The Puppet Queen: A Tale of the Sleeping Beauty

by Mira Zamin

“Selene.”

  I tore my gaze away from the silver raindrops on the carriage window. A berry twilight had settled over the landscape and shimmering stars had begun to replace the hovering storm-grey rainclouds. “Yes?” I attempted to maintain a civil tone, with just a hint of obsequiousness.

  Gwydion lounged across from me, one leg debonairly thrown up on the plush seat. He had unbuttoned the collar of his snowy silk shirt and pear-colored wool coat to combat the humidity of the closely-confined carriage. “You have not spoken a word since we first sat down,” he noted.

  “Yes, well, forgive me if I do not feel much like talking. It has been a long day.” An understatement. My insides were turning somersaults, performing acrobatic feats which I had not thought possible.

  I had not seen my home for two years, and now after the enactment of a curse, I was coming back arm-in-arm with Gwydion. My return to Aquia reverberated with uncertainties: What will I find there? How can I live in the Mehal without my parents, without my brothers and sisters—and apparently with Gwydion? Everything was a hazy, uncanny topsy-turvy. I wished I could discuss my foreboding, but I was hardly going to broach the topic with Gwydion. Instead, I kept my attention trained on the woods and my fears to myself.

  “I know you must be nervous about going back to Aquia,” said Gwydion, gratingly understanding. “Perhaps I can coax you out of your mood.” Reaching into his pocket, he drew out a box of black velvet and handed it to me. “Open it,” he commanded mildly.

  My dislike of obeying him and my curiosity were dueling in my gut (oh! that roiling entity), and finally my interest won out. I extended an unsteady hand into which he dropped the box. It was a great deal heavier than what I would have guessed.

  Having already conjectured that it was an engagement ring, I was nonetheless speechless when I cracked it open and found it set serenely against a blanket of carmine velvet. Even in the dull light it sparkled with an ethereal brilliance. Set in white metal, the diamond was roughly the size of a pigeon’s egg and was encircled by a cluster of smaller diamonds. It charmingly reminded me of a moon surrounded by stars.

  “Is this Pari-forged?” I breathed. Imbued with all sorts of qualities and powers, Pari-forged items were quite rare and had grown scarcer still since my birth. While much of the Pari is a general mystery, it is said that Pari-forged items are made from metal that fell from the sky and Pari blacksmiths may only work their craft by the light of the full moon. Moon magic rivals the sun and fire magic of the djinn.The limited work time of the Pari blacksmiths may provide a partial explanation for the rarity of Pari-forged metal.

  Summoning my self-control, I continued in a much more nonchalant manner. “Nice, I suppose.” I snapped the box shut.

  By the grin tugging at the corners of Gwydion’s mouth, I knew he had seen through my weak ploy. Well, I would have been somewhat disappointed had he not; after all, this was the fellow who had managed to capture me and thwart my hopes of escape. It would be somewhat insulting if he was dimwitted to boot.

  “It’s for a special occasion and a very special lady.” With those not-so mysterious words, he pocketed it.

  Just as sarcastic words stood poised to tumble from the tip of my tongue, the carriage tumbled into something.

  My hand flew out against the seat. “Dear Seasons!” I exclaimed. “What was that?”

  Gwydion pushed the carriage door open, only to step waist-high into water. It seeped into the carriage, staining the floor. “Damn! Darce, what is this about?” he demanded angrily of the footman. Gwydion splashed out of the water, hauling himself out of the edge of the crater. His riders stood around him, muttering in grim-faced irritation.

  Nervously lowering his ale-brown eyes, Darce answered, with a shrug of his massive shoulders, “It appears we have fallen into a ditch, filled by water.”

  “Well, I can see that,” said Gwydion caustically. “Can you get us out?”

  Ducking his head, Darce said, “Yes, but it will take me and the driver and your guards time to get it out. Probably into the night. If I may suggest….?”

  Gwydion assented with a curt nod.

  Darce lifted me out of the carriage. I was thankful, for his courtesy allowed me to avoid the water completely. “If you follow the road for a mile or so, you will come to a little town…Ilac or Cilac or something of the sort. You will find a great number of inns there, some of the finer variety which you and your lady would prefer,” he added with a short bow. “If you wish, I can guide you there and pick up some men to help get the carriage out.”

  “Sounds sensible. Come, Selene.”

  I stiffened at being called like a hound.

  Left unpaved, the flashing rain muddied the road and soon the fine sapphire-blue wool of my traveling gown was stiff with dirt, leaves and gravel. I cursed my choice of fine silk slippers: I certainly had not expected to traverse across the country, and the rocks were tearing the delicate slippers to shreds. Slippers that I had tutored Corec hours to earn. I wished I had brought one of my Aquian fur cloaks from the carriage. The icy rain permeated my hair, skin, dress, shoes. Feeling as wet as a fish and angry as a caged lion I was surprised when Gwydion flung his own warm cape over my shoulders. Cannot let your ticket to Aquia die, can you? I thought acidly, but the consummate aristocrat, I gave him a polite if curt thank you.

  Darkness enveloped us and I stumbled more than once on rocks hiding in the blackness of the night. If Gwydion offered an arm of support, I never saw it. (While it would not have been advantageous to let his investment die from the cold, a little injury would only further his plans.) When we finally saw the few gleaming lights of the town, I all but ran to it, leaving Gwydion and Darce to catch up.

  Eager to step out of the rain, I headed into the nearest inn, where I found a group of most unsavory fellows fascinated by the antics of a very busty, very low-class woman. Gwydion would have enjoyed the show, I was sure, but I backed out as fast as I had entered it. The next inn, the Pari’s Blessing, was much more respectable. Ignoring Gwydion and Darce following me, I went up to the innkeeper, a portly, balding man, with twirled white mustachios.

  “Welcome to Illiac, madame.”

  “Good evening sir. I would like a room for myself and another one for my menservants to share.”

  “What the lady means,” Gwydion said, stepping in smoothly, “is a room for the two of us and if you could spare them, several men to help my footman here pull our carriage from the mud.” Gold denars glinted in Gwydion’s hand.

  The innkeeper obliged him readily enough with the latter part of Gwydion’s request and called over a couple of fellows to help Darce. “But why does the lady say you are her manservant, if I may ask, my lord?” he inquired with brisk curiosity.

  “She likes her jokes,” he said conspiratorially, but a taut current of anger ran beneath his congeniality.

  “I—” I began in protest.

  The man looked warily from me to Gwydion. “If the lady does not wish to share a room for the night, you would do well to indulge her, if you pardon my familiarity. I do not mean to presume of course, but you will have to rent two rooms—unless the lady changes her stance?”

  “No, no, I do not,” I said firmly, ignoring my bristling skin that advised me to return to my original path of appeasement.

  Gwydion’s eyes narrowed. “I saw several others inns I could patronize.”

  Keeping his voice level, the innkeeper replied with surprising strength, “And they are all run by decent men who would do just as I have.”

  Snorting in exasperation, Gwydion said, “Very well. Separate rooms it is.”

  A slight flush of victory rushed through me.

  “Very wise decision, sir.” The innkeeper broke into a warm smile. “You would not want her angry with you. Emelin will show you to your rooms. The very best for you and your lady.” He handed the keys to the blond Emelin. “Rooms one and two if you please, Emelin.”

  As Emelin guided Gwydion way, the innkeeper discreetly caught my
attention. “Please, lady a moment,” he said, pulling me to a corner. “I do not wish to pry into your affairs, but if that man bothers you, know that any of my staff are willing to help you.”

  My heart warmed at the man’s concern and I patted him comfortingly on the shoulder. “I very much appreciate the gesture, but all is fine. If I may ask you a favor though...have you heard anything of the Aquians?”

  “The Aquians!” he repeated, startled. “You would not believe the things I have heard about that lot. They’re asleep—the whole emirdom, from the Khamads to the peasants. Animals are still wandering about, though. Some have even wandered into Viziéra. Give it a couple of days and Aquia will get brigands, thieves, the whole lot. Easy pickings too. According to the fellow I spoke to you, one of his men stepped one foot in Aquia and fell straight asleep.”

  I thanked him and hastened to join Emelin.

  She bent her knee slightly. “If you will follow me…”

  As Emelin let me into the room, I asked, “And would you please tell the cooks to send up some hot wine and soup?” Engorged on wine and stew, I fell into a thankfully dreamless sleep.