His arm would surely snap if I squeezed any harder. “Why would you tell Emmeline that I was dead?”
“I didn’t want her thinking you might rescue her. I was hoping she’d help me. I was trying to get coin for my daughter.” He was weaving his lies again. “I kept my daughter, Lara, in a hidden place so no one would kill her. They kill lepers. They burn them alive. I wanted Emmeline to make me rich so I could buy Lara a nice house where she could live in secret.” Pain clung to every inch of his face. “Where she could have nice things again. But the leprosy won.” His shoulders shook as tears welled.
I released my grip. His grief was undeniable. The story was real!
He took a long, rattling breath. “Emmeline saw you lying on the ground after I stabbed you, so she believed me when I said you were dead. She shed many tears for you, Owen Oak.”
Griffin snorted. “I doubt that.”
“I’ve been searching for her all this time, yet she had no hope that I’d find her.” The realization nearly sickened me. I pointed at Griffin. “That’s why she turned to you. That’s the only reason she turned to you. Because she thought I was dead.”
“She turned to me because she’s been in love with me her entire life, just like the other girls in Root.” He gripped the knife.
Silence filled the cell. I steadied my breathing, pushing away the urge to knock the knife from his hands. The unfortunate fact was that I needed his help getting out of the cell. I couldn’t take three soldiers on my own.
“I don’t know if Emmeline loves you. I don’t know if she loves me. But what I do know is that neither of us has a chance if we don’t get out of here before she marries the prince.”
“Aye,” he said.
Peddler struggled to his feet, groaning as he leaned against the wall. “There is only one reason the queen is allowing her son to marry a dirt-scratcher and that is because of the chocolate. There is no love. You can be sure of that. You two must get out of here and tell Emmeline how you feel. Then she will have a chance for love.”
“Why do you suddenly care about Emmeline’s happiness?” I asked.
“Because Emmeline buried my daughter,” Peddler said. “I went back and found the grave. No one buries a leper. But Emmeline did. She did that for Lara—my once-beautiful Lara. Even after what I’d done. Even after thinking I’d killed you. She paid my daughter great respect.”
“What’s the plan?” Griffin asked, pointing the knife at me. “Which one of us should use this?”
“I’m thinking,” I said.
“You have to get the soldiers to enter the cell,” Peddler said as he staggered toward us. “And there’s only one way to do that.”
“How—?”
With a sudden burst of energy, Peddler lunged at Griffin. He grabbed Griffin’s outstretched arm with both of his withered hands, plunging the blade deep into his gut as he fell upon it. Shocked, Griffin released his grip on the knife and stepped away. Peddler collapsed onto the straw, blood spreading across the front of his coat.
I fell to my knees beside him. His words were garbled. “Dead body,” he gasped. “The soldiers will come into the cell to collect a … dead … body.”
Then he closed his eyes and took his final breath.
PART NINE
Emmeline
Chapter Fifty-two
By the time we got back inside the palace, darkness had fallen. The chambermaids, fearful of the queen’s wrath, had kept my absence secret. They helped me into my nightfrock. Prince Beau took the blame, claiming he’d been escorting me through the royal gardens. Word was sent to the queen that I was in my bed, where I belonged. The prince took his leave, but we shared a knowing look. Tomorrow would be a big day.
I didn’t sleep at all, picturing Owen in a cold, dreary, rat-infested dungeon. All this time I’d thought he was dead, but Peddler’s knife hadn’t killed him. Did he know I was to be married? Did he think I was marrying Prince Beau out of love? Would he even care? No words of love had ever passed between us.
But still, he’d come all this way to bring my father to me. Why would he do that if he didn’t care?
Morning came, not quick enough. I was pacing the floor when faint sunlight crept between Londwin’s buildings. The plan would work, I told myself. It had to work.
As the chambermaids dressed me for my wedding, I thought about what the prince had asked when we’d shaped our plan. Was I truly willing to give this up—the soft clean bed, the towels and warm baths, the soap and perfume, the endless banquet of food, the servants at my beck and call, the clothes and perfectly fitting shoes?
The dyed hair and fake marriage?
Aye. To be myself again. Aye.
The wedding gown was like spun clouds against my skin. It clung to my breasts and waist, falling in ribbons of white that brushed the floor as I walked. The chambermaids braided my black hair into dozens of twig-thin braids. I stepped away when they tried to powder my face. “No,” I said. “No lip paint either.” I wanted to look nothing like the monster who’d imprisoned me here.
The final touch was added—a wreath of white, thornless roses on my head. The Royal Secretary waited outside my chamber door. His collar stood higher than usual. Ruffles ran down both sleeves. “What’s that?” I asked, pointing to a golden chair with long handles. Servants, dressed in wedding white, held the end of each handle.
“That is your chariot,” the secretary said. He carried no pile of papers this morning—just a single scroll.
I sat in the chair. The seat wobbled as the servants carried me down the hallway, the secretary scurrying alongside. My thoughts were focused, not on the wedding ceremony, but on the interruption that the prince and I had planned. I had little control at this point. I’d done my part. The rest was up to him.
Just inside the throne hall, the chair came to a stop. I took a long look around. As before, when Griffin and I had been there together, it was filled with the odd painted people who surrounded the king and queen. Benches were set on both sides of the thrones. Seated on the benches were men who wore long, colorful robes. “Those are the ambassadors,” the secretary whispered to me. “They are very important. Smile at them.” Others filled the room. Men with large gold medallions around their necks. Women holding tiny dogs. Tax-collectors in their floppy hats, merchants in their green velvet coats. The candles sparkled above, musicians played from the balcony. A cloud of perfume choked the air.
People stepped aside, revealing the checkered pathway that led to the thrones. There sat King Elmer, his eyes closed, snoring. Queen Beatrice waited in her throne, a tense smile on her frozen face. Prince Beau stood at her side. His long white jacket also looked as soft as spun clouds. I started to get out of the chair. “The queen does not want you to walk,” the Royal Secretary whispered.
“Why?”
He leaned in. “She does not wish anyone to see your disfigurement. It would bring her great shame. You are marrying her son, after all. You are never to walk in public again.”
Everyone in the hall turned my way, cocking their heads to eavesdrop. Even the musicians slowed their music as they leaned over the railing to catch my words. “Never to walk again? That’s ridiculous. How am I supposed to get around?”
“This chair will take you wherever you need to go.” He fiddled with the scroll. “Of course, within the palace. You are to stay inside the palace at all times.”
My glare shot down the checkered path, and I know the queen felt it because she winced. Ever so slightly, but she winced.
The Royal Secretary turned on his high heels. Facing the thrones, he unrolled the scroll. The musicians ceased and the hall instantly quieted. The secretary cleared his throat, then read loud enough to wake the king. “Their Royal Majesties, King Elmer and Queen Beatrice, wish to thank all those who have gathered to witness this joyous occasion as the lineage of Their Royal Majesties is solidified through the union of Their son, Prince Beauregard Borthwick Elmer of Anglund, to a princess of a recently discovered but as yet u
nnamed island in the middle of the ocean.”
I scowled. Who was going to believe that?
The crowd nodded and whispered, “Princess.” The king sighed, rolling his eyes with boredom. But the queen fixed her gaze on me. This was her moment of glory over a peasant girl who would not only repair her son’s reputation but also would make her the richest woman in the world. She smiled victoriously.
“We welcome you, Princess Sabina,” the secretary announced. The crowd applauded.
What? They were changing my name too?
It was too much to bear. I pushed the Royal Secretary aside and jumped out of the chair, holding back a groan as I landed on my curled foot. Straightening my legs and holding my dyed head high, the wedding gown stretching with each deep breath, I met her gaze. The queen gripped her armrests, her smile gone. She does not wish anyone to see your disfigurement. It would bring her great shame.
I took a step, then another. The Royal Secretary gasped and tried to stop me but I shoved him away. Though this wasn’t part of our plan, Prince Beau encouraged me with a nod. I walked down that checkered pathway, letting my body tip to the right, letting everyone see my disfigurement. The applause stopped. Everyone stared. When I reached the thrones, Prince Beau took my hand and guided me onto the stage. “You nervous?” he whispered.
“A little.”
“Well, you don’t look nervous. You look beautiful.” He brushed a stray hair from my eyes, a gesture that didn’t go unnoticed by the crowd. They nodded approvingly. The prince had such a kind, open face—a bit like Owen’s. Soon, Owen. You’ll be freed from the dungeon soon.
The Royal Secretary had followed me down the checkered pathway. He turned to the audience and continued reading from the scroll. “Their Royal Majesties, in accordance with tradition, will now bestow a gift to the honored ambassadors.”
After a horn’s blast, a line of servants entered, each carrying the golden boxes I’d seen in the chocolate room. A box was given to each of the robed ambassadors. The king opened his mouth but the queen shoved a box into his flabby hands, silencing whatever comment he was going to make. Then she stood and addressed the audience. “Honored guests, we are truly blessed that you have gathered with us today, not only to help King Elmer celebrate his renowned tournament, but also to witness our son’s wedding. We have given you a small token to take back to your countries. But guard the contents carefully, for each of you has been given a treasured sweet, the likes of which you have never before tasted. Please open your boxes and enjoy.”
The reaction was as it always was—pure delight. I remembered my first taste back in the Oaks’ butter room, how nothing had ever melted on my tongue in such a way.
As soon as the ambassadors had consumed their gifts, they started asking questions. The queen held up a hand to quiet them. “You have just eaten a delicacy known as chocolate. We, the royal family of Anglund, are the only makers of chocolate in the world.” Prince Beau and I shared a knowing look. “We know that you would like to have more, and therefore we will provide an additional box that you can take home to your sovereign leaders. But, honored guests, there is a limited supply of this delicacy. The secret ingredients are rare and expensive. That is why we will export our chocolate only to the kingdom that offers the highest bid.”
“Only one kingdom?” an ambassador asked. The rest grumbled their disapproval.
“It is all we can spare,” said the queen. She’d laid her trap. Now they’d fight until one of them fell right into it.
Except that the prince and I had also laid a trap. The time had come to reveal it. He squeezed my hand. I took a long breath. Was it fear or excitement that prickled the back of my neck? We risked the queen’s wrath, which would terrify even the hardiest of men. But I’d learned, since my journey down that raging river, that the things we most desire are fraught with risk. Acceptance. Freedom. Love.
Prince Beau stepped to the edge of the stage and raised his hands. “Honored guests, may I please have your attention?”
Queen Beatrice smiled sweetly, but then spoke to her son in hushed tones. “We are not yet finished speaking.”
“Mother, there is something I wish to show you.”
Prince Beau nodded to the Baron of Lime, who was standing near the golden doors at the end of the hall. With a dramatic sweep of his arms, the baron opened the doors. Queen Beatrice gasped. The Royal Secretary dropped his scroll. The audience’s faces froze in stunned awe.
For into the king and queen of Anglund’s throne room stepped a dozen red-haired girls. Each carrying a churning bucket.
Chapter Fifty-three
Here’s what had happened outside the city wall the night before my wedding, just after I’d learned that Owen was alive and in the queen’s dungeon.
At that very moment, the story of chocolate filled my mind. Not the version told by a deranged queen who’d turned on her own people, but the true version written in a diary by the first Royal Secretary. The chocolate had been given to the Kell in gratitude. It had been a gift meant to be shared, passed from the first milkmaid to others. So there I was, just like the first milkmaid, holding the gift. I knew what I had to do.
I went back to the clearing where my people were gathered. They didn’t know anything about chocolate. None of them had tasted it. Like Griffin and I, none had even heard of it. But they welcomed me to sit beside them and they thanked me once again for the food I’d brought.
“The food didn’t belong to me. It was the prince who helped you.” I didn’t know how to explain what I was about to do. “But there’s something I’ve brought. Something that I’d like to give each of you.”
I started with the smallest Flatlander girl, whose sunken eyes stared up at me with wonder. I took her hand and sat next to her. Then I closed my eyes, just as I had when I’d been crouching beside Snow, holding her as the river water flowed past. I’d asked Snow to stay with me forever and that’s when the warmth had filled me. That’s when the spell had entered my body. Holding the little girl’s dirt-stained hand, I conjured this warmth, willed it to grow until it filled my insides. Then I guided it down my arm and out my fingertips. “I feel warm,” the girl said.
I did this again and again, to every Flatlander girl and woman who’d come to Londwin City seeking help. Who’d journeyed to the outside world because they had nowhere else to go.
And so on that morning when I was supposed to wed Prince Beau, twelve Flatlander girls entered the throne room, carrying the buckets of cream that the prince had taken from the royal kitchens. The word dirt-scratcher slithered from painted lips as everyone gawked at the uninvited guests. “What is happening?” King Elmer asked after he’d eaten the last piece from his golden box. Queen Beatrice called out to her soldiers, but Prince Beau strode down the pathway and greeted the girls, leading them forward until they reached the thrones.
“Mother,” Prince Beau announced, his usually soft voice surging with confidence. “Emmeline would like to present you and father with a gift on this joyous occasion.”
“A gift?” King Elmer asked. “I love gifts. Hand it over. What are you waiting for?”
The breath that hissed from the queen’s flared nostrils was so loud it could have been made of steam. “You mean Princess Sabina.”
“No, Mother. I mean Emmeline. For that is her name.” He took my hand and smiled at me. “Your turn,” he said.
I should have been terrified, I suppose. Me, the nothing dirt-scratcher girl, facing the most powerful woman in the realm. The woman who could destroy everything and everyone I loved. But I wasn’t terrified. I’d survived the flood, Peddler’s torments, the leper beach, and the nightmare of believing that Owen was dead. I’d survived all those years on my own, all those years of believing that I was an unwanted, a mistake, a girl who should have died.
I filled my lungs with a steadying breath of the clotted, perfumed air and spoke the words I’d memorized last night. “For such appreciation do I feel for everything Their Royal Majesties have do
ne for me, and because I know Their Royal Majesties love Anglund more than they love themselves, I give the gift of chocolate to all of Anglund in their names.”
The Flatlander girls sat next to their buckets and began to churn. Their motion wasn’t as graceful as mine, but they’d get the feel for it in time. Doubt did not exist at that moment. I knew the truth. That Queen Margaret had tried to keep the magic for herself, and her selfishness had killed her in the end. The magic of chocolate had made me famous and desired, but it had also imprisoned me. And it would continue to imprison me, and those I loved, if I kept the magic only to myself.
In setting myself free, I was setting us all free. Including the queen.
In each bucket, the cream turned from eggshell white to a lovely light brown. With a few more turns of the handles, it settled into its muddy hue. Whispers filled the hall. The crowd pushed forward, peering into the buckets. Queen Beatrice glared at me. “How?” She spat out the word. “How is this possible?”
I ignored her. Instead, I raised my voice so that it carried all the way to the back of the hall. “I do not come from some island in the middle of the ocean. I am not a princess. My name is Emmeline and I am from the Flatlands.” More whispers. “These red-haired girls are also from the Flatlands. But we are not dirt-scratchers. We are Kell and we are citizens of Anglund. And we are the only people who can make chocolate.”
The ambassadors leaned forward on their benches. Queen Beatrice tried to pull me away but Prince Beau stepped between us.
I continued. “The Flatlands have been destroyed by flood. My people need help rebuilding the main road. We need wagons and horses, livestock and timber. We need clothing and food. We will happily share the chocolate with all who wish to share with us in return.”
“How dare you,” the queen snapped. “How dare you cross us like this.” She stomped off the stage and yanked a bucket from one of the girls’ hands. “These dirt-scratchers are not allowed outside the Flatlands. Arrest them immediately.”
The Sweetest Spell Page 27