Regina Rising

by Wendy Toliver

  “So, it would do no good for me to court Prince Benjamin,” I said, my sudden glee raising my voice by at least an octave, “let alone wed him.”

  Shaking her head, my mother slammed her palms on the table. The vase of orchids rocked. “I’m sure that incorrigible Eva relished wasting our time.”

  “Have you given Benjamin the news I won’t be courting him?” I asked my father.

  He offered me a cookie. “I presumed you would like to do the honors, my child.”

  Though my mother glared at me, I bit into the gingersnap. Once I finished, I took another, savoring it. The grandfather clock stuck midnight. “I am going to retire for the night,” my mother announced. “Are you coming, Henry?”

  “Go ahead, dear. I will join you momentarily.”

  Her eyes glinted, but she said nothing more. Instead, she turned away from us and made her way to the stairs, her heels clacking on the marble tiles and the sconces and candles flickering in her wake.

  Once we were alone, we sat next to each other on the couch. No matter what happened, I knew I would always have my father’s love, and he mine. Ever so tenderly, he traced my scar with his finger. “I never thought it possible, but you are fairer than ever before.”

  His words sent warmth radiating through my whole body. Grinning, I wiped a few cookie crumbs from his beard.

  “I’ll never forget that day, Regina. I felt so horrible about your accident. I wish it had never happened. I should have never left you, not even for a little while.”

  “It wasn’t your fault. You are not to blame,” I said.

  “It’s a terrible thing when a parent is powerless to keep his child safe. I know you probably don’t understand my meaning, but someday, when you are a mother, I know you will.”

  His words jarred me. Would I, Regina, ever be somebody’s mother? Somehow, imagining myself reigning over my own kingdom was easier than imagining myself raising a child. I could only hope I would be a good mother—that my son or daughter would look at me with the kind of love I’d seen reflected in Snow White’s eyes in the portrait Jasper had painted of her and Queen Eva.

  “Meanwhile,” my father resumed, “know I was very proud of you that day. You were very brave. And you still are, Regina.”

  “I hope you are right.” I gave him a hug, and his arms squeezed me for a few seconds even after I’d let go. “Well, it is late, and Mother is waiting for you,” I said, happy but weary. I rose and started walking across the living room.

  “Regina?”

  I turned around.

  My father was straightening one of the orchids that had tipped. “Your mother is not so bad. If it weren’t for her, Giles wouldn’t have had the opportunity to know his niece. Now that he has her, he’s straightened himself out. Also, thanks to your mother, you were given the chance to become friends with Claire. I’ve seen quite a bit of change in you these past few weeks. I know it can be difficult, being somebody’s friend. However, I believe you will find it worthwhile.”

  After I went to my chambers and braided my hair for bed, I paused to examine my scar in the mirror. It was light and small—on the whole, I was sure most everyone would consider it insignificant, if they noticed it at all. Yet to me, it meant so much. It symbolized I could—and would—rise above my fears.

  My first order of business in utilizing my rediscovered bravery was getting Claire’s ring back for her. She’s done so much for me; it’s the least I can do for her. Snow White had inspired me to emerge from the shadows. The Blue Fairy had given me back a part of my former self. And I, empowered with my renewed sense of courage, intended to retrieve a special part of my dear friend’s past for her.

  The next day, I would return to the gingerbread cottage.

  Monday, May 22

  My mother kept a close watch on me the entire day. When I’d slipped out to the stables to visit Rocinante after the noonday meal, Jesse had stopped sweeping the planked floor and said, “Your mother has instructed me to alert her if you go out on a ride. I’m to sleep here to ensure you don’t take Rocinante out after sunset.”

  “Let me guess,” I’d said. “She wants to keep me safe.”

  He’d nodded and continued sweeping with feverish urgency. The stables were cleaner and tidier than I’d ever seen, and I guessed my mother had put a fire under his feet—maybe even literally. The horses were off-limits, at least for that night, and Jesse obviously wasn’t going to turn a blind eye.

  At any rate, I hadn’t wanted to alert my mother to anything out of the ordinary, or somehow tip her off that I planned to sneak out and go to the blind witch’s cottage. I’d made it a point to stay under her thumb and behave agreeably, even as she flung narrow-eyed stares and underhanded comments about the scar she so reviled.

  Later, as I’d climbed into bed, fully clothed, I rationalized that waiting until nighttime had certain advantages. For one, Claire and I could hopefully sneak out of and back in to our respective homes undetected. Furthermore, with any luck, the crotchety witch would be sound asleep, so we could slip into the gingerbread cottage, find Claire’s heirloom, and be on our merry way without having to deal with her—or her magic.

  In the distance, a wolf howled. The night was warm enough, yet I pulled my cloak around my shoulders to ward off the shivers.

  I tossed a handful of gravel at Claire’s bedroom window and held my breath. I thought I heard a soft rustle and lifted my lantern. A striped cat prowled over to the hedge, undoubtedly hunting for a midnight meal. Its eyes glowed orange as it slunk along the north side of the mansion, where I stood waiting.

  Other than the cat, nothing had stirred. So I grabbed a bigger handful of gravel and threw it with more force. The tiny rocks made an impressive racket against the glass panes. “That will do it,” I said to myself. In case I’d inadvertently roused Giles, I hid against the stone wall of the house, out of immediate view from his window.

  Claire’s blond head appeared in her bedroom window. I leapt back onto the path and waved, then held my finger to my lips so she’d stay quiet. She nodded and disappeared. I returned to the shadows to wait for her to dress and come out, which was quicker than I would have thought possible.

  Also wearing a lightweight cloak and holding a lantern, she scurried to my side. “Regina! What in the land? Why are you here? What has gotten into you?”

  “Shhhh! Come on.” I grabbed her by the arm and tugged her along the path, away from her uncle’s house and toward the road that led to the royal castle. “Your wish is coming true, Claire. We’re going to get your ring back,” I said.

  She arched her brows. “From the blind witch?”

  I nodded. “If she tries to gobble us up, you’ll have to set her boots on fire. Then again, Snow said she won’t eat us; our meat is too tough.” Claire seemed abnormally quiet. I sensed she might be nervous, so a couple of moments later, I added, “However, those boots she was wearing were hideous. You should burn them up anyway.”

  Claire erupted into what I thought were giggles. Soon, however, I realized my friend wasn’t actually laughing at my jest; she was sobbing uncontrollably. She could barely hold her lantern, so I took it for her. “Claire, what’s wrong?”

  She wiped the tears from her eyes. “Nothing. It’s just that this…this…”—she swept her hand forward, indicating the road to the cottage—“is so sweet of you. It means so very much to me. I simply…” She sniffled. I waited, but it seemed she could not finish her thought. The fact that she was so touched warmed my heart.

  “I’m your friend, aren’t I?”

  Once she seemed to have stopped the flow of tears, I handed her lantern back to her. Along with our lamps, the stars and the bright crescent moon also helped illuminate our path as Claire and I traipsed through the woods. Soon we came upon the royal stream, and we stopped to drink of it.

  I saw something bobbing near the edge of the opposite bank and shone my lantern on it. “Claire, is that an apple?” I asked, not believing my eyes.

  She le
aned forward and tilted her head. “I don’t think so.”

  I passed her my lantern and hopped on a rock to get a better look. “It is!”

  “Regina, be careful.”

  “I’m going to get it,” I said, ignoring Claire’s warnings. The rock teetered, so I hurriedly jumped onto another and then to one more. When I’d safely made it to the other side, I picked up the apple and let out a yelp. “Claire! I think it’s the apple I gave Jasper.”

  “It can’t be,” she said as I navigated my way back across. “Goodness, it would be rotten by now. Wouldn’t it?”

  I misjudged the last step and got my boots and cloak wet, but I did not care. I held the apple in the glow of the lanterns and wiped it clean with my cloak. “I know, it doesn’t make sense, but look. It’s the same one, as perfect as ever.” Cradling it in my hands, I lowered myself onto a log. “Maybe this stream is enchanted. It’s the one that flows through the royal gardens. If we were to follow it that way,” I said, pointing north, “I believe we would arrive at the bridge where Jasper and I were to meet last Saturday. Are you thinking what I’m thinking, my dear friend?” I could barely catch my breath. When Claire said nothing, I answered on her behalf. “What if Jasper did go to the bridge? Perhaps he left the apple for me as a message that he was there, yet couldn’t stay? However, I never saw it because it rolled off and was carried downstream….Maybe he cares about me after all.”

  Claire was listening to me with an odd expression on her face, like she’d bitten into something gristly but swallowed it down to be polite.

  “Fair enough,” I said, blowing a stream of air up across my forehead. “It’s a far-fetched story, the silly stuff of fairy tales.”

  She gave me a small smile and shrugged her shoulders. “Stranger things have happened.”

  I slipped the apple into the pocket of my cloak. “Speaking of fairy tales, we have a date with an unsuspecting witch.”

  Perhaps it was because it was dark, or because I was nervous about sneaking in uninvited, but the little house seemed to have taken on an even more foreboding appearance than before. The confections looked old and moldy, like the last traces of cheer had been sucked out of them.

  “Do you think she’s home?” Claire asked as we peered through a slanted sugar-paned window.

  A blaze in the fireplace cast a pulsing glow on the witch’s living room, yet I couldn’t see anyone inside. “She must be in bed,” I answered.

  I eased open the window, and thankfully, it glided just high enough for us to slip inside. Claire stepped up, but I signaled for her to allow me to go first. With a shrug, she obliged. As I hoisted myself and climbed through the window, my heart pounded. I took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves as I waited for her inside. Previously, the cottage had smelled of cakes and sweets; now it had a savory aroma, like roasted lamb.

  Claire’s feet dropped to the floor, soundless as a cat’s paws. The fireplace crackled, flashing light on the back of the witch’s head—the familiar blond bird’s nest of hair—in the rocking chair. Every muscle in my body tensed, until a series of loud, erratic snores effectively convinced us she was sound asleep.

  “Where’s the treasure?” Claire whispered.

  “The green door,” I whispered back, pointing down the hallway. I was more than ready to help Claire find her ring and hurry out of there, never to return again. Then I heard a noise from the kitchen—it almost sounded like pleading whispers—that made me remember how adamant the witch had been that I not peek into it the last time we had been here. So while Claire tiptoed to the back room to look for her ring, I veered off into the kitchen.

  As I moved my lamplight around the room, I saw that pans, pots, and bowls cluttered the countertops, table, and sink—and a very large cauldron sat on the floor. Squashes, carrots, and heads of cabbage filled a round reed basket, and sprigs of dried herbs dangled from the rafters. Beneath my feet, dry beans crunched. The kitchen was such a mess, it was no wonder the witch hadn’t wanted me to see it.

  I scoured the kitchen for the source of the whispers, but neither heard nor saw anything suspicious…until I spotted something that looked like a cage in the far corner of the room. Stranger still, when I raised my lantern, I thought I saw something moving behind its spindly bars. However, it must have been the shadows playing tricks on my eyes, because after I blinked and took a closer look, the cage was clearly empty, save for a scrap of plain brown cloth and what appeared to be bread crumbs on its floor. Nonetheless, it was definitely a cage of some kind, plenty big enough to hold a goat, a pig, or a large dog. Or…a child, as Snow White’s nightmarish bedtime story had suggested. I felt a chill run through me.

  A blind witch that eats children?

  It was too absurd to believe. Laughable, really. I smiled to myself, but the expression felt forced. On the back side of the table, next to the oven, there was a pile of bones. Some of them were picked clean, but a few had bits of meat stuck to them. Animal bones, surely.

  “What are you doing?” Claire said in a harsh whisper. She startled me so, it was a wonder I didn’t leap straight out of my shoes.

  “Oh my goodness, you scared the dickens out of me! I thought you were her,” I said as soon as I found my voice.

  “No, she’s still asleep. Can’t you hear her?” Claire paused, and sure enough, the blind witch emitted a snore loud enough to be heard at the royal castle. “You were right, Regina. That room is full of all sorts of treasure. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “Did you find the ring?”

  “I did….” She must have sensed something was wrong, because she stopped talking and raised her lantern. Its glow skirted over the pile of bones and rested on what appeared to be a skull. It looked like the human skulls sketched in my learning books, only it was smaller.

  “Oh my goodness, Regina,” Claire gasped. “Is that…?”

  Snow White’s voice sounded in my ears, as if she were standing beside us: She lures children into her house and fattens them up. And then, she eats them up for supper!

  I screamed.

  Claire’s eyes widened and she dropped the lantern. “No!” She pushed her hand over my mouth, trying to smother my screams. “Shhhhh!” Shadows bounced and danced around the kitchen, making it seem like everything around us—the pots, bowls, knives, and chairs—were enchanted and coming to attack us. My knees gave out. I reached for the table to catch myself, smashing a platter and the cookies that had been stacked on it.

  “Who goes there?”

  The witch’s voice sent a shiver down my spine. She stood in the doorway, her hands straight out in front of her and black makeup smeared down her cheeks and all around her cloudy eyes. Claire stepped back into the pile of bones. As each bone slipped and slid, it made a telltale clacking noise. It was an ominous beat, reminiscent of the drummers at a public execution mere seconds before the headsman lowered the ax.

  “I know you,” said the witch, flaring her nostrils. “I’d recognize that vile stench of rose water anywhere.” She tittered for a second or two and then stopped abruptly. “No good. Too old, too old for me. I warned you never to come back, yet here you are, uninvited. Eating my precious cookies. Harassing a poor blind woman. Oh, but there’s more….” She closed the distance between herself and Claire, navigating around the cauldron and other obstacles with incredible precision. “I smell a thief. You’ve come to rob me, haven’t you? Speak up, girl. I cannot hear you. Confess!”

  Claire cleared her throat, yet her voice still wavered. “No, you’re mistaken. We simply left something behind we had to return for.”

  “Liar,” the witch growled, assailing us with her foul breath. “If your pockets are empty, I will allow you to leave in peace. If not…” She flexed one of her talons, making a sickening popping noise. Claire shifted out of her reach just long enough to pass me the ring. My mind whirred and my eyes darted all around, trying to formulate a plan to get us out of there without a repeat of the miniature tornado, or any other magical mayhem
she chose to craft.

  Claire grimaced and squirmed as the witch patted her down, until finally, she spoke. “I haven’t anything of yours.”

  The witch grunted in frustration. She whirled around to face me and spat, “Are you the burglar? What have you to say, girl?”

  “You are correct. I stole something,” I said as calmly as possible as I untied the ribbon from my braid and looped it around the ring. “But only one thing. A gold ring with a quality red garnet in it. I’m sure it’s worth quite a bit.”

  “Does the gold form a dragon’s claw?”

  Claire shook her head at me like I’d lost my mind, and in all honesty, she was probably right. I couldn’t very well back out now, though.

  “Indeed,” I said.

  The witch smacked her deep red lips and reached out her hand. “Give it to me.”

  I tossed the ring high into the air, the ribbon trailing behind it like a May Day streamer. It landed with a small thunk in the center of the cage. “Get it yourself,” I said.

  Claire edged closer to the cage, holding the door ajar in preparation.

  The woman laughed wheezily and mumbled something about “thieving girls” before bolting after the ring. At the same instant she crouched down to grab it, Claire slammed the door shut and, holding it in place, said, “There’s the key on that peg.”

  I stuck the key into its slot and twisted, but the witch flicked her free hand and the key flew out, narrowly missing my ear as it hurtled across the kitchen. The witch rubbed Claire’s ring to her cheek as if nuzzling a baby bunny. Claire tried to yank it away with the ribbon, but the witch’s hold was too strong.

  “Forget about the ring,” I said to Claire. “Let’s get out of here.” Suddenly, the bunches of herbs dropped from the ceiling and a dozen knives shot out of the wooden block on the counter, pinning me to the floor by the hem of my cloak. When I tried to untie it at my neckline, the knot magically tightened over and over again.