The Thirteenth Princess

by Diane Zahler

  I had to try. Breckin stayed where he was and I walked off a little way. I looked at a holly bush beside me and tried to understand its very holliness. Its red berries, its deep green leaves with their sharp points—I looked at and thought about them, hard. And I thought about my own deep colors, and the parts of myself that were pointed or sharp. I was not a holly bush, but I could be very like one. I was not at all surprised when Breckin walked right by me with a suspicious look on his face, turned around, stared past me, and finally called my name. I stopped being holly and stepped out toward him.

  “Oh, very good!” he said admiringly. “I’m glad we can both do it. It makes the brain hurt, though, doesn’t it?”

  It did, rather. You had to think much harder than was customary, and if you let up for even a moment, you’d return to being completely you and be seen. Still, it was nearly as good as a cloak of invisibility—even better, in a way, as we were doing it ourselves, with our own personal store of nonwitch magic.

  We had six days to wait until Sunday. Before we parted, Breckin promised to find a way to get inside the palace Sunday evening. He’d make his way to the kitchen and wait for me there, hidden in the pantry where the dumbwaiter opened.

  “I’ll practice imagining and get better at it,” he assured me. “That way, if anyone seems suspicious of me, I’ll just become a lamp or a table leg. Don’t worry!”

  I shook my head. If Cook saw him, or Father, or anyone else who knew that a stableboy did not belong inside the palace, he might be punished, beaten, even forced to leave. And I could not help my sisters without him.

  “Be careful,” I pleaded. “Don’t let Cook see you. I must find out what is wrong with my sisters, and I need you to help me. Please.”

  He nodded, his face somber for once. I was heartened to see that he took our task seriously.

  We reached the edge of the forest, and while we were still in the shadow of the trees, Breckin took my hands in his, turning me toward him. “You be careful too,” he warned me. Before I knew what was happening, he bent toward me and kissed me on the cheek, his soft lips burning where they touched. I gasped, and he dropped my hands as though they, too, burned. I stared at him, shocked. He looked quite as surprised as I felt, and I saw the red move up his neck to his face as I felt myself blushing. Speechless, he turned and ran off toward the stables, and I stood motionless, my hands cold now that they were without the warmth of his.

  Chapter 7

  IN WHICH I GO ON A JOURNEY

  Over the next few days, I continually practiced the disappearing skills Babette had taught us. I became a sack of flour, and Cook reached right past me for her rolling pin without noticing me there. I became part of the sideboard and observed my wan sisters and florid-faced father during an interminable dinner that made me gladder than ever that I ate in the kitchen. Even the courses of meat and fowl and elaborate puddings did not make up for the long silences, in which the clatter of cutlery (silver, not the pewter we servants used) seemed to echo in the chilly room. I became part of the hallway and observed my father as he paced up and down the polished floor outside my sisters’ bedroom. The worry on his face warmed me, for I was seeing in his concern less and less of the cruel tyrant I had once thought him. Perhaps, I now realized, he loved my sisters. Perhaps he was human after all. The shock of the idea made me lose my concentration and appear clearly again, and he turned and saw me. His face twisted back into its familiar scowl, and I fled for the stairs.

  I tried, in those days, to forget about Breckin’s kiss. It had just been a peck on the cheek, I told myself. Not a real kiss at all. I had not broken my promise to Aurelia—had I? I had not invited the kiss. But that did not mean that I hadn’t enjoyed it. I grew more and more dismayed the more I tried not to think about it, and I finally took my worry to the maids who were, at least a little, my friends. After supper one night, when Cook had taken herself off to bed and Salina and Bethea, whose room I had once shared, remained at the table, I stayed behind as well. Hesitantly I dug at the wooden table with my thumbnail and blushed as I asked, “If…if a boy kisses you, is it your fault?”

  The girls turned from their chatter to stare at me, and Salina hooted. “Zita has found herself a fellow at last!”

  “No, no!” I protested. “It’s not me. I can’t tell you who it is. She just needs to know. She feels guilty. She promised…her mother that she would not kiss a boy. But he kissed her. Did she do wrong?”

  They looked skeptical but considered my question seriously.

  “Why would she make her mother such a promise?” Bethea asked. “Does her mother not want her to marry?”

  “Well, of course she wants her to marry,” I said. “It’s just…her mother doesn’t want any trouble. You know. Before she marries.”

  Salina shook her head. “A smart girl knows to stop at kissing,” she told me, laughing as the pink of embarrassment spread up my neck and overran my face. “But if she made the promise, she should keep it. Still, if the boy took the kiss when the girl was unaware or unwilling, it is not her fault. I don’t think she broke the promise.”

  Bethea agreed. “She should be sure not to see that boy again, though,” she warned. “Or she should tell him not to try it again.”

  “Or she should tell her mother not to make her promise such things!” Salina crowed, and we all three laughed.

  “I’ll tell her,” I promised, knowing that they knew there was no such girl and that they would watch me like hawks to discover the identity of the boy who had kissed me. Still, I felt relieved. It was not my fault. Breckin had caught me unawares, and I had not really broken my promise. And it would not happen again.

  The week passed with agonizing slowness. I berated myself for waiting so long to put our plan into action, but I could not contact Breckin to change it. Worry about my sisters consumed me. Dawn would find me wide awake, and the crawl of the sun across the sky, short as it was in wintertime, seemed to take forever. Then at night I could not sleep for imagining what would happen on Sunday. By that day I was a nervous, twitchy wreck. I wiggled so much during prayers that Cook kicked me, hard. I put salt rather than sugar in the pie crust, and it baked so hard in the oven that when I took it out it could not be removed from the pan, and the whole mess had to be thrown out, pan and all. I could not eat supper, and Cook grew so worried over my strange behavior that she threatened to sleep with me that night. I was horrified.

  “No, no, I’m fine!” I cried, rushing a spoonful of soup to my mouth to prove my appetite. It scalded my tongue and I choked, spitting it out in a great plume.

  “There, you see?” Cook said anxiously, looking around the table. “She cannot eat my good soup! She’s spoiling for the ague, I’m sure of it. You need a hot plaster, my girl, and a quiet night.”

  “A quiet night,” I agreed. “That’s all, Cook. I’m just a little tired. I’ll go to bed early, and by tomorrow I’ll be fine. I promise!”

  Cook frowned. “You’re only tired? Are you certain? For I’d surely not like to share your bed unless it’s needful, the way you toss and turn.”

  “I’ll share it, and keep watch over her,” volunteered Phineas, one of the footmen. He sniggered, and the maids giggled, but it was entirely the wrong thing to say in front of Cook. She seemed to swell up like a soufflé, and her red face grew nearly purple as her rage rose. Phineas shrank back, already stammering an apology, but it was too late.

  “How dare you!” Cook thundered. “She is a princess of this house, never forget that! If her father knew how disrespectfully you had spoken, he would have you drawn and quartered, you insolent pip!”

  I was mortified. My lineage was never mentioned in the kitchen, and I did not wish it to be. I needed everyone belowstairs to treat me like any other maid. If they were thinking princess every time I passed, my life would become intolerable. I kept my head down and bit the insides of my cheeks, willing myself not to cry.

  “Go on with you,” Cook said softly to me.

  I stood quickly
, then nearly ran from the kitchen. By the time I’d reached my room, I was breathing heavily, and resting on my bed did nothing to calm me. I reached under my mattress for the light-stick Babette had given me, and I clutched it to me. It still looked like nothing more than a stick, and when I thought light at it, it refused to cooperate, as it had done all week. I stuck it in the pocket of my apron, lay back, and watched the sun’s last light move slowly across my narrow window. When at last I could see the evening star, I got up and opened the little wooden box where I hid my few treasured belongings—earrings and ribbons from my sisters, a lock of my mother’s golden hair that Akila had given me months before. I pulled out the bundle I had prepared for tonight. In the bundle was a sponge, as Babette had suggested. There was also a short knife I had snuck from the kitchen. Why I had the knife, I did not want to think.

  I had to get to my sisters’ room much earlier than usual, to be sure they had not fallen into their drugged sleep or gone wherever it was that they went. And I could not use the dumbwaiter, for the kitchen was still busy and I did not know whom I would find in the bedchamber. I climbed the stairs cautiously, my steps slowing as I reached the top floor and the long hallway that would lead me to my sisters’ room. A guard sat in a chair partway down the hall, placed there by my father to watch over my sisters. He nodded to me, knowing that I was not a threat, and I proceeded to the great oaken door of the bedchamber. It was just slightly opened, so I peered inside. The room was quiet, but not silent; I heard rustling and low voices. Not the booming roar of my father, nor the doctor’s wheedling tenor. I pushed the heavy door open and slowly slipped in. My sisters were readying themselves for bed, brushing hair, slipping on nightgowns, taking off earrings and necklaces. Nurse bustled among them, taking heavy skirts and laying them flat for folding, working out snags from hair. The room was very much quieter than usual, and when Amina noticed me, there was no outcry, no happy greeting as on Sundays past.

  “Oh, Zita,” she said, looking at me tiredly as she plaited her hair. “Should you be here?”

  I was hurt. “Do you not want me here?” I asked her.

  “Well…” Her voice trailed off.

  Nurse looked up from Ariadne’s hair, which she was brushing into a golden waterfall over her shoulders. “Your father said not,” she said mildly.

  “Nurse!” I exclaimed. “You can’t forbid me my sisters!”

  “No, Nurse,” Aurelia echoed. “Leave her be. She will not disturb us.”

  Nurse’s brow creased. “Adena is no better,” she admonished. “And Asmita is failing. These girls need no excitement. They need rest and quiet.”

  Asmita failing! I ran between the rows of beds to Asmita’s side. She lay tucked in already, her face as pale as her silvery hair.

  “Zita,” she greeted me wanly. “We’ve missed you.”

  “Oh, Asmita, are you ill?” I wailed.

  “Shhhh,” she soothed me. “Not ill, just a little tired. Will you stay with me tonight?” She sat up with difficulty and called, “Nurse, can Zita stay with me? I think it would make me feel ever so much better.”

  Nurse came over to the bed, frowning. “Child, I don’t think…”

  “I’m cold, Nurse,” Asmita said. “And Zita will keep me warm. I need her.”

  Nurse sighed. She could not refuse her charges anything, ever.

  “Zita, you will let her sleep?”

  “Of course I will!” I exclaimed. “I’ll make sure she sleeps through the night.”

  “Very well,” Nurse allowed. “If you rest quiet, Zita, and don’t disturb the poor dear with your tossing and turning.” She returned to her brushing and folding, and before long, she was gone, leaving only a few candles flickering on the dressers to light the dimness.

  Aurelia went to the table, where a pot of chocolate sat. She poured the warm drink into small cups etched with leaves and flowers, and I ran to pass the cups out to my sisters. We sipped in silence, or rather they sipped. When no one was looking, I slipped the sponge from my bundle. I could not possibly pour my chocolate out the window without attracting attention, so I tipped the cup over the sponge and then put the sponge, now dark with chocolate and full, under Ariadne’s bed.

  Nurse came back to collect our empty cups and placed them on a tray. We climbed into bed, I beside a shivering Asmita, and Aurelia blew out the candles and crawled beneath her own covers. Nurse departed, and within moments, the room was silent but for the gentle breathing of twelve sleeping girls. My breath, though, came fast and ragged as I waited to see what would happen.

  Time passed at a crawl. The night was eerily still, for my sisters did not move in their sleep. Their breathing continued quiet, almost inaudible. Nobody turned over; nobody seemed to dream. I heard the little ceramic clock on the mantel chime ten, then eleven. Then midnight.

  As the twelfth chime struck, Asmita sat up beside me. My heart leaped in my throat, and I looked through slitted eyes to see the other eleven sitting up as well. Even Adena sat upright, and I saw her and the others push off their bedcovers and stand. Without a word, they moved as one to the closet. There they took out dresses—fancy embroidered dresses, deep blue and green and plum velvet, silver satin, pink watered silk, which they wore only for special occasions. They clothed themselves in silence, helping one another with lacings and hooks and buttons, then dressed their hair with ropes of pearls and diadems and silk ribbons. They draped jewels about their necks, dabbed perfume and adjusted skirts, and finally, they put on shoes. Even in the dim candlelight, I could see that these shoes were new: beautifully made, with French heels and beading, velvet leaves and flowers, dyed in colors to match their gowns. At last they stood, as beautiful as twelve girls could be, but their eyes were lifeless and their cheeks white as snow.

  I lay like a stone, afraid to breathe too deeply. I knew for certain now that there was an enchantment, and that my sisters all were possessed by it. I could only follow and watch and hope to learn the why and wherefore of it.

  I heard a creaking noise, and through my lashes I saw my sisters going two by two into the closet. They did not reappear. I realized they must be taking the dumbwaiter down to the kitchen, and I winced when I thought of Breckin, hiding amidst the potato sacks. I hoped he would have the sense to remain hidden when the dumbwaiter began to discharge the girls.

  As the number left in the bedchamber dwindled, two by two, I began cautiously to rise from the bed. Slowly, carefully, I pulled on my own clothes and worn boots. My sisters were focused intently on the closet and did not look back at me. As Anisa and Asmita, the last pair remaining, climbed into the dumbwaiter, I reached the closet door and watched them descend out of my sight.

  As soon as the dumbwaiter ropes were slack again, I pulled with all my might. I was strong enough now to bring the dumbwaiter up, and I climbed in and lowered myself to the kitchen. There, I tumbled out, whispering, “Breckin! Which way did they go?”

  Breckin emerged from among the sacks, shaking his head. “Which way did who go?”

  I danced up and down, anxious and not in the mood for teasing. “My sisters, you fool! We must follow them!”

  He shook his head again. “They did not come out, Zita,” he told me. “I heard the dumbwaiter, but it did not stop here.”

  I snapped at him, “What do you mean? Where did it stop? Did they get off upstairs?”

  He shrugged helplessly. “I don’t think so. It sounded like—it sounded like it went down.”

  “Down!” I whispered. “Down! But that’s impossible! Below the kitchen is just…water. How could they go down?”

  “I don’t know,” Breckin replied, “but we had better go after them if we want to keep them in sight.”

  I did not like the sound of this at all. I could swim a little, but I knew that Alanna and Alima could not; in fact, Alima was terribly afraid of the water. And it was wintertime—the lake would be freezing. Still, I knew Breckin was right. Wherever they were going, we had to follow.

  We climbed into the dum
bwaiter, and I pulled the ropes to lower us. I was expecting nothing whatever to happen—I knew we were on the ground floor. I knew we could not descend. But the dumbwaiter began to move downward. I loosened my grip on the ropes in my shock, and we tilted and moved too quickly. Breckin was there in an instant, grabbing the ropes tightly and stopping our descent. Wordlessly, hand over hand, we moved down, and down, and down. We were beneath the lake; we had to be. I began to tremble with fear. What would happen when we opened the dumbwaiter door? Would the water rush in and drown us?

  At last the dumbwaiter stopped with a thump. We had landed somewhere, on some hard surface. I wrapped my arms around myself to stop my shivering, and Breckin rubbed my shoulders hard. Then he reached for the bronze knob on the door, ready to open it.

  “Wait!” I cried. He stopped and looked at me. I could think of no reason to stop him, though, and he turned back to the door and pushed it open.

  Chapter 8

  IN WHICH I DANCE

  I could not believe what I saw. There was no water, not even a hint of the fact that we must be below the lake. Instead a path stretched forward before us, lit with a silvery light that might have been the moon, if we had not been beneath a lake. Trees lined the path, trees of silver. They cast shadows on the ground, clear enough to see each branch and leaf etched in light. A gentle breeze played among them, making the leaves knock together with a sound like the wind chimes that Cook liked to hang in her kitchen garden. I caught my breath in wonder, and Breckin took my hand and squeezed it. I reached up with my free hand to feel a leaf, and it was cold and metallic. Quickly I pulled out the knife from my bundle and sliced off the leaf. It came away in my hand, and I held it up to see it better.

  “It is silver,” Breckin said, awed. “Silver trees. Where are we?”

  A movement caught my eye, and I saw one of my sisters in the distance, hurrying along the path. “Come!” I cried. “We can’t lose them!” We began to run, but my sisters moved quickly too, and we could not catch up to them.