Dreamer of Briarfell: A Retelling of Sleeping Beauty (Fairytales of Folkshore Book 7)

by Lucy Tempest

  “Last I saw Wolfy, he was heading to the doors, where I wanted him to think we went,” he said. “He’s probably pursuing us to said eastern towers now. Our best bet is to stay in the midst of the dancers in case he comes back. And since we’re here…”

  He swung me around to him, and just like that, we were dancing.

  As my feet moved of their own accord in the steps of the brisk dance he led me through, I looked up in stunned wonder, and finally got a good look at my savior.

  Even without his fox mask, he’d be a head taller than me. And even in that bulky, dark-green coat, it was clear he was well-built. And strong, judging by how he’d pushed Lycaon aside, and caught me when I’d stumbled. Not to mention the hardness of the arms under my hands, even through the rough material of his coat.

  Which, come to think of it, seemed out of place at such a ball, along with the rest of his outfit; a wrinkled, beige drawstring shirt, drab brown pants, and well-worn riding boots.

  He stepped away to twirl me, and I sighed my pleasure as I rode the fluid movement. “Did you come here from a hunting trip? Or is this for the authenticity of your costume?”

  “Is this your way of telling me I look scruffy?” Before I could splutter a denial, the man chuckled and spooled me back into his arms. “And you wouldn’t be wrong. I had a long trip through the woods getting here—if not for the kind of hunt you’re thinking of—and these were the most suitable clothes I brought with me. But now I think about it, they do give my fox costume that harried-after-a-harrowing-chase look.”

  Even with his voice muffled, I could listen to him talk all night. Then what he’d said replayed in my mind.

  Brought with him? And he had a long trip? So, he wasn’t from here?

  Could he be one of the men Leander invited?

  My head spun at the possibility as he twirled me out again.

  With my heart tripping over its own beats, I twirled back towards him myself, asking breathlessly, “What brings you to this party, then?”

  He cocked his fox’s head at me. “I was invited.”

  “I wasn’t implying otherwise,” I rushed to say, then to adjust my question, “Invited by who?”

  He checked around, then pointed to a table where my younger sister and brother, Esmeralda and Florian were chasing each other, and Leander, Bonnie and their friends lounged. Leander wore a papier-mâché, grey-wolf mask, Clancy, a satyr’s head, goatee and horns included, while Jessamine, his pregnant wife, sported a half-mask with a beak for a nose. Bonnie, who must be unfamiliar with masked balls’ requirements, had a massive pumpkin on her head, with an intricately carved, terrifying grin.

  Not that I cared about what she wore or anything else at the moment.

  This man was one of those Leander had invited for me!

  But since I knew what each was wearing tonight, all except one, the one I hadn’t seen yet, that meant this had to be him. The one who was the last to arrive, the best candidate.

  He was the Grand Duke of Opona!

  Chapter Four

  It took a lifetime of reserve—cultivated through endless scrutiny of my every action, and persistent suppression of my every impulse—to stop me from reaching up and snatching that mask off his head.

  The urge still almost overwhelmed me. I needed to see the man who was my last hope for survival.

  But since he was, more than ever I had to be on my best behavior. I had to win him over at all costs.

  Among the clanging in my head, I heard his voice, forced myself to focus. “I’m sorry, what?”

  “I was saying, it’s only fair that you tell me who invited you.”

  I waved. “I didn’t need an invitation.”

  “Oh, why’s that?”

  I stared at him blankly. What had I just said?

  I’d come intent on drawing my candidates out, hadn’t anticipated a reciprocated interest in the nobody I was posing as. I hadn’t prepared anything beyond a false name.

  Now I didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t point to my identity. I wasn’t used to lying. The most I did was refrain from telling the truth of my opinion, offering rehearsed diplomacies instead.

  Frantically, I searched for an answer that would have an element of truth, without exposing it. Just like the biggest and best liar I’d ever met used to do, Cyrus’s future queen.

  Among her half-truths—when she’d been sent by the witch Nariman to infiltrate the Bride Search and steal the magic lamp—had been introducing herself as Lady Ada of Rose Isle, an obscure islet in Arbore. It was close enough to the truth, since she was from Hericeurra, or Ericura now, a forgotten Arborean colony thought lost to history. Even Lady Ada was almost a reversal of her very name, Adelaide.

  Following her example, I now replied hurriedly, “My mother is the queen…” I paused before forcing out the fabrication, “…the queen’s lady-in-waiting.”

  The man gave a small bow. “Well, milady, I’m going to need you to laugh very loudly, like I’ve just said the funniest thing you’ve ever heard.”

  I gaped at him. “Why?”

  “Just trust me. Laugh. Hard.”

  “But I can’t.”

  “Can’t what?”

  “Can’t laugh, not on demand, certainly never in public. It’s poor manners.”

  “Is that why you have such a long face?”

  “Excuse me?”

  He gestured over my head. “The horse mask, long face, get it?”

  “Oh. Ha. Ha,” I snarked, then bit my tongue.

  What was I doing, mocking him? I should be doing everything in my power to ingratiate myself to him. If he wanted me to laugh, I should laugh.

  Then I opened my mouth and I found myself saying, “Ladies shouldn’t laugh, and if we do, we should cover our mouths, and keep it to a delicate chuckle, quiet enough to not be disruptive, but audible enough to flatter whatever clever quip our companion just made.”

  He was the one who laughed heartily. “And here I thought you can’t laugh because you’ve broken your funny bone.”

  My jaw dropped behind my mask. “There’s a funny bone?”

  I could still hear the grin in his voice. “Two humerus bones, actually.”

  “Humorous?”

  “Humerus.” He spelled the word as he raised the hands on my waist to squeeze my upper arms. “These things. Ever slam your elbow and feel a charge shoot to your fingertips?”

  “That’s what’s considered funny? What’s so funny about pain?”

  “Pain is hilarious, as long as it’s inflicted on someone who deserves it.” Before I could say it would be vengeful, or appeasing, but not funny, he added, “Now let’s get you laughing. And don’t worry, I won’t tell your governess.”

  “I really can’t laugh on command. Even if I could, I wouldn’t be able to tonight.”

  There was a frown in his voice as he said, “What’s tonight?”

  Only the most important night of my ever-decreasing lifespan!

  “I’m here to make a good impression,” I mumbled.

  He huffed with a shake of his head. “Clearly that worked a little too well, first with Wolfy, and now you have another relentless suitor following you. And there’s no more avoiding him.”

  I looked to where he was gesturing, and found Björn waving at me wildly, and plowing through the dancers like a boulder thundering down a mountain.

  Groaning, I remembered that I’d promised I’d let him know when we could go to the river later this evening. Knowing him, he wouldn’t take a quick answer and leave. He’d ramble on and drag me to eat some more, and interrupt this precious time with the Grand Duke.

  The time my life literally depended on.

  Panicking, I grabbed my companion by the arm. “We must get out of here!”

  “We don’t need to,” he insisted. “That’s why I suggested you laugh. A lady laughing unreservedly at a gentleman’s diverting efforts is a sign that she favors him, and for all other suitors to step back.” He looked to the side where Björn had
just knocked a couple off their feet, thankfully slowing him down, and shook his head. “At least I hope that mountain of a man follows those unspoken rules.”

  “He doesn’t!” I almost wailed.

  He snuck quick looks around, scoping out the area like a true fox would for an escape, before setting his hands on my waist. “Then let’s flee.”

  Before I took my next breath, he lifted me up and swung me around flaring my skirt, clearing a circle through the throng of dancers. He kept swinging and twirling me until we made it off the dance floor. Then he grabbed my hand and tugged me after him, and we ran.

  He kept looking back, making sure I was keeping up, oblivious to all disgruntled gasps and growls as we plowed through the milling guests.

  Then we burst through a set of open doors, leaving the ballroom behind, and crossing into the massive, adjoining terrace. We cleared all those who’d come out for fresh air, but he didn’t stop until we reached the farthest spot overlooking the moonlight-soaked gardens spread before the sparkling city of Eglantine. After the stuffiness of the crowds, the night air carried a rousing chill, and the song of nightlife subdued the noise emanating from the ballroom.

  As he turned to me, I swayed, and he steadied me against his strength, making my clammy body heat up further with a giddy flush.

  He was now so close I could see past the hollows of his mask, and into his lively eyes. After the fire-tinged illumination of chandeliers, the blue-edged silver of the moonlight still made me uncertain what their color was. Whatever it was, it was clear and pure, and I wondered if the rest of him was as breathtaking beneath that mask.

  Once he made sure I was steady on my feet, he released me and leaned on the marble balustrade.

  Looking down at me, his imposing figure lit by the golden light seeping through the terrace doors, and the steel moonbeams peeking through the dark clouds above, he said, “So, what would it take for you to loosen up?”

  This was one question I’d never thought I’d be asked.

  I had nothing but the truth in answer. “I don’t know. I’m wound up too tight, always have been.”

  “Then our goal tonight is to find a way for you to unwind.”

  “Heh. Good luck with that…” I stopped mid-grumble.

  What was I doing? I was supposed to be sweet and charming and accommodating, not petulant, self-pitying, and confrontational.

  Seemingly unaffected by my unfiltered responses, he rubbed his hands together. “I suppose I’ll need that luck. Or as performers say, I’ll need to break a leg.”

  “At least you won’t be breaking one of your funny bones…” I stopped again, grimacing under cover of my mask, and exhaled. “Why do they say that, anyway? I’ve been told that before I entertained people, but I never understood why. Why tell an actor or a singer to break a leg?”

  “Maybe because every performance has to have a cast?”

  It took me a few seconds to get it. “Oh. Cast. Broken limbs. Ha-ha.”

  “You have to admit that was funny.”

  “That was yet another inane pun, not worth the roaring laughter you want me to muster…”

  What was wrong with me? Where had my finesse and decorum gone? I couldn’t even summon my princess-like manners anymore.

  He still didn’t seem to take any kind of offense as his voice turned teasing. “Since you’re so focused on being proper, you should humor me. Use some of that charm that had mountain-man and that manimal chasing you like starving men would pursue a fleeing, juicy steak.”

  The absurdity of the image he painted, not to mention that word, wrenched an exclamation out of me. “Manimal!”

  “It gets the meaning across better than shapeshifter or therianthrope, doesn’t it?”

  “It does, but it sounds—so silly.”

  “Most loan words do.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like our friend the werewolf. This is literal Avongartan for ‘man-wolf.’ Same goes for mermaid—‘sea-girl.’ ”

  “What about sea-cow? Is manatee a literal translation for it?”

  “Not that know of.” I could see the corners of his eyes crinkling. He had to be grinning. I bet he had a big, perfect smile. “But in some places, mermaid and manatee are the same thing. This came from the time before roads were established throughout the Folkshore, and trains were invented, and the fastest way to get somewhere was by sea—”

  “That’s still the case.”

  He just nodded, muffled voice sounding more amused. “But ships don’t wander aimlessly like they did before. Back then, men were stuck aboard for so long, they began to mistake manatees for mermaids.”

  I gaped at him, horrified at what it must have taken to drive men to such hallucinations, but still unable to keep from giggling at that scenario.

  He whooped. “There we go! We’ll get you chortling in no time.”

  My hand instinctively shot to cover my mouth, only to smack into the mask’s muzzle.

  He reached for it with a gentle hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “No one is watching you. Even if they were, and they could see you behind that mask, don’t worry about them. Just laugh. Be as loud as you want.”

  Though I couldn’t resume laughing, I let out the pent-up breath I seemed to have been holding in for as long as I could remember. “Chortling is such a funny-sounding word, too.”

  “Then whoever came up with it should be commended. I take issue with words that don’t match their meaning.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like our old friend the funny bone turning out to be a nerve. Or peanuts not being nuts.”

  “They’re not?” I exclaimed.

  He shook his head. “But they are similar to peas, so they have that small accuracy making up for it.”

  “I now remember my mother once told me that walnuts weren’t nuts either, that they’re closer to dates.”

  “I’m assuming you’re not referring to calendar dates.”

  “Dates are eastern fruits that grow on palm trees…” I stopped as it hit me this could point to my identity. The common Arborean would have never heard of palm trees, let alone what fruit they bore.

  The Grand Duke only hummed. “Interesting. You said your mother was the queen’s lady-in-waiting. Would that make her Cahramani as well?”

  My lungs emptied in a rush of relief at his deduction. “Yes. Yes, that would.”

  So this was how Ada must have felt! Whenever people went along with her lies, reaching their own conclusions, and unwittingly smoothing her path. Subterfuge was nerve-wracking, but it also had its satisfying moments.

  Still, I must divert this back to him. “What about you, Mr.…?”

  “Call me Reynard.”

  So he’d come ready with a false name, too.

  Two can play that game, Grand Duke Nikolai.

  But before I could press my question about his origins, and hopefully get a true answer, he added, “And you are?”

  Disappointed that he’d swung this back to me, I mumbled, “Zafira.”

  “Sounds like ‘sapphire.’”

  “That’s exactly what it is,” I said, forgetting my disappointment, once again impressed by the versatility of his general knowledge.

  “A brave decision on your parents’ part—not naming you after a flower.”

  So he also knew of the custom to name Arborean girls after flowers, since Arbore was the “flower capital of the world.”

  My father had wanted to name me after the fabled briar rose, to signify my rare birth—the first princess born to Arbore in seven generations. My mother had put her foot down, since he’d named Leander, insisting on continuing her family’s tradition of honoring Queen Zafira, by naming girls after gems and precious metals. She and my aunt Loujaïne were Emerald and Silver, respectively.

  I was named Fairuza for the turquoise of my eyes, a stone that symbolized victory in Cahraman. Ironic, since I hadn’t had much of that in my life, not to mention my most recent and crushing defeat.

&nb
sp; The final defeat could be two weeks away. If I didn’t secure my companion’s declaration of love. And I must. I would.

  If I could remember I should be impressing him, not the other way around.

  But it was impossible to be measured or calculating around him. It was all I could do not to blurt out the whole truth every time I opened my mouth.

  For now, in response to his latest comment, I said, “It if helps, one of my middle names is Rose.”

  “So how do you say ‘rose’ in Cahramani?”

  “Gol,” I said, thickening my accent to stress the vowel. “Roses are important in both of my parents’ lands.”

  “I’ve heard of rosewater being used in eastern sweets. Never got the chance to try any, though.”

  “That’s a travesty!” I declared in mock-indignation. “I’ll bring you some myself, so we can rectify this shocking situation.”

  “How generous of you.” He gave a deep mock-bow, before he straightened to gaze down at me. “Now we have one thing left to settle.”

  “And that is?”

  He poked me gently. “Getting a good laugh out of you.”

  I instead fell mute, my every nerve jangling from the simple contact. Physical spontaneity was unknown to me, even with Leander and my parents. But in the past hour, Reynard, or Nikolai, had touched me more than I’d been touched all my life. And there had been nothing encroaching or exploitative in any of his gestures, like it had been with Björn and Lycaon. Every gesture had been protective, attentive, supportive—for me. About me.

  Not much in my life had been for me or about me.

  Throat tightening with the tears I hadn’t been able to shed since the day I’d realized I’d lost the Bride Search, and with it my assured salvation, I choked, “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I’m afraid I have to. I’ve made it my business to get a good giggle out of you.”

  “What if you can’t, hmm?” I dared him, my spirits suddenly soaring higher at an alarming speed. “I warn you—I’ve been told I have no sense of humor.”

  He shrugged. “And I’ve been told I’m awfully persistent—especially if I encounter a challenging problem.”

  “What if it’s a lost cause?”