The Two Princesses of Bamarre

by Gail Carson Levine

  “No. They’re not trying to kill us, they’re trying to destroy Bamarre and the other kingdoms. Sometimes they carry the day, and you humans suffer, or the elves or sorcerers or dwarfs suffer. For example, Bamarre’s monsters are the results of a lost battle. Raging storms are battles that . . .”

  She stopped, and seemed to be listening. “In a few minutes another fairy will join us.” She smiled, and for a moment I thought she was blushing. “He was with us the first time you woke up.”

  “The tall stranger?”

  She nodded.

  “What’s his name?”

  “Drualt.”

  Chapter Thirty-two

  * * *

  “DRUALT?”

  She just grinned at me.

  “Drualt?”

  Now she was laughing. “I should have introduced you before, but I worried—”

  “The Drualt?”

  “The Drualt. You should see your face, Addie. Drualt’s the one—”

  “How did he get here? Didn’t he die hundreds—”

  “The fairies rescued him, too. He’s a fairy now.”

  “Drualt? A fairy? Really?”

  She laughed at me.

  I pulled my hand away from hers. “Meryl, don’t tease.”

  “I’m not. If not—”

  “But he looks so young.”

  “He was only nineteen when Freya died. Remember? Anyway, fairies don’t get wrinkles.”

  “Oh.” This gladdened me. Meryl would be young forever. For eternity.

  She must have known what I was thinking again, because she put her arm around my shoulder and squeezed. Then she released me, and her voice was brisk. “If it hadn’t been for Drualt, the monsters would have slain every one of us in the Aisnan Valley.”

  “He was there? I didn’t see him.”

  “He was there.”

  I couldn’t take it in. He was there. Drualt was there. Finally I said, “Did he slay all the monsters?”

  “No, but he brought the other fairies down to us, and he helped carry us here.”

  “Why did he save us?”

  “He’ll tell you. In truth, he was with you for some of your earlier adventures too.”

  He was with me? Then I understood. He was the one who’d helped me. The merry presence, the hand on my shoulder, my invisible ally. Drualt.

  “I’ll introduce you to each other.”

  Meet Drualt? Introduce me? As though he were an ordinary person . . . or even an ordinary fairy. Meet Drualt!

  How would I talk to him?

  We waited on the bench. While Meryl hummed a tune I didn’t recognize, my hands turned icy cold.

  After a few minutes the stranger—Drualt!—turned out of a covered path hung over with roses. A few leaves and several yellow rose petals clung to his hair.

  “You’re well again!” he boomed at me.

  I stood and curtsied. I could barely look at him.

  Meryl jumped up and laughed. “You’re too tall for the rose walk, Dru. Bend over.”

  He did, and she dusted off his hair. Then he straightened.

  “Drualt, may I introduce the Princess Adelina. Addie, may I present Drualt.”

  I had never felt shyer. I curtsied again.

  “No need for that. I gave up bowing long ago.” He laughed. “Very long ago.”

  I gulped. My heart was pounding wildly. “Thank you for helping me.” I’d spoken to Drualt! I took a deep breath and hoped I wouldn’t faint. “You saved my life many—”

  “Oh, I don’t know. You’re a doughty warrior, Princess Addie, as my Freya was. As . . .” He took Meryl’s hand. “As my dear Meryl is.”

  I blinked in astonishment.

  They went on smiling at each other for a moment or two, and then Drualt said, “You must be hungry. Getting well is hard work.”

  Meryl was apologetic. “I should have thought. Come, Addie. There’s always food here.”

  I followed them back to the castle, marveling at the sight of them and pinching myself.

  Except for frequent trips to Milton for news of Rhys, I spent the next two days with Meryl and Drualt. I conquered my shyness with him a thousand times more quickly than I’d have dreamed possible. He was so much at ease and so jolly that I couldn’t stay uncomfortable.

  I begged him and Meryl for advice on how to defeat the monsters of Bamarre. I was determined to confront Father when I got home and to begin an assault against them as soon as possible.

  Then I remembered. Father was going to follow Meryl and me with an army!

  “Did Father ever reach the Aisnan Valley?”

  Meryl laughed. “He’s still asking Homely Truths whether he should go or not.”

  I laughed too. It didn’t matter.

  Drualt and Meryl were full of ideas for monster strategy. In our first day of conferring we talked mainly about ogres and gryphons and specters. Meryl loved my tale about the gryphons and the magic tablecloth. She thought we might be able to rid ourselves of all the creatures at once if we prepared a big enough feast.

  Drualt suggested that we try to make a treaty with the ogres. “Catch one and make him talk to you,” he said. “They speak the human languages if they have to. Let the captive be your ambassador. They may see reason if they know you’re resolute and you won’t turn tail.”

  Specters would be more difficult, Drualt thought. He didn’t believe we’d ever be completely rid of them. He advised us to build towns and villages close to Mulee Forest. “Crowd the monsters out. Build roads through the forest. Be vigilant, and no one should go about alone. It’s much harder for them to fool two at once.”

  We spent most of the second day talking about dragons, and we weren’t through when we sat down to dinner in the fairies’ cavernous dining hall. I was feeling sad about Vollys, mourning her after all, because she’d been clever and fascinating. I remembered the fun she’d had over Homely Truths and her love for King Willard. If only she hadn’t been a dragon.

  “Do you have to slay all the dragons?” Meryl said. “They’re so beautiful.”

  They were, and Bamarre could learn much from them.

  Bella snorted. “Filthy, murdering—”

  “Perhaps if we saved them from their loneliness, they—”

  I noticed movement and a flash of color at the doorway to the dining hall.

  “Rhys!” I pushed back my chair and began to run to him.

  He flew to me and lifted me into the air. “I didn’t trust Milton when he said you were well. I had to see for myself.” He smoothed the hair away from my forehead. “You are well, aren’t you?”

  I nodded. There was a puckered scar above his left eyebrow. I touched it. “Does it hurt?”

  “No.” He tightened his hold on me. “The fairies let me keep it. It makes me look dashing.”

  He looked wonderful—dashing or not—and he sounded just like himself.

  With his free hand, he pulled the golden baton out of his sleeve and pointed it at the open window.

  Nothing happened.

  I laughed at his surprised face. “There are no clouds here,” I said.

  “I wanted to wrap us in one and kiss you. I suppose I’ll have to . . .” He raised me in his arms and kissed my left eyelid. Then his lips found my mouth.

  I tasted delight—and heard the satisfied sighs of the fairies below. I didn’t care. We kissed again.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  * * *

  THE NEXT MORNING Meryl helped me select a wedding gown from a bewildering array of possibilities.

  The gown we finally settled on was hyacinth-blue silk with a generous train. The skirt, which was scattered with diamonds, rustled delicately when I took a step and draped itself becomingly when I stopped. The bodice was cut low to reveal pale-yellow lace at my neck, and the sleeves were slashed to let more lace peep through. Meryl caught my hair up in a silk net, over which she placed a silver tiara edged with pearls. Last of all, she fastened around my neck the silver chain on which hung the empty ma
rriage charm, a tiny jeweled box, which would be filled during the ceremony. Then she led me to a mirror.

  I hardly knew myself. The maiden in the mirror was lovely—but more than lovely, she was assured. Not timid, not afraid of her own voice or of shadows lurking in corners. The maiden in the mirror looked resolute, strong-willed. The maiden in the mirror could lead a kingdom.

  The figure next to me in the mirror was smiling and had tears in her eyes at the same time. I turned and hugged her, and we both wept a little.

  “We should hurry,” Meryl said finally. “Rhys will worry that you’ve reconsidered.” She passed her hand across my eyes. They stopped smarting, and I saw in the mirror that the signs of my tears were gone.

  We proceeded together to the fairies’ great hall, where Drualt would perform the ceremony. Rhys was already there, lighting up the hall with his wedding costume—a slashed scarlet doublet with a chartreuse shirt poking through, hose striped in chartreuse and black, and a red plumed cap. With Rhys was his teacher, Orne, garbed in sober brown and looking displeased. The fairies had brought him here for the occasion.

  Bella, Meryl, and Milton stood with me. Orne and the Surmic villagers stood with Rhys. Father was going to come, but he decided not to after reading in Homely Truths, “A queen bee is no gadfly, and a ship in harbor is not at sea.”

  Drualt cleared his throat and began the traditional stanzas from Drualt. They hadn’t been said at weddings in his day, naturally, but they’d been said in Bamarre for centuries now.

  “Drualt took Freya’s warm hand,

  Her strong hand,

  Her sword hand,

  And pressed it to his lips,

  Pressed it . . .”

  Drualt’s voice wavered. He pulled a handkerchief from the pouch at his waist and blew his nose. Then he began again.

  “Drualt took Freya’s warm hand,

  Her strong hand . . .”

  He faltered again. Meryl left me and stood next to him. She began to recite, and he joined in.

  “Drualt took Freya’s warm hand,

  Her strong hand,

  Her sword hand,

  And pressed it to his lips,

  Pressed it to his heart.

  ‘Come with me,’ he said.

  ‘Come with me to battle,

  My love. Tarry at my side.

  Stay with me

  When battle is done.

  Tarry at my side.

  Laugh with me,

  And walk with me

  The long, long way.

  Tarry with me,

  My love, at my side.’”

  Every one of us in the wedding party was weeping, except Orne. But then we laughed at the ridiculousness of it, and that was better, and we were able to proceed. Drualt told us to swear the five Bamarrian marriage oaths. Rhys and I spoke in unison, and I felt in my chest the reverberations of his deeper voice. We promised to be kind to each other, to be patient, to forgive each other’s faults, to be steadfast and true, and to keep joy in our love.

  Then Bella produced the golden scissors from her reticule. I clipped two strands of Rhys’s silky black hair, and he clipped two strands of my brown locks. We twisted the strands together, while Meryl sang,

  “Twist and twine

  Your days with mine,

  Your years with mine.

  Cling close and never part.

  Twist and twine

  Your hairs with mine.”

  I pushed my twist of hair into the marriage charm that Meryl had placed around my neck. Rhys did the same with his twist and his charm.

  We were wed. He was Prince Rhys, and I was a sorcerer’s wife.

  Three days later Rhys and I and Bella and Milton and the villagers left Mount Ziriat. The fairies provided us with horses, ordinary mortal horses. Meryl accompanied us down the mountain to the Aisnan Valley. At the falls she stopped. Rhys drew everyone aside so she and I could be alone.

  Meryl said, “I’ll see to it that you have safe passage to

  Surmic. No monsters will trouble you—”

  “Can’t you come? You could help me—”

  “No, love. I kept our bargain.” She laughed. “I promised to see you wed before I began my adventures, and I’ve kept my word.”

  “But that was when you were human.” It was hopeless, but I tried anyway. “You’re immortal now. Why can’t you stay with Rhys and me? You have eternity for adventures.”

  She shook her head smiling. “Addie, Addie . . . I have work to do. These adventures, they’re not play. The fairies need me, and you don’t. Not anymore.”

  She was right. I didn’t. I just wanted her.

  She put her hands on my shoulders. “But I’ll visit often. When you least expect me, I’ll be there—and when you most expect me too. Your children will know me well. It’s been a long while since a human child has had a fairy godmother, but your children will have me, and your children’s children will too. And I’ll be with you when there’s trouble. Visible or invisible, I’ll be with you—and Drualt will as well. One or two merry spirits will always be standing by.”

  I had to make the best of it. “You’ll tell me of your adventures?”

  She nodded. “And I’ll know about yours. As you conquer the monsters, I’ll cheer and exult over every victory.” She laughed. “Dru and I will have a fine time watching you.”

  The spray from the falls behind her caught the sunlight and surrounded her with a glittering halo. She looked magical and human and healthy and glad. I swallowed my tears. If our parting was bittersweet, at least there was enough sweet to comfort me.

  We both opened our arms at the same moment. We hugged long and hard. I had the sense to break the embrace first. I patted her cheek one last time and turned away.

  I didn’t look back. I took Rhys’s hand and faced ahead. He and I would have our own adventures, and I’d be as brave as I could be. Meryl would visit sometimes and tell me her tales. I’d weave her adventures and mine into tapestries. I’d put both of us in them, back to back, Meryl fighting her monsters and I fighting mine. And perhaps one day someone would make up verses about us, and we’d be together again, the two princesses of Bamarre.

  The sisters embraced

  And then they parted,

  Their faces tear-washed.

  But they wept no more,

  And smiled instead, laughed

  At what would come,

  Whatever would come, though

  Hoping, hoping, someday

  To embrace again.

  Now, when specter haunts,

  Or dragon flames,

  Or ogre attacks,

  Or gryphon descends,

  Bamarre fights on,

  And the timid march

  With the strong.

  The tailor, the cook,

  The farmer, the queen—

  From village, from field,

  From castle, from wood—

  Bamarre, land of heroes,

  Fights on.

  Step follows step.

  Hope follows courage.

  Set your face toward danger.

  Set your heart on victory—

  Victory for Bamarre!

  —FROM THE CLOSING OF THE EPIC POEM

  TWO PRINCESSES

  BEHIND THE BOOK WITH GAIL CARSON LEVINE

  When I began writing The Two Princesses of Bamarre I intended to retell “The Twelve Dancing Princesses,” a magical fairy tale with forests of silver, gold, and diamonds, a castle across a lake, and twelve enchanted princes. But the story changed and changed and changed: the princess count shrank from twelve to three to two, and I began again and again. Here are five abandoned beginnings as the story evolved and a note about each:

  1. This was my first beginning, or close to it, when I was adjusting the original fairy tale. I knew I couldn’t manage twenty-four main characters, and the death of all those poor princes was too gory for me:

  Fable has multiplied us. Perhaps the hall of mirrors where we danced is to blame. Instead of tw
elve, we were three. Three princesses. And they were three. Three princes.

  There was always one soldier. Fable did not multiply him. But the old woman, the one who helped him—there was no such person.

  And the king, our father, did not have any princes killed. He has many faults, but murder is not among them. After each prince failed to solve the mystery, he was allowed to leave us. Most of them probably went home and found other maidens to marry.

  2. First person in the voice of one of the princesses wasn’t working, so I tried third and began introducing the princesses’ personalities:

  From their bedroom, the three princesses of Bamarre and their nanny watched the shadows in the tower window across the courtyard. All they could see of the sorcerer Rhys was his shadow. But the shadow was more than they’d ever seen before.

  Shadows are confusing, Princess Meryl thought. The shadows of the king and queen there in the room with Rhys were distorted, so Rhys must be distorted, too. Meryl swallowed a giggle. At the moment, her father’s face looked longer than all the rest of him. If she only knew her parents from their shadows, she’d never recognize them on their thrones. She’d think imposters were sitting there.

  Princess Cara, Meryl’s twin, but little like her sister, thought, I’ll be disappointed if he does magic and we can’t see it from here. She wished the tower would fill with blue smoke, or the shadowy figures would rise and fly about the room.

  Princess Adelina, whom they called Addie, was the oldest child. She thought, I hope he cures the queen. If she dies, the king will miss her.

  3. Third person had problems, too, so this was an attempt from the point of view of the nanny:

  I am Bella, the princesses’ nanny, and this is the princesses’ tale. I know some of it because I was there. The rest I pieced together afterward.