Princess of Glass (21 page)

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determined not to show it. And she would love the Danelaw: it was very near to Westfalin and she could visit her family. Perhaps he would get to meet them as well.

There was a sudden zing through his body as though he had been struck by lightning, and hot guilt poured over him. How could he have been thinking of courting Poppy? He hoped that Lady Ella, his darling intended, never found out about his treacherous thoughts!

Christian shook his head again, feeling the fog come back. Lady Ella? He knew nothing about her! His parents would have to meet her, and he wouldn't invite a girl to travel all the way to his home before he had met her parents ... or guardian, in Lady Ella's case. She had never said, but he got the impression that she was an orphan. There was a mysterious godmother that she made reference to. And those references were mysterious indeed. Even King Rupert, with his determination to see Christian married to a Bretoner lady, could find out nothing about Lady Ella.

"For all we know, she's a pirate or a laundress who has stolen someone else's gowns," Christian muttered aloud.

Instantly another zing of lightning coursed through him, this one powerful enough to make him cry out. The throbbing in his head became a blinding pain that settled behind his right eye and sent him reeling to his bed. He flung himself across the mattress, clutching at his head with one hand. The bracelet Poppy had given him itched so fiercely now that it felt like his wrist was on fire. One of these pains had to go away, or he would end up barking mad!

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He started to rip the bracelet off, but stopped himself just in time. Through the green sparkles that kept sending him visions of Lady Ella dancing in her glowing slippers, he saw glimmers of Poppy in her red and white gown from the gala.

Poppy, with her regal bearing and flashing eyes. Poppy gambling like a hardened cardsharp and teasing Roger Thwaite about his stern demeanor. Poppy in lavender, with her knitting needles flashing and the tip of her tongue in the corner of her mouth--a habit she denied.

She had put this bracelet on him for a reason.

He took his hand away from his head, and forced himself to breathe deeply in and out. He clutched at the bracelet, not to tear it away, but to press the wool even tighter against his skin. He raised his shaking hands and rubbed the itchy band against his forehead, against his eyelids.

The green sparkles fled and the pain subsided.

Still holding his wrist to his forehead, Christian got to his feet. He needed to see Poppy right away; it seemed that the bracelet she had made for him had some sort of power. But why? To prevent headaches? Or was it a love charm, to entice him?

He snorted at the very idea. Poppy wouldn't try to ensnare him with some love charm!

Scrubbing his forehead with the rough wool bracelet, he lurched for the bedroom door. He had to get to Seadown House; from there he could send for Roger as well. Roger knew things; Roger would help.

He fumbled the door open and nearly bowled over a small

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man with ridiculously curled hair and an elaborate green waistcoat that made Christian's eyes sting. It reminded him of the green sparkles, and he had to look away quickly before they returned.

"Your Highness!" The man bowed with much flourishing of lace cuffs.

"Who are you?"

"Monsieur Flamonde," the little man said. "The tailor!" More flourishing. "Your Highness's costume is ready to be fitted!"

"Costume?" Christian sagged weakly against the doorframe.

King Rupert came stumping along the passageway. "Flamonde, you must do our guest right!" He slapped the small man on the back, nearly pitching the tailor into Christian's arms. "There may be an announcement after the unmasking, and Prince Christian will want to look his best!" King Rupert winked and chortled through his mustache, and Christian felt even more ill.

"An announcement! Will there be wedding clothes ordered soon?" The tailor rose up on his toes in excitement, which did not add much to his height. In fact, he was already wearing shoes with heels almost too high to be masculine, and still barely came to Christian's chin.

"Very soon," King Rupert said.

"I'm going to ask Lady Ella," Christian said, hearing his voice as if from a great distance, "Lady Ella to--to marr--"

His head throbbed, the sparkles returned, the wool band itched, and Christian reeled back into his bedroom. He barely

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grabbed the chamber pot in time, retching into the freshly scrubbed porcelain.

"Oh no, Your Highness," Monsieur Flamonde trilled in dismay.

"Prince Christian, what's all this, then?" King Rupert demanded.

Christian almost burst into hysterical laughter. Instead he wiped his mouth on a handkerchief and lurched out of the palace.

He didn't bother to call for a carriage. He just stumbled down the street until he saw a hackney cab. It nearly ran him down, in fact. He flung himself into it, ignoring the driver's cursing and brandishing of the whip, and yelled for the man to take him to Seadown House as quickly as possible.

When they reached the Seadowns' front gate, the driver climbed down, grabbed Christian by the coat collar, and unceremoniously dumped him on the pavement. Christian reached into his pockets, searching for some money, but the man just rolled his eyes.

"Jus' doan get in my cab again, yer daft drunk!" He climbed back onto the cab and sent the horse off at a trot.

Christian staggered through the gate and up the drive. The butler was so shocked by the prince's appearance that he let him inside without a word, pointing toward the drawing room.

Christian managed to get himself through the drawing room door before collapsing. Looking up in a daze, he saw the Seadowns, Poppy, Roger, Marianne, and Dickon all staring down at him.

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"What's happening to me?"

"Two might do it," Poppy said enigmatically. She plucked a bracelet from her work basket and tied it around Christian's other wrist. "And Roger, another glassful of that horrid stuff, please."

Dickon propped Christian up and Roger poured something foul down his throat, then guided his hand to break the glass on the hearthstones. Christian could only retch and mumble in response.

Then the green sparkles subsided, and so did the throbbing in his head.

"You're in trouble, my lad," Lord Richard told him when his vision cleared. "A creature known as the Corley has you in her sights."

Christian sat up and stared at His Lordship.

"We're doing our best to stop her," Roger Thwaite said, his voice lower than Lord Richard's. He helped Christian off the floor and onto a chair.

"Oh, good," Christian mumbled.

Then he fainted. Again.

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***

Invalid

But what if she discovers Poppy?" Eleanora sank a little deeper into the pillows of her bed. "She'll be so angry!"

Her voice was little more than a whisper. She wanted to be brave, but lying in bed and hearing horrifying tales about the Corley had made her pray she would never see her "godmother" again.

In an effort to make her feel less useless, Roger had brought her several dusty old books he had discovered that told about the Corley--who she had been and why she had been banished to her strange glass palace. Eleanora had read them with sickening fascination, and now wished she hadn't. Now she knew why the Corley wanted her, or Marianne. And now she knew what lengths the Corley would go to get what she wanted.

The Corley had once been a woman named Mary Bright, the wife of a famous naval captain back in the time of Great Queen Bethune. Her husband, the celebrated Captain Bright,

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had chased the Spanian pirates from Bretoner waters and been knighted as a reward. But when the Danes had attacked shortly after that, Captain Bright had changed sides and gone to command the Dane fleet, leaving behind his wife.

Instead Captain Bright had taken his "lucky charm" with him: his goddaughter, Mary Bess Corley. Mary Bess's parents had died when she was only two, and the Brights had raised her as their own. Captain Bright had even named his ship
The Corley
in honor of her and her late parents, and never put to sea without his goddaughter's blessing. But Mary Bess had fallen in love with the Crown Prince of the Danelaw, and King Haakon had promised that she would marry his son if Captain Bright would engineer Breton's downfall.

Driven to madness by her husband's betrayal and abandonment, Mary Bright had turned to magic. The daughter of a glassblower and a village wisewoman, Mary conjured a ship of glass, crewed by mute glass sailors, and sent it after her husband's ship. The glass ship rammed
The Corley
and shattered its oak beams into a thousand splinters, sending Captain Bright, his crew, and Mary Bess to the bottom of the sea. Mary Bright, known thereafter as The Corley, vanished.

"She's trying to replace her goddaughter," Poppy said without looking up. She was knitting another charm.

"Do you really think ...?" Eleanora blinked.

"I really do," Poppy said. "She wants her goddaughter alive and married to a prince of the Danelaw. She's trying to erase her mistake."

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"But that won't... I mean, she knows that I'm not
her,
doesn't she?"

Poppy shrugged. "Who can say?" She stopped knitting, unraveled a few stitches, and started up again.

Eleanora was filled with a sudden horror: she would never be free of the Corley! Even if she wasn't called upon to dance at the masked ball, even if the substitution of Poppy worked, the Corley would still chase after her.

"Don't worry," Poppy said. "We will fight, and we will win." Her needles clicked together and the yarn slid through her fingers.

"How can you just sit there and knit?" Eleanora pulled herself up in the bed, her breath coming fast. "How can you just sit there at all? We might be killed!"

"I have to," Poppy said levelly.

"What do you mean, you have to? No one is holding a knife to your throat, forcing you to knit those things!" Poppy stopped knitting.

She set the yarn and needles on the little table by her chair, folded her hands in her lap, and looked at Eleanora with her large violet eyes.

"I have to keep knitting," she said in low voice. "Because I'm the strong one." And then her eyes filled with tears, and Eleanora watched in helpless shock as Princess Poppy of Westfalin sobbed like a child.

"I'm the strong one," she sobbed. "The tough one. Everyone says so. I'm not like Daisy, I'm not like Lily, I'm not gentle

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and sweet and ladylike. My father says it, everyone says it. When we had to dance, at the end, every night and we were so tired and sick I heard Papa saying to the doctor, 'Ask them, Hans, see if they'll tell you what's happening. But don't bother with Poppy. She'll never crack, she's as tough as an old boot.'

"And I was. I never cried, I never gave up. I did what Rose and Galen said, and I never cried. But I thought it was over, I didn't think I would have to do this again, to face something like this. Without my sisters, without my father and Walter and Galen to protect me. I can't play cards against the Corley, I can't swear her to death, so I have to knit. There's nothing else I can do."

"You can dance," said a voice from the doorway.

Both girls turned, and saw Prince Christian standing there, his gaze fixed on Poppy. Seeing the intensity of his eyes on Poppy's tear-streaked face, Eleanora knew that the prince could never have loved Lady Ella the way he loved Poppy, and she wondered if Poppy knew.

"You can dance as Lady Ella," the prince said, coming the way into the room and taking Poppy's hands. "Dance with me. And before the clock strikes midnight, we will defeat her."

"Blast," Poppy said shakily. "It would have to be dancing. I really was hoping to challenge her to a game of cards."

Eleanora laughed out loud.

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***

Replacement

Hands shaking, Poppy poured water over the fire she had built in the parlor grate. She uttered the words that Eleanora had taught her, and waited. She wondered if the rhyme would work, since the Corley was not, in fact, Poppy's "dear godmother." Behind her, she heard tense breathing and rustling clothing, but she shut her ears and said it again.

"Cinders, cinders, smoke and water, take me to my dear godmother!"

The mantel arched up, and what had been a fireplace became a passageway.

Everyone in the room took a step backward, and Poppy trod on Dickon's toes. She blurted out an apology straightened her spine, and took a firmer grip on her pistol. She was holding it at her side, with a shawl draped across her shoulders to hide the weapon. She didn't know how much good it would do against an immortal creature like the Corley, but its weight comforted her all the same.