“Nonsense,” said Edmund. “Nothing changes at all. My folks keep their crowns. CeCi becomes a chef. You do . . . whatever it is you do.”
“Cooking makes me happy, Lucinda,” I said. “You should try it. Making yourself happy. Maybe you’d be less of a meddling swine.” I heard Darling and Sweetie giggle. But they were too far away to hear me insult their mother. They were merely flirting. My heart swelled for them. “Hear your joyful daughters? You should get to know them. You should get to know me. You should get to know you. We’re free to live our dreams now. Why wouldn’t we?”
“A toast!” Edmund waved a waiter over with a tray of glasses. “To my brilliant wife and her big dream.”
“To dreaming dreams together,” I added. I whispered in Edmund’s ear, “Tonight you are my hero.”
Bianca swirled drunkenly into our circle. “What are we toasting? I toast it! To you! To me! Hooray!” She took Lucinda’s full glass from her and spun away again, like a cottonwood seed in the breeze.
Love,
CeCi
Princess Briar R. Rose
Somnolent Tower Castle
South Road, Grimmland
Dearest Zell,
I missed you the most at the wedding. Everything was as beautiful as you might have expected. Snoozer did an absolutely perfect job as the ring bearer. He didn’t even try to chew Bianca’s shoes. My centerpieces were well received. Many people commented that they’d never seen such unique sculptures before.
The second worst part of the evening was having to be civil to Henry. But most of the time I was with Bianca and CeCi, anyway. I was still having that out-of-body feeling. I watched our friends talking to me, and I watched myself struggling to participate in the conversation. I tried hard to put aside Bianca’s decision to leave the Realm, as she requested, but I suppose I never quite shook it.
I won’t deny I was surprised to see Maro at the reception. She was most definitely not invited, but it isn’t as if decorum stops a woman like her from doing whatever she pleases. I avoided her and it felt good for a while, knowing that I had the perfect revenge, the upper hand, and she would remain completely unaware until it was too late.
Unfortunately, I didn’t manage to avoid her all evening. Accordingly, the worst part of the party occurred when she cornered me near the cake display, mouth full of red velvet and frosting.
“I have nothing to say to you,” I said, trying to fight a wave of people descending on the groom’s cake.
She dabbed the corner of her mouth. “Henry tells me that you’re aware of our situation.”
I stared at her. “Situation? Is that what they’re calling it these days?”
“He tells me that you could make life very difficult for us. That the contract between your family included certain provisos.”
I nodded. My parents had been eager to see Figgy’s new Pages fulfilled, yet they had protected me, too. “Actions have consequences, Maro. Betrayal is an action.”
“He also tells me that his fortunes change when he has an heir.”
“Then it’s a good thing he doesn’t.”
She sidled even closer to me. “Ah, but there’s where you’re wrong.”
I would have moved if I could have. “I’m not sure I follow.”
“Henry has an heir.” She put her hand on her middle and smiled. “It’ll all work out fine. I am your surrogate.”
“You fabricating cow,” I said quietly. But somewhere deep down I knew she wasn’t lying.
Rapunzel, I wanted to kill her. I wanted to grind her into the stones, throw her into the cake, rip her teeth from her skull, slap her into next week. I scanned the room for Henry. He was there, but wasn’t watching us. I wanted to rip his heart out, so that he could feel like I felt. Torn apart and mortified.
But Bianca had seen us. She made a sharp beeline toward us from the champagne table, snapping at guards on the way, her face dark.
I threw the second drink of my life in Maro’s face and began swinging wildly, hoping to connect with any part of her body, but Bianca—so tall in her wedding shoes—hauled me backward, demanding the guards remove Maro and Henry and anyone who’d been talking to them. She was whispering in my ear, telling me to breathe. She said if I didn’t, I’d “give that bitch power” over me. I didn’t have the energy to tell her that Maro did have power over me, no matter how hard I tried to get the upper hand.
It’ll never get better, will it? Oh, Zell, what will I do? I can’t give her the sleeping potion if she’s pregnant. Or can I? The child means nothing to me. What if she’s lying about the child? If I take the risk, what kind of monster do I become? Is that what Malice meant?
Sometimes, when I look around, it becomes completely clear that there’s nothing and no one left for me in this life. How silly I was to have once thought any differently.
Rory
Important Fucking Correspondence from Snow B. White
Onyx Manor
West Road, Grimmland
Z,
It’s early, but I can’t sleep. Part of the problem is that I’m violently ill. I had some champagne, of course, but not as much as you think. Seems the royal caterers messed something up, and I’m told the majority of wedding guests have come down with food poisoning. The captain of William’s guard said the oysters were to blame. So you can still be upset that you weren’t there, but not upset that you missed the food. Maybe I should’ve had CeCi cater the stupid thing after all.
But that isn’t the only reason for the insomnia. I can’t stop this infernal thinking about everything in front of me and everything behind me. I’m excited but honestly, Zell, just a little disappointed. There’s this small part of me that hoped my father would show up yesterday. That he’d find a way to surprise me. A part that believed that with enough Human ingenuity, he’d have figured out how to be there for me, how to make amends for leaving me.
But this is the end of surprises. I have completed my Pages, delivered at the end of the wedding by Figgy’s canaries in a roll tied with a red ribbon. I go forward from here my own woman on my own journey, singing my own song and dancing my own dance.
Speaking of dancing, I suppose Valborg’s farewell went smoothly enough. I’m glad she died laughing. I’m glad I was surrounded by friends—family. It’s almost like it was a dream. One I both do and don’t want to remember.
After our guests went home, William and I spent the night with a bottle of bourbon at the beach, watching for shooting stars and renaming constellations. Well, at least until I got sick.
This morning, William (who, luckily, eschews oysters) springs into action, transforming our bar into a tactical den for my relocation. He says if I’m going to go, I might as well do it correctly, so I have the things I need to avoid homesickness and so that everyone can visit me as often as they’d like. He’s chosen ten strong birds expressly for letter-carrying and has started the search for a large guard dog to send with me.
Once I feel well enough to get up, an unexpected thing happens. He sits me down with a glass of ginger beer and says, “B, I’ve been thinking. Would you like me to come with you?”
I start bawling. And laughing, between great big gulps of air. “Fuck yeah, Will. That’d be awesome,” I manage. “But this, here, is what you want. And even though I’ll miss the shit out of you, I couldn’t ask that much. We’d get old and resent each other. You can’t be a king up there. They don’t have those anymore. I mean, they do, but they aren’t the same.”
“But I want you to know that I would.”
Will’s a good man, Zell. And I tell him so. “Your friendship is the best gift a princess could have.”
“I love you, Bianca. Not in the way you probably need, but in the best way I can.”
I know he’s trying to make this easier for me, but it’s the opposite. “I know. Me, too.”
“We’ll visit all
the time.”
I pat his hand. “No, you won’t. But you’ll visit enough.”
“Okay,” he says. “I expect to be shown the best bourbon Outside has to offer.”
“Of course,” I sniff. “Nothing less.”
“Let’s get to work, then.”
And so we do. We set dates and make lists. We arrange trunks for donation and for storage. We plan what we’ll do when he comes to visit. We take a break so that I can throw up again. It’s a grand time.
Not two hours later, the pigeons deliver an envelope on unfamiliar stationery. I had forgotten the letter I sent to Odette a couple of months ago. I open her reply with Will’s pocketknife.
Bianca darling,
I’m so sorry for the late reply. I spent a month at our summer home in Neverland, and we were invaded by pirates! Can you imagine? Oh, they were nice enough, though, and once we sorted out that we both knew Smee, we invited them to stay on. (Besides, they brought some killer rum.)
Goodness, it’s been ages since we last saw you. I hope this arrives in time to congratulate you on your marriage. I so wish we could have come, but the timing was just no good. I’m shipping you a couple of swan-down pillows with the next Fed-Ox shipment.
I suppose the last time we caught up was at Puss’s animal welfare ball. Is it true that Rapunzel and Jason set off to live on a farm? Too much. Did you hear about the debacle when the Emperor of Toyland came to visit? He marched through the streets stark naked, claiming to be wearing the latest in fashion. Let me tell you, the stationery store almost sold out of paper with all the sympathy cards sent to the Empress.
As to the matter at hand, however, I am deeply sorry to hear about the arrival of Maro Green in your fair kingdom. That woman is nothing but a barnacle, and it is the fault of our bumbling royal guard she escaped at all.
It started simply enough. My cousin Albert’s father insisted his son stop faffing about and get married—to anyone at all. But Albert, the cad, insisted he wouldn’t marry anyone but a real princess.
His first mistake was making his quest public. What followed was a parade of princess impersonators of which I’ve never seen the like.
Maro was certainly the most convincing of the impostors. She had the palace staff falling all over themselves. She claimed to have felt a pebble in her mattress, and Albert was completely snowed by her sensitivity, which he swore was a virtue only the royal can possess. All the constant partying had become a bit much for me, and by the time Maro came about, I had begun the process of drying out for a bit, but my few interactions with her led me to believe that she was at best unpolished and at worst, a regular strumpet.
I assure you she felt something hard in her bed, but it wasn’t a pebble. (Albert was rabid about her cleavage, which I’m sure you’ve been more than privy to.)
Maro insisted on being married right away, and Albert was in no position to deny her. It was the queen who finally discovered her ruse. When Maro demanded the pebble she’d found in her bed be displayed at the Royal Museum, the queen was livid and demanded to know Maro’s lineage. No princess, Ms. Green is simply the daughter of tulip growers from the north with big dreams. Her deception, though shocking, was not the worst of her offenses. When exposed, she absconded with the royal jewels! Most of them were recovered from pawn shops between here and Toad Hollow.
If you need me to send someone to pick her up, just send word and I can arrange it. She’ll be welcome in Cell 1B of the Swan Lake Municipal Jail. King Ludwig paid off the Tattler lest thieves began to think they were an easy mark, so please be discreet.
A word of advice: Do keep her away from men with wandering eyes. She seems to rather enjoy activities of the carnal variety, regardless of prior claim.
Toodles,
Odette
I can’t wait to tell Rory she was right from the start. After their confrontation last night, she’ll no doubt be ecstatic to learn we’ll be sending Maro back where she belongs, just as soon as the constable recovers from his oyster consumption.
I leap to my feet, swaying like an inebriated privateer, but I bargain with my stomach that if it will stay calm, I will give it as much ginger beer as it can hold when we return.
When I arrive, though, Rory’s nursemaid tells me she’s out. I hang around for a while, pitching a frayed pair of slippers for Snoozer until he gets tired and falls asleep with his head in my lap. She rarely leaves Snoozer behind, but then again, it’s been a long time since she’s been herself. Perhaps she went to the alchemist for some stomach potions. I don’t know if she had any oysters before I pulled her off Maro.
I’d like to know how the conniving little troll got into my wedding in the first place. I’d also like to know what exactly made Rory throw another drink in her face. It was undoubtedly deserved, but still.
I give up waiting for Rory and head to CeCi’s to see if she’s heard from our wayward friend. CeCi is playing nursemaid to Lucinda, who apparently ate enough oysters for six people. Serves her right, the great, greedy snag.
CeCi hasn’t heard from Rory, either. She didn’t see her after the sentencing, too busy enjoying Edmund’s deflation of Lucinda’s big news bubble. As I had hoped, she’s delighted to hear about Maro’s feloniousness.
I feel so productive and energetic—the walking made me feel so much better—I decide to go home and fill the rows of empty trunks William procured for me. Helpful, supportive William. Damn, Zell, I am gonna miss him.
But I can’t wait to build a place of my own and share it with all of you. Just wait. It’ll be better than we can even imagine.
Love,
B
From the Desk of Cecilia Cinder Charming
Crystal Palace
North Road, Grimmland
Dear Zell,
Honestly, if I had seen where the oysters had been stored—in the sun, for Grimm’s sake!—I’d have taken them off the buffet table myself. I don’t know how many Spew-cinda ate, but enough to make her miserable the night of the wedding, yesterday, and today.
And she isn’t the only victim. Yesterday morning, a courier brought me a note from Hansel and Gretel. They’re both sick, as well, and there’s a gaggle of tourists in from Neverland who’re scheduled to lunch at their café today. They’d been wondering how they’d ever manage, when word made it to them, somehow, that I could help.
So, I signed on for my very first restaurant gig.
This morning (after turning over my nursing duties to Darling and Sweetie), I started with bread and soup. I proofed the yeast and mixed sixteen loaves of whole-wheat dough in the big mixer. Then I set them to rise while I chopped a mirepoix for some beer cheese chowder, ensuring I didn’t burn the roux. I prepped my mise en place for the luncheon sandwiches and made sure the tables were set correctly. I squeezed lemonade and set the iced tea in the sun to steep. I wish Phil could have been there to see it. DJ stopped by with air kisses and white wine spritzers. Evidently, my trial run was big news around town, particularly as word of my extracurriculars circulated through the wedding guests in record time.
In the afternoon, orders flew out and compliments flooded back in. Bianca came. And Darling and Sweetie, though they didn’t stay long before returning home to check on their mother. Plates were licked clean, and I began to see the bottom of the soup pot with each ladle. The dining room finally went quiet and I set to returning everything to its original state. The pots hung gleaming from the racks and the spoons nestled in the drawers.
I have long fantasized about having a restaurant of my own. Every day would be this day. I would create. I would teach. I would lay exhausted in my triumph. I would feed my friends, my family, my village, my Realm. I would give them the gifts of my two hands.
I was just about to turn off the lights when Edmund arrived at the back door with roses and a bottle of champagne. “I’m so proud of you,” he said.
I kiss
ed him. “I almost can’t wait to see what the future brings.”
“I’m more interested in the next hour or three,” he said, winking. We took the long way home. It felt like the night we got married. Everything was light, like I was dancing through clouds.
My feet are tired and my back is sore, but if my dream can make me feel this happy—even for a few minutes a day—it’s worth it. I want to do this for the rest of my life. I’ll let DJ manage the wine list. I’ll hire Rory to make weird centerpieces. Darling and Sweetie can greet customers. Snoozer can help with cleanup. Just kidding. Food Safety deems that sort of thing a health violation.
See what you’ve done, Zell? You’ve inspired us all to dream. I’ll never be able to thank you enough.
Love,
CeCi
PS. Did you hear about Maro? Bianca is falling on that news like hellfire. Just wait until we tell Rory.
Princess Briar R. Rose
Somnolent Tower Castle
South Road, Grimmland
Zell, CeCi, & Bianca,
First, please understand that I love you. I know that in the light of tomorrow, what I’ve done will not seem prudent. You will not understand fully. You will be angry with me, with my choice, but it is the only one I have left.
You see, at first, I blamed Maro for taking something away from me. But it turns out, I never had any of it to begin with.
I never had the kind of relationship with Henry that allowed us to be anything—not friends, not lovers, not confidants, not companions. We couldn’t even chat politely. He went looking to fulfill his needs elsewhere.
This is not to say I’m without blame, either. I’m quite sure I’ve been in love with Fred all this time, and Henry would never have been equal. All those subconscious expectations weren’t quite fair.
This can’t be completely Maro’s fault, either. She shares the blame, but her unchecked desire, her desperation must stem from some other, older wound we likely cannot fathom. I regret that I did not trust myself and, eventually, you—my friends.
Letters to Zell Page 22
