Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Text copyright © 2018 by Alloy Entertainment, LLC
Interior Art copyright © 2018 by Sara Gianassi.
Cover design by Marcie Lawrence. Cover art copyright © 2018 by Sara Gianassi.
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Library of Congrees Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Barrett, Tracy, 1955- author.
Title: Marabel and the book of fate / by Tracy Barrett.
Description: First Edition. | New York; Boston: Little, Brown and Company, 2018. | Summary: When Princess Marabel’s twin brother, Marco, is kidnapped on their thirteenth birthday, Princess Marabel must defy expectations and prophecies, leave the castle for the first time, and face great danger to rescue him.
Identifiers: LCCN 2017015323| ISBN 9780316433990 (hardback) | ISBN 9780316433983 (ebook) | ISBN 9780316554961 (library edition ebook)
Subjects: | CYAC: Adventure and adventurers—Fiction. | Princesses—Fiction. | Brothers and sisters—Fiction. | Twins—Fiction. | Kidnapping—Fiction. | Prophecies—Fiction. | Fantasy. | BISAC: JUVENILE FICTION / Fantasy & Magic. | JUVENILE FICTION / Action & Adventure / General. | JUVENILE FICTION / Girls & Women. | JUVENILE FICTION / Fairy Tales & Folklore / General. | JUVENILE FICTION / Social Issues / Self-Esteem & Self-Reliance.
Classification: LCC PZ7.B275355 Mar 2018 | DDC [Fic]—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017015323
ISBN: 978-0-316-43399-0 (hardcover), 978-0-316-43398-3 (ebook)
E3-20171214-JV-PC
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Acknowledgments
To all those who have the courage to create their own destiny
arabel of Magikos wasn’t the kind of princess who normally went on adventures. For one thing, she didn’t have a wicked stepmother who made her work all the time or plotted to kill her out of envy of her beauty. Her stepmother, who was actually very nice, treated Princess Marabel exactly the same way she treated her own royal children.
Also, Marabel wasn’t the youngest and most beautiful of three sisters. She was the oldest girl in her family (her twin brother, Marco, was only one minute older), and while she was pretty enough, she had ordinary brown hair and freckles, not the golden curls or raven tresses that the more adventure-prone princesses always seemed to have.
Marabel’s parents knew only one fairy socially, and she was not the type to put a curse on a baby to prick her finger on a spinning wheel or to drop toads from her mouth when she spoke. In any case, this fairy had been properly invited to the twins’ christening and had given each baby a lumpy wool blanket she had crocheted herself.
It was highly unlikely that Marabel would be captured by a dragon and rescued by a prince—or that her hand would be given in marriage as a reward. Her father, King Matthew, would probably grant her hand to the first prince who asked for it as long as he seemed nice, instead of demanding that his new son-in-law be a dragon slayer. The few dragons left in Magikos lived in a wildlife preserve. Visitors sometimes toasted marshmallows in their fiery breath, even though signs sternly cautioned people: STAY IN CARRIAGES. NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR INJURY CAUSED BY MAGICAL BEASTS. The survivors would bring home toy dragons wearing little shirts that said things like “My parents went to the Magikos Wildlife Park and all they got me was this dragon.”
Moreover, the Book of Fate, which told important Magikians what their futures held, didn’t say a word about Princess Marabel. Her family’s pages mostly talked about the Chosen One—her twin brother, Prince Marco—the One all Magikians had been waiting and hoping for, for a thousand years.
The Book didn’t mention the Chosen One having a twin sister. Everyone assumed that Marabel was merely an afterthought, an unimportant footnote.
So when adventure came to Princess Marabel, at first she didn’t recognize it.
On the afternoon of the day adventure found her, Marabel was practicing her sword fighting. Marco’s fencing lessons with old Lucius took place out in the stable yard, but Marabel’s lessons were held in a seldom-visited tower. That way, she wouldn’t risk being caught by her parents, who insisted that for Marabel, sword fighting was improper and a waste of time. After all, they reminded her, she would never need to know how to use a weapon.
But Marabel loved fencing, and Lucius seemed happy to teach her. Right now, he faced her in a fighter’s stance—knees bent in a crouch, weight on his toes. Marabel danced lightly back and forth, her wooden practice sword raised as she looked for an opening.
Aha! She leaped forward and thrust her sword through a gap in Lucius’s leather armor.
Clunk! The old knight’s sword bonked her head with a jolt that made her teeth clash together. Marabel thought she would faint. She swayed, the sword dangling from her hand, lights dancing in front of her eyes. Luckily, Lucius’s sword was made of wood, too.
“Ha!” Lucius’s cracked voice was triumphant. “Your brother would never have fallen for that!”
The taunt energized Marabel. Instantly, her vision cleared and her grip tightened, and she lunged again at Lucius. He swiveled to put his shield between them, but at the last instant she dodged behind him and whacked the backs of his knees with her sword.
The knight’s feet flew out from under him and he crashed to the straw-covered floor. He lay motionless on his back, his short gray beard pointing at the ceiling.
Marabel lowered her sword and waited for him to get up.
He didn’t move, not even a little. His eyes remained shut.
“Lucius?”
No answer.
Warily, expecting his hand to shoot out and grab her ankle, Marabel circled his motionless body. She prodded him
with the tip of her sword. “Lucius?”
Still nothing.
“What’s the matter? Old marsh frog needs a little nap?”
The corner of his mouth twitched.
Relief flooded Marabel. If she’d hurt Lucius—her only true friend besides Ellie—she’d never forgive herself.
Marabel was suddenly aware of her aches and pains. Her head was sore where Lucius had thwacked her, and her wrist was already showing a bruise from an earlier blow.
“You know,” she said, pulling off her helmet and shaking free her hair, damp with sweat, “I’m almost as good as Marco now. I’d be better than Marco if I could practice out in the open like he does.”
Lucius sat up and grunted, rubbing his back with one hand.
“And especially if I had a real fencing master.”
He chuckled, as she knew he would.
Marabel uncorked the flask of bluefruit juice that she had brought as a treat for Lucius, knowing it was his favorite. When the sweet aroma drifted out, the old man grinned.
“Help me up, Princess.” Lucius had lived in the palace since before Marabel was born, but he still spoke with the soft accent of the marshland where he’d grown up, making his last word sound like “brinzezz.”
She waved the bottle at him, trying to look stern. “Do you promise it’s not a trick to pull me down?”
“I swear on the Book.”
Marabel set the flask on the bench and hoisted the old man to his feet. Nobody, not even Lucius, would break an oath made on the Book of Fate.
“Where did you learn that move?” He settled next to her on the bench with a tired groan.
She shrugged. “Just came to me.” She laid the sword crosswise on her lap. She couldn’t help feeling smug about tricking him.
“I didn’t injure you, did I?” Lucius asked. “Let me see.”
Marabel bent her head and pointed at the sore spot. She winced in anticipation as his long fingers parted her hair, but he touched her so lightly that it didn’t hurt. Ellie always said that Lucius’s touch was soothing. She was right.
“There’s nothing there, Princess,” Lucius said with a smile and a pat on the shoulder.
Marabel straightened and felt for herself. Sure enough, no lump. Huh. He must not have hit her as hard as she’d thought.
She wiped the sweat off her forehead and picked up the flask of juice again. But Lucius put out a restraining hand as she raised it to her lips. “Best not.”
She lowered it. “But why?”
“Don’t want to turn your teeth blue, do you? The queen wouldn’t like that, not right before the banquet.”
The banquet! Marabel thrust the flask into the old knight’s hands and shot to her feet. With a wail of dismay, she tore out the door and sped down the spiral staircase. Plague, plague, plague it! How could she have let the time get away from her like that? The banquet was all her parents had been talking about for months. All anyone in the kingdom had been talking about for years, it seemed.
Marabel and Marco were turning thirteen at precisely thirteen minutes past thirteen o’clock on this, the thirteenth day of the thirteenth month. Or rather, Marco was turning thirteen at thirteen minutes past thirteen; Marabel would have to wait another minute for her own birthday.
Not that anyone would notice when Marabel came of age at 13:14. Everyone in the entire kingdom, from the Purple Ocean all the way to the Impassable Forest, would be shouting and beating on drums and setting off fireworks, celebrating the Chosen One. Meanwhile, Princess Marabel would sit forgotten at the banquet table.
And even worse, now she was going to be late. She knew what the courtiers would say—that she was irresponsible. Impulsive. Easily distracted from her royal duties. Oh, plague it!
Marabel was paying so little attention to where she was going that when she rounded a corner at top speed, she ran right into something that let out a startled “Oof!”
It was her father, followed by her stepmother. They were already dressed for the banquet. The surprise on King Matthew’s face was instantly replaced by his usual look of disappointment. Marabel tried not to let his expression hurt her feelings, but her father’s annoyance still stung.
Her father asked, “What are you doing with that—that weapon?”
Marabel was baffled for a moment, but then realized she was still clutching the battered old practice sword.
“And you’re wearing a red garb?” the queen added. “Have you been fencing again?”
Knights, even student knights, always wore red. It was supposed to keep them from seeing their own blood if they were wounded.
The queen shook her head at her stepdaughter’s most recent lapse in propriety. “Fencing isn’t ladylike, dear.” Marabel had to use all her strength not to roll her eyes.
Her father stretched out his hand. “Give me the weapon.”
Marabel took a step back. What could she do? She couldn’t say it belonged to Lucius—her father would instantly dismiss the old man for teaching her sword fighting. Lucius would have to go back to the marsh, where the damp would make his rheumatism so bad that he wouldn’t even be able to walk. But neither could she let the king take away the practice sword. He would be sure to toss it in the fire.
“Well?” he demanded.
Marabel opened her mouth, without knowing what she was going to say, but then a merry voice exclaimed, “My sword!” Marabel spun around. There, dressed in his banquet finery and wearing his best crown, stood Marco.
“Your sword?” the queen asked.
Marco took the sword from Marabel and made a few passes in the air. With a private grin at her, he said, “Thanks for fetching it for me, Mara.”
Marabel smiled back at her brother, even as she tried to ignore a small twinge. Once again, the Chosen One had saved the day.
Being with Marco always made Marabel think of her black-and-white pony after she’d been basking in the sun. The pony’s black hair soaked up all the heat, leaving her white spots cool. In the same way, Marco soaked up everyone’s attention, leaving Marabel out in the cold. He didn’t try to be the center of attention; it happened just because he was Marco, always sweet, always kind, always fun to be with, and so handsome, with his big brown eyes and his glossy golden hair, like their father. He already looked the part of a future king.
But for once, Marabel was glad all the attention was on her brother. The king straightened Marco’s crown while the queen tucked a strand of his shining hair behind one ear. They’d completely forgotten about Marabel, so she slipped behind the king, crossing her eyes and sticking out her tongue at Marco to make him laugh. He let out a snort, which he quickly disguised as a cough.
“You’re not coming down with a cold, darling, are you?” the queen asked him anxiously.
Marabel didn’t wait to hear his answer, but sped away down the corridor. She let herself into her bedchamber. The door had been left ajar, which meant that Ellie was already there. She was uncomfortable in small spaces and was always uneasy in a room that had its door closed.
“Oh, Marabel! You’re late.” Marabel could sense Ellie’s nervousness. “I’ve filled your bath. Hop in.”
Even though Ellie was Marabel’s best friend, she had been bossing Marabel around ever since they were seven, when she had become Marabel’s personal maid. Marabel usually resisted Ellie’s orders, but now she meekly stripped off her filthy garb and eased herself into the steaming tub. She gritted her teeth as she lowered her sore wrist into the water.
While Marabel scrubbed herself, Ellie worked a handful of soapweed into her hair, clucking as bits of straw and dirt floated out. Marabel rinsed off and stepped out of the tub, dripping, and Ellie wrapped her in a manticore skin. It was luxuriously soft—a new one, Marabel noticed. This was an indulgence even for the royal family, since manticores shed their skin only once every three years.
“Where did you get this new skin from?” she asked as Ellie helped her dry her hair. “It’s so soft!”
“I have my ways,
” Ellie said with a grin. “It’s possible that it was intended for someone else, and it, um, found its way into your chamber instead.”
Marabel suspected that the manticore skin was supposed to go to Marco, but she was soothed, just a little, by Ellie’s thoughtfulness.
“Time for your new garb,” Ellie said when Marabel was dry. She held up the garment. It was made of shimmering fabric that changed from blue to white, then to yellow and then to green, and back to white again in the wavering torchlight. Like all garbs, it consisted of trousers worn with a hooded tunic that flowed past the wearer’s waist. It had pockets, folds, and tucks that must have had a purpose once, but that was now long forgotten.
The hood on this particular garb wasn’t for use—no one would expose such an expensive fabric to rough weather. But every Magikian garb was worn with a hooded tunic, because that had been the style at the time of King Manfred, Marabel’s many-times great-grandfather, and it had never changed. It never occurred to anyone to question the custom, just as they never questioned that the name of every member of the royal family must start with “Ma”—the queen’s name had been changed from Alexandra to Maggie when she married King Matthew—or any of the other rules from the Book of Fate that governed their lives.
Ellie helped Marabel step into the garb. It fit perfectly.
“Let me see your wrist,” Ellie said.
Marabel held out her right arm.
“No, the other one.” The one with the bruise from Lucius’s sword.
Ellie frowned, and then fastened a broad bracelet made of stones from the bottom of the Purple Ocean on Marabel’s wrist. Now no one at the banquet would ask Marabel how she’d gotten hurt, which would have led to trouble. It was the perfect solution, one that only Ellie would think of.
Marabel flung her arms around Ellie’s waist and hugged her so tightly that the other girl squeaked. “Thank you,” Marabel whispered. Ellie returned the hug before gently freeing herself from the princess’s embrace.
“Now, we have just enough time to do your hair,” Ellie said. Marabel sat down at her dressing table and watched in the mirror as Ellie’s swift fingers moved in and out of her damp tresses. It took longer than usual, since Marabel had only a regular mirror these days. The magical talking mirror that gave grooming and dress suggestions had become so annoying that Ellie had gotten rid of it.
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