The Sleeping Beauty (27 page)

He opened the wolf’s cage first, and collared him, then the bear. The illusions settled over them, making them look like a pair of goats. He took the ropes in his hand and led them to and out the shed door. And all was well. No one paid him any heed as he walked down some of the quieter streets to one of the city gates—although cats fled in terror, and dogs backed away, hackles raised, trusting their noses rather than their eyes. Perhaps one or two people might have wondered at the sight of a relatively well-dressed man leading two goats himself, but his clothing was modest enough that no one would realize he was one of the Princes unless they actually knew him by sight.

Siegfried took them well into the forest before removing their collars. The wolf, who had been sniffing the air hungrily for some time, gave a happy yelp and vanished into the trees, but the bear paused, turned and looked up at him out of dark little eyes.

“You saved our lives and our minds, BigMan,” the bear said. “Wolf cannot wait to return to his kin, so I will say for both of us. You have a good heart. We will not forget this.”

“Then when you see men, do not fight, but run,” said Siegfried. “This is all I ask.”

He walked back to the city, got his borrowed horse and headed for the King’s Arms.

Leopold was waiting for him, with a finely carved wooden box in front of him. When Siegfried arrived in the doorway, he grinned and waved him to the table.

“Come see if this looks fit for a Princess,” he said, as Siegfried sat down beside him. He opened the box, and the pure white braid glowed against the velvet interior. There was a simple gold clasp on it, and nothing more.

“I am no woman, but I think that will please her,” he said gravely. “Did the jeweler know what it was?”

“He did, and he gave me the gold clasp for the cost of silver if I gave him a single hair. He means to braid it with silver and gold wire for a ring for his daughter. That seemed harmless enough to me.” Leopold gave Siegfried a sharpish, sideways look. “I confess I took a few of the hairs that you saved. I thought they might come in handy. You never know, right?”

Siegfried shrugged. “You made a good bargain with them. But you should be sure that the jeweler either knows you are a Prince or does not know you at all now. There will be wizards and sorcerers who would pursue you for those hairs or that necklace, and you either want to be thought of as too high to dare to harass, or impossible to find.”

Leopold nodded. “So, shall we head back to the Palace? I hope you have had your fill of running about in the woods for now. I, for one, would be glad not to see them again for a while!”

THE NUMBER OF SUITORS HAD BEEN PARED
down, one trial at a time, over the past several weeks. From tournaments to hunts for odd items, to fiendishly complicated problems, the trials had been successful at eliminating most of the Princes.

But there were still ten left.

“I need more trials,” muttered Lily, as she massaged both temples. “More than that, I need a long-term solution to keeping Eltaria safe. Thurman would still be alive if he hadn’t been worn to a thread by running from one border crisis to another. Celeste might still be alive if he had been here instead of on the border.”

“And
you
will be worn to a thread if you aren’t careful, Lily,” Jimson said with alarm and concern. “You do not need that many more trials. There are only ten candidates left. Three of them are the enemy Princes and two more are from Kingdoms flanking
them
. We are still safe. You can stretch this out as long as a year without any of them taking umbrage, I think.”

“And I still don’t have a long-term solution!” the Godmother said with despair. “I have been Godmother to this Kingdom for three
hundred years, and I still haven’t got a solution that doesn’t involve sending the Kings to an early grave!”

There was no one to see her but Jimson, no one to be alarmed at her weakness, no one to wonder if she was no longer up to the task….

Even though she herself now wondered just that very thing.

For the first time in three hundred years, she felt inadequate to the job. She put her head down in her hands, and wept. The Fae, even the half-Fae, as she was, were not supposed, by mortals at least, to weep. Mortals didn’t know. The Fae did not cry often, and never in public, but oh yes, they wept. When you lived as long as the Fae did, there was a great deal to weep over.

She had not wept in decades, but she was at the end of her proverbial rope.

“Lily—Lily—” Jimson sounded frustrated and helpless. “Please, do not cry—you are a good Godmother. No one could have managed better than you!”

She couldn’t stop weeping, although she wept as the Fae did, quietly, the tears flowing from her eyes like rain. It was all, suddenly, too much. Even if one of the decent men won the right to Rosa’s hand, it would all begin again. This poor little kingdom would be the tasty morsel that the neighbors all wanted to devour as long as there was no practical way to protect it.

Jimson continued to try and comfort her with soothing words, with reminders of several of the many disasters she had averted, and then just with “it will be all right,” repeated over and over. But for the moment, she was inconsolable. Finally he burst out, “Ah, I wish I was in your world, my love. I could at least hold you!”

That
stopped her tears. She looked up suddenly and saw in the eyes of her Mirror Servant something she had never expected to see.

“Jimson?” she faltered.

He flushed. “I should never have said that,” he mumbled, and started to fade.

“Wait!”
she called. He paused, halfway between
there
and
not there.

“Did you mean that?”

Slowly, he came back to
there.
“It slipped out.”

“But did you mean it?” She stared at him, as if she was seeing him, really
seeing
him, for the first time. For three hundred years, he had been her faithful helper, companion and confidant. Everything, everyone else, would come and go—but not Jimson. When had her feelings crossed that line? When had his? They had been together so long…

Perhaps it had only been recently. It came to her now, since all this started, he had stopped calling her “Godmother,” unless Rosa was around. That might have been the first sign, if she had just been paying more attention.

Maybe she hadn’t wanted to know; maybe her heart had known, and her head had realized that it was impossible and protected her from the knowledge. Because it was impossible. He could not be here, and despite knowing mirror-magic as well as she did, his world was still somewhere she could not go, for it was inhabited only by spirits.

“Of course I meant it.” He stared at her with naked longing, and for the first time ever, a hand joined the image of the face in the mirror, a hand pressed up against the surface of the glass as if by will alone he could reach into her world.

She pressed her hand to the same place, palm to palm. “I’m sorry—” she began.

“That you don’t feel the same?” He smiled bitterly.

“No—” she replied. “I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to notice that I do.”

Prince Leopold’s gift encircled Rosa’s neck under her gown, lying cool against her skin; there was something extraordinarily comfort
ing about the feel of the unicorn necklace. She very much appreciated the gift, although the giver had pushed himself forward just a little too much, kissing her hand and then starting upward before she pulled away.

She had heard of such things of course, but she had never actually seen one, much less owned one. As wealthy as Eltaria was, all the money in the kingdom couldn’t buy what no one would willingly sell.

She wondered about the unicorn this had come from. Leopold had said the hair was freely given, which made it more potent, but she rather doubted that he was a virgin. How had he gotten it? Had he followed the unicorn at a discreet distance, picking the hairs off bushes?

More likely he had found some young girl to get the hairs for him. She smiled a little as she shook her head. That man! A more charming rogue there never was. And she liked him well enough—just not as a consort. He’d be very amusing as a friend; he was witty and had a prankster’s sense of humor, but was not afraid to turn the joke on himself. However, he was not what Eltaria needed. She sensed that he was cavalier about most things, and not really that good at thinking ahead. He would probably be a very popular King right up to the point that he did something disastrous. She had felt a little guilty accepting his gift, but then again, that came with being courted, and she had accepted a great many gifts by now, some just as valuable.

The only one as practical, however, was Prince Siegfried’s gift. And Siegfried’s was priceless. Of all the things she had been given or offered, being able to defend herself meant the most to her.

It was also a gift that no one else had even thought of. Siegfried
had
thought ahead; he had seen the blind spot her guards had when it came to the Princes, and he had given her a tool to get herself free. The second lesson had been just as interesting; he had shown her how to pick up something, get its balance to know how to throw it and
get it aimed, more or less, at a target. “Even if you don’t hit someone trying to hurt you, you’ll make him duck. If he’s ducking, he’s not grabbing for you, he’s not chasing you, and he’s not firing a hand-crossbow at you.”

She was drilling herself in that now, to see everything as a potential weapon. It was going to take some getting used to, and she still had to remind herself to do so. It seemed for Siegfried it was automatic.

And she was also enjoying the quiet moments of conversation that occurred between them. Though they were surrounded by others—and often ended up sweaty and bruised—there was a tenderness and a wistfulness to Siegfried’s glances that made Rosa linger after the lessons were officially over. Siegfried’s stories about his home and his travels were so very different from hers, and his wry comments were both amusing and insightful.

“Between the two of us, Princess, you did Joffrey a favor by eliminating him. He has been looking for an excuse to do badly,” he had said once.

“How do you know?” Rosa had asked.

He had looked her in the eye. “Because there isn’t a man born who will admit he had to ask for directions unless he really doesn’t want to be where he is supposed to be going. And Joffrey did. Three times.”

The ballroom seemed empty now, with only ten suitors left—though of course, all her ladies in waiting and courtiers were still there, and still mingling with the remaining Princes. Things were going back to normal, insofar as they
could
be normal with the trials still on and the anticipation for the end building.

Three of the five “neighbors” were still in the running. She really did not want any of them to win. She really didn’t want Leopold to win. That left six. Karl had been eliminated early on at the dragon trial. Not even his father was willing to protest that one. Not when he had tried to charge Sharpstone in defiance of the rules and had
been picked up and dumped on his own doorstep by the dragon, in full possession of not only his own curse but several more.

Siegfried; a semischolar named Henzel who had done surprisingly well even in the contests that required strength; Caspar, who was
almost
old enough to be her father; Klaus, who approached everything in terms of strategy; Andret, who was here mostly to test himself; and Desmond.

As if the thought had summoned him, Desmond appeared at her side, moving fluidly away from a knot of admirers and giving her a little bow as soon as he saw she had seen him. “Good evening, Desmond,” she said, smiling. “And what is the speculation about the next contest?”

“Most of us favor something spectacular—riding up a mountain of glass to fetch a golden apple, or something of the sort,” he replied, with a charming lift of one corner of his mouth. “I was inclined to agree. With so much of the competition eliminated, it is a good time to—”

“—give my people something to watch and marvel over?” she asked.

“—I would have said, give them the sort of thing that tales are made of. This will be something that will be talked about for a hundred years, probably more.” He raised an elegant eyebrow. “The tale will probably travel far, far beyond the six Kingdoms here, as your failed suitors return to their own lands, and probably exaggerate their own standings.” His mouth quirked a little, in an ever-so-slightly-superior smile. “I would imagine every one of them will recount how
he
was in second place and only edged out by the winner at the last moment by some tactic either dubious or fiendishly clever.”

Rosa waited for him to add something to that, and was a little disappointed. She knew that Leopold would have concluded with a crooked smile and “I know
I
will,” and they both would have laughed. And Siegfried would have said something like “Everyone is the hero of his own saga,” with a self-deprecating shrug and a chuckle. If
Desmond had a defect, it was that he didn’t seem to find anything funny. Ironic, yes, or sarcastic. Not funny.

Part of the reason that the ballroom seemed so empty was that there was enough floor space for large open areas to form. Now that there was room to move in here again, the majordomo had brought evening entertainment back—not actually holding formal balls, but rather, evening gatherings with a small group of musicians, so that those who wished to could dance, and those that wished to merely watch and gossip could do that without musicians or talkers drowning each other out. The group of musicians that had been playing at the “dancing end” of the long room quietly struck up the chords to signal dancing was going to begin.

If there was one thing Rosa loved, it was dancing. And Desmond almost made up for his lack of humor with his ability to dance. He didn’t ask her if she wanted to; he simply smiled and swung her into the first steps of the extremely lively dance called “Rupert Calantry.”

Normally, the first dances of the evening were extremely energetic, and tonight was no exception. Desmond had to relinquish her to another partner for four more dances; Siegfried didn’t know these dances and Leopold was at the gaming tables, and the other three suitors weren’t quick enough to beat out Desmond. And then, right in the middle of a lively gigue, she found herself swung out of the door to the garden and into the shadows of some ornamental trees where Desmond swung her around and into his embrace, looked down into her eyes for a moment, then kissed her.

She closed her eyes and waited for…something to happen.

And nothing did.

It was pleasant. He was a little more forceful than she would have liked, but when she pulled back a little so did he. But…it was nothing more than pleasant; no spark, no excitement, just mild curiosity.

And…somewhere inside, a little disappointment that none of that was there.

Desmond reacted immediately to her lack of enthusiasm, smiling and releasing her. “Pardon, Princess, but you are so lovely and so adorable, I could not help myself.” There was a flash of—something—in his eyes, but it passed before she could identify what it was.

“There’s nothing to forgive,” she replied, and he took her arm like the perfect gentleman, as if nothing had happened except that they had come outside for a breath of air.

Nothing, except that faint feeling of disappointment, and the growing feeling that there was something odd about Desmond.

“That’s it,” Jimson said suddenly, breaking Lily out of her trance. “That’s it. The last trial. The contest will be to find a way to protect Eltaria permanently.” He chuckled cruelly. “Our three ‘neighbors’ won’t have a chance, since their solutions—which will probably consist of ‘marry me’—will be unacceptable. The others will all be working on theirs for some time, I expect.”

Lily dried her eyes and looked up. “Jimson, that is a very, very good idea. And it’s the perfect trial. The young man that comes up with the best solution really
will
be the best one for Eltaria. And I don’t mind at all keeping them here indefinitely….” She reached out her hand to the mirror and pressed it there. A moment later, Jimson’s hand appeared on the other side of the glass. She smiled, a little wanly. “In fact, just to be fair, I will announce that the solution
cannot
be ‘marry me,’ since that is not so much an answer as an obvious case of not thinking far enough into the future, and the solution must hold well past when Rosa and her consort are long dead. You are a genius.”

“Just desperate to stay your tears, my love,” Jimson said tenderly. “Now, let us work together on the best way to phrase this announcement. We will want something that not even our worst enemies can
take exception to. You can tell them all at afternoon Court tomorrow. Even the laziest will be awake by then.”