With a Kiss (Twisted Tales) (38 page)

She gave me a tight little smile, but didn’t press me. “I knew you would.” Her eyes burned with a strange inner light. My mother had the same porcelain-doll looks as the Snow Queen, but there was more emotion in her eyes; they were almost too bright.

Before I could figure it out, she guided me to a muscular, dark-haired man. He surveyed a fallen pillar next to the broken mirrors, taking stock of the damage to the castle. I recognized him immediately as the debonair man from the catwalks over the stage of my play, from the few moments before my mother banished him with a kiss. The faery king stood a few feet taller than all of us, strong and imposing. The capes of his cloak flowed around him—too dramatically. Was this my real father, then? My other father was so smiley, so gentle . . . more genuine.

 “Your Majesty.” My mother curtseyed elegantly to her husband. “Do you not see? Your daughter did what she was sent to do. She freed us.”

My father didn’t look impressed, but I couldn’t blame him. We would be ruling a skeleton of this kingdom. I wiped my sweaty palms against my ripped skirt. Everything they once owned belonged to the Otherworldly, and now the guy would go after Babs. It was pretty hard to be happy about that.

My mother touched the tiara on my head—she couldn’t keep away from it, like it was some kind of party gag. Under her fingers, it glowed through the room, sending rainbows of light over the slumping bricks of ice. “Welcome to your new home. All that I have is yours, my star.” It wasn’t much, but she hugged me to her anyway. And for a moment, it felt good . . . and wrong. There was another family I wanted to see, and a little girl. I had to remind them all that I still existed.

“Twinkle, twinkle, little star,” my mother whispered. Her words made me feel strange. Her fingers dug into my side, her arms like shackles. “Your heart is strong.” She stepped back to study my face. “It is beating as it should. It works. I can feel it.”

Oddly enough it was working against her. I knew I belonged in the faery queen’s family, but if it meant I could never see my loved ones again, I’d rather not. And there was something else that felt wrong—her charm. There was too much of it, and it was consuming me. She had the power to make me forget everyone I cared about; I knew it the moment she called me “star.” And if I wasn’t wrong, she was already using this strange magic against me. I struggled to remain calm. Babs needed me to remember her.

I peeled the queen’s fingers away from my arm, trying to look inconspicuous about it. “Mother.” The word felt strange when talking to this woman. “Why did you tell me to bring her here?”

I didn’t have to say Babs’ name. My mother knew I was talking about the new successor of winter. Her long lashes lowered regretfully over the jewel gray of her eyes. “It was the only way to break the curse. You were as much a prisoner as she was. If you both didn’t come, you’d be dead. Without a heart, you had nothing.”

“Yes, but what will happen to her?”

She lifted a pointy chin, and watched me tenderly with eyes that were still too bright. “I had no choice, my child. I did what I thought best.”

My father put his arm around his wife’s delicate waist. He had dark features like mine and a permanent scowl. It was clear now where I got my looks. “Onagh, she won’t understand. Not yet.”

Her hand lingered over mine before she let me go. The faery king turned from us, taking in the wreck of the melting castle, seeing everything . . . and nothing. My new palace was in need of some major spring cleaning. The bodies of ogres were piled high. Wolves ran free. The nymphs backed up uncertainly. And if my father looked behind him, he’d see the son of the Snow Queen meeting my weary eyes. It had been a rough year for my faery parents. And for me? It had been a rough lifetime. His face twisted into a sneer. “We have much to do.” He circled to Bugul, who loitered in the middle of it all, his tie askew. “Ah, there you are. Come forward!”

Bugul’s boots crunched over the broken glass and ice. He threw his club down in front of him. My mother had sent him to protect me and now his report was due. Despite the glass, he knelt on the floor before my parents, his manner far too servile. “Your Majesty,” he said in a subdued voice.

No mouthy retort? I stepped back, giving Hobs a worried look. He kept a careful distance from me—from
them
. I didn’t know what to expect from these new rulers. Hobs seemed to know. He tried to reassure me with his eyes, but it wasn’t very convincing. He was my consort, after all—didn’t he have a certain responsibility over me? I doubted he'd thought any of this through, especially since my new parents showed up so fast. Hobs was as stuck as I was.

The wolves backed away inconspicuously, practically moonwalking their way out, but not before my father dismissed their fates casually. “Banish the wolves from the Sidhe.”

“No,” I said without thinking. My father’s eyes flashed at my disobedience. I straightened in the face of his anger. “They were very useful. If not for them, we’d all be dead.”

He treated me to a brief, condescending smile that I didn’t like or trust. “If not for them, we wouldn’t have had this trouble in the first place.”

“Finn,” my mother said warningly. “Finvarra!”

But the faery king didn’t heed her in the slightest, briskly murmuring out a spell through compressed lips. Fingers and claws broke from the ice sculptures where the Snow Queen had trapped the king’s former guards. Tearing free from the hollow-eyed statues and gargoyles decorating the halls, they stepped out just as hideous. I felt my stomach turn on itself. Half man, half horse, half goat, half bird, half alien. Whatever. My parents had designer schizophrenia when it came to building an army. These soldiers were stranger than the ones belonging to the Snow Queen, as impossible as that seemed. They tried to stand up straight on hooves and paws. Considering they had been frozen for so long, it wasn’t easy. They took up their weapons, eager to use them.

“When you have more experience, daughter, you will know how to rule your kingdom.” I squinted under my father’s clipped tone, already resenting it. “Until then, I shall guide you. Your reign shall be a long and prosperous one.” He lowered himself onto the Snow Queen’s melting throne, his cape billowing out from him like bat wings. “Frisk those stupid beasts. I shudder to imagine what valuables they’ve stolen from our castle.”

As soon as the monstrous guards shook some feeling back into their frozen fingers, they dutifully rounded up the whimpering wolves. I was too shocked to move. I couldn’t believe my father was doing this.

“My love,” the faery queen lowered her voice, “—not in front of our daughter. She has an odd sort of attachment to them.”

My father snorted impatiently. “Don’t tell me how to run my kingdom. It has suffered long enough in the hands of those who know nothing.”

My mother’s head ducked, but I caught her expression. She hated him!

I didn’t like their relationship nearly as much as the one my Otherworldly parents had. No, I didn’t like
any
of this nearly as much. And I didn’t like how my memories kept hiding from me. Even now, my mother hummed that “twinkle” song under her breath, and I felt a wave of forgetfulness wash over me to erase parts of my past life. I fought it with everything that was in me, wishing I could get to Hobs. He was the sole guardian of my memories. He stood on the other side of my parents, his jaw clenched, his fingers tight on his bow, almost immovable as he watched them in the sea of shoving creatures that were hauled off to the dungeons.

For some reason, my parents hadn’t acknowledged him yet. They argued instead, so involved in the unimportant that they failed to see the biggest threat against them. The nymphs were clapped in cuffs and led away. The guards emptied out the wolves’ pockets (I had no idea they had any). They rounded up Gan Ceanach’s destructive shadow, and I watched it all with a sick stomach. One of the guards found my book of faerytales on Glasses. The cultured wolf sniffed in disdain and let them take it.

My hands itched to get hold of that book. Hobs said they were our map out of here. Maybe
Jack and Jill
held some clues; the Internet said that wells and streams could be a bridge to the other side. Or maybe the
Twelve Dancing Princesses
had a way—they escaped the Sidhe. If the princesses were dancing, they could’ve been caught up in some powerful music. Magic slippers? Faery transporters? I had to figure it out before it was too late.

I stepped inconspicuously behind the guard; he was a half sheepdog, half fish. Hobs motioned me back, but since he was too far away, I ignored him and nodded casually to the strange hybrid who held the confiscated book of faerytales. He was a massive beast. Brown slop dripped from his gleaming shoulders and splattered onto me. I grimaced and with great daring, I reached for the book. “Oh, you’ve found it. How clever of you.” The guard’s forehead wrinkled and he held it easily out of my reach. I tried not to paw at him in my desperation. Instead, I adopted Hobs’ casual voice. “Um, I’ll take that book now.”

“Get back.” The guard lifted a beefy palm.

Before the man could smash me with it, Hobs was at my side. “The princess
thanks you
for her book.” The guard flinched in pain at Hobs’ not-so-kind words. It made it easier for Hobs to pluck the faerytales from the scaled gloves and relay it to me from behind his back. Hobs then moved in between me and the scowling guard. “You new in town? Surely you recognize the daughter of your most gracious king?”

Using Hobs as my shield while the guard failed to match wits with him, I skimmed through the faerytales, flipping over huge clumps of pages at a time. There was one story I wanted.
Cinderella.
As soon as I found it, I smoothed down the page and skimmed through it. There was a girl, a stranger in her own country. Babs. It had to be Babs. And she was cursed with an outlandish curse. Love was blind.

Oh, no.

“Where did she go?” my father startled me by saying. “Now that the hag’s gone, the ice is melting from the stone. We’re running out of time. Wife, bring me your daughter!” I threw the book under my arm, hiding behind his dripping guard. “You must prepare for her coronation. Let’s get this over with. The mirror will declare her the true sovereign tonight. At midnight. Send out the proclamation.” The king snapped at the servants to prepare for some pointless celebration that I didn’t want. There wasn’t enough time to escape.

I backed into Hobs and slipped over the slick cobblestones in the process. For some bizarre reason, he didn’t grab my hand, so I took his instead. He glanced down at me in surprise. I pulled closer to him, not caring if anyone saw us together.

“Your parents,” he said. “They can’t know that we . . .”

“I don’t care. I’m worried about Babs. We can’t let the Otherworldly get her.” I drew him away, so I could talk to him. “She’s in trouble. I accidentally cursed her.”

“I know. It wasn’t your fault, really. Nobody’s first spell is that good.”

 “What’s
he
doing here?” the faery king bellowed.

I turned to see my father’s face—it could’ve been chiseled out of fire, he looked so hot tempered. We were caught. My fingers squeezed Hobs’, and his shoulders tightened in resignation. “Time to meet the parents.” A bitter smile crept over his lips. “Long live the king and queen, right?”

I was the only one who heard him, but my father scowled anyway. He gave our hands a pointed look. I would’ve been flattered that he cared, but there was nothing paternal about it. It was political. I refused to let Hobs go. “Well, well. You’ve come out of hiding,” my father said. Hobs dismissed him with his eyes, looking every inch a traitor to the crown. My father tried again. “If it isn’t the Snow Queen’s
devoted
son. I should’ve guessed that I’d find him with his hands all over my daughter.”

Was he for real?

Bugul took a deep breath, standing up hurriedly—even though he hadn’t been given permission to stand. The poor Leprechaun had been forced to kneel for far too long. “He was actually quite helpful, my liege.”

“He’s a prince of the Unseelie court!” my father roared.

His anger made my knees buckle, and it took me a few seconds to recover. I glanced up at Hobs. “Unseelie Court?” I mouthed to him.

“The bad court.” He didn’t bother to lower his voice. “That means I’m bad. Your parents are from the Seelie court; that makes them
good
.”

Wrong. I couldn’t see a trace of goodness in this monarch—he seemed more a dictator. Bugul kept his eyes downcast as he tried to reason with my father. “Your Majesties, without him your daughter never would’ve survived the Sidhe.”

“Get that silly tie off, man. I can barely look at you. What are you blathering about?”

Bugul sighed and unscrewed the tie from his neck. “He performed an invaluable service to the Crown, Your Majesties. He protected your daughter.” My father’s brows knit fiercely when he listened to Bugul’s account of what happened between us. By the looks of things, we wouldn’t get my father’s blessing, but only one thing mattered right now—a little girl who was far away from his tyranny and was still suffering untold indignities. Well, fast food, anyway . . .

 Now my mother was trying to reason with the king, and I knew it was only a matter of time before they started throwing faery kisses at each other or banishing Hobs. My grip tightened on him. Hobs was the only thing keeping me from getting lost in this strange new world.