by Liz Braswell
“Yes, Aunt Maleficent.” The woman’s words had been said as gently as possible, and there had only been the mildest tone of chastisement. Yet the princess was once again filled with shame at her ingratitude, her silly little-girlishness in wishing to see something that would never be again. Things that were long ago destroyed—by her own parents. And their evil wishes.
“Oh, darling, don’t be grumpy,” Maleficent said with a smile. “Enjoy your party, dear! Look how much fun everyone is having, thanks to you!”
The queen indicated the crowd with an elegant and dramatic wave of her fingers. While she was looking away, Aurora quickly used an agile foot to sweep a few of the cards out of sight, under the train of her gown. Only then did she follow her aunt’s example and look around.
Lianna was clapping along on the far side of the room; she never danced. When she saw the princess looking at her, she nodded her head slightly. Aurora turned to follow the direction of her nod and saw, dressed in a worn velvet doublet that was certainly not his own, the stable boy, Cael. He had his head thrown back in laughter at something one of the serving girls said, his thick brown hair tossed behind him like…like…like a mane. But his eyes were directed at Aurora, and he grinned.
She didn’t particularly fancy him, but grinned back anyway. A young man who wanted to dance was a young man who wanted to dance, and in the castle at the end of the world, there weren’t a whole lot to choose from.
On the other hand…there was also Count Brodeur, who never looked away from her eyes when they talked, who flattered her and spoke sweetly. An older and wiser man than a silly stable boy. Someone she could discuss things with.
She picked up her skirts—and, secretly, the cards—and hurried down to join him.
“Your Highness,” the count said, turning and executing a low, sweeping bow the moment he saw her. His blue cape flew out behind him like the tail of a magnificent bird: a peacock or a badger or something similar. His peppered-gray mustache tickled the back of her hand as he kissed it.
“A word, if you would?” she asked, trying not to simper and giggle, though she couldn’t stop the smile forming in the corners of her lips. It was also hard not to look at her hands as they stuffed the cards back into her bag.
“You may have all my words, forever, Your Highness,” he promised, only the twinkle in his eye betraying any admission of hyperbole. “Also, all my dances.”
He put his arms out, and Aurora gracefully scooped up the train of her gown and let him lead her delicately out onto the floor. Their fingertips just touched in this most proper of dances. When she spun, she saw Cael miming an arrow striking his heart and feigning big tears. But he had another drink of cider and didn’t seem overly concerned as he chatted up the maid who had brought it over.
“May I ask you a question, Count Brodeur—discreetly?” she asked, turning so she avoided looking at the stable boy.
“Always, Your Highness,” the count said, his interest definitely piqued. “Intrigue? Schemes? Anything to relieve the boredom around here?”
Aurora chose not to think about the rumors concerning how Brodeur relieved his own boredom. She also chose to ignore Lianna, who was watching them closely with what looked like a frown on her otherwise placid face.
“Nothing, perhaps, so interesting,” she slipped a hand into her pouch and pulled out the feather. “What do you think of this…?”
The count squinted at it, disappointed. “It’s just a feather. So what?”
The princess bit her lip, a little taken aback by his reaction.
“But…it’s not a pigeon feather,” she pointed out. “Or a sparrow’s, or…”
“Is this for a scavenger hunt?” he asked, getting excited again. “Is someone organizing another scavenger hunt?”
Aurora frowned. Scavenger hunt? Were there all sorts of games going on that the royal princess wasn’t invited to?
“No,” she said impatiently. “The minstrel said he got it from the Outside….”
“OUTSIDE?”
The count stopped dancing and grabbed her by the shoulders in an entirely indecent and improper manner.
“Good sir,” Aurora said as politely as she could, looking around nervously.
“When did he go? He’s back in? How did he get out? What did he see?” the count demanded, almost hissing like her aunt.
“I don’t know. He was drunk. He’s always drunk. He may have been lying,” she stammered.
“DID HE REALLY GO OUTSIDE? Is the air out there good and sweet? He survived? You must tell me!” he said, practically shaking her.
“Please—you’re hurting me,” Aurora said, fighting tears. People were watching. Despite the occasional breach of etiquette in the endless confinement of the castle, attacks on the royal princess—in public, no less—just didn’t happen.
Two of Maleficent’s servants were instantly on either side of her, bronze spears held at the ready.
The count paled and immediately let her go.
“My apologies, Your Highness,” he said, making an extremely low bow and touching his heart. “I was…overwhelmed.”
His face was red and his eyes were darting, unsettled.
Aurora noticed that, despite this, he had carefully phrased his apology such that it could be misinterpreted as to mean he was overwhelmed by her—her beauty.
Everyone was staring.
Including Queen Maleficent, whose yellow eyes watched unblinkingly to see what she would do.
The princess wanted nothing more than to run away. To pick up her skirts and run out of the room, away from the faces—to run to bed and her solitude and her silence.
But she was a royal princess in the Thorn Castle at the end of the world.
And the wrong word from her would send this stupid man to his death.
She drew up her shoulders, trying to channel her aunt.
“There is no trouble here,” she said, voice quavering. “As the count said, he was merely overwrought. You may return to your posts.”
The creatures slumped but obeyed, looking disappointed they didn’t get to rough someone up. The crowd turned away—also disappointed that the excitement was over.
The count gave a subdued, if sullen, bow. She hurried away from him, anywhere—toward Mistress Laura, who was sporting an extremely bright orange dress instead of the aquamarine she was supposed to.
And Aurora kept the feather and the minstrel’s secret to herself from then on, as safely locked in her heart as they all were in the castle.
A MONTH PASSED.
Soon it was time for another ball.
This time the theme was “Gold.”
People assumed it was the bright metal kind, in coins and necklaces. But that wasn’t the sort of gold Aurora was imagining.
She was imagining the sun.
She tried not to think about it. She tried not to wish for it. She tried to be like Lianna—thankful and grateful just for being and there being a sun somewhere up in the sky at all. She spent a lot of time lying down these days, trying very hard to be grateful—when she wasn’t just staring into space. Trying not to feel restless and caged. Once in a while, the sun would push one ray through the protective vines on her bedroom window and its thick, heavy light would make its way to her bed. She would lie in its warmth for hours, like a cat in front of the fire, wishing it would cover her entire body.
Sometimes she would spend a whole afternoon watching little motes of dust doing their slow dances in the golden light like lazy, otherworldly fairies. Sometimes it seemed that if she just concentrated hard enough, she could make them dance the way she wanted them to. They performed whole ballets and routines just for her, each one unique, each little dancer jagged and golden. Sometimes she drifted off during the performances, which might have been rude but was also unavoidable.
Sometimes she would waste the hours observing a single spot of sunlight slowly moving across the room and up the wall before disappearing
She slept a lot.
L
ady Astrid, a second cousin from somewhere on her father’s side, was one of the few nobles who noticed her complete dropping out of even the tiny and desperate life those in the castle led.
The short, plump woman showed up at her door in the middle of one of the many endless afternoons with a needle and a frame and a look of steely determination.
“Your Royal Highness, I think maybe some useful work would help you cheer up and pass the time constructively.”
“Mmmfh mmmng mmmmbr,” Aurora said into her pillow. She didn’t have to get up for a lady.
“I beg your pardon, Your Highness?”
“Thank you, but not today, Lady Astrid. I’m not feeling up to it.”
“Your Highness,” Astrid said through clenched teeth. “I do believe this is for your own good. Prithee get up off that bed and start acting like a princess and not a lazy, spoiled brat.”
Aurora sat up at that, shocked.
“If the queen’s servants heard you speaking to me that way, they would throw you into the dungeon.”
“Fat lot of difference that would make around here,” the older lady said pleasantly. “And there aren’t any around. Thank heaven for small miracles. Now, are you coming? There’s no seat in here comfortable enough for my robust, aging backside.”
And Aurora, whose basic mode of being was to not do anything—or to do whatever she was told for want of any good reason to do otherwise, followed Lady Astrid meekly to the closest study.
It was a slightly more interesting way to spend time than staring into space—despite the little pricks of blood on the cloth, the countless times she had to squint and rethread the needle, and the general mess she made of the piece. Fortunately it was just a sampler, nothing fancy.
Eventually, she got into a groove and made little rows of knots that weren’t too terrible.
“You do this every day?” Aurora asked, frowning at where the needle was stuck on the backside of her cloth.
“Every afternoon,” Lady Astrid said briskly. She sat in a larger, more comfortable chair, closer to the fire. Her brows furrowed as she did a tricky bit, beautiful arched brows above her plump and sagging face. “After lunch, before the nones—my midafternoon prayers.”
“You have a schedule?”
“Of course. You have to keep a mind and body busy. Idle hands are the devil’s playthings. Rise, dress, stretch, matins, breakfast, a brisk walk around the castle for digestion, lauds, midmorning snack if it’s available, a visit with some of the older residents—or laundry inspection, mending, et cetera—terces, perhaps a little liturgical discussion with Lady Carlisle or the Marquis Belloq, lunch, say a quick prayer for those precious souls we have lost since our confinement here, review of the stores or, alternately, review of the servants, a tour of the lamentable remaining greenery in the courtyard, see if there’s anything for arranging or decorating…”
“Goodness,” the princess said. “You have every minute of the day planned.”
“I would go mad if I didn’t,” the lady said, half under her breath. “And more people would do better if they did,” she added pointedly.
The princess paused in her work and bit her lip, regarding the funny little woman. Some of the nobles—like Brodeur—had fallen into strange excesses during the confinement—which everyone tried to keep Aurora from hearing about. Here was a plain Jane sensible old lady who, despite being a little boring and plenty judgmental, had adapted to life in the Thorn Castle as best she could and made herself useful wherever she could. Levelheaded.
Aurora fingered the little pouch on her chatelaine. She had decided not to tell anyone about the feather since the incident with Brodeur. But this prudent—and low-profile—woman didn’t seem like the type of person who would make a fuss. Like Brodeur.
After a moment, she came to a decision and pulled out the feather.
“What…Lady Astrid…what do you think of this?”
And for once, the lady looked astonished.
Her face softened when she saw it, crumpling into something like wonder.
“It looks…fresh,” she said softly. “Not years and years old. And it’s too…imperfect to be magic. It looks like it’s from Outs—”
She started to reach out her hand for it and then curled up her fingers at the last moment.
“Where did you get it?”
“I’m not sure I can say,” Aurora admitted, thinking about Brodeur’s reaction. “Do you know what kind of feather it is? What bird it’s from?”
“Do I seem like some sort of expert on animals—on birds and other winged things?” Astrid asked sharply, regaining her composure. “Since it…cannot be…from the Outside…I’m going to assume it’s from a pigeon or one of those other flying rats that haunt the bailey.”
She went back to her work.
Aurora looked at the feather glumly.
“I wouldn’t talk to anyone else…inside the castle about the feather, Your Highness,” the lady added quietly after a moment. “If you ask me, people are a little tense and stir-crazy…and the walls have ears. Your—blessèd—aunt has saved us all, but she gets very touchy about anything having to do with the Outside. For good reason, I suppose. I’ll keep your secret….There are others who wouldn’t.”
The princess nodded—again, glumly. She wished she had spoken to Astrid before the last ball. Was Count Brodeur already telling everyone her secret? Or worse, would he tell her aunt? Aurora wouldn’t get in trouble, most likely, but the poor minstrel…Right now he was enduring her wrath for his public drunkenness. How much worse could it be for him if her aunt found out he went Outside?
Aurora put the feather away and went back to sewing.
It was better, she supposed, than doing nothing at all.
The days leading up to the ball were particularly grim.
Though sometimes days were hard to count, with little sun and no moon and clocks that didn’t keep hours in any way that made sense.
But even with the world changed, seasons run amok, the moon gone, and the protective vines keeping the castle dwellers safe from the unnatural world that raged Outside…there were still some markers of the course of time.
At the beginning of each year of their confinement, for instance, a strange bell would toll across the land. Once or twice a day for several days it would strike, its reverberations lasting for hours at a time, gradually increasing and echoing in the corridors until everyone was fairly shaken and crazed. Everyone from the lowest peasant to Aurora herself stuffed their ears with wool and cowered under their pillows trying to escape the sound. Even Maleficent seemed to be gritting her teeth and on edge.
The passing of weeks could be observed by keeping careful track—or observing how the queen herself waxed and waned. By the end of each ball she was healthy, energetic, and her magic was at its most powerful: for many days after, meals were interesting and fantastic, new diversions were summoned, clothing was refreshed, and the stores all restocked. Everyone rejoiced, and life in the Thorn Castle was bearable for a time.
But…after a while…the queen began looking more tired, with deeper shadows under her eyes and a languor that surpassed her usual show of ennui in the days furthest from a feast.
Meals were still served, but the food was gray and bland and hard to remember. The fires and candles and lanterns, all burning with magical fuel, dimmed. People clustered closer to them and went to bed earlier, terrified of the thought they might go out entirely. Between the constant grayness of the keep and the strangely forgettable meals, time lost all meaning entirely, and people began to lose any remaining hope they had.
They flitted through the halls like ghosts, silent and gloomy.
Often this was when they finally noticed that someone had disappeared from their dwindling ranks, and found the body of someone who just couldn’t take it anymore.
At these times, when morale in the castle was at its lowest, when even the peasants seemed to give up on their little gardens and things grew dusty for lack of the servants’ ca
re and no one reprimanded them—no one had the energy—at these times, Maleficent would ask Aurora to sing.
For everyone.
All would gather in the great hall: nobility and royalty in front, of course, on chairs and cushions arranged for them. Behind them were lesser nobility and the remaining artisans, merchants, and freemen, on stools and rugs. Then the villeins and peasants and servants, wherever they could fit themselves. They all forgot their hunger, their confinement, their growing insanity the moment her voice rang out its very first note.
The princess sang for hours, for everyone—at a time when she least wanted to see anyone, much less sing.
“I can’t do it this time, Lianna.”
Aurora sat, slumped, on her pink-cushioned chair, her hair around her in very slight tangles—which was as messy as her handmaiden ever let it get.
Lianna regarded her princess with impassive eyes. She was the only one who seemed unaffected by these doldrums and had little patience for those who were.
“You must,” she said simply. “It is a much-needed, pleasant distraction for the people.”
“Distraction?” Aurora asked, momentarily roused by the odd word choice.
Lianna shrugged impatiently. She picked up her brush and began brushing. “From their depression or sadness or whatever. Whatever it is that has you people so low. And besides being just a nice thing to do, your queen asked you. You should obey—happily.”
“I know,” the princess sighed, slumping again. “I just…hate it. I hate standing in front of everyone…singing….Singing is just something I do. For me. I feel like I’m on display up there.”
“You are on display,” Lianna said with her usual bluntness. “You are their beautiful princess. A shining beacon of hope. You were given beauty and song and a royal title and…absolutely gorgeous hair. Being on display is one of your duties. And speaking of hair…”
