by Ruth Nickle
“That’s splendid!” the tsar said.
“It was splendid, till I got home to this mess,” she said.
After a moment she went on. “Look, there’s something very odd about the whole thing. I simply cannot picture Prince Ivan accomplishing any of the things you’ve said, yet here are all the prizes to prove it. Not least that glowing bird.”
Tsar Vislav chose to ignore this last jab. “Actually, it’s been bothering me, too,” he said. “It was a bit hectic when Prince Ivan returned, but now that he’s left, I’ve started to wonder about his account. He should be home from his honeymoon in another day or two. We can question him then.”
* * *
At dinner, Tsarina Vislav still sat at the opposite end of the dining table, but she was not wielding the butter knife as a weapon, so Tsar Vislav took it as a sign that her mood was softening. When the dinner plates were cleared, he approached the other end of the table and sat a few chairs away from the tsarina.
“I made some inquiries this afternoon,” he said. “It seems the other tsars did not simply gift the firebird and the horse with the golden mane and Princess Helen the Beautiful to Prince Ivan as he reported. There appears to have been some theft involved.”
“Mmmm,” said the tsarina, more thoughtfully than triumphantly. “And do you think they will have something to say about the loss of their treasures?”
“Perhaps,” said the tsar.
“I’m glad you’ve inquired,” she said.
“May I sleep inside tonight, my sweet quince?”
“Certainly not.”
* * *
That night the cricket residents of the orchard were mercifully quiet, and the tsar slept tolerably well until a quarter past two, when one of the golden apples fell from the tree, broke a hole straight through the page’s umbrella, and struck the tsar’s elbow.
“Shriveled apricots!” the tsar shouted.
The page leapt to pick up the apple, grunting as he lifted it with both hands. “Sorry, Your Majesty! I should have caught it.” The page quivered.
The tsar growled but waved away his hovering attendants. “Golden apples are much heavier than the ordinary variety.”
* * *
At breakfast the following morning, Tsarina Vislav sat beside the tsar. He gestured toward several large bundles of quilts, still piled near the entranceway to the dining hall. “You did get a great deal of work done at your retreat,” he said.
The tsarina nodded. “I had no distractions there.” She reached for a muffin and said, “Prince Ivan claimed the firebird, the horse, and the princess were gifts. Last night you said they were stolen. But in either case, do you really believe Prince Ivan managed to acquire all of those things himself?”
The tsar stirred his applesauce. “Unlikely.”
“So who helped him?”
Tsar Vislav shrugged. “There’s no way of knowing until Prince Ivan returns.”
A few moments later the tsarina said softly, “I’m still sorry I missed the wedding.”
The tsar put his arm around her shoulders. “I’m sorry they would not wait.”
“What do you think of our daughter-in-law?” she asked.
The tsar paused. “Helen the Beautiful is . . . a good fit for Prince Ivan.”
The tsarina smiled. “Not too quick, then?”
“She certainly won’t intimidate him.” The tsar chuckled. “And she is very beautiful, though of course nothing to you, my sweet persimmon.”
The tsarina swatted him, but she was smiling.
“I wonder if they named her ‘Helen the Beautiful’ when she was born, or after she grew up,” he mused.
Tsarina Vislav giggled.
A blast of trumpets from the front gate announced the return of Prince Ivan, so the tsar and tsarina left their breakfast and hurried out to greet their newlywed son.
* * *
“Mother,” Prince Ivan shouted when he saw the tsarina. “You must meet my bride.”
He leapt up the path, and Helen the Beautiful bounced along behind him, all golden hair and puffy skirts. “I’m erratic to meet you at last,” she said to the tsarina, curtsying a full three times by the end of this unusual sentence.
Tsarina Vislav gave the girl her most formal smile. “I suppose I am too,” she said.
“If only you could have been at the wedding,” Helen the Beautiful said. “It was absolutely spurious.”
“I see,” said Tsarina Vislav.
Tsar Vislav clapped Prince Ivan on the back. “Welcome home, my boy! You must both come in and join us for breakfast.”
Prince Ivan grinned. “Sure thing!”
The tsar led them all into the dining room, keeping himself between the tsarina and Helen the Beautiful.
“Prince Ivan,” said the tsarina after fresh orange juice had been poured. “Your father tells me you gained your bride, a horse, and a”—she gritted her teeth—“shining firebird through your wits and valor.”
“Awww, shucks,” said Prince Ivan. “Yes, I did.”
“He’s so inelegant.” Helen the Beautiful sighed.
The tsarina was undeterred. “All by yourself?”
Prince Ivan took a swig of orange juice. “Mostly.”
“I’m curious about the ‘mostly,’” the tsarina said. “Did you have any help?”
“Well, a little,” Prince Ivan admitted. “I did most of the work.”
“And who was it that helped you?” The tsar smiled encouragingly.
“The Gray Wolf,” Prince Ivan said.
The tsar dropped his glass, and orange juice splashed all across the table. “A wolf? You got help from a wolf?”
“Sure,” said Prince Ivan. “He said I could trust him.”
Helen the Beautiful nodded happily.
“The Gray Wolf ate my horse,” Prince Ivan explained, “and then he felt bad, so he offered to help me with my quest. And then he stuck around for all the other favors I needed after that.”
The tsarina looked horrified. “How many times have I told you to not trust wolves? Especially ones that talk?”
Prince Ivan looked from one parent to the other, his face drawn up in confusion. “Never.”
“Well, I may not have said those words explicitly,” the tsarina conceded, “but I thought the gist was implied. Just to make it clear, I’m telling you now: don’t ever trust a wolf.”
The tsar nodded. “Especially one that talks.”
Just then a deep howl echoed through the dining hall. The tsar seized the tsarina’s hand, and they dashed outside, Prince Ivan and Helen the Beautiful close on their heels. On the hill across from the guard tower stood a great gray wolf, his thick fur ruffling in the wind.
“Hullo, Gray Wolf,” Prince Ivan called to the wolf.
“He’s so furry!” squealed Helen the Beautiful.
The tsarina challenged the wolf. “What do you mean by entering our tsardom?”
“I come to gnaw your bones,” the wolf rumbled. “Your clever prince has upset every tsar from here to the sea, and when the war is finished, I will have enough flesh for myself and all my brothers to feast for seven lifetimes.” The wolf slowly licked his fangs with a long red tongue, as if to emphasize his words, and then sat back on his haunches and gestured with his head toward the great road. “See? Here they come already.”
On the road, an army was approaching with the firebird-emblazoned banner of Tsar Feliks, followed by a second army under Tsar Afron’s golden-maned horse banner, followed by a third army led by Tsar Hedeon and a banner woven with Helen the Beautiful’s image.
“Not sure if I would follow the tactics of a military commander flying Helen the Beautiful’s face,” Tsar Vislav whispered to his wife.
She smirked a little and jabbed him in the ribs. “Shush. She might hear you.”
Helen the Beautiful had not heard them. “That’s my father coming! I can’t wait to introvert you all!”
“Lovely idea. Let’s all sit down for tea together,” the tsarina said.
“Actually, tea sounds wonderful,” the tsar said. “Prince Ivan, why don’t you two go advise the kitchen to prepare some fruit tarts?”
“Oooo, yummy!” Helen the Beautiful said. She and Prince Ivan hurried back into the palace.
The tsarina sighed with relief. “They’re gone. Now, should we do something about the invading armies?”
Tsar Vislav took her hand and together they went out the front gate to meet the other tsars. Behind them, Tsar Vislav’s soldiers gathered on the castle’s walls.
Tsar Feliks, Tsar Afron, and Tsar Hedeon arranged their armies side by side outside the castle. They themselves rode forward with their retinues, swords drawn.
“You have done me a grievous wrong!” shouted Tsar Feliks.
“And me,” yelled Tsar Afron.
“And me,” called Tsar Hedeon.
Tsar Vislav drew his own sword. “Any wrongs you have suffered were of your own making,” he said. “If you have lost your treasures, it is only because you were not clever or daring enough to retain them.”
The tsars surged forward in anger.
“Katya?” The tsarina’s clear voice rang out with surprise. “Uliana? Bella?” She was staring past the angry tsars at Tsarina Feliks, Tsarina Afron, and Tsarina Hedeon, who each rode in the companies behind their husbands. “What are you doing here?”
“Catherine?” Tsarina Feliks asked. She slid off her horse and rushed forward to give Tsarina Vislav a warm hug. “Catherine! I had no idea you were the Tsarina Vislav! I am in fact the Tsarina Feliks.”
“And Uliana was only a name I assumed for the retreat. I am really the Tsarina Afron.”
“And I am not really called Bella. I am the Tsarina Hedeon. I came home from our quilting retreat to find this madness.”
“You can only imagine what I’ve been facing,” Tsarina Vislav said. “I went from peacefully stitching by the lake to trying to sleep with a flaming bird in my bedroom.”
All four women laughed. The tsars watched their wives uncertainly, swords still drawn.
“Let’s go inside,” Tsar Vislav suggested, “and settle all this over some tea and fruit tarts, shall we?”
So the four tsars and tsarinas trooped into the dining hall. The tea was already laid out, but to Tsar Vislav’s relief, Prince Ivan and Helen the Beautiful were not in the room. The tsarinas chattered while the tsars crunched slowly through apricot tarts. When at last there was a lull in the tsarinas’ conversation, Tsar Vislav spoke up. “Now what can we do for you, good neighbors?”
“I want my firebird back,” demanded Tsar Feliks.
“Yes, please take your firebird,” said Tsarina Vislav. “Have some golden apples, too. The firebird adores them. We can send you with a bushel.” She smiled sweetly at Tsar Vislav.
“Of course,” said Tsar Vislav, “we can’t return the firebird without his lovely cage. It’s an amazing piece of workmanship. Tsarina Vislav was quite bedazzled by it.” He returned Tsarina Vislav’s smile.
“That’s hardly suffi—” Tsar Feliks began.
Tsarina Feliks cut in. “Thank you, that will quite settle our concerns,” she said in a final tone, giving her husband a stern look.
“I want my horse with the golden mane back,” said Tsar Afron.
“Oh, we really don’t need your horse. Please take him back,” Tsarina Vislav said. “Along with his beautiful bridle that Tsar Vislav so admires,” she added, shooting a look at Tsar Vislav.
Tsar Vislav smiled back. “And you can have these newly finished horse blankets that Tsarina Vislav quilted at the retreat.”
“What a generous gift,” exclaimed Tsarina Afron before her husband could speak. “I happen to know that Catherine’s—I mean Tsarina Vislav’s—handiwork is quite impressive.” She nodded a head toward the pile of quilts Tsarina Vislav had brought back from the retreat. They were still stacked by the dining hall’s entranceway.
“And I want my daughter back,” said Tsar Hedeon.
“And you shall have her,” said Tsar Vislav, “as well as a son-in-law, for they are wed.”
Tsarina Vislav smiled warmly at Tsar Vislav and nodded vigorously. “I’m sure Prince Ivan and Helen the Beautiful will be much happier living in your castle rather than here. We can send them home with you today, along with our warmest wishes.”
“Oh yes, Helen will indeed be happier that way,” said Tsarina Hedeon. “A daughter likes to be near her mother. And between us, thank you for saving us the cost of a royal wedding.”
A moment later Prince Ivan and Helen the Beautiful burst into the dining hall, and Tsarina Hedeon gathered them both in a warm hug. After a moment, she forced Tsar Hedeon to join the hug as well.
Tsar Vislav’s servants entered with the brilliant firebird in its bejeweled cage and a crate of golden apples. At the sight of his former owners, the firebird squawked loudly. “And good riddance!” Tsarina Vislav whispered at the bird in a voice only Tsar Vislav could hear.
“So, we are settled then,” said Tsar Vislav. “Let us bring in some wine and toast everyone’s return journey.”
As he spoke a howl echoed through the dining hall, much louder than before, and the wolf stood in the doorway.
“Gray Wolf!” Prince Ivan called in delight, waving madly.
“There will be war,” the wolf growled, “if I must start it myself!” He leapt at Tsarina Vislav, who was seated nearest the door.
Without even a thought, Tsar Vislav seized the firebird’s cage and threw it as hard as he could toward the wolf. The cage struck the leaping wolf, the door flew open, and the firebird burst into flames.
The wolf yelped and fell to the floor, rolling to beat out the flames, but the fire spread to Tsarina Vislav’s pile of quilts, and the flames crackled higher and higher.
The tsar pulled the tsarina from the smoky hall, with their guests and servants close behind. Together, they all stood in the orchard and watched the palace burn to the ground.
As the flames died down, Tsar Vislav turned to Tsar Feliks. “I’m so deeply sorry for the loss of your firebird.”
“Not at all,” said Tsar Feliks. A loud squawk emitted from the smoldering rubble, and the firebird flapped clumsily out of the ruined palace. “He’s a firebird. That’s what they do.”
“That’s why we keep it outside,” Tsarina Feliks confided.
* * *
At long last, all of the tsars left with their armies: Tsar Feliks with his firebird, a somewhat melted cage, and a freshly picked bushel of apples; Tsar Afron with his horse, bridle, and the promise of new horse blankets next year; and Tsar Hedeon with his daughter and new son-in-law. The tsarinas lingered a little before bidding farewell, leaving each other with a promise that they would keep their identities secret so they could all attend next year’s quilting retreat in anonymity.
* * *
After they had all left, Tsarina Vislav turned to the tsar. “I told you that bird would ruin us.”
“I told you he would come in handy,” he said.
“No, you didn’t,” she said. She was smiling. “I’d invite you to sleep up in the bedroom tonight, but it seems we haven’t got one.”
“Then I will invite you to join me under the apple tree. I have the second-best blanket set up already,” he said.
“All right.” Tsarina Vislav kissed him.
“Well, maybe not right under the apple tree,” she said. “Imagine if one of the apples fell! They are quite heavy.”
Tatterhood and the Prince’s Hand
by Katherine Cowley
Chapter 1
An excerpt from “True Accounts of Nobility, Particularly Queens, Kings, Princes, and Princesses, in R
egards to their Interactions with Fairies and Other Magical Creatures”
Once upon a time a king and a queen were cursed to never have children. After many years, the queen found a beggar woman who could break the spell. The beggar brought two pots of water and had the queen wash in them both, then placed the pots under her bed. She instructed the queen to look under the bed in the morning, because a flower would be growing in each pot. She should eat only the beautiful flower and leave the ugly one alone. But in the morning, the queen could not help herself, and she ate both flowers.
Soon, the queen was blessed with twin girls. The second baby, the younger of the twins, was extremely fair and delightful to look upon. Her parents named her Ingridr because of her great beauty. The first baby, the elder twin and heir to the kingdom, was the ugliest child anyone in the land had ever seen. She possessed ugly gray skin and a bit of magic. She spent all her days riding around on a goat, carrying a large wooden spoon, and wearing a tattered hood. Soon everyone called her Tatterhood, and even her parents forgot her real name.
Now once every seven years, in the heart of winter, a band of trolls came and gallivanted throughout the castle, wreaking havoc. The queen, the king, and their daughters hid in the queen’s chambers with all the doors and windows barred. This particular year, the princesses had reached seventeen years of age. As Tatterhood heard the racket outside the rooms, she could not sit still. “I will drive them out,” she declared. Her parents insisted that nothing could be done about the trolls and begged Tatterhood to stay inside, but she would not listen. She took her wooden spoon and her goat—for, of course, her goat never left her side—and went to the door. “Keep the door shut. Do not open it a bit, for any reason, until the trolls are gone.” And out she went and added to the great noise in the halls.
Now her younger sister, Ingridr, fretted and fretted about Tatterhood. Finally she could stand it no longer and opened the door just a smidgen to check on her beloved sister. A troll reached inside and pulled Ingridr out. This troll cut off Ingridr’s beautiful head and a troll’s head, and then attached Ingridr’s head to the troll’s body and the troll’s head to Ingridr’s body. Then all of the trolls left, including the one wearing Ingridr’s head.