“And so you see,” Guardian Alicia finished grandly as the elf king’s court listened with rapt attention, “Franz Happernickle proved himself a True Hero at the last and awakened Princess Maralyn from her sleep.”
King Pintamore glanced around, his gaze at last resting on Franz standing there between donkey and bull. “Is this true?” he asked, his noble voice full of the music of ancient stars . . . and utterly intimidating. “Did you rescue my daughter?”
“I . . . I kissed her awake, yes,” Franz replied, bowing awkwardly and blushing more brilliantly than ever. “But I couldn’t have done it without the help of my friends. They’re True Heroes too, you see. Crete, Eidor . . . and Paisley.”
He frowned, his gaze darting about the crowd. He saw the raven-haired and golden-haired heroes bound and held by two tall elf lords. He saw Lady Mara kneeling before her brother, grinning her ugly grin. But . . . “Where is Paisley?” Franz asked.
“GRAAAAAAUP!”
Something wriggled in the depths of Lady Mara’s pocket. Then out popped the sad face of an enormous toad.
“Oh, you hideous thing!” Princess Maralyn shrieked.
But to everyone’s utmost surprise, she followed up this shriek by striding over to her aunt and plucking the toad right out of the pocket. Then she held it up for everyone to see, its back legs kicking out straight behind, its buggy eyes blinking. How much more revolting that warty body looked in the delicate white hands of the fairest maiden in all the land!
“Really, I don’t think you could be any uglier!” the princess declared, then deliberately planted an enormous kiss on those toady lips.
The toad’s eyes bulged. Its legs kicked rapidly.
Then, with a little pop! it vanished in a puff of smoke. The smoke churned then cleared . . . and standing there hand-in-hand with the princess was Paisley. Though he was hardly any better looking than the toad.
Lady Mara laughed. The laugh began in her gut, rumbled up through her throat, and poured out from her thin, snarling lips like an overflow of venom. “Now, Paisley!” she cried in the creaking voice of a crone. “Now let your pretty lady see your true face, unhidden by my beauty spells! Now see how fast your friendship really is! Ah hahahaha!” She shook her head wildly, her eyes rolling with wickedness. “You should never have betrayed me!”
Paisley ducked his head, looking as though he wanted to melt into the courtyard paving stones. But before he could even cast about for a place to run and hide, Princess Maralyn’s hand cracked across his face. Franz winced, knowing how much power the dainty princess could put into a slap.
“That,” said Maralyn, “is for being unpardonably rude.”
Paisley blinked at her in shock. She made a face and tweaked his nose. “Don’t you even remember what you said?”
“I . . . I . . .” Paisley hung his head. “I should never have laughed at you for coloring your hair.”
“You’re absolutely right!” Maralyn replied with a haughty toss of those brilliant blue locks. “Honestly, you’re as old fashioned as my father! Laughing at a girl like that. Is it any wonder I told you I’d never see you again?”
“I’m so sorry, Maralyn,” Paisley said, his eyes full of remorse and longing. “I never should have laughed. I should have . . . I should have . . .”
“Yes?”
“I should have told you what I truly think . . . that you are the most beautiful woman in the whole wide world!”
Maralyn narrowed her eyes. “And my hair?”
“Is the most beautiful hair in all of existence!”
The princess smiled. And if her face had been beautiful before in its frowns, it became unbearably brilliant with that one smile. Right there in front of everyone, she caught the ugly Swamp Elf by his enormous ears and kissed him full on the mouth with just as little care as she’d kissed the toad.
Paisley looked as if he might faint.
When the princess pulled back, she spoke lightly, “You’re forgiven. Come meet my father.”
Franz exchanged glances with the donkey and the bull. A tiny part of him felt insulted. Kissing Paisley didn’t seem to bother the princess one jot, while kissing him had given her the shudders! Oh, well. So being a True Hero didn’t always mean getting much appreciation.
King Pintamore received his daughter’s sweetheart with some reserved coolness but expressed gratitude nonetheless for the brave part Paisley had played in rescuing the princess. Then he turned and addressed himself once more to Franz. “And are these all of the heroes?” he asked.
“All but one,” Franz replied. “There was also . . . Roselee. We couldn’t have done what we did without her. She traveled the whole world over to find all of us and risked herself again and again to help us.”
The donkey brayed and the bull lowed in agreement, nodding their heavy heads. The Slavering Swamp Beast, sitting on Franz’s foot (which by now stood in a pool of slaver), wagged its curly tail and yipped.
King Pintamore looked thoughtful. “Where is this Roselee?” he asked.
The crowd of beautiful elves murmured. Even Lady Mara and the two handsome henchmen looked around, searching the various corners of the courtyard. Franz felt his heart sink again. Was she gone forever, swallowed by the evil enchantress?
Then a little figure clad in a somewhat threadbare dress appeared in the doorway of the asylum. She looked out at the assembly, gulped, and lowered her gaze. When she managed to look up again, she met Franz’s wondering eyes . . . and smiled.
He knew her at once. She might not be green anymore, or even remotely ghoulish. But she was definitely Roselee!
“Ah!” said Guardian Alicia, moving lightly across the stones to take the girl by the hand and lead her forward to meet the king. “Here she is. Your Majesty, meet Roselee, a human housemaid we employed to help with the menial chores while my sisters and I focused our attentions on watching your daughter.”
Franz remembered then with a jolt—remembered a passage in Paisley’s book he had read and entirely overlooked! “The princess was lonely in her solitary life, hidden away at Briardale. With only her three fairies—disguised as her aunties—and a housemaid for company . . .”
The housemaid! Poor Roselee, just a little housemaid, summoned to do the monumental task the fairies had intended for the king himself! And yet she’d done it, laboring over five hundred years.
If ever there was a True Hero in this world . . . Franz shook his head in disbelief and amazement.
Guardian Alicia explained quickly about summoning a ghost to help them when the three fairies found themselves trapped in the tower. She explained how Roselee had gone hunting for heroes. “It wasn’t her fault the first several didn’t succeed. As a human, it was only natural she’d try human heroes first, little realizing how susceptible they are to greed and ambition.” She cast a withering glare at the two handsome henchmen with these words.
“But in the end,” said King Pintamore after listening to all, “it was a human who rescued our princess.”
“A true-hearted human,” Roselee piped up bravely, offering a little bobbing curtsy as she did so. She looked around and grinned at Franz again. “The truest-hearted I ever saw.”
Franz felt his heart swelling at her words. He thought he might burst with joy and pride!
Embarrassed, he looked down at his feet and met the gaze of the Slavering Swamp Beast, which wriggled and rolled onto its back, kicking stubby feet in the air. Why, Franz realized, even Slavering Swamp Beasts no longer held any fear for him! Roselee had named him a True Hero, and a True Hero he was . . . thanks to her.
He knelt and rubbed the Swamp Beast’s belly, too delighted in that moment even to speak.
Epilogue
FRANZ SAT ON THE front steps of the castle he had once thought would be his doom. Now, waiting in the early morning light for the carriage that would carry him home, he was surprised to realize how reluctant he was to leave Briardale behind. His experiences there had been weird, otherworldly, even harrowing . . . but
they were experiences he would never forget!
After Pintamore magically changed Crete and Eidor back into their appropriate shapes and banished Mara and her henchmen to the same dungeon cell she’d used to imprison the heroes, the king of the elves had set to the real work—restoring the broken minds of all the lunatics Mara had gathered into Briardale’s halls. This had taken such a long time that the three fairies eventually shooed Franz, Roselee, Crete, and Eidor away to catch a few hours of sleep. After all, they’d had a full night of heroics and were properly worn out!
That evening, the princess’s birthday feast was held in the courtyard of Briardale under myriad brilliant lanterns. The True Heroes had been invited to attend, naturally. In the middle of the feast, Maralyn had announced her betrothal to Paisley the Swamp Elf, much to the scandalized delight of all those present . . . and the stern interest of her father, who told the young couple that they would discuss the matter later. Franz rather thought from the look in Maralyn’s eye that she would have her own way in the end. He was glad for Paisley, who was so happy that his ugly face became almost handsome.
Following Maralyn’s announcement, Pintamore summoned the True Heroes to him one by one . . . starting with Roselee.
“You, Roselee the Housemaid,” he declared in a solemn voice before all the court, “shall henceforth be known as Lady Roselee the Valiant, Heroine of the Elves.”
Roselee blushed and smiled shyly as a great cheer went up for her among the gathering. King Pintamore placed a jeweled collar around her neck then bade her resume her seat. She almost fell into her chair next to Franz, whispering to him, “Batwings and buzzards! I never expected that!”
Crete and Eidor were summoned next. They both looked bold and properly heroic (now that they were restored to their proper shapes) as they bowed to the king and accepted jeweled collars of their own. Then Pintamore asked them what wish he might grant them in gratitude for their services.
“Well,” said Crete, fingering the pin on his vest, “ever since I left home, I haven’t been able to shrink quite small enough to return. It’s the curse of leaving Homunculi. My king warned me about it. Do you think . . . is there anything you can do?”
Pintamore nodded and touched Crete on the top of his head. A little flash of light, and Crete smiled suddenly, relieved. “That’s fixed it!” he cried. “I can feel it! I’ll be able to return home as soon as I want.”
The king nodded and addressed himself to Eidor. “And you, Son of the King Under the Low Ceiling?”
The dwarf shrugged. “My dad’s going to be furious at me for being away two hundred years without notice. A few extra jewels and some gold would certainly make my homecoming easier!”
Pintamore solemnly declared that jewels and gold would be granted in abundance. Crete and Eidor returned to their places on either side of Franz and Roselee, both delighted with their rewards.
“Next, Franz Happernickle,” King Pintamore said.
Franz, his knees knocking, rose and presented himself to the king. He would never get used to having so many elfin eyes fixed on him at once. He hadn’t even believed elves existed a few days ago!
Pintamore presented Franz with a jeweled collar which would no doubt purchase all of Mr. Teabody’s bank and half of Yoleston besides. Sweat broke out across Franz’s brow at the mere weight of it.
“And what wish might I grant the True Hero of Briardale, Waker of the Sleeping Beauty?” King Pintamore asked.
Franz blushed and looked away, uncertain what to request. His gaze happened to alight upon a sad little shape tethered to a post on the far side of the courtyard, lying with its heavy jowls between its paws and feeling very sorry for itself. When it caught Franz’s eye, it wagged its curly tail faintly.
“I’d . . . I’d really like to keep the Slavering Swamp Beast,” Franz said, shuffling his feet nervously. “If it’s all the same with you.”
King Pintamore looked bemused. “Your wish is granted,” he declared. “Bring the Slavering Swamp Beast to the True Hero of Briardale!”
So the Beast was fetched, yelping delightedly as it was placed in Franz’s arms. It sat on his feet through the rest of the feast, slavering mightily every time Franz or Roselee slipped it a tasty tidbit.
That was all yesterday evening. Now Franz sat on the front steps of Briardale with the Slavering Swamp Beast on its leash beside him. He was to return to Yoleston today. Yoleston, which had branded him a lunatic and sent him off in a straightjacket to meet his fate. To be sure, Yoleston was quite likely to welcome back with open arms a young man as wealthy as Franz now found himself—his pockets bulging with gold and the jeweled collar hidden under his shirt. He should be able to make a place for himself and maybe do some good for other unfortunates who suffered under the cruelty of the likes of Mr. Teabody and the judge.
Still . . . Franz sighed and looked around. He’d hoped his friends would show up to say goodbye. Crete and Eidor, perhaps. Had they already set off for their homelands? And what about . . .
“What about Roselee?” he whispered.
The Slavering Swamp Beast whined and tilted its head at him. Franz rubbed it behind one floppy ear. “It’s all right, boy,” he said. “At least we have each other.”
Hearing a rumble, Franz looked up to see the king’s own carriage roll out into the middle of the courtyard. He would certainly arrive home in Yoleston in style! With another heavy sigh he stood, scooped up the Slavering Swamp Beast under one arm, and cast a last glance about, just in case he should happen to spy a friendly face. Then, knowing he couldn’t put it off any longer, he walked over to the carriage, opened the door, and—
“You get to sit next to Crete,” said a cranky voice. “He gets carriage-sick.”
Franz blinked into the bearded face of a dwarf and the grinning face of a homunculus. “Eidor! Crete! What are you doing here?”
“We’re escorting you home,” said Crete, reaching out a hand to help Franz climb aboard. “We discussed it and decided that, as True Heroes, we can’t let you go by yourself to face those idiots who condemned you to an asylum. No, we’ll make sure you’re properly established before we go. You, and Roselee too, of course.”
“Roselee?” Franz took his seat beside Crete, settling the Slavering Swamp Beast in his lap. His vision adjusted to the dimness inside the carriage and he saw . . .
“Isn’t this exciting?”
He saw a bright-faced young lady wearing a neat frock with white cuffs and collar, her hair done up in two braids atop her head. She may not be green or glowing, but she was utterly and completely Roselee.
“You’re coming to Yoleston too?” Franz gasped even as the coachman shut the door and the coach rattled into motion. “I thought you’d been named Lady Heroine of the Elves. Don’t you want to live at King Pintamore’s court?”
Roselee laughed and shook her head. “I’m human! I don’t want to spend my whole life among shiny, solemn elves. Besides, I’ve been a ghost for five hundred years—a lot has happened in the human world during that time. Electric lights! Indoor plumbing! There’s so much I want to see and experience.”
So saying, she reached out and grabbed Franz’s hand, giving it a squeeze. He realized that it was the first time she had actually touched him since getting her body back.
Eidor snorted and crossed his arms. “Stop grinning at each other, you two saps! Can’t bear sentimental tosh, certainly not for the whole ride into town.”
But Franz couldn’t stop smiling. Whatever life in Yoleston held for him in the future, he knew somehow that it was going to be much more . . . interesting than it had ever been before. Meeting Roselee’s cheery gaze across that little distance, he suspected there would be many more grins in his future.
GRACE MULLINS, who lives in North Carolina, has loved fiction since she was very young. When she’s not hiding away in her room and writing stories, she reads/blogs fiction, devours sweets, daydreams of traveling the world . . . and teaches a K-3 class that can be as challenging as anyth
ing to be found in adventure fantasy. One of Grace’s dreams has been to be published, and she thanks God for giving her the desire of her heart.
To learn more about Grace and her work, visit:
www.itssimplygrace.blogspot.com
To Caroline, Holly, Isaac, and Heidi—my own little magic makers.
Chapter 1
BRIAR FEN CASTLE LAY shrouded in thorns and silence. Lona didn’t know which was worse, though both were her own doing. The thorns grew in a dense tangle around the castle grounds, creeping over battlements and towers, and squeezing through cracks in the crumbling walls. Over a hundred years ago, Lona had enchanted them and trained their spreading arms into a living fortress to keep people away, but now they encroached where they weren’t invited.
They snagged her cloak as she walked past them in the courtyard. “Cheeky thorns,” Lona muttered. She tapped them with her wand and they quivered and fell away. “If I weren’t vigilant, they would swallow us whole.” Then realizing that she was talking to the length of red fur in her hand, a squirrel she’d caught in a snare, she laughed. “Not that you care. You’re dead. And on your way to my soup pot.”
Lona proceeded through the crumbling ruin, remembering its glory days. It had never been as magnificent as White Thorn Castle, Timber Vale’s royal seat, but it had been grand. Now it held only rotting tapestries, tarnished suits of armor, and rooms long ago abandoned to dust and spiders.
Birds and small animals that took shelter in the ruins flew and scampered about as her presence disturbed them. She huffed at their distrust, forgetting that she dangled one of their fellows in her hand.
Five Magic Spindles: A Collection of Sleeping Beauty Stories Page 23
