Only when the sun actually set directly in front of me, spectacular streaks of red and orange reflecting on the forest as if autumn had come early, did it burst upon me that I was traveling almost due west. A wave of relief was almost overtaken by an equally strong feeling of foolishness. If I was traveling west, it meant I could be sure I continued to move away from the castle. But how had it not occurred to me to use the sun as a marker of my direction? I hadn’t thought myself so inept as to miss something so obvious.
When the sun disappeared completely, I knew I could go on no longer. After a long drink, I ventured a little way from the water, finding a patch of undergrowth that looked softer than most. It was the best I could do in the circumstances, and I knew I should be grateful it was summer. Except I couldn’t seem to muster anything resembling gratitude as sleep slowly claimed me.
By the time the sun rose the next morning, I was longingly remembering my exhausted stupor of the first night. I had thought I would sleep equally deeply after my day of fear and exertion, but my aching body didn’t appreciate the ground—which seemed to grow harder as the night wore on. And the knowledge that I was truly on my own—ill-prepared and ill-equipped—made me jerk awake with every sound.
And my concern for Alexander—which I had been trying to suppress—only made it harder to sleep, my mind turning to him every time I startled into wakefulness.
When at the end of one of these sessions of fear and anxiety, I remembered that the morning light would bring only the promise of further effort, with no breakfast in sight, I shed silent tears into the cloak I had rolled into a pillow. It was the only time I was glad to be alone.
The water tasted a great deal less sweet that second day, the dissatisfying liquid making my jaw ache for something to chew. I swallowed it down, however, and resumed my chosen path. At least the stream still led me westward.
As the day continued on, even the bright sunlight wasn’t enough to prevent my stumbles, hunger and fatigue draining the strength from my muscles. The fear of Randolph—or even real wild animals, which I had yet to encounter—had faded before a more pressing terror. How long would it take to starve to death alone in the forest? Perhaps a quick death at someone—or something—else’s hands might even be preferable to the protracted pain and fear of such an end.
I tried to recall maps of our lands. Eliam was the smallest of the kingdoms—excluding Marin, which was only a duchy. But it was still large enough that one foolish girl could stumble for days on end through its forests without reaching the other side. Eventually, of course, if I could keep going, I would hit the western coast and the fishing villages there. Or even the city of Lestern. But I suspected at my current pace I would easily succumb before then. And I would only get slower as I got weaker.
Now when I started at some unfamiliar sound, I felt almost as much hope as fear. Had I found the first signs of a village? Or the even more appealing, but also more foolish, hope—had Alexander found me?
And yet, despite my straining ears, no sound warned me before I stumbled into a small and obviously inhabited clearing. The briefest of glances told me this was no village. But I had long since ceased caring what form my salvation took.
The small cottage was set some way back from the stream but still in clear view. Its thatched roof showed care and good tending, although its paint looked faded and worn, and in some places had started to peel. A small vegetable plot to one side held neat green rows, and if it had been later in the season, I would have fallen on it with desperation.
As it was, I could see no fully-formed vegetables, and a short moment of consideration returned enough sense to send me to the door of the cottage before I began outright stealing. My steps took me past a large chicken coop, where several hens pecked quietly at the ground.
A thin, lazy stream of smoke curled up from the single chimney, and the sight gave me hope. Straightening my back, I knocked on the front door, one hand going uselessly to my black curls. It was best not to think about the state of my hair.
But as the seconds dragged by with no response to my repeated knock, the tension inside me drained away. I stepped back to peer up again at the smoke. Surely someone must be home. But another second’s thought made me realize the thin stream could merely be the result of a banked fire.
Slowly, feeling awkward, I circled the house, peering into the windows. Several were covered with brightly colored curtains, but I found one, made of eight small panes, that gave me a view inside. I pressed my face against it, poised to leap back if I saw anyone inside. But the large, dim interior appeared empty.
Well, not empty. Just empty of people. And the contents were enough to override both good sense and basic courtesy. Rushing back to the front door, I opened the latch and thrust open the door. The relief at finding it unlocked brought tears springing to my eyes. Apparently the remote inhabitants had no fear of burglars.
The thought that I had been reduced to burglary produced only a dim and passing sting. Because something far more pressing had consumed my mind. A low, well-worn wooden table stood to one side of the room, and plates covered it. Many of which still held food. Food whose scent filled the ear and drew me like a siren call.
I ignored the chairs, which seemed strangely small, and dropped to my knees. Using my fingers, I shoveled two huge mouthfuls of scrambled eggs into my mouth. A piece of meat of unknown origin, the congealed fat clinging to it, followed it down.
But as soon as it hit my stomach, my body rebelled, and I dropped my head to the floor, inhaling deep breaths as I fought to keep my stomach from expelling its new contents. When the heaving subsided, I sat up, moving much more slowly and cautiously.
This time I took small bites and forced myself to chew slowly. I avoided the meat, moving from plate to plate to take the leftover piles of egg. When I found an untouched half of toast on one and a quarter of an early harvest tomato on another, I decided they should be safe as well. Or at least my desperate desire overrode everything else, and they joined the eggs in my stomach. Thankfully they stayed down.
Far sooner than seemed possible, I felt my stomach stretch uncomfortably tight. I eyed the remaining plates but, remembering my earlier close call, decided to stop.
With my most immediate need met, I surveyed the rest of the cottage. Although the building wasn’t large, it was large enough that it surprised me to find it a single, open room. A hearth—which, sure enough, contained a banked fire—and various cooking implements occupied one corner, and the table took up a large portion of the open space. Beds lined one wall, although cushions of various sizes seemed strewn at random around the rest of the room.
The largest of the beds looked almost improbably large, while the three single beds beside it looked equally small. My conclusion that the cottage must belong to a family with three children didn’t seem borne out by the mass of untidy plates on the table.
The puzzle could do little to occupy my mind, however, when my eyes kept being drawn back to the row of beds. None of them were made, but the large pillows looked impossibly soft, and the mattresses deep and springy. Now that my stomach had been filled, my aching muscles and drooping eyes made me forget all about the impropriety of my presence here.
Surely the owners would be gone for a little while longer, and it would do no harm to their bed if I lay down on it…I would wake soon enough and prepare my speech for their return. It would probably be best if I awaited them outside, as well. But just a little sleep first wouldn’t hurt anything…
Chapter 6
“You didn’t clean up breakfast. Again!” The complainer sounded young.
“Of course not.” The response came from someone even younger. A child, for sure. “If I’d cleaned it up, I couldn’t eat my leftovers as soon as I…hey! Where’s the rest of my toast? I left it right here.”
“Oh, please! I’m sure Louis swiped it as soon as your back was turned. That’s the stupidest excuse you’ve used yet to try to get out of chores.” The original speaker didn’t
sound impressed.
“No, he didn’t. He left before I’d finished. I was the last one out. I’m sure of it.” The child ignored the repeated rebuke, too focused on their grievance.
Two more voices, each loudly proclaiming their innocence, joined in the chorus, while my confused mind struggled to make sense of any of it. What were these children doing in my bedchamber? And why did every part of me hurt?
“Ahhhh, Jack…I think I know who ate your toast,” said a new voice.
“What? Who?”
“There’s someone in your bed.” The words made me jolt upright, my eyes flinging open.
I wasn’t in my bedchamber. And I also knew who had eaten the child’s toast. Me.
The dancing shadows and mass of confused movement made me blink. Was this the same place that I had fallen asleep in? But when I glanced at the open window, I realized that my short sleep had lengthened into something else entirely. Dark was already falling.
“I…” But words failed me as I faced five astonished faces, all turned toward me, all rendered speechless with apparent shock.
But the silence didn’t last long. And as soon as one began to speak, the other four all joined in.
“Who are you?”
“You’re in my bed!”
“Did you eat my toast?” That one sounded even more accusatory than the question about the bed.
“Wow, you’re so beautiful!” That one was said by the smallest of the faces, a young girl who couldn’t have been more than five and who would have looked cherubic with her blond curls and blue eyes if not for the giant streak of dirt that ran up one cheek, across her nose and into her hairline.
“Um…” I had never gotten around to preparing that speech, and I wasn’t sure I could have delivered it to five astonished and enraged children anyway.
“Who are you?” asked the oldest, the one who had previously accused me of occupying her bed. Her darker skin suggested she had originated further south, and her glossy black hair had been carefully combed and plaited into two straight braids before being pinned to her head. She was also the first speaker, the one who had complained that the toast boy hadn’t cleaned up breakfast.
I opened my mouth to ask after their parents, when the door opened, banging against the wall as two more figures strode in.
“There you are,” said the oldest girl. “You’d better lock the door for once. We’ve started getting intruders.”
“Intruders?” One of the newcomers scoffed as he kicked off his boots and flung his jacket onto a pile next to the door. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He swung around before the question was fully out of his mouth, and his eyes fell on me, still sitting bolt upright in the small bed. His mouth fell open, and apparently no one felt the need to reply.
The other new arrival was the tallest of the lot, but his gangly frame made it obvious he was still in the awkward phase of a growth spurt. I looked behind them, but the door didn’t open again, and the last of the light was well and truly fading now.
“But…but you’re all children.” The words escaped my mouth before I could think them through.
The younger of the two newcomers scoffed again. “What were you expecting? Dwarves?”
I looked at the small chairs, haphazardly surrounding the low table, and felt foolish. But how could I have anticipated a lone house in the middle of the forest to be full of unsupervised children? A quick headcount told me there were seven. The same number as plates of breakfast, if you discounted the ones that appeared to have been used for serving. Obviously four of them must share the big bed. It was certainly large enough.
But who were they?
“Who are you?” The question—asked by the children for the third time—mirrored my own thoughts. But with a pang I realized they had more right to wonder than I.
I scrambled out of the bed, straightening the blanket neatly behind me, the effort looking foolish next to the chaos of the rest of the house.
“Umm…I’m Snow.”
“Snow? That’s a funny name.” It was the cherubic girl again.
I started to tell her it was only a nickname but cut myself off before I could get any words out. If these children didn’t recognize me, it was far better for all of us that I kept my identity to myself. So I merely shrugged.
“What are you doing in our house?” The older boy’s manner was less belligerent than his companion, but the serious look in his eyes lent his words more weight.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, the words tumbling over each other. “I got lost in the woods. I’ve been walking and walking, and I hadn’t eaten in days. I knocked, but no one came, and I saw the food. It looked like you were done with it, so…” I looked from face to face, my own heating up. “And then I saw the beds, and…I truly didn’t mean any harm.”
“She ate my toast.” The younger boy directed the comment at the two newcomers since everyone else could hardly help already being aware. “I was going to eat it when I got home.”
The scoffer just rolled his eyes. “Weren’t you on clean up this morning?” He eyed the cluttered table disparagingly.
The toast boy launched into a long and involved defense of his lack of cleaning, and all of the children joined in on one side or the other except for the oldest boy who continued to eye me speculatively.
“You said you got lost,” he said, his voice cutting over the argument and pulling my attention away from the squabble. When I looked over at him, he had something familiar in his hands. My bag. I didn’t even remember dropping it near the entrance. My heart sank.
“Because this is a strange thing to take with you for a walk in the woods,” he said. “Are you sure you weren’t running away?”
Sudden silence fell. Now he had the undivided attention of everyone in the room. Until one by one the children turned wide eyes back to me. They looked concerned, scared, or curious, depending on the set of eyes, but for once they all remained silent.
I worried at my lower lip. “I suppose you could say that.”
One of the middle ones turned to the older girl. “She looks pretty young. Not much older than us, really.”
The girl eyed me with a look that seemed far too old for her years. “No, not much older. And she’s very beautiful.” She bit her own lip before glancing at the tallest boy, who met her eyes across the heads of the youngsters.
The toast boy sighed heavily. “I suppose it’s all right she ate my toast, then.” He gave me a stern look. “Just this once. Since you were so hungry. But don’t do it again. We don’t eat each other’s food.”
I didn’t need to look to tell who the subsequent scoff came from. “Don’t we? Tell that to Louis.”
“Hey!” One of the other boys spun around to glare at him while I tried to process their words.
“She can share the bed with me,” said the dirty cherub, smiling at me in a friendly manner.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said another girl. “There are already four of us sharing it, and she’s bigger than any of us.” She cast a quick look at the gangly boy. “Well, she’s the oldest, anyway.”
The young girl grimaced. “But I don’t want Anthony sharing with us. He kicks!”
“Ummm…” I knew I hadn’t been winning any points for eloquence so far, but I couldn’t seem to think of anything to say. Did I understand what these children were implying? Were they inviting me to stay here?
The oldest girl sidled up to me and put a gentle hand on my arm. “You don’t have to tell us what you’re running from. There’s no one who’s likely to find you out here. It’s safe. That’s why we stay.”
Her earnest eyes told me she had spent enough time outside this forest hideaway to have observed how a young and beautiful girl might find herself feeling harassed enough to want to flee, and I almost burst into tears at her insinuation. I only wished my situation were so simple.
Could I really take shelter with a bunch of children? The situation seemed ridiculous. And yet, I had to take shel
ter somewhere. And who else would not only not recognize me but ask me no questions either…
“Thank you,” I said at last, acting the coward yet again. I knew I should walk out right now before I brought trouble to their door, but the vast forest scared me too much to face it alone. At least not yet. Not tonight. Perhaps tomorrow when it was light again…
“Woohoo! That makes us even!” crowed the middle girl who thought I shouldn’t share the youngsters’ bed. She stuck her tongue out at the toast boy who promptly began to chase her around the room.
The older boy, who still looked a shade uncertain, called them to order and commanded them to line up for introductions. They formed into a line in apparent age order, as if waiting for a royal inspection. With a shake of my head I reminded myself that these children had no idea I was a princess. And it needed to stay that way.
As I had guessed, the late arrival was the oldest, introducing himself as Ben. By his cracking voice, I guessed him to be thirteen, and surely not much older than the oldest girl who turned out to be called Daria. Despite their youth it was easy to see they took on an almost parental role over the younger children, although there was no hint of the couple between the two of them.
Next was Anthony, the scoffer. Followed by Louis, the apparent food thief. The middle girl, Danni, came next, and then the toast boy, Jack. Youngest of all was the cherub girl, Poppy.
How many times would I forget their names before I got them all straight in my head? The food and sleep had somewhat revived me, but I still felt heavy-headed and slow. I ran up and down the line with my eyes, repeating the names in my head like a litany.
Ben, Daria, Anthony, Louis, Danni, Jack, Poppy. Poppy, Jack, Danni, Louis, Anthony, Daria, Ben.
Then I reminded myself that I couldn’t stay here long enough for it to matter. Just long enough for me to regain some strength…And maybe get some tips on foraging in the forest.
A Dream of Ebony and White: A Retelling of Snow White (Beyond the Four Kingdoms Book 4) Page 5