“Penny for your thoughts?” Remi’s quiet voice asked from her pocket. He’d stuck his head out in the chilly early morning air. She’d forgotten him again.
Cynthia blinked at him while she tried to organize her tumbling mind.
“I don’t know if there’s anything to be done.”
“One act of compassion? I wish my curse were that easy to break,” Remi said.
“It’s not going to be easy for her.”
“Can you help? ” His bulbous eyes blinked, fixing her with his gaze. “ Do you want to help?”
She slowed as she got closer to the house. More lights were on and the sounds of the house waking drifted to her in the silence.
“I guess I feel obligated to help her.” Cynthia glanced down at his earnest face. “Is that bad?”
Remi shrugged. “Perhaps you can provide an opportunity for her.”
Cynthia turned the handle of the front door. If she got a move on she might be able to snatch a quick bite before she set the table for breakfast. “Maybe.”
It was lunchtime before Cynthia had a second to herself to read her letter. Coriander had not appeared for breakfast and had not been out of her room since storming upstairs the day before. Lady Wellington’s mood was distraught and dangerous. Cynthia took pains to steer out of her way as much as possible. Portia continued in her usual pattern of the spiteful follower.
Cynthia was alone in the butler’s pantry with a mountain of silver and a polishing rag. Remi sat at her elbow sorting the cutlery. At least he was trying to sort it. His webbed pads weren’t designed for wielding forks and spoons.
She slid the letter out of her pocket, checking over her shoulder twice before ripping the top open and sliding the creamy paper out. Her heart beat a little faster and she couldn’t contain her smile of anticipation. Letters didn’t come more than once a month. They were from the only person left from her old life, the life she had before her mother died.
Cindy,
“Cindy? No one calls you that.”
Cynthia twitched the bottom corner of the letter up, shielding it from Remi’s curious eyes. “You mind?”
Remi lifted a thin shoulder and hopped to the pile of silverware.
Cindy,
Six years, two months, and five days in this forsaken tower and it’s finally happened. My ‘handsome prince’ stumbled on me today.
He’s everything I’ve dreaded—arrogant, ignorant, possessive. He’s cruel, I know it although I don’t have any proof—yet.
What am I going to do? I can’t marry him. I can’t. I don’t care if it’s my only way out of this nightmare.
Please write. Give me advice, hope, an escape plan. Tell me you know where I am and you’re coming for me.
Do you remember last time I wrote, I mentioned my dreams were changing? Becoming more vivid? The details were so clear and familiar; it was like a reoccurring vision, although I know I’d never dreamt it before. The dreams are still there, and the people in them are the same every time. I know one of them now, although I don’t know how I know. Her name is Esha. I have the feeling she’s very important to me.
You don’t think my mind is starting to go, do you? The loneliness makes it feel like it is sometimes. Please write back soon. You’re little winged friends and the letters they carry are the only thing s I look forward to. The only thing s that keeps me grounded.
Rapunzel
“Cynthia?”
She jerked her head up. Remi’s worried eyes were watching her. She’d read the letter over and over until the words buzzed in her brain. She must have been staring at the sheet of paper a while. Her neck was stiff.
“Bad news?” Remi asked.
She folded the paper back along the creases and slid it into the envelope. She picked up a spoon and started rubbing it with a soft cloth before she answered. “Possibly.” She fiddled with the bottle of polish. “Probably. ”
A ping on the window behind her made her turn. Another light chink, and this time she saw the pebble d that struck the glass and bounced away.
She stood and lifted the pane. Todd Levinson stood below her with a cheeky grin.
“Todd?”
“You look like a maiden some witch has locked in a tower,” Todd laughed.
Cynthia stared down at him, confused as to why he was here and what he meant.
“It’s hot as blazes today, come down to the river.”
She hesitated to answer and he noticed.
“My sister will be there and a few other kids from town.”
A bemused smile crossed her face. The fact that Christina was there was not enticing. The Levinsons had been her neighbors for over seventeen years. She wasn’t even positive of Todd’s name until yesterday. Christina had given her grief with Lady Wellington on more than one occasion , spying on her as she went about her work in the yard. Later, she’d catch hell from Lady Wellington for the tiniest infraction. Climbing over the pasture fence instead of going around by the gate, or sneaking a second to eat her lunch on the shady side of the well.
“Thanks, but I’ve got work to do.” Cynthia moved to close the window and Todd’s grin fade.
“I could cover for you.” He seemed a bit anxious now. “I could tell your mom we needed a hand over at our place for the afternoon.”
“Stepmother,” Cynthia corrected him. She watched as he shift ed his weight below the window, wondering if she were being set up. “No thanks, maybe some other time.” She didn’t wait to hear his protests, but slid the glass back in place.
“That was weird.” Cynthia settled herself back at the table and tried to set her mind on polishing.
“That was funny.” Remi grinned at her with an irritating, knowing expression.
“What in the world did he want? I don’t believe for a second it was to take me swimming,” Cynthia said.
Remi hopped until he was directly in her line of vision and caught her eye with a sudden serious expression. “Cindy—“
“Oh, it’s Cindy now, is it?
He ignored her. “When’s the last time you looked in a mirror?”
Cynthia stared at him, trying to gain her bearings . Thoughts and feelings long buried darted about inside her like darting fish. Not even close to sorting herself out, she settled on an indignant reply. “What does that have to do—“
“Stop stalling. When?”
She sighed and thought back. There wasn’t one in her room or the servant’s bathroom. There were several in the house that she would pass on occasion. Lady Wellington alone had three in her room. She’d seen her reflection in store windows and pools of water. But how long had it been since she’d stared into the reflection of her own eyes? Or even just used a mirror to arrange her hair?
“I don’t know. Years probably.”
“Come on.” Remi hopped to the floor and out of the pantry faster than Cynthia thought possible.
“Remi!” she hissed as he bolted down the hallway and into the closest bathroom. It wasn’t one of the servant’s bathrooms. Remi hopped on the toilet seat and into the sink, climbing with the sticky pads of his feet until he perched on the tap. Cynthia quickly closed the door and locked it, praying no one would come knocking.
“Look!” he said.
Cynthia watched the insistent prince for a second, wondering if being a frog had started to mess with his brain.
“Just look.”
She sighed and stared at the mirror. Thick lashed, big gray eyes looked back at her. Her face was pale and thin. She looked tired. She looked older than she remembered.
Remi jumped to her shoulder. “Take this off.” He tugged at her scarf.
“Stop that!” S s he tried to swat him away.
“Just take it off,” Remi said.
When had he gotten so bossy?
She tugged the scarf away. Her curls bounced slightly with the sudden freedom. Her hair was the color of the ripe wheat fields when the low, dark sun hit them at sundown. They framed her face and made her eyes look enormous
and striking.
“Happy now?” Cynthia attempted to sound irritated at him, but she wasn’t.
He just grinned at her reflection from his perch on her shoulder.
“You see it, don’t you? Remi said. “Now you know why that poor guy was throwing pebbles at your window.”
She did, although the knowledge brought her no comfort. Instead, a rock full of dread settled in her stomach. She was beautiful. Gorgeous. She didn’t know when she’d gotten this way. She didn’t remember looking like this when her father died.
But others were starting to notice too, despite her efforts at being invisible. Todd had noticed and it would only bring her trouble.
The window in the bathroom had been left open a crack. Squeaking wooden wheels and rattling tack wafted into the room with the breeze. She pressed her eye to the gap between the frosted pane and the windowsill. A carriage rolled to a stop in the middle of the dirt road that ran in front of the house.
The horses that pulled the bulky vehicle were unlike anything you would find on a farm or estate. Pure white, showy , but poorly muscled. Their tack was dyed red leather and gold. The familiar crest of a huntsman’s arrow piercing an apple on a field of red was carved on to the side of the opulent carriage and stitched on the driver’s uniform. That crest was a common sight in this part of Elorium. It flew on flags and was stamped on the bottom of every royal proclamation from the Hapsburg Palace.
“Now what?” Cynthia muttered .
She hadn’t seen a royal messenger this far from the castle since the announcement of the queen’s remarriage. That had been before her mother died.
She rewound the scarf around her hair, popped a protesting Remi into her pocket, and snuck out of the bathroom. Down the stairs and out the back door, she skirted the side of the estate and made her way back to the front. A trumpet blew. Cynthia huddled out of sight under a lilac bush where she could see and hear without being observed.
A box had been set in the street. The local foot traffic and every man, woman, child, and servant from the surrounding properties crowded around the man perched on it. To his side a footman stood at attention with his trumpet tucked under his arm. The man on the box was older with a thick set of gray whiskers clouding his face . He was dressed in a soldier’s uniform with so many tassels and metals medals he clanked when he shifted his weight. Cynthia vaguely recognized him as one of the royal councilors.
Squinting at a thick sheet of parchment , he began to read.
“From her Majesty Queen Gisela and King Ferdinand. Four days hence, a feast shall be held at the Hapsburg Palace to celebrate the occasion of Crown Prince Wilhelm’s coming of age. After a prodigious feast of three days, on the prince’s twenty-first birthday, he shall select his bride , and the future queen.”
A n incredulous ripple surged through the crowd. The women began to murmur. Cynthia rolled her eyes and stood, dusting her skirt. She thought it might be something important.
The councilor’s voice trailed her to the back of the house.
“This maiden will be of his own choosing. She is not required to be of noble birth, but only to win the heart of the prince.”
Chapter
6
“How am I supposed to go looking like this?”
“AREN’T YOU EVEN A LITTLE bit interested?” Remi asked, glued to the window in the butler’s pantry.
“Nope,” Cynthia said. She put a knife in its felt lined drawer and laced her fingers together , and stretch ing ed her sore fingers. Almost done.
“The crowd’s thinned out now,” he said.
“Hmmm.”
“They’ve nailed the declaration to a tree across the street,” Remi continued.
“You’ve already said that.”
“The councilor’s trying to leave but Lady Wellington has ’s snagged him.”
Cynthia spared him a brief glance. His froggy nose was squashed against the glass.
“Sounds about right.”
She counted the remaining silverware. All forks. She hated forks. Impossible to get between the tines.
“Looks like she’s offering him an éclair.” Remi said, confused.
Cynthia chuckled . Lady Wellington was a lot of things, but stupid wasn’t one of them. She hadn’t met a man yet who could resist Ann’s cooking.
“She’s got him by the elbow… she’s leading him inside…” Remi hopped off the windowsill and sat at the door like a whimpering dog.
Cynthia sighed and opened the door a crack before going back to her polishing. Remi thrust his nose into the corridor. Indistinct snippets of conversation drifted up the stairs for several minutes. There was a pause and a violin began to play.
Lady Wellington had insisted on music lessons for her girls when she had married Cynthia’s father. ‘Accomplished’ was the word she’d thrown around. Neither girl was particularly musically inclined, but the piece Portia was playing now, Cynthia had been hearing daily for about a year. It wasn’t bad. Determination and practice could accomplish some things.
The notes hummed to a close. A brief pair of clapping hands, a few more murmured comments, and the door opened and closed again.
Cynthia placed the last piece of cutlery in the drawer. She stood, arching her back and wonder ed if she dared sneak into the kitchen for a bite to eat. If she got caught, Lady Wellington was sure to assign her more chores. If she laid low, her slightly water damaged copy of fairy tales was waiting for her in the barn.
Her grumbling stomach made the decision for her.
“Hungry, Remi?” She put her hand on the floor and waited for him to hop on.
“What do you suppose they were up to?” he asked.
Cynthia shrugged and held open her pocket for him to jump into. “Working an angle. She usually is.”
She padded down the stairs and darted into the kitchen without seeing anyone. It was that lull between meals. The lunch dishes were just being put away and the dinner preparations just beginning.
An entire chicken breast had been left over from lunch. Cynthia smiled at her luck and grabbed the heel of a loaf of bread for Remi. Chicken was one of those foods that didn’t seem to sit well with him as a frog. Her plate piled high, she swung out the kitchen door and froze, the smile sliding off her face.
Lady Wellington loomed in the archway to the main room. Hand tucked under her chin, toe tapping, it was almost as if she had been waiting for Cynthia.
“Where are you going?” she asked, a touch of acid in her voice.
Cynthia bobbed a quick curtsy. “The silver is done. I was just bringing this to Coriander to see if she might be hungry. She hasn’t been down to the dining room lately.”
In her pocket, Remi froze.
Lady Wellington’s gazed zipped over Cynthia with a quick shrewd , calculating look.
“Good. Let’s go see her then.”
Cynthia had no choice but to hold on to the plate for dear life and follow her stepmother up the stairs.
She rapped smartly on the door. “Kitten? Sweetness? It’s Mummy.”
“Go away!”
There was a howl, a crash, and silence.
“Goodness sakes!” Lady Wellington shouldered open the door.
The room looked like it had been ransacked. Clothes were shredded and littered throughout the room. The nightstand was tipped over and the heavy vase with the dried flowers was shattered, the glass marbles treacherous underfoot. The drawers of the vanity had been removed and the mirror smashed . One door of the wardrobe was torn away.
Tears stung Cynthia’s eyes. Her mother had selected the furnishings for this room. Her room. Cynthia tried not to think how many times her mother had curled up in the overstuffed chair to read to her. She took a deep breath and willed the tears away.
The bed was the only thing that looked normal. Rumpled with a Coriander sized mound buried under the blankets.
“I said go away!” The voice from the mound on the bed was muffled.
Lady Wellington tisked softly and beg
an plowing a path through the mess with her kitten heels. “Start cleaning this up!” she snapped over her shoulder.
Cynthia swept a ruined dress from the top of the dresser and set down the plate. So much for dinner. She silently sorted through the disarray.
Lady Wellington perched on the edge of the bed and patted the lump briefly. “Now, kitten. I know you must be feeling rotten, but I’ve got just the news to cheer you up.” Her hand faltered when Coriander shied away from her. Lady Wellington reached up to pat her teased hair. “We had a visit today from Royal Councilor Smithson.”
That’s right. Cynthia remembered her father talking about Smithson. She had begun collecting and sorting Coriander’s clothes into two piles—trash-it and try-to-repair-it.
The blankets grew still.
“Our young prince has come of age and there’s to be a feast in his honor,” Lady Wellington said.
“So. We haven’t been invited to anything at the palace since F ather died.”
Cynthia winced to have Coriander refer to her father in such a familiar manner. She’d never gotten used to it when he was alive.
“But we’re invited this time,” Lady Wellington said, letting the words hang in the air like a tantalizing smell.
Coriander took the bait. “Why?”
“Because he’s looking for a bride,” her mother said with smug satisfaction.
Coriander sat straight up in bed. The blankets tumbled away and Cynthia got her first look at her stepsister since the day she’d visited the apothecary. Her hair was still the color of a garish sunset and it stuck to her head in greasy, unwashed clumps. Her hands were buried in the bedclothes, but her skin had darkened a shade or two, and coarse brown hair had begun to peek out of the neckline of her nightdress. Cynthia felt a twinge of sympathy for her.
“A bride?” Coriander whispered. She threw back her head and let out an inhuman howl, tearing at the fur sprouting from her collarbone. “How am I supposed to go looking like this?”
A Grimm Curse: A Grimm Tales Novella (Volume 3) Page 4