Edmund looked so bewildered I almost laughed.
“Is this true?” the queen asked, with a sidelong glance after her husband. We could still hear him humming like he’d won the lottery. Edmund and I shared a long look before turning to her and nodding.
“Well, that certainly simplifies things,” she said. “We’ll keep our crowns, and you’ll become our very first Princess de Cuisine.”
“What about William? He still expects to share Kingship with us,” said Edmund.
“We’ll handle oversight of the seas, since your father can’t seem to stand dry land anymore. William can work out the rest with Briar Rose’s parents. It doesn’t appear Henry will be ripe for kingship any time soon.”
“So you don’t mind if I cook?” I ask
“Not at all, my dear. It’s about time we shake things up around here.” She paused, lowering her voice. “Can you teach me how to make baked Alaska? He thinks I can’t even make toast. Baked Alaska would really shut him up.”
I promised her the recipe, and we both kissed her on the cheek. Then Edmund’s mother, adjusting her crown, floated down from her throne and out of the brilliant white room.
This is what I was afraid of the whole time? It seems almost impossible. I told Edmund he had failed to deliver the parents he’d advertised. He claims they must have given up on parenting the day he got married. Lucky us.
Love,
CeCi
Princess Briar R. Rose
Somnolent Tower Castle
South Road, Grimmland
Dear Zell,
I suspect if I’d invited CeCi and Bianca to visit Malice with me, their reactions would have been similar to yours. Besides, were I in their shoes, I would stay as far away from Fairy Godmothers as possible for a time. Though in truth, Solace wasn’t nearly as angry as I thought she’d be.
As for me, I left for Malice’s sea cave the afternoon of that awful brunch so that I could arrive the following morning. I traveled light, asking the Huntsman Bianca pardoned to act as my escort.
I was exceedingly amused to find Malice’s damp, black lair unguarded, or perhaps protected through invisible means. I couldn’t tell if she was surprised to see me, but she certainly wasn’t prepared for such early company. She must have been breakfasting, for she was wearing only a light robe. I crossed the room to sit down at her table.
“And to what do I owe this . . . this visit?” she asked. Her mottled, scaly fingers tightened around a mug of what appeared to be a thick tea. “You’ve caught me quite unaware, Briar Rose. I haven’t even had time to dress.”
I suppose some amount of fear would have been natural, seeing the fish-headed woman for the first time since my childhood, but my rage toward Maro was so fierce that all trepidation had been displaced. “Malice.” I nodded. “I need your help.”
She folded her napkin in her lap. I watched her rainbow-colored throat gills opening and closing. “Your parents, your friends, they are not aware that you are here?”
“I’m not in danger, am I?”
“Quite to the contrary. Had anyone else tried to get through my door, they would have been assaulted by charms of all kinds. But there are those who I feel are owed remittance, such as yourself, and may enter unmolested.” She flicked her wrist. “It’s a small cosmic bargain.”
“I’m not here to strike back at you, Malice. I do need your help.”
“It’s been some time since anyone in your circles has needed my help.”
“This is beyond Figgy and Solace.”
“Don’t be fooled, Briar Rose. Very little is beyond my sisters within white or black magic. If we’re being honest, I am indeed more amenable to the greyer side of things.”
“Is that why you did what you did to me? Was I a grey side of things?”
“No. Not in the slightest. I was a young sorceress who had trouble being accepted into an established circle. You were, as they say, collateral damage in my rise to power. The threat I made when you were a child turned out to be the first step in a cascade of terrible choices that could not be stilled. I was what I was, and my sisters were what they were. No more, no less.”
“Well, that sounds . . . convenient.” I traced the grain of the wooden table with my fingers.
“I was trying to find a way to remedy things when Fred stole your Pages from Figgy. And in just a few short moments, my threat became the least of anyone’s worries. Even if I had wanted to craft time, as Solace does, or channel the Fates, like Figueroa, one act of darkness begets another. And so it was for you and me. Solace slowed time to minimize the damage of the storm—a small piece of the same magic she used during your recent portal debacle. And while she did that, I gave you and your palace a sleeping potion. Either way, I am still your transgressor.”
I had never thought of things that way before. It seemed unfathomable that the Fairy Godmothers once felt as backed into their corners as we have all of our lives.
She continued. “It is a pity we’ve not had this conversation sooner. I can see in your eyes that you are about to make a similar decision, and I am, regrettably, in no position to refuse you.”
My words came out braver than I suddenly felt. “You have no right to judge me.”
Malice lowered her head, and the fins on her forearms twitched. “I am the Fairy Godmother of Sorrow, and I will grant whatever you wish. Tell me what it is.”
“I need the same sleeping potion you gave me on my sixteenth birthday.”
“For whom?”
“For one who desires intrigue.”
“Has she wronged you so deeply?”
I picked my head up and looked fully into Malice’s wizened face. “She’s taken my life away.”
“Are you quite sure?”
“As sure as the first time my life was taken from me,” I said. She closed her eyes as if my words had weight. “I am sure this time, as well.”
“Why not kill her outright, then?”
“Because I want her to wake up and feel loss. I want her to yearn for a life and a love she can no longer have.”
“That is a heavy burden, Briar Rose. One that you might not even wish on your worst enemy.”
“I have borne that same burden of sleep. It is certainly survivable. Maro Green is my worst enemy. She keeps saying how fascinating my life sounds. She can have it.”
“There’s a chance you’d be killing her, regardless.” Malice slid her golden chair back from the table and rose. “If the length of Human imagination is shorter than one hundred years—”
“You all keep saying that. I’ve been Outside. You fairies should try it. It would certainly change your perspective.”
Malice glided smoothly to my side, holding a glowing green vial. I reached for it, and she placed her hand on mine. “For what it is worth, Briar Rose, I am sorry. I am sorry for both of us.”
“Well,” I said. I looked at my hands, at the table’s centerpiece strewn with simple fruits.
“You can return this to me at any time and I shall destroy it.”
“I’m quite sure I won’t be doing that.”
As I headed toward the door, Malice gave me one final warning: “Briar Rose, it is possible that you’ll incur more victims than you’ve planned.”
I suppose she means I’ll be punishing Henry, as well. Which is sort of the whole idea. What a sad and strange sorceress Malice is, presiding over all that grey area. There sure seems to be a lot of it in this life.
I appreciate her excess caution, as rich as I find it, but my mind is made up.
Rory
Important Fucking Correspondence from Snow B. White
Onyx Manor
West Road, Grimmland
Z,
The morning of the wedding is a blur. CeCi and Rory pull on their admittedly gorgeous lilac dresses and fuss with my hair and makeup. I cat
ch CeCi pouting, and Rory still isn’t saying much to either of us.
“I thought all your problems were over, CeCi. What’s the matter now?” I ask.
“Well, how am I supposed to feel, Bianca? There’s kind of a lot going on.”
“For example?”
“Fine, Bridezilla, I don’t want to say good-bye to you. Happy?”
“Oh, CeCi. Let’s worry about later later. I won’t be leaving until the portal is fixed, anyway.”
“Maybe we should leave it broken,” she sniffs.
“That’s a stupid thing to say. Have you been drinking tea with Figgy or something?”
“I’m going to miss you. Is that so wrong?” I roll my eyes at her, but she still isn’t finished. “Everyone leaves,” she says. I fight the urge to slap her again.
Rory gives CeCi a wounded look. She’s been so quiet lately, it’s refreshing to see her react to something—anything. “Not everyone leaves, Cecilia.”
CeCi blinks at her. “Oh, Rory. You know that’s not what I meant.”
I interrupt. “This is my wedding day. For crying out loud, CeCi, it’s not fucking always about you.” I’m not being terribly fair. All three of us have been inexcusably self-absorbed lately.
CeCi wraps her arms around herself as if she’s been hit in the stomach by a flying carpet. She drops down on the chaise, a puddle of lavender. “Why does everyone keep saying that? Am I really that selfish?”
“Right this second, you are. What are you doing? Get up.” I should apologize, but I can’t for some reason. “You can’t quit in the middle of bridal cosmetology. Wedding bells. ‘Get me to the church on time.’ Vamoose. Chop-chop.”
Rory shakes her head at CeCi and assumes the task of adjusting of my headpiece—an infernal creation that seems to need a magical sort of glue to adhere to my head. I try to stay still as I pour champagne for each of us, but I’m likely making Rory’s job even more difficult.
“Let’s celebrate today, ladies. Okay? Let’s be together right now, just us, and, for once, not worry about tomorrow.” They lift their glasses and we toast to conquering my monster veil. “To the first day of the rest of our lives.”
Out in the hall, guests finish their chicken or trout or lamb and polish off their luncheon wine. (Can you believe Humans don’t feed their guests until after the ceremony? Cruel and unusual.) I step out into the hallway to signal the cellist to start warming up. DJ is heading down the hall with a martini in his hand and gives me the thumbs up.
“Just a few more minutes,” I tell him. I’m glad he agreed to walk me down the aisle. For my something borrowed, he lends me his favorite CD, Best Ibiza Anthems . . . Ever. Yes, it’s funny. Particularly because the only place in Grimmland with a CD player is the Swinging Vine.
“Oooh, look, a shiny Frisbee!” I say.
He wags a finger at me. “Don’t you dare, sister.”
“Where the hell is Ibiza?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Someplace where they dance a whole lot.” He spins three times and lands with jazz hands.
“You have to tell me so that I never accidentally end up there.”
He grins and puts a hand on my wrist. “There’d better not be any scratches on this when I get it back, either.”
Rory gifts me something blue. It’s a necklace—an improbably blue stone in a silver setting she tells me is from a place called Tiffany & Co. in a city called New York. Patricia helped her get it. I hug her as tight as I can, and she manages to smile at me and nod her approval before starting to cry, first polite tears of joys and then what I can only assume are sobs of a more convoluted set of emotions. I whisper to her that when she’s ready, I need her to put the rings into the pockets of Snoozer’s tuxedo vest.
CeCi gives me something old—though not that old. It’s the clock bracelet from our first trip Outside together, when we went from Solace’s shop. She had Solace deactivate it, and she had it set with a few jewels from each of our jewelry collections. And I’m wearing the beautiful new unicorn-horn earrings you sent. I can imagine you performing the ritual request for a piece of horn, carefully gathering it so the animal wasn’t harmed. I know you’re probably dying not being here. And we miss you just as much.
DJ is knocking. So it’s time I wrap this up. I can’t help but be excited. Here comes the rest of my life.
Love,
B
From the Desk of Cecilia Cinder Charming
Crystal Palace
North Road, Grimmland
Dear Zell,
I wish you could have seen Bianca in her wedding gown. Her polka dots were small and white. You couldn’t even see them until you got close. Even Rory thought her dress was marvelous.
Bianca was radiant, so happy that I hoped for a tiny moment she might have changed her mind about leaving. But when I saw William’s resigned face at the end of the aisle, I knew that he was getting ready to let Bianca go just like we were. It was heartbreaking and endearing all at the same time. Our near miss with the portal only seems to have solidified her decision. I think if it weren’t for the destruction of the Realm, she would have stayed with Rachel until the end of time without a second thought for her old life.
Even though I have been feeling sorry for myself, Bianca’s right: It’s not about me. I’ll only lose Bianca if I allow myself to. Our friendship—just like our friendships with you, Zell—will become different animals than they are now. It’s not the end of anything as long as we treat it like another beginning.
Bianca’s shindig easily doubled the attendance of any of our own weddings. And it was fun. There was dancing and drinking and toasting and nonsense. At some point, we all went out and smoked cigars with the groomsmen. I found myself lost in the breadth of the evening, blissfully ignoring the changes to our lives up ahead. Bianca asked us, and we obliged, forgetting—mostly—just for one night.
The vows were standard and short. Toasts were made afterward when the cake was cut. And while I won’t recite them for you, they were everything you might imagine. Love and possibility and friendship and celebration.
William, Rory, Bianca, and I joined the Council in an adjoining room, where Valborg sat at a long table in a grey shift, drinking wine from a large cup. Bianca had spiked her drink with euphorics. When the old woman stood, a strange smile played across her eyes and lips. She held her arms out.
“Come, my dear,” she said. “Let this mistake be over.” I thought it sort of trivialized the situation, and I looked at Rory, who tacitly confirmed my puzzlement. Bianca didn’t seem to take offense, only embraced her—perhaps they had some sort of understanding. Perhaps there are many things I think I know that I don’t actually know.
The Council asked Bianca to repeat some standard sentencing language and then she stepped back. A small quartet filled the room. The lead Councilor looked at his paperwork askance. “Is this right?”
“Give her the shoes and let her dance,” Bianca said.
The Councilor opened his mouth but then closed it again. It was the smart thing to do. Valborg was already swaying back and forth, even without music, and the attendants had trouble getting her still enough to put on the shoes at all. But by that time, we were moving backward toward the door.
As soon as the Councilor nodded, we made our exit—Rory and I holding Bianca’s hands and William following behind, holding her shoulders. Over the swelling string music, all we heard was laughter, great peals of it, and then it faded as we re-entered the noise of the big reception hall. Bianca stopped and took a deep breath.
“Are you okay?” William asked.
Bianca nodded, though she was fighting back tears, and biting her lip.
“Come now,” Rory said, taking her by the elbow. “You wouldn’t want to ruin that perfect makeup, now would you?”
Edmund was on the other side of the room, scanning the crowd. I raised a hand and waved.
>
Bianca pushed the small of my back. “I’m fine. Go.”
I looked at Rory. “I’ve got this,” she said.
Bianca nodded. “I’m good. I promise. Nothing a little champagne won’t fix. William, would you?”
“I’d like some unicorn cake,” said Rory.
Bianca’s lips split into a wide grin. “Let’s go.” I watched them retreat arm in arm, feeling calmer than I had in a long while.
When I crossed the room, I saw Darling and Sweetie against the wall chatting with the prince with one swan wing. They had some suspect-looking oysters in their palms, and I collected them on my way past. “Don’t eat those, okay? Stick to the crudités.” They nodded and giggled, and the Swan Prince gave me a light nod. I hoped he knew they’d be a handful.
Lucinda had her back to me, busy hissing into Edmund’s ear. His face was all concentrated mock earnestness. “And here’s our girl now!” he said, beaming.
“Ta-da!” I said, pirouetting in my lilac petticoats for good measure.
Lucinda looked at me like Snoozer looks at Rory when he gets caught chewing her slippers. “I tried to tell her. Disgrace over our house.”
Edmund clapped Lucinda on the back. “Nonsense, Lucinda. I couldn’t be prouder.”
“What?” she asked with a cough. Oyster shells clattered on the plate in the hand not clutching her throat. “You know? You’ve known about this, this . . . outrage?”
“She cooked for you, didn’t she?”
“Well, yes, but . . . That’s different. She was a servant.”
“Your servant? I thought you said she was a member of your family.”
“Of course. She was my daughter. Cooking was simply a chore that she managed. A chore no longer befitting of her status. Queens do not . . . cook!”
“Then you’ll be exceedingly relieved to learn I won’t be becoming a queen anytime soon,” I said.
Her eyes widened. She looked like she was about to collapse. “Our fortunes are cast to the streets, then. Just as I’d feared.”
Letters to Zell Page 21
