Before the Broken Star

by King, Emily R.

  “What happened?” I ask, sitting beside them.

  “Harlow told her about Dorcha,” Claret explains.

  Vevina tsks at Harlow.

  Quinn releases the Cat and clings to me. “I don’t want to be at sea. I don’t want to go to the Ruined Kingdom. I want to go home.”

  The women around us hush. I stroke Quinn’s hair to distract her from the alarm she has drawn out in the others. “My mother would read The Legend of Princess Amadara aloud when I was young. It’s not a frightening tale.”

  Quinn rolls her eyes upward. “Will you tell it to me?”

  “I don’t think—”

  “I’d like to hear it too,” Claret says. She shrugs at Laverick’s slantwise glance. “I haven’t heard it told from beginning to end in a long while.”

  “For mercy’s sake, it’s just a child’s tale,” says Harlow.

  “It’s more than that now,” replies Vevina.

  Several women nod. Everything we know about our future home stems from legend. Many versions of the tale circulate, though none are as comprehensive as the one my mother told. She read the legend from a storybook the queen gave my father from her royal library as a gift for sailing on her behalf. The book was a casualty of the fire that destroyed our home.

  The remnants of tears shine in Quinn’s eyes. “Please, Everley.”

  “It’s been years since I’ve heard the story or told it,” I hedge.

  “Oh, just tell the story,” Harlow says. “Anything’s better than listening to her cry.”

  All the women wait for my reply.

  “All right,” I concede. The tale of the Ruined Kingdom was a nightly favorite in our home. Mother would read from her chair, her corn-silk hair soft around her slim face, her eyes as enchanting as starlight. I think of her engaging voice as I begin. “This is The Legend of Princess Amadara, Majesty of the Trees, who felled a kingdom and tore time.”

  Laverick and Claret lean forward to hear better. Harlow inspects her nails, but her tensed posture gives away her interest. Vevina watches me with her full attention, as do Quinn and the many women around us. I swallow a barb of nerves and tell the story.

  “Within the borders of a peaceful kingdom lay a gate to the Everwoods. In this walled grove, the seasons did not change. Princess Amadara, heir to the throne, looked out from her castle balcony at the Everwoods’s leafy canopy. The trees towered higher than the tallest castle spire, and it was commonly believed that their crowns of leaves held up the sky.”

  “Do trees really hold up the sky?” Quinn asks.

  “How else do you think the sky stays above us, if not for the trees?” replies Laverick.

  Harlow scoffs. I expected her derision, so I push on before she can spoil the story. “One spring day, when the princess was your age”—I tap Quinn’s head—“she snuck out of the castle and found a tunnel into the forest. Mortals were forbidden in the Everwoods. Father Time, the forest’s guardian, patrolled the grounds for trespassers with his ancient sword, given to him by the Creator herself. He came upon the princess skipping through the ferny undergrowth but did not approach her. The trees welcomed the princess, dropping their branches so she could brush their leaves with her fingertips. Sprites braided her hair, pixies sang her ballads, and gnomes laid flowers at her feet. Father Time watched Amadara until dusk when she returned to the castle.”

  “Did she get into trouble for leaving home?” Quinn asks.

  “The legend doesn’t say,” I reply. “Though she mustn’t have, because thereafter the princess returned to the forest. Before long, her greatest friends were within its locked gates. Amadara was adored by the flowers, whose beauty matched her own, and taught by the wisest trees in the world, the elderwoods. Majesty of Trees, Father Time named the princess, for she spent every spare daylight hour under the forest canopy.”

  “Sounds wonderful.” Claret sighs, and Quinn nods.

  “Over the years,” I say, “the princess grew from a spirited child to a fair young woman who Father Time fell in love with. He left sweet-scented flowers by her hand and watched as she napped, cradled in the elderwood’s great roots.”

  Claret releases a dreamy exhale. Laverick rests her head against her friend, the two of them propped like bookends.

  I used to sit with Isleen the same way back to back, sister to sister.

  “Upon waking from a nap one afternoon, the princess blinked up into Father Time’s ageless face. Amadara did not fear him or the sword in his possession. She had felt his presence and knew him through the steady beat of her heart. For time was always with her.”

  “If I woke up to a strange man staring at me, he’d meet the force of my fists,” says Harlow.

  “Fortunately for us, you aren’t telling the story,” Vevina answers.

  Harlow grumbles something indecipherable but unmistakably spiteful. I talk over her.

  “Princess Amadara and Father Time became dear friends. Theirs was a bond as strong and deep as the twisting roots that tied the elderwoods to the land. At the end of each day, when the trees could no longer bear the burden of the sun, the princess lamented over leaving her friends. She wished to always dwell in the Everwoods. She feared the world, and in the forest, with Father Time as her guardian, she felt safe. He told her that could not be. Amadara would leave him someday and not return. She was so dismayed that she resolved to prove him wrong. The princess lingered in the forest after sundown and did not leave the view of the stars that night, nor the next or the next.”

  “She must have been missed,” Quinn says, relaxing against me. “Did anyone search for her?”

  “They tried,” Laverick answers. “The forest wouldn’t let them in and she wouldn’t go to them.”

  “Several decades passed,” I say, “and Amadara did not set foot outside the forest. She whittled away the days with Father Time, crafting crowns of daisies and sleeping in the treetops. The princess became so much a part of the woods that she learned its secrets. For hidden in the heart of the ancient elderwood trees beat creation power—life power, or the power to breathe life into existence—which nourished the forest, brightened the leaves, suspended the sky, and fed the foliage and fauna. This life-giving magic preserved the princess’s youth. Though the days rolled on outside the woodland garden, time was not upon her. Amadara remained as lovely as when she’d last entered the Everwoods.”

  “Wouldn’t that be grand,” Vevina drawls. “Immortality and beauty.”

  A few of the women snigger.

  “Then one day,” I say, “a prince burrowed beneath the forest hedge. He’d heard a princess lived there. The elderwoods left him alone, for he carried a watch that beat time. He didn’t go far before he came upon Princess Amadara sitting on a mossy log. The prince gazed upon her and fell in love.”

  I anticipate Harlow or Vevina will make a jest about love at first sight, but neither speaks.

  “Princess Amadara marveled at the prince. She hadn’t seen a mortal in ages and had forgotten the warmth of flesh and blood. The prince told Amadara that her family was long dead. She’d been in the forest for a century. In her absence, the prince’s father had assumed the throne. Shortly thereafter, the king had passed on, leaving the prince as ruler. Amadara thought she had been gone a short while and desired to see the lapse of time herself. She searched for Father Time but found only his sword. She took it, for she still feared the outside world, and returned to her kingdom with the prince.”

  “She left without saying goodbye?” Laverick asks.

  Vevina winds a curl of her own hair around her finger. “Can’t say I blame her. She hadn’t seen a man in a century, and the prince must have been handsome.”

  Laverick crosses her arms over her chest. “What about Father Time?”

  “He knew she was going to leave.” Harlow waves a hand to dismiss our collective surprise at her contribution. “What? You aren’t the only ones listening.”

  “Harlow’s correct,” I say. “Father Time foretold that the princess woul
d leave him, so he left the hidden passage from her kingdom to the Everwoods open should she wish to return.”

  “What happened next?” Quinn asks.

  “The prince and princess wed.”

  “Shouldn’t they be king and queen since they’re married?” Claret asks.

  I sigh, wondering if this is how my mother felt when I interrupted her storytelling. “For the sake of clarity, we’ll refer to them as the prince and princess. They were happy together for some time, and then a far-off nation threatened to invade their kingdom. Conflict mounted to a declaration of war. On the eve of battle, the soldiers prepared to meet their enemy. The princess and prince spent a final evening together. The prince promised his return, but in truth, he was afraid of perishing in battle. To comfort him, Amadara confided in the prince that eternal life was hidden in the heart of the ancient elderwoods. She said a messenger would send word if the prince was wounded, and she would ask Father Time for access to this life-saving power.”

  Harlow sniffs loudly. “Why didn’t the princess ask Father Time for help before the prince went to war?”

  “Amadara didn’t want to pillage the forest unless she had to,” Claret replies.

  “Both of you shh,” Laverick says. “This is the best part.”

  Harlow and Claret swap glares, and I push on.

  “The prince still feared he would die in battle, so he crept from bed while Amadara slept, took up Father Time’s sword, and went through the passageway into the Everwoods. He wandered deep into the forest, kneeled before one of the oldest and tallest elderwoods, and drew the sword. The prince did not know the weapon was a holy blade forged from a star. He held the sword of Avelyn, the very weapon the Creator wielded to cut the seven worlds from the heavens. With the hallowed sword, the prince hacked into the elderwood to harvest its heartwood. As the blade pierced the bark, Amadara woke in her bed. Her own chest bled as though her heart was carved from her. She had spent so long in the forest, preserved by its powers, her spirit had entwined with the trees. Father Time heard Princess Amadara’s cries and went to her. He drew her into his arms and foresaw that should the elderwood die, so would she. Upon returning to find the princess dead, the prince would fall into despair and their enemy would overcome them.”

  Quinn holds her breath. The whole of the area is silent except for the wind in the sails.

  “As the princess lay dying, Father Time pressed a piece of time into her hand. As gossamer as butterfly wings and as pure as crystal water, he gifted her with the power to halt time and cease her suffering. Princess Amadara understood that she could not change the past, but she could save her prince. In the Everwoods, he was free from time and would remain safe.”

  Tears drip down Claret’s and Laverick’s faces. Quinn’s eyes fill with sadness.

  “When the prince was nearly finished sawing the heartwood from the elderwood, the princess tore the delicate fabric, breaking time in her world. From the protection of the Everwoods, the prince felt the shift into the eternities and looked to his frozen castle.”

  Quinn covers a soundless gasp, hanging on every word.

  “Father Time appeared to the prince and told him of Amadara’s fate. The prince raged at him for not coming sooner and lamented the loss of his princess. Father Time said he sprinkled a treasured elderwood seed upon Amadara’s head just before she tore time. The seed would grow into a tree and preserve her. Then Father Time banished the prince into a lonely world far away from his kingdom.”

  “Wait!” says Harlow. “Father Time cast out the prince to another world?”

  Vevina beats me to a reply. “The princess was locked in one world and the prince was banished to another.”

  “Amadara’s entire world is frozen?” Quinn asks, dumbstruck. “I thought only her kingdom was trapped in time?”

  “It depends on the storyteller,” I answer swiftly to dispel confusion. “The version I was told teaches that Amadara’s kingdom was in one world and the prince was banished to another. The Everwoods is the bridge that links the Otherworlds together.”

  Vevina bows her head in accord. Before they can ask more questions, I return to the tale.

  “Branches swept the prince from the Everwoods and locked him out. Then, so he could not find the gate, Father Time cursed the island where the prince was deserted. Trees sprouted noxious thorns that impaled his arms, and terrible vines wrapped around his throat. He dropped the sword of Avelyn, which he was holding when he was banished, and lost it in the dire forest. The prince barely escaped, and when he looked back, a labyrinth of thorns stood between him and the gate to the Everwoods.” My voice lowers and softens. “The princess remains locked in time, preserved by a sacred elderwood tree, and the lost prince still wanders, striving to find a way back to his bride.”

  Quinn sniffles, Claret and Laverick dry their tears, and Harlow keeps her head down.

  “That’s a deplorable ending,” Vevina says, unmoved. “The prince betrayed the princess.”

  “He loved her,” Laverick counters. “He didn’t mean to hurt her. He didn’t know she was connected to the elderwoods.”

  “Do you think the lost prince is still looking for a way back to Amadara?” Quinn asks.

  Harlow’s chin snaps up. “If he is, he’s wasting his time. They had their chance, and it ended in tragedy.”

  “That’s because he nearly killed her,” Claret says, as if Harlow is dense.

  “He was punished for his mistake,” Harlow argues. “He lost everything, while the princess sleeps away—”

  “Sleeps?” Claret says. “She’s entombed in a tree!”

  “Which is her fault,” Harlow counters. “If Amadara loved the prince, she would have protected him.”

  “Father Time is the true hero,” Vevina declares. “He loved the princess even after he foresaw that she would leave him. He loved Amadara despite her marrying another. Even after she betrayed the forests’ secrets, he stopped her death.”

  They are all correct. The princess and prince both erred, and Father Time’s solution made everything worse. If the legend is to be believed, Amadara is locked in her eternal sacrifice, waiting for her prince to find a way back to their world and wake her, which will restart time. The ending is unfinished, so it spurs much debate.

  Quinn settles her head on my lap. “If Dagger Island is the cursed isle in the story, then what’s to become of us and the queen’s colony?”

  In those simple words, fact and fiction collide. I do not doubt the far-off island is untamed, but not for the reasons the tale would have us believe. Dagger Island is not hiding a gate to an enchanted forest that serves as a bridge to the Otherworlds. A princess was not entombed by a magical tree and left for a prince to save her. We are voyaging to a penal colony ruled by Governor Markham, where we will toil tirelessly to build a settlement and expand the queen’s rulership.

  “We won’t disturb the secrets of the island,” I say, feigning a smile. “And when our sentences are complete, we will return home.”

  “I like that ending the very best,” Quinn says, nuzzling her head against my lap, her lips lifted dreamily.

  Chapter Ten

  I wake before dawn and tiptoe out of the cabin. The wind has grown fangs, a biting chill that rakes across my skin. I tug on my gloves and hunker into my cloak. A tender red sky stains the eastern horizon. The deck is clear and the hatch open. I climb below, passing the women slumbering in their hammocks, and enter the galley. A cook prepares breakfast at the fire hearth. The huge iron stove is lit, smoke traveling up a chimney to the weather deck.

  “May I have hot water for washing, please?” I ask. The cook grunts and pours boiling water into a pail. “When may I return for breakfast?”

  “Half hour,” he says, stirring the wet oats.

  Hefting the pail, I retrace my steps up the ladder and onto the main deck. Cuthbert blocks my path. I stop short, catching the pail before it spills.

  “Where are you going, lass?” He taps closer to me on his pegge
d leg. “Has the lieutenant made a woman out of you yet?”

  I try to go around him, but he blocks me. I raise the pail of scalding water between us. “Come any closer and I’ll toss this on you.”

  “You ain’t worth the hassle,” Cuthbert answers. “Too old for my taste.”

  “Go near Quinn and I’ll cut you wide open.” The threat slips off my tongue, as fervent as a prayer.

  “With what? You ain’t got a blade.”

  “I didn’t say I’d use something sharp.”

  A sailor descends from the aftercastle from serving as lookout and lands on deck not two strides away. “It’s your shift now, Cuthbert,” he says.

  I march around them and return to my cabin. The abrupt loss of light momentarily dazes me. I set the pail down and hit Jamison’s boots sitting by the door. Water sloshes over the rim and onto my trousers.

  “Creator’s bones,” I curse.

  Jamison bolts upright from his bed on the floor. “What’s wrong?” He lights the lantern and sees the water spilled down my front. Humor brightens his eyes. “People generally bathe in the nude.”

  “The wash water is for you.” I blot the wet stains with my cloak while he stares at me incredulously. “Well? Are you going to get up and wash or sit there?”

  He sits in the chair near the pail. I toss him a washcloth and a bar of soap. His feet are bare and his breeches have ridden up to his knees. Above the hem of his pants, his right knee is mangled, as though the kneecap was twisted off and put back on crooked. I glance away, thinking of my own hidden scars.

  “Take your time,” I say. “I’ll return with breakfast.”

  “Everley, why . . . ?”

  I loathe our marriage, but he need not work himself to death to avoid me. Jamison is not the man I wish to see suffer. “Don’t misconstrue my meaning. This is a peace offering. Nothing more.”

  He nods slowly and then strips off his shirt. Flushed by the sight of his bare chest, I hurry out.

  On the morning of the following day, we make port in a cove off a craggy coastline. Jamison, Captain Dabney, and several crewmen prepare to row to shore for supplies.