for a long time, and over the years I watched as she built up walls between herself and the world, to protect herself from all the pressure and the demands of her position. Lately I’ve wondered if she’s really built for all this.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Juliana’s always been so stoic,” Gloria told me. “She’s got a quick temper, sort of like you do—”
“I don’t have a temper!”
“Oh? And what was that with the queen just now?”
I conceded her point. “I’m not great at keeping my mouth shut.”
“Well, neither is Juliana, but she never used to let anything get to her, deep down,” Gloria said. “And yet … when the king informed her that he was marrying her to Prince Callum, she fought him, like everyone expected her to. And she lost that battle, like everyone expected. But I’m probably the only person who knows what she did when she came back to her room, holding the box with her engagement ring inside of it.”
“What did she do?” I asked, in a voice so low it was almost a whisper.
“She wept,” Gloria said, her own eyes wet at the memory. “Like a child, she wept. And my heart broke for her, as it breaks for you now. You’re both so young, and you have so much resting on your shoulders. The fate of an entire nation—two nations, in fact. It just seems so grossly unfair.”
She put her arms around me, and I let her. I sank my head on her shoulder and closed my eyes. I didn’t know who to feel sorrier for, Juliana or myself. But at the very least, I knew that the life that belonged to me was worth returning to. And for the first time since I’d woken up in that dark basement in the Tattered City, I felt lucky.
SEVENTEEN
“So I heard you had a run-in with the queen,” Thomas said, glancing at me slyly out of the corner of his eye. Gloria had returned to her office, presumably to continue ripping the people at CBN apart. They had no idea who they were dealing with; it was Gloria’s new personal crusade to get Eloise Dash fired and replaced with a more obedient royal correspondent.
“You said yourself she doesn’t like Juliana,” I replied. “And she was awful to me at the dress fitting. She accused me of gaining weight!”
“I know she’s not easy to deal with,” Thomas allowed. “Believe me, I know. I’ve seen Juliana fight with her hundreds of times. The queen can be very petty. But if you take the bait, it just gives her more ammunition.”
“That’s what Gloria said.” I sighed. “I’ve never had anyone hate me so openly before.” I fiddled with the edge of a pillowcase.
“She doesn’t hate you,” Thomas reminded me. He stood near the door, his arms folded across his chest, his standard position. He was focused on me, but I could tell he was also on alert, as always, for anything awry, ever the soldier.
“Yeah, I know, she hates Juliana,” I said. But knowing that the queen’s rancor had nothing to do with me didn’t make her barbs sting any less. And how much of a difference was there, anyway, between the queen hating Juliana and the queen hating me? We weren’t the same person, but we were connected. I couldn’t help taking things personally on her behalf.
“No, I mean she doesn’t hate Juliana. She’s afraid of her.” Thomas walked over and leaned against one of the bedposts. I glanced up and his eyes caught mine. Every time I looked at him, my brain struggled to make sense of who he was. Even now, if I encountered him and Grant together, dressed alike, I wasn’t sure that I could tell the difference. But the eyes … they betrayed something, hidden depths of experience, intelligence, even pain. Much as I wished I didn’t care, I was curious about him. I wanted to know how much of the boy he’d been with me on Earth had been a lie, but that was a question I couldn’t bear to ask him.
“Afraid? Why?” The queen had all the power; she was the regent, she ran the country, while Juliana was being married off, a pawn in a game of musical countries. Just like me.
“The king loves Juliana more than anything, and the queen’s always been afraid he’ll leave her just like he left Juliana’s mother. She knows Juliana resents her for causing her parents’ divorce, and she’s scared that one day Juliana will convince the king to get rid of her.”
“Yeah, well, maybe he should,” I grumbled.
Thomas shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know. She seems to really love him. She’s just insecure.”
“Thomas Mayhew, armchair psychologist.” But he was probably right. In spite of the aggressive way the queen kept trying to tear down her stepdaughter, I didn’t think I was imagining the sadness I’d seen in the queen’s eyes. What if, under all that ice, the queen had some affection for Juliana?
“I spend a good chunk of my days standing in the corners of rooms, being ignored and watching people,” Thomas said. “You can’t help but pick up a couple of things. The personal stuff is important, but there are also a lot of political factors that make the queen behave the way she does. She sees Juli as a threat to her crown.”
“Juli?” I repeated. Well, I had my answer. He and Juliana had been close, close enough for her to let him call her by her nickname—but how close was close? Close like friends? Close like brother and sister? Or close like … I tried not to think about it. It wasn’t as if it mattered what their relationship had been. At least, it didn’t matter to me.
He cleared his throat. “Juliana.”
“What do you mean, ‘sees her as a threat’?”
“After what happened to the king, he’ll never be able to rule again. And when Juliana comes of age she can make a bid for the regency and she might get it, since Juliana’s claim on the crown is legitimate, and the queen’s is just a matter of momentary convenience. What will happen to the queen and her two children then? I think that’s what she’s worried about most.”
“Not the loss of power?”
“Nobody likes to lose power,” Thomas said. “But there’s more than one reason why the queen would be afraid of Juliana. That’s all I’m saying.”
“Do you think Juliana would really do that? Just turn her out?”
He hesitated, taking time to think the question over. “No, I don’t.”
“That’s good.” I didn’t like the queen much more than the queen liked Juliana, but of course she would do what was necessary to keep her family safe, even if it meant acting heinous most of the time. How could I begrudge her that while the desire to go home, and willingness to do anything to make that happened, burned in my chest like a bonfire?
“Anyway, believe it or not, I didn’t just come in here to chat with you about current political tensions,” Thomas said. “I’m going to accompany you to the dinner.”
“Do I have to go?” I asked, though I already knew the answer. I was dreading the dinner because I’d been informed that the General would be there. This would be the first time I’d appeared before him as Juliana, and I had no doubt he’d be watching me closely. The thought made my stomach churn. Pretending to be Juliana was one thing; pretending to be her while the architect of my situation watched, ready to pounce if I screwed up, was quite another.
“Your presence is mandatory,” Thomas said. “But you don’t have to worry. You can do this. You did it earlier with Eloise Dash, you can do it again.”
>
“You keep saying that,” I pointed out. “What makes you so certain?”
He hesitated for a second. “If I tell you, will you promise not to just assume I’m crazy?”
“At this point, there’s not a lot I wouldn’t believe,” I told him. When you wake up to find you’ve been transported to another universe, even your most deeply rooted skepticism tends to take a major hit.
“Okay. I think—now, I don’t have any proof to back this up, but—”
“Just tell me, Thomas!”
“When I was on Earth, pretending to be Grant, sometimes I felt like, I don’t know, I could sense what he would do in a given situation,” Thomas confided. “I prepared for my mission; I knew all kinds of facts about Grant and his life. But when you’re deep undercover like that, you learn pretty quickly that facts aren’t people. They’re just facts. That’s what makes what you’re doing—what I did—so difficult. Friends, family … they can just tell when something’s not right, even if they never figure out why. But, I don’t know. Sometimes, I’d get into a sticky situation—say the wrong thing to Grant’s mom, or whatever—and I’d get this feeling like I was being guided.”
“You mean, like hearing voices in your head?”
“No, no, nothing like that. It was more like getting swept along with a current.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve got this friend—he’s a scientist on the many-worlds project. This stuff is his life. And he thinks that the connection between analogs runs deep. Really deep.” He laughed at himself. “Forget it. You probably do think I’m crazy.”
“No,” I said. “I don’t, not at all.” I was so close to telling him about seeing Juliana in my dreams. My heart began to pound as I thought about the possible implications of what Thomas was saying. Could anyone, under the right circumstances, talk to their analogs across the tandem? What did that mean for Granddad’s theory about how the universes weren’t meant to come into contact?
