The Thirteenth Princess (8 page)

I met him at the kitchen door. “What did you tell the guard?” I asked, curious.

Milek looked a little abashed. “Well…I said that I was meeting a serving girl. I meant no disrespect—it was just a story to get me past.”

I laughed. “I am not offended,” I said. “It was clever, and it did the job. And here you are, and here are some roast lamb and new potatoes left over from dinner!”

Milek sat at the long kitchen table, and I sat opposite him and watched as he ate like a man half starved. He slowed when he came to the slice of tart I cut him.

“Ah,” he sighed. “The lamb is like my mother's cooking, but this tart! I have never tasted its like.”

I was very pleased. “I made that,” I said, attempting a modest look.

“A princess who can bake!” he exclaimed, echoing Babette's earlier words. “You are unique, milady.”

I blushed and smiled, and with that, Milek and I were friends.

When Milek had finished eating, I gave him a packet of bread and cheese and the rest of the tart, wrapped carefully for traveling. He stowed it in his pack, slung it over his shoulder, and then stood.

“Now show me your sisters,” he said.

He followed me as I tiptoed to the pantry. When I removed the sacks hiding the dumbwaiter and signaled him that we would both get in, his eyebrows went up just as Breckin's often did. He followed me without a word. We pulled ourselves up as silently as possible, and when we reached the princesses' closet, we crept out.

I eased the closet door open. The room was dim and
silent, but a swathe of moonlight made its way through the heavy curtains and fell across the floor. We could make out the twelve beds, each with its sleeping girl. The faint sound of breathing was the only noise.

Gingerly we walked between the rows of beds, and when he reached Adena's, I stopped and pointed. We watched her for a time, and I noted how slow her breaths were. At last Milek nodded, and we turned to go. But one of the girls had left a petticoat crumpled beside her bed that Nurse had not picked up, and Milek caught his boot in it and tripped. He caught himself before he fell, but his sword rattled against a bed frame, making a racket that, in that silent room, seemed as loud as a whole army in battle. We froze. In terror I thought of what would happen if we were discovered. The guards would rush in; Milek would face Father's wrath and surely die for his trespass. And I—I would be exiled, at the very least.

But no sister awakened. Not one even stirred. In and out went their breaths in the silence, and their bedclothes rose and fell steadily. Relieved, we quickly started back to the closet. As Milek passed Aurelia's bed, though, he stopped again, very suddenly. I, behind him, almost ran right into him. He stood as if in a trance, looking down at Aurelia's lovely face, illuminated in the moonlight. All breath in the room seemed to pause.
As I watched, I saw to my shock that Aurelia's eyes were open. She gazed straight back at Milek with what seemed like recognition, and her lips parted as if she were going to speak, but no words came out. A look passed between them that echoed the one I had seen months before, and a moment later Aurelia's lashes swept down and she slept again. But a smile played upon her lips, and I saw a matching smile steal quickly across Milek's face.

In the dumbwaiter on the way down, Milek was pale as he worked the ropes to lower us. He was quiet as we placed the potato sacks to hide the door. Back in the vast kitchen, I confronted him.

“Well?” I demanded. “Is it magic? Can you tell?”

Milek nodded, his brow furrowed. “I am no wizard,” he said, “but the smell and feel of magic are thick in that room. Your sisters did not wake when I stumbled. That noise would have waked the—would have waked anyone.”

Would have waked the dead
was what he did not say. I shivered and fought back tears.

“What will happen to them?” I cried “Who is doing this? Oh, Milek, what shall I do?”

“Shh, shh,” he cautioned me. “You have a witch friend; you must go to her. Surely she will know what to do. You must consult her.”

“Can't you help?” I begged.

He was torn, I could see it. But he shook his head. “I must get home. There is work to do there, and my mother has great need of me. But I will come back, as soon as I can. If the circumstances were any other…”

I nodded. He had made a promise, and to his mother. He was a man of honor. I remembered Salina once saying, “A man who treats his mother well is a good man indeed—and a rare one!”

“Then Breckin and I will go to Babette,” I said. “Will you tell him to meet me at the stream, where we picnicked?” Milek nodded, and I led him to the corridor. At the doorway, I gave him my hand, and he bent over it like a courtier. When he straightened, I could see a question in his eyes, and I forestalled him.

“Her name is Aurelia,” I said. “She is my eldest sister. She is not betrothed.”

He grinned—Breckin's grin again—bowed smartly, and was gone.

I spent all the next morning trying to find a chance to run upstairs and see my sisters. The chance did not come; Cook had heard of my father's rule forbidding me access to their chamber, and she did her best to keep me busy so I couldn't sneak off. When her back was turned as she rolled out dough, however, I grabbed a hot meat pie, a towel to wrap it in, and my cloak and ran out and across the bridge, not looking back to see
who might be watching me. I didn't take a deep breath until the woods had swallowed me from view, and then I slowed to a quick walk, noting familiar landmarks as I moved along. Without much trouble I found my way back to the pretty spot where Breckin and I had picnicked. Now the stream was rimmed with ice, though its swift waters still flowed unfrozen. The willow's branches were bare and brown, and I clapped my hands together and moved from foot to foot as I waited, trying to keep warm. It wasn't long before Breckin appeared. We shared the meat pie, still warm from Cook's oven, and we talked about what had happened when Milek and I had visited my sisters' bedchamber.

“He was strange when he came back,” Breckin said.

I smiled. “He was not strange. He was in love.”

Breckin choked on a piece of meat pie. “In love?” he said, coughing. “With who? You?”

I felt a stab of hurt at his incredulity. Was it so unbelievable that someone should love me? I turned on Breckin, hot anger rising to overcome the hurt, but before I could get a word out, he caught my hands in his.

“I'm sorry,” he said swiftly. “I did not mean that the way it sounded. Forgive me?” He looked pleadingly, contritely, into my eyes, and I found myself gazing back. The look he gave me was unfamiliar. I was
suddenly unable to speak. He moved toward me, and I thought in a panicked rush,
I am going to be kissed!
And then I remembered my promise to Aurelia. I could not. I would not.

I pulled back, flushed and flustered, and mumbled, “It's all right. Of course it is not me. It's Aurelia. He looked on her, and he loved her. Who would not?”

Breckin gaped, and his shocked face made me laugh. Suddenly we were ourselves again. “Yes, he aims high, doesn't he?” I teased, rising from the fallen log where we sat. “But I promised Aurelia that I would find her a husband, and he is a fine-looking, brave soldier!”

“That's ridiculous,” Breckin sputtered. “He's a commoner, the son of a farmer.”

I shrugged. “My father would never let her marry him, it's true. But perhaps he can steal her away, under cover of night. They can go back to your mother's farm and tend the bees together. Or Aurelia could travel with Milek's company, cooking for her captain over a campfire.”

Breckin burst out laughing at this, and I knew he was picturing my elegant sister, her golden sheaf of hair perfectly groomed, her luxurious clothes always spotless—crouched over a smoky fire, frying up sausages.

As we neared the place where I thought Babette's cottage stood, I placed my hand on Breckin's arm and said, “Stop. Right here. Now close your eyes.” He did as I said.

“Good. Now, picture the path. White stones, lined with flowers. No, not flowers now. Pretty purple cabbages. Up to a white cottage with lace at the windows. Can you see it?”

Breckin breathed hard with the effort. “Almost,” he said. “Yes. Just how it looked from the inside looking out, but with cabbages.”

I nodded. “Keep your eyes closed. Walk forward slowly, so you don't trip.” I closed my own eyes and took his hand and we both walked forward. Dead leaves crunched under our feet, and then we heard pebbles move against our boots. I opened my eyes.

“There!” I said, delighted. And there it was, the little cottage, just as I had pictured it, cabbages and all. Breckin whooped and ran up the path, jumping up the stairs. I followed him. The frog knocker was no longer there, so we used our knuckles, and in a moment Babette opened the door, smiling hugely, and invited us in. We crowded into the cozy warmth of the room and held our hands out to the fire burning merrily on the hearth. Babette brought us spiced orange tea and gingerbread, and we sat at the kitchen table and ate and drank until we were full and warm.

Finally we sat back, and Babette said, “So, my dears, what brings you? I feel that this is not merely a friendly visit.”

Breckin looked to me to speak. I swallowed the last of my gingerbread and said, “No, it's not merely friendly. There is something wrong, just as you warned. I don't know what it is. I'm hoping you will know.”

“Tell me,” Babette urged.

I described my sisters' lethargy, their exhaustion and shadowed eyes, their lack of appetite, their worn and tattered shoes. I told her about Adena's faint, the doctor's inability to make a diagnosis. I described my visit to the bedchamber with Milek, the stillness of the sleepers, Aurelia's momentary waking. I even mentioned the princesses' strange encounters with suitors and how they could not speak to the princes who came to call. Babette's brow furrowed, and her nose moved even closer to her chin as she frowned and thought.

“We think it's magic,” Breckin said.

“Magic, to be sure. You are right, lad,” she said to Breckin. “An enchantment, perhaps. Something strong, and strange.” She turned to me. “When you stayed with them, those last two Sundays, did anything unusual happen? Did they sleep through the night? Were they restless?”

“I don't know,” I admitted. “I was so tired those nights—I fell right asleep and didn't wake till morning. They were all asleep before I slept, and still sleeping when I woke, though. I don't see how they could have
risen without waking me.”

“Did you eat or drink before sleep?” she demanded.

I thought. “Well…yes. We always have hot chocolate before bed. I had some both nights.”

Babette nodded. “Ah,” she said, but no more.

Breckin cleared his throat. “Do you think—,” he said, and broke off. He started again. “Do you think that…that someone put something in the chocolate?”

“What do you mean?” I demanded.

“I mean, a sleeping potion. Something like that?”

I was horrified. Who would do such a thing? Someone in the kitchen, a servant whom I'd worked with? Salina, Dagman, maybe Chiara? The nasty underbutler, Burle? These were people I'd known all my life. It was unthinkable that one of them was working magic, and using it to put people to sleep. To put
me
to sleep!

“Oh, I don't think so,” I began. But then I started to wonder. I had been so very tired, but not until I had drunk from my cup. I hadn't woken all night, even though I'd spent one of those nights with Asmita, the twitchiest of my sisters. Usually sleeping with her was like sleeping with one of the hunting pups, which would writhe and moan in its sleep, legs churning as if it were out in the fields running after a rabbit. But I had slept like a stone, deep and dreamless.

“It is possible, my dear,” Babette said gently. “We
can assume certain things. One, your sisters are doing something at night. They are not sleeping, so they are exhausted. They are wearing out their shoes, so perhaps they are walking far, in an enchanted place. Two, someone does not want you to find out about it. Your chocolate is drugged to make you sleep.”

“But…why?” I said, aghast. “Why would anyone want to hurt my sisters? Who could be doing it?”

Babette shook her head. “That's the trick question,” she said. “I don't know, and I have no way of seeing. I think that is up to you.”

I looked at her, puzzled. “You want me to do magic to find out? But I'm not a witch!”

“No,” she corrected me. “I don't want you to do magic. I want you to follow them. To find out where they are going.”

I shivered. The idea of getting up out of my warm bed at night and following my bewitched sisters to some enchanted place was not one I embraced. But then I thought of Adena, pale and limp in her bed, and I straightened my spine in the chair. “Yes, all right,” I said. “I can see that I have to do that. How do I do it?”

Babette smiled approvingly. “Brave girl,” she told me, but I did not feel brave. “You will have to avoid drinking the chocolate, of course.”

“I can pour it out the window,” I suggested.

“If you can do that without being seen, good. Otherwise, use a sponge to soak it up. Then you can discard the sponge, or just leave it till the morning.”

I nodded. “Then what?”

“Then you will have to wait until they rise, and follow them—but without being seen. It will not be easy. You can't let them get too far ahead of you.”

“All right. Then what?”

“Well…” Babette's voice trailed off. She thought for a minute. “Then you just observe. Remember what you see. Notice everything! And come to me. Tell me what has happened.”

“I will,” I promised. I closed my eyes, willing panic away. I was not a courageous person. I knew nothing about enchantments or magic. The idea of following my sisters to whatever had been sapping their strength, taking their liveliness and replacing it with fatigue and deathlike sleep, terrified me.