The Sweetest Spell (35 page)

“Mother,” Prince Beau announced, his usually soft voice surging with confidence. “Emmeline would like to present you and father with a gift on this joyous occasion.”

“A gift?” King Elmer asked. “I love gifts. Hand it over. What are you waiting for?”

The breath that hissed from the queen’s flared nostrils was so loud it could have been made of steam. “You mean Princess Sabina.”

“No, Mother. I mean Emmeline. For that is her name.” He took my hand and smiled at me. “Your turn,” he said.

I should have been terrified, I suppose. Me, the nothing
dirt-scratcher
girl, facing the most powerful woman in the realm. The woman who could destroy everything and everyone I loved. But I wasn’t terrified. I’d survived the flood, Peddler’s torments, the leper beach, and the nightmare of believing that Owen was dead. I’d survived all those years on my own, all those years of believing that I was an unwanted, a mistake, a girl who should have died.

I filled my lungs with a steadying breath of the clotted, perfumed air and spoke the words I’d memorized last night. “For such appreciation do I feel for everything Their Royal Majesties have done for me, and because I know Their Royal Majesties love Anglund more than they love themselves, I give the gift of chocolate to all of Anglund in their names.”

The Flatlander girls sat next to their buckets and began to churn. Their motion wasn’t as graceful as mine, but they’d get the feel for it in time. Doubt did not exist at that moment. I knew the truth. That Queen Margaret had tried to keep the magic for herself, and her selfishness had killed her in the end. The magic of chocolate had made me famous and desired, but it had also imprisoned me. And it would continue to imprison me, and those I loved, if I kept the magic only to myself.

In setting myself free, I was setting us all free. Including the queen.

In each bucket, the cream turned from eggshell white to a lovely light brown. With a few more turns of the handles, it settled into its muddy hue. Whispers filled the hall. The crowd pushed forward, peering into the buckets. Queen Beatrice glared at me. “How?” She spat out the word. “How is this possible?”

I ignored her. Instead, I raised my voice so that it carried all the way to the back of the hall. “I do not come from some island in the middle of the ocean. I am not a princess. My name is Emmeline and I am from the Flatlands.” More whispers. “These red-haired girls are also from the Flatlands. But we are not dirt-scratchers. We are Kell and we are citizens of Anglund. And we are the only people who can make chocolate.”

The ambassadors leaned forward on their benches. Queen Beatrice tried to pull me away but Prince Beau stepped between us.

I continued. “The Flatlands have been destroyed by flood. My people need help rebuilding the main road. We need wagons and horses, livestock and timber. We need clothing and food. We will happily share the chocolate with all who wish to share with us in return.”

“How dare you,” the queen snapped. “How dare you cross us like this.” She stomped off the stage and yanked a bucket from one of the girls’ hands. “These dirt-scratchers are not allowed outside the Flatlands. Arrest them immediately.”

“Do not arrest anyone,” Prince Beau told the approaching soldiers. Then he pressed close to his mother, his voice quiet but dead
serious. “You have violated our laws against slavery, Mother. I’m certain the nobles would be very interested to know about the mineral fields. As would the people who pay your taxes.”

She raised her hand and I thought she might slap her son. But the hand lingered in the air for a moment, then retreated behind her back. “This was
your
idea?” She seemed surprised, as if a man who’d invented a flying balloon only had half a brain. “You would threaten your mother?”

He lowered his voice further. Only the Royal Secretary and I could catch the words. “I do not threaten. I’m simply trying to do what is right. You are destroying Anglund with your taxes and your greed.”

The golden doors flew open again. “Your Majesties!” a soldier cried. The audience, who’d been standing frozen, trying to hear the exchange between the queen and Prince Beau, twisted around to face the door. “The people have stormed the gates! They have entered the city! They are armed and are demanding the king’s head.”

Color drained from the queen’s painted lips. Trembling with rage, she fell back onto her throne, her hands gripping the armrests. The king, who’d taken a brief nap, fluttered his eyes and asked, “Has the tournament begun?”

Chaos erupted. Women and men screamed, feathered hats flew into the air, and little dogs yapped. The musicians jumped from the balcony and ran. Guests trampled one another as they tried to escape the throne room. The Royal Secretary tried to join the stampede, but Prince Beau grabbed his arm and held him in place. The king and
queen sat on their thrones, their faces slack with disbelief and confusion. Prince Beau and I, and the Flatlander girls, remained calm, for we knew there were no crowds. We knew the soldier at the door was really the Baron of Lime in disguise.

“Mother, Father,” Prince Beau said. “You are in danger. You must flee Londwin City immediately.”

“They are approaching,” the baron cried. “Make your escape. Now!”

Queen Beatrice was already out the back door by the time Prince Beau and I had helped the king from his throne.

The prince’s flying balloon waited in the inner courtyard. Its basket bounced like an impatient child, as if eager to get to the sky. Once the king and queen were safely onboard, the Baron of Lime, still disguised as a soldier, climbed in and removed the first stone. “Where are we going?” the king asked.

“To the winter chalet,” the prince answered. He’d dragged the Royal Secretary along and kept him close. “It is not too far for the balloon. You will be safe.”

The baron emptied the last stone and the balloon quickly lifted.

“Good-bye, Father. Good-bye, Mother,” Prince Beau called.

The king waved, his expression as confused as ever. The queen pointed at me. “We won’t forget what you did!” she cried. “We’ll never forget
. I’ll
never forget!”

“Nor will I!” I yelled back.

The prince waited until the balloon had disappeared behind one of the palace’s towers. Then he turned to the Royal Secretary, who stood empty-handed, his eyes bulging as if his high collar was
cutting off all circulation to his head. “Deliver a proclamation to the crowds outside the city wall. Tell them I am in command. Let them know that all new taxes are immediately revoked. Then order the release of all those enslaved in the mineral fields. Send wagons to carry those men to their homes.”

I wanted to hear the rest of the prince’s proclamation, but there was one thing, and one thing only, on my mind. “Where’s the dungeon?”

“They’ve already been released,” Prince Beau said with a smile. “Even though we’re not getting married, I still wanted to get you a wedding gift.”

“Where—?”

“They’re waiting for you at the palace gates.”

The crown of roses tumbled from my head. Why bother picking it up? I was no longer a royal bride.

My footsteps echoed as I ran through the empty throne room, through the golden door, and past the golden swans. It was at times like this, when my heart wanted to be somewhere but my body slowed me down, that I used to curse my curled foot. But if I’d learned anything over these months, it was that the foot was part of who I was. If I’d been born normal, I wouldn’t have been left at the edge of the forest. I wouldn’t have met Snow. If I’d been able to run as fast as everyone else, I might not have been swept downriver. I wouldn’t be the girl I now was.

But there was no reason why I couldn’t curse the stupid pointed wedding shoes. They tried their best to trip me as I turned down the hallway and hurried beneath the ceiling with its painted cloud-scape. When walking along this same white marble floor with Griffin weeks earlier, I’d imagined I was being led into the everafter.
But the royal palace had turned out to be part of the real world—the unpredictable, crazy world where a peasant girl can be blessed with magic, rise to fame, and become a prince’s bride.

Then give everything up and become a simple peasant girl once again.

Warm summer air wafted over me as I stumbled into the main courtyard, kicking up soot with my desperate steps. It felt ages ago that I’d watched the bestowing of coal in this very place. Gray, soot-stained tents now covered the grimy cobblestones. Men with numbers painted on their chests mingled around the tents. Sweaty men. Burly men. Growling, feisty, fight-loving men. Some punched bags of flour. Others punched one another as they got ready for the day’s tournament. They didn’t yet know that the tournament would be canceled, due to the fact that King Elmer was floating away. Most of the men stared at me as I stumbled past. In my white wedding gown I stood out like a single daisy in a field of ash.

“Emmeline!” It was Griffin. He strode right up and stood before me. The dark circles under his eyes and the beard made him look much older. He was covered in grime, his clothes torn, his hair filthy—he looked terrible, like he’d been locked in a dungeon.

“Griffin!” I threw my arms around his waist. “I’m so happy to see you. I didn’t know about the dungeon. I thought she gave you the reward. I’m so sorry.”

He hugged back. “I’m happy to see you too,” he said quietly. Then he pulled away and looked down at me, confusion knotting his brow. “What are you doing out here? I thought you were getting married. And what have you done to your hair?”

“I didn’t get married and my hair will be red again, but it will take a while.” I looked up at him. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said, picking a piece of straw from his hair. “Wait, did you just say you didn’t get married?” I nodded. “Why not? He’s a prince.”

“He’s a very nice person but I don’t love him. And he doesn’t love me.” I looked around. My legs twitching, my heart beating like a bird’s, I couldn’t stand still. Where was he? “Griffin, do you know—?”

“I have something to tell you, Emmeline.” He gently squeezed my shoulders, holding me in place so he could look into my eyes. His hands were as big as bear paws. “I want you to know that if you bid on me at the next husband market, I will accept.” He half-smiled. “What do you think?” A slight tremble ran through his fingers. His face flushed. Was Griffin Boar nervous? Was he was afraid I’d reject him?

A pair of fighters walked past, arguing about something. A cluster of kitchen boys handed out apples and meat pies. In the distance, a servant stood on a ladder, polishing the golden gate. “I shared the magic.”

“Huh?”

“I shared the magic. I gave it to all the Flatlander girls and women who came to Londwin City looking for help. Now they can all make chocolate.”

He let go of my shoulders and took a step back. “I see.” I thought he’d walk away right then. Thought he’d tell me to “move out of his way” so he could go meet these other girls who were
going to be rich. But he didn’t. He cleared his throat and softened his voice. “Look, Emmeline, I still want … I mean, I still think that we should …” He rubbed his neck. “What I’m trying to say is that even though you’re not perfect, there’s something about you that I really like and I …” He folded his arms and frowned. “What are you doing?”

I was circling around him, my gaze scanning the crowded courtyard.

“You’re looking for him, aren’t you? You’re looking for that Owen fellow.”

“Aye, I am,” I said. “Where is he? Is he okay?”

“You choose him over me, is that it?”

“Choose?” I circled again. “What do you mean? I didn’t know I had a choice.”

“Well, you do.” Griffin Boar sighed. “He loves you.”

I froze. The courtyard noise faded away and all I heard was my own breathing.

“Where is he?” I practically screamed as I grabbed Griffin’s arm.

“He thought you’d gotten married,” Griffin said. “He said he couldn’t bear to stay and celebrate your wedding to another.”

“He left?” Tears filled my eyes.

“Owen!” a voice called. A tent rustled and an enormous man stepped out, the number one painted on his chest. “I forgot to tell you something. Do you remember that fat promoter, the one from your village? He said you could ride home with him.”

My entire body stiffened. I followed the man’s one-eyed gaze
across the cobblestones, past another tent, until it rested on a pair of soot-covered boots. Slowly, scared to death of disappointment, I lifted my gaze up a torn pant leg, up a bare chest, up a sun-colored neck, and onto the face that I’d seen in my dreams every single night since first seeing it in his bedroom.

I didn’t need to call out his name because he was already looking at me. He’d seen me first.

As it turned out, Peddler’s dead body wasn’t needed. The prince sent orders for us to be released. Peddler chose his death, so I suppose I shouldn’t have felt sorry for him. He wanted to escape the misery he felt after losing his daughter. As I gave him once last glance, I tried to remember the man I once knew—the magical man with the pockets of treasures. But then I realized that Griffin was already heading up the dungeon stairs to chase after the woman I loved. I forgot all about Peddler.

By the time I reached fresh air, Griffin was long gone. If he found Emmeline first, my chances would be slim at best. He’d remind her that Flatlanders marry Flatlanders. He’d tell her he loved her. He’d do whatever it took to win her.

I asked around. Fighters, servants, and soldiers all told me that the royal wedding had already taken place. That I was too late. She’d never be mine. I’m not going to lie and say I wanted to impale myself on a knife the way Peddler had, but I can’t remember a time
I’d ever felt so hopeless. A sudden chill possessed me, as if I’d fallen into the River Time.

But then, there she was. What was she doing in the courtyard amid the fighters’ tents? Griffin stood next to her. They were talking. She was shaking her head. Then one-eyed Henry called my name and the next thing I knew, Emmeline was standing in front of me. What would I say now? Offer my congratulations? Pretend to be happy?