Twinchantment

by Elise Allen

  Galric looked around to see if anyone was watching, then said, “I guess when you’re a princess you don’t have to be scared of anything.”

  “I wish,” Sara said.

  And in that second she wanted to tell him exactly what scared her. Which was ridiculous, of course. Out of everyone, he was positively the last person she should tell anything. It’s just that for as long as Sara could remember, everything she’d said had been supervised. Her family was around, or Primka, her tutor, or Katya, her nurse, or Rouen and the other Keepers, or just whole groups of Kaloonians who hung on her every word and would pick up on anything she said or did that didn’t fit into what their Princess Flissara would do.

  But here…she was just with Galric. And despite his dad’s history, he was just a regular boy. She studied his face. He looked curious and attentive. Sara got the feeling that if she did speak her mind, he wouldn’t judge. He’d just listen.

  She opened her mouth to start…but then she shook her head.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m late. Weekly Address and all. Already started.”

  “Yeah, of course,” Galric said, backing away. “Go. Just, please…don’t tell anyone you saw me. I’m not supposed to leave the manure pits during the day, but sometimes I come here for a break and…”

  He winced and looked around again.

  “I promised the groundskeeper I’d never let anyone in the royal family see me. If he knew about this, I’d lose my job, so please—”

  “Wait—you’d lose your job for letting me see you?”

  “Well, yeah,” Galric said. “He says I’m too…disturbing.”

  “Because of what your dad did?”

  Galric paled, and Sara inwardly smacked herself again. Most people—including Princess Flissara—would tiptoe around a subject as big as the curse instead of blurting it out loud. Sara couldn’t take back what she’d said, but at least she could try to make him feel better about it. “But that wasn’t you. You were…what? One and a half?”

  “Something like that.” Galric’s voice was dull and his eyes had a faraway stare. For just a second, Sara put herself in his shoes, and imagined what it would be like to spend her whole life treated like a criminal for something she didn’t even do. Something her father had done so long ago that it had to seem like another lifetime.

  She was about to ask him if he even remembered his father when a flash of black zipped out of the stables and jumped into Galric’s arms. It was a kitten, and it looked Sara in the eye as if it were formally introducing itself.

  “Meow!”

  “Nitpick, no!” Galric hissed. He contorted himself to shove the kitten inside his ragged burlap tunic, but the kitten simply poked its face out of the collar and meowed at Sara again.

  “I know he’s a black cat and he’s not allowed,” Galric said in a wild rush. “But he’s not magic, I swear.”

  “I didn’t think he was,” Sara said. “The Keepers would, so you’re smart to keep him hidden, but I don’t believe everything they say about black cats and left-handed people and twins. I don’t think they’re all evil.”

  A thrill ran through her body and she had to catch her breath. That was the closest she’d ever come to sharing her actual truth with an outsider. Had he noticed? She pretended to stay focused on the cat, but flicked her gaze up to see Galric’s face.

  He was looking right at her.

  “Me neither,” he admitted.

  She smiled and he returned it, and Sara’s heart pounded as she wondered how much he really understood. Then he broke her gaze and gently pulled the kitten out of his tunic. He held it out for her to pet. “His name’s Nitpick.”

  “Awww,” Sara cooed. She leaned forward so she was face-to-face with the kitten.

  He licked her nose.

  “So cute!” she exclaimed. “And raspy.”

  She rubbed her nose to get the strange sensation off her face, but then she leaned close so the kitten could lick her again.

  DING!

  It was the higher-pitched bell, the one that rang out every quarter hour, and the one that meant she was a full fifteen minutes late for the Weekly Address, and she was still a long way from the castle.

  “Blast!” she cried. “Blast-blast-blast! I gotta run.”

  She started forward, and Galric moved to get out of her way but somehow sidestepped into her way, and she thumped into him and the kitten again.

  “Meow!”

  “Sorry, Nitpick!”

  Sara tried unsuccessfully to step past Galric again and again, but each time they accidentally danced into one another’s path until finally she said, “Stay.” Then she raced past him…but somehow a pulled thread on her dress had gotten caught on his tunic belt. It snagged her backward after just two steps.

  “Arrrgh!”

  She wrapped the string around two fingers and yanked it apart, then took off for the castle, being careful again to knot her skirts around her fists so she wouldn’t take another spill. She sped back into the rose garden, where every bush seemed to reach out with its thorns and grab her hair, her dress, and her arms.

  “Ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow!” she yelled, but kept on running. Breathless, she stormed through the front gate of the castle. The Royal Guards tried to hide their dismay at the sight of her, but they didn’t do a very good job.

  “Yes, yes, I know, I look amazing.”

  She had a similar retort for every servant who gasped and groaned and leaped out of her way as she ran past, and even choicer words for every side table, ottoman, and chair she bumped into on her way to the throne room’s turret. She stumbled up the long spiral staircase—the royal entrance, which seriously didn’t feel royal so much as torturous for her already-screaming legs. She was panting so hard the echo rang in her ears, and she caromed off the walls, so tired she barely kept her balance. Finally she emerged into the throne room, pushed through the purple curtains that hung behind the thrones, and spotted her father out on the wide balcony, addressing the crowd below. Her mom wasn’t with him, which was weird, but also a relief. Queen Latonya would not take kindly to Sara’s current disheveled state.

  The Keepers of the Light, however, were there. Rouen stood several feet behind the king and off to the side, where the crowd outside couldn’t see him, while Grosselor, as always, stood right out there on the balcony with the king, glowing like a second sun.

  “As for Princess Flissara,” King Edwin said, “I know you were all hoping to see her—”

  “And here I am!” Sara shouted, flinging herself out between the two men with so much momentum she folded double over the balcony railing. The crowd gasped, but King Edwin quickly grabbed her around her waist and righted her.

  “Thanks, Dad,” she said.

  “Ah, Princess Flissara!” the king cried, and the entire crowd below echoed the greeting. As King Edwin looked his daughter up and down, taking in the exploding braids, grass-stained dress, and thorn-scratched arms, his mustache tilted upward, and Sara knew he was trying desperately not to laugh.

  “My word, Flissara,” he said. “When you get lost in a drawing, you really get involved with the scene, hmmm?”

  Sara blushed. She knew he knew exactly what she’d been up to—or at least the gist of it. And for sure he knew she’d broken about a million rules along the way, but Sara could tell he wasn’t upset with her about it. Grosselor, however, would not approve at all, so Sara didn’t dare turn and meet his eye.

  “Why don’t you give our people a few words about your upcoming Ascension Day?” Grosselor asked, loud enough for the crowd to hear. They hurrahed in agreement.

  Now Sara had no choice but to turn to Grosselor. Her stomach turned. Yes, he was a hero. A savior even, said most Kaloonians. They revered him. Even people outside the kingdom, like Princess Blakely from Winterglen, gushed about his valor and his—ew—“dreamy good looks.”

  But he made Sara uneasy.

  She didn’t let it show. Princess Flissara would show nothing but deference and respe
ct to Grosselor. She smiled like he was her favorite uncle, then moved closer to the balcony’s edge so she could see the citizens of Kaloon.

  She knew not everyone in the kingdom filled the massive cobblestone courtyard for Weekly Addresses—it’s not like the chats were mandatory—but it always seemed like they did. From the high balcony, it was difficult to pick out many individuals, but some people always stood out. Like the young woman with the impossibly long curly red hair, who always wore it loose and flowing, and who Sara had found out was Kaloon’s only female blacksmith. Or the small child who always sat on her father’s shoulders and ate a banana while Sara spoke. Or the dots of bright yellow from the scattered Keepers, whose simple presence ensured that every Weekly Address would proceed peacefully.

  “Kaloonians!” Sara addressed the crowd. “Sorry I’m late. I guarantee you there’s no place I’d rather be than with…”

  Her voice died away and she squinted as she saw…Galric?

  He was in the very back, at the edge of the crowd. His head was down and his hair hung over his face, but he stood on the wooden base of one of the courtyard torches, so he rose higher than anyone else.

  “You!” Sara blurted happily.

  She pointed, and everyone down below looked around trying to follow her gaze. Everyone except Galric himself, who immediately hopped down from the torch base and disappeared into the crowd.

  “Princess?” Grosselor asked, stepping closer to Sara’s side.

  Sara shivered, but she smiled and moved her pointing finger in a flourish so it indicated everyone in the courtyard.

  “All of you,” she said, continuing as if she didn’t feel Grosselor’s eyes on her. “As you know, next week I’ll turn twelve, and the Ascension Ceremony will bring me officially in line for the crown. Thank you so much for all your cards and letters. I’ve read them all, I promise. And no, Sammy Worthington from Maid Arabelle’s class, I’m not scared. Prince Alistair was a long time ago, and we’ve been perfectly safe since then, thanks to Grosselor and his Keepers of the Light. May the Light keep us all.”

  The crowd cheered, and Sara forced herself to look adoringly at Grosselor. He swelled with pride, then stepped to the center of the balcony. “Thank you, everyone. And thank you, King Edwin and Princess Flissara. Shall we let them get back to their royal business?”

  The crowd cheered again. Sara and her dad had clearly been dismissed, so they waved to their people, then walked to the royal entrance in the back of the room. Rouen didn’t follow them; apparently he was staying in the throne room to hear his leader speak. When King Edwin and Sara had descended half the twisting staircase with no sign of their family’s yellow shadow, King Edwin whispered, “Well done, Sara. You made Grosselor very happy.”

  “Thanks.”

  They shared a conspiratorial smile. The king was smart enough to rarely speak freely about the Keepers, but when he did he wasn’t complimentary. He thought Grosselor enjoyed his power and popularity a bit too much. Mom hated when he talked like that, and always reminded him that without Grosselor and the Keepers, King Edwin’s family would have died out in the Dark Magic Uprising, and the king himself would never have been born. That always ended the conversation, but if Sara was in the room, he’d meet her eyes and she’d let him know with a look that she felt the exact same way.

  “Where was Mom?” Sara asked. “How come she wasn’t at the Weekly Address?”

  Her father shrugged. “I’m not sure. She went out riding…. I guess she lost track of time.”

  Sara snorted. “Mom never loses track of time. She’s always back from her ride in time for the Weekly Address.”

  “Not always,” the king said, laughing. “She doesn’t come every week.”

  “When was the last time she missed—” Sara’s voice cut off as she stepped on the hem of her dress and nearly tumbled down the marble staircase.

  “Careful, Sara,” her dad said, catching her arm. “No broken bones before the Ascension Ceremony. Or after, I hope.”

  “No broken bones,” Sara assured him, but she knotted up the bulk of her skirts in a fist and let her dad keep holding her elbow as she carefully picked her way down the spiral staircase of doom.

  When they made it down, King Edwin excused himself to meet with advisers, while Sara cut through the longest hall of the castle, lined with tapestries, works of art from Kaloon’s greatest creative minds, and portraits of the royal family dating back from forever. As always, the room was filled with workers dusting and polishing, and echoed with the sound of everyone’s feet against the wood floor. Sara’s own footsteps clomped in her ears as she moved farther down the hall, toward a massive gold statue of Grosselor. It sparkled like the man himself, and raised a triumphant fist while stomping down on the twisted body of the Dark Mage Maldevon.

  Sara didn’t like the statue. She skirted it and ducked into a smaller corridor. The floors of this rounded, windowless turret room were covered in a thick woven carpet that muffled sound. Sara walked into the middle and felt the gaze of fifteen suits of armor staring at the center of the room as if guarding it. Sara looked around to make sure she was alone, then tiptoed silently to the fourth suit from the door, right-hand side. She peeked behind it, eager to see if the back panel was open and if there were any special secrets left for her.

  “Is it Royal Rear End Inspection Day?” Mitzi asked.

  Sara quickly darted away from the suit of armor, which made Mitzi laugh. She was the palace head chef and always went out of her way to bring the princess special treats. Sara relaxed immediately, and she grinned when she saw the tray of cookies in Mitzi’s hands.

  “What did you bring me?” she asked excitedly.

  “Cookies, Your Highness. Yummy oatmeal–chocolate chip and peanutty peanut butter.”

  “You are the best!” Sara grabbed a cookie and took a huge bite.

  Mitzi beamed, and for about the millionth time, Sara thought it was criminal that Mitzi didn’t have kids because she’d be the best mom ever. Oh, sure, Sara loved her own mother, but Queen Latonya was so regal and poised and sophisticated and correct. Mitzi, on the other hand, was short, blond, curvy, and always said or did the first thing that popped into her head, no matter how silly it was. Honestly, Sara felt like she had more in common with Mitzi than with her own mother.

  “That cookie was incredible!” Sara raved. “I could hug you. I’m going to hug you.” She threw her arms around Mitzi. “I’m totally hugging you right now.”

  Mitzi laughed. “And just this morning you said you were allergic to hugs.”

  Sara froze. “I did?” She forced a laugh. “Huh. Sorry, not a morning person, I guess.” She shoved another cookie in her face to shut herself up, then spoke around it. “I should go. Katya’ll be looking for me.”

  “Okeydokey,” Mitzi said, “but take the cookies. I made them for you.”

  “Really? Thanks!” Sara grabbed the tray and sped down the gallery, wincing as she accidentally bit the inside of her cheek. She walked away as fast as she dared, down the long hall, then off to the Grand Staircase, which was blissfully not marble and spiral-shaped but carpeted, wide, and straight. She tromped up to the massive gilt-and-wood door of the family residence, which she flung open and accidentally slammed into the wall. She jumped, but somehow managed to keep all the cookies on their tray. When she finally got to her room, all she wanted to do was flop onto her bed and go limp.

  Instead she threw open the door and screamed—because she nearly collided with a girl who looked absolutely identical to her in every way.

  “Sara!” Flissa cried. She scrunched up her face and took in Sara’s disheveled hair, scratched arms, and ruined outfit. “You’re quite a mess. What happened?”

  Sara opened her mouth to speak, but Flissa could tell by the way her twin sister’s violet eyes danced with excitement that the story would only give her palpitations. She put up a hand to stop her. “Actually, I don’t want to know. Not yet at least. I need a second to prepare.”

&nbs
p; Flissa carefully took the tray of cookies out of Sara’s arms so she wouldn’t drop it, and set it on the floor. Only then did she throw her arms around her sister for a hug.

  “I missed you,” Flissa said. “I’m glad you’re back.”

  “Huh,” Sara said. “I thought you were allergic to hugs.”

  “What?”

  “That’s what Mitzi said you told her. After I hugged her.”

  Flissa winced. “I’m so sorry. I forgot to tell you. It seemed like such a nothing moment, I didn’t even think to.”

  Flissa sat at her desk chair like a good student and looked up at Sara attentively. “Okay, tell me everything that happened to you this morning. Everything.”

  As Sara gave her the quick rundown, Flissa felt the blood drain out of her face.

  “Princess Flissara would not hang out at the stables with a stranger,” she said when Sara finished. “Or a black cat! And I can’t believe you let Mitzi find our secret hiding place. I left a note for you in that suit of armor! Now we need to find a whole new place.”

  “We don’t, though,” Sara said. “Mitzi didn’t see me open the suit; she just saw me checking it out.”

  “But the cat, and Galric of all people! What if he talks? What if he tells people what you said about the Keepers?”

  “He won’t,” Sara said, though Flissa couldn’t fathom how she could sound so sure. “Trust me,” Sara added.

  Flissa sighed. “I do. You know that. We just have to be careful. Ascension Day is coming up, and—”

  A high-pitched voice chimed in and finished Flissa’s sentence. “And everyone in Kaloon gets nervous when an heir approaches Ascension Day. Ever since the Dark Magic Uprising.”

  The voice came from Primka, an apple-sized bright blue-and-yellow songbird—and the girls’ tutor. She flitted into the room from a hole in the ceiling, then swooped down to rest on the back of Sara’s desk chair, or more accurately, on the layers of dresses Sara had draped across the back of her chair.

  “So even though you’ve spent nearly twelve years pretending to be the exact same person, and you think you know what you’re doing,” Primka continued, “the truth is, you need to be more careful than ever. Allow me to offer some pointers.”