by Anna Mendell
Erik found that, after a time, he entered into the rhythm of his work, and the dull, sick knot he had felt in the pit of his stomach ever since he had toasted the king of the wood slowly dissolved. When he finally finished, he threw himself exhausted onto the ground. It was growing dark. The days were becoming shorter and shorter, now that winter was drawing near, and the stars were coming out, one by one.
“Come inside, princeling. Ye must be hungry after all the hard work ye did,” Ninny Nanny called from the cottage doorway.
When Erik entered the cottage, he saw that she had laid out supper for the two of them. He was so hungry it was not long before Erik was staring down at an empty plate.
The old woman chuckled, “Could ye draw me some more water from the well? Ye were so thirsty ye emptied my pitcher.”
Erik grunted and took hold of the pitcher and went outside. It was so cold out that he shivered as he made his way to the well, where he drew up the water and heaved the bucket back to the cottage. Before crossing the threshold, he peered up into the night sky, and his eyes rested on the thin sliver crescent of the moon shimmering over the trees. Ninny Nanny was beside him, staring up at the stars.
“Later Mnemosyne will take ye back to the castle. She can see in the dark.”
“Should I go back now? I don’t want to be missed.”
“They won’t know that you’re gone till much later,” Ninny Nanny said.
“Won’t they? How do you know?”
The old woman gave him her secretive smile, and Erik laughed.
“If you say so.”
Ninny Nanny pointed up at the sky with her thin, bony finger. “See that bright star o’erhead in the north? It’s the lodestar. It guides many wandr’ng feet by its bright and ever shining light.”
Erik smiled to himself. Cynric had taught him how to navigate by the stars ever since the hunter had first put a bow into the small prince’s hands. Erik had outgrown many bows since then.
“Already know all that, do ye?” The old woman chuckled. “The Princess Rosamund could ‘ave used such a guide in the troubling times ahead.”
He turned to the old woman. “Could she? What do you mean?”
The old woman chuckled again. “Let’s go inside an’ I’ll tell ye. Ach! Don’t spill the water in the bucket, princeling.”
TOMORROW WAS TO BE the first day of spring and Rosa’s birthday, and she was looking forward to the upcoming celebrations. Stefan and Edmund had arrived at the castle a week earlier for the preparations, and she and her father had gone down to meet them at the gate.
The rich autumn and a long winter had passed since she and Edmund had last seen each other, and she saw in his eyes as he took her hand in greeting that he was glad to see her and that he thought her as fair as the summer’s day. She in turn noticed for the first time that he was tall and strong, that his dark curls tumbled around his neck, and that, though his eyes were dark and sometimes sullen, they also flashed fire. But Rosa’s heart was troubled, and she did not know what to do with these new thoughts.
The two often met in the following week, but always in company, and, when Edmund’s eyes looked into hers, they whispered that he had a secret that he would tell only her, but not yet. She learned through their talks that he had spent the year at the woodland outposts at the kingdom’s border, defending the people in their struggles against brigands and robbers, both from within the kingdom and from the outlying lands.
Rosa was quietly musing over her new feelings in the outer gardens far beyond the courtyard which lay adjacent to the outer walls. A slight chill still clung to the air, but the first flowers of spring were poking out their heads underfoot: the crocus, narcissus, and snowdrop that would be woven into garlands for her birthday celebrations.
“You will become cold standing so still,” said a voice behind her, and strong arms wrapped a cloak about her.
She turned to see Edmund smiling down on her. “I was about to go in,” she replied.
“Stay awhile. I feel as if we haven’t really spoken since I’ve arrived. Too many banquets and too many parties have crowded out the times we could talk,” he said.
Rosa nodded, so they strolled to the farther edges of the grassy grounds, where birch trees clustered by a still pool of water. Rosa spoke to break the silence that had grown between them and made her nervous. “You have been on many adventures since I last saw you. Your father was sharing with us your brave exploits in defense of our kingdom.”
“Yes, well, he exaggerates. I am just like any other soldier on the borderland. And to be truthful, soldiery doesn’t really suit me. I preferred the time I spent deep in the forest, discovering hidden paths to travel by. But enough about me. I have a gift for you, an early birthday present.” He drew from beneath his cloak a miniature rose, its petals formed from the purest silver, while its stem, leaves, and thorns were wrought of twisted gold.
“It’s exquisite,” Rosa gasped.
“It goes in your hair. May I?”
Edmund tucked the flower into the many folds of her golden hair, and there his fingers lingered.
“We should be going in now,” she said quickly. Rosa looked down at her feet the entire time they walked back to the castle.
THE next morning, while the men went out on the hunt for the princess’ birthday feast, Rosa stayed with Edwina in her chambers. Would she be asleep this time next year? The thought fluttered unbidden into her mind. The revelation of the curse had somehow never felt real to her, but, from now on, every day would be the last of its kind before she fell asleep. She felt a pulse of fear and went to gaze outside her window. The sun shone brightly on the wings of the geese and swans, and not a whisper of a breeze ruffled their feathers in their tranquil bathing in the moat below. Edwina came to her side, and Rosa laced her fingers through her handmaiden’s and said, “I try to imagine what it will be like this time next year, but all I see is blackness. I do not know what will come.” Rosa had confided in Edwina everything about her curse and her time in the summer palace.
“Oh, Rosa.” Edwina wrapped the princess in her arms. “Everyone’s future is unseen, but I do know that we have this moment now together, and a whole precious store of moments to come.”
“Yes, you are right. Only, you must promise to stay with me until the end,” Rosa pleaded.
“There’s no place I would rather be,” Edwina whispered and tightened her embrace. The blaring sound of the horn and anxious dogs barking drew their attention to the courtyard below.
“They’re back early,” Rosa exclaimed.
“I think someone’s hurt,” Edwina cried, peering through the window.
The two girls rushed down the stairs and into the courtyard in time to see the court physician order an injured man onto a stretcher. The physician instructed that the man be brought down to the castle infirmary, and Rosa winced to see that his right leg was soaked in blood. The physician’s eyes lighted on the two girls, and he sharply ordered for Edwina to come with him to minister to the injured man. Edwina took one look at the young man’s pale face and his features withdrawn in pain and nodded hurriedly. She squeezed Rosa’s hand and followed the physician.
Rosa went back inside to find her mother, and both waited anxiously for the rest of the hunting party to return. It arrived later in the day with bright trumpet calls and joyful cheers. Apparently the king had slain the monstrous boar that had injured the young man. The minute she saw that her father and everyone else were all right, Rosa whisked down to the sick quarters to check on injured man.
Edwina met her at the door.
“How is he?” Rosa asked in a hushed voice.
“He’s very weak, but the doctor has high hopes he will pull through.” Then she added sorrowfully, “I don’t think he will ever be able to walk normally again.”
“I have to go back upstairs to celebrate my birthday. It doesn’t feel right to have a feast when he is lying down here injured.”
“You must go,” Edwina said. “The celeb
ration is in your honor, and they will be expecting you. There’s nothing that you, or really anyone, can do down here.”
Rosa went upstairs with a heavy heart to prepare for the evening’s feast. Edwina’s words of the future being unknown echoed in her mind. That young man’s life had changed in an instant. Nothing would be the same for him ever again.
“You are being very quiet,” Alice mentioned while braiding the princess’ hair into a coronet around her head. “It was a shock for you to see the young man, was it not?”
Rosa sighed. “Edwina said there is much hope he will recover.”
“Well, that is something to be grateful for, isn’t it? It is not uncommon for some hideous accident to occur during a hunt. We can rejoice in his narrow escape from death.” She tugged at the princess’ hair playfully, “…and in the joyous event of your birth.”
But even though Alice was smiling, Rosa could detect a faint hint of sadness in her voice, and it was that sadness that made Rosa resolve to be cheerful for the rest of the evening. She knew she was not the only one thinking about the curse and her next birthday, and she would not allow unhappiness to cloud the little time she had left with her mother and father, Edwina, and Alice. She sprang from her seat and threw her arms around Alice. “Thank you for always taking care of me,” she said.
“Oh, my little one, what else would I do? I have been looking after you since you were so very small.” The nursemaid half-sobbed and wiped away a tear with her apron.
SPREAD out on the banquet table was an abundance of meats and cheese, spices and sweet wines, and at its very center was the head of the slain boar garlanded in flowers. The king sat at the head with the queen on his right and the princess on his left. Beside the princess sat Edmund. Edmund spoke pleasantly all evening, and Rosa smiled to herself, remembering their silent and awkward dinners at the summer palace. He had changed so much over the winter. When the banquet was winding down, Neirin was called to sing before the court. He sang of the love between the golden king Eirwyn and a mortal maid, and the song was a sad one.
The king had gone, the king was crowned.
And golden were his gates and towers
As golden as his father’s crown.
And he would climb the tallest spire
And pluck the strings of his golden lyre
And sing to the moon and the stars.
His eyes beheld a maiden fair,
Stars in her eyes, the moon in her hair.
He shared with her his golden crown.
And he would climb the tallest spire
And pluck the strings of his golden lyre
And sing of the moon and the stars.
Gold and silver were the gates
Which all passed through with untroubled brow
Singing a song of the golden crown.
And he would climb the tallest spire
And pluck the strings of his golden lyre
And sing with the moon and the stars.
The Queen’s eyes closed their final time.
The king did mourn the blood in his veins
Faerie blood that lengthenéd his days
The blood that gave him his golden crown.
Grief plucked the stings of his heart’s lyre
And he climbed down the tallest spire
And disappeared under the moon and the stars.
By the last lingering note a tear lay in the corner of every eye. But, when the song was finished, the time had come for dancing. The mood changed as the court musicians struck a lively tune and the king took the princess by the hand and led her to the center of the room. Rosa danced gracefully on her feet, radiant with every step. It was the first time she had danced before the court, and she drew all eyes to her. The princess saw that her father’s eyes were bright with unshed tears, and with the closing of the dance he pressed her hand against his heart.
The music started again, and Edmund claimed the next dance, and, when it was over, he drew her to one side.
“That was a sad song the minstrel sang, was it not?” he said.
Rosa nodded. “Neirin’s songs are often sad, but I think sadness is what he sings most beautifully.”
“Still,” he said, “I would have chosen a joyful song for your birthday celebrations.”
“Would you?” Rosa laughed. “I am surprised. I would have thought a sad song more to your liking.”
“Not necessarily,” he murmured. Then he looked straight into her eyes. “I would not have your song be a sad one.”
Rosa felt a surge of warmth toward her cousin. “Thank you, Edmund, that is kind.” She pressed his hand and made to move away, but he kept a firm grasp on her hand.
“And I would say more, if I may be so bold. I would like to be the one who ensures that your song is a happy one.”
“What do you mean?” she asked in surprise.
But before he could speak again they were interrupted as the princess’ hand was eagerly sought for the next dance. The rest of the evening was full of dancing, as everyone wished to partner with the beautiful princess on her birthday, and Rosa did not speak to Edmund again that night, but she stayed up late in bed thinking of his words and fought to banish a thought from her head. That thought was that Edmund loved her, and it made her heart beat faster, but she did not know if it beat in hope or in fear.
WHEN ROSA JOINED her parents for breakfast the next morning, she noticed she had interrupted a disagreement. They looked at her strangely throughout the meal, and she wanted to ask them what was wrong, but their stern glances forbade any talking. Later that day the king took Rosa aside.
“Tell me what you think of your cousin Edmund,” he said.
“I am not sure,” she stammered. “I am glad that we are friends, but he confuses me.” She did not say that at times she felt a darkness about him and did not know if she could trust him.
The king paced up and down and then turned again to Rosa. “Would you be averse to marrying him?” he asked.
“Marriage!” the princess burst out. “I’ve never thought of marriage!”
“And why not,” the king demanded. “You are of age.”
“Why, because!” the princess responded, and then she spoke of that which she had never spoken of before with her father. “Because of the curse.”
The king grew white about the lips, and his face turned the color ash. “Even more of a reason,” he said in a low voice, and then motioned her to leave.
Rosa left with her heart pounding. She realized now that Edmund had spoken to her father and that he intended to marry her. All of a sudden, a sharp image of Edmund mesmerized by the white snake’s gaze back in the summer palace flashed in her mind. She thrust the image away. She would not believe that Edmund wished to marry her to secure the throne, and he was not to blame for his father and mother.
She climbed up to the top of the castle parapets to clear her head, but unexpectedly happened upon Edmund speaking to one of the guards. She froze, poised as a bird about to take wing, but Edmund saw her, saw her hesitation, and came striding towards her. Rosa overcame her desire to run away, knowing that it would look foolish.
“You have spoken to your father,” Edmund stated when he reached her.
She nodded.
“What did he say?”
“He asked if I would mind marrying you.”
Edmund was silent for a moment and then said, “That is not how I would have had it. I merely asked if he could find out what you felt about me. Testing the waters, so to speak.”
“But you do wish to marry me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” Rosa asked, meeting his eyes.
“I would save you from the curse,” he answered.
“And you think marriage will accomplish this?”
“What else would?” he asked earnestly. “How else will you find the love required? Do you believe that you will meet someone in your dreams? Or that someone will simply gaze on your sleeping form and fall madly in love? How is it that you e
xpect to break the curse?”
“I had not thought about it,” Rosa said, running her fingers over the rough, stone crenellations.
“How can you be so maddening?” Edmund exclaimed. “You should be fighting against this curse with your very last breath.”
“I only found out about the curse last summer. Besides, my faerie godparents will protect me.”
“How can you trust them? The faerie never fully reveal their true intentions to mortals.” He lowered his voice. “I know what it is like to live with a curse hanging over your head. Now I know you bear the brunt of it, but I am still cursed through my mother, through my blood, through the part she played on your christening day. I would not have this evil befall you, not while there is breath in my body or my heart beats against my breast.” The last he spoke hoarsely, bringing her finger tips to his lips.
Rosa gazed at him, captured by the fire in his eyes. Then she slowly pulled her hand away. “I will think on it,” she whispered before she fled the castle walls.
ROSA went searching for Edwina down in the infirmary with the hope that her friend could soothe her confusion, but stopped at the doorway. Edwina was dressing the young man’s wound and smiling at him gently. The young man’s eyes lit up at her smile in a way that made Rosa’s heart ache. All at once Rosa felt all alone and left without disturbing the two of them.
She went up to her room and sat on her bed. Had Edwina left her? Had she found something that they could not share? The princess shook her head. “Don’t be selfish, Rosa,” she muttered, clutching a pillow to her chest. She wanted Edwina to be happy, particularly after she was gone. “But not now,” she whispered. “I don’t want to be alone now, I can’t be alone now.”
THAT night, Rosa began having nightmares. She was standing alone at the top of the castle parapets. The air was brittle, the ground below hard, as dense snowfall engulfed the entire kingdom. A staff of lead, heavy and cruel, thrust in a tall mound of snow, appeared below her. It radiated a dull heat, and from its source the snow slowly melted, leaving the earth barren and the trees withered. Darkness fell, and one by one the stars peeped out their heads to move in their song and dance. But then the staff throbbed, disturbing their harmony, so that the stars began singing on their own accord regardless of the overarching melody. The song was broken, and the notes became piercing cries, until, one by one, the stars fell silent and became cold flames in the sky.