by Radclyffe
It crawled up her throat then, everything she’d swallowed down for two years.
Rushing through her morning duties.
Stealing away to the forgotten room.
Flinging open the door.
Expecting to see her girl lighting up the darkest corner with her smile.
Finding her lying on the floor next to a spindle, a drop of blood glistening on her fingertip.
Her Rose, her girl.
She gulped it in.
The rush of a breeze on her face when she’d flung open the window in the tower room and cried into the sky, Try to touch her, I dare you! Lay one finger on my Rose, and I’ll tear you to bits!
She gulped and swallowed, gulped and swallowed, but they surfaced nonetheless, the memories flavored bitter by grief.
The windowsill biting into her legs. The closer to fling her curses to the sky. I’ll pierce you till your blood runs cold!
And then—not—as the wind rushed past her.
Fingers dug into Ivy’s arms and shook her till her teeth rattled in her head. “Collect yourself, girl! I have need of you!” The stranger’s voice, high and sharp, sliced through her memories.
She opened her eyes and stared into the face that floated just beyond the stranger’s shoulder.
“Can you ever forgive me?” She looked into eyes she alone could see. “It were my fault! It were my idea for us to meet there seeing as how the room were all but forgotten. I dinnit know there were a spindle there. How could I have known? Oh why, Rose, why did you leave me?” The sob ripped through her, leaving her unable to hide from the truth any longer. For she was the one who had left her girl inside the castle. It was a terrible, awful truth, and it crushed Ivy utterly.
“In what part of the castle does Princess Ambrosia lie?”
Ivy stared into the distance, the stranger’s words naught but a mumbling of sound with no meaning.
“Where? Tell me, where is she?” the stranger screeched.
But she couldn’t answer him. Grief, or maybe guilt, had turned her mute. The stranger shook her, and when that failed, he raised his hand and took aim. “Return to your senses! We must leave tonight if we are to awaken Princess Ambrosia in the morning!”
He didn’t need to strike her.
“Wot’s that you said?” She blinked and looked into his eyes. “Awaken the princess? But how?”
He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small glass vial. “I’ve discovered the cure for eternal sleep, my dear.”
She stared at the liquid inside the vial. Glowing golden light. Could it be?
“But I need you, in possession of your senses, in front of the castle wall on the morrow. Now quickly, go prepare for the journey.”
She forced herself to look into his cold black eyes. “Why do you need me, m’lord? Weren’t nuffink I could do to save her when I were there.”
His lips curled back into a grotesque smile that sent chills down Ivy’s spine. “You, my dear, are going to part the wall of thorns for me, of course.”
Ivy had seen the wall once when the master sent Milli and her to town for supplies. She had even seen the men who tried to reach Briar Castle, their decaying bodies ensnared in branches stained dark from their blood, and she had smiled. Because they would never reach her. Never touch her.
Her Rose, her girl.
“Impossible!” Ivy turned to leave the room.
The stranger dug his fingers into her shoulder and swiveled her to face him. “It has been foretold by the wise women! And on the dawn of the second year one will stand before the wall who the curse will recognize and the wall will part.”
Her head spun. It couldn’t be. “But…”
“Fool! Don’t you see? You were inside the castle when the curse fell. You are the one! We must leave this very night!”
So they did, right after Lord Ainsworth and the stranger devoured Milli’s feast of stuffed hen. Right after they declared it a meal fit for the king. Right after Lord Ainsworth offered his chambermaid as payment for any outstanding debt.
The willow-thin stranger tossed Ivy onto the back of his horse and they rode away.
She righted herself and held on for dear life, her arms circling his waist as he kicked his steed past mercy or reason. Somewhere, miles behind them in the space between her master’s house and the castle, the chambermaid’s cap flew off and Ivy’s long red hair streamed behind her.
It did not even dawn on her to look back.
*
They rode throughout the day and the long night that followed.
They rode until the space between Ivy’s legs chafed from rubbing against the back of the stranger’s saddle.
They rode through farms and villages, until dirt roads turned to cobblestone and the clacking of the horse’s hooves quickened the beating of her heart.
They rode together, but Ivy schemed alone.
She cooed questions into the stranger’s ear, the way Milli soothed a chicken meant for the ax and afterward, when he tossed his answers into the wind where they floated back to her, she plucked as many details as possible.
“My name is Lord Kerberos,” he told her. “It was I who restored order to the kingdom in the days after the curse when only chaos reigned. Those silly people in the village with their petty disputes? They would have sent the kingdom into civil war, so I, a simple apothecary with a modest shop, took it on myself to listen to their grievances and pass fair judgment. Not six months later they begged me to officially stand in the king’s stead and look after all his matters.” Lord Kerberos patted the fat purse that swung inches from Ivy’s outstretched fingers. “I like to think I have been worthy.”
She liked to think of a day when she would be a lady at court, worthy of her girl. But even Ivy, a simple servant girl, knew that thinking a thing didn’t make it so.
“It’s just a temporary post. Mine until the princess wakes, and with her, King Alexander,” Lord Kerberos said.
In the distance Ivy saw the castle’s spire rising high above the rest of the city. Her stomach clenched to think of her girl lying inside the tower, a thick layer of dust gathering on her lashes, her lips, her long golden braid into which Ivy had woven each strand of their forbidden love. The horse leapt with joy at seeing his home. Lord Kerberos’s money pouch, freed from his belt by fingers practiced at lacing bodices, slipped through her hand and plunged toward the ground. Ivy snatched it midair and held it tight, as tight as she held her dream to run away with her girl to a place where they could simply be two girls in love. Surely, such a place existed somewhere.
A crowd had gathered in anticipation of Lord Kerberos’s arrival. The people peered at Ivy, their curious glances and voices pelting her like stones.
“Is she the one? That girl what rides behind Lord Kerberos?” A man with white flour in his hair spoke, a baker from the look of him.
“Are you dazed, man? She’s naught but a chambermaid!” Another man, his apron splattered with blood, glared at Ivy. She cringed to think of him with a butcher knife.
“Why else would Lord Kerberos bring her to the wall?” The baker waved a hand toward the hedge of thorns.
“I don’t know, but it’s going to take more than a chambermaid to part—”
The butcher fell silent, as did the rest of the crowd, when long ribbons of gray and white streaked above the castle.
“Quick! They are coming.” Lord Kerberos thumped to the ground and pointed at the sky. “Open the wall!”
Ivy waited until the world wobbled into one fixed place and then she too slid from the horse’s back and stood in front of the villagers, Lord Kerberos, and the castle. “Who’s coming?”
“The wise women. Quickly! There is no time!”
Ivy glared at the swirling mist that drew near and remembered the story, now legend, about the cursing of Princess Ambrosia. There had been four fairies, in that time, who watched over the kingdom. But King Alexander, disgruntled with one of the fairies, had invited only three to the princess’s christeni
ng. The three fairies, as the story went, had arrived in a shimmering mist of dove gray and pure white. The first fairy, naught but a young girl, bestowed the gift of beauty on the baby princess, for she prized beauty above all else. The second, a robust woman, bestowed the gift of strength on the princess, for she had experienced the hardship of life and prized strength above all else. The third, a frail elderly woman with pure white hair, was just about to bestow her gift on the princess when the fourth fairy arrived in a swirling cloud, black as her heart. The evil fairy faced the king who had slighted her and spat her vengeance.
“On the day when Princess Ambrosia’s heart quickens from true love she will prick her finger on a spindle and die,” the fourth fairy said, turning into smoke the color of charcoal and flying out an open window.
“Not death, but sleep.” The third fairy, her power diminished by age, could only soften the curse.
Ivy glared at the shimmering mist that drew near. “Them’s your wise women? Them ladies what gave gifts to my princess when she was born? Ain’t nuffink but a bunch of busybody fairies what cursed my gir—the princess.”
Lord Kerberos nodded. “Yes. Exactly! They are the ones who trapped the princess in eternal slumber! Now hurry before they try to stop you!” He took a step toward the wall. The hedge of thorns shuddered and shrank tighter than ever. Fog descended until Ivy could no longer see anything, and when she breathed the air was moist and thick.
“Lord Kerberos? Where are you?”
When at last she heard a voice, it did not belong to Lord Kerberos.
“She has returned!” A girl spoke and clapped her hands, her voice pitching higher with each word.
“The one from within!” Another woman spoke, her voice steady and strong.
“And on the dawn of the second year!” An old woman’s voice shook.
Their voices tumbled, one atop the other, until Ivy’s head grew light and she considered floating away on the fog. But then she remembered.
Her girl. Her plan.
“You won’t stop me with a few thorns, you hear?” She slipped her hand into her apron pocket and clutched both purse and purpose.
They murmured, the chorus of women.
“She hasn’t changed!” the girl exclaimed.
“Not one bit! Look how brightly she still burns!” the woman in her prime agreed.
The old woman chuckled. “Do you not see what she keeps in her pocket? Oh, she has changed. She has grown strong enough to bear secrets!”
Ivy reached the end of her patience with fog and fairies.
“Stop poking around where you never was invited!” She waved her arms, parting the mist.
The fog drifted away. She had expected to see them, the wise women, but all she saw were the backs of villagers running from the voices and Lord Kerberos poking at the wall of thorns with his dagger.
“Where’d they go?” She walked toward him. “I weren’t done telling ’em what I think of ’em. Blasted fairies!” This last part she shouted into the sky, in case they were perched in a nearby cloud, listening.
“Look, it’s opening!” Lord Kerberos pointed his dagger toward the section of the hedge near her. Some branches pulled to the right. Others to the left. But pull they all did, creating the smallest of gaps. She took a step toward the wall. The gap widened. And another. It widened farther.
“Out of my way!” Lord Kerberos charged, his dagger waving as he rushed the wall. The thorns clamped onto the dagger just as it penetrated the gap, narrowly missing his hand.
Lord Kerberos took a step back and stared at the hilt of his dagger held captive by the thorns. “I’d say ladies first, except…”
“I’m no lady.” Ivy spat on the ground between her feet.
She almost did it. Almost darted through the hedge, quick like a fox, leaving him behind with nothing but his made-up title of lord. But then she remembered he held the cure to awaken her girl. She stepped toward the wall. The branches relaxed and the dagger fell into her outstretched hands.
“Follow me.” She ducked through the parting branches without so much as a glance backward. “And stay close or I’ll leave you to the thorns.”
*
Ivy’s fingers caressed the letter A on the shining gold crest that marked the heavy oak door of the castle. A for Alexander. A for Alexia. A for Ambrosia.
“She weren’t never your Ambrosia. She were always my Rose,” Ivy whispered, wrapping her fingers around the handle and heaving with all her might.
The door shuddered and swung open.
“Oh, well done, girl! Now lead me to the princess!” Lord Kerberos’s breath was hot against the back of her neck.
Ivy turned and shrank from her first glance at Lord Kerberos since they’d entered the hedge of thorns. Red streaked his face and arms and dripped from the tips of his long fingers. Strange, the thorns had let her pass without so much as a scratch. His eyes begged no mercy, and she had none to offer.
“Same rules as before. I lead. You follow,” she told him, stepping inside the castle.
She was prepared for dust.
Flecks of dust. Layers of dust. An entire tomb filled with darkness and dust.
But there was no dust. Instead, there was light.
Light that flared to life from the candlesticks on the entry table the minute her foot crossed the threshold, as if the castle itself were a living thing, awake all these years, and rejoicing at her return. Lords and ladies, fresh from the hunt, had fallen to the ground in the entrance hall, their bodies and cloaks lying in crumpled heaps. Ivy donned a thick robe and slung a second around her arm.
“I thought better of you, girl, than plundering the spoils.” Lord Kerberos eyed Ivy suspiciously.
“The princess is likely to be chilled, ain’t she? What with lying in a room with the window flung open these past two years.” The truth of her words hurt Ivy, but that wasn’t the reason she took the cloaks. They would have need of them before the night was over.
Light burst from the stacked logs inside the hearth the moment she stepped inside the kitchen where the second houseboy slept, a broken twig still clutched in his hands.
Lord Kerberos frowned when she disappeared into the larder and returned with a basket filled with aged cheeses and bottles of wine. “Now we’re stopping for a picnic? Do you want to awaken Princess Ambrosia or not?”
“The princess is likely to be hungry, ain’t she?” Ivy avoided Lord Kerberos’s eyes.
More light flared from the lanterns in the great hall and glinted off the golden thrones where King Alexander and Queen Alexia slumbered. A thorn stabbed Ivy to the heart. Or just as good. She walked into the hall and knelt before her king and queen.
“Now what are you doing, girl? Stopping to pay your respects to the king and queen?” Lord Kerberos spat and Ivy’s hand twitched to slap the words off his bony face.
“Aye, I am!” Her voice rang out through the hall.
Ivy knelt before King Alexander, leaning forward to press her lips to the royal ring on his limp hand. It was a hanging offense, she knew, to steal the king’s seal. She withdrew and slipped the ring into her apron pocket next to the pouch of money. Both would offer some measure of protection for the princess. That was a thing worth dying for.
Three doves flew through an open window and perched on Queen Alexia’s throne. “Oh, shoo, you bloody birds!” Ivy waved her hand at the doves, but they blinked at her and refused to move.
Ivy straightened the crown on Queen Alexia’s brow. Leaning close, she whispered, “I won’t let nuffink harm your girl, Your Majesty. I swear I’d die first. ’Cuz she’s my girl, too.”
The queen, still slumbering, smiled and shifted on her throne. The doves cooed and fluffed their feathers.
Footsteps echoed throughout the cavernous room. Ivy turned, but not in time to avoid the shocking impact of the bony hand across her face. She sprawled to the ground at the foot of her queen.
“I have had enough of these games! I demand you lead me to Princess Ambro
sia this instant!” Lord Kerberos towered above her, his rail-thin body shaking with fury. He drew his foot back as if to kick her.
Ivy curled into herself and covered her body with her arms. This was not the first time she had been treated thus. But the blow never landed.
Lord Kerberos flailed like he’d taken leave of his senses. The doves flung themselves at him in a flurry of feathers. They pecked at his eyes, his mouth, his gashes from the thorns, and Lord Kerberos lashed with his fists. And then the smallest dove, hardly more than a chick, fell. It landed on the stone floor beside her with a sound so faint it near as broke Ivy’s heart. The faintest chirp seemed to say, “Strike.” And then another, “Now.” The young dove shuddered and lay still. Ivy stroked the gray feathers of the dove’s chest, soft as silk, and felt tears flood her eyes.
Lord Kerberos took aim at a pure white dove, old and wobbling in its flight. His hand struck out. “You thought you could stop me? By letting her sleep instead of die? Do you not understand? You made it easy!” The dove lurched away, taking the blow on its tail feathers. “You tried to stop me with your hedge of thorns, but I found your key and she let me into the castle. I will make the girl lead me to the princess if I have to break every bone in her body! Do you not understand? Once I kill Princess Ambrosia, everyone within these walls will die as well. Fools! You’ve handed me the kingdom!” Lord Kerberos spun in a circle, his long hair waving out in his madness. His laughter pealing into a woman’s cackle. The edges of his gown began to dissolve into smoke the color of charcoal, and Ivy knew. Ivy saw.
It was not Lord Kerberos who stood in front of her, but the evil fourth fairy.
It was not a cure inside the vial, but poison.
The mist crawled up the cloak, freeing the fairy from the vulnerability of a mortal form.
Ivy charged, the dagger in her outstretched hand. The evil fairy turned and aimed a bony hand at her, muttering an evil incantation. One dove darted in and pierced the evil fairy’s cheek. The other dove aimed for the hand. It flew away with the nub of a pinkie finger in its beak. Black blood spurted from the wounds as the evil fairy shrieked and did not see Ivy leap, plunging the dagger deep into a still-beating, still-human heart.
