Fortune's Folly

by Deva Fagan

  A great lump formed in my throat as I saw that a bright fire had been lit in the hearth. Steam swirled up lazily from within the huge black cauldron. Leonato tugged at the branches, rattling the door and stirring up a cacophony of twitters and trills from the nearby cages.

  “Now, now, young prince, you should know better than to try to tear that cage open with your bare hands. You’re a strong lad, I see that, but my cage is stronger. There’s but one way that door will open, and it’s far beyond your grasp.”

  She gave a weird, ululating whistle. It was answered by twin fluting calls, as two small winged shapes fluttered down from the rafters. One perched on the peaked top of her cap, the other on her outstretched palm. “Sweetbeak and Bitterwings will keep you safe and sound until I’m ready to deal with you naughty chicks, won’t you, my dearies?” Grimelda smiled at the bluebird in her hand, and the expression lent an unexpected softness to her craggy face. The bird preened. I caught a golden glimmer of something hung around its neck, against the russet of its feathered breast. I squinted at the other bluebird, and saw it too bore a glittering pendant, but silver rather than gold. The keys.

  Grimelda stalked to the hearth and took up a long wooden spoon to stir the contents of the cauldron. Sweetbeak and Bitterwings flew over to perch atop the shelf where the golden slipper had lain. “Perhaps I might take pity on you,” Grimelda said, quirking one gray brow at us. “For I see you’ve returned something I lost long ago. And brought me the second slipper. That might set things to rights between us.” She extracted something from a large pouch at her waist, and held it up. It was the pair of slippers, gems glinting in the firelight. She set them down on the table.

  “What do you mean?” Leonato demanded. “Those s-slippers were my grandmother’s. It’s you who s-s-stole the one. And we brought you nothing.”

  “Snowdrop,” I said suddenly. It all made sense now. I remembered the villagers talking about Queen Rosetta riding off into the forest on a black mare. But in the painting at the palace, she was riding a white horse during her escape. It was no wonder that Snowdrop had led us here. He was coming home.

  Grimelda grinned. “Ah, sharp little chick. Yes, lovely Snowdrop. That wretched queen stole him away from me as well.”

  I frowned. “But that must have been forty years ago. He can’t be that old, it’s not possible.”

  “You’d be surprised how many things are possible, my dear.” She reached up to tweak a few leaves from one of the bunches. She crushed them between her fingers, dusting the bits into the cauldron. The rich tang of sage filled the air, making my stomach grumble. “Now, then,” she said, giving the contents another stir. “Let me tell you a story.”

  She pulled a chair out from the table and settled herself down. Sweetbeak and Bitterwings had fallen to squabbling over a spider or somesuch. After a spate of angry chirping, one of the two soared over to perch on her shoulder, twittering plaintively.

  “It will be a true story, not the lies you’ve been told,” Grimelda said. She produced a heel of dark bread from her tangle of robes and skirts and shawls. Breaking off a handful of crumbs, she scattered these upon the floor at her feet. Both birds swooped down at once to peck at the bits of bread.

  “My grandmother told no lies!” Leonato insisted.

  “Are you so certain? You never know what lies one might tell, to protect oneself, or what one loves.” She cocked her eye at me, and I shivered despite myself. No, that was ridiculous. This old woman could not possibly know anything about me.

  “Your grandmother came to me seeking my help,” Grimelda said, jabbing a bony finger at Leonato. “She wanted a child. The harvest had been meager, and the queen had been married five years and had borne no child. The people had begun to whisper that the kingdom was cursed. So she came to old Grimelda for a charm, on a horse as black as night, wearing slippers of gold.”

  Leonato was watching the woman intently, lips compressed, a challenging glint in his eyes. I was also listening, of course, but I was more concerned with the movements of the two birds. They were only just beyond reach. I could see the two small keys winking in the firelight as they bobbed their heads to peck up the crumbs.

  “I told the queen I would give her my charm, and that she would bear not one child, but two. In exchange, she must give me her golden slippers. Well, she agreed. Swore by the Saints she would honor my price. I brewed the draught for her to drink, to settle the charm that would fill her womb. Down it went.

  “Alas, she was a greedy woman. She threw down the glass and refused to yield the slippers. They were so lovely and fair she could not bear to part with them. Any other price, she offered. But we had made the deal, and I would not brook any change to it. She cried out then that she would not give me the shoes, and ran.

  “She soon discovered that I had been tricksy, I had hidden her horse away. Without a mount, she could not escape. Yet she was a brave one, your grandmother. Greedy, but brave. She took my own horse, my Snowdrop, and made for the forest. As she rode away, one of the golden slippers fell from her foot. So it was I had half of my promised payment. Tell me, princeling, how many children did your grandmother bear?”

  “Two,” Leonato stated coolly. “But that doesn’t mean I believe your s-s-story.”

  “Your father and another?” Grimelda prompted.

  “His twin s-s-sister. My aunt.”

  “Your father, he would have been firstborn, then, of the pair. A good man, a good king.”

  Leonato’s jaw unclenched and he nodded. “Yes, the best of men.”

  “You see, as your grandmother galloped away, I called out to her. I cursed her, in fact. I had granted her wish, and she would bear two children. I could not undo my charm, but I could twist it. The firstborn would be pure of heart and mind, noble and just. But the other would be cursed, wicked and cruel as a demon.”

  I gave a huff of surprise and glanced at Leonato. The prince was pale, but the firm line of his lips admitted nothing.

  Grimelda rocked back in her chair, chuckling. “Such a face, dear boy! You should be happy to hear you’re of the good stock. It was all quite fair, I assure you. I even gave her the chance to give up the other shoe, and all would be forgiven. But she was a proud one too, and rode off thinking she could escape my curse as easy as she did my woods. Now, then, in all the gardens of your great palace, does there grow the yarrow plant?” She jabbed one finger up at the bundle of dried blossoms and leaves above her, the white flower heads browned, the long notched leaves curling. “Hmm?”

  Leonato flicked a glance at me, and I knew he must be thinking of our conversation in the garden at the inn of Saint Federica’s Rest. “No,” he said. “Why?”

  “Oh, just that yarrow has a baleful effect on demons. Your aunt wouldn’t want to have it around, I’d imagine.”

  “My aunt can’t be a demon,” Leonato said. But there was a catch in his voice.

  “Oh? Just because she’s a lovely face and a sweet voice? Tell me, boy, what do you think of your aunt? Not her outsides. Think on her actions, her true nature.” Grimelda’s eyes were clever and dark as those of her bluebirds.

  He did not speak for a long while, and the only sound was the flutter of wings and the tap of small beaks on the wooden floor. “Your curse worked,” Leonato said at last. He pushed himself back from the gate abruptly and tucked himself against the wall again.

  “Now, I’ve mushrooms to gather before night sets in. You chicks stay safe in your cage while I’m gone.” Grimelda rose and hooked a large basket over one arm. She gave us a last snaggle-toothed grin and quit the room.

  I WAS OF TWO minds to see her go. I could more easily effect our escape if she were gone. But it also meant I would be alone with Leonato, to explain how my prophecy had gone so horribly awry. When the door closed, I watched it for a long moment, loath to face the prince.

  “Fortunata, how can we escape?” he said at last. “Do your visions tell you anything?”

  I could only shake my head. Visions, ha
h. I rubbed my brow. My head still felt stuffed full of thistledown.

  “Fortunata?” he asked, voice gentle as one might use to soothe a wild beast or a child. “Don’t trouble yourself over the s-s-sword. It must be me.”

  “No,” I said miserably, “it’s not you. You’ve done everything right. It’s my fault. I just can’t see—” I stopped, aware that I teetered on the edge of a very deep chasm. But there was no way across.

  “Maybe we didn’t understand the vision,” Leonato suggested. “There must have been another weapon in Saint Federica’s Rest, s-s-something we didn’t even recognize. It isn’t your fault.”

  Oh, but it is, I thought. Nevertheless, his words snapped me from the worst of my depression and gave me an idea. Some other weapon. I felt for the small pouch I carried at my waist. Saints be praised, it was still there. I had tucked the nut cake there yesterday. If we could nip some of the dreamwell from the table, perhaps I could trick Grimelda into a nice long nap.

  But what I pulled from the pouch was a handful of crumbs. With all my tumbling and rolling and being attacked by the brigand, the cake had been crushed to bits. My heart fell.

  “Fortunata, that’s it!” Leonato said, staring at the bits of cake. “The weapon!”

  “The weapon?” I looked at him blankly, wondering if the dreamwell had somehow driven the sense from his head.

  “To defeat the witch. To get the keys,” he explained. He cupped my hand with his own, turning it so that he caught the crumbs. Kneeling by the front of the cage, he reached out through the bars and scattered them close by.

  I understood. Quickly I dumped the rest of the cake bits from my pouch into a pile just inside the cage. I looked around the cottage for the birds. They had demolished the bread crumbs Grimelda had left them earlier, then flitted up into the rafters. I had not seen them fly after her. I gave an experimental whistle.

  This set the birds in the cages into a cacophony, but I thought I heard the delicate chirp of one of the bluebirds from above. “There,” Leonato said, pointing to a bundle of love-in-a-mist that was swaying slightly. Two swift blue shapes dove down, landing with a series of excited twitters.

  They were pretty little fellows, with their brilliant blue backs and russet breasts. I held myself still as stone, fearful of startling them. After cocking their heads left, then right, then left, the two bluebirds hopped forward and set to work on the crumbs.

  “I’ll take the gold,” Leonato said. “Can you handle the s-s-silver?”

  I nodded, afraid even to speak. My hands were hot and slick. I hoped I could hold the tiny creature. The bluebirds gobbled up the crumbs, occasionally pausing for a squabble over the choicest bits of sugared nut. At last they had passed between the bars. They were only a foot from the edge of my skirts when Leonato hissed, “Now!”

  I grabbed for the bird nearest me, the one with the tiny silver key trembling against his russet breast. I felt as if I had grabbed a handful of falling petals, the creature was so fragile beneath my fingers. I tried to handle it gently, but I could not risk losing the key. The bird chirped with agitation, rousing the others in the cottage to even more riotous commotion.

  Leonato grunted, but he held his hands cupped gingerly before him, and wore a triumphant grin. “Got it!” he said. Carefully he tightened one hand and released the other, so that he held the bird neatly in one hand. He tweaked the tiny gold chain from around the bird’s head and released it.

  I followed his example, and we soon had two keys in hand, and two angry bluebirds fluttering about the rafters and sending down showers of dried leaves. “Quickly!” I said. “She could return at any time!” I had given up trying to convince myself Grimelda wasn’t a witch. I knew she had no magic, just herbcraft. But she made shivers creep along my spine, and I wanted to be as far away from her as I could be.

  Leonato reached between the branches, bending his wrist to fiddle with the padlocks. A moment longer, and we were free. Leonato started for the door. “The slippers,” I cried, darting back to the table. I snatched them up, and we flew out the door.

  WE FLED ON FOOT, not daring to seek out Snowdrop. Besides, I was not sure we would be able to convince the horse to leave, if this was truly his home. The sky above the glade was silver-gray, with a hint of pink in the west. Night came fast. We ran past the thick pillars of the trees, our feet making no sound upon the carpet of leaves. Darkness pressed in closely, slowing our progress. Though there was little undergrowth, the twisting roots of the great oaks covered the ground, ready to catch our unwary steps. Every weird hooting, every rustle of branches sent prickles marching along my back.

  I lost track of time, knowing only the endless stumbling, the warm clasp of Leonato’s hand, and the loud rush of my own gasping breaths. Then a prick of light sparkled suddenly, off in the blackness ahead. It was gone in a blink, behind a distant tree perhaps, but I had fixed the direction. I pulled Leonato toward it. “A light!”

  “A lamp?”

  “By the Saints, I hope so,” I said fervently. My whole body ached; each step jarred my cut shoulder, wrapping a band of fire around it.

  “I s-s-see it,” he said. I could not see his face any longer, but his voice was hopeful.

  We oriented on the wink of yellow and quickened our pace. The trees grew sparser and smaller, and the darkness gradually lessened. We were closing in on the light, and now I could see that it was moving. It had a trembling reddish gold cast to it. A torch.

  “Leonato!” a deep voice bellowed.

  I felt Leonato start beside me, then quicken his pace still further. “Captain Ribisi!” We burst from the edge of the wood, out into the starlit fields. Captain Ribisi’s face was lit by the torch he carried, cast into fiendish shadows and angles.

  My heart grew chill as I remembered when we had last left him. He had led us into the woods, right into the heart of an ambush, and abandoned us. What was to stop him from finishing the job now? I started to stammer something, to pull Leonato back, but he let go of my hand and ran to the captain.

  Captain Ribisi wrapped one arm around the boy and hugged him close. “My prince, thank the Saints you’re safe.” For a moment, in the torchlight, I could see his eyes. They were squeezed tightly shut, his mouth puckered into a trembling line. Then he pushed Leonato back away from him. Captain Ribisi passed one hand across his face, but when he looked up the grim, stoic mask was back as ever before.

  I blinked, not certain I had truly seen the relief and emotion that had been there. And even if I had, I told myself, I knew that such things could be manufactured. I had wept and wailed often enough as a spirit for Allessandra. But my hammering heart slowed a bit. Whatever secret he had, the captain did not appear intent on harming the prince at the moment.

  “And you, Captain, did those monsters in the wood harm you?”

  “The brigands? No. But when I chased off the archers and returned to the trail to find you gone, and no track to follow, I cursed myself to the seven Hells. And when the girl’s donkey returned riderless, I feared the worst.”

  “There were three more. They attacked us. I would have died on the s-s-spear of one, but Fortunata s-s-saved me. We ran, only trying to escape—but Captain, we found the witch, and the s-s-slipper!”

  Captain Ribisi’s brows rose. “Is that so? Well, you can tell me the whole tale when you’re fed and tended.”

  We passed the remainder of the night in a tiny hamlet south of the wood, crammed into the small house of the wealthiest farmer. As I lay on my pallet, hearing the captain’s snores and Leonato’s slow breaths from the other room, I considered the events of the last few days. I could not quite wrap my thoughts around them. I turned on my side, then my back, trying to ease the ache of my sore shoulder, now covered in a sticky green paste from the apothecary and wrapped in fresh bandages. Somehow, with luck and by the whims of the Saints, I had managed to get through most of my fortune. But the hardest part still lay ahead. Oh, finding a girl to fit the slippers did not trouble me. But we must go
to Sirenza, into the domain of Captain Niccolo. My heart shrank at the thought of meeting him again. I comforted myself that if all went well, I would not have to. We could slip in, find the first girl to fit the shoes, and whisk her away back to Doma, where she could marry Leonato and live happily ever after.

  A wave of hot jealousy flashed through me. I flopped onto my stomach, then my side again, but I couldn’t stop the painful images that flooded my mind. Visions of Leonato and a girl in golden slippers, passing under the crossed boughs in a grand cathedral. The pair of them riding through sun-dappled fields, the prince handing his beloved a posy of wildflowers. Leonato embracing this faceless false princess, smiling at her the way he had—

  I closed my eyes, drawing up the memory of Leonato telling me I didn’t have to be a princess to be worthy. I could almost smell the spicy fern scent of him, feel the warmth of his hand holding mine. In that moment, I had been sure he did not want some unknown princess. In that moment, I had dared to believe in a bright and shining future of my own.

  I heaved a shuddering breath, dragging myself back from that dangerous, heavenly thought. It didn’t matter what I felt. My father needed me now, more than ever. My gentle father, with his shy smile and quick delight. How happy he’d been to see the paintings in the palace; he loved beauty so. And he would have beauty of his own again. I would do whatever it took. I would even clean his tools as Mother had. If he needed fairies, I would give him fairies. If only I could see this through, to make my fortune come true. Then we could leave Doma and Ubaldo and all of this behind. Even if it meant leaving Leonato too . . .

  CHAPTER

  10

  OUR LONG, SLENDER BOAT slipped across the dark waters of the Balta toward the glittering cluster of lights that was Sirenza. I sat at the prow, my cloak pulled tight around my shoulders against the wind that scudded down the water from the north. It could not protect me from the chill that blew through my heart, now that we were so close to the end.