A Kiss in Time (25 page)

Can the dead hear the living? I wonder. And, if so, would that be a comfort or a curse?

True, Cuthbert says.

And then I hear the clinking of a bottle and tankard and the scraping of chairs.

Did you know, Malvolia says, that Malvolia was once employed at the castle?

Truly? Pleasant says.

I seem to remember hearing something of it, Cuth- bert says. She was a seamstress. That
was before this whole spindle business.

Malvolia employed at the castle? How strange. And stranger still that my father never
mentioned it to me.

The fly has left my nose and lit upon my hand. No, they are two separate flies.

Do ye wish more? Malvolia asks. You are too generous, maam. Nay. I am grateful that you
are out, protecting us all. I hear the clink of glass once again. I know how it will be. The wine will be poured and the bottle drained, and the guards will leave, saying they
saw nothing. They will not return. And II shall spend the rest of my days (what few are
left) sewing my dress and waiting for death.

Where is Jack?

W
hen we reach the airport in London, I call Travis, who stayed the night outside Euphrasia
in order to meet us when we get there.

Did they find her? I ask. Was she where I said shed be?

No, man. They sent two guys up there, but they said all they found was some harmless old
lady.

So Talia was wrong. I hadnt thought of that. Maybe it was another hill, another cottage.
Theyre checking every cottage on a hill, but let me tell you, its not a crack crime scene investigation team. I remember how easy it was to escape
the dungeon and take Talia with me. Guess not. They should check every cottage in the kingdom. When I get off the phone, Dad says, No luck? Nope. I look at him, daring him to say it was a waste of time coming here.

But he just says, Theyre going to be boarding in a few minutes. Better get our stuff
together.

I do, and as Im sitting on the flight from London to Brussels, I think of something: If
Malvolia is a witch, she can probably disguise herself.

I
t is twenty minutes after Cuthbert and Pleasant stumble from the cottage before Malvolia
releases me from the cellar and from her spells. I have twenty minutes, therefore, in
which to wonder what shall become of me. Will I be killed viciously, violently, or merely
left here until I die of starvation?

For one thing I am grateful that Malvolia intends to deliver me to my father. At least he
will know what hap- pened to me, that I did not merely run away with a young man.

Although, in fact, I did do that.

But I cannot resign myself to this fate. I must return to Father to make amends. If I am
not to be saved, I must persuade Malvolia to release me of her own free will.

So when I am freed from the spells, I do not complain, as I am inclined to do. Rather, I simply stretch and say, Thank you, maam, for releasing
me. After not moving for so long, it feels wonderful to wiggle ones toes. I grace her with
my sweetest smile.

But the old witch is not charmed by my gratitude. Nay, she merely says, Relish your
movement while you can. You are not long for it. Now, on with your sewing.

So much for her seeing me as a person, but I do get to sewing with a diligence I never
felt for anything resembling work in my former life. I love the feeling of the cold silk
between my fingers and, indeed, enjoy seeing it become a dress. Were it not for my
situation, I would find it quite satisfying to learn to sew, for I have never done
anything so useful before.

This I tell Malvolia, who grunts, I am not doing it for your entertainment, but enjoy it
if you must.

For the next hours, I sew in silence, the only sound being the steady rhythm of needle in
fabric. Finally, the old woman, seeming pleased with the length of my stitches, which I
have purposely made minuscule, to take up more time, allows me a small supper of bean
soup. I hope that she will not require me to sew any more for the day. I wish to extend
the job over as many days as possible.

Over supper, I glance at the departing sun and play with a streamer of silk in my lap. I
have stolen it from the leftover scraps for I love its feel. This is excellent soup, I
say. I eat slowly, one bean at a time.

Surely not what you are used to at the castle, she barks. Surely not. Mistress Pyrtle, the cook, was no artist with soups. Too salty. But you must
remember that?

No response. I try again.

I heard you tell the men who came that you used to work at the castle. Is that true?

Malvolias black eyes narrow. You know tis. I know nothing of the sort. I was told nothing.
Indeed? She thinks upon it a bit, staring at the hori-

zon. No, I am not surprised at that. Why would your father tell you anything other than
that I was evil, bent upon your destruction?

And is that not the truth?

But I say, Mainly, we discussed what I must avoid spindlessomething I did not do very
well. We discussed it . . . frequently.

Malvolia laughs. The spindle-pricking was inevitable. With my spell, I assured it was so.
I took great amusement in seeing your fathers pathetic efforts to prevent it.

To protect me. I wonder why, if it was so inevitable, the old woman bothered to come to
the castle herself on the eve of my sixteenth birthday, to present me with the spindle.
Was she nervous?

As if hearing my thoughts, Malvolia says, I brought the spindle myself because I wanted to
see that it had been done, so I did it myself.

Nice. But I say, I am glad you told me that it was inevi- table, for I have been blaming
myself, or rather, Father has been blaming me. Malvolia laughs. That does not surprise me. Aye, he was always one to place blame.

What did he blame you for that you did not deserve? I cry out. You cursed me. You made me
sleep three hun- dred years! And now, when I have been wakened, you are making excuses,
saying that the curse was not properly bro- ken, so that you might bring me back.

I should not have had such an outburst. Now that the scalding words are out, it is
impossible to push them back. I am speaking of before that, Princess, when I was but a seamstress in the castle, and he was an all-powerful king. What happened? Can there be a
reason for Malvolias animosity other than merely not being invited to the party? Tis of no import. She gestures
toward the table. Clear the dishes, and if you can do so with no more imper- tinent
questions, I will allow you to read to me instead of sewing away the evening. My eyesight
is too poor to see the stitches in the waning light, and I do not trust your clumsy hands. I suspect her eyesight is perfect. Still, I follow her instructions, then read to her from the only book in the house, the Bible, until the light
wanes so that I cannot see, even with a candle.

T
he flight to Brussels is only an hour. Travis meets us at the airport. Dude! I say when I
see him at the rental car place. Thanks for coming.

No worries, man. I wanted to get out of that castle before the king threw me in the
dungeon as an accessory.

My dad finishes renting the car and says to Travis, So you believe all this, then, the
kingdom and the curse, and that theres a princess being held by a witch?

Travis shakes his head. I know it sounds like were smoking weed, Mr. ONeill, but Scouts
honor, I saw it with my own eyes. And I had to help out because I feel sort of
responsible, seeing as how we woke them up and everything. My dad nods. Its important to fulfill ones responsi- bilities. He looks at me.

Can we go? I say. Talia could be getting stabbed to death with a spindle right now.

Im not really serious when I say it, but after the words come out, I sort of am. I want to
see Talia again. I want her to be okay. And I want it to be now.

M
alvolia does not bind me or place me under a spell during the night. Rather, she enchants
the locks on the windows and doors so that I cannot escape without her knowledge. Jacks
family had a similar invention in the twenty-first century, an alarm system, it was called.

When morning comes, I return to sewing. The bodice is nearly finished but for the
buttonholes. The skirt should be short work. I hope I might live another night.

I stop to admire my handiwork.

Keep at it, Malvolia snaps. She has been in a particu- larly sour mood today.

I am sorry. It is just so . . . lovely. I must try again to strike up a conversation with
her. It is my only hope of survival. You have been kind to me. Were you to release me, I
would speak to Father on your behalf. I would persuade him to make amends . . . for not inviting you to my christening party.

Your christening party? Is that what you believe this to be about?

That is what I was told, and you have not told me otherwise. Is it not the case? I make
one small stitch, then pause, awaiting her response.

No. It is not. She glances at the stitches, and I believe she will hurry me on, but
instead she says, Were I you, I would not be so determined to live. Your father is angry
for what you did. You have destroyed his kingdom. Indeed, it may not be a kingdom at all,
and he may not be a king. And as for your marital prospects, any prince you might have
married is dead. What have you to live for?

It seems that if I had nothing to live for, allowing me to live would be far worse
punishment than killing me. But I say, I am in love.

Impossible. But the old lady leans toward me. With whom could you be in love?

His name is Jack. I abandon my sewing entirely. He is the boy who kissed me awake.

A commoner who woke you under false pretenses. He was not your true lovemerely some youth
who stumbled upon you and thought you pretty.

This may have been true. But as time passed, we fell in love. He was kind, and he watched
over me. Malvolia does not attempt to silence me, so I continue on, telling her of Jack,
of running away, of the airplane and the party and Jacks parents and, finally, of the moment when he said he loved me. You were there for
that, I tell her. At least, I thought I saw you in the face of the water lily.

Aye. I was there. And you say you are in love with this boy?

Yes. I was not at first, when he woke me. But as I grew to know him better, to see how
kind he was, not merely because I was a princess, but because he liked me, I grew to love
him.

Malvolias face is thoughtful. Indeed. And what did you say this boys name is?

Jack. The syllable comes out as a sob, not merely due to my sorrow at not seeing Jack, but
for another reason. He cared for me, and I fear he will be destroyed if I die. He is
innocent in this.

And he loves you, too?

I nod. There is something in Malvolias black eyes, a humanity I have not seen before.

But then she says, We have wasted enough time. Back to your sewing.

I start slowly again, admiring the beauty of each and every stitch. After some time, I
say, Please, Malvolia. Will you not tell me why you hate my father so? You intend to kill
me. The least you could do is explain why.

The least I could do is nothing. She gestures at me to return to my sewing. And you had
better to ask why he hates me so much, for it was with him that the animosity began. I nod. Then tell me that. My parents were far too inclined to keep me in the dark, and I
am afraid there is much I know not.

Indeed. What you know not would fill books.

For a long while, the only sound in the room is the smooth silk against the roughness of
my cotton sleep pants. But finally, she says, Did you know that your family had another
babe before you?

That is a lie! I say, and I am certain it is. Had I not been told that I was my parents
only child? That they had dreamed of having a babe? That I was the answer to their
prayersthe sole answer?

Indeed, then, they did not tell you much. Two years before your birth, your parents had
another child, a boy named George.

A boy! And named for my grandfather George. How happy my father would have been to have a
male heir. Still, it cannot be true.

I was employed as a seamstress in the castle, as were many of the kingdoms fairies.

I know that Malvolia is a witch, not a fairy, but I elect not to press this point. Rather,
I lay down my sewing and listen to her story.

As after your own birth, your parents planned a lavish christening party, and Ias the most
accomplished seam- stress in the landwas assigned to make the clothing for the occasion, a
christening gown for your brother, and a dress for your mother. The christening gown was the work of many weeks. It was made of cotton imported from
Egypt, and the skirt was over three feet long. The bodice was smocked and embroidered, and
the skirt was sewn with hundreds of seed pearls.

The day before the christening, I entered the nursery, that I might try it on the babe to
make certain it fit his wee form. The old womans eyes grow misty with memory. Lady Brooke
was with him, but he slept. He looked so peaceful, lying upon his stomach, thumb in mouth.
Lady Brooke asked me if I might keep an eye on him while she checked on his bath. She was
then quite young and stupid, and I suspected her errand might have had more to do with
flirting with one of the gentlemen of court than the babys bath. Still, I agreed. In the
nursery, I could sew undisturbed by Lady Brooke.

I smile at the idea of imperious Lady Brooke ever being a silly girl. Malvolia does not
see me, though, so engrossed is she in her own tale.

Besides, I enjoyed seeing the sleeping babe, she says. He was beautiful. So she left me
there. The babe slept on, so I engaged myself in sewing more and more seed pearls to the
train of the gown. I stayed an hour, and when I sewed the last, Lady Brooke had not
returned, and the babe had not yet awakened. Annoyed at this waste of my time (for I had
still your mothers gown to finish), I approached the crib to check upon the babe.