The Golden Princess and the Moon

by Anna Mendell

  Before his departure, King Mark spoke to Erik. “You are to go to your uncle’s castle. It is constantly under threat from northern raiders who pillage our coastal cities. Perhaps there you will finally learn how to use that sword arm of yours.”

  Erik did not speak, but his spirit grew grave within him.

  “You will look after the boy,” the king said, turning to Kenelm.

  “I will guard the crown prince with my life.”

  The king returned to the head of the army and gave the order to march. The soldiers thundered past Erik, the light of the sunrise glinting off their helms and shields. Erik waited until the resounding clash of armor was a dull roar in the distance and then he looked up at his sword master. “Shall we depart?”

  Kenelm shook his head. “No, I have things to take care of. Meet me here at midday.”

  The unlooked for reprieve kindled a newborn hope in Erik’s breast, and, as soon as Kenelm was out of sight, he dashed into the wood, hoping against hope that Mnemosyne would be waiting for him at her usual spot.

  There she was, watching his approach with her unblinking, yellow eyes. At the sight of the cat, Erik let out a sound that was a mixture between a sob and a laugh. Mnemosyne led Erik straight to Ninny Nanny’s cottage as if she knew that there was no time to waste. The old woman met Erik at the door.

  “I’ve come to say good bye,” said Erik as he threw himself into her arms.

  “There, there, princeling, don’t be so sad. Ye will come back to the castle one day, and Mnemosyne and I will be waiting for ye.”

  The prince burrowed himself further into the old woman’s embrace. Then he whispered. “Cynric is dead.”

  The old woman tightened her arms around him, and Erik remained quiet a few moments more, but then he withdrew and peered up into her face. “Why did he have to die? Why did Cynric betray my father? I thought he was my friend.”

  The old woman brushed the prince’s hair out of his eyes and then shook her head sadly. “Cynric was your friend, but his heart’s loyalty was divided as the kingdom is divided. He could not see his people die.”

  “Were the western people his people?”

  “Yes, princeling, and they are your people, too. All the people in Lothene are your people.”

  “I don’t think my father and the queen see it that way. The west is strange to them; they fear it. Yet those they fear are my mother’s people. How am I to decide whose side I am on? My father is the king, and I cannot betray him.”

  “Princeling, it is right that ye be loyal to your father and still love your mother’s people. Ye have both old blood and new blood in your veins an’ the strength and weakness of both. Ye are a strong and courageous lad, and that comes from your father. Ye are gentle and love the things of old, and that comes from your mother. It is by being both that ye will unite the kingdom one day.”

  “Ninny Nanny, what am I to do without you? Am I really not going to see you when I am gone?”

  Ninny Nanny shook her head, and Erik felt his hope extinguished like a burnt out candle. “I had hoped that somehow… since your cottage seems to move… that I would still be able to visit you,” he whispered.

  “I am sorry, princeling, but my cottage belongs to this wood. Ye must be strong and patient, and ye must remember all my stories.”

  “I will never forget your stories. Nor will I forget the princess.”

  The old woman smiled sadly. “Most of all, ye will have to be brave, even though you don’t know what might happen, princeling. It was the same with Princess Rosamund when she had to face her curse.”

  “Tell me what happens to the princess, Ninny Nanny. Tell me how she falls asleep.”

  “That I will do, princeling. Though ye don’t have much time left, ye have just time enough.”

  THICK SHEETS OF RAIN washed the snow away from heavily traveled roads and byways. The thaw had set it, but the cold wind and wet days still brought a damp shiver to limbs wrapped in wools and furs. It had been a long and tiring winter. The king was still stricken by his wife’s death, and Rosa even missed his bouts of fiery temper. Though they dined together every evening, she could not draw him from the cloud he had wandered in to. He was irritable if she was ever late, but was silent for as long as the meal lasted. She did know that he needed her, that she was, in fact, indispensable, so she sat in audience with him every day, gently intervening in his judgments, and the people grew to love their golden princess.

  The king no longer forbade Rosa from leaving the castle, and she took to visiting the poor and sick in the city, distributing loaves of bread to the beggars at the gates. She never felt unsafe. Not only did she trust in her people’s love, but she felt that the impending fatality of the curse also draped over her like a mantle, shielding her from harm. She had the stirring suspicion that, whenever anyone looked at her, they also imagined her body laid out lifeless in her chamber, her voice silent, fallen prey to the curse, and she realized that sadness mingled with all the joy she brought.

  THE day before the curse was destined to fall, Rosa had asked to be left alone for a time in her chamber and was surprised to see her Uncle Stefan at the door when she looked up from a letter she had been writing to Alice. Various letters were neatly sealed with wax and lined up on her table, final farewells to all those she loved.

  “Can I do anything for you, Uncle Stefan?” she asked politely, but without any touch of warmth. She was no longer afraid of her uncle. He was so much smaller than the curse and smaller than her mother’s death, but that did not mean she wished to spend any more time in his company than was strictly necessary.

  “Can I not simply desire to enjoy the princess’ company?”

  “No,” she said.

  “No? You do not wish me to stay?”

  “No, you would not seek me out merely for my company. May I ask you what it is you wish from me?”

  Stefan chuckled. “How very straightforward, very different from the blushing princess who hid behind Edmund that summer day I surprised the two of you in the forest. Can you believe that was two summers ago? Time’s wheel turns relentlessly on, doesn’t it, princess?”

  Rosa refused to reply, so he continued, “You liked my son then, if I may be so bold to say. What causes you to refuse his offer now?”

  “I would not be trapped into marriage in a futile attempt to avoid the curse.”

  “Poor princess, of course you are wise. That is no way to go about overcoming faerie magic. I admire your strength in facing the facts. You will succumb to the curse and sleep. You have no choice. But have you thought about your kingdom and your duty as the heir to the golden throne? Will you leave the kingdom without a successor? Civil war will break out, and many lives will be lost when the heir to the crown is unclear. As your husband, Edmund would be the natural choice to rule in your stead. Think of your people, princess. Surely you do not wish your last act before you sleep to be a selfish one? Who knows, perhaps Edmund will be able to wake you. There is always hope.”

  Rosa shook her head. “I do not understand why you wish me to marry. Edmund is the natural heir to the throne when I am gone, whether he be my husband or no. You are afraid and do not wish to leave anything to chance. You need not worry, Uncle Stefan. The curse will be fulfilled. Edmund will be king as the Dark Lady promised you long ago on my christening day.”

  Stefan’s face sank into a lifeless grey. “How do you know?” he said hoarsely. “Out of all people, how is it that you know?”

  “I was shown by the faerie. I know the part you played in my curse and in your wife’s disappearance.”

  “How long have you known this?” Stefan asked.

  “Since the summer palace.”

  “Why have you told no one?”

  “I would not deprive Edmund of his father when he has already lost a mother. That and you have no more power. You will not interfere with the curse because you know it will do no good. Nor do you have any strength. The curse took everything away from you, didn’t it?” Rosa
asked, thinking of Iseult.

  Stefan’s shoulders sagged, the strength seeming to visibly seep from his frame. Watching him, Rosa realized that there was still something that she did not understand about her christening day. “I have always wondered why it was that no one knew it was you who summoned the Dark Lady. Surely only you could have done so?” she asked.

  Stefan muttered bitterly. “They have all forgotten how Faerie and magic is tied to our blood. Iseult was turned into a serpent, so they blamed her; it was the easiest thing to do. And I have often thought that perhaps the curse protects me and clouds the minds of those who would look deeper.”

  Rosa felt a flutter of pity for her uncle. He was nothing more than a weak-willed man whose ambitions had claimed higher stakes than he had been prepared to pay. “You are afraid, afraid of the curse and afraid that it is not done with you yet, but you have nothing to fear from me, uncle. I will tell no one.” She reached out to touch his hand, but Stefan drew away as though her touch burned him. He gave her a glance of horror mingled with guilt before he left.

  THAT night Rosa lay in bed and wondered, as she had many times before, how the curse would inevitably fall. She could not imagine any scenario in which she would ever willingly prick her finger on a spindle. Would it be as simple as an accident? Would she fall into a trance, be without a choice? She was still angry at the Green Lady for choosing not to tell her how to overcome the curse, but she was even more angry at herself for sending her godmother away. She knew her godmother had been right about her only wishing to marry Edmund because she was afraid. She could admit that to herself now. But what was left for her to do? The Grey Lady had told her that, if she ran, the curse would still find her. There was nothing to do but wait and face whatever would come. Rosa buried her face in her pillow and cried herself to sleep.

  THE sun rose glorious and bright on the morning of the eve of her christening. Rosa woke to birdsong, a song sparrow chirping in joyful anticipation of spring. The princess lay in her bed, drinking in the moment, the warmth of the sun against her skin, the pillow soft against her cheek¸ the beautiful silver thread of the stars woven on her canopy. Alice and Edwina entered, and Rosa leapt out of bed to throw her arms around them. Alice clutched the princess to her breast, and Edwina battled back tears.

  Rosa went to her dresser and solemnly handed Alice her comb one final time. Edwina placed a crown of the first flowers of spring on Rosa’s head. The flowers had been sheltering under the castle eaves away from the heavy spring rains and were carefully woven into a crown of crocus, snowdrop, and celandine. Alice drew Rosa close to her and kissed her, whispering, “Now go and say farewell to your people. You stole so quickly into their hearts.”

  ROSA spent the day among her subjects. She gave away every single thing of worth that she owned to the poor children of the city. The townspeople had prepared a large garland of flowers for her. “For your birthday,” they said, unable to say out loud that it was a farewell present. Rosa was fighting back her tears, when a tall man wearing a long brown cloak parted through the crowd to stand at her side.

  Rosa sniffed and looked up at the tall stranger. At first she had thought that the robed man was old, for his hair was as white as the whitest of snow, but, as she looked closer, she saw that his face showed no age, as if he were of faerie kind, but that his deep, black eyes reflected pain and loss in a way that only a mortal’s could. An air of awe and solemnity settled around Rosa as she gazed at this strange man that was neither completely faerie nor completely mortal, and then he reverently took her hand and kissed it before turning away and disappearing into the crowd without a word.

  WHEN Rosa returned to the castle, the sun was setting, and Neirin greeted her and Edwina at the gate. He held the princess’ harp in one hand, his lute slung over his shoulder. Rosa wordlessly took the harp, and together they sang a song of farewell to the sun. When its uppermost rays left the horizon, their song was finished, and Rosa knew it was time to say their final farewell.

  “I shall resume my wanderings.” Neirin spoke first. “And wherever I go, I shall sing of the princess who sleeps like the moon, whose beauty is like the sun, and who sings with the stars in her dreams.”

  The minstrel knelt, and Rosa, finding herself unable to speak, bent over and kissed him on the forehead. He gave her one last smile, half happy and half sad, and departed.

  Edwina took Rosa’s hand and clasped it tightly, as if she was daring the world to separate them.

  “I must go dine with my father now,” Rosa said. “Is Edmund still avoiding me? I would like to say farewell.”

  “He’s a selfish boy, my princess. I’m glad you did not marry him,” Edwina said.

  “Well, see if you can find him when I am with my father and tell him I would see him if he is willing.”

  “I will.” Edwina nodded and went in search of Edmund.

  When Rosa entered the king’s chambers, she found her father already sitting down, the dinner laid out for them. She slipped into her chair, but the king gave no sign that he noticed her and lifted his fork to his mouth. Rosa sighed and tried to eat as well. He still seemed to wander as if in a dream ever since the queen’s death. She did not know what he would do without her to take care of him, and the thought of it broke her heart more than the thought of being unable to wake up from her sleep.

  “Father, I love you,” she said.

  The king paused, but he still did not meet her gaze.

  “For my sake, and for mother’s, please promise me that you will be happy and that you will look after the kingdom. The people need you.”

  The king finally gazed into his daughter’s face. “Your mother is gone and so are you, and there is nothing.”

  “I am not gone yet!” Rosa cried and sprang from her chair, throwing her arms around him. He sat immobile as she spent her tears, so she gently kissed him on both cheeks before returning to her seat. There was a knock at the door, and a servant slowly opened it. Outside stood Edwina and Edmund. When the king saw the two of them, it almost seemed, if only for a moment, that a flicker of life passed through his face.

  “Promise me,” he said hoarsely, “promise me that you will not leave the princess alone tonight. That if you can say anything, do anything to protect her, you will.”

  Edwina rushed to Rosa, clasping her in her arms. Edmund fell on one knee before the king. “I will not ever leave her side, I swear it,” he promised.

  “Take the princess to her chambers and keep watch with her in the night. There are guards around the castle and posted at her door. We will see if steel and iron are of any use against Faerie,” the king said grimly. “Now go.”

  The three walked silently through the long stretch of the torch-lit corridor to the princess’ chambers. Edwina gave Rosa’s hand a reassuring squeeze, and the princess was glad to have her and Edmund by her side. She looked up at her cousin’s inscrutable profile. Even though he was disappointed over her refusal, he was with her now, and he had sworn to her father that he would stay at her side. She was glad that they were able to make peace at the end.

  They were just turning the bend of the corridor where the door to the high tower entrance stood when Edmund grabbed her arm, wrenching her from Edwina’s grasp. He thrust her through the open tower door and pulled it shut behind them with a heavy, resounding slam. Rosa could hear Edwina beating on the other side of the thick door with her fists, though the sound was muffled and growing fainter. She turned wide, questioning eyes on Edmund, waiting for him to speak. The stairs were dark, but moonlight streamed in through the window slits in the tower and illuminated Edmund’s face, ghastly and white.

  “She can scream and pound all she wants, but it will not disturb us,” he said.

  Rosa turned back again to the door only to discover that it was gone, replaced by a dark and empty space.

  “There is nowhere to go but up,” Edmund said.

  Rosa’s fear was replaced by a calm sense of inevitability. So this was how it was going to hap
pen. She was ready to face her trial.

  “Then let us go up,” she said.

  Edmund bowed and began the long climb up the winding stairs. Rosa followed him without wavering. The rooms and corridors attached to the tower were gone, replaced by a seamless wall of grey, leaden slabs. The moonlight let through the window slits only lit up the immediate steps before her, so that she could not see Edmund’s back ahead of her, but could only hear his steady footfalls. The darkness grew oppressive, the winding steps dizzying, and fear woke in her heart, setting it to a rapid patter, the only sound she could hear besides Edmund’s relentless steps.

  Rosa froze, unable to go on, and even the sound of Edmund’s echoing steps faded away. Would she stay here forever, lost in the darkness? If she turned back, would she fade away into the formless nothingness behind her? She stood alone and abandoned. Letting out a broken whimper, she sank down on the steps. She did not know how long she stayed there in the darkness, but then a small seed of hope blossomed, she did not know how, and it dawned on her that she could not be more lost than she already was. With that realization, her despair lifted, and an unexpected lightness entered her heart. She felt the strength returning to her legs and she slowly rose to continue her long climb. The stairs went on and on, and time seemed to end before the stairs did. When finally Rosa knew she could not climb another single step, she reached the top of the tower.

  Edmund had opened the door ahead of her, and Rosa stepped into a fire-lit room. The room was dark and windowless, and in the center stood the spinning wheel, its great wheel slowly turning, spun by invisible hands. Rosa had never seen a spinning wheel besides the broken wheels in the pyre of her dream, but she recognized it for what it was. She saw the spindle mounted on the wheel’s frame, and a sudden urge tugged her toward the spindle. She was pulled closer and closer to it, drawn forward by the same invisible hands that spun the wheel. But she stopped before she got too close. She realized that the fascination did not overwhelm her. She did not have to prick her finger. Her desire to do so was something that she could resist and subdue.