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

by Lucy Tempest

  “But I must accompany you to Faerie!” I pleaded. “That’s the only place to find a way to br… to put me back together.”

  “How do you know that? If you don’t know anything else about your condition?”

  “I—I…” I couldn’t tell him what I was thinking, or I would expose the nature of my curse, and with it probably my identity. “I just think if I’m being imprisoned by fairy magic, only it can restore me.”

  Though I couldn’t see his face, I could feel his mind racing as he considered my words, and his options. Then without another word, he turned around and ran towards the broken window.

  “Hey! Where are you going?”

  He didn’t respond, just jumped to the windowsill—then he leaped out!

  A shriek issued from both my body and spirit, torn between a yell at him for leaving me behind, and a scream of fright for him.

  I flew after him, but stopped at the windowsill, watching him in horror.

  He was falling!

  Before my phantom heart could burst, he suddenly stopped plummeting. It took me heart-choking moments to understand how.

  The maniac had free-fallen down the majority of the tower’s height. Then, in mid-plummet, he’d caught the rope he must have climbed up on. It was fastened to the battlements, and he was now hopping down the side of the castle wall, using the momentum of its swing.

  At the speed he was going, he’d be long gone by the time I reached the castle doors. But I had no idea if I could jump from this height, or if I’d only float in place. Worse, what if my mind would be so terrified, it would kill my body?

  But I had to risk it. I couldn’t let him leave me behind.

  Cursing the Fates, fairies, and fickle thieves, I got onto the windowsill.

  For long moments, as I looked down the terrifying height, I felt my non-existent stomach turn, and I almost toppled down.

  So this was how Cherine had felt when she’d been dangling off that gargoyle with a hundred feet of space yawning below her. How had she not fallen? And how had Ada risked going down after her? And managed to get her up, too?

  But if they had both braved such mind-numbing terror, when they’d been flesh and blood, and certain death awaited their fall, the least I could do was take my chances in my insubstantial form.

  Squeezing my eyes tight, I jumped.

  I only floated in place.

  Gritting my teeth, I opened my eyes, forced myself to look down the stomach-churning height, and focused all I had on moving downward.

  But instead of floating down like a feather, I plummeted like a rock.

  I managed to slow down at the last moment, coming to a stop with a shriek within spearing distance of the largest, longest thorn I had ever seen. Being enchanted to keep me prisoner, now I wasn’t returning to my body but escaping it, I had no way of knowing if it wouldn’t have skewered me this time.

  Robin landed beside me moments later, yanking the rope back down.

  “What are you doing?” I seethed. “You promised to help!”

  Again, Robin avoided responding, winding the rope’s length and shoving it into his bag, before he waded into the thorn bush.

  It was only then I looked around us, and gasped.

  Where once the castle grounds spread, there was now an enormous expanse of tangled briars that stretched to their ends.

  No wonder no one had been able to approach the castle again. Every inch of this roiling sea of thorns promised a slashing end to anyone who neared.

  How had he crossed it all, and reached the tower?

  As if in answer, he gave me a demonstration of just how he had.

  With the grace of a great feline, and unhampered by the unwieldy weight of the bag swinging at his back, he jumped among the snarled serpents of black wood, every inch armed with blade-like spines. He landed on this one, ducked beneath that, twisting and springing, fluidly, swiftly, humming a tune the whole time, as if he was skipping down a primrose path.

  After I tested my ability to phase through the thorns without being shredded to ghostly pieces, I followed him. My amazed gaze remained fixed on his complicated precision until we cleared the lethal expanse.

  Once we emerged on the other side, still wracked with nerves, I shrieked at him, “Why did you leave me?”

  With the briar expanse at his back and gazing down the rolling hill descending steeply before us, he just shrugged. “I had to know if you could leave this castle, or if you were bound to your body’s location, before I gave you an answer.”

  At a loss for words, I spluttered outraged noises until I gathered enough wits to snap, “You could have just asked!”

  “No, I couldn’t have. You obviously didn’t know until now.”

  “I did know! I left the castle before…” I stopped, since I’d only gotten as far as the front door, and hadn’t even thought I could go that far.

  He said exactly what I was thinking, “You clearly didn’t go far, and didn’t think you could, or else you would have left to get help.”

  I scowled at him. “Maybe I didn’t leave because I thought no one could see me, anyway.”

  “If you thought you could leave, you would have tried, anyway. And then, you are very uncooperative. You still haven’t told me what’s wrong with you, and I didn’t feel like spending another five hours dragging piecemeal information out of you.”

  “So you decided to trick me!”

  He nodded. “I shot two birds with one arrow.”

  “You still did it in a dishonest, not to mention distressing, way.”

  “Oh, cry me a waterfall, Ghost Girl. I’m trying to help you, and however I do it doesn’t matter, as long as the deed gets done.”

  My irritation with that nickname rose, only to subside as that sentiment resonated with something I’d heard before. From Reynard? I couldn’t recall. My memories of him had been fading since I awoke in this state.

  I now wondered if this “end-justifies-the-means” school of thought had been revived by some idle philosopher’s untested theories, and had been infecting the commoners of our generation.

  “I suppose you’re right,” I finally said grudgingly.

  I needed this shifty brigand’s help, and agreeing with him would be the easiest way of getting him to provide it. This wouldn’t be too different to buttering up cutthroat courtiers, or showering foreign dignitaries with sickly sweet praise.

  And then, if he so easily disregarded honesty and the foundations of right and wrong, then I ought to continue deceiving him as well. I would only tell him the truth if all else failed.

  “Does this mean I can come with you to Faerie?”

  “Depends. What is it that you need there, and is it harder to achieve than my original goal?”

  “I don’t know what I need exactly. I already told you I think fairy magic can restore me.”

  “And I think you know exactly what you need, but won’t tell me. I already told you I need the specifics.”

  “I don’t have any.”

  “Well, then, it’s been fun, milady.”

  Then he turned on his heel, and started running down the verdant hill.

  Stunned, I watched him recede, his cloak almost blending with the greenery surrounding us.

  As I finally bolted after him, I appreciated being incorporeal for the first time. The hill was so wet and muddy, I was actually thankful my bare feet didn’t have to squelch like his booted ones did.

  As feeling me approaching him, without looking over his shoulder, he said, “I know a girl with your upbringing believes that being difficult is how you get your way. But that won’t work on me.”

  “My upbringing?” I echoed nervously.

  “I hope you won’t be even more difficult and deny what I surmised about you in the tower.”

  Oh, that. But since it was still scarily close to the truth, and to keep him at this conclusion, and no further, I had to resort to more half-truths.

  I fell into step with him. “I am from Eglantine, and I did li
ve at court. My mother is a foreigner who married a—high-ranking official. And I did end up this way by falling off my horse.”

  “That wouldn’t expel your spirit outside your body. So, what did?”

  Only a few people sworn to secrecy knew of the curses Leander and I had been subjected to. Maybe I could tell him this part of the truth, without having it traced back to me.

  I finally exhaled. “Fairies.”

  “Fairies—what?” I gazed into the opaque depths of his hood and he sighed. “Do I get to finally hear how some fairy made you semi-dead?”

  “Do I get to see your face?” I countered.

  He wagged his finger at me. “My face isn’t the key to your release, the specific method used on you is.”

  “What do you mean method?”

  “Did you not hear any fables at court? Or were they considered silly peasant tales you didn’t bother your refined mind with?”

  I let out a weary groan. “Enough with the mockery. You’ve already made it clear you despise royals and nobles, so just get to your point.”

  He made a sound like when Amabel fluttered her lips. “You’re no fun.”

  “I can’t be fun when I need to be saved!”

  “Fun and the pursuit of salvation are not mutually exclusive.”

  I pulled a face at him, thankful that no one who knew me was around to reprimand me for making the ugly contortion, and that my true face wasn’t at risk of developing frown lines. No one liked a sour-faced princess.

  But then, no one had liked my perfectly smooth, graciously composed one, either.

  I had no idea what expression he made in response as he continued to run, not even out of breath as he said, “So, Miss Dreamer of the Woods, how did fairies make you ‘sleep’? Had a flower spray poison in your face? Tricked you into eating a fairy fruit? Made you prick your finger on an enchanted spinning wheel?”

  “What are all these bizarre methods you’re suggesting?”

  “They’re the fables’ suggestions for unnatural slumber.”

  “Yes, but a spinning wheel? Do I look like someone who weaves?”

  “You spin yarn on a spinning wheel, you weave on a loom.”

  “How should I know the difference?”

  “You mean you never learned such skills in your ladylike grooming? What about crocheting or knitting?”

  I wrinkled my nose at the thought. “I never worked with my hands. It’s beneath me.”

  Robin scoffed. “Anyone who makes anything with their hands is above you idle courtiers.”

  I gasped, having never heard such a notion. “Workers are useful, certainly, but their place is undisputed. As for hand work, it is unthinkable for me because I wouldn’t have nice, painted nails or fingers worthy of precious rings. Working women’s hands end up looking like men’s.”

  That had been exemplified by Cora. Despite having long, golden hair and fine features, she could have never passed for a girl of breeding. Her broad build, mannish muscles, wide, rough hands, and especially her tan, had betrayed her as someone who toiled in the sun.

  And then there were the freckles, something I’d thought I was immune to, thanks to my mother’s heritage. But I’d met a Cahramani noblewoman whose face had been covered in them. Seeing how she’d carelessly ruined her skin had reinforced the importance of the practices drilled into me from childhood, of walking with parasols, and keeping to the specially built shades in gardens. Ladies had to retain their skin in the condition the gods had bestowed upon us.

  Not that having pristine skin had done me any good. All I could boast now was being a magically embalmed body in perfect condition.

  I could almost feel the disdain in Robin’s unseen gaze as he said, “They end up looking strong. And like they’ve done something more than sit around, looking pretty.”

  I frowned up at him. “Why would a lady want to look strong? That’s what men are for.”

  “And what are you for, pray tell?”

  “Being your foil, of course. Gentle, graceful, delicate, untouched by the harshness of labor and war.”

  “And what about the women who have to bear such harshness?”

  “They are wronged, and I pity them.” I then remembered his earlier jab at ladies. “What’s wrong with sitting around looking pretty? That’s a very hard thing to achieve.”

  “What’s wrong is that you’re a person and not a painting. Oh, wait, you’ve probably never been near a paintbrush either, since that is messy hand work, and it would ruin your perfect nails and soft, useless fingers.”

  It was a good thing I was incorporeal, or else I would have picked up the nearest rock and chucked it at his head. That was how much every sarcastic snipe out of his big mouth irritated me.

  Seemingly as annoyed with me, Robin blew out a forcible sigh. “This is why I can’t wait to get her back. Talking to girls like you makes me appreciate her even more.”

  “Is the ‘her’ you’re going to Faerie for, a relative, or a…?” For some reason, I didn’t want to finish that question.

  He didn’t need me to, as he said, “Not a relative.” Then I heard a smile entering his voice. “I wonder if she made it into any of the stories and songs about me?”

  Oh, so he wasn’t just biting the tender flesh of nobles like the rampant pest that he was, he was also luring girls into his misguided cause and dangerous pursuits? Somehow, that didn’t surprise me.

  “Every version I heard had a rotating cast of characters dubbed the Merry Men,” I said. “From a priest to a knife-tossing madman, but no mention of any women. It must have been to protect that poor girl’s honor, since you’ve likely ruined it.”

  “Trust me, Marian doesn’t need anyone to protect her honor,” he drawled, saying “honor” like it was the funniest thing he’d heard all day.

  The way he talked about this girl annoyed me more than anything else, so much so I found myself sneering, “If she’s so capable, why are you playing at being a knight and charging into Faerie to rescue her?”

  “Because she was outnumbered and overpowered by fairies, you halfwit.”

  Startled by his sudden vehemence, I fell back a few steps.

  If only someone who could break my curse had been this desperate to rescue me, then perhaps I would never have fallen asleep to begin with.

  “Marian would have held her own against anyone else, but fairies?”

  The rage thrumming in Robin’s voice made my breath catch in my throat. “Fairies did this to me as well.”

  “Did what exactly? No more evasions, Ghost Girl.”

  “Cursed me. But instead of dying, I just…” I threw my hands up limply. “…became this.”

  His anger seemed to drain as he started scaling another hill. “So, no flowers, fruits, or spindles?”

  “No, just a date for my demise, and a seemingly unattainable solution.”

  “So why do you think it’s in Faerie?”

  “Because someone I know found a solution to a similar curse there—a fairy, a royal to be specific.”

  He whistled softly. “Now, this is getting interesting.”

  I got distracted from answering him when we started going up the next hill and a group of people with four horses came into view at the top. And he was clearly heading towards them. Could it be his Merry Men?

  Not that they sounded merry. Even from this distance, I heard the distinct notes of discord.

  I soon realized only two of them were at each other’s throats, a woman with curly brown hair and a man in a red coat. The other pair, a petite blonde sitting on a pearly white horse, and a man of inconceivable size standing beside the last horse, were watching their companions in silence.

  Upon further approach, I had to blink repeatedly to credit the evidence of my eyes. But there was no mistaking it. The two women were…

  Agnë and Meira!

  I found myself running towards them, babbling their names.

  It was Agnë’s mount that turned towards me and launched into a gallop. An
d it wasn’t just any mare.

  It was my unicorn, Amabel!

  Elation expanded my chest, and combined with my weightlessness, I felt like I would float up into the sky, gleaming with all shades of relief like a giant soap bubble.

  But that bubble popped when Agnë pulled on Amabel’s reins hard, forcing her to stop before Robin as she asked urgently, “Did you happen to find anyone inside the castle?”

  As Amabel whinnied her protests, Robin looked from Agnë to me, nonplussed. “What?”

  “We’ve been looking for her all over this stupid kingdom!” Meira yelled as she rode nearer. “But now we’ve seen this castle, this is where she must be. Did you search the castle? This—moron…” She flung her hand at the man approaching behind her, the one she’d been arguing with. “…won’t tell us what you were even doing in there.”

  “Girls, I’m right here!” I cried out, hoping against hope they might hear me. “Well, part of me is here, the rest is up there.”

  Amabel whinnied again, trying to pull against her reins. Agnë held her back as she suggested hopefully, “Maybe this was still the wrong castle?”

  “Don’t be stupid. Why else would that sea of thorns be there?” Meira brought her black steed to a stop, and jumped down, curly hair weighed down by the dampness in the air as she stalked towards Robin. Stopping before him, elbow lifting her dark-orange cloak to reveal a masculine ensemble of brown pants, a white shirt rolled up her forearms, and a blue vest, she jabbed an accusing finger into Robin’s chest. “Did you find anyone in there or not?”

  After a moment of staring down at Meira, Robin quietly swore and turned to me. “They can’t see you.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Any excitement I’d felt at seeing familiar faces, and hearing that they had been searching for me, sank harder than a cannonball in a lake.

  “I thought when you saw me, that it meant everyone else could now,” I mumbled miserably.

  “What do you mean ‘now’? Did you know you were invisible?”

  “My brother couldn’t see me, neither could his friend. And when they sent someone my way, they couldn’t see me either. I’d figured it was because I had just left my body, or it was to make this curse harder to break, since they were actively trying to break it for me.”