The Princess Curse

by Merrie Haskell

  “Just another young idiot,” Lacrimora said, raising a shoulder in a shrug, and that was the tally of Mihas, right there.

  Even though it didn’t differ all that much from my assessment of him, her casual dismissal made me angry, and for half a second, I forgot to be afraid.

  The zmeu carried Princess Lacrimora up the path after Mihas, while Iosif crawled out of the boat and dragged it farther ashore, grunting as he pulled the boat with my weight in it. Then he followed Lacrimora and the zmeu toward the pavilion.

  Stay in the boat, I told myself, watching them walk up to the pavilion. I’ll just stay in the boat. I won’t go anywhere near that creature.

  But in spite of that wise warning, I climbed out of the boat.

  Fine, stretch your legs, I told myself. Just don’t follow them.

  But of course, I followed them.

  You are without question your own worst enemy, I scolded myself, even as I tiptoed after them.

  From a distance, the structure was merely lovely; up close, it was fantastical. The supports of the pavilion were trees of gold, and the roof was the interwoven golden canopy of their leaves. A pearly cicada flew past to land on a tree trunk, where it rubbed its legs together to produce the sweet tones of a lute. All the music was made by tiny jeweled creatures, by lizards and locusts and small birds.

  And the light came not from candles but from a myriad of wasps with small, glowing bums. Pretty enough, if you like that sort of thing, but it gave me an itchy feeling to see all those waggling antennae. I decided not to look too closely at them anymore.

  A series of raised platforms surrounded a large central floor of gleaming golden wood. One of the daises held a banquet table; another, a small, tented bower; a third, a number of silk-swathed chairs. At the edge of the banquet dais, Lord Dragos set Lacrimora on her feet and offered her his enormous hand. She grasped his smallest finger and allowed him to lead her up to the table, where her sisters were sitting. Poor Mihas was tied to a small chair at one end.

  Dragos helped Lacrimora hobble to her seat. “I’ll remind myself not to worry about the shoes. Because if your father interferes too much, if even one of you is incapable of dancing . . .”

  “Fear not, my lord. We are all as capable of dancing as ever we were. No forfeits will be made tonight.”

  “How lovely,” Lord Dragos murmured, his voice shaded with more layers of meaning than I could even guess at, and pushed in her chair.

  I approached the banquet table. Each princess sat between two men in red, and behind each diner, a footman stood at attention.

  The food spread before the princesses and their companions was glorious—and incongruous. Ripe red apples were mounded next to luscious grapes and stacks of bright oranges, lemons, and limes. Plums, currants, and strawberries nestled together with wintergreen berries, bilberries, and pears. I’d never seen an orange in summer before, let alone summer strawberries side by side with autumn apples, and my hands twitched to reach out and verify that this fruit was indeed fruit, and not more oddities like silver or copper trees. How did all this get here? Where did it come from?

  The fruit wasn’t even the main part of the meal; there were fine, crusty breads and ripe cheeses, cakes and sweets, eggs and pickles, pies and roasts. The scent of it was overwhelming, and though I hadn’t been unbearably hungry in years, the sheer bounty of the feast was staggering, and terribly, terribly alluring.

  And I grew angry, looking at this pile of food spread before the princesses.

  How was this . . . a curse?

  I was torn. I wanted to climb up and stomp through the food, smashing it to bits before any of it passed the princesses’ lips, as it doubtless had been passing their lips nightly. I also had a strong desire to rush in and steal a pocketful of cheeses and fruits for myself. But for once, rationality reigned and I stayed far back from the table, refusing either temptation. And refusing, also, the temptation to leave the pavilion, row myself back to the far shore, and climb to the surface world to tell Prince Vasile that the curse had everything to do with a zmeu.

  Girding myself with a deep, calming breath, I forced myself to wait and see what they would do to Mihas.

  Lord Dragos seated himself at the head of the table. His great wooden chair creaked and moaned beneath his weight. I crept closer, looking for a place to watch from that was out of the way. I thought about crawling under the table, but I couldn’t see my way through the forest of chair legs and people legs, and instead I drew close to lurk behind the horned lord’s chair, since he didn’t have a footman and there was no danger of a collision. I stood near him, so close that I once more smelled his scent of bitter almonds and fire.

  “So, Princess Maricara,” Lord Dragos said, motioning to the footmen to serve the food spread out on the pavilion table. “This new one doesn’t look like much of a fighter. And I do not think he will be courtly enough for you girls.”

  “We can always use another strong oarsman,” Princess Maricara said. She bit the tip of her finger delicately and giggled. Lord Dragos chuckled, a deep sound that made me think of giant drums sounding in the distance.

  If it was a joke, it was not a joke I got, but the princesses tittered appreciatively—all but Lacrimora and Otilia. None of the men in red livery gave any indication that they’d heard the words exchanged between Lord Dragos and Maricara.

  Curious.

  I thought about sneaking up behind Maricara and stabbing her heel lightly with my herb knife for joking so merrily about poor, stupid Mihas, but in the end I decided that saving Mihas’s life might be more important than saving his honor.

  “So, you claim him?” Lord Dragos asked, sipping from a golden goblet.

  “We claim him,” Princess Otilia said.

  At the zmeu’s nod, two of the footmen placed food before Mihas and untied one of his wrists so he could eat. He looked confused, but since everyone else was eating, he took up a bit of bread and cheese and chewed it carefully.

  There had been tension among the princesses, and even with Lord Dragos, which I had not really perceived until it drained out of them once Mihas had chewed and swallowed his first bite. He ate more, and more still, greedily chomping down fruits and breads and chicken legs like he hadn’t had a meal in weeks.

  The other diners ate very little, as though it were a token meal. This made a sort of sense: The princesses had eaten in their room just a few short hours ago, maybe less. It was hard to tell time in the Underworld’s darkness, and the changing seasons and times of day in the forest had confused me. I had no clear idea how long it had been since the stone floor had closed behind us.

  When Mihas was sated, Lord Dragos stood up, stretching to his full height and flexing his wings before folding them neatly against his back again. He gestured, and two footmen came forward and led Mihas away. The cowherd seemed docile, and duller than usual, with his face glistening with chicken grease.

  “With that duty taken care of, let us begin,” Lord Dragos said. “Princess Maricara, you are the eldest. Will you marry me, or will you dance?”

  Chapter 19

  I couldn’t help the gasp of horror that escaped me, but no one reacted to it. Except, perhaps, Lord Dragos’s ears twitched. However, the zmeu’s big webbed ears often twitched, expanding and contracting, as expressive as a human face, and nothing else happened.

  “I will dance,” Princess Maricara said, and reluctantly put her hand in his. He helped her to her feet and led her to the center of the pavilion. All of Maricara’s sisters and all of Lord Dragos’s men ringed the dance floor, watching. I crept closer to watch, too.

  Lord Dragos snapped his taloned fingers, and the musical animals around the pavilion popped to attention and began to play the loveliest, strangest music.

  Lord Dragos and Princess Maricara whirled around the pavilion together. I wondered if Princess Maricara enjoyed this, if she liked being the center of attention, but once the music wound to a halt, dying back to nothing more than the ordinary chirping of cricket
s and calls of tree frogs, I knew she had not enjoyed a moment of it: She fainted in his arms. Bright blood seeped through the batting she’d tucked around her feet, making it look for all the world like her iron shoes were lined with red silk.

  Lord Dragos pulled the Princess upright, patting her face gently. Her eyes fluttered open.

  “Perhaps you should rest,” Lord Dragos said. I didn’t know how to interpret his words. Were they kind? Were they usual? Was he practicing mercy or was he annoyed at her weakness?

  So this, then, was the curse. This was how the princesses wore the holes into their shoes every night. This was the secret the princesses protected with poison and with lies: They came to the Underworld nightly to feast and dance with a demon, because it was that or marry him.

  No wonder Lacrimora was convinced their immortal souls were in peril. Consorting with demons, even unwillingly, was a sin.

  One of the oarsmen helped Maricara hobble to a red silk chair the exact color of her blood—also the color of Lord Dragos’s skin. She sat upright, pinch lipped, her pride a shield.

  But my sympathy was fleeting. In another life, in that world above this one that I almost didn’t believe in anymore, I’d spent too much time with the sleepers to feel bad for her.

  Lord Dragos approached the next princess and bowed.

  “And you, Viorica? Will you marry me? Or will you dance?”

  “Dance,” Viorica said at once, and took his hand. The music swelled forth again from the throats and limbs of a hundred small creatures in the trees.

  This dance went much like the other, though the tune differed. And when the dance ended, Viorica lifted a foot and examined it, poking at the bloody batting. “No holes,” she said neutrally. “In my shoes, I mean,” she added.

  I admired her coolness, if nothing else.

  An oarsman guided her to a red silk chair beside Princess Maricara. Both princesses sat stoically, hands folded over their knees, frowning as Princess Tereza was offered the choice: marriage or dancing.

  It was a ritual, a call-and-response. And there was no question in anyone’s mind what the outcome would be. No one would choose marriage to the zmeu.

  What would happen to the one who finally agreed to marry him? What happened to your soul if you chose to become a demon’s bride? I shivered.

  I noticed Mihas across the room, now clean and dressed in red livery like the other men. He watched the dancing with a blank expression.

  I slid to the pavilion’s edge, skirting the crowd to reach him. Mihas stood by a pillar, hands folded behind his back.

  I crouched behind the pillar and hissed, “What are you doing here, Cowherd?”

  Mihas shook his head slowly, like an old cat being wakened. “Who—?”

  I hesitated, wondering if I was about to make a huge mistake, but I plunged onward. “It’s Reveka.”

  He peered behind the pillar, but of course, he could see nothing.

  “Stop looking about—you’ll give me away!”

  “Reveka . . .” Now he examined the pillar and the vines twisted around it. He came face-to-face with one very large cicada, which had taken a break from the music making and no longer produced the piercing sounds of a bladder pipe, thank goodness.

  “Reveka, have you become an insect?” he asked.

  I rolled my eyes. “Yes. I followed the princesses here, and they caught me and turned me into a cicada.”

  “Oh no!” He clutched his throat.

  Seriously? He believed that? I hastened to say, “But do not fret; I’ll be fine. I am concerned about you. Why are you here? What happened?”

  He bent over so he could speak in a quieter voice, which of course made him more conspicuous. “After—after everything in the herbary, I had to prove myself to—to—I knew I needed to prove myself,” he said. I covered my mouth to keep from yelling at him. “I decided I would break the curse. So I sneaked into the princesses’ tower, hid under the bed, and followed them . . . but they found me.” He closed his eyes and shuddered. “You haven’t eaten anything here, have you, Reveka?”

  “No.”

  “Don’t. Don’t eat anything from here. Ever. No matter how hungry you are. It’s what traps you here. That’s what they told me. I ate, and now I’m here . . . forever.”

  “But the princesses ate—”

  “They’re trapped here, too. They have a deal with Lord Dragos, though, that they may come and go nightly, as long as they agree to consider marriage to him. And as long as they dance.”

  The music had stopped, and another bleeding princess was guided to a chair. Mihas, idiot that he was, didn’t notice. He kept talking.

  “I don’t know if he turned you into a bug or if you did it yourself or what, but even as an insect, you must not eat—or drink, either, no, don’t ever drink the wine, and the water—”

  Lord Dragos was watching Mihas from across the room. I wanted to tell Mihas to be quiet, but at that moment, the cicada took wing and flew away. That shut Mihas up, maybe better than me shushing him. He straightened, watching the cicada, clearly of half a mind to follow until he saw he’d gained Lord Dragos’s attention.

  Without taking his eyes off Mihas, Lord Dragos went to the next princess and gave her the choice of marrying or dancing. She danced, of course.

  Suddenly despairing, I turned my back on the bright pavilion and made my way down to the lakeshore. I crept into Lacrimora’s boat and huddled in the bow, waiting.

  I didn’t have to wait long before the princesses returned to the boats, each carried by her oarsman. Lord Dragos came last, holding Princess Lacrimora in his arms. He deposited her in the boat with a strange sort of tenderness, whispering an apology in her ear. I examined him, considering. What sort of creature, dragon-demon or otherwise, apologizes for dancing a woman’s feet bloody? Why not just let them go if he regretted it so much?

  Iosif shoved off with a grunt. He rowed slowly behind the others, glaring at Lacrimora the whole while, as though it were possible that she with her slender frame had actually managed to gain a whole person’s weight in the course of one day.

  When we finally reached the other shore, I disembarked as quietly and gracefully as possible, which honestly wasn’t very quietly or very gracefully. Still, Iosif didn’t notice, and Lacrimora said nothing. I made sure to walk far behind the princesses as they limped slowly through the forests.

  What was going to happen, exactly, when Prince Vasile learned that the curse on his daughters was a strange bargain with a zmeu? If I told Prince Vasile and the Princess Consort what was going on down here, would that really put an end to all of this? Could it? Just discovering what the princesses were doing wasn’t actually enough, not in the face of the awesome powers of a zmeu.

  I had to find out how to end this, how to free the princesses from the zmeu. Then they could stop poisoning people; then they could go out into the world and make important marriages that would bring peace and security to Sylvania; then they could produce those heirs for Prince Vasile.

  Then they could wake the sleepers.

  I stared at the plants in the strange forest and wondered if one of them was the secret of the deathlike sleep. My fingers itched to take a sample of every growing thing, just in case, but the fear of being trapped in the Underworld spurred me onward.

  This made me think of Mihas, of course. Poor Mihas— I could pity him now, had to pity him now. I couldn’t leave him to this darkness alone.

  And then there was the matter of Iosif the Saxon. He was surly, no question, but being Lacrimora’s oarsman would make anyone surly. More to the point, though: If Iosif was the linchpin in Hungary’s machinations against Sylvania, wouldn’t it take the wind out of their sails if Iosif showed up and told them that the curse was real?

  Before I quite knew it, I had decided that I had to return to the Underworld again. My first priority was to free Iosif and Mihas; my second was to learn how to break the curse.

  In the winter forest, I drew closer to the princesses, determine
d not to be left behind. They murmured about the chill of the snow freezing the iron surrounding their feet.

  “Feels bloody wonderful,” Ruxandra said.

  “They’re going to hurt even worse when they warm up again,” Viorica said.

  I grimaced. That was certainly true.

  I trailed up the stairs after Princess Lacrimora and hid in my corner by the chimney until the outer bolts were thrown and the princesses filed off to the baths. I raced invisibly ahead of them to the gardens to cut huge swaths of hollyhock, stuffed my cap into my apron, and brought my late herbs to the bathing chamber just as Marjit was about to put the princesses into the hot water.

  I said not a word to them, didn’t look at them. Just like a proper peasant, who knew nothing at all of royal secrets.

  Chapter 20

  I stopped in the kitchens for a bit of food and learned that the Prince and his Consort had ridden out to hunt at a distant estate and wouldn’t be back for days. That answers that question, I thought, biting into a thick piece of bread. I didn’t even need to argue with myself about going to the Princess Consort and telling her what I’d seen, and her absence gave me time to rescue Mihas and Iosif.

  I grabbed a few extra pocket-sized loaves for that night’s trip. It had been hard looking at all the food in the Underworld and being unable to eat it. I felt very clever for thinking to bring something of my own.

  Back in the herbary, I discovered that Brother Cosmin had reverted to his old ways, for he was nowhere to be found. I seized upon this opportunity to reclaim some of the sleep I’d missed the night before. It was an odd luxury, to sleep with the sun on my face. I could see why Brother Cosmin often reveled in it.

  I slept so deeply that when I woke and found my invisibility cap missing, I had no notion of how it had been taken.

  “Reveka!” Brother Cosmin called again. It was his first call that had awakened me. “Are you up there?”