Alma and the Fairy: A Rook and Shadow Short Story (Salarian Chronicles)

by A. G. Marshall

  “Shadows only make you shine brighter!” an assistant said.

  “Salara’s eyes are the only sparkle she needs!”

  “The lace is layered like your many charms!”

  “Quiet,” Lady Alma said. She pulled a box seemingly from thin air and painted something sticky on my mouth.

  “Only Lady Alma’s genius could add to your lip’s rosiness!”

  I sighed.

  “Do you really think the Shadow-”

  “Hush. I’m not done with your lips.”

  There was no time for questions when she finished. A footman rushed me to the painting studio where the most experienced apprentice painters arranged my dress and hair under Lady Alma’s careful supervision. After one last adjustment, Lady Alma set Seda on my lap, and Mother swept into the room. Sir Bristle, Minister of the Brush, followed closely behind her. More apprentices followed him, carrying Mother’s easel and paints.

  Seda clawed at my dress, trying to escape. I kept smiling and pulled him closer. For this year’s portrait, I sat on a throne carved from a giant block of salt. More salt carvings filled the space, and they had even sprinkled it on the floor. At least it powered the enchanted candles they used to light the room.

  Seda dug his claw into my leg. I winced, but kept smiling. I had held him in every birthday portrait since I turned six, and he hated it as much as ever. If anyone knew why Seda did not age, they had never bothered to explain it to me. But then, most people assumed I wouldn’t understand anything about spells and charms since I couldn’t work them myself. I had read every book about magic in our library, but found no mention of an enchantment that would keep a kitten young for ten years. Even Lady Alma would not answer my questions about Seda.

  Mother, paintbrush in hand, stared at me while dabbing at the canvas in front of her. Sir Bristle hovered behind her holding her palette and an assortment of tools. His best apprentices, the finest painters in Salaria, and guest artists from surrounding countries worked behind them painting me onto cakes, boiled eggs, and smaller canvases.

  “Alma, I’d like to see the dress in green.”

  “She’ll look like wilted asparagus tossed out in the snow.”

  “Divinia wore green the day she blessed my daughter. The symbolism…”

  Lady Alma snapped her fingers. My dress turned green.

  “Sir Bristle, adjust the color of the dress while I examine the scene.”

  Sir Bristle snapped his fingers over his palette. Every other painter in the room did the same. Green paint replaced blue.

  The Fairy Divinia had blessed me and named me the day of my birth. According to tradition, that made her my Fairy Godmother. And according to tradition, she should visit me every once in a while and grant my heart’s desire. So far she had not even sent a calling card.

  I stared ahead, struggling to maintain my smile. Was she alright? Could harm come to fairies? Had the Dragon stopped her from traveling? He seemed to take more and more ships every day. Did fairies travel by ship?

  Pirates on our shores and bandits within them. Maybe she did not feel safe in Salaria. If she had sent a message by ship, it could easily have been intercepted.

  Mother walked to the back of the room and examined the work of the other painters. She stopped to address an apprentice with squinted eyes and frizzy red hair hunched over a medium sized canvas.

  “Who is this supposed to be?”

  “It is the Princess Salara, Your Highness.”

  Sir Bristle stopped correcting the color of my dress and approached them.

  “Is there a problem? I assure you, Your Highness, Lacquer is one of my best apprentices.”

  “Indeed? And has he learned how to draw a nose yet?”

  “I beg your pardon, Highness?”

  “Have you taught him to draw a nose, Sir Bristle? Because this painting, with a nose like that, is not my daughter.”

  Sir Bristle examined the painting and frowned.

  “I don’t understand, Your Highness. Until now, all of his work has been exemplary.”

  “Is this a joke to you, young man?” Mother grabbed the canvas and shook it in Lacquer’s face. “Do you think painting the Princess Salara is a joke?”

  Lacquer looked from me to the canvas.

  “I don’t understand the problem, Your Highness.”

  “Don’t understand the problem?”

  Sir Bristle bowed low.

  “Your Highness, perhaps he lacks the proper experience to do the Princess justice. Lacquer, you will paint eggs for the remainder of this session.”

  Lacquer opened his mouth to protest, then shut it again. He bowed, collected his brushes, and moved to the back of the room where the youngest apprentices decorated boiled eggs. Mother handed his unfinished painting to a guard.

  “See to it that this is destroyed,” she said. “I will not have such an inaccurate portrayal of the Princess fall into the wrong hands.”

  She took a deep breath and turned back to me. I smiled and stared straight ahead, trying my best to look perfect. Mother picked up her brush.

  “I prefer blue, Lady Alma. Blue for the Salarian Sea and the Ghone. Blue and white. The sky and the fairy snow. Change her dress to blue.”

  Lady Alma winked at me and snapped her fingers. My dress shifted back to the original hue. Seda pawed at it and frayed the fabric. Lady Alma waved her hand and wove the threads back together until the fraying disappeared. The painters cleaned their brushes and changed the green paint back to blue with a snap of their fingers.

  Mother painted in silence. Sir Bristle examined the work of his apprentices and the guest artists when he was not filling in details for her while she examined the scene.

  I always had plenty of time to think during portrait sessions, which is the polite way to say they were dreadfully boring. I stared at the wall and let my mind drift. What would I do when I met Divinia? It would be against every tradition if she did not come to celebrate my coming of age. Fairies didn’t bless people often these days, but against all odds she had blessed me. What would I say? Thanks for the beauty and great voice?

  And what would I wish for?

  Right now, a more comfortable chair. Salaria’s most plentiful natural resource made terrible furniture. Mother gushed about the symbolism, but the grains and bumps pushed further into my legs the longer I sat. I was supposed to be the fairy queen during the fairy snow, a Salarian legend Mother loved to recreate in any way possible

  “Her lips aren’t quite right, Sir Bristle. Fix them while I examine the scene.”

  I realized I had stopped smiling. I grimaced at Sir Bristle. He frowned and continued painting.

  Both my legs were asleep by the time we finished. I had to lean against Lady Alma as we walked through the palace to my next engagement. Seda jumped out a window and climbed down a tree the moment I let him go. Lady Alma and I walked through the gardens to an ornate building so new the paint was still drying.

  Our new opera house.

  Sir Lefting, Minster of Opera, kissed my hand as I entered the stage.

  “I trust the plot has not changed again,” Lady Alma whispered. “I have designed three costumes for this already.”

  “I finished adding the remainder of Her Majesty’s revisions last night. Another costume will not be necessary.”

  Mother strode across the stage and sat in a chair at the front of the opera house. Sir Lefting ran forward to greet her. Backstage, Lady Alma snapped me into a white satin gown, which flared into a triangle starting at my armpits. She opened a gilded chest. A swarm of diamonds flew out and hovered just above my dress. As I moved, they followed. The dress rippled constantly even though there was no breeze backstage, and the diamonds followed the movements of the fabric.

  Lady Alma pulled my hair up with a wave of her hand and put a round silver hat over my head. She fastened a new salt crystal around my neck. It glowed white, providing the magic to keep the diamonds floating.

  “So I’m not a shepherdess in disguise anym
ore?”

  Lady Alma laughed.

  “The sheep made a mess all over the stage, and your mother stepped in it. There has been an extensive revision since then.”

  “What am I now? A salt shaker?”

  “Don’t say that too loud. Your mother will get ideas about symbolism. You are a snowflake.”

  “Really? We’re doing the fairy snow again?”

  Lady Alma snapped me into white leather boots with a bit of a heel. They fanned out at my ankle into a lace snowflake pattern accented with swan feathers.

  “This opera premieres tomorrow. Don’t you dare say anything. You’re playing the first snowflake instead of the fairy queen, which makes it completely different from the last three operas your mother wrote. Put these on.”

  She handed me two silver bracelets. I slid them onto my right arm.

  “No, one on each arm.”

  “Please tell me the choreography hasn’t changed.”

  “Surely not.”

  Sir Lefting entered. He held his conductor’s baton and waved it around to punctuate everything he said.

  “The choreography is exactly the same. Except you must step backwards every twelve counts.”

  “What?”

  “As part of the stage magic,” Lady Alma said. “Try it now.”

  I stepped back, tripped on something, and nearly lost my balance. I lifted my triangular skirt to see what had caught my shoe. My foot hovered a few inches above the floor. I tapped it. Something solid and invisible stopped my shoe from reaching the ground.

  “A genius spell by the Lady Alma,” Sir Lefting said. “Each time you step back, you will be elevated a few inches.”

  “How do I get down?”

  “Once you reach the top of the stage, each step will take you down regardless of direction. Perhaps we may begin rehearsal now?”

  “It is perfectly safe,” Lady Alma said.

  I did not feel unsafe, just unsettled. No one noticed my feet were not touching the ground as I entered the stage and bowed. Sir Lefting waved his baton. The music began.

  The chorus of singers and ballerinas wore blue trimmed with silver. They entered the stage and surrounded me. I twirled amongst them. Every twelve beats I stepped backwards, and my invisible platform rose a few inches. The diamonds hovering over my dress spread out as I danced above the stage. The dress itself also spread out. Extra fabric unfolded until I was surrounded by a circle of white silk. By the time my feet reached the top of everyone’s heads, the diamonds surrounded me like rays of the sun. My salt shaker hat became the center of the snowflake.

  One by one, the chorus left the stage. When they had all gone, I stood at the center and began my aria. My enchanted voice rang through the opera house. Gradually the players of the orchestra stopped until I sang alone. As I sang my final note, I walked forward and descended an invisible staircase until I reached the stage. The diamonds on my dress drifted towards me until they sat just above the fabric again, rippling in a wind I couldn’t feel. Two footsteps echoed in the silent hall when my feet connected with the floor.

  “Magnificent!” Mother yelled. “My greatest triumph yet! Now run the whole opera. I want to see my revisions in action.”

  I nodded to Sir Lefting and walked backstage. My solo was the opera’s grand finale, so I had time to relax until I performed again.

  “Stop everything!”

  A page ran onto the stage, knocking over a few of the singers.

  “Stop everything! The Colonial Delegation has arrived!”

  Discover the rest of Princess Salara’s story in Rook and Shadow.

  About the Author

  A. G. Marshall loves fairy tales and has been writing stories since she could hold a pencil. She works as a professional pianist and teacher and enjoys crocheting and composing music. She lives in Oklahoma with her family and dogs.

  Learn more at http://www.angelagmarshall.com/

  Or write her at angelagmarshall@outlook.com