Amaranth Enchantment

by Julie Berry

  "You, help!" I repeated for good measure. "Help me out of a fortune, help me into prison, help me into the hangman's noose! Help me right into the paws of rogues and scoundrels! Next time why don't you just help me off a cliff and be done with it?"

  I was shouting. I couldn't stop. Peter looked like he'd stepped outdoors to use the privy and found himself knee-deep in a flood.

  I rushed on. "I could have died, Peter! Because of you! And they'll be out hunting for me any moment, and I may die yet. Because of you! Help, indeed. You only help yourself, to everything around you that catches your eye." I thought I saw the first real glimmer of remorse in his crestfallen face then.

  "I've been up all night feeling awful about you," he said.

  Much good that had done me. This wasn't enough. "So?"

  "If I'd known what would come of it, I wouldn't have stolen your gem." An admirable but altogether unhelpful conclusion. If

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  I'd known what would have happened, I wouldn't have stolen it last night, either.

  He looked me in the eye from underneath his curtain of dark hair. "I'm sorry." "I should think you would be," I snapped, and stalked off. This time he didn't follow.

  I stopped.

  I looked back. He hadn't moved from the spot where we'd been.

  Lucinda, you're a fool to forgive him.

  "Well, are you coming?" I called.

  A grin lit his face. He closed the gap between in a second.

  We looked at the awakening city. The streets were dirtier than usual, littered with yesterday's debris from the Winter Festival. Unlike the day before, the sky overhead was flat and gray with low-hanging clouds.

  I kept the palace as my Polaris as we wended our way through ever more crowded streets. At least, I thought, festival crowding would conceal me from constables.

  "Where are you bound?" Peter asked--a careful and cautious Peter. "Bridge," I said. Any one of them will do to get me where I'm headed." Peter shook his head. "Any one of them will do for you to lose your head, you mean."

  I bristled. "What do you mean, lose my head? I'm as rational as you are." 179

  He shook his head urgently. "I mean, you daren't cross any bridges. You said they'd be looking for you? If that's so, they'll have officers posted at all of them by now, searching for you, and then back to jail you go." It felt like a hand had seized my throat and started squeezing. I tried to fight back.

  "They can't all know what I look like, can they?"

  "Well enough," Peter said. "You've got the same clothes. I wouldn't want to be any girl trying to leave the city today. They'll investigate them all." "But I have to reach Riverside," I said, panic flooding. "It's the only place I can hide."

  As soon as I said it, I knew I was wrong. I couldn't hide there. Coxley knew I'd been to my parents' home, and it had confirmed his suspicions--that the home's new occupant and the Amaranth Witch were one person.

  Now I had a new concern. I started running once more. "I have to get there to warn Beryl!"

  "Who's Beryl?" Peter asked.

  "The stone belongs to her," I explained between breaths. "She's the one who gave me the nice clothes I wore yesterday. They were my mother's, long ago." Peter paused. "Your mother's?"

  I elbowed past a woman carrying a tray of hot buns, and she spilled them. A stream of curses followed me. I stammered an apology and hurried on. When I looked back at Peter, he was eating a bun, and another was dangling from Dog's bearded mouth.

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  "Give me that!" I snatched the bun from Peter's hand and bit into it. He started to protest, then shrugged.

  I finished the bun. "My father was a wealthy merchant before he died," I said between bites. "He and Mama and I used to live in one of the mansions on Riverside."

  Peter whistled. "How'd you come to be scrubbing floors in a second-rate shop, then?"

  I shook my head. "No time for that now. Point is, Beryl now lives in that mansion, and I've got to warn her that Coxley's after her."

  "Unless I'm mistaken," Peter said, "he's after you. Over here!" Peter yanked me into a darkened doorway and halfway up a flight of stairs. A pair of constables on horseback cantered by. Dog stood guard and insulted their horses.

  We hid in the stairwell until city noises swallowed the hoofbeats. Then Peter ventured down the stairs. I grabbed his sleeve and pulled him back into the shadows.

  "Peter," I said, "you've been a criminal your whole life. It's a little new to me. How do I reach the river and cross it without getting caught?" He pursed his lips. "For starters, there's disguise, but you're already a sight different from yesterday. As for the river, I know a fellow with a boat who might help us out if the price was right." I started to speak but he silenced me. "This one's on me. I owed you a coffin anyhow."

  We ventured down the stairs and into the street.

  "As for getting through the city without getting caught,"

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  Peter went on, "I always say, go to where they'd least expect to find you." Where they'd least expect to find me.

  I scarcely knew where I'd expect to find me.

  I looked around for inspiration. Of course! I snapped my fingers. "That's it." "What's it?"

  "You've given me the answer," I said. "It makes perfect sense." "Oh?"

  "I may not survive this night, Peter. I've got one chance left. Besides, there's someone I need to see." I swallowed. Could I? Yes, I could face him now. Calm as sunrise.

  Peter scratched his head. "Pardon my saying so, but you've lost your wits in jail. It happens. Torture."

  "Be still. Come on, we're almost there." Somehow I found new strength. I began to run.

  "Where?"

  I pointed straight ahead, to the rippling flags on the towers and entryways of Sebastien Palace, a quarter of a mile away.

  Peter stopped short. "That's carrying advice a bit far, don't you think?" "Not at all," I panted. "I need to see the prince."

  "Well, what are you going to do, knock on the front door and ask for him?" I considered. "More or less. He holds court, doesn't he?"

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  "The king does, and sometimes the prince assists him. Not likely today, though. Festival. Impending wedding."

  I ran on, wiping my sweating face on the sleeve of my dress.

  "I'll talk my way in. I'll tell them it's urgent."

  "No, you won't," Peter said. "You'll come with me." He grabbed my arm and pulled me down a narrow covered path leading away from the palace entrance. I pushed at his arm to no avail. "Where are you taking me?"

  "Trust me."

  A fat lot of good that had done me in the past. I swallowed a rude remark. The path wound about like a tunnel in a cave, lit only by sunlight through occasional breaks in the ceiling. I felt hemmed in. At last we came to a wooden door. Peter pulled a ring from his pocket containing keys and key picks and had the door open in seconds.

  He glanced down at Dog, one hand on the doorknob. "He can't come in here," he said.

  I knelt and scratched Dog's ears. "Stay here, now, boy, understand?" He grunted at me but didn't protest when we closed the door behind us. "Not a sound, now," Peter whispered, and gestured for me to follow him. We emerged into a frozen winter garden, on a path overhung by hydrangea branches. Their leaves had fallen

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  but a few withered blossoms still clung. Small statues of squirrels and rabbits dotted the stone path. A peaceful, almost reverent feeling hung over the place. The high wall and trees held the city's noises at bay. It was so enchanting I lost sight of myself for a moment. "Hurry," Peter whispered, startling me out of my reverie.

  The hydrangeas thinned, and Peter walked more stealthily, pausing between steps. Once he stood stock-still for a minute, and I wondered why, until he pointed at a retreating figure roving through the gardens. He's a palace guard, I told my thumping heart, not a city constable.

  Peter gestured, and we scurried over a walkway paved with white pebbles and lined with bare, dignified trees, until we came t
o the rear castle walls. Above us hung the curved bottom of a stone balcony. We crouched, half-hidden in evergreen shrubbery below.

  Peter picked up a pebble from the walk and tossed it onto the balcony above us.

  We waited.

  He tossed another pebble. I heard it ping on the balcony floor. It echoed across the frosty gardens.

  "Must be he's gone," I whispered.

  "Dead asleep, more like," Peter said.

  I pictured Prince Gregor asleep, and then I pictured him awake, coming into the shop, and dancing with me twice. My courage melted. Filthy clothes, dirty face and hands, what was I thinking?

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  "Peter," I said, "maybe this isn't..."

  He launched a fistful of pebbles into the sky. They landed on the balcony about as quietly as a vase smashing. "... such a good idea," I finished lamely.

  A door opened.

  Footfalls shuffled.

  A pebble landed on the walk, followed by half a dozen more. I covered my head with my arms.

  A sleep-thick voice floated downward. "This had better be important, Peter." 185

  Chapter 21

  Gregor leaned over the railing, rubbing his eyes with the backs of his hands. His hair dangled below his chin, dark with a night's whiskers.

  "Well? You coming up?"

  He finished rubbing his eyes and blinked at us. "There's two of you;' he observed. "Who's the... Oh." I had risen.

  "Peter," Gregor said slowly, not taking his stern eyes off me, "what is going on here?"

  Oh, I can face him now, calm as sunrise. Sunrise through a hurricane. "I must speak with you," I said. My voice squeaked. Gregor's eyes were full of pain. "How are you not in prison?" he asked quietly.

  "Conversations like these," Peter interrupted, to my great relief, "are better off face-to-face. Upsy-daisy." He

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  crouched before me, offering his knee as a stool for me so I could clamber over the railing. Oh, let me do this gracefully, I prayed. Let me not fall on my face. Not today.

  I stood on Peter's leg and reached the ledge. Gregor hesitated, then reached his hands out and swung me onto the balcony. A moment later Peter had climbed up.

  Gregor gestured us inside. Peter flopped onto an embroidered couch near the fireplace. I stood by the fire, taking in the plush and polished furniture, the rugs, the flowers, the tapestries, the bed. I felt like a chimney sweep in a linen shop. Just brushing against something I would pollute it. I shivered as the fire showed me how cold I'd been.

  Gregor pulled the door shut, drew his curtains, and turned to face us both. His face turned in an instant from weariness to fury.

  "How dare you two show up here?"

  I was so startled I stepped back, bumping into the mantel.

  Peter took a good-humored approach. "I know it's early," he said, "and we didn't exactly have an invitation ..

  "How dare you show up here after trying to rob me last night?"

  I felt sick to my stomach anew.

  "I didn't try to rob you," Peter pointed out in a hurry. "She did." Curse you, Peter.

  Gregor looked at me. "A thief in training," he said in a

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  low voice, shaking his head. It took all my self-possession not to cry. "You work together, don't you?" Gregor said, striding around the room but glaring at Peter. "When her attempt failed, you thought you'd have another go, did you? Anyway, I don't mean that time. She spent the night in prison for it. Where were you all night?"

  Peter looked like a bug pinned to a paper. "Hanging around the Hall of Justice for a bit, then back home," he said. "God's truth."

  "Watch yourself," Gregor said. "Don't blaspheme."

  "Prince Gregor," I burst out, "what are you talking about?"

  He looked back at me, and again, his anger turned to hurt. "Two hours ago, I left my bedroom for a moment, and I was waylaid by someone," he bit off the word. "A man"--he stared accusingly at Peter--"dressed in a mask and dark clothing." He frowned and rubbed his chin. "No, I suppose it can't have been you, Peter," he said. "This man was extraordinarily strong."

  Peter puffed out his chest.

  "This person clamped his hand over my mouth and searched my person. He didn't find what he was looking for. He demanded I tell him where the stone was." Gregor was livid. "I fought him off the best I could, but he... at any rate, he took off running faster than I could give chase. And when I called my guards, they were nowhere near."

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  He turned back to face me. "Did you send someone to steal it back from me?" Coxley.

  "I swear that I did not, Your Highness," I said. I prayed my sincerity showed plainly. I itched to say, "I know who did!" But how could I ever prove it? Gregor's gaze riveted me to the mantelpiece.

  I looked back at him, watching his blue eyes.

  At last he nodded slowly. "I believe you, Miss Chapdelaine," he said. This time my eyes filled with tears. I blinked them away. There was no reason why he should believe me.

  Gregor sat down on a chair. He looked exhausted. He raked his hands over his face and hair as if in utter despair. "If you haven't come to confess, then why have you come?"

  I took a deep breath, and then another. Reaching a hand into my pocket, my fingers found the remains of my childhood charm bracelet. I seized it and stroked it. It gave me courage.

  "I'm sorry to disturb you." I took another breath. "I know the hour's early, but I had to be up early, because"--Gregor's gaze was unnerving--"that's when they were going to kill me."

  He looked away.

  "How did you escape?" he asked. "Did they set you free?" I swallowed. Would he call Rolf and send me back?

  "A... a friend helped me. More than that, I cannot say." I licked my lips. "I know you could send me back to

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  jail, and you'd be justified. But I hoped... I trusted in your kindness"--the prince shut his eyes--"and dared to come and explain myself, and explain whose the stone is." I took a deep breath. "And why I need it back."

  He opened his eyes with apparent effort.

  "You thought, I was a fool for you last night, perhaps I would be again?" Peter let out a low whistle. I was stung with shame. "Who are you?" Prince Gregor asked. "No pretenses. I need to know."

  It was good that he needed to know. Good that he needed anything from me. I stood a little taller. "I am Lucinda Chapdelaine," I said. "Daughter of August and Olivia Chapdelaine. You were right when you said you thought you'd known me from your childhood. Our parents were intimates, and we were children together. I remember you."

  He studied my face for an uncomfortably long time. Then I could tell that he remembered, if vaguely. He rubbed his head again.

  "Yes. Then... why the goldsmith's shop?"

  I rubbed my little red rose until I feared the enamel would fall off. "My parents died when I was five, and their wealth was stolen from me," I said. "My uncle by marriage, the goldsmith, was the only one who wanted me once it was plain I would be no heiress. But his second wife hated me. And there I've lived for the past ten years, until his death, when my aunt kicked me out." 190

  "She was the woman who accused you?" he asked. I nodded.

  "An unpleasant person." He rose from his chair and paced, still keeping a safe distance from me. "So, you robbed me because of poverty."

  "No!" I reigned in my voice with an effort. "No. Never that." Regret settled over me. "I have never taken anything from anyone in the world, until last night."

  "You picked a fine time to start," Gregor said, his voice a lash. "What was I, some challenge? The start of a new career?" The bitterness he'd restrained until now startled me.

  "No !"

  He was hurt, and it was I, the scrubber of floors, who had wounded him! Standing so near the fire toasted my backside. I moved closer to him. "I had to get the stone back because it belonged to me! No. Not to me, but it was entrusted to me by someone. I had to get it back to that person." Gregor frowned. "It was mine. I paid three thousand for it."

/>   He didn't understand. "Don't you see?" I said. "You bought it from Peter! He stole it from me!"

  Our heads turned in Peter's direction. He'd been lounging, apparently enjoying the show, but at this turn of events he scuttled to the end of the couch like an escaping spider. Now caught, his eyes darted back and forth between us. 191

  "She can't prove that," he said. "No warranties, no refunds."

  I stamped my foot. "How dare you deny it, Peter! D'you think I came here to discuss horse racing? I've come to set things right, and to get my stone! Do the right thing for once in your scheming life and tell the truth!" I regained my breath. "And give Gregor back his money."

  Peter folded his arms and sat like a clam, his eyes shooting daggers at me. More the fool I, for thinking his timid overtures this morning meant he was my repentant, loyal friend.

  Gregor's face, taking all this in, betrayed no emotion.

  I hadn't come this far to let Peter forfeit the game. If he wouldn't give the money back, there was nothing left for me but to beg.

  I approached Gregor and went down on both knees before him.

  "Please," I said. "To you the stone is an exotic gem. A gift for your bride. It could be replaced by almost anything. To its owner, its significance is far greater. It has ..."

  I needed to tread carefully here, lest they send me to a madhouse this time. "It has a power, of sorts, a connection to her soul that is irreplaceable." Still his face gave me no sign if my words were penetrating his scorn. "And for me," I continued helplessly, looking at his slippers, "it means--or meant--everything."

  Gregor gestured for me to rise again. "How so, Miss Chapdelaine?" 192

  Not my given name. Not Lucinda.

  I took a deep breath. "Its owner had the means of restoring to me my name and some portion of my birthright, which I lost when my parents died." I felt naked, groveling, saying these words. "It would have meant the end of my dependency upon others."

  "Not anymore?"

  Oh, the gentle voice. I felt a lump in my throat. But I thought of Coxley. There was no place for me in a world where he held power. "The way things have transpired, I'm afraid not."

  My merry dancing partner from last night now sat as grave and sober as a judge. A good one, too, I thought with a broken heart. That air of pure goodness about him that I'd felt the first time I saw him was even stronger now. This would be easier if I could hate him later.