In early years she had wondered if the lack of companionship would affect her sanity. Sacrificing a bit of magic, she had enchanted some of the animals, giving them speech. However, even with human words on their tongues, the animals’ thoughts seldom strayed from finding food or a mate. Finally, she gave up trying. Indeed, she’d stopped worrying about her sanity altogether, for what did it matter?
She entered the large, dark kitchen and stepped surely to the worktable, though the red coals on the hearth provided little light. With gentle care she laid the squirrel down to rest while she stoked the fire and set a pot of water on to boil. Then, by flickering firelight, she prepared the squirrel and gently lowered it into the steaming water.
“There, isn’t that lovely?” She paused, frowned, and then added ingredients to the pot. “Here are some carrots and turnips to keep you company while I check on the princess.”
Princess Arabella’s chamber was in the west tower, on the same side of the castle but down a dark, narrow passage and up a winding, uneven staircase.
Upon reaching the top tower room, she scanned the chamber for any sign of distress or change. Satisfied that all was as it should be, she placed her torch in an iron ring on the wall and said, “Well, Your Highness, and how are you this evening?”
Arabella’s golden curls lay over her shoulders, gleaming in the torchlight, and the pink of her lips and cheeks cast shame on the roses that bloomed among the briars climbing around the chamber walls.
“Such beauty, and none to see it but me.” Lona tsked and shook her head. “But there is dust on your face, and I know you hate that.” She blew along the length of her wand, and a ribbon of wind swirled, fluttering Arabella’s gown and hair as it whirled away the dust and carried it out the small window.
A distant thud sounded from somewhere deep in the castle, startling Lona into stillness. “Someone opened the passage. It must be Lady Rhoswen. Surely it is, for who else knows of it? I must go.”
Lona took the torch and scurried down the tower steps, along the passageway in the outer wall, across the courtyard, and into the great hall built against the craggy cliff that guarded the rear of the castle. Behind the hall was the royal chamber, where a secret passage opened into a tunnel that led to a natural cave overlooking the Sage River. But Lona didn’t make it that far.
Lady Rhoswen walked across the throne room, her face illuminated by a torch in the grasp of a tall, broad man whose face was lost in shadows. Only his ear and a sliver of his face caught the glow of the torch, but Lona knew it was John, Rhoswen’s personal guard.
As Lady Rhoswen drew near, Lona dropped into a curtsy. “My lady. I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”
“No. I did not know that I’d be coming myself. But we must talk. Do you have a fire lit anywhere?”
“Yes, my lady. In the kitchen.”
“Excellent. Take me there. I am chilled from the caves.”
Lady Rhoswen was a petite creature whose delicate air of fragility was deceiving, Lona knew. The woman was made of iron. Still, Lona led the way without hesitation.
Lona glanced around the kitchen as she entered, trying to see it as Lady Rhoswen would, and felt uncomfortable about entertaining such a grand lady there. The wall around the hearth was blackened by soot, bundles of drying herbs dangled from the ceiling beams, and there was nothing but a stool to sit on.
But Lady Rhoswen’s face revealed no disdain as she looked around the room and crossed to the hearth. The gold roses embroidered around the hem of her forest-green riding habit glinted in the firelight, as did the bright red ringlets falling over her shoulder.
“What is this you have simmering?”
“Squirrel soup.”
The lady shuddered. “How can you? I cannot understand why you scavenge for food when you can simply wave your wand and have anything you want to eat.”
“But at what cost? You know that I drain my well of life with each bit of magic I use. It is far more practical to eat real food and spare my magic for important things.”
Lady Rhoswen rolled her eyes. “My dear, you are overly cautious. A pleasant meal would not cost you much.”
“My sisters were less careful with their magic, and they are gone. So much wasted, so much lost.”
“They used their magic to protect the princess,” Lady Rhoswen said, her voice measured but sharp. “Do you consider that a waste?”
Lona refused to let her eyes drop. “No, never that. But that was not all they were asked to do.”
“Without their help, I never could have spared my people from the worst of my father’s ravages upon this kingdom.”
“But at what cost to my people?”
With shaking fingers pressed to her face, Lady Rhoswen turned away. “Stop speaking of what cannot be undone.”
Boots scuffed against the stone floor behind Lona, and she spun around. She had forgotten about the guard.
“Are you well, my lady?” he asked.
Lady Rhoswen turned slowly, visibly struggling to compose herself. “Yes, John. Wait for me in the passage.”
The man hesitated, but bowed and strode from the room.
With weary steps Rhoswen moved to the stool and sank down on it. “I must not tarry. I have come because of my father. He is dead.”
This was astounding news, but Lona was not surprised to see no sorrow on Lady Rhoswen’s face. She had been at war with her father for a century. “How did he die?”
“He had a fitting end for one who poisoned his own brother. His supply of the Elixir of Abeyance ran out, and in desperation he tried to make more.”
“And poisoned himself as a result,” Lona finished for her, nodding.
“The youth it gave was hard for him to relinquish, aside from his ambitions to take the throne. I expected this to happen, now that no one but you was left to provide him with the potion.”
“And I wouldn’t have given it to him.” Lona had despised Rhoswen’s father, Galloran, nearly as much Rhoswen herself did, for what he’d done to Arabella.
The younger son by ten years, Galloran had grown up with no thought of inheriting the throne from his elder brother, Wesley. But when the king and queen remained childless long after Galloran had grown, married, and fathered Rhoswen, he had begun to set his heart on becoming king someday. Then, long after anyone would have believed it possible, the frail and aging queen conceived. Upon the birth of a healthy baby girl, Galloran had conspired against her innocent life.
And thus had begun a tragic chain of events.
“I am grateful that I have always had a potion of your making to take,” Rhoswen said, breaking into Lona’s thoughts. “I would trust no one else’s hand with something so volatile.”
“I have always taken the greatest care with yours,” Lona said somberly. Then her eyes brightened. “But you will no longer need it. With your father gone, you may resume your natural life. You can even bear children if you wish. I am sure you will no longer be barren once the potion is out of your system.”
“I intend to do exactly that, and many other things. I will marry again and forge ties with another kingdom. I will restore our agriculture and trade so that our people may flourish once more.”
“But surely, my lady, that will be work for Arabella to do. You have inherited the regency, but now that your father is gone, we may concentrate on breaking the curse. You should send out a proclamation calling for princes and lords to come. Send away the dragon and move soldiers into the fens to clear out the thieves so the journey is safe.”
Lady Rhoswen’s face had been bright and expressive, but now it smoothed into impassivity. “No. Such effort would be fruitless, and the monarchy must be made secure or the kingdom will erupt into chaos. All these years, I have hoped to see my dear, sweet cousin take her rightful place, but we no longer have the luxury of time. We must face the truth: This curse will never be broken.”
“It’s a spell now, not a curse,” Lona argued, feeling as if the floor were shifting beneath
her feet but not sure why.
“Ah, yes. Well, you did what you could there. Such a shame you were so young and inexperienced. A wiser fairy wouldn’t have placed such an impossible impediment to the spell’s being broken.”
“I didn’t mean to say it,” Lona said, her voice quiet with shame. “I was going to say she would be awakened by another prick with the spindle, but Isemay spoke in my ear and her words came out of my mouth before I could stop them. True love’s kiss. Of all the shatter-brained ideas.”
“Exactly so. Thus I fear there is but one merciful thing to do.”
Lona’s eyes grew round. “Merciful? What do you mean?”
“I mean, my dear fairy, it isn’t kind to let Arabella remain forever in an enchanted sleep. The kingdom cannot bear it either. I have made my decision: If she has not awakened by the waning of the moon, we shall release her from the curse however we must.”
An icy chill ran through Lona’s veins. She knew exactly what Lady Rhoswen proposed; she could see the answer clearly in the lady’s eye. “I won’t let you do it,” she said.
Lady Rhoswen stood and wrapped her cloak around her shoulders. “Truly, I mean it as a kindness. You have served her long and loyally. The best thing you can do for her now is to let her go.”
“I will never give up.”
Gently patting Lona’s red cheek, Lady Rhoswen said, “Of course not. That is why I must do this for her. For you. I have told you now so that you might prepare yourself, and for no other reason. Do not let your heartbreak lead you to any rash actions.”
“I will tell her what you intend to do.”
“I expect you will.” Rhoswen gave her a wry, sad smile. “But consider how unkind it is to cause her worry. Let her rest in peace for the time she has left.”
On those parting words she left, and John’s torch briefly illuminated the stone walls beyond the doorway as he lit the way for her.
Her breast heaving with panic and confusion, Lona raced back to the tower room. Once there, she paced back and forth, assessing Lady Rhoswen’s parting words. Thorns caught at Lona’s ragged dress, and she tore free with a jerk of frustration. Then her gaze fell on Arabella, who lay as still as a statue though flushed with the color of life.
Two tears, one from each eye, slid down Lona’s cheeks. She caught them on the end of her wand and let it absorb the tears. Fairy tears were powerful, and she didn’t want to waste them. She would need all the power she could muster in coming days. She knew this as surely as she knew that she must warn Arabella even though it would alarm her.
Lona sat on the stool beside Arabella’s bed, took one of the girl’s soft hands in her own calloused one, and tugged on a string around her neck, drawing from under her gown a long, pointed spindle—the very spindle that had initiated the enchantment more than a century ago. Lona always carried it on her person; for it was not only the source of doom, it was also the source of the one blessing afforded during long years of isolation.
It was Lona’s key to the dream world.
Holding the smooth wood in her fingers, she wondered again why Lady Rhoswen had never once asked to make use of it. Sighing, she closed her eyes and willed herself to fall asleep. Soon she felt the familiar pulling on her mind and allowed unconsciousness to draw her into its stream.
She emerged from dark mist into Arabella’s chamber again, but now in the dream world instead of the waking one.
“Arabella, you are in great danger,” she said in a rush as soon as she saw the elegant princess standing at her window, which was larger here. Unlike a window in the real world, this one showed a changing landscape, visions of the outside world.
Arabella turned. “What do you mean? In danger from what?”
“From Lady Rhoswen. She means to kill you.” Arabella’s blue eyes reflected confusion and disbelief, so Lona took a breath and tried to speak calmly. “She says she intends it as a kindness, to spare you from this curse. And perhaps it would be mericful, but I could never allow her to kill you.”
With a faraway look in her eye, Arabella asked, “When does she mean to do it?”
“At the waning of the moon.”
“A fortnight then, no more. I wonder if anyone can fall in love so quickly.”
“Not if they aren’t around to do it.” Lona paced and planned. “I shall have to hide you somewhere.”
“Perhaps, but not yet. There is hope.”
“What hope?”
Arabella turned to look out the window again. “Someone is coming.”
Chapter 2
ACROSS THE BORDER BETWEEN Stone Haven and Timber Vale lay a vast, desolate plain. There were no trees, no thriving farms or pasturelands. Edmond and his companion had been traveling across it for three days. They had passed no villages and met no other travelers on the road. On the second day, a patrol of a dozen soldiers had detained them briefly.
Edmond had expected mockery or suspicion from the soldiers upon hearing that he was a prince in search of the sleeping princess. But the battle-hardened men had accepted his words without question and wished them good fortune. As if they actually believed in the legends.
Edmond studied the clods of dirt Martin’s horse left in a trail before him. The soil was soft, dark, and fertile. Rivers and streams crisscrossed the vast flatlands, some flowing down from the mountains of his own country and some fed by the springs and marshes of Timber Vale. It was no wonder his father so desperately wanted control of this land.
King Osden was a hard and calculating man who asked much but gave nothing, even when saying farewell to his own son.
“Edmond, I hold little expectation of seeing you again. No one has yet survived the trials of Briar Fen to reach the sleeping princess, but I am not completely without hope. Remember your training and think of your homeland. If you should succeed and bring back the princess to be your brother’s bride, it would mean the salvation of our kingdom. Go with honor.”
Edmond had expected neither affection nor concern. But surely sending a son to face almost certain death should have awakened some sort of reluctance in a father’s heart, or at the least inspired some ceremony. Instead, the King had seen him alone, and he and Martin had left unheralded. Edmond’s bitterness was complete.
“Martin, I am a fool,” Edmond called.
Reining in his horse, Martin turned his craggy face to look back in surprise. As Edmond drew even with him, Martin inquired, “Would Your Highness wish me to agree with you or disagree?”
The corner of Edmond’s mouth twitched. Martin was the only person who had ever been able to make him laugh. “Agree with me, certainly, for it is the truth. Why else would I ride to almost certain death so that my brother may gain a rich and beautiful bride?”
“No reason I know of, unless it be love of your father and loyalty to the kingdom.”
“Well then, I am proven a fool.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Edmond glanced sideways at Martin. With his high forehead and jutting cheekbones, the man could have been carved from the mountains himself, but he was not a native of Stone Haven. Nearly a decade before, the king had made a bargain with Lord Galloran, regent of Timber Vale. In return for helping him find and capture one of the feared black dragons that sometimes nested in Stone Haven, Lord Galloran had sent King Osden precious timber and one other gift—a soldier of the Royal Guard.
Martin was that soldier.
Stone Haven had its own formidable army of well-trained soldiers, but a man trained in Timber Vales’s fighting methods and familiar with its geography, legends, and people was invaluable to King Osden’s ambition.
One might have thought a man would harbor resentment at being bartered like livestock between two monarchs. Nevertheless, Martin had always treated Edmond with respect and, at King Osden’s orders, had set about training the young prince with stern diligence.
“Now that we are returning to your homeland, where do your loyalties lie?” Edmond asked.
As clouds obscured the sett
ing sun behind them, the sky above them darkened, making Martin’s expression difficult to see. He was silent for so long, Edmond wondered if he would answer. When he did, his words surprised the prince.
“In truth, Your Highness, my first loyalty lies with Princess Arabella and her people. Though I have no liking for Lord Galloran or his bargain with your father, I have always thought my task in training you to be in accord with my duty to the princess. Have no doubt: As long as waking the princess is your goal, I am your man.”
“Then you cannot like my father’s plans. As her bridegroom, my brother will strip her lands of their riches and suck the kingdom dry like a marrow bone—all to fulfill his ambition.”
Martin shook his head. “It is an evil plan, but I have little fear of its being carried through.”
“And why is that?”
“Have I not drummed the legend into your head since you were a boy? You will be able to waken the princess only if you truly love her. Could you hand over the woman of your heart to the devilfish that is your brother?”
“I wouldn’t hand over a dog I liked to that man.”
“There you are. And now we must ride hard before we are overtaken by the storm behind us. There is a keep just ahead.”
Edmond looked back to see that the lazy grey clouds overhead were being chased by angry black clouds that churned in the skies. “How far ahead?” he asked.
“About two miles,” Martin answered, and urged his mount to a gallop.
The horses seemed as anxious as their riders to outrun the storm, but they were still several hundred yards from the keep’s walls when the clouds broke over their heads.
The rain was cold and drenching, penetrating the men’s heavy cloaks. Fierce gusts of wind blew the rain into their faces. Blinded, Edmond trusted his horse to follow Martin’s and hunched his shoulders against the onslaught of the skies. Only when their horses’ hooves clumped onto the heavy wooden drawbridge of the keep did Edmond relax. Never had a sight been more welcome than the torchlight in the stone battlements above.
Five Magic Spindles: A Collection of Sleeping Beauty Stories Page 24
