Disenchanted

by Susan Carroll

  “Mal! How could you play such a trick on the commander? Crushington may be unrelenting in his sense of duty, but he is an honest man, simply trying to do his best to uphold the law and—”

  “Whoa!” Mal interrupted, raising his brows. “Since when did you become his champion? It was bad enough you falling in love with that lute player, but if you are becoming smitten with the Crusher, I might as well fling myself off the nearest bridge and be done with it.”

  “Don’t be idiotic. I am not smitten with anyone, but I am very grateful to the commander.”

  “So am I. The next time I encounter him in town, I will make it a point to shake his hand and thank him for rescuing you.”

  “No! You stay away from him and stop drawing attention to yourself. What were you actually up to when you sent the commander off on this wild toad chase?”

  “Nothing.” Mal leaned up against the garden gate and grinned. “I was only having a bit of fun with your solemn suitor.”

  “He is not my suitor.” I heaved an exasperated sigh. “You were upset because I didn’t tell you about Harper, but you are forever keeping secrets from me, Mal.”

  “Perhaps because you have made it abundantly plain you prefer to remain in ignorance of my more clandestine activities. As it happens, I was quite innocently engaged for the most part of this morning, purchasing ball tickets.”

  “What about the other part?”

  “I might also have snuck into the maps and ordinance office at Quad Hall and been searching for a way to break into the palace grounds to recover my orb.”

  “You have not yet found a way to do so?”

  Mal shook his head. His smile faded, replaced by a look of extreme frustration. “It has become more difficult than ever to get past the gates. The king has recently doubled the amount of guards.”

  “Perhaps because of the upcoming ball?” I suggested.

  “More likely because our king has made himself so unpopular, he is afraid one of his loyal subjects will be tempted to assassinate him. I have learned that Sidney Greenleaf has even trained these huge beasts to patrol the palace grounds.” Mal grimaced. “Supposedly these enormous cats are able to detect the auras of persons forbidden to approach the castle, such as anyone of Hawkridge descent.”

  “Who is this Sidney Greenleaf?” I asked.

  “The king’s grand ducal wizard.”

  “I thought that was the Great Mercato.”

  “Greenleaf is Mercato’s real name. If you are seeking to convince everyone you are the most formidable wizard the kingdom has ever known, calling yourself the Great Sidney just doesn’t have the same clout,” Mal said contemptuously.

  Ordinarily I would have been amused by Sidney Greenleaf’s pretentiousness. But hearing of these extreme measures the king had taken to guard the palace only made me more anxious for Mal.

  I pleaded with him. “Can you not just forget about that orb, Mal? I know it belonged to your grandfather, but I am sure he wouldn’t have wanted you to risk your life to recover it. You will always have your memories of your grandfather. Even the king cannot take those from you.”

  Mal’s faced darkened. “Ah, yes. My treasured memories of the man who regarded me with complete contempt.”

  “No, Mal. I am sure your grandfather loved you.”

  “All right then, affectionate contempt. If I allow the king to keep that orb, my grandfather would say it was typical of me: feckless, irresponsible, too much of a clown to ever accomplish anything of importance.”

  “Your grandfather is gone. You no longer have anything to prove to him.”

  “No, only to myself.” Mal’s lips thinned in that obdurate, determined look I knew all too well. “I mean to have that orb, Ella, no matter what it takes.”

  Even if you die in the attempt? I thought, but did not voice the question aloud. Mal would simply shrug off my fear as he always did. My shoulders slumped. It had already been such an overwhelming and emotionally draining day. All I wanted to do was retreat to my bed and pull the covers over my head.

  I felt completely worn down. Perhaps that was why I finally surrendered to the inevitable, conceding with a sigh. “Fine. I will do it.”

  “Do what?”

  “Steal the orb for you. Since I am obliged to attend the ball anyway, I might as well not waste my entire evening.”

  “Don’t be absurd, Ella,” Mal said. “That is not the reason I gave you the tickets. I told you there were no conditions attached.”

  “I believe you. But I want to help you. You know I will find the ball rather boring. Stealing the orb will liven things up for me. You were right when you accused me of becoming too stodgy. I am actually longing to have a bit of excitement again. Besides, what else will I give you for your birthday? We both know my cakes never turn out that well.”

  Mal folded his arms, regarding me skeptically. “Are you sure you aren’t agreeing to do this because you believe I will do something stupid and get myself killed?”

  “No, although I confess I would find your death very inconvenient. You see, I have already thought of what I want you to do on my next birthday.”

  I managed to coax a smile from him, but it took some more convincing before Mal relented, hugging me with a grateful sigh. “Thank you, my dearest friend. You will not regret this.”

  I ducked my head so that he could not see that I already did. As I drew away from him, he clasped both of my hands, his face lighting up. “This will be just like the old days. The two of us scheming together, plotting some daring adventure.”

  “Just not too adventurous, I hope,” I murmured.

  “I would never let you do this if I thought I was putting you in any real danger. I will map it all out with great care and devise protections to ensure your complete safety.”

  “Protections like what? A full suit of armor?”

  Mal chuckled. “I don’t think chain mail is in fashion among the ladies. But I will supply you with the most beautiful gown ever seen.”

  “You are going to design a dress for me?”

  “Not me personally. But I do know a very good seamstress whose discretion I can trust. Your gown will need to have a hidden pocket to conceal the orb.”

  “I am skilled enough with a needle that I could manage to do that myself,” I said.

  “I am sure you will be kept busy enough fashioning gowns for your stepsisters. Leave your attire to me. I will supply everything, the gown, the gloves, the dancing slippers.”

  “No, thank you. You know how particular I am about my shoes. I will choose my own dancing slippers.”

  Mal squeezed my hands. “Ella, you need to trust me on this. The dancing shoes I have in mind for you will be something really special.” His eyes twinkled. “You are going to be completely enchanted by them.”

  Chapter 9

  No general could have worked harder to marshal the troops than my stepmother did during the ensuing days. She insisted that we be drilled in deportment, dancing and court etiquette, practicing curtsies until our knees ached. She laced poor Netta into a back brace to force her to stand up straight and placed Amy on a strict diet. Although Imelda pronounced my figure perfect, she said I needed to work on developing a more pleasing attitude and practice my smile. When I retorted that I had been smiling since I was an infant, Imelda had sighed and said, “Yes, dear, but a smirk is not quite the same thing.”

  Between the dancing and etiquette lessons, we all sewed frantically on ball gowns until our fingers were sore. I could not afford to engage a seamstress to help us. The cost of the silk fabric for three dresses had been exorbitant, taking a huge gulp out of my precious store of silver. I had not known how I would be able to hire a coach and horses. The livery stables, like the Silk Emporium and all the other greedy merchants in Midtown, had greatly inflated their prices. But Mal had insisted that he would see to our conveyance. With the help of his friend Long Louie, Mal assured me we would travel to the ball in grand style. I had decided not to tell my stepmother any of t
his. Em was already distressed enough over the fact that Mal was providing me with a gown.

  Although I was left exhausted by all these ball preparations, part of me was glad to be so occupied. It left me little time to dwell on the rash offer I had made to steal that orb. Unfortunately, my busy days also afforded me little time to pursue the mystery of my father’s past. It did little good to ask Imelda any questions. To her, my father was the hero who had rescued her and her daughters from disgrace and poverty. Her image of Julius Upton was too colored in the rainbow hues of romance to be of any help to me.

  I tried to think of someone else who might be able to provide me with information, but as far as I knew, we had no extended family, aunts, uncles or cousins. Nor did I recall either of my parents having any close friends beyond our acquaintance with Mal’s grandparents. I had never thought much about it before, but it startled me to realize what a secluded life all three of us had led, my father, my mother and I, inhabiting our own charmed little world until my mother had died.

  There appeared to be only one person who could give me answers, the one who had started me questioning in the first place—Withypole Fugitate. But when I would find the time or the courage to approach the fairy again, I did not know.

  I did finally manage to steal into the library. Closing the door firmly behind me, I stood still for long moments as I breathed in the wonderful musty scent of old books and ran my fingers over the worn fabric of my father’s chair. As if by doing so, I could somehow recapture his presence, the aura of a man I had never really known.

  All I felt was the melancholy weight of incomplete memories and lost opportunities to ever speak to my father again and understand him. My father had left no personal papers or letters behind. The only words he had bequeathed me were between the pages of his beloved books. I roved along the shelves, seeking one in particular, The Quaint Customs and Ways of the Fey Folk.

  I had not read the book since I was a child so I had difficulty locating it. Toward the end of his life, my father had collected so many books, he had had to shelve them two deep. I finally found the one I wanted tucked behind A Brief History of the Kingdom of Arcady.

  As I opened the book of fairy lore, I was assailed by a recollection of my father’s long, tapering fingers turning the pages and the deep timbre of his voice as he read aloud to me. The memory was so vivid, it was as though his spirit had risen up beside me, but like a ghost, the memory quickly slipped away.

  I had to blink the moisture from my eyes before I could study the book’s illustrations that had fascinated me as a child. The little girl in me was still enchanted by the sketches of sweet lovely creatures with delicate wings. After my glimpse of Withypole with his wings unfurled, I realized how inaccurate the fairy drawings were. Breathtakingly beautiful? Of a certainty that described Withypole Fugitate. But there had been nothing sweet or gentle in his features. His beauty was of an austere kind, full of pride and pain.

  I wondered what other inaccuracies The Quaint Customs and Ways of the Fey Folk contained, but it did not matter. There was nothing in the book that could help me solve the riddle of my father’s past.

  I started to close up the book when I realized there was something inscribed on the flyleaf. I had never noticed it before, likely because I had been so impatient for my father to flip to the drawings and the text of the book itself. The writing was faded and done in such a spidery hand, I could barely read it. I carried it over to the library window. Even with the sun spilling over the page, I had to squint to decipher the words.

  Julius,

  I thought this little tome might amuse you, especially considering your new friend. But you ought to be warned that fairies are not…You will never know how much I regret that…

  Try as I might, I could not make out the sections that had been blurred. I could discern nothing of the writer’s signature beyond the capitalized letter S.

  Who was the friend referred to in the inscription? Withypole? What had the warning about fairies been? What had the giver of the book regretted? Who was S?

  I vented a frustrated sigh. No answers, just more questions.

  “Ella?” After a brief rap at the door, Amy thrust her head inside the room. “Oh, there you are.”

  Her face flushed with excitement, she squealed, “You must make haste. It is almost time. He’s coming! He’s coming!”

  “What? Again?” I groaned.

  Netta crowded forward to join Amy in the doorway. “Hurry, Ella. Or we will miss him.”

  “What a tragedy that would be,” I muttered.

  But I knew my sisters would give me no peace unless I joined them. My brief time to myself was over. I shelved the book with its puzzling inscription and reluctantly followed my sisters from the library.

  I was clearly not moving fast enough to suit them. They seized my hands and dragged me out of the house, down the pathway and out the gate. The roadside was thronged with other people, mostly women.

  Aside from Mrs. Biddlesworth, I never took much heed of my neighbors. I was surprised to note how many young females of marriageable age lived on our lane. Just like my sisters, they were all fussing with their hair and fidgeting with eagerness, all eyes turned toward the cavalcade approaching down the hill from the Heights.

  We seldom caught a glimpse of royalty in Midtown, but for the past several days, Prince Florian had made a point of taking his morning ride directly through the heart of town, thrilling the female populace.

  Cynic that I was, I suspected the king had ordered the prince to do so just in case there was anybody still balking at the cost of the ball. Each appearance by Florian resulted in more disgruntled fathers straggling into Exchequer Tower to purchase tickets.

  A blare of trumpets sounded as the prince drew nearer. Even that combined with the clatter of horses’ hooves was not enough to drown out the sound of sighs from all the women.

  During the past week, my sisters had emerged from their seclusion of misery. Now that they were going to the ball, Amy and Netta enjoyed the company of their friends again, subjecting me to an overabundance of excited feminine chatter. My sisters and these other girls rattled on and on about how many handsome, eligible men would attend the ball. They declared that they would be quite content if they could but win the heart of a knight, a lord, a duke or perhaps one of the prince’s four younger brothers.

  They were all lying, of course. I could tell that from all the rapt expressions as they waited for Florian to pass by. Every young woman in Midtown (with the exception of me) wanted that prince.

  As he rode into our midst, Florian slowed his horse to a walk, obliging his entourage to do the same. Mounted on a snowy-white steed, the prince stood out from his two equerries, riding their sorrel mares. But his magnificent horse was not the only reason that all eyes were drawn to the prince.

  Grudgingly, I had to admit he was handsome enough, with his fine chiseled features and flowing mane of white-gold hair. The scarlet cape he wore emphasized the breadth of his shoulders. As the crowd erupted into cheers, he acknowledged their adulation with a gracious wave of one gauntleted hand, flashing his teeth in a blinding smile.

  All around me, ladies dropped curtsies and fluttered their handkerchiefs to attract the prince’s attention. I was the only one who stood, arms folded, wearing my not-impressed face. I doubt the prince noticed because in their eagerness, my sisters pushed in front of me.

  One of our neighbors from across the lane, the eldest Miss Hanson, rushed out into the road, tossing rose petals. In her enthusiasm, the foolish chit strayed directly into the path of the prince’s steed. Florian quickly drew rein, raising one hand to halt his entourage. Myrtle Hanson gazed adoringly up at him before swooning and collapsing in the street.

  Her younger sister, Ivy, shrieked and rushed to Miss Hanson’s aid, but the prince got there first. With a swirl of his cape, Florian leapt from his horse. Kneeling down, he gathered the stricken girl into his arms.

  “Oh!” All the other girls cooed, the
ir cries echoing along the lane.

  The younger Miss Hanson stumbled toward the prince. Her knees buckled and she likewise sank down into a faint. To my astonishment, Florian managed to catch her with his other arm, breaking her fall. One did have to admire the man’s dexterity.

  As though a contagion had spread, soon other young ladies collapsed into graceful faints until our street began to resemble a satirical canvas by the elven artist Peccano, a painting that could have been titled The Massacre of the Maidens.

  Amy moaned, “Oh, I am feeling a little weak myself.” She started to sag, but I prevented her by catching her around the waist. I administered a sharp pinch, growling in her ear, “Don’t you dare!”

  Amy rubbed her arm and looked at me reproachfully, but she made no further effort to join in this ridiculous display.

  His arms already full of the Misses Hanson, Prince Florian regarded the other fallen young women with a look of such comical dismay, I started to laugh. I couldn’t help it—even though my chortles drew outraged stares from those in the crowd still standing.

  “Ella!” Both my sisters rebuked me in horrified whispers.

  Fortunately, the prince’s equerries dismounted and came to his rescue. They relieved Florian of his swooning burdens and the prince backed away toward his horse. Drawn by the sound of my chuckles, his head turned in my direction, his eyes meeting mine. I doubted that our prince was the sort of man to tolerate being laughed at. I clapped my hand to my mouth in an effort to stifle my mirth.

  He stared at me for a moment. He slowly smiled and then…Did I imagine it or had His Highness actually winked at me? With another twirl of his cape, he leapt back onto his steed and wheeled the horse about in the direction he had come. It was usually his custom to continue his ride through the center of town, but today he preferred to gallop back to the safety of his castle walls.

  As the prince vanished from view, it was as though a sleeping curse had been broken. The Misses Hanson straightened, indignantly thrusting away the prince’s servants, leaving them free to remount and follow their master. The other swooners struggled to their feet, looking disappointed as they dusted off their skirts.