Twinchantment

by Elise Allen

  She did, but Flissa didn’t listen. Instead, she met Sara’s eyes and they tried not to laugh. Flissa didn’t mean to be rude—Primka always gave very sound advice. It was always the same advice, though, and both Flissa and Sara knew it as well as the words to their favorite song.

  “Oatmeal–chocolate chip or peanut butter?” Sara whispered, gesturing to the cookie tray. “They’re both amazing.”

  Flissa peered at Primka. The bird wasn’t even looking at the girls. She was in full lecture mode, flitting around the room as she preached. Flissa turned back to the cookies and considered the flavors.

  “They both look so good,” Flissa said. She bit her lip. “Let’s see…oatmeal–chocolate chip is delicious, but the chocolate could melt and get all over my hands. Peanut butter is also delicious, but sometimes if there’s too much peanut butter it sticks to the roof of my mouth.”

  “You could have one of each,” Sara suggested. “I did.”

  Flissa shook her head. “Then I might spoil my lunch. I need to choose.”

  Flissa hated to choose. Her upper lip broke out in beads of sweat, and she wiped her clammy hands on the sides of her rose-colored dress—a dress that would have been identical to Sara’s if Sara’s weren’t stained and tattered.

  “Fliss?” Sara said gently. “It’s okay. There’s no wrong choice.”

  “There is, though,” Flissa groaned. “What if I take a bite of the oatmeal–chocolate chip and then realize I really wanted the peanut butter? Or I take a bite of the peanut butter and realize I really wanted the oatmeal–chocolate chip?”

  “Half of each?” Sara suggested.

  Flissa shook her head. “That doesn’t seem right.”

  Now she wasn’t just sweaty, she was breathing heav-ier too.

  “I can’t do it,” Flissa said. “Help me.”

  “Locket.”

  Flissa tugged on the chain around her neck and pulled out a delicate gold locket. Sara wore a matching one, of course, and each locket held a miniature portrait of the other twin…though anyone who looked would just think Princess Flissara simply liked carrying around a photo of herself. Flissa’s locket, however, held something else as well: a thin wood chip. When the twins were only six, Sara had found the chip and asked a royal carpenter to cut it to coin size and sand it down so Sara could draw on it. On one side, she’d painted a tiny portrait of their dad, and on the other side, their mom. The images were childlike, but amazingly accurate given Sara’s age at the time. It was Flissa’s most prized possession.

  Flissa opened the locket and handed the coin to Sara.

  “Queen is oatmeal–chocolate chip; king is peanut butter,” Sara declared.

  Flissa nodded, and the tension eased out of her shoulders. It was easy to choose when the final answer was out of her hands.

  Sara flipped the coin in the air and, as always, missed catching it. The twins scrambled after it as it rolled along the floor and into one of Sara’s strewn-around shoes.

  “King!” they cried in unison, and Sara smiled as she handed her sister a peanut-butter cookie, which Flissa ate without reservation or regret, after she returned the coin to its place around her neck.

  Primka shook her head and sighed. “You two aren’t even listening to me, are you?”

  “Of course we are,” they answered in unison—then burst out in identical peals of laughter.

  Primka sighed, but Flissa saw something like a smile play across her beak and she knew the songbird wasn’t seriously upset. “Allow me to redirect your attention to something else,” Primka chirped. “Posture and elocution lessons!”

  Flissa stood taller. She very much enjoyed posture and elocution lessons. She reached up and tugged her ponytail apart to tighten it on her head (she always kept her hair in a high pony when she was up in their room), then took a running start and did five handsprings, feeling her skirt billow out as she tumbled. As Flissa knew, five was the perfect number of handsprings to carry her the entire length of the thick woven carpet her parents had commissioned for exactly this use. Flissa stuck the landing, then smiled a little as she looked into the floor-length mirror and watched Sara slowly pick her way over every article of clothing, stuffed doll, and art project in progress she had in order to make it to Flissa’s neat and tidy side of the room.

  Flissa knew the bedchamber had been designed for a single princess, but she thought it would be impossibly sad for one person to rattle around in such a huge space. Divided in half, each side held everything she and Sara could possibly want. Sara had the round, pink-tulle-canopied bed specifically made for Princess Flissara. With so many frills and flowers on the comforter, it would look like a birthday cake if Sara ever picked up her belongings and let the designs show. Instead, she chose to leave the bed stacked with stuff. She wouldn’t even put things away at bedtime; she claimed her layers of thrown-around clothes were like an extra blanket, and the sheets of canvas and charcoals at her side meant she could wake up and draw the remnant of her dreams.

  Flissa’s bed had originally been in another room of the royal quarters, but the twins’ parents, with help from the twins’ nursemaid, Katya, had managed to move it on their own so no one would wonder why the room needed a second bed. It was wide enough to fit four girls, which Flissa thought was far too gargantuan, but she appreciated its bounciness, and had perfected many a flip on its vast expanse. She also liked that the bed butted up against the massive floor-to-ceiling bookcase that ran the entire length of the wall. She kept her favorite books closest to her pillow so she could roll over and grab them at any time of night.

  Flissa watched her sister’s reflection in the mirror like a hawk and saw every peril in Sara’s path. “Not that way, Sara,” she said a split second before Sara would have tripped over a high-laced boot and tumbled face-first onto a golden jewelry box. “Take two steps to your left, then climb onto your bed and crawl across. Not all the way—you’ll crumble your charcoal sticks—just halfway. Then roll back down to the floor and tiptoe around your holiday crown—you’ll be right here.”

  Sara obeyed. Honestly, Flissa loved her sister more than anything, but sometimes she didn’t understand her. If she were as accident-prone as Sara, she’d keep her space clean and obstacle-free. She did that anyway, really. It pained her to have any of her belongings out of place—what if they got lost or damaged?

  Sara clearly didn’t share Flissa’s worries. As far as she was concerned, no dress was so wrinkled it was beyond a good shake-out, and no amount of tidiness was worth putting in time she could better spend drawing. As for the bumps and bruises she incurred when Flissa wasn’t around to guide her through the minefield, Sara just shrugged them off.

  Finally, Sara stood tall beside Flissa and blew an errant hair out of her face. “Okay—posture and elocution. Let’s do it.”

  Primka fluttered between and behind them. She studied their reflections in the mirror. “Honestly,” she sighed. “It’s remarkable anyone believes there’s only one Princess Flissara. The two of you look nothing alike.”

  Flissa and Sara locked eyes in the mirror, then exploded with an identical laugh.

  “We look exactly alike!” Sara said.

  Flissa knew it was true, but she also knew what Primka meant. Flissa and Sara were the exact same height—chest-high next to the suit of armor where they put their secret notes. They had the same wild black curls—curls that would hang all the way down to their waists if they weren’t properly rolled and pinned and braided whenever the girls left the room. Their skin was the exact same light brown shade, the perfect mix of their parents. And they had the exact same violet-colored eyes.

  They looked alike. But as Flissa stared at her sister, still tousled and rumpled from her latest adventure, eyes dancing with excitement for whatever came next, Flissa knew they were not the same.

  And it made her heart ache.

  Primka flitted around the sisters, inspecting them, then batting them with her wings to make adjustments. “Sara, don’t slouch—stand
up straight and tall, just like Flissa. Flissa, you’re not a suit of armor—you can relax a little. Sara, a dress is not a welcome mat. Do not step on the hem. Flissa, your hair is not a food group—don’t put it in your mouth. And, Sara, as for your hair, you look like a horse when you blow it out of your face. Your hair shouldn’t be in your face to begin with!”

  “It came out when I tripped!” Sara said.

  Primka sighed and buried her face in her wings. “I understand, child. I do. But Flissa doesn’t trip, so you can’t either.”

  “I trip sometimes,” Flissa interjected. “I make sure of it, just so it’s okay when Sara does.”

  Sara reached out and squeezed her hand.

  “I understand,” Primka said, “but it’s really not very princessly. It’s the kind of thing people expect you to grow out of.”

  “But I haven’t grown out of it,” Sara said. “Who cares what people think?”

  “You do!” Primka said, flapping wildly. “You must! If you’re ever discovered, it’s…” She looked around, as if Grosselor himself might be hiding on top of Sara’s canopy or under Flissa’s bed. She dropped her voice to a whisper. “…banishment to the Twists. And if you think your royal blood will stop the Keepers of the Light, think again.”

  Sara rolled her eyes. “Ugh, the Keepers of the Light. Can’t we just get rid of ’em and have magic in the kingdom? It would be fun!”

  Flissa paled. “Fun?!”

  “No.” Primka flittered to Sara’s face. “It would not be fun at all. It would be dangerous. Very dangerous. You know what happened to Prince Alistair and his family—”

  “Forever ago!” Sara sighed. “And, Primka, come on—you’re a talking bird. You’re smaller than my hand, and I’ve seen you carry books as thick as my head. You’re magic!”

  “And she hides it,” Flissa said. “It’s like Mother always tells us—the system isn’t perfect, but it keeps us safe. Yes, there are twins like us with no magic, and those like Katya and Primka who have good magic, and yes, for now we have to hide, but until there’s a better solution, that’s the price to pay to keep dark magic out of Kaloon.”

  “But—”

  “No. You didn’t see what I saw, Sara. You don’t know what dark mages can do.” Flissa wrapped her arms around herself and shuddered.

  It had happened when she was eight, but she still thought about it every day. Flissa had been practicing her horsemanship since birth, and after she’d begged for a full year, Queen Latonya agreed that Flissa’s skills were strong enough that she could spend exactly two hours exploring Kaloon’s hills on her own. As a precautionary measure, the queen hung a shiny silver whistle around Flissa’s neck—an alarm she could blow, just in case. Flissa had tucked it into her bodice. She knew she wouldn’t need it.

  The day was perfect, and Flissa still remembered how free and grown-up she’d felt. She could still feel the wind blowing in her face, bringing with it the smell of fresh grass, wildflowers, and the pleasantly gamey musk of her first horse, Penelope. Even the chill of the whistle against her skin woke her senses and added to the taste of adventure.

  If she’d just kept Penelope galloping, Flissa never would have heard it at all. But when she turned onto a new trail and spied a clear stream, she knew her horse could use a rest and some water. She slowed her to a walk and led her for a drink.

  That’s when she’d heard the laughter and giddy squeals.

  Girls, it sounded like. Maybe her own age? Whoever they were, Flissa could tell they were having a lot of fun.

  Flissa imagined Sara in this exact same position; for sure the girls’ happiness would draw her like a magnet. She’d probably ride right up to them, hooting and hollering herself, and she’d ask to join their game.

  Flissa usually had the opposite reaction. New people made her nervous. New kids who were already friends and probably wouldn’t want her butting in…that was enough to send her riding full tilt in the other direction, hoping like crazy they’d never know she’d been around.

  But today was a day for new adventures. She took a deep breath and urged Penelope away from the water and toward the voices. Flissa ran the horse to the top of the next hill, where she could hide behind some bushes and still get a good view. The spot overlooked a grassy meadow, through which two girls in simple dresses ran, giggling so hard they half stumbled with every step. Flissa had been right; the girls did look her age, eight or nine tops. They must have been outside for a while, since their dresses were rumpled, and their braids—one girl’s reddish-brown and the other’s a startling white-blond—were littered with half-mangled flowers that had been inexpertly poked between plaits. Flissa could imagine the two of them sitting in the tall grass, doing each other’s hair and giggling and playing games. It’s what Flissa imagined she and Sara would do if they were allowed to run freely through the fields together, and it made her smile.

  Flissa smiled even wider when she saw the girls’ destination: a massive dandelion gone to seed. It was huge; its fluffy head was as big as the fist the reddish-brown-haired girl made when she reached it first and yanked it out of the ground. While her friend still raced to catch up, the girl closed her eyes, moved her lips in a silent wish, then puckered up and with a single blow sent the entire cloud of seeds flying. Flissa watched the tiny white dancers pirouette through the air, and closed her eyes to make her own wish before they landed.

  “That was my flower, Anna!” one of the girls shouted between gasps for breath.

  Her voice was so upset, Flissa’s eyes snapped open. It was the blond girl. She’d stopped running, and now stomped toward her friend, her face twisted in fury. “I called it.”

  “But I got to it first,” the reddish-brown-haired girl—Anna—retorted. “And now my wish will come true!”

  Dots of angry red rose in the blond girl’s cheeks. “You already got five wishes. You took every wish flower! This one was mine! You promised!”

  Anna smirked and shrugged. “Snoozers, losers.”

  “You know you’re faster! It’s not fair, Anna!” the blond girl hollered. “It’s not fair!”

  She stomped her foot, and her friend staggered back a step. Flissa thought she smelled a whiff of lavender, though there was none nearby.

  The brown-haired girl was mad now too. “Don’t be such a sore loser. Honestly, you’re such a baby sometimes!”

  The blond girl thrust out her arms, crying out in frustration and rage. For a second, Flissa was transfixed by the large sickle-shaped purple blotch on the back of her right hand.

  Then she smelled lavender again. As if the flowers were everywhere. The scent was so overpowering, Flissa could barely breathe.

  Then came the screams.

  As the blond girl glared, Anna rose high into the air, flailing and screaming. The scent of lavender grew, and Anna spun around and around in dizzying circles.

  Flissa couldn’t stand it. She kicked her heels into Penelope’s flank and bolted out of the bushes. “Stop!” she wailed. “You’re hurting her!”

  The second she saw Flissa, all the anger drained from the blond girl’s face. She looked like a beautiful porcelain doll as her blue eyes widened and her tiny pink mouth fell open.

  “Princess Flissara!” she gasped.

  Then Anna shrieked, and Flissa looked over just in time to see the girl hit the ground with a sickening thud.

  Flissa couldn’t breathe. The world spun, and a dark halo crept at the edges of her vision. She felt herself toppling and leaned forward, hugging tightly to Penelope’s neck so she wouldn’t fall off the horse.

  That’s when she felt the whistle against her skin.

  She yanked it out and blew as hard as she could. She wouldn’t stop.

  Within moments, Flissa saw the most beautiful thing imaginable: the bright yellow tunics of three Keepers of the Light, bounding into the dell on horseback from three different directions. Flissa didn’t see what happened next. Her mom galloped toward her at breakneck pace, pulled Flissa onto her own horse,
and held her close the whole ride home. Back in the palace, she’d carried Flissa right up to the Residence and into her own giant bed, where she told Flissa over and over that this was why they had the Keepers, and promised her that everything would be all right.

  It wasn’t all right, though. Flissa couldn’t get the image of the blond girl out of her head—that furious stare as she hurled her magic at her friend. It was there every time Flissa closed her eyes, and she wouldn’t leave her mother’s bed until she knew whether Anna would be okay.

  It turned out she was…in a way. Her injuries healed within a week, and King Edwin told Flissa there’d be no lasting damage.

  No physical lasting damage.

  The people in Anna’s village, it turned out, didn’t believe it when Anna said she and her family didn’t know about her friend’s magic. The Keepers believed them; they didn’t punish Anna’s family at all. But the villagers thought Anna had been hiding her friend’s secret, thus putting everyone in danger. They vandalized Anna’s family home, and they refused to use her father’s blacksmithery. Flissa begged her father to try to help, but when his men went to visit the family, Anna’s parents were already packing up—the children in tears—to flee the kingdom and try to rebuild their reputation somewhere else.

  It wasn’t fair. Anna and her family hadn’t done anything wrong. It was all the other girl’s fault—the one with the sickle-shaped scar—her and her magic.

  “I’m so sorry, baby,” Queen Latonya had said after the king told Flissa the news. “Just know that the bad girl’s gone. The Keepers sent her to the Twists. She won’t hurt anyone ever again, I promise.”

  Even now, years later, Flissa still had nightmares about the girl with the sickle mark on her hand. In her dreams, Flissa was the one she tossed around like a rag doll. She was the one who plummeted helplessly to the ground. She was the one tormented and forced to flee.