Lies of Golden Straw

by E. L. Tenenbaum

  I stopped abruptly by the window ledge of my bedroom, my gaze riveted to the little planter I’d kept with me since the day magic had brought it to my doorstep. Merlin’s magical purple anemone, that only had to be fed once to bloom forever. The leaves had wilted; the petals had fallen. The anemone was no more.

  All I could think as I stood there staring at the plant from my past, all I could think as I remembered the delight, the sunshine, the wings, and the name my best friend had given me, was if this was how it would be, then so be it. At least we were safe. At least my new family was intact. At least, I could take some comfort in knowing I had some part in creating the most powerful mage that ever was, and probably ever would be.

  The next morning, I awoke to find my husband sitting on the bed beside me, our baby cradled in his arms.

  “Good morning, Emalyn,” he greeted me cheerfully, then with an obvious glance at the window, “Or should I say afternoon?”

  I peered at him blearily, slowly taking in the scene of a happy father, a happy son, and the one who should be a happy wife and mother. I took a deep breath and pulled myself up to sit with them.

  “I went to the nursery,” Rainn said lightly, “and to my surprise the baby wasn’t there. Luckily, Kirkin caught me before I could tear the walls down.”

  I rubbed my head to straighten the memories of last night, and all the nights before that had led up to it. Was it really true? Was the little man really gone forever? Would I really never see Merlin again?

  Rainn chuckled as the baby furrowed his little brow. “Such a grim little man,” he cooed at him.

  “I suppose I should have told someone,” I apologized. “I can’t imagine the fright you had when you found Jacob missing.”

  Rainn’s head shot up. “Jacob?” he asked with a hopeful smile.

  “Jacob,” I confirmed. “His Royal Highness, Prince Jacob Myrrdin Rudolph the First.”

  Rainn scrunched his nose at the third name, but not enough to hide how pleased he was. “We’ll have to dress him better than his grandfather,” he commented.

  I giggled. “Only if he’s fitting.”

  “Oh, he will be,” Rainn said resolutely.

  But that wasn’t all. His grandfather on one side could not face the truth without telling a lie, his grandfather on the other stared down the lie in his plea for the truth. I hoped our Jacob would be able to find the right balance, that when confronted with the fight between truth and lie, he would win, every single time.

  After Ever After

  When Jac was about two, we were invited to attend the coronation ceremony of his Royal Highness Prince Henri Christopher Charles Alexander of Laurendale and his wife, Princess Ella. They weren’t direct neighbors of ours, but our kingdoms had always had a pleasant relationship, so Rainn felt it was only right that we attend.

  “And don’t forget,” he added in his diplomatic teaching voice, “Princess Ella is very good friends with—“

  “Princess Lyla—“

  “—who is an actual neighbor.”

  “I remember.”

  By land, the trip could take up to three weeks, as we had to sail a large river that cut across our western neighbor of Delphe on its way through Laurendale to the sea. I had never been on a boat before, but I wasn’t about to tell anyone that. I was nervous and excited, but the moment I set foot on the ship, I felt a sudden calm, as if this was merely an extension of the waters of the palace.

  Truth is, I was glad to go visiting. Since King Arlando and Queen Ariel had come, I’d been thinking to take a trip to a neighboring kingdom, just so I could keep seeing the wide world open to me. I couldn’t travel when I was expecting, but I persuaded Rainn to let me and Jac come along now, to dock a little while in places that caught our fancy. The kingdom would be just fine in the capable hands of Sir Grigory for a few weeks, or so I prayed.

  We arrived at the bustling palace in Camallea, which was bursting to capacity with visiting royalty and dignitaries from all over the realms. The man in charge, a Sir Percival, apologized profusely that our family would be in only one set of rooms, but they were neat and fairly spacious, so we assured him that we didn’t mind.

  Later that night, after we’d settled in, Rainn and I went for a walk among the moonlit gardens. They could hardly compare to the gardens back home, but they were enchanting in their own way.

  On the return to our rooms, we took a new turn and followed the path to a little space beyond a row of hedges, hugged by palace walls on two sides. A great tree spread out its thick branches, protecting the space with its limbs, the leaves slightly yellow at their tips. Below it was an idyllic little pond with a glistening goldfish lazily swimming about.

  “How charming,” I exclaimed.

  “The Queen’s Garden,” Rainn supplied, pulling me along the path until we were standing in front of a singular glass encasement.

  Inside was a dazzling little shoe made entirely of glass that even in the moonlight sparkled and shined, as if the light from all the stars were being channeled into its translucent shape. I immediately recognized the Castarrean glass from the samples Arlando had once sent Rainn.

  “The little glass slipper,” Rainn explained.

  “It’s marvelous,” I breathed, not bothering to add that any man would be a fool not to scour the kingdom for anyone who owned a shoe like that.

  “Did you know,” he asked me next, “that the people here call the princess CinderElla?”

  “Truly?” I asked.

  “Truly,” my king confirmed. “Her people celebrate her, a commoner raised up to be a princess, a commoner raised up to be a queen. They have monuments like this around the kingdom as symbols of hope.”

  I studied him a moment, easily understanding what he was trying to tell me. Princess Ella and I were not so different. Both of us had been commoners, both of us had captured the hearts of royalty through deception, even if one way was harsher than the other, even if one persisted much longer than the other. Her people called her CinderElla. They made statues of glass slippers to honor her, to remind them of her. Though I now called myself Emalyn, I knew that some still whispered “Millie” when they brought me their spindles each year.

  I met my husband’s gaze in honest appreciation when I said, “I know exactly what you mean.”

  The coronation itself was lovely and the days of celebrations to follow were enjoyable. I spoke with the new Queen Ella only once, when I wished her congratulations for her new crown. I was rather taken aback when I saw her then, as it was the first time I was seeing all of her clearly. I’m afraid I might have come across a little cold, but my mind and senses fled when I looked into her eyes.

  She was such a little thing, with sun-burnt auburn hair and unblemished white skin. She looked like a fragile little doll, her small frame and perfectly made up face only confirming the resemblance. She wore a wonderful purple gown with purple garnets that twinkled like stars in the sky. On her feet were delicate glass slippers, homage and reminder of what had brought her here.

  What I wasn’t prepared for, what I was least excepting, was the sincerity of her lovely lavender eyes. Eyes like Merlin’s. She wasn’t a magical, from what I’d heard, though having a faery godmother showed she’d been favored by magic enough. Still, when she turned those purple eyes upon me, my throat tightened and I bumbled through my congratulations, not quite sure what to say anymore. I wondered if she ever felt like she too was living a lie, felt out of place in the palace, giving life to a name bestowed by others, no matter how long she’d been living it. In that moment, I so achingly missed my best friend and his honest purple gaze.

  She accepted my compliments gracefully, though Princess Lyla, standing perhaps a bit wobbly beside her, didn’t bother to hide the glare she was trying to burn me with. Queen Ella was lovely, but Princess Lyla was violently beautiful and something fierce, with hair black as ebony, skin white as snow, lips red as blood. I’m not sure with whom the fault lay, though it could be with none. Princess Lyla and
I simply did not get along.

  I couldn’t stay long with Queen Ella’s purple gaze and Princess Lyla’s hard stare, so I turned from her, ushering Jac along with me. I had been hoping to find some other royalty I knew, but first needed a break to catch my breath. I stumbled to a seat on the lip of a fountain, struggling to tug my inner thoughts under control. After enough years in the palace, I trusted my body to appear in order even if my mind wasn’t.

  I only allowed myself one moment to think of Merlin, to think of the fire in his purple gaze, of that day he stood beside me inside a circle of heartless taunts, of the feel of his lips as they lingered against my forehead when he said goodbye. I prayed that he would find what he was looking for, that he would find a place to call home and a king to serve with all his heart.

  A sudden hiss, followed by a swish slicing through air abruptly interrupted my thoughts.

  “…Millie?”

  I jerked back to the present, certain Merlin had just called to me.

  “Are you all right?”

  I tried to focus, noticing first the purple in the eyes, then slowly noticing the purple was only a ring around eyes of steely gray. I forced my mind to align with reality.

  Prince Daimyon.

  The man the indomitable Princess Lyla had chosen for her ever after.

  Had he just called me by my name? Or had I only imagined it in my desire to see Merlin once more?

  “Queen Emalyn? Are you all right?” he repeated. “Should I call for King Rainn?”

  I couldn’t understand his urgency, and I quickly glanced around myself. Daimyon stood with a protective arm before Jac, and I slowly pulled my son toward me. In doing so, I glanced down and noticed the reason for this strange encounter.

  In the fountain. A cottonmouth snake. Headless. A bat fishing a gleaming dagger out of the water.

  The pieces immediately fell into place, and I jumped up, away from the fountain.

  “I’m all right,” I reassured Prince Daimyon, bringing my breathing back to normal. “Thank you, thank you for saving us.”

  The prince simply nodded, modest and undeterred by his own heroic action. Though, I supposed, why should it be a big deal to him? A man, lethal as he was, surely didn’t pause in any deliberations between life and death. He could take a life before a man knew it was gone, so why couldn’t he save one just as quickly?

  The thought intrigued me, the possibility of both these truths coexisting in such a fearsome, yet protective man. Was it really possible to find an inner balance between two opposing forces? Or was only one able to manifest itself at a time, only one truth credible if the other lay dormant? And yet, here was life and here was death in the same moment.

  Could I be “Daughter,” “Millie,” and “Emalyn” without having to forfeit one in being the other?

  Was it possible my relationship with Rainn could be anchored by truth, even if it stemmed from a lie?

  Was it possible to live in a world of both fantasy and truth, to create a reality that relied on both to exist?

  A “yes” to any one of these would redefine so much in my life. I, however, didn’t know the answers, but I did know for certain that no amount of debate or philosophy or rephrasing would make Merlin return.

  Past, present, and the possibility of future coexisted, each influencing the other in its own way, but only the past could never be changed, no matter how many tales were spun to make it seem otherwise. That was just the way it was.

  One at a time, I cleared each thought from my head, then went to find my husband.

  My encounter with the new queen and the little incident in the garden aside, the most curious thing about that trip happened when we were leaving, when Rainn, Jac, and I went to bid farewell to our hosts to find only King Alex there to accept our appreciation. Granted, we were leaving a few days early, but it was curious nonetheless.

  “Thank you for your hospitality,” my husband said genially, extending his hand to shake the new king’s. “And our sincerest congratulations.”

  “Thank you,” King Alex replied. “As a friend to Laurendale, Queen Ella and I happily welcome you anytime.”

  “Where is the queen?” I couldn’t help but ask.

  King Alex turned a deep blue gaze upon me, and I’ll admit to being momentarily mesmerized. It took that one look to give truth to the rumor that Queen Ella called her husband Prince Charming. His perfect sandy hair, his meticulously crafted features, his broad build, and assured stance, I believed it all.

  “The queen,” he said, his smile unwavering, “is unwell. She’s such a delicate thing, and my father’s death, along with all the preparations, have simply worn her out.”

  “We wish her a quick recovery,” I offered.

  The king inclined his head graciously. “Thank you,” he said, and with that we took our leave.

  That last encounter with the king tickled the edge of my thoughts as we set out for the first part of our journey home, refusing to let me be until I acknowledged it completely. Something was bothering me about King Alex, something about the set of his mouth, the look in his eyes, when he spoke about the queen.

  I didn’t know either of them well, but I did know a thing or two about certain types of people. There was something very dishonest about King Alex when he spoke about his wife, though I couldn’t imagine why. Their story was one of the grandest of them all, a mystery, a desperate search, the raising of a servant to royalty, the prime example of all that people loved about faery tales.

  Still, I couldn’t deny what I’d seen, and it wasn’t very easy to shake off either. Let any man say what he will about my father, or even me, but none can deny that I know a liar when I meet one.

  We returned from our trip late at night a few weeks later, having prolonged our visits with coastline trips to King Heinrich and Queen Cordelia in Vidallia and Arlando and Ariel in Maridonia. Rainn himself carried a peacefully slumbering Jac up to his bed. I followed close behind and watched as my husband tenderly tucked him in and unnecessarily smoothed down the blanket he would only muss up during the night. By then, knowing I would keep my son forever, I had allowed myself to melt at the sight of a child in my husband’s arms. I no longer held back from children, gave mine all the love and attention I could, without fear of how tightly that would bind me to him.

  Rainn kissed Jac’s forehead, right between the eyebrows as he’d made a custom to do, to “ease away the grim line of worry,” as he put it.

  I stood in the doorway, warm with contentment. When Rainn straightened and saw me still standing there, a small smile played about his lips.

  “Aren’t you tired?” he asked.

  “Not enough,” I replied, and his smile grew.

  He stepped toward me and took up my hand, pulled me toward him for a sideways hug and kiss between my own eyebrows. “It’s no wonder our son is so serious,” he murmured, his lips still pressed against my forehead.

  I laughed and pulled away, just enough to look up into his eyes.

  “What?” he whispered.

  I traced a finger along his jaw, his pulse responding to my touch as I hoped it would. “I have this special kind of magic,” I began, and I could feel his mouth twisting into a smile even before I could see it. “And I was thinking to use it again. Wouldn’t it be nice for Jac to have a sibling?”

  The king didn’t bother saying anything in response. He walked past me, still holding my hand, taking me along with him, down the hall to his private chambers.

  Just over a year later, our son Wilhelm was born. Wilhelm Millar Wallington. Rainn named him, even though Millar was not a name found below any portrait in the royal gallery.

  However, I knew the name for what it was; a tribute to my father. A tribute to the mill. A tribute to me, his wife, his queen. A tribute to the miller’s daughter.

  When Jac was seven and Wilhelm almost five, I was summoned to Jac’s room once their sister was abed, where I found them both awaiting me, a stack of papers and bottle of ink with two quills care
fully positioned on the table before them. I stifled my grin at their serious expressions. The grim bothers, my husband would tease whenever that look took over their faces.

  “What is this?” I inquired pleasantly.

  “This is for something we want you to do,” Jac spoke first.

  “And what is it you want me to do?” I asked.

  “We want you to tell us a story, Mama,” Wilhelm replied.

  “I always tell you stories at bedtime,” I countered.

  Jac shook his head. “We want you tell us a story now, so we can write it down.”

  “And then we will read it as many times as we wish and you won’t ever scold us for making you repeat the same tale again and again,” Wilhelm added.

  I smiled at them sitting at the table quite serious in the task they’d set for themselves. I’d long since mastered the art of amusing children, but I had never strayed far from the thing I knew best. It was actually quite charming, in its own way, that they thought it necessary and important enough to make permanent the stories I spun for them night after night. I had thought of Father’s stories as nothing but words that needed dismissing, but maybe there was something to writing down these stories after all? Weren’t they their own kind of magic? And didn’t they each, in some way, hide their own kind of truth?

  I thought of Queen Ella, who’d lost her king so soon after gaining her crown. He’d died suddenly, to the shock and despair of many, though I’d never been able to shake my suspicion of him despite the grand faery tale surrounding him. I thought of Queen Lyla, whose own stepmother’s evil jealousies had led her to her King Daimyon. I thought of our allies, I thought of our neighbors. There was Queen Kiara and her beast of a husband, Queen Alaina and her cursed sleep, Princess Rampion and her long hair, and King Heinrich who was once a frog.