The Girl Who Fell

by Violet Grace

  ‘Killed,’ I finish for her.

  She looks mortified. ‘No, I mean, I mean …’

  ‘It’s okay,’ I say gently.

  ‘As you wish, Your Highness,’ she says, her eyes downcast. ‘But you must be careful. The palace is full of spies.’

  ‘I’ll keep that in mind,’ I say, wondering – not for the first time – what I’m getting myself into. ‘And Jules?’

  ‘Yes, Your Highness?’

  ‘Stop calling me “Your Highness”. I think we’ve moved far beyond these formalities. From now on, you can look me in the eye and call me Chess.’

  ‘Yes, Your Highness.’

  I approach the entrance to Windsor Castle, unsure if Jules is messing with me or if she’s just ridiculously rule-bound. Gladys leads the way. Watching her ambling up the high stone steps, I wonder again, Who is this woman? And why didn’t she tell me about any of this?

  At the entrance, the red unicorn with the gold chains stiffens to attention.

  ‘All hail Princess Francesca of House Raven,’ the unicorn growls. ‘Rejoice, for she has returned.’ The other unicorns stand to attention.

  I don’t know where to look. I’ve always hated being the centre of attention. I prefer to fade into the background. Perhaps it’s self-preservation, or maybe it’s professional pride. The whole point of being a hacker, after all, is to remain invisible. In my experience, attention always leads to trouble.

  I bite my lip and stare at my shoes. I probably should have polished them once or twice in the last two years. I clasp my hands together in what I hope is a royal pose. And then, because it feels silly, I unclasp them, letting them fall by my side. That seems wrong too.

  ‘Um, thanks,’ I say to the parade of unicorns. ‘At, um … at ease,’ I say, hoping that’s what people say in these kinds of situations.

  ‘That is Second Officer Wynstar of the Protectorate,’ whispers Jules.

  ‘That must make you his boss,’ I whisper back, concluding that a First Officer must outrank a Second Officer.

  Jules stands in front of Wynstar expectantly. He stares back at her and I wonder if I’m the only one feeling awkward about the silence stretching out. It’s like watching a duel, not knowing who is going to draw their weapon first.

  Eventually Second Officer Wynstar bows his head to her. The gesture is perfunctory, devoid of respect, but I could swear the tiniest hint of a smirk flashes across Jules’s face. I suppress the urge to give her a high-five.

  My attention is drawn to one of the white unicorns. He looks almost exactly like Tom, except he has duller blue eyes, and a meaner vibe.

  Tom. I wince at the memory of him lying on the ground as Agent Eight laid into him. I just hope that was the worst of it, that they’re not hurting him even more now. He must have known he was hopelessly outnumbered.

  ‘That is Loxley,’ Jules whispers as we walk past the white unicorn. ‘Another officer, and one to be cautious of.’

  Loxley hisses softly as we pass. I guess he doesn’t like me much.

  We step through the enormous doors and into a grand hall. Inside, the castle is a hive of activity. Some women rush around in crisp white and, to my eyes, impractical, flowing gowns. And there are other women, dressed like Jules, standing to attention in every doorway. Everyone stops what they’re doing as we approach and turns to look at us. Some gawk, while others give a quick sideways glance and then pretend they saw nothing. I stare right back. It’s hard not to. I’ve never seen so many sets of impressive cheekbones in one place before.

  A hush falls over the grand hall as a woman dressed in soft folds of cascading silver begins to descend the huge staircase.

  ‘This is the Supreme Executor, dear,’ Gladys whispers into my ear. The deference in her tone is not Gladys’s style, but if she was going to be intimidated by anyone I guess it would be this woman. The Supreme Executor looks like she’s used to getting her own way.

  ‘What does she do?’ I whisper back.

  ‘Think of her as the prime minister of Albion. The one in charge.’

  ‘I thought that was the Chancellor.’

  Gladys’s eyes twinkle. ‘Oh dear Goddess, no. He is our diplomat. One who thinks he is a good deal more diplomatic than he actually is.’

  The Supreme Executor reaches the bottom of the stairs and glides over to me. The lines on her face tell me that she’s seen a lot of life. The austere look in her eyes tells me she doesn’t approve of much of what she’s seen. And I get a feeling that I’m no exception.

  She bows and I notice that she has long metal hairpins in her hair, just like Gladys.

  ‘Welcome, Princess Francesca Raven,’ she says in a tone that makes me feel anything but welcome. ‘We have waited many moons for your restoration.’

  I turn to Gladys, my eyebrow raised. ‘My what?’

  Gladys steps forward. ‘Princess Francesca thanks you for your patience and your allegiance. She will not disappoint.’

  ‘We shall see,’ the Supreme Executor says, before sweeping through the hall. The silence remains until she’s out of sight and then everyone returns to what they were doing.

  I frown at Gladys. What’s she signing me up to? I don’t owe these people anything; I don’t care how long they’ve waited. That was their choice. It had nothing to do with me.

  A flock of staff moves into action, rushing about us with clockwork efficiency. There’s a lot of curtsying and bowing going on in my direction. I feel like the new kid on my first day at some prestigious school. With no idea how to respond – do I curtsey or bow back? – I give something between a nod and a bow in reply. It’s not very princess-y. Anyone looking on would probably think I’d been overcome by a spasm, forcing me to stoop awkwardly. I feel like I’m making a complete idiot of myself and just wish we’d get to wherever we’re going.

  Jules and I trail behind Gladys as we cross the hall. A gigantic mosaic of a flying unicorn is tiled on the floor. Waiting on the other side of the mosaic are two girls about my age, both dressed in those impractical white flowing gowns that seem to be a uniform. They look at me with wide, expectant eyes, as if they’re queuing for an autograph from their favourite pop star. I’m more comfortable with the cool appraisal of the Supreme Executor. I prefer to do my disappointing upfront.

  ‘Welcome home, Your Highness,’ the girls say in unison as they curtsey to me.

  ‘This is Brina, your first maid,’ Gladys says, gesturing towards the one who has managed to replace her enthusiasm with professionalism.

  ‘And Callie, your second maid.’

  Callie seems to be taking a little longer to get her emotions in check.

  I smile at them stiffly and wonder if now is a good time to mention that I won’t be needing any maids. These people dumped me in foster care, giving me no choice but to look after myself. It’s a little late to make amends now.

  ‘To Princess Francesca’s chambers, please,’ Gladys says to them, and I wince at the formality. ‘Princess’ is a big leap from ‘dear’.

  ‘As you wish, Luminaress,’ Brina says.

  Gladys turns back to me. ‘You’ll need to be rested for tomorrow.’

  ‘What’s tomorrow?’

  She smiles and then glides up the stairs after the maids, leaving Jules and me to follow. I pretend not to notice as Callie whips around to take another peek at me. We walk through a long corridor lit by candle chandeliers suspended from the ceiling. The walls are covered with oil paintings, all of them portraits of women, framed in gold leaf. The styles of the painting and their frames change, but the subjects are all wearing the same necklace with an enormous ruby dangling from it.

  ‘Your chambers, Your Highness,’ Brina says, stopping in front of a closed door.

  Pastel-coloured letters spell out my name. I run my fingers over the top of the wooden ‘F’ in Francesca and wonder if this room has been used in the thirteen years since I left it.

  Brina flings open the door, and I fight back tears as I step back into the childhood th
at was taken from me.

  It looks like a child’s fantasy bedroom featured in a glossy interior design magazine. The four-poster bed in the middle of the room has a bedspread with rainbows and stars, and a canopy to match. The toys and furniture show signs of use but there’s no obvious fading or wearing. The rocking horse in the corner and the wooden puzzles and blocks look new.

  I half expect a child to come bounding through the door, having returned home from kindergarten or a day at the park. And then I remember that I’m the child. This is my room. Fragments of a long-lost childhood flit through my mind – familiar colours and scents, the way the light falls, the shape of the windows – with a vividness that makes them impossible to deny.

  There’s a seat underneath the bay window that faces out onto a garden of giant tulips and daffodils. I sit down and rub my fingers through the thick plush seat covering. I recognise the feeling instantly. I’ve sat here before, my legs tucked up under me while I drew swirly patterns in the velvet. Someone sat with me, reading me stories, but I can’t remember who.

  ‘Your wardrobe has been filled with new clothes, Your Highness,’ says Brina from behind me. ‘Everything else is as you left it.’

  I walk over to the dressing room, which is about the size of my flat above Gladys’s laundromat. A full-length mirror fills the end. One side is stuffed with puffy, frilly little-girl things, and the other side is packed, floor to ceiling, with garments in silk, velvet, leather and lace.

  I run my fingers along the clothes. It’s strange to think they all belong to me. It’s a fantasy, a dream come true, to own so many clothes. For most of my childhood I owned one dress. One faded blue dress with torn frills on the hem. Even now, I can only afford to buy my clothes from charity stores.

  Why didn’t Gladys, who was supposed to be looking after me – and all these other people who seem so pleased to see me that they’re hanging banners on buildings – bother to ensure that I had the most basic things, like clothing? Like food?

  Like safety?

  Raw emotion swells inside me. I try to push it back down. I can’t go there. Not now.

  ‘You don’t expect me to wear this?’ I say, pulling out a navy blue silk gown with a sweetheart neckline and a huge flouncy skirt. I hold it out in front of me as if it were a smelly rag rather than haute couture.

  Gladys takes the dress and stretches the boned bodice across my torso. ‘It’s a perfect fit.’

  ‘You’ve missed my point,’ I say. ‘It’s just not very … um … Chess.’

  Gladys thrusts the gown back into my hands. ‘It is very Francesca of House Raven.’

  Out of the corner of my eye I catch my maids exchanging an awkward glance.

  Replacing the gown on the rack, I pull out another dress. It’s champagne coloured and flouncy, and just as over the top as the other one. I note a little hidey-hole in the back of the gown and look closer. The back bodice is not a single piece of fabric, but two pieces sewn into the side seams and overlapping at the centre.

  Wings.

  It must be for wings. Does this mean my wings will return?

  I shiver with anticipation as I turn to Gladys to ask about them. But as I do, she pushes on the mirror and it swings open to reveal a bathroom on the other side. It’s all marble and mirrors. There’s a huge shower adorned with mermaid statuettes that I bet never runs cold, and an enormous bath with a row of carved wooden swan and unicorn bath toys sitting on the ledge.

  The opulence makes me feel like an imposter. At the same time, I can’t wait to have the longest, hottest shower of my life. I don’t know how long it’s been since I bathed. Or slept.

  Gladys tells me to clean up and get some rest before lunch. My head’s full of questions about my childhood, my wings and, most of all, about Tom. Anticipating them, Gladys just says, ‘Questions later. Rest now.’ And with that she bustles to the door, shooing Jules out with her.

  I rest my forehead against the mirror of my dressing room and take a deep breath. What have I done? What am I about to do?

  Hands grab me from behind – one on my shoulder, the other on my back. I scream in fright and swing around, narrowly missing my attacker’s face.

  Jules bursts through the door, landing in the centre of the room in some kick-arse warrior pose. She relaxes her stance when she sees Callie cowering on the floor.

  ‘She attacked me,’ I say, wrapping my arms around myself.

  Callie just sits there in the middle of a marshmallow of white fabric, staring up at me in shock.

  In one smooth movement, Jules reaches down and helps Callie to her feet.

  ‘She was assisting you to undress, Your Highness,’ Brina ventures.

  ‘Well, then … don’t,’ I say. ‘If you’d just get out and leave me alone then this wouldn’t have happened.’

  ‘But it is our duty to —’

  ‘Go!’ I say firmly, feeling increasingly ashamed for almost decking my maid and wanting this embarrassment to end.

  The maids scurry out of the room and I could swear Jules has the faintest smirk on her face as she follows them.

  The door clicks shut and I’m alone. I’m used to being alone, but not like this. Without warning, a crushing feeling descends upon me like an oppressive cloud. This sort of alone isn’t just the absence of people, it’s gut-wrenching loneliness. It’s an ache that only comes from knowing precisely what – or who – you’re missing.

  I curl up on the bed and think of the boy who risked everything to save me when I was a child. He should not have made the decisions he did without consulting me, but he was the one person who cared when everybody else looked the other way. And that counts.

  Long-lost memories flood my mind. The first time Tom came to my window. It was a night so terrible I truly wished I were dead.

  I was ten years old, lying on my bed in a faded yellow nightie as silent tears streamed down my face.

  Larry was there.

  Something broke inside me that night. But it wasn’t a bone or any part of my physical body. It was my spirit, I guess. A bright flash filled the room, my back arched and I felt my whole centre of consciousness rush through the pores of my skin, the way water explodes from a burst water balloon.

  I remember swallowing a scream, before I started reeling backwards – no, it was upwards. I stopped when I hit the ceiling.

  Peering out from behind the auburn wisps of my fringe, I stared down at my young body a metre below where I was hovering. The ‘me’ lying on my bed below was staring right back at the ‘me’ above.

  It was me, but it was separate from me.

  I remember forcing myself to focus on my floating self, even though I was terrified of what I might find. Of course, I’d heard that people have souls, but I’d never really thought about whether they wear clothes or have bodies. I inspected my new weightless self. As far as I could tell, both of me looked the same.

  And then I got the feeling someone else was up there with me. Just outside my window, on the top floor of our council high-rise, there was movement. It was too big to be a bird, and even the strongest – or the dumbest – kids on the estate couldn’t scale that height.

  ‘Who’s there?’ I whispered.

  Silence.

  ‘Hello?’

  The window creaked open just a little; a shaft of golden light shot through. A lustrous white unicorn leaned into my room, too perfect to be real, but too solid to be imagined. He asked if I wanted to go flying with him, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. I don’t know if it was his confidence or the fact that I was a kid and already having an out-of-body experience, but without giving it a second thought, I said ‘yes’.

  Tom didn’t just save me on the night he killed Larry, he saved me every time he came to my window. He gave me friendship, and he gave me hope. Even when his spell made me forget that my friend was real, my dreams of him made the intolerable tolerable. I owe him a life debt, and despite Gladys’s assurances that he can look after himself, rescuing Tom from the
Agency is what I must do to repay him.

  I look down at my dress, still covered in grime and blood, and my thoughts drift to Tom rescuing me from the Agency. I guess flying on the back of a unicorn was a little harder to come to terms with as a sixteen-year-old than it was as a kid. I think of his powerful body flying me to safety. I can still feel his warmth and strength penetrating my skin. I want to fly with him again, but this time I want to enjoy it, rather than being freaking terrified.

  And I want to feel his human body next to mine again. The way he wrapped his arms around me on his couch and made me feel so safe and no longer alone. I want to feel that again. I need to feel that again.

  I vow that, whatever it takes, I will rescue him.

  chapter 15

  The bed shakes beneath me and I’m awake.

  The windows rattle in their frames. I let out a yelp and, with only the barest idea of what I’m doing, slide out of bed and crouch on the floor.

  An earthquake? Here, in London? Or whatever they call this city in Iridesca – Trinovantum?

  I hear an explosion. And then another.

  I peer up and see morning sunlight pouring through the windows, seemingly at odds with the echoes of the boom still reverberating around me.

  My bedroom door bursts open and Jules flies towards me, followed by the thundering boots of what must be twenty other people all dressed in the same armour-like clothes.

  Guards.

  ‘Are you alright, Your Highness?’ Jules crouches by my side, hovering over me protectively while the others form a circle around me, peering out the window.

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘Rebels,’ she answers. ‘It’s unlikely they breached the warded perimeter. More than likely a warning to get our attention.’

  ‘Well, they got my attention.’

  ‘Nothing to worry about, Your Highness. They’ve hit closer than this before, but we don’t like to take chances.’

  ‘Before?’ I ask. ‘You mean this sort of thing happens regularly?’

  Jules gives me an odd look.

  ‘Oh yeah, the war and all that,’ I mumble.