He supposed this was as good a topic as any. “He said that your sister saved herself from Lord Briarly, that she threw something in his face.”
“Yes, drawer thirteen,” Alberta confirmed.
“What does that mean?”
“The medicine cabinet in my closet,” she said. “Its drawers are numbered, and I keep a different concoction in each. Bella’s always supposed to carry some of what’s in drawer thirteen, ever since—well, never mind. That’s none of your business.”
Her sudden determination to keep secrets confused him. Then again, he was keeping the details of Wildfire’s curse secret from her, so he supposed she was entitled to withhold information from him as well. “What sort of substance is it?” he asked.
She seemed reluctant to answer but decided, under the circumstances, to humor his curiosity. “It’s a lovely little mixture comprised mainly of pepper, along with a few other burning ingredients. Bella and I both carry a measure of it, just in case of emergencies.”
“And I’m really not allowed to ask what happened to make you both do that?” He knew he shouldn’t prod, but since she already hated him, it couldn’t hurt.
She spared him a sidelong glance. “Gilly happened,” she said, and then she added, “and it really is none of your business.”
“Gilly, the under-gardener I replaced?” said Duncan. “I heard you ran him from the castle grounds when you were in one of your foul moods!”
Alberta scowled. “Oh, I was in a foul mood all right.”
“What happened?” Duncan pressed.
“Bella doesn’t want it known,” she replied.
He started to protest, but he bit back the words. As she said, it really was none of his business, and if it involved something embarrassing for Princess Bellinda, perhaps it was better kept secret. “I understand,” he said glumly.
Alberta was silent for a breath. Then, “Promise you won’t tell anyone?” she asked.
Duncan looked up in shock. “Yes, of course!”
She eyed him suspiciously, and he could tell that she was battling her own conscience on whether to proceed. In the end, she determined him to be trustworthy enough, though.
“I heard a strange noise in her room one night,” she began. “We’re right next to each other, with just a wall between us, and there was this odd thunk. I thought maybe she had tripped or fallen out of bed or something, so I went to investigate. When I opened her door, I discovered a man hovering over her while she slept, a pair of scissors in his hand poised to clip off a lock of her hair. I yelled, and Bella woke up, and then she shrieked, scandalized, and he jumped out the open window. I didn’t know who he was, but Bella has an incredible memory for names and faces—she knows everyone within the castle proper and told me it was Gilly the under-gardener.
“Honestly, I was shocked to discover him still among the staff the next morning, but I suppose he thought we hadn’t seen his face properly. I ran him out of the castle exactly according to the rumors, and Bella has carried a measure of drawer thirteen ever since. She’s only going to get prettier over the next few years, so it stands to reason that he would be the first of many to obsess over her. Lord Briarly is the second, I suppose.”
Duncan silently digested this story. He could well understand why Alberta had run the under-gardener out of the castle, if it was true. He could also understand why Bellinda would not want the story told, but he didn’t entirely agree with that decision. It was yet another case where Alberta was believed to be a villain because the whole truth was not known.
“Did you tell your father the truth at least?” he asked.
She scoffed. “No.”
“Why not?”
“It’s bad enough that he knows about Lord Briarly now, scurrilous as those charges are. I’d hate for him to see it as a trend instead of an isolated incident. I’m fairly certain that his method of resolving such a problem would be to marry Bella off to a man he believed could protect her. How can she seduce away Mae’s suitors if she’s married? That would be indecent—not to mention that he would probably marry off Mae and me both at the same time to justify his youngest child’s marriage. He’s oddly traditional about these things.”
Duncan surmised from her words that she was suspicious of the “attempted abduction” from that afternoon as well. He thought it probably best to leave that topic alone, though. “So why do you carry a measure of the stuff?” he asked. The moment the words left his mouth, he realized it was a tactless question.
Alberta didn’t seem to mind. “Roughly the same reason Bella does,” she said. “Although, in my case it’s because people hate me, not because they love me so very much. I’ve never actually used it on anyone other than myself, though.”
He stared at her incredulously. “Why would you use it on yourself?”
“To test its potency, of course,” said Alberta logically. “I washed it right off again. It only cost me an hour’s inconvenience, and it’s not as though I could test it on anyone else. Or what, you think I should’ve called some hapless servant up to my room to get a handful of the stuff in his face?”
“That’s what a real villain would have done,” said Duncan dryly.
She scowled and would have made some retort but something bright suddenly flashed across their path. Both horses abruptly stopped.
The light was gone, swallowed by the pitch-blackness of the forest around them. Duncan had not realized how deep they had traveled into the woods. When he looked up, he could hardly see the night sky through the choke of leafy silhouettes that loomed overhead. Only Alberta’s hooded lantern broke the darkness here, and that only in a single, pale shaft of light.
“Who’s there?” Alberta called.
Childlike laughter answered from the shadows. A chill shot up Duncan’s spine, and he very nearly urged Wildfire to run in the opposite direction.
“Who’s there?” Alberta inquired again. There was only a slight tremor in her voice. Duncan had to give her credit for keeping her cool in such a nerve-wracking situation.
Ahead of them, a globe of light blossomed and darted forward. It flew first to Alberta’s face, then to Wildfire’s, and finally up to Duncan’s. He saw a tiny winged creature encased in that light. It studied him for an instant and then darted away again to plant itself in the middle of the road. In a puff of smoke, a child suddenly stood before them.
“Who are you?” it asked in a piping voice. Large, vacant eyes stared up at them. In the darkness beyond, two more globes of light appeared and hovered at a distance, only to disappear again.
Alberta exchanged a glance with Duncan. “I am Princess Alberta of Meridiana,” she said boldly. “This man is called Scurvyhead.”
“What about the other one?” asked the child cryptically.
“Other one?” Alberta echoed, and she glanced back over one shoulder in confusion.
Duncan thought it best to take control of the situation. “I’ve come with my horse, Wildfire, to ask the fairies about a curse,” he said politely.
The child nodded ponderously. “I can take you further in,” it said. “Not you, Princess Pat,” it added severely to Alberta. “Only those who have been fairy-cursed can come into our warren. Unless you’d like me to curse you…?” This question was wistful, and the child eyed her almost hopefully.
“No, thank you,” said Alberta. “I’ll just wait right here.”
“You can go back to the castle,” Duncan told her under his breath. “There’s no reason for you to have to wait by yourself, here in the dark.”
“I have a lantern,” she replied. “Go on. Waiting here by myself won’t be much worse than trying to make my way alone back to the castle.”
“I’ll come back as soon as I can,” he promised.
The child on the path ahead of them suddenly vanished in another puff of smoke, replaced by the globe of light. “This way,” it commanded him in a much higher frequency. Then, it meandered further up the road.
Wildfire followed. Duncan g
lanced back over his shoulder to see Alberta alone, a ghostly silhouette illuminated by the feeble light of her lantern. She disappeared as they turned a bend in the road.
Suddenly Wildfire asked, “Are you a fool, Duncan? What are we doing here?”
“We’re consulting the fairies about your curse,” Duncan replied. “It was Princess Alberta’s idea.”
“You told her?”
“No! That is, I told her I had a friend who was cursed, and that I’d sworn to break it. I asked for her help in return for letting her boss me around as she pleased.”
Wildfire grunted. “You do know this is utter foolishness, walking into a fairy-glen, don’t you?”
“And you knew we were coming here after we passed the abbey,” Duncan replied. Alberta had mentioned fairies, he was certain. “If you didn’t want to, you could’ve just balked back at the forest’s edge.”
The white horse said nothing to this. He wanted to come, Duncan knew, or he would have prevented it as he was perfectly capable of doing. Perhaps even he had realized that this option needed to be explored.
Ahead, the globe of light danced a merry pattern into the night. It was joined by a second globe, and Duncan heard some high-pitched chatter, but it was too high for him to make out any words. The second globe of light suddenly darted back to inspect him and Wildfire both. It floated alongside them as they progressed.
More globes appeared, not just on the path, but in the woods around them, behind trees and within bushes. Most of them moved in the same direction, and many chose to join the little procession down the path. Duncan’s nerves flared to life as he wondered just how many fairies there actually were.
What had started as a high-pitched hum around them grew into a buzz as the numbers increased. He felt like he was surrounded by a hundred bright-burning stars. Their chatter drowned out the nighttime noises of the forest.
He caught sight of a brighter glow up ahead. It grew in strength the closer they came, until they finally reached its source, a clearing filled with thousands upon thousands of little glowing fairies. The creatures danced and spun like a clash of intersecting whirlwinds. Duncan could not see the forest on the other side for the sheer number and brightness before him.
Their guide flitted into the humming frenzy. A moment later, a pathway parted. At the end stood a small child with long golden curls and large eyes. Duncan dismounted and carefully led Wildfire through the luminous path. The swirl of movement abated as thousands of tiny eyes fixed upon the pair.
He stood before the child and wondered whether he should bow or make some other sign of homage.
Before he could do anything, though, the fairy spoke. “You’ve come to consult about a curse, Sir Goldmayne?”
Duncan started. “How did you—?”
“—know?” she finished archly. There was something very like Alberta in the way she tilted her head to look at him, he thought. “We know all about the boy who wears a sheepskin to cover his golden hair. I’ll thank you to keep your head covered, as well. Knowledge of gold is an easy enough temptation to resist, but the sight of it is another matter entirely.”
He glanced around at the thousands of fairies that breathlessly watched and thought it wise to follow this child’s advice. “Do you know about Wildfire’s curse as well, then?”
She looked at the white horse knowingly. “Yes, of course. We can recognize Dame Groach’s handiwork quite easily. That’s a nasty curse. I don’t think even she has the power to lift it.”
“So there is no cure?” Duncan asked in disappointment. “No true love’s kiss or anything like that?”
The fairy pealed with laughter. “No, no,” she said merrily. “True love only breaks a curse from a fairy who doesn’t actually believe it exists. Groach knows it does by now, the silly creature. No, the only cure for your friend is death.”
Duncan recalled his conversation with Alberta. “Dame Groach’s death?” he asked, to clarify what she meant.
She bit her lip and looked away. “Her death will break some curses,” she said ambiguously.
“Will it break Wildfire’s?”
“Who can tell?”
From above, two voices chirped. Duncan thought they were more high-pitched fairies until a pair of tiny bodies flitted down to land in front of the child. Two small yellow canaries hopped upon the ground as they chattered up at her. One of them had bands of gray upon its wings, Duncan noticed with dawning recognition.
“All right, all right,” said the child as though harassed into a course of action she did not wish to follow. Her eyes lifted to Duncan again. “Death is the only cure for this transformation curse,” she reiterated. “Choose something quick, or your friend will suffer needlessly.”
“I’m not going to kill him!” Duncan cried. He was getting tired of explaining this to people, too.
“Then he can stay a horse,” the child casually replied. “That’s not so very bad.”
The two canaries chirped and hopped up and down indignantly.
“Fine,” said the child, and she rolled her eyes. “Perhaps living in a different form is more difficult than I think. If you kill Dame Groach,” she told Duncan, “we will give you a reward for your trouble.”
“A cure?” asked Duncan hopefully.
“A reward,” she said firmly. “You may thank these two for that honor, too. They were captured by Dame Groach ages ago when she found them on her estate, but you set them free from their cage. She’s grown too powerful if she can curse even fairies, but their curse will end with her death. If you can defeat her, we will reward you for your good deed. If you cannot, we have done as much as we can for you.”
The two canaries fluttered from the ground up to Duncan’s shoulder and chirped encouragingly at him.
“They’ve watched you over the past couple of years,” said the child. “They believe you can defeat Dame Groach.”
“I don’t know about that,” said Duncan dubiously.
“It is your choice. We cannot force a human to follow our whims. These two will continue to watch over you, though. If you can defeat Groach and restore them to their fairy-forms, you will receive a very valuable reward. It will be of great use to you.”
He nodded, still uncertain. “Thank you for your help,” he said quietly. They could not give him a cure for Wildfire and he saw no need for any other reward, but he would not offend them by saying as much.
“Will you return now?” asked the child.
“Yes, I think so.”
She gestured to the bright path behind him. “Then goodbye, Sir Goldmayne.” She disappeared in a flash of light, replaced by a tiny, winged creature that darted back into the crowd around her. The two canaries fluttered up into the bright trees above.
“Goodbye,” said Duncan vaguely, and he led Wildfire out, away from the glen of fairies. The mesmerizing whirlwind resumed behind him.
He had no escort on his return and could only hope that the path he followed was correct. Every so often he would catch sight of a fairy-light in the woods around him, but it was always going the opposite direction, back toward the glen. Duncan took this as a good sign and continued onward.
He nearly cried out with joy when he caught sight of lantern light. He trotted forward with Wildfire close behind him. Princess Alberta had dismounted her horse and removed the hood from her lantern. She sat at the base of a tall tree, bathed in light amid the oppressing shadows around her. After his otherworldly encounter with the fairies, he thought he’d never seen such a beautiful sight.
She heard him come and stood apprehensively to peer into the darkness.
“It’s me,” Duncan called, for he realized she could not yet see him.
The tenseness in her shoulders ebbed but did not entirely disappear. Duncan approached the circumference of her lantern’s glow with caution, recalling that, like her sister, she carried a measure of drawer thirteen and would no doubt use it if she felt the need.
“Are you all right?” he asked her. “How lon
g was I gone? Has anything happened?”
She didn’t answer any of these questions. Instead, “What’s the square root of four thousand ninety-six?” she inquired suspiciously.
Duncan wondered if she had lost her mind. “Sixty-four,” he replied all the same.
A sigh of relief wrenched from her throat, and she snatched up the lantern. “Let’s get out of here,” she said, and she hoisted herself up into the saddle.
“What was that all about?” Duncan asked after he had done the same.
“No fewer than five apparitions that looked exactly like you have wandered by this way and tried to lead me off somewhere,” Alberta retorted. “I suspect there’s a fairy lurking out there in the darkness, and it thought to pass its time playing tricks on me.”
Guilt flooded over him. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“I’ll warn you right now that the moment we’re clear of the woods, I’m urging my horse into a full gallop back to the castle,” said Alberta. He suddenly realized that her ill humor was forced, a mechanism to control the trembling in her voice.
“All right,” he said gently from where he rode next to her. He considered reaching out a hand to comfort her, but he thought she might just bolt, as skittish as she was. A moment of silence passed. “How did you know it wasn’t me?” he asked when he could bear it no more.
She was very still for a breath. Then, “The first one started to act strange,” she said, “to say strange things. So I asked it things only you would know.”
“Fairies don’t know numbers?” Duncan asked curiously.
Alberta scoffed. “This one didn’t. It proudly told me that the sum of five and seven was eleventy-two. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Did they give you a cure for your friend’s curse?”
“No,” said Duncan. “There is no cure—not one that I can use, anyway.”
Her attention snapped to his face, her own ordeal momentarily forgotten. “I’m sorry,” she told him.
He smiled wanly. “It’s not your fault. At least I know for certain now. I’m sorry you had to sit alone in the dark woods while I wandered off on a fruitless errand.”
Goldmayne: A Fairy Tale Page 29