A Wicked Thing (8 page)

“I'd hold my own.”

“I don't doubt it.” He grabbed Aurora's hand and sat down, pulling her with him.

She yelped. They were very far off the ground. “Tristan! Careful.”

“I won't drop you. Look.” And he stretched their arms outward, skin meeting skin, their hands pointing far into the city.

Lights. Hundreds and hundreds of lights, so many that the city glowed, casting glimmer and shadow over sloping roofs and weaving roads. Up ahead, frozen in the night, was the castle. The base of it glowed too, but the lights faded as it stretched upward, until finally, at the very top, Aurora's own tower stood,
so dim that it seemed to melt into the sky. The moon loomed large overhead.

“Pretty good, huh?”

“It's beautiful.” She slid her legs down the roof until they were hanging over the edge, swinging in the chilly night air. She still clutched Tristan's hand in her own. His heartbeat brushed against her skin.

“When I first moved to Petrichor, I missed everything.” His fingers tightened around hers. “My home. My family. I'd never been to the city before, didn't even know Trudy, and I was going crazy with how loud and busy and insane it all was. So I started climbing on the roofs. It's a good place to think. Up here, the city doesn't seem so bad, you know?”

The wind caught Aurora's hair. It tickled her cheeks and tangled in her eyelashes. “Why did you leave home?”

He sighed and let go of her hand. Her fingers felt cold in his absence. “Why did you?”

She let her hand fall to her side and gripped the edge of the roof. “I didn't choose to.”

He was quiet for a long moment. “Me either,” he said.

They sat in silence for a while. Aurora's feet dangled in the cold air, the wind nipping at her ankles. While she had slept, the world had shifted and lit up like the stars. Tristan was right. This place was brutal and cold, but there was something beautiful, something wild, in the brick and stone. She looked behind her, wanting to follow the glow all around the city, to see all of
this place that had swallowed her whole. A few specks of light peeked out of the darkness. The city walls stood watch, and beyond them, only shadow.

“What's over that way?”

He turned too, following her gaze. “It's just the forest.”

“The forest?” Of course. Not everything was gone. She twisted until she was flat on her stomach, head propped on her elbows, her whole body pointing toward the darkness. “Have you ever been there?”

Tristan twisted with her, and then they were lying side by side, staring at the trees they could not see. “Of course I have,” he said. “I wasn't born here, was I?”

“Oh,” she said. “But since then? Since then, have you been?”

“Not in years,” he said. “It's not the most inviting of places.”

There was a taste of the world she knew, just beyond the walls. “Let's go,” she said. “Now.”

He laughed. “Are you crazy? Even I don't have that much of a death wish.”

“Why?” she asked, the word rushing out of her. “Why is it crazy?”

“Because we have no way to get out, and no way to get back. Not without being seen. Not without breaking our necks. And of course,” he added, when she didn't reply, “there are the ghosts to think about.”

“Ghosts?”

“Ghosts,” he said. “And monsters. Werewolves. Trees that
come alive and grab at you as you try to sneak past.”

“Liar,” she said. “There aren't any monsters.”

“Oh really?”

“There are only bears. And wolves. And the occasional lion. But no monsters. Don't tell me you're afraid of them?”

“You're mad, Mouse. Completely, utterly mad. And yes, to answer your question. I don't fancy becoming supper for some ravenous beast.”

She pressed her chin down into the palms of her hands and closed her eyes. “I'm not mad,” she said. “It's just . . . it's somewhere I'd like to go. It reminds me of home.”

“Do you miss it?”

“All the time. But . . .” She opened her eyes. Even in the darkness, she could see the outline of his face, the slight frown that curved his mouth. She shrugged. “There's no going back now.”

“My parents are dead.” He spoke so bluntly, so matter-of-factly, that it took Aurora a moment to realize what he had said. “That's why I had to move here. Why I live in an inn. I'm guessing that you're not particularly surrounded by family either.”

She shook her head, unable to form the words.
My parents are dead.
It was too horrible, too undeniable, to say out loud. She sucked in a breath and let it out slowly, trying to blow away the tightness in her chest. They sat, silent except for their breathing and the occasional sound of life below.

“Does it get any easier?” she asked, after so much time had
passed that she was sure he had forgotten their conversation.

“No.” The word fell heavy in the air, but it wasn't sad. Painfully, bluntly honest, but not sad. Aurora let the word roll in her mind, relishing its plainness. “It doesn't. But—I don't know. You find other reasons to live.”

The lights flickered below them. With her eyes fixed on the forest, she reached out and grabbed Tristan's hand. For a heartbeat, he paused, and then he squeezed tight, his thumb tracing shivers across her skin.

“PRINCESS?” A HAND LAY ACROSS HERS. “PRINCESS,
it's time to wake up.”

Aurora dragged her eyes open, blinking in the bright light. Betsy stood in front of her, dark curls frizzing wildly around her face. “Princess, why are you sleeping here?”

“I was reading,” she said. “I must have fallen asleep.”
The Tale of Sleeping Beauty
lay open under her elbow, balanced precariously on the arm of the chair. The paintings of her mother and father smiled up at her. She tried to sit straighter, and her shoulder ached in protest.

“Oh, Princess, you must get some proper rest,” Betsy said.
She placed her breakfast tray on the table nearby. “I worry about you. Sometimes you look like you never sleep at all.”

“I've already slept more than I'll ever need to,” Aurora said. She forced a small smile.

“But you still need real sleep, if I may say so.”

“I'm adjusting.”

Betsy put a plate down by Aurora's side. “At least you can eat.” Aurora picked up a jam-covered roll and took a tentative bite, letting its sweetness fill her mouth.

“Where are you from, Betsy?” Aurora asked as the maid turned away to the wardrobe. “If you don't mind my asking.”

“I don't mind,” Betsy said. “But it's not very interesting. I was born in Petrichor. My mum has worked in the castle for as long as I remember—she worked for the old king, before that guard killed him. I didn't work here then, though. But my father, he was a blacksmith, and when he died, my mum moved us both here. Best place to be, she says, long as you keep your nose out of people's business and do what you're told.” She blushed. “But you probably didn't want to know all that.”

“I do,” Aurora said. “I want to know. Is it—your mother didn't think it was safe outside the castle?”

“Well, my dad, he was killed during a riot a few years ago. Not everyone likes people with ties to the royal family, and he did work for them, shoeing the horses and the like. But where else could we work, except here? Better to live inside the walls and eat well and stay safe, than try to be in both worlds at once,
out there and in here. Or so my mum says. Don't get me wrong, the people are good here, in the city and in the castle. But as I'm sure you've heard, Princess, it hasn't been the best of times while you were asleep.” She turned back to the wardrobe. “How about the blue dress today?” she said. “I think it will look lovely for spring.”

Aurora nodded.

Betsy fidgeted as she arranged Aurora's hair, taking the same pin in and out several times, as though uncertain what to do. “I have to tell you something, Princess,” she said eventually. “The queen asked me to lock your door at night. For your own protection. You—you understand that, don't you?”

Of course, the door had been mysteriously unlocked for the second morning in a row. After the previous day, Betsy was sure to have double-checked the lock before she left for the night. But she did not sound accusing or reproachful. Just . . . warning. Concerned. Aurora felt a jolt of guilt. But she could not stop sneaking out now, not when she still had so much to see. Not when Tristan was waiting for her. “Yes,” she said. “I understand.”

Half an hour later, after Aurora was dressed and Betsy had left for her other duties, Rodric positively bounced into the room. A grin filled his normally pained, blushing face, and everything about him, from the tips of his hair to his footsteps on the stone floor, seemed to laugh in excitement.

“I had a thought!” he said, as though this were a rare and
celebratory occurrence. “I think you'll like it. I—” He looked at her face, and he paused. “Are you all right, Princess? You look tired.” There was that distinctive pink flush again. “Not that you don't look lovely,” he said. “You always look lovely. Even when you are tired. But you do look tired, Princess, if you don't mind my asking about it—”

My name isn't Princess
, she thought, and suddenly she felt tireder still. But what was the point in explaining? “What was your thought?”

He hesitated, all the excitement lost in the moment's interruption. “It's a silly idea, really,” he said. “I understand if you don't want to.”

“I'm sure it will be wonderful,” she said. “What is it?”

He smiled again, if a little cautiously. “Would you like to come and see my sister?”

Rodric's sister. Aurora knew nothing about her, except for that brief glimpse of a young girl, soon after she awoke. “Yes,” she said steadily. “All right.” When Rodric continued to look unsure, she added, “That would be nice.”

“She might not say much,” Rodric said, “but I know she'd be excited. She's read your story many times. It's one of her favorites.”

Of course. Even now, she was to be paraded about.
Come and meet her for a gold piece. Gain affection from your siblings with her strange delights.
What if, after years of appearing in the girl's storybooks, she was a disappointment?

Rodric knocked on a door on the far side of the castle, several floors above Aurora's own. Beyond the wall, Aurora heard a rather stern, pinched-sounding woman pause in her lecture. Rodric eased the door open.

“Mrs. Benson,” he said. “I am sorry to trouble you. I wondered if I might speak with Isabelle for a moment.”

“We're in the middle of a lesson,” Mrs. Benson said. “With all due respect, your sister's education is of the utmost importance—”

“I thought,” Rodric said, “that the princess and I might take her into the gardens. Only a short break. I wish my—I mean, I wish for the princess and my sister to become acquainted with each other.”

“Please!” said a soft, high voice from inside the room. “Please, Mrs. Benson. I'll concentrate hard afterward, I promise.”

The woman sighed. “All right,” she said. “But be quick about it. And don't you even think of getting your new dress dirty, young lady.”

“I won't!” the girl said. “Thank you!”

Feet scurried across the floor, and then a small girl ducked around Rodric. Isabelle had brown hair, pinned at the back and then running straight down to her waist. Her face was thin, like her mother's, but she clearly also had her brother's propensity for embarrassment. When she saw Aurora, she stopped so suddenly that she might have hit an invisible wall. Her cheeks went from freckled and pale to a glowing, painful crimson in the space of
a blink. She stared up at Aurora with huge, deerlike eyes, and when she bit her lip, Aurora saw that her front teeth crossed over slightly.

“Hello,” she said. “I'm Aurora.”

Isabelle nodded.

“This is my sister, Isabelle,” Rodric said. “Isabelle?”

The little girl jolted back to life. She sank into a curtsy, bowing her head, letting her hair fall delicately forward over her face. It was a move Aurora had practiced herself many times in her life. Only Isabelle's shaking knees gave her inexperience away.

“You don't need to curtsy to me, Isabelle,” she said softly. “It's lovely to meet you.”

Isabelle stood up straight. She was still biting her lip.

“Come on,” Rodric said. “Let's go to the garden.”

They walked in silence, Rodric in the middle of their little group. Isabelle stared at the floor, her face still burning, tripping slightly over the long, tangled skirt of her dress. Every few seconds, she glanced sideways at Aurora through her eyelashes. Aurora pretended not to notice. She couldn't stop picturing this shy, blushing, proper little girl, bent over her storybooks, staring at paintings of Aurora, absorbing every detail. Each glance was an impossible evaluation. Did Aurora's hair curl like in the pictures? Was her smile as bright as Isabelle had hoped? Was she as sweet and kind as the stories had always said?

When they reached the door to the courtyard, it rattled
under Rodric's hand. Locked. “Oh,” Rodric said, and there was that damned blush, like every little trip-up was a dreadful reflection on his character. “Sorry. I guess I didn't think—I'll go find someone with the key. Sorry.”

He hurried away, leaving Aurora and Isabelle alone with the guards. The moments dragged past.

“You're very pretty,” Isabelle said, so softly that Aurora almost didn't hear her.

“Oh,” Aurora said. “You're very pretty too.”

Isabelle shook her head so that her hair whipped from side to side. She sucked her lips over her slightly protruding teeth, hiding them from view.

“I mean it,” Aurora said. “I think you look lovely.”

“Mother says a princess has to be perfect,” Isabelle said.

“Nobody's perfect.”

Isabelle stared, her eyes earnest and intense. “You are.”

For some reason, the assertion made Aurora feel unbearably sad. She bent her knees until her eyes were level with Isabelle's. “Nobody is perfect,” she repeated. “I do all sorts of things wrong.” Everything, if her mother's criticisms were to be believed. “I never put things away neatly. I'm terrible at talking to strangers, although I find,” she said, “that a smile helps hide it.” Isabelle's lips twitched. “I'm so bad at pinning my hair that one time I stabbed myself in the eye, and I play the harp so poorly that it sounds like a cat is singing. I crease down the pages of books, even ancient ones, where they're all yellowed and
crinkled. I write in them too. And—” She paused. Past tense. She had done these things. Once. She had given herself these imperfections, locked away in her tower. Now her problems felt quite different.

“I crease the pages too,” Isabelle said. “For the best bits. I—I read all the time.”

“Me too.” At least, she had. Once upon a time.

“Mrs. Benson says stories are silly,” Isabelle said. “She says they aren't real. She says I should learn history instead.”

Aurora thought of all the stories she had devoured, the histories, the fantasies, the hundreds of worlds and lives and adventures she had seen and lived and breathed while locked in that circle of stone. “If they're real to you,” she said, “then they're real.”

“Like yours,” Isabelle said. “Yours was true.”

Rodric returned with a key in his hand and a small, deep-green cloak hung over his arm. “Don't want you to get cold,” he said, and he draped the cloth over Isabelle's shoulders and fastened the clasp with hands that looked well accustomed to the task. He held Isabelle's hand with one of his own and unlocked the door with the other. It swung open with a click.

Rodric and Isabelle stepped ahead, their feet firm on the path. Everything in the garden seemed still and orderly, tightly under the queen's control. Aurora followed a few paces behind.

Silence surrounded them. They walked deeper into the garden, and then, suddenly, Rodric dropped Isabelle's hand. “Race
you to the apple tree!” Isabelle yelped and began to run, her small legs pounding the ground, her skirts flapping and tangling around her legs. Rodric lumbered behind her, running with exaggerated effort. Isabelle's hands slammed against the tree trunk, and she leapt with delight.

“You cheated!” Rodric said.

“Did not,” she said. “You're just slow.”

“I am not,” Rodric said, and he swept his sister up in his arms, spinning her around. “You're just a cheater.” Both of them laughed as he twisted her upside down. Her hair tumbled down, pins falling loose as she squirmed. He set her down on the ground, and she turned and ran toward him. He ran too, ducking behind the tree.

“Isabelle!” The queen's voice cut through the air. Aurora looked up. The queen stood by one of the windows on the second floor, glaring down at the scene. “Stop that nonsense at once. A princess does not behave like that.”

Isabelle's smile vanished. Her lips parted slightly, revealing her large front teeth, and tears gathered in her eyes. She did not let them fall.

“Is Princess Aurora running and making a fool of herself?” the queen continued, and Aurora blushed and squeezed her hands before her. No, she thought. She was not running. Years of training had crushed the impulse well enough. But she did not want to be an example for the end of Isabelle's fun. “Show some propriety.”

Rodric and Isabelle walked slowly over to Aurora. “We had better return you to Mrs. Benson,” Rodric said to his sister. “She might worry. And I am sure the princess has other things to do.”

The protest stuck in Aurora's throat.

Isabelle pressed a hand to her scalp. Pins were still tumbling left and right.

“Here,” Aurora said softly. “Let me fix that.”

She knelt behind the girl, repositioning the pins without a word. When she had finished, every hair looked perfect.

After lunch, Rodric led Aurora to the queen's chambers on the fourth floor of the castle. It was an airy suite of rooms, separated from the rest of the castle by guarded doors and connected by a private corridor that overflowed with flowers.
Honeysuckle,
Aurora thought.

The door to one room was ajar. The king, queen, and about twenty courtiers were gathered inside, some women chatting with the queen over their embroidery, others playing games with cards and stones. A plush red rug covered the floor, while paintings hung on every wall, depicting wild creatures and nobles at their feasts.

“Rodric!” The king had been talking to an older man, but he stepped forward when he saw the prince enter. “You finally joined us. Come here, come here. I was telling Sir Edward about your great victory. Maybe you could add in the details.” Rodric glanced at Aurora, but the king laughed before he could speak.
“You two have had all morning together. Surely the princess can entertain herself for five minutes. She can spend some time with the ladies.”

Rodric gave Aurora a bobbing bow and hurried to his father. Aurora hovered in the middle of the room, watching the women as they sewed. “I received a letter from dear Theodora this morning,” one of them was saying. Their needles wove in and out of the fabric while the ladies barely glanced down. “Poor thing says she is sick.”