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

by Lucy Tempest

  “As commendable as your efforts are, you don’t seem happy when you talk about what you do.”

  “My happiness doesn’t matter, and it shouldn’t be a factor in one’s duty.”

  I exhaled deeply. “That is a sentiment I am overwhelmingly familiar with.”

  “Because as a noblewoman, you were raised to be some powerful man’s wife?”

  I sat at the foot of his bed, tension flaring up my neck, like the teasing beginnings of a headache. “You make it sound almost—vulgar.”

  He rolled his eyes. “It’s the root of your problems, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t recall telling you anything of the sort.”

  “You didn’t need to. It’s obvious in how you think anything that could ruin your chances of being perceived as the perfect bride is bad.”

  I looked away, feeling embarrassed all of a sudden. “That was because everything depended on my being chosen by a—powerful man. It would have benefited not just my future children, but my family, and everyone dependent on them. I grew up believing my very life depended on it.”

  He said nothing, just nodded, encouraging me to say more.

  No one had ever really wanted to hear what I thought, or considered I might have thoughts that were different from what I was taught to say.

  I smiled bitterly. “I would never say this to anyone back home, but if I had a choice, I wouldn’t want to be some powerful man’s wife. Or never just that. All it does is make you a target for envy and vitriol. Then there are the boundaries and limitations of what is appropriate, what is expected, and what is out of bounds. It would have been different if the advantages that came with the disadvantages were what I valued or enjoyed or aspired to. But I’ve discovered, they’re not.” I set my hands on my lap, not feeling flesh, but sensing my legs regardless, and they were shaking. “But I have to do it, as it’s the only thing I can do, and what I want doesn’t matter. Like you said, my happiness about it was never a requirement.”

  Robin didn’t say anything still. For long, long moments.

  When I finally gathered enough nerve to check if he had fallen asleep again, I found him watching me with sad eyes.

  Then he finally attempted a smile. “Being a rough-handed, sun-burned farmer sounds very liberating all of a sudden, doesn’t it?”

  I huffed a mirthless laugh. “That’s taking it a little bit too far for me. But I suppose that kind of life comes with a lot less surveillance, judgment, and just more space, in every sense of the word.”

  I couldn’t help thinking of Cora again. Her mother was the Mistress of the Granary, a fertile region south of Arbore that fed a huge part of the Folkshore. It was an inherited matriarchal title that carried no noble blood or rank, like a benevolent dictatorship, if there were such a thing.

  She had arrived in Cahraman with the possibility of becoming a future queen, and all she’d done was moan and groan about wanting to return to her fields and animals, where she was useful and in control. But she’d still moved through her day with the confidence of a wealthy lord’s son, unbowed by the opinions of others, the sway of superiors, or threats of any sort.

  In one of my least dignified moments, right after she’d saved me, too, I’d threatened her with the power I wielded as a princess. She’d decimated my claims with indisputable facts that had shown me how little I knew of how the world worked on every level, and how little impact I had on anything.

  This rough-handed girl with dirty feet and unfiltered speech, who ate with her hands and fought with them, too, was the antithesis of what I was.

  And how I envied her.

  I envied her freedom, inside her own mind before anything else, and her confidence in her role in life. Like me, she had her destiny preordained for her, as she was born to run the Granary. But unlike me, whatever she did while she did it, would be her choice.

  Robin waved a hand in front of my face, regaining my attention. “All right then, how about we don’t go that far? How about a middle ground status, sort of like what musicals are?”

  I exhaled dejectedly. “What would a human musical be?”

  His vivid eyes twinkled with mischief, and I got the impression that he was trying to tease me out of my funk. “To rephrase: Being a hard-working, mid-ranking professional sounds very liberating all of a sudden, doesn’t it?”

  “And being a nobleman with legislative influence sounds very attractive now, doesn’t it?” I fired back.

  His lips twisted sardonically. “Funny how you’d rather be lower down the ranks to have the opportunity to just be yourself.” He tugged at the pointed tip of his ear. “While my very nature and lower rank mean I never have the opportunities to achieve what I believe in.”

  And both our wishes would never come to pass.

  Even if I survived, it would be to become what I could no longer imagine being. I’d never pursue any of my passions, as they’re not part of the job I’d been primed for since birth. While he couldn’t hold any position with his fey blood. Not before Bonnie, as Arbore’s first fairy queen-consort, normalized fairies among the nobility and gentry, probably decades from now.

  “It’s not funny, it’s sad,” I said, shoulders drooping.

  “You’d be surprised how often people laugh at misery, be it theirs or anyone else’s.”

  “That sounds like a fairy trait.”

  “Fairies are people, too. They just don’t lie to themselves about who they are. There’s a lot of humans like them, but they just don’t have the power to reveal themselves. If they get it, they become Prince Jonquil and his circle of sycophants.”

  “You have a lot of hate for that man.”

  “No less than your hatred towards the fairy who cursed you.”

  That might have been true once. But I no longer had any capacity to expend on my hatred of the Spring Queen.

  I played with my hands in my lap, feeling their shape, structure, but no warmth, no blood, no skin—like I was a hollow sculpture.

  That was how I’d felt, for a very long time, in every way: hollow.

  “I just want this over and done with.”

  “If all goes well, that could be tomorrow for you.” He was trying to sound cheerful, for my sake, judging by how closely he watched me. “You get whatever it is you need from King Theseus, and we get Marian’s whereabouts, and you’ll be rid of me.”

  I did a double-take at that statement. For some reason, I didn’t like the idea of him disappearing, not one bit.

  As I considered a response, an inexplicable longing assailed me, and along with it, the memory of Reynard.

  I hadn’t allowed myself to dwell on him since the early days outside my body, had actually been suppressing my recollections of him, until I’d felt them fraying.

  And I should let them fade completely. Clinging to insubstantial hope was what had me in this dire situation in the first place. I should have admitted that Cyrus wouldn’t have me, when he’d initiated the Bride Search. Just as I shouldn’t have wasted my last chances with the candidates, hoping for Reynard’s return. He was already promised to some girl he’d known for ages, and likely loved. It hadn’t mattered that I would have loved for him to be the one. That I would have loved him.

  What I wanted and felt had never mattered, anyway.

  So it didn’t matter that I didn’t wish Robin to disappear. He would, all too soon.

  “You can’t wait to see Marian again, can you?” I said, without meeting his eyes, looking at the lip he’d split again instead.

  “You have no idea.” Fondness softened its tightness, making me look up. I wished I hadn’t when I saw how the thought of her warmed his eyes.

  Because some illogical part of me wished that that look was for me.

  But as the old saying went, if wishes were kisses and princes were frogs then we’d all live happily ever after.

  Now I wanted to merely live, happily ever after not expected—or even possible.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Time in the Summer Cou
rt moved in a way I couldn’t conceive.

  But that might be because I was, technically, dreaming. Or as Robin had put it, in a dream-self state. Dreams warped the perception of time, making a minute feel like an hour. The lone day we’d been here felt like an unending week of sunshine.

  Being whatever I was now, I didn’t need rest, and was unhampered by barriers. So while my companions slept and recuperated, I charted the Summer Palace. And all the time, I rethought my conversation with Robin.

  In retrospect, I had made several mistakes. I’d been too honest with him, too open, in a way I’d never been with anyone. As painful as the topic had been, I’d never felt more comfortable expressing it, not even to myself.

  Was this some fairy aura I’d been affected by? An influence that loosened my tongue, my reservations about him, and my guilt about the bitterness I felt towards everything in my life?

  There was also the question of why he was the only one who could see me until we arrived in Faerie.

  I’d first thought his fairy blood explained it, before I remembered that Keenan had made no note of me. So perhaps it was fate? That Robin had seen me, because he’d been meant to help me?

  Whatever it was, it wouldn’t matter after today.

  He’d done his part, and he’d be gone.

  Unable to dwell on what today would bring, I circled the pearl palace, weaving in and out of its magnificent hallways and chambers, watching sunrise, midday, and afternoon, but no sunset framed in every window I passed. By the time I doubled back to the quarters we were given, it was time, finally, to meet the Summer King.

  “You didn’t sleep!” Agnë exclaimed as soon as she saw me.

  “She’s already asleep, moron,” Meira grouched.

  “How am I supposed to remember that when she’s clearly conscious? Does this even count as sleep?”

  “That’s literally what the curse is!”

  “But she’s been awake for who knows how long!” Agnë argued, wiggling with wound-up agitation. “Her mind must be exhausted!”

  “You don’t sleep because your mind is tired, but because your body is, and hers has been sleeping for weeks!”

  Weeks. So I’d been in Briarfell for weeks. If Robin’s theory was correct about the connection between my body and spirit being severed over time, I could only hope today would be the day I reunited them.

  I cut off their oncoming slap-fight. “As much as I find your debate of my condition informative, I’d appreciate it if you stopped talking like I wasn’t here.”

  A door slammed open on the other side of the hall, and Will’s voice boomed mid-rant. “…and in one stupid move you undid years’ worth of effort to keep his identity a secret!”

  Jon, who looked as good as new, swiped at Will’s head. “Enough already! I already told you his wounds couldn’t have been treated without pulling that enchanted hood off. Only one of us could have done it, and if I didn’t, he’d be dead now! Is that what you wanted, Scarlett? You’d rather see him dead than exposed?”

  So the hood was enchanted. That was why it so completely obscured his face and remained firmly on his head no matter what.

  “Is he always this annoying, or is this a special time for him,” Meira said snidely, as we met the men halfway down the hall.

  Jon nodded, to which question, I couldn’t guess. He bid me a distracted good morning before focusing on Agnë.

  It felt strange, how men who didn’t know me as a princess prioritized the acknowledgment of others before me. It was nice, actually. Honest. They weren’t forced to show me deference they didn’t feel, or to stuff my ears with empty nothings. Like those who needed to curry favor with my family had, hoping to trade my goodwill for whatever they truly wanted.

  “How are you feeling today?” Jon asked, gaze intense and contrite.

  Agnë blushed, shoulders meeting her earlobes. “Better, thank you. And you?”

  “I’m fine, those fairies know their business.” He looked torn for a moment, before he blurted out, “I should have been the one to fight the ghouls off you, but.…”

  Meira had to wedge herself into their moment. “Shouldn’t you be asking the rest of us how we feel too, big man? We went through that harrowing experience as well.”

  “You didn’t almost get eaten,” Jon dismissed, before bending to offer Agnë his arm. She clutched it eagerly as he led her away.

  “And she can’t feel anything,” Will added, gesturing towards me. “No offense.”

  “I do feel some things.” But I refrained from telling him what the ghoul had made me feel.

  “You talk to her like that again, and I’ll give you a real flattering haircut with one of your stupid knives,” Meira threatened.

  Will glowered down at her. “Big talk for such a small girl. What are you, a gnome?”

  Meira, ever the hothead, launched herself at him, calling him an uncouth imp. Having long run out of patience, I phased through their outstretched arms—Meira’s as she slapped him repeatedly upside the head, mussing his curly hair, and Will’s, as he attempted to stop her landing too many blows.

  I trailed the others, gaze lingering on how Agnë’s petite form looked against Jon’s gigantic one. He was remarkably gentle with her, behaving as if he’d known her for much longer than the short time since they’d met outside my resting place. I hadn’t asked how they’d met.

  I hadn’t asked about anything. About them, since I’d last seen them, or about Leander, and why he’d seemed to disappear, and if he’d still been searching for Reynard…

  Traitorous thoughts about my mysterious masked man tried to blast the fog enshrouding them away. I fought them away and they dissipated again, only to entwine with, then be replaced by, thoughts of Robin, and the conundrum that he was. The worst of it was how he made me feel. And how he behaved towards me.

  He hadn’t just perceived me when others hadn’t, he’d seen me. As more than just my form, and the image I projected of myself.

  The ideas that fact inspired scared me. I couldn’t entertain them, not after similar ideas with Reynard had led to my current condition. I had to steel myself against any thoughts of similarities, or impossible fancies. What Robin and I had discussed yesterday was the truth. Our feelings didn’t matter.

  I just wished feelings weren’t so fickle so I could stop thinking of his face, his expressions, his smile, the gleam in his eyes…

  I shook my thoughts away as we were met by an escort with curly, black hair, golden eyes, and a mid-thigh, butter-colored tunic. Curiously, like the other officials I’d seen within the palace, he wore no footwear. It at least made me feel less conscious about my own barefoot state.

  “Where is Robin?” I asked the escort, who’d introduced himself as Ikaros. “Is he all right?”

  Ikaros did a double-take before realizing I actually was a tad see-through. “Your friend has made a speedy recovery with our treatment, and is in the king’s throne room.”

  It might not be a true breath, but I exhaled in relief, regardless. Though the healers had sealed Robin’s wounds, I’d feared the ghouls’ bites could have carried deathly diseases. I’d been terrified he might succumb to some horrific infection overnight.

  Besides, it would have been something he’d ferociously resent—dying from a bite rather than a fight.

  The burbling and tumbling of water accompanied our approach to the throne room. Then we were at towering, polished bronze double-doors engraved with glowing, geometric shapes that pulsed as we neared them, bordered by braided columns that seemed to be both marble and light.

  The spear-bearing guards opened the doors for us, and we entered a vast hexagonal hall with a soaring glass ceiling and a veritable waterfall.

  There was no indication where the water came from or went to, but it felt as if it was watching us back as we gaped at it, changing colors and velocity.

  I was looking around for Robin when the waters parted like a curtain. A set of carved steps appeared, leading into a huge pool of crystalli
ne waters that seemed lit from within. Last to appear was a platform holding two thrones.

  The first seemed to be hewn from solid gold, was entwined with vines that undulated and gleamed, and blossoms that seemed to breathe, filling the air with their sweet, tangy scent. And sprawled on it, was the Summer King.

  King Theseus had a glowing circlet with a white-gold sun in its center perched on abundant sun-bleached hair that undulated around his shoulders. His shimmering tunic showed an indecent amount of his deeply-tanned, polished skin, exposing his muscled arms and almost all of his chest, and stopping way above his knees. He, also, was barefoot.

  Next to him, a gorgeous young fairy woman sat on the smaller, silvery flower-covered throne. She had golden skin like my mother, and earthy-red hair, with big, almond eyes the warm, orange-brown of hazelnut shells.

  The possibility of her being his current queen brought the dormant feeling of my bones back with a vengeance, joints stiffening with foreboding.

  Then someone emerged from the water, and I forgot all about her, and what her presence could mean to me. Robin!

  He climbed up on the platform before the king, wiping water from his eyes, and wringing it from his cloak.

  Running a hand through water-darkened hair, spiking it, he sighed. “Was that necessary?”

  The king shrugged nonchalantly. “You may be spoken for by our mutual friend, but I need to be certain of your intentions before I discuss anything with you. These waters cleanse you of anything you may carry, and reveal anything you may hide.”

  Robin huffed a mirthless laugh. “You get human troublemakers often?”

  “We get our fair share of persistent pirates and reckless rogues, who think capturing one of us means we’ll give them fairy gold. Plenty of determined humans, sorcerers, giants, and halflings such as yourself break in here.” Theseus gestured to the girl on his right. “Some even try to kidnap my sister, Erytheia.”

  Sister. So he truly had no queen.

  It meant I had a chance!