by M. A. Larson
“What difference does it make how I do it? This is what a princess is supposed to do!”
“No, a princess is supposed to complete the mission!” bellowed the Fairy Drillsergeant. “It’s not enough to be courageous and compassionate and kind! You’ve got to be disciplined, Cadet! You’ve got to be smart!”
Finally Kelbra stood and brushed off her uniform. Her face was twisted into a mask of anger. “You expect us to be perfect all the time! Well, I’m sorry I’m not perfect, all right?”
“It’s not about being perfect. All of you, come here!” The Leatherwolf cadets crossed the courtyard and assembled in front of her. “Listen closely. Perfection plays no part in becoming a princess. Each of you is going to make mistakes in the field. Every princess and every knight who has ever lived has made mistakes in the field. What makes you a true princess is how you handle those mistakes.”
Kelbra huffed, but said nothing.
“Cadets, you must be able to perform at a level that’s not expected of ordinary people. Your mission is constantly changing, and you’ve got to have the discipline to recognize what the current mission is. A carriage crash becomes evasion, which then becomes rescue. You’ve got to be able to assess the situation and adapt to what’s around you. Adapt or die.”
There was silence beneath the softly falling snow. Nearby, another company cheered for some unseen victory.
“Courage and compassion are your primary weapons, but you can’t use a hammer to fix a leak. Assess the mission, and be prepared for change.” She snapped her wand, and the carriage began to lift off its top and creak back onto its wheels. “Now, who’s next?”
By the time the morning finally ended, Evie had endured three carriage crashes and been struck by the simulated witch spells twice. The second had hit her squarely in the chest, leaving a lingering sensation of burning skin. It was incredibly uncomfortable, though not as uncomfortable as the giant purple bruise on her leg from the second crash. Still, all the pain faded away when Princess Copperpot handed Evie her usual sack of letters. This time she found a bundle wrapped in a well-worn piece of tanned deerskin mixed in with all the rest. She held her breath as she flipped the folds of the deerskin back. Inside was a large stack of parchments, brittle and aged. And on top of that was a fresh parchment hawk. It was the one she’d been waiting for. It was from Anisette.
Evie, it read. There’s no nice way to tell you this, so I’ll just say it plain. By the time me and Camilla got to Callahan Manor, someone else had already been there. Most of it had been burned to the studs. Just about everything was smashed to bits or taken away and there was no evidence for us to collect. We did find one thing, though, and it seems like the sort of thing you’d want straightaway, so here it is. Beneath the rubble and ash, Camilla found a hidden doorway to a secret crawl space beneath the house. There wasn’t much there that escaped the fire, but she did find this deerskin bundle. She says it must be enchanted, since it stood up to the fire so well. As for what’s inside, well, I’ll just leave that to you. Sorry again about your house, Evie. It was a good idea, but it looks like the witches were a step ahead of us this time. Hope all is well there. Lots of love to Maggie and Demetra and Basil.
Torches had started to go out around the barracks as the girls settled in for the night. Evie set Anisette’s note aside and picked up the top parchment on the stack. There must have been forty or fifty of them there, all folded the same, all frayed and torn around the edges. She gently opened it, careful to not break it at the folds. The writing inside was unfamiliar to her. It was done in a heavy hand, the ink strokes thick and swirling.
My dearest Vorabend, the letter began. What’s a sailing ship to do when the winds stop blowing? Or a fish when water becomes sand? Where am I to start? How am I to start? Carrying on without you will be the most difficult thing I’ve ever done, and I’ve eaten your mother’s cooking.
Evie laughed, though she still wasn’t entirely sure what it was she was reading.
I’ve no idea how to do any of this without you, the letter continued. I’m a man broken. Broken and scared. This is not the life for which I’d prepared, my darling. You are the life for which I’d prepared, and now you are gone. It is my fault you are gone, though I know you’d never have forgiven me had I made a different choice. The only comfort I can take from all of this is that even if I can never forgive myself, I know that you’ve already done so. There is one other comfort, I suppose, and I’d wager that’s the one you’d really like to hear about. Not my moaning and carrying on. So let me tell you about this magical little creature you’ve left me with. This magical little Malora—
Evie gasped. Her hand went to her mouth. Tears streamed from her eyes. It was her father who had written this letter. And he’d written it to her mother.
Before anyone noticed her tears, Evie folded up the deerskin and carried it back toward the latrine. Her breath was coming fast and short, and she was suddenly feeling quite lightheaded. There were still a few girls coming and going, so she ducked down behind one of the empty bunks that had, until recently, housed one of her company-mates. There, she sat on the floor and started reading again:
. . . This magical little Malora. That’s right, my dear, I named her after your mother, just as you’d always wanted. Now you’ll forgive me if I never use that bloody name ever again. Ha-ha-ha. This little babe of yours is as soft and sweet and fuzzy as a ripe peach. So that’s what I’ve taken to calling her. My little Peach. Our little Peach. She looks like you, darling Vora, really she does. I can’t tell you the comfort that gives me. And it’s only in part because it means she isn’t a big ugly beast like her father. Ha-ha-ha. I’ve always known you were meant to be my life’s companion. Now it seems this one may turn out to be. But you’re in every bit of her. Your face. Your spirit. And so you’ll continue to be my life’s companion through this lovely little girl.
I’m sorry to write such a dour letter, my dearest, but I know it’ll never be sent, so I don’t feel too terrible about it. I just want you to know, Vora, wherever you may be beneath these vast, twinkling stars, that I will protect this girl. I will protect her with my life. On that, you have my word. You gave your life and entrusted her to me, and I’ll give mine to keep her safe. I love this little Peach with the ferocity of a dragon and the strength of a lion and the tenderness of her very own mother. I love her, my sweet girl, as I have always loved you. Your adoring husband, now and forever, C.
Evie could barely see the words through her tears and trembling hands. She didn’t want anyone to hear her. She wanted this moment all to herself, but it was nearly impossible to keep from sobbing. These were her father’s words. Her father, whom she could never know, was suddenly alive, and he was speaking about her in these letters . . . Evie. More than that, he had found a way to speak to her.
She wiped away her tears and peeked over the top of the bunk. Luckily, no one seemed to have noticed her. So she ducked back down, and by the light of the candles in the wall, read another letter:
My dearest Vora. Your little one had her first taste of boar today. I’ll never forget the day I gave you your first taste. You spit it across the room and chased me out the door with a frying pan. Well, this little girl couldn’t do that even if she wanted to. Ha-ha-ha. I know what you’re probably thinking. Callahan, you old fool, she’s only got four teeth, what are you doing giving her boar? Well, you wouldn’t believe the tiny little morsel I managed to chew off for her. And her eyes when she got it in her mouth! She’s got her father’s taste for meat, I’m afraid. She must’ve gummed that piece of boar for half an hour! Ha-ha-ha. I started to think she might learn to talk right then and there just so she could ask for more . . .
Evie set it aside and pulled out another from halfway down the stack:
Beloved Vora, today was a bit of a rough one for me, I’ll not lie to you about that. Peach and I went for a ride in the forest. When we came to the spring—you rem
ember that spring, don’t you? The one with the smooth stone bottom where we had our first picnic, and you gave me a right tongue-lashing for bringing my sword?—when we got there, she said she wanted to have a swim. “Swim, Dada.” That’s how she says it. It was a glorious summer day, your favorite kind of day, I well remember. So in we went. We were having a lovely old time splashing about in there. It was her little laugh that got me. I was holding her so her head was above water and she was kicking and having a grand old time. And oh, did she laugh! It was so pure and so innocent and joyful that I just started blubbering, right there in that spring. Can you imagine! Me, a slobbery old fool sopping around in the water like that! I’ve always done my level best to keep from crying round her. I don’t want to worry the poor thing about her big old Dada’s tears, but the sound of her laughter went right to my heart. I told her it was just her feet splashing water in my eyes and she believed it, the gullible little sap . . .
Evie smiled through her tears as she took out another letter:
My darling Vora, how often I wonder where you are. The Peach and I spent the better part of the night looking up at the stars. She asked me tonight what’s past the stars and I told her she’d find out someday . . .
And another:
Ah, Vora, you would have loved what your little one did last night. She was worried that the dogs would be cold in the night, so she crept out to the kennel with her own little blanket. And that’s where I found her this morning, sleeping in a pile of those slobbery beasts. You remember Winston, of course, the gentlest dog known to man. I found Peach this morning sound asleep with her little hand wrapped round his ear . . .
And another, this one from nearer the bottom of the stack:
My dearest Vora, you know by now how difficult it is for me to write you about the Countess, but it’s important for me to be honest with you always, and I want you to know your little one is being well looked after. You needn’t ever worry that another would replace you in my heart, darling Vora. You are the rest of me, and always will be. You and your daughter, that is. I love the Countess in a very different way. We’ve both lost someone dear to us, and she can provide Malora with the structure and motherliness that I simply can’t. She’s also got a little one of her own called Nicolina, a girl with black hair and a cool temperament, but a constant playmate for our daughter. I’m hoping that the two girls will become fast friends as they spend more and more time together. That would be another wonderful thing for our daughter that I can’t give her on my own . . .
Evie slammed the letter down. Her heart was racing and her stomach was in knots and she knew she would not be able to sleep that night, or perhaps any night in the near future. She was meeting her father for the first time, and he was proving to be the most caring, the most thoughtful, the most selfless man she ever could have imagined. He’d been raising her, Evie, completely on his own. What had happened to his wife, to Evie’s mother? Had she died? Had she been taken somewhere? Had she run off? Whatever the case, it was clear that the King had loved her in ways known only to the poets.
She leaned back and rested her head on the empty mattress behind her. She’d read only parts of some of the letters, but already she felt bone-weary. Tears continued to fall. She’d never imagined it could be possible to feel such profound, blood-level love for someone she had never met, and never would—
Her finger found something on the bottom of the deerskin bundle. She looked underneath and found a parchment stuck there by its wax seal. She peeled it free, and her heart stopped.
The parchment was a darker shade than usual, like the one she’d gotten months earlier. She stared at it for a moment, then slowly, carefully, she lifted it by the corner, as though it were written in poison. It appeared to be a crudely made envelope, two parchment hawks sewn together. With a nervous gulp, she opened the seal. And there she found the same jagged script as before: Someone inside is more than she seems, it said. The signature read only, a friend. On a separate piece of parchment, there were more words scrawled in that sinister, dried-blood hue . . .
Victory lives inside Pennyroyal Akademie!
March, sisters, rise and march!
And just like that, the overwhelming love she’d been feeling was replaced by fear.
The goat nudged a small silver dagger with her snout. The pommel was carved from bone to look like a skeletal hand enveloping the bottom of the blade. “Take a look at this little lovely,” said Princess Ziegenbart. “It’s quite fearsome, isn’t it? But when was the last time you heard of a witch stabbing someone?” There were scattered nervous chuckles. “These are used primarily in the kitchen, preparing cauldrons and potions and the like. So should you encounter a witch with one of these in her hand, I would still recommend paying more attention to her magic than to her blade.”
Evie looked over at Maggie, who was chewing the end of her goose-quill pen. Then her eyes went to Demetra, who was pointing at the blade and whispering something to Liv. Her head hurt from the combination of no sleep and a night of intense emotions and tears. And that wasn’t even taking the second threat into account. She was overwhelmed. She needed help.
“This next obaa-a-a-a-a-agh-agh-agh!” bleated Princess Ziegenbart. “Ahem, pardon me, this next object is of particular fascination. Especially should you decide to join the Cauldron Tippers. When hunting for witches, one must always pay particular attention to mirrors.” She used her teeth to pick up a smoky hand mirror inside an elaborately carved wooden frame. She showed it to the cadets, then set it down again. “A witch will use an enchanted mirror to see into the past, the present, or even the future. This is a process called ‘scrying,’ and I’m sure you’ve all heard it used in . . .”
“‘Snow White,’” said the group.
“‘Snow White,’ that’s correct! Good knowledge, cadets. When the wicked witch asked the magic mirror for help, she was practicing a form of scrying. Pay special attention when mirrors are involved, cadets. They will show you where the enemy is. Witches and their sympathizers love to use them in their dark practices.”
Evie’s leg was pumping up and down. She was having a hard time sitting still. She needed to talk to someone or she was going to explode. Finally, Ziegenbart finished with the witch paraphernalia and began dividing the class for small-group work.
“Teams of four, please. I’d like you to think through the fairy stories and come up with three other examples of witch artifacts.”
Evie shot up off of her straw bale and went straight to Maggie. “You. Come with me.”
Maggie looked shocked. She didn’t say a word, she just stood and followed. They crossed to Demetra, who was already sitting with Nessa and Liv.
“Sorry, girls, she’s working with us today.”
“Excuse me?” said Nessa.
Demetra looked up at her in confusion.
“Come on, Demetra.”
“Are you serious? She doesn’t have to go with you.”
Evie glared at Nessa, who wilted beneath it. “Come on, Demetra.”
Demetra apologized to Nessa and Liv with her eyes, then got up and followed Evie to the back of the room.
Basil was sitting by himself, chewing on a piece of straw. “Oh. Hello.” He was surprised to see Maggie and Demetra sitting down with Evie.
“Right,” said Evie, “here’s our four.”
Basil, Maggie, and Demetra exchanged uncomfortable looks.
“Look, I know we’ve had a rough go of it this year,” said Evie, “but right now I don’t care about any of that. I just want to figure this out and put it behind us.”
“I’ve got no problem with anyone,” said Demetra.
“Nor do I,” said Maggie.
Basil sighed and slumped over.
“You,” said Evie, wheeling on Demetra. “You’ve got your new friends and that’s fine. That’s good. We’re happy for you. But it doesn’t give you the right to t
hrow us over.”
“I—”
“And you,” she continued, turning to Maggie. “Yes, Princess Copperpot put you on notice the very first day we were back. That wasn’t fair of her, and it threw off your entire year. But you’re living your life in fear, and quite frankly, it’s annoying.”
Maggie’s mouth dropped open in offense.
“And then there’s you,” continued Evie, pointing at Basil.
“Me!” he shouted in surprise. “What did I do?”
“I’m still cross with you for trying to transfer away from us! We’re supposed to be stronger than this!”
“Hang on,” said Basil, about to be offended.
“Maggie . . .” She took her hand. “Demetra . . .” Then she took her hand. “I need you both.”
“I’ve got no issue with you, Evie,” said Demetra. “But I’m tired of her snapping at me all the time. I don’t deserve it and I don’t like it.”
“Well, pardon me for actually caring about my training. Honestly, Demetra, I wouldn’t snap at you if it seemed like you actually wanted to be here.”
“Who do you think you are?” Demetra stood and took a step toward Maggie. “You’ve been condescending and judgmental ever since Waldeck!”
Maggie stood and took a step toward Demetra. “How dare you pretend you’ve even noticed I was here this year!”
“Girls . . .” said Evie. The conversation she’d hoped to start was quickly spiraling out of control. She glanced over at Princess Ziegenbart, but luckily the goat hadn’t noticed the commotion.
“You are without a doubt the most ungrateful person I’ve ever met!” said Maggie. “You have no idea how much you take for granted!”
“Uh, Maggie?” said Basil. “Don’t say that.”
“Take that back, you jealous hag!” said Demetra, shoving Maggie in the chest.
“No, don’t say that either,” said Basil.