For a minute she just looks at me, not sure how to show me what she wants to say. Then she points at me and makes motions with her hands around her head. “Me…I don’t know what that means. What is that?” She does it again. When I still don’t understand, she kneels down and draws a crown. She curtsies at me. “Oh! Crown! Princess! I’m the princess, yeah.”
She nods and points at me, makes the flat-hands book sign, makes the circled-head crown sign. “A book about a princess?”
The library. The magic book Shadow and I read, about the princess and the fairies that created the curse. “I know what book you’re talking about! But I’ve already read it. How does that help me?”
She cocks her head. “Okay, um…I don’t know what else to ask.”
We stand there, looking at each other, listening to the griffin rage just behind the wall. Any minute it could leave the garden and start hurting more people. Every minute that passes brings us closer to morning, and I have honestly no idea what will happen then. Will the griffin leave like usual? I don’t know if it’s ever rampaged through the gardens before, but I would guess not. It looks like the rules are changing. Is tonight the end of everything? Shadow was adamant about me coming back when I promised…
Louna waves her hand to get my attention. “What? What is it?” She points at me and makes the book sign, but then she keeps one hand flat and points at it with the other. “Me…you’re pointing at the book?” She nods and makes the crown sign. “Me, book, princess.” She continues making the same three signs at me. “Me, a princess. Yes…Princess in the book. Wait, are you saying I’m the princess in the book?”
She nods, her eyes lighting up now that I understand. “Sweetheart, I think…I mean, I would know if I was a princess. I would remember being in love, talking to fairies—I would definitely remember living in a village five hundred years ago!”
Her face falls and she shakes her head and resumes signing. I take her hands in mine. She tries to pull away, pouting. “Louna, I know what you’re saying, but it doesn’t make any sense. If I’m the princess, then why don’t I remember anything from the book? How did I end up in my world? Why don’t I know how the story ends? The princess would know what happened after the fairy saved her.” I recall the opening page of the book. “What about that quote in the front? ‘The truth will set you free.’ What truth is that? Maybe I’m supposed to find the real princess. Maybe I’m meant to find her to save us.”
Louna shakes her head and pulls her hands away, pointing at me and circling her head. “You’re sure I’m the princess.” She nods. I sigh. No matter what I say, she won’t let this go. “Okay then, I’m the princess from the book, and I just forgot everything. That still doesn’t explain how I defeat the monster or break the curse.”
She takes one of my hands and motions to my head. “My head? What about it?” I try to go through the book, seeing if there was anything about heads or minds or anything in it, but come up blank. Then I recall Shadow’s insistence that I remember him and the tunnels after I left—at which I failed miserably. I remember Adele the night I first saw her physically, how she was focused on me remembering something and going to the library. I think back to how, when I first came to the tunnels, I forgot the real world and my family, and I got those weird headaches…and then I forgot this world when I went home. Shadow, Louna, my life here, my life in New York, it all has one thing in common.
“Memory…” Does Louna want me to remember being a princess?
Louna squeezes my hand and nods. “I have to remember. Is that it? I have to remember, and…that’s the truth? My memory?” She nods again, smiling now. “But how do I remember something like that? I mean, I already read the book and everything, so I know all about it. But I don’t remember it actually happening. How am I supposed to bring back memories I don’t have?”
She shakes her head. I guess this part is up to me. The truth will set you free…the truth will set you—
The wall beside us explodes against us. Louna’s hands slip from mine. I fly back into the opposite wall, dirt in my mouth, my eyes, my hair. My back thuds against the wall. I slide onto the ground, spluttering and slowly wiping my eyes, making sure nothing’s broken. Huge chunks of dirt and masses of tangled plant matter litter the tunnel hall. There’s the griffin, wild, louder than ever—charging straight at me.
I turn and run. It’s the only thing I can do. I’m supposed to break the curse, free the village, but even if I can’t, I have to get this monster away from them. I head toward the castle, praying that I can outrun the griffin long enough to come up with a plan.
I can hear the monster’s body pounding step by step behind me, slowly getting closer as I push my legs to go faster, faster.
It’s only a few minutes before I admit that I have no plan and can’t come up with one. I have no idea how to cure myself of fake amnesia. I want to say Louna’s just a crazy little kid with nutty ideas. But she’s Adele’s daughter, and for all I know, everything she told me was her mother’s ideas. I talk to myself as I run, hoping to maybe catch something I’ve missed by thinking out loud.
“The truth will set you free. The truth…” I gasp in a breath. “…will set you free. The truth will set me free…or the villagers? Or Shadow? …Or all of them? The truth…my memory. Memory…of what?” I stop talking and focus on my breathing. I’m almost to the castle. The griffin is catching up. Outrunning is impossible; hiding is ridiculous. I have to do something.
“What’d…the book say? She…I was born…a commoner…” My breathing breaks my words up more and more as I continue to run, into the marble hallway and toward the library. Maybe the actual book can help me? I slam the doors shut behind me. I run toward the shelf the book is on as the animal crashes against the thick wooden doors. Here it is! I pull it out.
I wish Shadow were here, would tell me what to do. I don’t have time for disappointment, for panic, for wondering where he is. I flip frantically through the book, pacing. The pounding and scratching at the library doors continue, but for some reason the wood doesn’t give. I’m not questioning that blessing.
“Born a commoner. Orphaned when young. Raised by sister. Met the prince when his carriage broke. Fell in love. Got engaged. Witch made plans to curse me and the village. Prince’s servant found out. Prince and me went to cave, enlisted the help of good fairy, and escaped the curse. Obviously the village didn’t. And somewhere the prince disappeared, a griffin and Shadow appeared, and I forgot everything.” I sit in the window seat, book lying open on my lap. I rest my head against the glass and cry out in frustration. “It’s not working! Nothing’s happening! I don’t know what to do!” The final sentence comes out as a wail and I break down in sobs. A few tears drop onto the book’s pages. I close the book and push it off my lap to the floor. The griffin still pounds, beats, scrapes at the library doors. They’re bound to give any moment, and then I’ll be trapped here with a killer beast.
Pulling my legs up into my arms, I lay my forehead against my knees and cry out my frustration. After several minutes of this, everything fades away. The noise of my impending death doesn’t matter. I’ve failed. It’s too late to fix this. There’s no griffin, no danger, no book, no village depending on me. The only things in the world are me, my tears, and this old lonely window seat. Slowly these fade away until I am surrounded in silent, peaceful darkness.
“Beila. Beila, darling. Beila, wake up, your food is getting cold.” It’s only when I feel a hand gently shaking my shoulders that I realize the voice is talking to me. The language is foreign and familiar. When I open my eyes and sit up, I’m on a rough straw mattress in my little thatched-roof house. I’m groggy. I try to remember when I fell asleep, but nothing comes to me. Who’s talking to me? The sounds are guttural but elegant, fast and distinct.
“Beila, come and eat! We can’t waste the day. Bellamy’s left for the fields already. The prince will be here soon.” The woman speaking is young, with a lot of thick brown hai
r twisted up messily onto her head to keep it out of the way. She’s wearing a plain, scratchy dress and apron, but the sparkle in her brown eyes when she looks at me makes me think she’d be very pretty if she tried dressing up a bit. There’s a table with a little girl sitting and eating porridge from a wooden bowl.
Obediently I walk to the table and eat the thin oatmeal from a wooden bowl with a wooden spoon. The utensil feels rough against my dry hand. When I’m finished, I stand up. The woman hurries over to me. “Now, sweetheart, we need to get you out of those clothes. I have just the dress for today. Considering the occasion, I think mother would have wanted you to wear it.” She opens a trunk I hadn’t noticed at the foot of the bare mattress. She pulls out a simple but very pretty blue dress with a bit of yellow fabric peeking out the front of the skirt. She waits for me to say something.
“It’s beautiful.” She nods, pleased with my response, and helps me change into the dress. While I’m changing, the light glints on the ring on my hand—my left hand. My ring finger. It’s a gold ring with a brilliant red gemstone. It proudly declares that I’m engaged to someone with an awful lot of money.
The woman sits me down on the mattress and starts to brush my hair with firm strokes. She’s not quite finished when there’s a knock on the wall near the curtain that covers the doorway. “Oh! He’s here. We must hurry. We don’t dare keep royalty waiting.” She twists up part of my hair and slides in a few pins, then helps me off the mattress and pulls me with her to the doorway. She twirls me around, beating against my skirt to rid it of the loose straw clinging to the fabric. “Now Beila, dear, I know I’m the old little mother hen of the family, but when you’ve gone and moved in with your wonderful new husband, don’t forget about your sister out here in the village, okay?”
I don’t have time to respond before she pulls back the curtain, letting the sun stream across the straw floor. A man about my own age stands before us. His shining blond hair frames his face and falls into his eyes. A bit of blond stubble catches the light across his jaw as he moves. The pale golden tint to his eyes catches the sunlight, clear and open, honest.
“Your Highness!” The woman curtsies, as do I. “I have her quite ready for you. Isn’t she a sight today?”
“She is indeed, Adele.”
Adele, my older sister, the one who has kept me from living in the streets. Adele married Bellamy and had a child, Louna, who is more sister than niece to me. The fog of sleep clears from my mind.
The man chuckles, smiling warmly at me before addressing my sister again. “Must I remind you every visit? Call me Francis.” Adele waves a hand in the air to brush away the comment. Francis smiles and sighs in mock frustration. “Now, if it is quite acceptable, I shall take her away from you for the day.”
Adele smiles. “Of course.” She lifts my hand and places it on the man’s—the prince’s—offered arm. To me, she says, “Have a pleasant day, dear.”
Francis’s red metal armor reflects the sun. That pattern, those colors…where have I seen them before? My mind must still be a bit hazy this morning. I look around me. We’re in the dirt street of a marketplace, with wooden carts and vendors’ stands lining both sides of us. Jewelry, fabric, and foods are spread across tables. A woman in an enchanting green dress under a thick brown tent offers to tell our fortunes. A shirtless man in baggy tan pants sits on the ground, playing a fast melody on a wooden flute.
“Look at this one, Beila.”
The voice—it’s so warm, so familiar. How many days have I spent wandering the markets or riding in the woods with my fiancé? How many days does it take to really know a man’s heart? I feel as though I’ve known him only a few months and yet an entire lifetime as well.
My judgment is often clouded, and they say love is for fools. But my sister can’t be fooled by flashy royals. She’s the best judge of character I know. If Adele trusts Francis, then he must indeed be the right man for me.
The prince pulls me over to one of the vendors. “This piece is beautiful.”
It’s a jewelry cart, and he’s holding up a necklace. “Do you like it?”
I nod and smile. This man is sweet. His entire being consists of kindness and light. His grip feels gentle on mine.
The vendor, an elderly man with wispy white hair sticking out under his patched gray cap, speaks with a rasping voice. “I have other pieces if you want to see them. Similar ones to that, or several nicer ones I keep tucked away for the special customers like yourselves, Your Highness.”
“What do you think? I must get you something, you know, to remember me by until the next time I see you.”
I smile. “Other than the ruby, you mean?” Flirting has never come naturally to me, except with this prince. My Francis.
He laughs, a rich sound that warms my heart. “Something for today’s visit. Something new.”
I answer without hesitation. “I’d like anything you give me. You know that.”
“Oh, being difficult. She’s always like this, you know.”
The vendor chuckles in the dry way old men do. “I’ve heard. Little Beila could be quite a terror, folks tell me. I only come into this village for market, so I can’t say anything myself.”
The prince and I laugh. Of course the villagers would tell tales on me. They all know me well. I recognize the faces of nearly every person wandering between the vendors’ booths right now. Sophie and Rainier are here, with little Aimee. Her brother Raphael lags behind the family with Samuel, whose parents are nowhere to be seen. Those two left alone will spell mischief for someone today. Joachim and Paul maintain an animated discussion with a vendor, though I can’t hear what they’re speaking of.
“I can make a custom piece, if you like. A special for the prince and his lady.” The jeweler’s words return my attention to the table in front of me, where the bronze pieces especially catch my eye. I’m looking for something, but I’m not sure what. I’d know it if I saw it, I’m sure.
Francis is delighted. “That would be wonderful! What do you think, Beila? What shall we make for you?”
I look up at him, distracted. I’ve lost my train of thought. “I don’t know.”
The vendor offers suggestions. “I can do engravings. Perhaps a piece with your name on it, Highness? Or a special message? I do best with necklaces and rings, but of course I can try my hand at a brooch or letter opener.”
“How about that, Beila? Should I have you walk about town with my name stamped on a necklace?” He smiles at me, teasing.
“What, and label me like a possession? ‘Property of His Royal Highness’?” I raise my eyebrows in a challenge. He laughs.
“Of course not. It would be Property of Francis.”
I laugh this time. “Oh, don’t be silly. Forget the engraving.”
Francis nods. “All right, then. How about a portrait? I could have one painted in miniature and set it in a necklace for you.”
“That’s ridiculous. You’re going too far.”
“Oh, nonsense. You’ll love it, I’m sure.” He turns back to the vendor. “A necklace. We’d like a necklace, in which a miniature portrait can be set. Have you ever made such a piece?”
I venture past the old man’s cart while he and Francis discuss the design of my gift. Behind the vendors, a little way off the road, the day is beautiful—quite perfect, really. The grass looks soft, and the shade of a lovely little tree seems very inviting. I sit on the ground and lean against the trunk of the tree, running my fingers through the soft grass. Without intending to, I doze off.
“Beila. Beila. Guess who it is?” I smile and sit up.
“Hello, Francis.” He’s been quite insistent that I cut out all the formalities of royalty since we entered betrothal.
“Hello? Is that all? It’s been three months since we last met, and all you say is hello?”
I laugh. Three months, yes, of course. How could I forget all that happened in that time? Last visit, Francis designed the necklace with
a vendor, and then we stayed in the market for a little while before having lunch in the cottage with Adele. He had to leave, uncertain when he would return. It’s always that way. I imagine the job of a prince is quite demanding.
Francis offers his hand, and I take it. We walk along in the grass a few feet from the backs of the village houses. I can’t help but admire his elaborate attire. He’s never dressed down to visit the village. I think he likes the drama of arriving in style. He has a certain flair, for sure.
“What have you been up to in my absence, my lady?”
“Nothing, really. Just the ordinary work. I’m sure life in the castle is much more exciting.”
He raises an eyebrow at me. “Of course you would think that. It’s a grand place to live, I know. But it’s an awful place to work. There’s always so much to be done and everyone is in need of the prince’s signature or seal to go through with their work.”
I nod. “I suppose country life is superior in some ways.”
He stops and releases my hand, sliding his own into his pocket. “I brought your present.”
“Oh?” I never know quite what to say to Francis’ gifts. He always insists on buying me something on every visit, though I tell him that I don’t need anything. There’s no changing his mind once it’s made up.
He holds out a delicate bronze chain with a hammered pendant, a portrait of him in full armor centered in a bronze frame of tiny metal bows. It’s far more elegant and much slimmer than I imagined—something I might actually wear. “Oh, Francis, it’s beautiful! The man truly knows his art, doesn’t he?”
He beams at me. “Just as I told you. You love it.”
I nod. “I told you I’d love anything you chose.”
World of Shadows Page 17
