“How are you…”
“Yes?” She glanced at me, her eyes sparkling.
Again I was reminded of Merry Anne. Only this time, instead of knitting needles, it was a spade that appeared enchanted. My eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Do you know anyone named Merry Anne?”
“Of course I do.” Florence started on the last row of turnips. “She’s my sister.”
“Your sister!” At last. “I’ve been searching for her,” I said. “We were on the same carriage to Tallinyne and she— you were the one who gave me the circlet of flowers,” I exclaimed, remembering what Merry Anne had said about a sister.
Florence nodded and smiled. “I thought you needed a little something. Your dress, that –dress—” Her nose wrinkled in distaste as she eyed my sisters’ cast-off gown. The only one I owned.
I had no time to feel concern over my lack of fashion, but felt a sense of urgency regarding Merry Anne and her link to finding Cecilia. “Thieves fell upon us and Merry Anne and I were separated. I have something of hers to return.” I pulled the bracelet from my dress.
Florence’s eyes goggled at the pearls, and she jumped up at amazing speed. Standing closer to me, her hand covered their glow. “What are you doing?” She cast a furtive glance around, as if someone might be watching us.
“Trying to return these,” I explained. “And I would very much like to speak with Merry Anne. I believe she may know where my sister is.”
“Put those away.” Florence pushed them into my hand and folded my fist over. She looked
around once more, then turned from me and began pacing up and down the garden rows. “Do you want everyone to know— Oh dear. Oh dear, dear.” As she stepped beside each plant, I noticed they seemed to grow. The carrot tops shot up a little taller, the squash grew a little fatter…
I rubbed my eyes, wondering if I was really that tired or if something else was going on.
“Please.” Realizing I’d been gruff with Florence since meeting her, I tried in a gentler voice. “I really must see Merry Anne.”
Again Florence glanced up at the castle. “Well of course, that’s the plan. But that will have to wait until you’re ready.”
“I’m ready now,” I said.
But Florence had disappeared. Vanished in the space of a heartbeat. She was gone, leaving only a basket of neatly piled turnips as evidence that she had ever been here at all.
The sun was near to setting, but still I lingered in the orchard, soaking up the last rays of light. The ground was far nicer than the brick of the hearth, the patches of sky above a reminder of life outside the kitchen. It was lovely to be away from Maggie and to have a few moments free from labor, but this solitude came with a price. As they did at night, my thoughts flew to home, to my parents and especially my father. I missed him with an ache that did not seem to ease, though time was passing. He and Mother were first in my mind when I rose each day, and the last before my uneasy sleep each night. I longed to speak to them once more, to tell them of my love, to show my gratitude.
Of course that wasn’t possible, yet I imagined I spoke to them and felt their presence each day. The feeling that someone was watching over me was both comforting and unnerving. What would Mother say to me now? I was here in Tallinyne, and that, I hoped, would please her, though I certainly wasn’t meeting princesses or mingling among the royalty.
And Father? I felt he would be disappointed that I wasted so much time each day on menial tasks. What are you doing with your life, Adrielle? What good are you doing for others?
None, that I could see. Yes, I was providing breakfast for those elusive souls who inhabited the castle, but I doubted they needed it like so many others did. When I thought of those suffering here in Tallinyne, when I thought of those in the country sick with disease, I wanted to do something. For them. For Father. For myself.
“Sleeping on the job, eh?” a familiar voice said.
I looked up into the face of the young man— the polite one— who’d visited the kitchen early this morning.
I sat up quickly, brushing leaves from my dress, wondering how awful I looked.
“Do you always make a habit of napping out here?” he asked.
I shrugged. “It’s better than where I usually sleep.”
“How so?” he asked, a perplexed look on his face. “Do the other servants snore and keep you up at night?”
I laughed. “Hardly.” Not feeling awake enough yet to try standing, I braced my hands on the ground behind me and leaned back, looking up at him. “I don’t sleep in the servants’ quarters. I sleep by the hearth in the kitchen— so I can tend the fire throughout the night.” I tacked on the last as a hasty, though poor, explanation. I didn’t know this youth and didn’t want him becoming suspicious or realizing I was new here. I tried to steer the conversation away from me.
“Where are your quarters? In the hayloft?” I guessed, remembering his disheveled appearance this morning.
“Sometimes,” he answered vaguely. Pointing to the ground beside me, he asked, “May I?”
I nodded.
He sat, took a peach from the ground, inspected it for bruises then took a bite. “Why has no one picked all this fruit?”
“There isn’t enough help,” I said, giving the only explanation I’d been able to come up with. With no new servants hired in, oh, the last nearly eighteen years, it really was no wonder the grounds weren’t in worse condition. Though I’d no doubt that if Florence put her mind to it, she could have cleared both orchards in no time.
“But you’re trying.” He inclined his head toward the full baskets on the other side of me.
“I’m trying,” I said. “Only today, I’m just so tired. Sleeping on bricks, you know.” I gave him a half smile.
He returned it with one of his own. “I don’t. Thank goodness.”
“What about you? Do you work in the stables?” I’d been sure of it this morning, but he looked much neater now.
“Mostly with cattle.” He bit into the peach again and looked away, seeming reluctant to talk about himself, humble almost— so different from my brothers. And Gemine. Remembering his treachery brought a scowl to my face.
“Is something wrong?” My companion looked at me with concern.
“Oh no. Just thinking of someone— who made me angry.”
“Those boys who stole from your kitchen yesterday? Or me and my friend this morning?”
“Neither.” I gave him what I hoped was a contrite look. “I feel terrible I lost my temper. I’d been up since three, and I was so tired…” I think you’ve established that fact already, Adrielle. I suddenly felt foolish as I had when speaking with Gemine. Again I was reminded of my severe lack in skills when it came to garnering the attention of young men. “How is your hand?”
He finished the peach, tossed the pit aside, and held out his hand for me to inspect. Regretfully I traced the faint welt crossing his skin. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be. I was impressed that you cared enough, that you did something about it.” His other hand closed over mine. “It was worth getting struck, to see a female of passion in action.”
“I am passionate about my buns,” I said, then colored with embarrassment, realizing how that must sound. “My rolls,” I amended.
This time he laughed. Instead of releasing my hand, he turned it, placing our palms together so that our hands were clasped. “I’m Cristian, by the way. And who do I have the pleasure of conversing with?”
“Adrielle,” I answered, thinking the pleasure was all mine.
He let go, nodding as he repeated my name. “Adrielle. I like that. It’s different.”
No one had ever told me they liked my name. I didn’t particularly like it myself— having mostly heard it yelled in conjunction with various commands my entire life.
Adrielle, fetch the water, Adrielle, heat the curling tongs, Adrielle, fasten my dress— from my sisters. Adrielle, hurry up with the ironing, Adrielle, mind your stitching, Adrielle, please t
ry to act like a lady— my mother. And now… Adrielle, clean up this mess, Adrielle, for heaven’s sake girl, don’t spill so much flour on the floor— Maggie. Even my father, in all his gentle and loving ways, had often prefaced an expectation with my name. Adrielle, pay attention. It’s important you learn and understand this.
“You seem a hundred miles away.” Cristian waved a hand in front of my face.
“Sorry.” I felt myself blushing and could only hope the freckles brought out by my recent days in the sunshine hid most of my embarrassment. “I’m still tired, I guess.”
“Do you want me to leave so you can rest some more?”
“No.” I answered a little too quickly, jumping up from the ground. “I mean, it’s good you woke me. I need to get back to work. I’ve got to save as much of this fruit as possible.”
“What are you planning to do with it all?” Cristian asked. He, too, stood then turned a slow circle, taking in the vast orchard. “That would be a lot of cobbler. Won’t much of it spoil before you can use it?”
“Oh, I’m not planning to bake pastries with it. I thought I might—” I stopped abruptly, realizing my mistake. I couldn’t tell him, tell anyone— though I suspected that somehow Florence knew of my plan, and in fact it was she who’d given me the very idea this morning— that I wanted to sneak an enormous wagon-full of fruit outside the castle walls to the people living at the edge of Tallinyne.
“You might…” Cristian prodded.
“Um.” I thought fast, coming up with a frivolous, wasteful use for such bounty. “I’m going to preserve it in bottles and give one to each wedding guest.” I didn’t wonder if he’d know what wedding I was talking about. Everyone knew of the royal wedding to take place in six weeks.
It was all the servants spoke of. The girls in the kitchen gushed on and on about the gowns being sewn by the seamstresses. Mason and his friends who worked in the stables knew of the wedding because it created more work for them. The horses that had transported the prince and all his Rincoln royalty had to be groomed, fed, and exercised. More milk was required for breakfast. More hens were needed to lay more eggs. Additional food had to be prepared for each meal, more chambers cleaned, more bath water hauled, then emptied.
More guards were posted.
I knew it would be a miracle, at best, if I was able to pull off my produce delivery plan. I was banking on the magic of Merry Anne’s name, the possibility of seeing her again, and even using the pearls if necessary. I couldn’t get the blank, hopeless stares of those people out of my mind. And while I still wasn’t certain if I believed Mason’s tale about a curse on the land, I’d become determined to fight it— to fight her if there really was such a person as Queen Nadamaris. It was something I could do, some small way I could try to make up for everything, for my parents.
But for now, I had to convince my new friend that I, too, was wrapped up in the wedding preparations.
I further embellished my tale. “Some of the seamstresses are going to do up fancy bows for each of the jars, and then every guest will have a piece of Canelian nature to take home with them— and the reminder that the curse is lifted and the land made whole.” Had he heard me, Mason would have been proud.
Cristian, however, looked skeptical rather than impressed.
“You believe in the curse then,” he asked.
Doesn’t everyone here? His reaction surprised me, but still I proceeded with caution. According to Mason, one could never be too careful with what one said. Perhaps Cristian was some sort of spy, sent by Maggie or Mason’s mother. I picked up an empty basket and walked to the nearest tree.
“I believe that the land is dying,” I said truthfully. “But the rest… I don’t know. I’ve never seen a fairy, and it is difficult to believe the princess could die from a finger prick.”
Cristian came to stand beside me and began pulling fruit from the higher branches I couldn’t reach. “What makes you think the land is dying?” he asked. “Look at this.” He held a perfect peach in his hand. “I cannot imagine a place more alive.”
“Not here,” I said. “Out there.” I caught my breath, realizing what I’d said. I wasn’t supposed to know of anything out there.
“What’s wrong?” Cristian asked. “You look as though— are you afraid?” He glanced around the orchard, trying to see what it was that had me worried.
I felt suddenly foolish, realizing how superstitious I’d become, how I was basing so much on Mason— on the advice of an eleven-year-old boy. I looked up into Cristian’s curious eyes. Surely he must be thinking I was the strangest girl he’d ever met. And I realized I didn’t want him thinking that. I wanted him to know the truth of who I was. I lifted my chin and looked directly in his eyes.
“On the outskirts of Tallinyne,” I began, speaking quietly. “The land is in a terrible drought. Nothing will grow, and the people are starving. I know because I— saw it.”
“Go on,” he encouraged. His face showed only mild surprise.
“And beyond the township, in Canelia’s farmlands, families cannot survive because rain does not fall anymore. A mysterious disease is sweeping the land. Whole families are dying. I know because I lived there.”
Closing my eyes for the briefest second, I wondered if guards would swoop down on me and take me away to wherever it was they took outsiders. But no one came. It remained only Cristian and me, facing one another in the midst of the grove.
“I’ve seen some of that myself,” he said, his voice solemn.
“You have?” I was astonished— jubilant— to discover I was not, in fact, the only outsider here. I was also going to shake Mason the next time I saw him, for leading me to believe that. “But no one is supposed to go outside the gates.”
“It would seem,” Cristian said, turning away, “that there are a few exceptions.” He grabbed a sturdy branch and hoisted himself higher in the tree.
I waited a moment, but he didn’t offer further explanation, and the vague tone of his voice led me to believe he didn’t wish to elaborate. I understood. Perhaps Mason’s tales hadn’t been that far off.
“May I tell you something else?” I asked, knowing it was more than a bit reckless, but still yearning to include someone else in my plan.
“Of course.” Cristian passed two peaches down to me.
“I don’t really want all this fruit for the princess’s wedding. I want to take it outside the gates, to the place I told you about— to the people on the outskirts of Tallinyne who are starving. They need it. Perhaps there is a curse they need lifted as well, but in the meantime, this is something I can do.”
“And how do you propose to do it?” Cristian asked.
“A wagon, as many jars of peaches as I can produce between now and then—”
“Then?”
“A few weeks,” I said, putting into words the plan that had been forming in my mind since my conversation with Florence. “And I’ll be bringing bushels of apples, too. I’m planning to start on those next.”
Cristian gave a low whistle. “Big plans. What makes you think they’ll let you outside the gates?”
“I—” Again I faltered. For while I’d trusted him with a secret, it wasn’t as enormous as the one tucked beneath my gown. I couldn’t show or explain the pearls to just anyone. And Merry Anne? How could I describe the magic of her knitting needles, or Florence’s efficient spade? But Florence herself might be another matter.
“The groundskeeper, Florence, has told me I may do whatever I wish with the orchard fruit.”
“Who?”
“Florence.” I thought it strange he didn’t know her. But then, Florence hadn’t seemed to know who Maggie was either. Perhaps everyone kept to their work here and didn’t make acquaintances.
“Why isn’t she helping you harvest it all then?”
I took the handful of peaches he passed to me. “She’s too busy. Preparing for the royal wedding, you know.”
He scowled. “I know.” His voice was even more sarcastic tha
n mine.
“Has it made a lot more work for you, too?” I asked.
“You could say that.” Having emptied the highest branch, he jumped from the tree. “May I make a suggestion?”
“Of course,” I said, wondering if all the farm hands here were this polite and well-spoken. Those my father hired had never been either.
“Forget the peaches,” Christian said. “You’ve already told me a half dozen times how tired you are, so I’ve no idea how you think you’ll be able to find the time to preserve them with all your other responsibilities.”
Details. Details. But he was right. I hadn’t thought that one through well at all. As it was, this idea was a late development, something useful I could do, a diversion from my sorrow and from my frustration at not having located Cecilia.
“Concentrate your efforts on the apple orchard instead,” Cristian advised. “Henrie and I will help, and even if it takes us longer to pick them all, the apples will keep better than these.” He bent over, retrieving a half-smashed peach from the ground.
“You’re right,” I agreed, reluctantly. “It’s hard for me to see anything go to waste. I wish—” I broke off, catching myself just in time because I did not wish to use another of Merry Anne’s pearls unless absolutely necessary. And most definitely not in front of anyone.
“I understand,” Cristian said. “The way things are done— or not done— around here bothers me, too. But let’s not add to it. You keep up with your regular work, and get to the apples when you have time. I’ll see about getting us a couple of wagons, and maybe even some other supplies to go in them.”
“You will?” My face broke out in a smile. Not only did I have a real plan in place— a purpose— but I had an ally.
An ally I felt eager to be with again.
Two days after our conversation in the orchard, Cristian walked into the kitchen well before the sun was up. The squeaking, rusted hinges on the door woke me, and I was again embarrassed to be caught napping, my head on my arms as I curled up beside the fire. I’d only made bread this morning and had a little time while it baked, so I’d indulged in a few extra moments of sleep.
First Light (Forever After Series) Page 11
