Letters to Zell (20 page)

Princess Briar R. Rose

Somnolent Tower Castle

South Road, Grimmland

Rapunzel,

My first clue something was amiss came when the clouds began to swirl. I’d imagine there were a great many who thought nothing of it, perhaps chalking up the change in atmosphere to an errant fairy or a disgruntled wizard.

It took me a few moments to realize why I was having such terrible déjà vu. And then it came to me. The awful day so long ago. That day, Solace had whisked me—mouth still full of
sixteenth birthday party cake—up the stairs to the tower. Fred was calling up to me, even as Figgy’s sentinels half-flew, half-dragged him away to learn his sentence. The stone walls seemed to quake each time the thunder roared and the air grew colder and colder.

So when the temperature began to fall just before lunch, I climbed the tower, trying to push the thought out of my mind that Bianca might be responsible for such a breach.

The tower room was littered with small debris. Pebbles and leaves. I slipped on my clock bracelet, and stepped through the clock. At the other end of the tunnel, the portal looked strange. I put my hand above my eyes to shield them from the small twigs and raindrops. When larger branches started to force their way in, I tried to take cover, crawling toward the other end on my stomach. A chair from the tower passed over my head.

A flash of lightning and a thunderbolt sounded, and afterward it was as if someone had drawn a curtain on the sun. The tunnel was black except for a glimmer where the exit to the Outside should have been. I focused on getting there, slowly but surely.

When I finally did, I couldn’t see out clearly. I could hear Bianca and CeCi and I thought Rachel, though that didn’t make any sense. I tried to reach through but electric sparks flitted through the air, snapping and cutting my skin.

Just before I drew myself even closer to the ground, wondering whether to turn back or hunker down, I saw CeCi’s hand reaching through. I could hear her yelling but it was difficult to make out any words over the roar of wind and thunder.

CeCi screamed for me to wait and then I felt her take my arm and unclasp my bracelet. And then I felt skin on skin on skin. The air began to freeze around us in tiny, razor-sharp crystals. Someone’s fingers fumbled and the bracelet tightened down on my wrist, cutting into my skin, now wet with blood.

“Rory, pull!” CeCi shouted. I opened my eyes briefly to see my wrist buried in a pile of three, bound by two interlocking bracelets. I felt an enormous shove from the other side of the portal and heard a sound like the world ripping in half and all of a sudden we were in a pile on the tower floor.

The wind quieted, as did the sky, now visible in the places the tower’s ceiling had fallen through. The face of the clock was fogged and cracked, glass tinkling to the floor.

The tower was ruined. The north wall collapsed. The fine furniture in splinters sticking out from what stone remained upright.

“Thank Grimm you came for us,” CeCi sobbed.

“Rory,” said Bianca, feeling the floor beneath her, as if ensuring it was real. “You came. You saved us, and I’m sorry. I am . . . I’m so sorry.”

Bianca and CeCi continued to grovel until the three of us all fell unconscious.

Sometime later my staff retrieved us, and we woke in my quarters.

I ordered tea and scones and listened as they babbled and groveled some more. I let my nurse tend my cuts and scrapes and told her to do the same for my friends and let them stay as long as they wanted and needed in order to get their bearings.

Then I excused myself to get dressed. As tempting as resting might be, I have errands to attend to.

Rory

I
mportant Fucking Correspondence from Snow B. White

Onyx Manor

West Road, Grimmland

Z,

There aren’t enough bloody marys in the whole of the Realm to deal with the two surliest bridesmaids ever in the history of pre-wedding brunches.

Ever since our overemotional recovery and Rory’s baffling Ice Queen routine, we’ve avoided discussing the whole portal clusterfuck. So it isn’t terribly surprising that we don’t have our stories straight when Solace interrupts this morning’s event, thumping her back foot on the floor of the open doorway.

“You three obliterated my portal,” she says, paws crossed.

CeCi and I begin explaining at the same time. Rory just sits there and picks at her eggs. I mean, Rory saved my ass. Our asses, plural. But she’s been completely bizarre ever since she found out about Henry. I know she’s pissed at us. For Henry. For ruining her tower. Yes, we’re shitty friends. But we still could have used her help with Solace.

“We’re sorry,” says CeCi. “Things got . . . out of control.”

“Did I somehow not make myself clear? I trusted you to treat the situation with gravitas.”

“Then you are as gullible as CeCi,” Rory says in an unfamiliar drawl. “Good thing our delinquent diva returned in time!”

“I beg your pardon, Briar Rose.” Solace drew her ears flat against her head. “I remember a time you also vouched for your friend.”

“I never agreed to sacrifice my own timeline,” Rory says.

“That’s because no one asked you to,” CeCi says, her lip half snarl. I wonder momentarily if there’s a place I can take these two and exchange them for my old friends, the ones who bickered with me instead of each other.

“You were right, Solace,” I say. “It was easy to get distracted—complacent. But thanks to Rory
 . . .
”

“I don’t want to hear any more of this. You’re welcome. Enough.” It’s as if someone else has taken over Rory’s body. She’s even dressed differently, in a simple black gown. No gloves or parasol or purse. No lace. Snoozer wears an unadorned, matte black leather leash.

I know I was pushing things with her before—my cake, my temper, my dresses, my disbelief in True Love. I do know that now. But I miss the romantic, babbling Rory. The Rory who loved us back.

“This is not the day to discuss repercussions.” Solace eyes CeCi, then me, then the table of bloody marys. “But there
will
be repercussions.”

“Figgy’s never going to let us go Outside again, is she?” CeCi sounds like she’s making a statement instead of asking a question.

“And what about my tower?” asks Rory, rolling a potato across her plate.

Solace sighs. “It’s less of a matter of allowance and more of a matter of physical impossibility. There is a rift in the portal itself. Until it’s fixed, no one can go Outside.”

My heart skips a beat. “For how long?”

“We’ll see. Malice lent me her old spinning wheel to begin making the time threads that will stitch the portal back together. It’s a laborious process.”

My chest feels constricted. It dawns on me that our mistake has sealed any tiny chance that I can find my father in time for the wedding. CeCi shakes my shoulder.

“I may require your help once the threads are ready,” Solace says before leaving. “For now, attend to matters here. It seems you have plenty.”

CeCi and I stare at our plates while Rory finishes her bloody mary, sucking loudly at the bottom of the glass with her straw.

I’ve always known about cause and effect. But I’m not sure I’ve ever seen an avalanche like this before. I’ll cooperate with Figgy. And Solace. Even Malice, until we fix things. I’ll follow the Pages. Every last paragraph. Until I’m free.

Love,

B

F
rom the Desk of Cecilia Cinder Charming

Crystal Palace

North Road, Grimmland

Dear Zell,

Edmund insisted we meet with his parents before Bianca’s wedding. Darling talked me through dressing simply yet elegantly. We picked an ice-blue gown, lace ribbon, and pearl jewelry. If I’d only had dark hair, I’d have passed for Rory from far enough away. Meanwhile, Sweetie gave me lessons on calm breathing.

The twins were a constant stream of cheering chatter, all while swearing to keep the conversation secret from Lucinda, who had been curiously quiet with her newly gleaned information, except for the odd, snakelike grin she gives me when we occasionally pass in the halls.

Edmund’s parents’ chambers are white. And I don’t mean the soft sort of neutral kind, but a bright, spotless, blinding sort of white. It feels silly but, as I only met them briefly at our wedding, I don’t know them very well at all. They’re always visiting the king of this or the queen of that, exchanging skeins of Rumple’s golden thread from the north end of Narnia to the south end of Somewhere Out There.

“So, Cecilia,” began Edmund’s mother, “our son tells us that you’ve decided to pursue a vocation.” The crown sitting on top of her red curls looked like it weighed twenty toads, the silver plating studded with fat rubies.

“Ambitious,” his father added, sitting back with his long, snowy beard in his lap. “Don’t see that every day.”

“Yes, sir,” I said. “I’ve been cooking most of my life and recently began studying at a prestigious school Outside to learn about the ever-expanding realm of food.”

“Ambitious but not very progressive,” said the queen, frowning.

“Poppycock,” the King said. “Now
there’s
a Realm I’d like to visit! The Isle of Ice Cream, the Fjords of Filet Mignon, the Bastion of Brulée!”

“Your Highnesses, I want to be clear: I don’t wish to return to servanthood. I see myself as an artist. A creator.”

“Call me Elvis,” said the King with a lazy wave. “Are you doing any of that
avant-garde
sort of food? My latest copy of
Saveur
talks about deconstructed pie. Do you know how to make deconstructed pie? Maybe a nice peanut butter and banana?”

“We’ve studied some,” I said. “I could certainly give it a shot. My emphasis is on pastry.”

“Edmund has explained how you plan to balance your occupation with your civic duties, but I’m not sure how you plan to raise children alongside.” For the life of me, I could not decipher the queen’s facial expression.

Edmund takes my hand. “Well, Mother, see, CeCi and I aren’t sure parenthood is
 . . .
”

“I told you, Betty. They’re not going to have any grandchildren. You owe me a foot massage. Now we can go on another tour! We’ll call it ‘Not So Fast: The Return of King Elvis & Queen Betty.’ And since we don’t have to buy baby toys, we
can
afford the yacht! I’ll tell Morrison to put the deal together.” Edmund’s father, His Highness King Elvis, toddled off, presumably to his chambers to send a pigeon to whoever Morrison is.

Edmund looked so bewildered I almost laughed.

“Is this true?” the queen asked, with a sidelong glance after her husband. We could still hear him humming like he’d won the lottery. Edmund and I shared a long look before turning to her and nodding.

“Well, that certainly simplifies things,” she said. “We’ll keep our crowns, and you’ll become our very first Princess de Cuisine.”

“What about William? He still expects to share Kingship with us,” said Edmund.

“We’ll handle oversight of the seas, since your father can’t seem to stand dry land anymore. William can work out the rest with Briar Rose’s parents. It doesn’t appear Henry will be ripe for kingship any time soon.”

“So you don’t mind if I cook?” I ask

“Not at all, my dear. It’s about time we shake things up around here.” She paused, lowering her voice. “Can you teach me how to make baked Alaska? He thinks I can’t even make toast. Baked Alaska would really shut him up.”

I promised her the recipe, and we both kissed her on the cheek. Then Edmund’s mother, adjusting her crown, floated down from her throne and out of the brilliant white room.

This is what I was afraid of the whole time? It seems almost impossible. I told Edmund he had failed to deliver the parents he’d advertised. He claims they must have given up on parenting the day he got married. Lucky us.

Love,

CeCi

Princess Briar R. Rose

Somnolent Tower Castle

South Road, Grimmland

Dear Zell,

I suspect if I’d invited CeCi and Bianca to visit Malice with me, their reactions would have been similar to yours. Besides, were I in their shoes, I would stay as far away from Fairy Godmothers as possible for a time. Though in truth, Solace wasn’t nearly as angry as I thought she’d be.

As for me, I left for Malice’s sea cave the afternoon of that awful brunch so that I could arrive the following morning. I traveled light, asking the Huntsman Bianca pardoned to act as my escort.

I was exceedingly amused to find Malice’s damp, black lair unguarded, or perhaps protected through invisible means. I couldn’t tell if she was surprised to see me, but she certainly wasn’t prepared for such early company. She must have been breakfasting, for she was wearing only a light robe. I crossed the room to sit down at her table.

“And to what do I owe this . . . this visit?” she asked. Her mottled, scaly fingers tightened around a mug of what appeared to be a thick tea. “You’ve caught me quite unaware, Briar Rose. I haven’t even had time to dress.”

I suppose some amount of fear would have been natural, seeing the fish-headed woman for the first time since my childhood, but my rage toward Maro was so fierce that all trepidation had been displaced. “Malice.” I nodded. “I need your help.”

She folded her napkin in her lap. I watched her rainbow-colored throat gills opening and closing. “Your parents, your friends, they are not aware that you are here?”

“I’m not in danger, am I?”

“Quite to the contrary. Had anyone else tried to get through my door, they would have been assaulted by charms of all kinds. But there are those who I feel are owed remittance, such as yourself, and may enter unmolested.” She flicked her wrist. “It’s a small cosmic bargain.”

“I’m not here to strike back at you, Malice. I do need your help.”

“It’s been some time since anyone in your circles has needed
my
help.”

“This is beyond Figgy and Solace.”

“Don’t be fooled, Briar Rose. Very little is beyond my sisters within white or black magic. If we’re being honest, I am indeed more amenable to the greyer side of things.”

“Is that why you did what you did to me? Was I a grey side of things?”

“No. Not in the slightest. I was a young sorceress who had trouble being accepted into an established circle. You were, as they say, collateral damage in my rise to power. The threat I made when you were a child turned out to be the first step in a cascade of terrible choices that could not be stilled. I was what I was, and my sisters were what they were. No more, no less.”

“Well, that sounds . . . convenient.” I traced the grain of the wooden table with my fingers.

“I was trying to find a way to remedy things when Fred stole your Pages from Figgy. And in just a few short moments, my threat became the least of anyone’s worries. Even if I had wanted to craft time, as Solace does, or channel the Fates, like Figueroa, one act of darkness begets another. And so it was for you and me. Solace slowed time to minimize the damage of the storm—a small piece of the same magic she used during your recent portal debacle. And while she did that, I gave you and your palace a sleeping potion. Either way, I am still your transgressor.”

I had never thought of things that way before. It seemed unfathomable that the Fairy Godmothers once felt as backed into their corners as we have all of our lives.

She continued. “It is a pity we’ve not had this conversation sooner. I can see in your eyes that you are about to make a similar decision, and I am, regrettably, in no position to refuse you.”

My words came out braver than I suddenly felt. “You have no right to judge me.”

Malice lowered her head, and the fins on her forearms twitched. “I am the Fairy Godmother of Sorrow, and I will grant whatever you wish. Tell me what it is.”

“I need the same sleeping potion you gave me on my sixteenth birthday.”

“For whom?”

“For one who desires intrigue.”

“Has she wronged you so deeply?”

I picked my head up and looked fully into Malice’s wizened face. “She’s taken my life away.”

“Are you quite sure?”

“As sure as the first time my life was taken from me,” I said. She closed her eyes as if my words had weight. “I am sure this time, as well.”

“Why not kill her outright, then?”

“Because I want her to wake up and feel loss. I want her to yearn for a life and a love she can no longer have.”

“That is a heavy burden, Briar Rose. One that you might not even wish on your worst enemy.”

“I have borne that same burden of sleep. It is certainly survivable. Maro Green
is
my worst enemy. She keeps saying how fascinating my life sounds. She can have it.”

“There’s a chance you’d be killing her, regardless.” Malice slid her golden chair back from the table and rose. “If the length of Human imagination is shorter than one hundred years—”

“You all keep saying that. I’ve been Outside. You fairies should try it. It would certainly change your perspective.”

Malice glided smoothly to my side, holding a glowing green vial. I reached for it, and she placed her hand on mine. “For what it is worth, Briar Rose, I am sorry. I am sorry for both of us.”

“Well,” I said. I looked at my hands, at the table’s centerpiece strewn with simple fruits.

“You can return this to me at any time and I shall destroy it.”

“I’m quite sure I won’t be doing that.”

As I headed toward the door, Malice gave me one final warning: “Briar Rose, it is possible that you’ll incur more victims than you’ve planned.”

I suppose she means I’ll be punishing Henry, as well. Which is sort of the whole idea. What a sad and strange sorceress Malice is, presiding over all that grey area. There sure seems to be a lot of it in this life.

I appreciate her excess caution, as rich as I find it, but my mind is made up.

Rory