The Sleeping Beauty Read online

  The dark one looked a little better satisfied with that. The blond was whispering to his bird, which flew off to join the pigeons on the roof.

  As soon as the coach was out of the gates and out of sight, Lily ordered the Brownies to pull it off the road and set up the mirror. Swiftly, she returned the horses to their mouse state, the coach to a squash and the Brownies to themselves. By holding their hands as they crossed the threshold, she was able to ensure that the mirror spell allowed the Brownies through it; a tap of the hilt of her wand shattered the mirror and the spell with a single blow. Then, with a wave of her wand, she reduced glass fragments and wood to merest dust. There would be nothing here that anyone could use, magically or otherwise. She hated doing this, it was a dreadful waste of a mirror, but didn’t want to put the Brownies to the effort of taking it home, and she hadn’t wanted to leave even a trace of her magic back where the Dwarves might possibly come upon it. Just because someone couldn’t use something, it didn’t follow they couldn’t identify where it had come from.

  She’d learned to take precautions like that a very, very long time ago. Never leave anything magical about unless there was no other choice. Such things had a Traditional tendency to turn up in the hands of people who only used them for mischief.

  Then she shook out Old Maggie’s cloak, tossed it over her shoulders, picked up the box with Jimson in it and trudged toward the Palace as if she had every right to be there, heading for the servants’ entrance.

  No one stopped her; most of the servants and all of the Guards were up at the front, in any case, and very few people ever trouble an old woman who is carrying a box and looks as if she knows where she is going. She nodded to a few people, as if she knew them. That was another way to make people leave you alone. They nodded back, vaguely. Once she was in the Royal Wing, she ran up the back stairs to the hall of the Queen’s Chambers, which were locked from the inside. She tapped on the door with the hilt of her wand and murmured the countercharm, “Open locks, whoever knocks,” and the door unlocked for her with a click.

  She let Jimson out of his prison and hung him for the moment on the wall, pulled off the cloak and folded it away, to be returned as soon as possible to her own Castle. Or, possibly, loaned to Rosa. Being able to look like an old woman might be very useful to the girl. Then, she put on the much more powerful illusion that kept her in the form of Sable no matter what she was wearing, and resumed her disguise as the Queen.

  She just stood in the middle of the room, composing herself, slowing her breathing. She reminded herself of who she was supposed to be, settled into the personage of Queen Sable. At last, without hurrying her steps, she made her way from the Royal Wing into the more public parts of the Palace, and descended the Grand Staircase, arriving near the great door just in time to hear Rosa tell her altered story. She nodded to herself with approval. There was nothing in it that anyone could disprove, except for the part about the Princes. She was pretty sure that neither of the young men wanted to irritate the Godmother by giving the lie to anything Rosa said, especially not when going along with the tale gave them free run of the Palace as a guest.

  She waited until a servant came toward her, leading the two Princes up to the guest quarters. She stopped all three of them with an imperious gesture.

  “Who are these…men?” she asked, looking down her nose at them. She wasn’t sure yet if she was ever going to let them know that she was also the Godmother. It wasn’t likely that the blond was another enemy agent, but the dark one? She couldn’t as yet tell, and was going to ask Jimson to be very particular about his investigations. “And where are you taking them?”

  “The Princess ordered me to take them to the guest quarters, Queen Sable,” the servant stammered.

  “And their names?” she asked again, knitting her brows.

  The servant cringed a little, and looked terrified that he didn’t actually know who they were.

  Predictably, the dark one answered first, reaching for his battered hat and sweeping it off his head in a low bow. “Prince Leopold of Falkenreid,” he said, radiating a deliberate charm. “At your service, in all things. It is a privilege and an honor to be granted the hospitality of Eltaria.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. He doubled the charm. She sniffed, to indicate that she was immune to it, and turned toward the blond.

  “Prince Siegfried von Drachenthal,” the blond said, drawing himself up with commendable dignity, then bowing just enough to show respect. “Your hospitality is appreciated, but I shall soon be on my way if you have no need of me. I prefer to earn my way with my sword. I heard there is war—“

  “There is possible war,” she replied, with as little expression as she could manage. “There is no actual conflict—as yet. Nevertheless, I shall send word to the King. It is possible he can find a use for you, either or both of you. In the meantime—” she made a slight gesture onward “—please enjoy the hospitality of the Crown while you remain in our land.” Her expression made it very clear that she would do her best to see their visit was as short at possible.

  They passed her; she stopped the servant again. “See that they have more suitable clothing,” she said, with cold disdain. “And baths. We shall have them to dinner with the court. We would rather not be confronted with vagabonds and barbarians at our table.”

  The servant nodded frantically, and she let him go.

  The dark one is going to take it all as his due. I’m not sure how this Siegfried is going to react. But it was interesting that Siegfried had offered his sword immediately. If Leopold was living on his charm, Siegfried was clearly living by his arms. Someone like that could be extremely useful here, so long as he kept his role to that of bodyguard.

  He certainly rides well enough. If Jimson decides he’s safe, it might not be a bad thing to have him go with Rosa whenever she has to leave the Palace.

  She descended the rest of the way to the courtyard, where half the inhabitants of the Palace still mobbed the Princess. As people caught sight of her, however, they went very quiet, until at last the entire throng was as still as they had been when she as the Godmother had descended from the carriage.

  She stepped toward Rosa, and the crowd parted silently to let her pass.

  When she came face-to-face with the Princess, Rosa stood up to her bravely, although she was just a little pale—no doubt because she still was not quite sure that under that cold exterior was the Godmother. Lily lowered her lids and looked at her with slitted eyes.

  “Well,” she said. “We are pleased to see you safely restored to us. We shall hear your entire tale in private, we think. Such things are not for every ear.”

  Rosa straightened immediately, and at that moment, Lily could see her mother live again in her. “Of course, my lady,” she replied, using the appellation “my lady” to make it clear to anyone who understood the protocol that she was naming herself as the Queen’s equal. “We have every intention of disclosing all details to the King’s Consort.” Again, Rosa used the royal “we” to show she was standing up to the Queen; Lily was, after all, only the Royal Consort. She had not actually been crowned Queen here. Technically Rosa was as much Queen as she was. Lily had been proud of her courage before; she was doubly so now.

  She took Rosa’s arm, and gazed about at the rest with the glare of a basilisk. “In the meantime, return to your duties,” she said coldly, raking her eyes across the entire crowd. “There will be a cask of wine in the servants’ kitchen and another in the Guardroom with which you may drink to the safe return of King Thurman’s beloved daughter.”

  Pulling Rosa along, she made her way back up the stairs to the Queen’s chambers, called for wine and cakes, then dismissed all the servants and locked the doors.

  Only then did she drop the cold demeanor, though not the disguise, and take a chair. Rosa was still standing, looking uncertain.

  “It’s all right, dear, sit and have something to eat,” she said in her normal voice, and Rosa immediately relaxed. “Ji
mson?”

  “What can I do for you, Godmother?” the Mirror Servant asked, his green face appearing in the glass.

  “Our twin burdens have finally told me their names. He of the weighty regard of The Tradition is Prince Siegfried of Drachenthal. The one I wouldn’t trust around a susceptible chambermaid is Prince Leopold of Falkenreid.”

  Jimson chuckled, as Rosa sighed and shook her head, plopped down into a chair in a most unregal manner, and seized two cakes and a glass of wine.

  “I’ll discover what I can, Godmother,” the Mirror Servant replied, and vanished.

  Lily helped herself to wine, and patted Rosa’s hand sympathetically as she reached for a third cake. “I’ll let you go have a real bath and get into clothing that isn’t an illusion in a little bit,” she said. “Or better yet, a nightdress. If I were in your place, I would soak until the water got cold, then wallow in the feather bed until I fell asleep. And I’ll give orders that you are to have an early supper in your rooms, and we will let the gossip wonder if I am punishing you, or if you are rebelling against me, or if you were more worn-out by your ordeal than you appeared. Then I’ll make sure your father knows that you are all right and back home.”

  “Oh, thank you!” Rosa said gratefully. “I’m near famished. And I could sleep for a—” she stopped herself “—for a good night’s rest.”

  Lily nodded with complete approval. Rosa was swiftly getting the knack of thinking on her feet; she had clearly remembered in time that The Tradition just might decide that with two Princes in attendance who might be able to kiss her awake, it would be a very good idea not to say things like “I could sleep for a year.” She was coming along nicely and her training hadn’t even begun.

  Her mother would have been so proud of her….

  “Then let’s just relax and enjoy our brief respite,” Lily replied. She felt The Tradition hovering over them like a thunderstorm that hadn’t yet decided when to break. “I do not think we are likely to have another anytime soon.”

  7

  “UGH,” ROSA SAID, LOOKING AT THE VISCOUS, dark contents of the tiny flask that Lily had handed her. “What is that?”

  Thurman was still on the border, though it was looking as though he could return soon. Rosa would be very happy when he arrived. Privately she had vowed to do whatever she could to help him through his own grief.

  They were in the Queen’s Chambers, and “Queen Sable” had shooed everyone out. She motioned Rosa to a comfortable chair and handed her the flask. The stuff in it looked black. It didn’t slosh, it oozed. She wondered what the Godmother expected her to do with it.

  “Dragon’s Blood. Not the herb, the real thing. You need to drink it.” Lily turned back from the sideboard with another glass, this time of a white wine that Rosa knew from experience had a very sharp taste. She shrugged apologetically at Rosa’s appalled expression. “One of the first talents that a Godmother needs is the ability to understand the speech of animals. Tasting Dragon’s Blood allows you to do that. One taste allows you to understand Magical Animals, like unicorns or dragons, and Wise Animals, like my mice and Siegfried’s little bird. A full drink allows you to understand the speech of all animals. And that much will also allow you, if you have the ability in your bloodline, to see magic, as I described to you.”

  Rosa thought about that for a moment. “Can I just have a taste now and decide if I want a full drink later?” she asked, looking unhappily at the murky, dark liquid. Just looking at the stuff made her feel sick. The King could understand the speech of animals, and when she was very small, he had told her silly stories that had made her laugh in rare moments of peace. The “speech” of real animals, unlike that of “wise” ones, generally wasn’t all that enlightening. “I’m not sure I want to wake up every morning, listening to the doves under my window babble about nothing like a lot of silly girls gossiping.”

  Lily chuckled and shook her head, taking a seat beside Rosa. “On the one hand, I sympathize, but—no. Two reasons. One, it is rather difficult to get Dragon’s Blood, since most dragons are not entirely friendly. Not that one could blame them, what with having to dodge heroes all the time, but dragons are difficult to find at the best of times, and it’s something of a nuisance to the friendly ones to keep being asked for a bit of blood, so out of courtesy we try to limit our requests. The other reason is that the blood has to be drunk relatively fresh, within a couple of days of being obtained, or it does go off, so to speak, and we’ve not found any way to preserve it. I had to call in a great favor this morning to get it, and made quite a long journey by mirror to Godmother Elena to bring it back myself. So, you might just as well get it all over with at once. Hold your nose, dear, and take your medicine.”

  The liquid seemed to get darker even as she stared at it. It was about the consistency of honey, if honey could look malignant. Rosa gulped, braced herself and tried to toss it down in one fast gulp.

  It was horrible. There were no words to adequately describe the sensations, which began even before the awful stuff touched her tongue. It had all the musk-laden pungency of a dead snake and the smell filled her head even as she tipped the vial into her mouth. It was worse than anything she had ever had before. So bitter it made her tongue curl up in a vain effort to escape the taste, so fiery-hot she felt sweat explode out of her forehead, so powerful that her eyes filled with tears and she had to fight to keep from throwing it up. Everything about it made her body scream, “No!”

  Somehow she managed to swallow. It burned from her mouth all the way to her stomach, leaving her throat feeling as if someone had passed a red-hot poker down it. She gasped, and Lily put the glass of wine in her hand in the hope that the wine might cool the fire. She drank the glass as fast as she could—she couldn’t breathe anyway—and that gave her enough relief that she was finally able to pull a shuddering breath into her lungs. The wine—which after the blood was utterly tasteless, like water—managed to cut through the fire and cool it, leaving only the bitter, oily taste behind.

  Lily handed her a napkin and another glass, which she drank more slowly. After the first two sips, the bitter taste began to wash away, and she was able to get a flavor of something other than the blood. Or, not a flavor, precisely, but the idea that this liquid was something sweet, sherry perhaps, though it was hard to tell with the undertone of the dragon’s blood still overwhelming her senses. She realized then that her eyes were leaking tears of pain, and that she was as damp as if she had stood in front of a furnace. She wiped her streaming eyes, finished the glass of whatever-it-was, and as she tried to clear the fog of tears by blinking furiously, Lily put a third cup into her hand. This was hot water mixed half-and-half with honey and some sort of fragrant herb cordial, and it succeeded in clearing the taste from her mouth, her nose and her throat.

  Strangely enough, her stomach was not in revolt. This was possibly because every other part of her body that had come into contact with the awful stuff was. Possibly because her poor stomach still didn’t realize what had been dumped into it. Or possibly because the blood had never actually gotten there, and instead had coated her throat and mouth.

  She was very glad she had been sitting when she drank it. She was not entirely certain her knees wouldn’t have buckled under the onslaught. She sincerely hoped that Lily would not ask her to drink or eat anything like that, ever again. The experience was enough to make her rethink wanting to be trained as a Godmother.

  But Lily must have guessed her thoughts from the expression on her face. “I promise you, that is probably the worst thing that will ever happen to you in your training,” Lily said in sympathy, patting her hand. “Eventually something will happen that you will need the gift of animal speech for, and you will be very, very glad that you have it. As for the rest, there is a great deal that you won’t have to learn, because you already know it. The very existence of The Tradition comes as a shock to most new Godmothers-in-training, and they have to study for a good deal of time before they have the depth of lore th
at is already at your command. I can tell you already, because I am of Fae blood, that the Fae will accept you as a Godmother, should we decide you actually need to be one. And unlike Champions, Godmothers don’t have to keep undergoing ridiculous ordeals every time one turns around. Our idea of besting a dragon is not to chop it into bits, but to get it to sit down to tea.”

  Rosa laughed weakly, and finished the honey drink. As her senses cleared of the noxious stuff, she was able to relax as she had not expected to since her mother’s death.

  The Queen’s Chambers had always been the most welcoming in the Palace. Only the outermost room had the air of formality one would expect from a Queen. The rest—the bedroom, sitting room, and tiny supper room where she and her mother had often played silly card games long into the night—were decorated in a very curious but comfortable fashion. They looked exactly like what they were—the rooms of a country shepherdess with impeccable taste and an unlimited amount of money to spend. All the furniture was solidly built, and solidly comfortable; whitewashed oak and woven willow for the most part, with bleached muslin cushions stuffed with goose down. The white marble fireplace always had a nice fire in it. Wood-paneled walls had been whitewashed, then tinted pink, with a touch of gilding. There were sensible lamps instead of ostentatious candelabra.

  Rosa had feared that Queen Sable had turned these rooms, once a haven, into a nightmare, despoiling them with expensive, spindly furniture and things too fragile to even look at lest they break, or worse, into a gloomy cave furnished in black velvet and plum satin. To discover that it was really Lily here, and that the rooms had been untouched, was a little like getting part of her mother back.

  “Well.” Rosa coughed a little. “What is there for me besides a near poisoning?”