by J. M. Stengl
Then Madame Genevieve stood up and conversations died, saving Ellie from attempting a joking answer. A good thing, since she felt too close to tears for comfort.
“I called you here simply to make certain everyone is aware of current events,” said the director in her expressionless manner. “Rumor has reached my ear that certain staff members were heard to advocate the use of magic in extinguishing the garden fire today, so I hereby remind you all that public use of magic on resort property is strictly prohibited to junior staff members. Following the fire, it came to my attention that cinder sprites have invaded the grounds of Faraway Castle. These insidious pests are a public safety hazard and must be eradicated. At the insistence of Lord Roxwell and several other important guests, I have sent for an exterminator to handle this infestation.”
Faraway Castle’s huge kitchen was a unique blend of ancient and modern conveniences and tools. The brownies thought nothing of preparing stew in a cauldron or roasting a whole pig on a spit over an open fire, or of sliding loaves of dough into a stone bake oven heated with hot coals. However, they also appreciated the convenience of gas ranges and ovens. Thus, every meal served in the elegant banquet hall and the staff dining room contained elements prepared in both styles.
Ellie had been waiting hours for a chance to use one burner of a gas range. She might have used a cauldron earlier, but the idea of concocting her magical liquid in a cauldron over an open fire like an evil hembez from days long past didn’t set well. So now, well past midnight, she perched on a stool and stirred the greenish liquid bubbling in a large saucepan.
In preparation for the great banquet, the castle’s industrious little cooks and bakers intended to work around the clock. Brownies bustled on all sides—baking, chopping, organizing, arranging—eager and delighted behind their sober expressions. Ellie had long ago decided that the creatures never slept.
“I’m afraid I added too much chamomile and not enough peppermint,” she sighed. “Or maybe I should consider something totally different, like turmeric. Herbs that soothe chapped skin or stomachache might only feed the flames of fear or temper.”
A little gray personage perched on the back of the range scowled down at her. “What does it matter? You tell the stuff what to do, and it’ll do it. All I know is, if you ever sneak one of them happiness potions on me, I’ll . . . Well, I’ll never forgive you.” The hobgoblin’s threat petered out when Ellie gave him a hurt look. “You got no business messing with people’s emotions. Especially magic people.”
“But Geraldo, I don’t force anyone to do or feel anything. I only try to make them feel better, and I point out good things to think about or do. I’m not powerful enough to change people’s thoughts or feelings if they don’t want to change.”
The hobgoblin, who looked like a tiny, wizened old man with huge ears, scoffed at this. “You’ve got way more power than you think, girl. And I always know when you’re trying to sweettalk me. I can brush it off if I like. But potions, them are downright insidious. That’s what I say.”
“I can’t think of any other way to save cinder sprites from burning up. I wrote to Arabella, but I can’t sit around and wait for an answer. She might not know the answer anyway. If I can find a way to quench them or prevent them from going ember at all, then the director might allow them to stay. Or she might at least let the Gamekeeper find a safe place for them to live.”
Unlike Geraldo, the brownies all supported her potion plan, though not one of them could advise her how best to test its effectiveness. Maybe it was a foolish idea, but she had to try. Anything would be better than having the cinder sprites slaughtered.
She had overheard discussion among the brownies regarding whom—or what—the director might have contracted to exterminate the little creatures. No one thought the Gamekeeper would approve Madame’s plan. She must know this, Ellie thought. Otherwise she would have consulted him before hiring an assassin.
At last, bleary-eyed, she poured the steaming greenish potion into two spray bottles. It was magical, but was it strong enough? She could only hope it would give that essential extra edge to her verbal magic.
Earlier, while waiting for a spare burner on the cooktop, Ellie had redeemed the time by slipping into the small castle library. She’d found no useful information about soothing potions so instead researched cinder sprites and pixies. Classics such as Quirinius’s Natural History of Magical Beings, written by the famous caroven Lombart Quirinius, offered faded black-and-white photos and no useful information other than the scientific name for cinder sprites: Cavrycornia inflammatus. She recognized a few titles such as A Field Guide to Unicorns; The Trollkarl: Man or Myth; and The Enigmatic Griffin: A Handbook, which she’d seen on Arabella’s shelves, but no one seemed to write about the smaller, more obscure beings. At last, in the children’s section she discovered A to Z: Magical Creatures by Maja Kowalska, Burva, a name that seemed vaguely familiar. From it she learned basic information on the eating and sleeping habits of pixies and “sprites, cinder.” Not much, but enough to increase her confidence. The line drawings beside the entries only intensified her curiosity; she’d thought the illustrator must have intended to frighten children rather than inform them.
Now, as she prepared for bed, sneaked into the small room she shared with Jeralee and Kerry Jo, and crawled between slightly clammy sheets, a few of those illustrations returned to bother her. Once in the night she awoke sitting upright; her heart pounding, and strange images already fading from her mind. She shook her head and breathed deeply. “Calm down. It was only a dream. You’re safe at Faraway Castle. No griffins dare come here.” Her soothing magic never worked on herself, but the truth in her words was reassuring.
She deliberately focused her thoughts on Omar, the way his white shirt contrasted with his dark skin, the set of his shoulders, the shine of his wavy black hair . . .
It worked, and the next thing she knew, Jeralee was shaking the foot of her bed. “Get up, Ellie, or you’ll be late for work.”
The following hours flew past, filled with preparations for the big event. Relatives of the bride and groom arrived throughout the day, some of these staying at hotels at the base of the mountain range. The rest parked their expensive cars in a lot near the front gate and filled up all available rooms at the castle. Ellie and the other human maids performed more actual maid work than usual, fetching and carrying and cleaning for guests, along with decorating for both the ceremony and the banquet.
Although she saw nothing of Prince Omar himself that day, she was thrilled to be sent to his family’s royal suite with a delivery of clean laundry. This time she turned right at the marble griffin and knocked at a door decorated with strange sea creatures. A frazzled-looking woman opened the door to her knock and told her to carry the boxes down the hall. Ellie entered a sitting room similar to Lady Beneventi’s and was startled to encounter Queen Sofia holding her new baby. “Oh, excuse me, Your Majesty! I was told to come this way . . .”
The queen looked equally startled but smiled at Ellie in a friendly manner. “Thank you for bringing our clean laundry,” she said, her voice low and rich. Ellie’s interest in the baby must have been obvious, for the queen then added, “Would you like to see Rita?”
“Oh, yes!” Ellie said, and stepped forward when the queen beckoned to her. She heard the nurse grumbling behind her, but that didn’t matter. The baby looked back at her from large dark eyes. Her skin was paler than Ellie had expected, a creamy shade of brown. And her features were perfectly rounded and soft. “She is beautiful!” Ellie breathed. “How old?”
“Five weeks today. I haven’t been out of the suite much this summer, but the view from the balcony is divine and the children are enjoying themselves as much as ever.”
“Yes, I often see them with their nanny, playing at the lake.” Ellie looked up with a smile to find the woman observing her with curious interest.
“You remind me of someone,” the queen said, “but I cannot think who it could be just n
ow. How did you come to work at Faraway Castle?”
“My guardian, the burva Arabella who lives in the mountains not far from here, thought I would benefit from good hard work among people near my age. I’ve worked here three summers now.”
“And do you enjoy it?” The queen seemed genuinely interested.
“I don’t enjoy all aspects of it, but I know the challenges and experience are good for me. And I cannot think of a happier or more beautiful place to live and work.”
Queen Sofia smiled, and Ellie knew then where Omar’s gorgeous smile came from.
“Your guardian must be very wise, for you are a lovely child with a resilient spirit and, I think, a kind heart.”
Ellie’s pleased surprise showed, she knew, in her warm cheeks. Words failed her, and she simply gazed up at the queen, who was stunning even in her dressing gown with her long black hair hanging loose in glossy curls. The few gray hairs framing her face in no way diminished her beauty. And now Ellie knew that she was kind as well.
But she also knew that she must not outstay her welcome. “Thank you so much for showing me baby Rita.” She stood up, took one last look at the sleeping baby, and curtsied.
“You are most welcome, child. Good day to you.”
Faint hopes of encountering Omar in his family’s suite slipped away as she stepped back into the hallway and headed toward the marble griffin. But at least she had seen where he stayed every summer. Silly though she knew it was to take pleasure from such trifles, she still did it.
Back downstairs in the banquet hall, humans and brownies swarmed like ants. Dozens of brownies crawled over the eight enormous chandeliers lining the gallery, polishing every crystal pendant. Others cleaned the windows overlooking the lake or the mirrors on the facing wall. Several teen workers polished the parquet floor, and other human servants laid freshly pressed tablecloths and set the tables with gold-rimmed china, sterling flatware, and cut-crystal goblets.
While Ellie and Jeralee busily arranged floral centerpieces, Sira tugged on Ellie’s sleeve. The little brownie gazed up with mournful sincerity, her spindly arms full of lilies. “Thank you, Sira, these are lovely.” Ellie lifted the flowers from Sira’s grasp, and Jeralee began to fit them into the vase.
“Miss Ellie,” Sira said, “If I see a cinder sprite, I will tell you. I believe you can save them even when they burn, because your magic is so very strong.”
“Do you really think so?” Ellie inquired, feeling hope rush through her. She suddenly wished she had her spray bottles within easy reach. Knowing that Sira believed she could do it raised her confidence.
Hours passed in a flash, packed with work. At last the workers were sent to dress for duty. Ellie wore her formal maid uniform of taffeta with a crisp apron and cap. Its puffy layers flattered her tall, skinny figure, but she thought the sharp black-and-white contrast overwhelmed her pale blonde coloring. She smoothed her hair back into its usual ponytail, gave her reflection one last critical grimace, then hurried back to the formal banquet hall.
The wedding ceremony was taking place in the chapel at the far end of the castle, which allowed the wait staff opportunity to make last-minute adjustments in the dining hall during the service. Nearly every staff member had a role during the banquet; even the stable-hand dwarfs wore formal attire. Ellie and the other novice servers had been thoroughly briefed on proper service etiquette, and she knew where to take her empty pitcher for refills. She and a girl named Savannah were pouring lemonade, Jeralee and Kerry Jo would serve champagne.
During a brief lull, Ellie scanned place cards in search of the Zeidan name only to discover that her favorite family was to be seated in Savannah’s section. Briefly she considered asking her friend to swap places, but that would involve explanations not only to Savannah but also to their supervisor, Nillie the dwarf. Such a last-minute change would certainly provoke questions from other people as well, so she abandoned the notion.
Only guests aged fourteen and up would be present at this banquet—Omar’s youngest siblings were even now dining on macaroni and cheese in their suite, and a bottle would satisfy tiny Rita. Omar himself was assigned a seat between his older brother Taim and some princess whose name Ellie didn’t recognize. Possibly a first-time guest.
Filtered rays of evening sunlight glinted on crystal and silver as the long gallery waited in a hushed suspense broken only by murmuring voices and the hum of a dumbwaiter headed either to or from the kitchen below. Ellie, her peers, and dwarfs—the men sharp in their tuxedos, the women in black dresses and crisp white caps and aprons—lined the ends of the room.
When at last the wedding ended, guests gravitated toward the formal dining hall and the banquet began. Ellie had no time to watch for Omar. She and Savannah moved from table to table with their dewy pitchers of lemonade to fill glasses, mostly for younger guests. The pitcher began to feel heavy in her hands each time she refilled it at the station in one corner, yet otherwise this was easy work. The guests, for the most part, seemed inclined to be pleased with their meal and the service.
Once every table had been served, Savannah met Ellie at the lemonade bowl. “Nillie just reassigned me to serve desserts, so you’re all alone on lemonade duty. Good luck!”
Ellie indeed considered her luck to be good! The first time she worked her way through the entire room table by table and passed Omar, she saw that both he and the princess beside him were having lemonade. “Would you like more lemonade?” Ellie inquired, fearing her voice would crack.
Omar glanced up, recognized her, and visibly reacted, which made Ellie’s already pounding heart rise into her throat. He looked at his glass then back at her, and she thought he looked regretful, for it was still almost full.
The princess, regal in gold organdy, lifted her glass, saving Ellie from having to reach for it. She steadied the pitcher with her other hand, for Omar’s gaze on her made her arms feel like rubber. The crystal pitcher was beautiful but tended to drip, so she poured with great care while the princess talked, describing in exhaustive detail a horseback adventure she’d experienced with some other people at some other place. Omar listened and occasionally nodded or looked impressed, which seemed to satisfy the orator, but Ellie suspected he was as aware of her as she was of him. Which was both thrilling and confusing.
Taim chatted with a man across the table, most likely the princess’s father, and sipped champagne. A boy near Ellie’s age, whose name she didn’t know, looked sulky and restless, seated between his mother and a young girl. He was handsome like all the other Zeidans, Ellie thought, but he seemed discontented, lacking Omar’s sweetness.
No one else at the table needed a refill, so reluctantly she moved on, noticing that the space between tables seemed to be shrinking. As the evening progressed, guests scooted their chairs away from the table and leaned back to enjoy their wine and noisy conversation. A few tables from Omar, Ellie spotted his sister Layla seated amid another family beside a most attentive young lord and noticed, for the first time, a sparkling diamond ring on the princess’s finger. So another of the family would soon be wed. She knew that their oldest brother, the crown prince, who had recently come of age, was to marry in the autumn.
It was nearly time for the speeches and toasts to begin when Ellie approached Omar’s table again. Her pitcher was slightly over-filled, and she had not yet poured from it. This time Omar was deep in conversation with his brother about mathematics, but the princess beckoned her over. Ellie squeezed her way between chairs to stand directly behind Prince Omar. The princess helpfully held up his empty glass, and Ellie filled it with lemonade.
But her pitcher was so full that, while she poured, the juice flowed down its side. She didn’t realize this until she finished pouring and saw, first, the juice still dripping from the bottom of her pitcher, and second, the spreading dark patch on the back of Omar’s suit coat.
Ellie’s heart nearly choked her. The princess gave her a sharp look, set down the glass, and distanced herself from the situatio
n.
And Omar talked on about differentials and quadratic equations, still oblivious to his plight. Ellie took the towel from its hook at her waist, then thought better of dabbing at the wet spot. “Your Highness?” she whispered, then cleared her throat and tried again. “Your Highness? Prince Omar?”
Taim stopped Omar with a quick gesture. “This young person desires your attention.”
A statement all too true. However, just then Ellie would gladly have vanished. She trembled in every limb and had to clutch the pitcher close.
Omar turned to look up at her, and she saw his expression transform from surprise into delight. He opened his mouth, closed it, swallowed hard, then said, “Is something wrong, Miss . . . Er, I’m afraid I don’t know your name.”
“E-Ellie. I spilled lemonade down your back. Don’t you feel it?”
His pleased expression altered only slightly. “Uh, yes, I guess I do feel rather damp.” Noticing the towel in her hand, he asked, “May I?”
He then tried and failed to soak up the lemonade by reaching over his own shoulder, so the princess snatched the towel and rubbed the spot. “Your fine coat is ruined,” she snapped, suddenly irritable. “The resort should pay for this. There is no excuse for such poor service.”
Ellie winced, feeling lower than dirt, lower than earthworms in the dirt. Her peripheral vision turned fuzzy and dark. Omar would surely despise her forever.
Giving the other girl an impatient glance, Omar took the towel from her. Then he stood up in the very limited space, faced Ellie, and offered the damp cloth like a gift. “Here. I think I . . .” His voice cracked. “I mean . . . Thank you, Miss Ellie.”
As her hand grasped the towel, he cleared his throat. She looked up, and a long moment passed before he released the towel. She nearly melted into the floor. His eyes! His smile! So gorgeous! No words!
Afterward she couldn’t quite remember how she had excused herself from his presence, but no further clumsiness had occurred, for which she was deeply thankful. Soon the speeches and toasts began, and she eagerly moved to the outskirts of the room with the other servers, relieved to set down that traitorous pitcher. She leaned against the wall between Ben and Kerry Jo, hid her shaking hands behind her back, and replayed the entire scene in her mind. Her face and body burned with conflicting emotions as she tried to process the shock of having her most-embarrassing-moment-ever be followed by events so thrilling that her memories went soft and blurry when she tried to recall them.
