“I will.”
“Thank you, my friend,” I said, lying next to her. I tucked one hand under my head and rested the other on her arm. “I’m so happy my mother brought you to live with your uncle.”
“She didn’t hurt you, did she?” Claire asked in such a low whisper I barely heard. She rolled onto her side, facing me. I turned my head to see her bright blue eyes soften with concern.
“She wouldn’t even let me explain. I tried to use my own magic. I did everything you’ve taught me, Claire. I thought it was working, truly I did. But I failed. I failed spectacularly.” I grabbed a pillow from overhead and pressed it onto my face.
“You didn’t fail,” she said, peeling the pillow off me and tossing it aside. “You’re not ready to do that kind of magic, that’s all.”
When would I be ready? Things were only getting worse, and the last thing I wanted to hear was that I wasn’t ready. I rolled onto my side, turning my back to Claire.
“I know it’s not what you want to hear, Regina, and I’m sorry. But I’ll help you through it. I promise.”
“Really?”
Maybe Claire was right. Perhaps I should wait a while and see what happened. Maybe she was right that I hadn’t failed. After all, I’d finally stood up to my mother. Although it probably had done nothing to make things right with Jasper, and my mother’s magic had been more humiliating and agonizing than ever before, I’d survived.
I flopped over to my back, and together we stared up into my canopy.
I’d survived, and I had my best friend at my side.
“Regina,” she said, “I have the feeling you’ll be a force to be reckoned with someday.”
“How nice that you could join us,” my mother greeted Claire as she took a seat in the drawing room. Whether she was truly glad to have company or not, I could not tell. It never ceased to amaze and sicken me how she could act like a perfect family lived within these walls.
“Thank you for having me, Cora,” Claire replied. She sat as if against a sharp sword, like any wiggle or bend of her spine might cause it to slice into her flesh.
“It’s our pleasure. I’m sure your uncle is enjoying having you under his roof. Speaking of Giles,” my mother said, “I hope he isn’t making many calls. It’s finally party season, and I’d hate to hear any terrible sicknesses or plagues are going around.”
“None I know of,” Claire said. “Most of his calls of late are just breech births and unpleasant stomach issues.” Her eyes widened and she quickly added, “I apologize if those topics are unsuitable while at the table.”
My mother arched one of her eyebrows. “Don’t be silly, Claire. No topic is unsuitable at this table. Unless, of course, it’s one I don’t care to discuss.” She chuckled softly, making it seem like a little joke, but I knew it to be the truth, and I suspected Claire did, too.
In the moments that followed, with the only noises being of our breathing and the delicate ting-tings of stirring spoons, my mother gave me a sideways glance. “Regina, you’re being quiet.” She blotted her dark red lips with one of the monogrammed napkins she’d had imported in spite of the way my father’s face blanched whenever she spent exorbitant amounts of money on such things. “Have you anything to contribute to our conversation?” she asked.
Actually, I do. Should I wait so you can use your magic to gag me first? As you can see, I’m not wearing a sash, but maybe a napkin will suffice? I hadn’t said the words out loud, but the amused look on my mother’s face made me wonder if her magic included mind reading. Suddenly, Claire wasn’t the only one sitting at the table with extremely rigid posture.
“I have nothing to contribute at this time, Mother,” I said, trying to appear more comfortable and confident than I felt.
My mother offered me one of Rainy’s fine biscuits, loaded with almonds, raisins, and cinnamon, and smiled. It was such a kindhearted smile; I felt my stomach plummet. “My dear daughter, I’m sure Claire would agree releasing your art teacher was the only respectable choice in the matter. What kind of mother would I be if I allowed him to touch you as if you were a waitress in a seedy tavern?”
Claire made the smallest noise, like a faint hiccup, and she held her teacup to her lips without sipping. Claire’s mother owned a tavern. And, as Claire confessed when we’d first met, she’d been well on her way to becoming a lifelong tavern girl herself, had she not come to live with her uncle. My mother’s insensitive words stabbed Claire in the chest, and my heart went out to my friend.
“Mother.” My voice wavered, and so I banged my fist on the table to keep my nerves from getting the best of me. “How could you say such a thing? Claire is my friend. She’s the best friend I’ve ever had. Do you mean to push her away, the way you have with everyone else who’s shown any interest in me whatsoever?”
“Goodness, Regina. Compose yourself this instant. I wasn’t speaking of Claire. How quickly you forget I was once a tavern girl.”
I hated to admit it, even to myself, but she was right. My mother had been a tavern waitress when she was younger, and I’d been so bent on accusing her of trying to sabotage my friendship that I’d rashly jumped to the wrong conclusion.
“You were a tavern girl?” Claire asked my mother, and I couldn’t blame her for failing to hide her shock. To look at Cora now—perfectly poised, stylishly coiffed and dressed, and calling one of the kingdom’s most luxurious estates home—one would never have guessed she’d had such a modest beginning.
Her father, my grandfather, had been a miller. In his day, she’d told me, he’d run a simple yet successful business milling wheat into flour and delivering it not only to the villagers, but to King Xavier himself. However, by the time my mother was about my age, my grandfather had become a “lazy drunkard,” and had she not taken work at the local pub, they both would have starved. She’d worked hard, but in her heart of hearts, my mother knew she was destined to be more than a miller’s daughter or a waitress in a tavern.
“It’s true,” I said in a small voice.
“It seems like a lifetime ago,” my mother said. “Perhaps it was. At any rate, I know firsthand the reprehensible ways men treat a woman in that position. They’ll rub their grubby hands all over her body, leaving their stink on her—one that stays on her skin even after the longest and hottest of baths.” She shuddered at the memories, and I saw Claire tremble, too. “Worst of all, they’ll spit lies—they’ll promise her the moon and all its stars, and then leave her in the dirt.”
My mother slammed her teacup onto the table, cracking it—and making Claire and me jump in our chairs. She stared down at the broken cup in stifling silence, and I couldn’t help wondering what exactly had happened to her that was so painful.
To be honest, I had no idea why my mother had brought Claire back with her. She always had an ulterior motive—usually to exact revenge, or to get her way. Now, hearing her speak of her painful past, and in a way that was clearly touching Claire’s heart, a new theory wriggled itself into my head. Perhaps my mother had brought Claire to us to save her from experiencing all the terrible things my mother had gone through when she worked at a tavern. Perhaps she believed that, like her, Claire was destined to be much more than a tavern girl.
Could it be that Cora had finally done something out of the goodness of her heart? Something…heroic?
A knot formed in my throat as I pondered the possibility, and I quickly excused myself from the table before anyone noticed the tears welling up in my eyes.
February, six years earlier
I leaned back against the leather seat and closed my eyes as the carriage bumped and swerved along the snowy road. Mother and I had been to see a play at the royal castle. Now that I was ten years old, she wanted me to be “cultured,” and even though I knew she only wanted the best for me, I’d struggled the whole while not to nod off. I’d focused on paying attention from when the velvety red curtain lifted to when it dropped, after the players had bowed and curtsied and the audience had clapped for wh
at seemed like weeks. Culture might’ve been a good thing in Mother’s book, but sometimes I wished she’d ask me what I wanted to do.
“It was a marvelous production,” Mother said, patting my knee the same way she’d done dozens of times during the play.
“Yes,” I murmured.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it. When you are queen, you’ll be able to see that same play whenever you want. Or any you can imagine. You’ll simply order it, and days later, it will come to life on stage, right before your eyes. When you are queen, you will have all the power in the land.”
“Yes, Mother.” I wrapped my cloak around my body, warding off the winter chill.
My mother called, “Hector! My daughter is cold,” and the carriage came to an abrupt stop. A moment later, the coachman delivered two thick, furry blankets and then continued homebound.
Snuggled in the warmth of the blanket, I listened to the faint clomp-clomp of the horses and gazed out the window. Snowcapped trees lined the road, and every so often, I caught glimpses of deer and rabbits. Though I hadn’t cared for the play, nor for meeting the other people who’d gone to see it, I rather enjoyed traveling to and from the castle in the snow-covered forest.
The carriage made a turn, and out my window, I saw ten or twelve children skating on a pond. They laughed and sang and made shapes on the snow-dusted ice. “Mother, look!” I said, pointing. She leaned over to see the children for herself. “That looks like so much fun. I want to join them,” I said.
“We don’t have your ice skates,” she said.
I nodded sadly, squirming and twisting around to see the children for as long as possible from the carriage window. We kept rolling until she suddenly said, “Hector! Stop!”
Hector walked to her window, and she spoke with him in hushed tones. I waited patiently as the carriage turned around—a difficult and slightly scary task, as the road was icy—and headed back for the frozen pond. As soon as it stopped, Mother and I hopped out. I smiled up at her as she took my mittened hand. We plodded through the snow, over to the edge of the frozen pond.
“Little girl,” my mother said, addressing a girl about my size. “My daughter wants to skate. Here is some money for your skates.” She dropped some coins into the girl’s hand. I grinned hopefully at the girl as she counted the coins, but then she handed them back to my mother.
“My father gave me these skates,” she said. “They’re not for sale.” With that, the girl glided off and away, making figure eights with her friends in the middle of the pond. Clearly, the children were having a wonderful time. My heart swelled with the hope of not only getting to skate with them, but of becoming their friend.
I looked at my mother. “Try him,” I suggested, pointing at a boy only slightly bigger than me. He was sitting on a log, whistling as he unlaced his skates. They weren’t as nice or new as the girl’s, but I did not care what condition they were in.
“My daughter wishes to join the girls,” she told him. “I’d like to buy your skates.” She showed the boy the money. He picked up one of the coins and bit it to make sure it was real. He thought about it for so long I truly believed he’d say yes, but he didn’t. “It’s not enough,” he said, knotting his skates’ laces together.
My mother’s face turned red and she bit her lower lip. I was scared she was going to yell at him, or something much worse. But to my relief, she took a deep breath and grinned at him. “You’re right. How foolish of me. Your skates are worth much more.” She took a black velvet pouch from her pocket and poured every last coin into his palm. “There you go,” she said. “What do you say?”
He studied the money and slowly stood. “My pa whipped me for coming home without my slingshot last Sunday. I hate to think what he’d do to me if I showed up without my skates.”
“He’d be delighted his son knew a good deal when he saw it,” my mother said, and I nodded encouragingly.
“I’m sorry, lady. Not today.” After returning the money to her, he flung his skates over his back and walked away.
I was disappointed. The longer I’d stood there watching the children skating around and around the pond, the more I’d wanted to join them. If I’d had a pair of ice skates and a stranger offered me money for them, I couldn’t say I would’ve sold them, either.
“It’s all right, Mother,” I said, tugging on her cloak. “Don’t use magic. I can ice-skate another day.” I actually liked that idea. “I’ll bring my own and be really nice to the other children so they’ll like me. Maybe I can become friends with them, and we can skate together regularly, like how Daddy goes hunting, or you play croquet.”
“Why would you wish to be friends with such fools?” My mother’s eyes flashed, and I knew something was about to happen. Something bad. I watched her out of the corner of my eye as we made our way across the snow to the carriage. Once we were inside, Hector closed the door. Wordlessly, my mother spread the blanket over my legs and stared straight ahead. I thought for a moment I had been wrong, and perhaps nothing bad was going to happen after all.
As I heard Hector crack the whip, a horrible shattering noise filled my ears. I peered out my window in time to see a huge ridge zigzag through the pond, splitting the ice into long, jagged pieces. The children’s laughing and singing became screaming as they raced to the safety of the snowy bank.
The carriage sped off through the forest. I tried my hardest not to cry, but tears filled my eyes. I quickly wiped them away with the back of my mitten.
Saturday, May 20
The days leading up to the royal ball were joyous, and the jubilance of having won the Ogre Wars was decidedly contagious.
Normally, I would have been agitated when my mother forbade me from joining my father on his morning ride, saying she wanted me free of bruises and scrapes for the dance. But that day, I’d let it slide with little more than a sigh and devoted myself to a leisurely day indoors with my nose in a book and Thaddeus snoring at my feet.
The grandfather clock struck five, and I retired to my bedroom to begin getting ready for the evening. I took my time, brushing my hair until it shone and applying rouge to the apples of my cheeks. Next I selected one of my new gowns, a pale green one with white leaves embroidered on its bodice, matching slippers, and elbow-length gloves. Rainy styled my hair in a chignon accentuated with an emerald comb, and tendrils framed my face and neck. “You are a vision, m’lady,” she said, and I hoped Jasper would think the same.
“Regina, it is time to go,” called my mother from the landing. When I walked down the stairs, she whirled around in her form-fitting gray-and-gold gown and frowned at me. “Is that what you’re wearing?”
“You bought it for me,” I said, my good mood fading fast.
“Well, it simply won’t do. Not for the royal ball. You’re not a little girl anymore, Regina. With any luck, you’ll meet your future husband tonight,” she said. A small purple cloud formed in my mother’s palm and then whisked over to fully envelop me.
Not a second later, I’d been magically dressed and styled, from head to toe. My replacement gown was off-white silk, and when the light struck it, it seemed to flow down my body like cream into a bowl of berries. Its hem, sleeves, and neckline were trimmed in maroon lace. My hair was piled high in glossy ringlets, accented by a ruby-embellished headband. When I examined my reflection in the entryway mirror, I noticed my lips were painted, the beauty mark on the left side of my mouth was enhanced, and I’d been doused with more than a fair amount of rose water.
My overall appearance was overstated, I thought. Most of all, I was terribly uncomfortable. The corset nipped my waist until I could barely breathe, and my feet were stuffed into slippers two sizes too small.
“The shoes don’t fit, Mother,” I protested, lifting my gown to show her.
She arched an eyebrow. “The shoes are the perfect size,” she said. “It’s your feet that are too big.”
I thought how wonderful it would be to have even the teensiest bit of magic, like Claire or the blin
d witch, so I could switch my shoes for ones more comfortable. I opened my mouth to beg my mother for mercy, but then my father rounded the corner, decked out in a suit and cravat that coordinated with my mother’s gown. Once he caught sight of me, his eyes twinkled like a thousand stars.
“Regina,” he said simply. He held out his elbow and escorted me to the carriage.
When I smiled back at him, it was with my whole heart. He made me feel beautiful.
I stood at the top of the castle’s grand staircase, tucked between my parents. Below, the light of the setting sun streamed through the magnificent three-story-high stained glass window, casting rainbows on the walls. Ball gowns of every design and color brought the dance floor below us alive, swirling and churning like waves in the sea. Eagerly, I scanned the room first for Claire, then for Jasper. Alas, I saw neither.
A short man in a white jacket and plumed cap stepped forward, and over the orchestral music, called, “Announcing Prince Henry and Princess Cora, and their beautiful daughter, Regina.”
Heads turned and nodded in slow motion as we made our entrance into the grand ballroom. I glided my gloved fingers down the golden handrail, careful not to slip on the slick marble stairs. Once I reached the landing, I let out a relieved breath and hurried to catch up with my mother and father, who’d already queued up to greet our royal host and hostess.
The king’s gray-streaked hair spilled out from under his immense gold crown, mixing seamlessly with the fur of his collar. He stood with his chest up and his toes pointed slightly out. The instant before my father had the chance to exchange pleasantries with him, a guard whispered something in the king’s ear. With a grunt, the king excused himself and left his wife to greet us alone.
Regina Rising Page 9
