by Liz Braswell
“That’s when I figured out how weird the situation with those fairies or demons or whatever was. I didn’t even start out caring about my looks in this world—the world of the Thorn Castle—not until I was actively encouraged. The fairies were acting exactly how Li—my handmaiden acted around me. With the dressing up and praising my golden hair. And she wound up being a spy for Maleficent.”
Phillip frowned. “How strange…It seems like twice now in your dream life she has tried to distract you and trap you with dresses and…I don’t know, your beauty and vanity. Which you don’t really have much of. Vanity, I mean. You’re plenty beautiful. But it seems like Maleficent doesn’t have a very large range of scenarios for you. She just goes back to the same old thing.”
“I think she might…underestimate me. I think she has a picture in her head of who I am. Silly pretty princess. I don’t think she actually knows who I am.”
“I hope I do,” Phillip said with a grin, taking her hand and squeezing it.
“Do you?” she asked with a wry smile. “I’m not even sure I know myself.”
The breeze turned, bringing the clear, teasing trill of a fiddle to them along with the smell of smoke and the sound of laughter. There couldn’t have been a more inviting combination of sensations in the world.
“That must be the village up ahead,” Phillip said, pointing.
The two picked up their pace and hurried to the center of the tiny village.
It was really nothing more than a cozy collection of cottages, with thatched roofs and smoke drifting from their stone chimneys. There was no bank or church or any more formal building than a smithy and a storehouse. Aurora Rose realized with a start that it might even have been one of the places her aunts—the fairies—went to get supplies. She was never allowed to go on those trips.
A huge red-and-orange bonfire crackled merrily in the commons. Two fiddlers and a jug player enthusiastically belted out high-spirited music. Children ran around in bare feet, mouths smeared with red and purple from the berries they were gobbling down. Adults clapped and danced. Everyone was dressed—well, if not in their best, then at least in their nicer clothes: big-skirted dresses for twirling, broken straw hats freshened up with ribbon, even the occasional washed face.
Humans weren’t the only ones enjoying the fun, either: dogs and cats chased each other through the crowd. A gray donkey lifted its neck and brayed along with the music. Toddlers worked to keep a small flock of overexcited geese out from underfoot.
A table with a snow-white cloth was laid out with all sorts of pies and tarts along with a pile of bread and pots of dark purple jam. A cauldron of something that smelled like hot wine sat on a smaller fire nearby; a solicitous crone ladled out steaming portions into anyone’s mug.
Aurora Rose’s eyes widened in delight at the scene.
“It’s the Berry Moon festival,” Phillip explained. “If things work the same way here. They’re celebrating the end of summer. I’ll bet that’s hot raspberry mash over there.”
“I know that festival! They have it every year, but my aunts never let me go,” she said wistfully. “Wait—”
Phillip sighed and put his hands out to catch her as she began to sway, hit by another stream of memories.
This time it wasn’t too bad or too long. A series of very similar scenes presented themselves one after another: late summer, and despite their seclusion in the woods, the excitement of the festival reaching even the three aunts and Rose. She begged to go. If the breeze turned right she could smell simmering raspberries on the wind.
“Never, it’s not safe,” said Flora.
“I’m sorry, dear,” said Fauna. “Maybe when you’re older.”
“How fun can it be, anyway?” Merryweather asked. “All those hu—uh, clodhoppers dancing around to those silly songs and eating pies…”
“YOU NEVER LET ME DO ANYTHING!” Rose screamed, stomping out of the house. At age thirteen, fourteen, fifteen…
Aurora Rose came to still upright this time, head pounding but buoyed by one clear thought.
“I get to go this time!” she said, grinning and walking ahead eagerly.
“Rose, it’s not real,” Phillip said, chasing after. “It’s probably another trap. It’s probably danger—”
“Don’t. Even.” She spun around and put her finger to his lips. “It’s my dream, and I’m finally going to enjoy it.”
But if the prince was expecting another trap from Maleficent, his suspicions were immediately allayed by what happened next: the music wound down awkwardly, the dancing stopped, and the crowd turned unfriendly stares on the couple.
The princess put a hand to the back of her head in embarrassment. They did look pretty strange, an armed prince and a ragged princess, covered in blood and dirt.
“Er. Hi,” she said with a timid wave. She tried to remember who she was, and where she was from, and how people usually looked at her when she walked into a room.
At least in the Thorn Castle.
“Excuse us for interrupting.”
“Where’ve ye come from, just at sunset and all?” an old man asked, not bothering to mask the suspicion in his voice.
“Oh, come off it, ye crazy old coot,” swore a woman not dramatically younger than he, rolling her eyes. “That impudent gypsy Ozrey came in just a little before them, and ye didn’t give him the third degree.”
“We know who Ozrey is,” the old man sniffed. “Never seen the likes of these two before.”
There were murmurs and nods of agreement from more than a few villagers.
“We escaped from the enchanted castle,” Aurora Rose explained calmly. “We were prisoners there and managed to escape the evil queen and her servants.”
“We were chased by her demons. All the way here,” Phillip added. “I killed the last one, who did this to me.” He turned and showed the back of his head, torn and bloody.
And at that the crowd began to relax.
“I thought ye looked royal,” a woman said, nodding her head knowingly.
“’Swhy we have the wards,” piped up an ancient lady, who had few teeth and many warts and a long, pointed chin. “Keeps the witch and her hellfire servants out of the town.”
“For which we are indebted to you. Utterly,” Phillip said with a graceful bow.
“Are there lots of other people in there?” another woman asked, looking worried. “Trapped?”
“Yes. We—we plan to get help. To rescue them.”
There was no point in telling the whole story to these dream people who may have been asleep in the real world—or not in the real world at all.
“You’ll need an army,” a middle-aged farmer with a quilted vest said. A long piece of grass stuck out of his mouth.
“Aye. A big army. With siege machines and th’like,” said another thoughtfully.
“You’d better not have your army tromping through my rutabaga patch!” a third farmer cried, pointing down to the ground with his finger like a judge. “I’ll not have your army marching through here and ruining my rutabagas.”
“We’re not—there’s not…All right, we promise,” Phillip said, giving up. “No armies on anyone’s rutabaga patch.”
The farmer settled down, relieved.
“Well, then, come and refresh yourselves, you young heroes!” the crone at the cauldron cackled. “You’re interrupting our party—you may as well join it!”
“We would be delighted,” the princess said with a sigh.
The music started up again. Everyone began to clap, dance, or gossip, not bothering to disguise the curious stares they gave the newcomers. Someone handed them each a heavy-bottomed mug of hot raspberry wine. One sip of the sweet and syrupy drink went immediately to Aurora Rose’s toes. Her foot began to tap to the music. She watched the children form a circle and begin a surprisingly complicated routine.
“Come!” a little girl said, running up to her and grabbing her hand. She looked at the princess with hope and awe; it was unlikely anyone as p
retty or dressed-up as she had been to their village. Ever.
The princess, in turn, looked at Phillip.
“It’s another trap,” he said. “Probably.”
“Doesn’t feel like it,” she said with a grin, and she let herself be dragged away by the little girl.
“Neither did the last two!” Phillip called after her.
The crowd cheered, and the adults joined together to make a larger ring around the children, dancing the opposite direction.
It was the exact opposite of the balls that Maleficent threw: no fancy dresses, no preening, no dissembling, no posing. The children were dancing for the sake of the dance itself. Energy, happiness, and light flew around, and Aurora Rose found herself swept up by it until she was laughing along with the little ones whose hands she held.
Phillip, on the other hand, looked uneasy; he kept smiling and toasting villagers but obviously didn’t like the way that he was now separated from her by the ring of adult dancers.
The music slowed down. The circles paused in their gyres. Phillip moved forward and began to clap, relieved it was all over.
And then the music started up again.
The rings of dancers began their revolutions again.
“Wait now,” Phillip said, to no one in particular.
No one heard, and the fiddlers played on.
Like a coach gradually accelerating on a downhill stretch, their strings plucked and thumped slowly at first…and then began to build speed.
The dancers followed suit, no longer attempting intricate steps but just circling round and round.
“Rose!” Phillip called, but she was swept up in the dance, her hair a golden smear, her smile a flicker that was there and then gone. Soon he could barely see the inner circle at all.
The musicians played faster. Their bows snapped back and forth across their fiddles like they were trying to saw them in half.
The dancers spun in circles so swift they became two blurry bangles of cloth and braids and feet and dust.
The adults put their joined hands together in the air and rushed into the center toward the children and Rose.
Phillip put his hand on his sword.
The music reached a fever pitch, the fiddlers pulling like their fingers would fall off. The notes sounded insane.
Phillip started to step forward…
…and then the music stopped. Just like that.
Everyone on the sides clapped madly. Both rings of dancers swayed, separated, and collapsed, all exhausted. They stumbled back to rest or have a drink.
The fiddlers shook their hands out and started again, a slow folk melody, to give everyone—including themselves—a chance to recover.
Aurora Rose’s cheeks were ruddy and her smile was wild. She laughed when she saw the slow changes on Phillip’s face: suspicion, then confusion, then grudging delight.
“I told you it didn’t feel like a trap!”
“Neither did the last two,” Phillip repeated, rolling his eyes. He started to hand her drink back, but she took both it and his own mug and set them down on a barrel, then grabbed his hand and led him out to the dance floor.
A reel was just beginning; a row of men and a row of women were curtsying and bowing to their partners across the way. The prince and princess tacked themselves onto the ends. If she had any doubts about the son of a king being able to perform a country dance, her fears quickly evaporated. Phillip gave her a not-too-courtly bow and immediately began the correct steps in perfect synchronicity with the boys and men around him.
She picked up her skirts and danced up to him as all the ladies danced up to—but did not touch—their partners. All they could do was look into each other’s eyes, daring the other one to look away. The prince and princess’s faces were less than a blush apart as she switched her feet in a series of tiny moves. She felt the heat from the drink spread back up through her body and flush her lips and cheeks…
…and then she was spinning back into her own line again, dizzy and giddy.
The lines moved, and they switched partners and clapped above their heads. Soon Aurora Rose was face-to-face with a short, bearded woodsman who had a cloth cap and surprisingly graceful feet. He was gentlemanly and had a serious expression, devoted to the dance…but gave her a wink when it was time to move on.
The music broke for a moment when a small child ran straight down the middle, crying and looking for his mother. The princess immediately took him by his little hand and walked him around until they found her. The mother—unconcerned; it was a small village, with no real place to get lost—gave her thanks, but the boy kept staring back at the princess, awed at his royal rescue.
Everyone laughed and the dance restarted, and Aurora Rose was back with Phillip.
When it was time for him to swing her around, he put his full hand on her waist, thumb curving around her back so he had her entirely. She could feel the heat from his palm through the rich cloth and found herself swaying so he was supporting more of her weight than he really needed to. As if she would fall if he let go.
When he put his other hand on her waist to lift her up for the ladies’ jump, he whispered in her ear. She didn’t understand what he said at first, too focused on his lips just touching her ear, his warm breath on her cheek.
“Your dress.”
She looked down when her whirling brain finally translated it.
She no longer wore the meringue-like light blue ridiculous thing. It was instead a strange mix of her outfit when she had lived in the forest and what she had escaped the Thorn Castle in. An old brownish skirt and black corset top—but with a golden shirt that flowed under the corset and over her hips like a tunic. The skirts were all ripped and in tatters.
And her shoes were once again gone.
She shrugged.
“It’s my dream, isn’t it?” she said, whispering in his ear.
Phillip raised an eyebrow, thinking about this.
And then the moment was over and they were returning to their lines.
After that dance ended a circle dance began, which was a little disappointing; she wanted to be close to Phillip again. But a dance was a dance, and she was having fun, so she joined in that one anyway—and the one after that, and the one after that. Phillip bowed out after a couple, his constitution for such diversions not as hearty as hers. He toasted her from the sidelines and was polite but not encouraging to the local girls who flirted madly despite his reticence.
Finally, he was forced to retreat to a quieter area where the horses were tied up and carts and wagons were parked for the evening.
The princess eventually took a break, collapsing next to Phillip on a pile of hay, leaning her hot and exhausted body next to him.
“Rose…” Phillip began.
“I know, I know, we need to go,” she sighed, slugging down the last of his wine.
“Well, I don’t know….” He cast a worried look at the sky. It was now fully dark and the stars were out. The bonfire blazed bright orange and red against the sky, smoke hazing the heavens. “Maybe we should spend the night here. It seems safe. I worry about another direct attack from M—”
He stopped what he was saying when a funny-looking man approached them. He had been hidden inside the prettiest of the covered wagons: peeling paint decorated the sides in a landscape of mountains against a blue sky. Once-brightly-colored pennants still flapped bravely.
The man was certainly not a local; his dress was just a trifle too fine and too untouched by the dirt a farmer or woodsman’s life involved. His face was different, too, with a pointier nose and light blue eyes. He wore a multicolored cap that he touched when he sat down across from them.
“A fine night for a village dance,” said he.
“Aye,” Phillip said. “It is indeed. You don’t seem like you’re from this village, though.”
“You don’t neither,” the man retorted, but toasted with his mug—a slightly dented metal one. “People say you’re from that castle over there. The one
where the witch keeps everyone prisoner.”
“Yes,” the princess said. “We escaped. We’re going to go get help.”
“And where are you from?” Phillip pressed.
“All over, my lad! All over! I’m Ozrey the traveling merchant,” the man said, getting up and giving a little bow. “Peddler of delights and displayer of fantastic finds. People come from all over when they hear I’m in town, to take a gander at my wondrous wares.”
“Really,” Phillip said. He didn’t quite say it in disbelief, but Aurora Rose gave him a small kick anyway.
“Oh, I can see you’re a sophisticated gentleman,” Ozrey said with smile. “You’ve a sword of steel and have probably all sorts of boy toys at home. But I’ve been to the east and beyond, lad. I’ve been to Alexandria and Shanghai and Persia. I’ve traded with those who have been to R’lyeh and Carcosa. Tell me, have you ever seen anything such as this?”
Like a magician, he pulled out of nowhere a delicate wire bird cage, tiny and bell-shaped. But on the golden perch inside wasn’t a real bird at all—it was a metal one, shiny and faceted like a gem. It had bright emeralds for eyes and a beak carved out of onyx.
“Amazing,” Phillip said in wonder, putting his head close for a better look.
“Oh, that’s nothing. Get a listen to this.” Ozrey pressed a stud on the side of the cage and, suddenly, the bird came alive. It cocked its head and flapped its wings. Then it opened its beak and let out a pretty little trill just like a real bird.
“It’s wonderful!” the princess breathed.
“She can sing real songs, too,” Ozrey said with a proud smile. “Not like you and me know, not the songs from around this great country, but songs nonetheless. Quite the companion on the long dusty roads.”
He sighed, setting it down on the hay bale in front of him so the prince and princess could continue to admire it.
“That was from one of my trips long ago, to the east. Don’t do that so much anymore. Mainly I come through these parts a couple times a year on regular rounds. Sell the good folks things they can’t get here. Knives. Pots. The usual housewares. Pretty cloth from the city. And I pick up the things they can’t get in the cities—mushrooms, wild herbs, the usual. Thought I’d stay for the party, but I’ll be on my way tomorrow.”
