by Frewin Jones
It almost seemed as if she was waking up for a few flickering seconds before the dream claimed her again. But surely it couldn’t be that? When the dream ended, surely she would wake up in her hospital bed, not in those strange half-familiar places?
Was she in a coma? How badly had she been injured in the accident?
What was happening to her?
VI
Anita spotted her new ball-gown the moment that she and Zara walked into her chamber.
A waterfall of lilac fabric was spread over the bed, shining in the slanting rays of sunlight that poured through the mullioned windows.
Anita carefully lifted the gown off the bed. She was surprised by how light it felt in spite of the wide skirts. It had puffed sleeves, slashed so that the rich purple of the lining showed through. There was a delicate trimming of purple thread around the scalloped neckline, the cuffs of the sleeves, and the deep hem of the skirts. Lavender blue embroidery covered the bodice in a filigree of swirling patterns, and panels of more embroidery ran down the skirts to the hem.
Anita held the gown against herself. “How does it look?”
“It is perfect,” Zara declared. “Mistress Mirrlees has outdone herself!”
“But how did she do all this so quickly?” Anita wondered, gazing down at the intricate embroidered patterns. “It looks like a couple of weeks’ work, but we were only there an hour ago.”
Zara shook her head. “Poor Tania,” she said. “You do not remember anything of this Realm, do you?”
“Apparently not,” said Anita. She looked at Zara. “Is it magic, is that how it’s done?”
“I do not know that word,” Zara said, puzzled. “What does it mean?”
“Magic?” Anita said. “Oh, you know. Hocus-pocus. Open sesame. Rabbits out of hats. All that kind of thing.” Zara looked blankly at her. “The way the King brought the daylight back,” Anita persisted. “That’s what I’m talking about. And the way Gabriel brought me here. That’s all magic.”
“I do not know what powers Gabriel used to bring you back to us,” Zara said. “I have never studied such things. Few of us do. It is hard work! It makes my head spin to think of it.” She smiled. “But Mistress Mirrlees has some knowledge of the Mystic Arts, and our father is a great master of them. Come, let us not dwell on such serious things. You are here with us, and the world is bright once more, and tonight we shall dance until dawn!”
Zara helped Anita into her gown, and then the two of them ran along the corridors to Zara’s own apartments.
Zara flung open a door and Anita stared into her sister’s bedchamber in astonished delight. The walls and ceiling had been painted in banded shades of blue, so that the four-poster bed, with its navy blue covers and curtains, seemed to be sailing in the middle of a vast seascape with a distant horizon at shoulder-height around the walls.
“This is lovely!” Anita said as she stepped over the threshold. She glanced down. The floorboards under her feet had been painted to resemble shingle. There were windows in one wall, draped with deep blue curtains, looking out over the river, but glazed with tinted, rippled glass that gave the light a sapphire sheen.
Anita looked more closely at the walls and gasped. The paintings were alive!
Foam-capped waves washed silently to and fro around her, and tall ships rode the swell, with crisp white sails swelling in the wind. Mermaids and sea serpents rose out of the white foam and then, without a sound, dived beneath the surface again, leaving a plume of creamy spray. Snowy clouds scudded across the azure sky of the upper walls. Seagulls winged their way over the ceiling, their wings casting faint shadows above them.
Anita reached out and tentatively brushed her hand against the wall. It felt cool and solid, like painted stone. A distant ship glided under her fingers—a ship made of colored brushstrokes. It looked like a moving photograph as it sailed noiselessly away in its enchanted world of paint and pigment.
Anita stepped back, looking at Zara. “How?” she breathed, unable to organize her tumbling thoughts enough to make a coherent sentence.
Zara smiled at her. “Magic, perhaps?” she said with a laugh. “This is not so extraordinary. We each have bedchambers that give us joy and heart’s ease at the day’s end. Sancha’s walls have endless words flowing across them, telling never-ending stories and tales for her pleasure. Rathina’s is a ballroom filled with tireless dancers. Hopie’s chamber is a woodland thick with herbs and healing plants. And Cordelia’s room teems with the animals that she loves.”
“My room isn’t like that,” Anita said. Her tapestries had shown intricately detailed scenes, but they had been still and two-dimensional, not animated like these painted walls.
Zara looked somber. “Once it was,” she said. “Maybe it will come alive for you in time. You must be patient.” She turned her head. “But see what Mistress Mirrlees has left for me!” She ran to the bed. An electric blue gown lay there, the bright silk shining out against the dark blue covers. “Come, help me to put it on.”
Anita dragged her attention away from the living walls and helped Zara into the gown and laced up the bodice.
The gown was as lovely and as finely detailed as Anita’s. The blue fabric seemed to shimmer as Zara moved, with white and pale sapphire jewels that sparkled and glittered in the late afternoon sunlight.
Anita scrambled onto Zara’s bed, watching her sister dance against the impossible sea. The steps looked quite complicated.
“I don’t know how to dance like that,” Anita said.
“You will remember.” Zara laughed as she whirled past. “Your fingers remembered the lute; your feet will recall the dance.” She paused, gazing at Anita with wide, thrilled eyes. “Do you remember the steps to All in a Garden Green?” she asked. “Or The Chirping of the Nightingale? Or Jenny Pluck Pears? You must remember Fine Companion. That was always your favorite.”
Anita shook her head. “Maybe we should practice before the ball?”
At that moment, she heard the distant sound of trumpets ringing out in a fanfare.
Zara’s smile widened. “There is no time,” she said, leaning across the bed and snatching Anita’s hands. “The grand ball awaits!”
Anita slid off the bed. “Oh well,” she muttered as Zara hauled her to the door. “What have I got to lose? This is all in my head, anyway. If I make a total idiot of myself, who’s going to know?”
Anita had expected to see plenty of people heading for the ball, but the corridors and stairways were quiet and deserted. As they walked the candlelit hallways, she began to feel Zara’s infectious excitement welling inside her. But where was everybody?
They came to a lobby lit by only one or two candles. In front of them stood a pair of massive dark wood doors. All was silent.
“Open the doors,” said Zara.
Puzzled, Anita turned the handles and thrust open the doors. They swung wide into a thick, velvet darkness.
She looked over her shoulder at Zara, not understanding what was happening, wondering if Zara was playing some kind of trick on her.
“Go in,” Zara urged. “You must go in.”
With a shrug, Anita stepped over the threshold of the pitch-black room.
She halted, straining her eyes into the darkness.
“Hello?” she called. “Is anyone there?”
She heard a subdued throb of music coming from somewhere above her—a low rumble of cellos and woodwind instruments, and the soft rattle of tambourines. And then, in the pitch darkness far ahead of her, a point of bright yellow light opened up like a flower bud.
“Welcome, my precious daughter.” It was Oberon’s voice. “A thousand times welcome!” The music swelled in her ears and the flower of light grew until it was a golden radiance that blossomed and spread to fill every corner of the huge room.
She was standing in the Great Hall that she had seen when Gabriel had first brought her into the palace, except this time she had entered through doors that opened beneath the gallery.
The golden light revealed the King standing in front of the two thrones. And as the radiance grew, she saw that a host of brightly clad people filled the hall, every one of them looking straight at her with glad, smiling faces.
A thrilled shiver went through her as she saw the golden glow bloom along the walls, igniting candles in sconces, then rising to bring tongues of white flame to the huge chandeliers that hung from the ceiling.
And while Anita was still trying to take in all of this, the people began to applaud and cheer, and the music swelled to a crescendo.
She stood there trembling, tears pricking her eyes. Was this really just a dream? It felt so real.
Oberon came toward her, smiling. Her mouth was dry and her head swimming as he took her hand and rested it in the crook of his arm. He turned, drawing her along with him, and together they walked the length of the hall to the sound of renewed cheering.
“Let the first dance be Greenwood,” Oberon called above the tumult. “I shall dance it with my daughter.”
There was more applause and the music changed to a lively, tumbling tune. Anita glanced up and saw that musicians filled the gallery.
She looked into the King’s face. “I don’t know this dance,” she said.
“Ah, but you do,” the King promised. “Come, take my lead.”
The crowd drew back to leave an empty circle in the floor. Anita let Oberon lead her into the middle of the open space.
The King took a step back from her and gave a low bow.
Anita found herself curtsying to him. He stepped up to her and she instinctively lifted her hands to meet his, palm to palm. He took a backward step, and she stood still as he made a slow gliding movement to the right and danced a ring around her. Then he came to a stop in front of her and she performed the same swirling dance around him, placing her feet as if she had been doing this dance all her life.
The watching courtiers cheered. Oberon laughed, applauding with them.
“See? My daughter has forgotten none of her skills!” he shouted. “Come all you lords and ladies of Faerie! Step forth in a joyous measure! Let the merriment commence!”
Suddenly Anita was surrounded by a whirl of dancing people—and she danced with them. The colored clothes and the music and the candlelight swirled around her until there was no such person as Anita Palmer—there was only Princess Tania of Faerie, come home to her father Oberon and to her royal sisters.
As the night wore on, Anita danced until her head was spinning. She knew the steps to every dance! There was the stately Saraband, in which the lords and ladies formed long lines facing each other across the Great Hall. The men bowed, the ladies curtsied. Moving in perfect harmony to the music, Anita and the other ladies approached their partners, clasping hands with them, gracefully circling them—and then, lord and lady linked arms to weave in and out of the other couples with wonderful elegance and precision.
Then there were the ring dances such as Rose Is White and Rose Is Red, where the dancers separated into circles—sometimes of four, sometimes of eight, and sometimes forming themselves into great rings that revolved clockwise and counterclockwise, one inside the other as the jaunty music urged them ever onward.
Anita’s feet never faltered. Sometimes she would find herself facing Gabriel for a while, at other times Oberon or one of the other Faerie lords would be her partner, but she had little time to catch her breath, and no time for conversation.
She had no idea how much time had passed when she finally made her way from the dance floor and sought out a corner where she could sit and catch her breath. Lords and ladies who were not dancing sat or stood in small groups around the walls, talking and laughing and watching the dancers twirl and spin across the floor as the music rang out to the beat of drums and the clatter of tambourines.
Sancha and Cordelia came to sit with her and they watched as Zara took the lead in a particularly strenuous dance called The Voltaira.
“She never stops, does she?” Anita remarked after a move in the energetic dance that involved the men grasping the women by the waists and launching them into the air. “Where does she get the energy from?”
“From five hundred years of yearning,” Sancha said solemnly.
“That’s a long time to wait for a good night out,” Anita murmured. She gazed across the hall. Oberon was seated on his throne, speaking with some nobles. The King of Faerie. It gave her a curious feeling of pride as she watched the lords and ladies of the Court bow to him, almost as if he really was her father and she really was Princess Tania.
“Idiot!” she told herself. “This isn’t real. Don’t forget that!”
Hopie and a tall, dark-haired and-bearded man were standing arm in arm by the throne, speaking with the King.
“Who’s that with Hopie?” she asked.
“That is her husband, the Lord Brython of Cantus,” Sancha said. “He is a wise and learned man, high in the King’s Council.”
Anita looked at Sancha. “Are you married?”
Sancha laughed softly. “No, indeed,” she said. “My time is all taken up by my studies. I do not need distractions such as that.”
Anita turned to Cordelia. “How about you? Anyone special?”
Cordelia frowned and shook her head. “I find little of delight in the company of men,” she said.
“Nor in that of women, truth be told,” Sancha added. “Cordelia lives only for her animals.”
Cordelia lifted an eyebrow. “They are not my animals,” she said. “They each belong to themselves.” She looked at Anita. “You are welcome to visit the menagerie, if you wish.”
“A menagerie?” Anita said. “That sounds great. I love animals.” She smiled, remembering the incident in Mistress Mirrlees’s workroom. “Even squirrels that I scare half witless.”
“Don’t worry, he no longer fears you,” Cordelia said. “I have spoken with him. He now knows that you are a friend.”
“Uh…that’s good,” Anita said, wondering exactly what Cordelia meant by “spoken with him.”
She looked over to where Rathina stood surrounded by an attentive group of handsome young lords. So far that evening, Rathina was the only one of her sisters who had not spoken to her, but then the beautiful Faerie princess did seem to be permanently occupied with her competing admirers.
“So, do I have any other brothers-in-law I should know about?” Anita asked.
“Eden has a husband,” said Sancha. “The Earl Valentyne, but he quit the Court a long time ago, soon after the darkness fell, and Eden locked herself in her tower. We do not know where he went. Perhaps back to his own people in Mynwy Clun, a hundred leagues from here in the mountainous west.” She followed the line of Anita’s eyes. “As you can see, Rathina does not lack for suitors, but none yet has claimed her heart. And as for Zara, I pity indeed the man who seeks to capture her heart, which is as light and as blithe as a butterfly on the wing!”
Anita spotted Gabriel on the far side of the hall. He was in conversation with Edric. She had not noticed Edric in the hall before, and the sight of that familiar but now achingly unknown face gave her quite a jolt.
She pushed away her feelings of betrayal. Why did Edric’s treachery hurt her so much? This was only a dream; why did seeing him make her feel so bad?
“And then there’s Gabriel,” she murmured under her breath. She turned to Sancha and said more loudly, “Back then, before I disappeared…had Gabriel captured my heart? He must have, if I was going to marry him, but I can’t remember it at all.”
Sancha looked thoughtful. “You seemed content to marry him,” she said at last. “But I know not whether you truly loved him.”
Anita stared at her in surprise. “Really? Why do you say that?”
“The marriage would have brought together two great houses of Faerie,” Sancha explained. “Our own house and the House of Weir. You knew our father longed for an alliance with the powerful Dukedom of the North. When Gabriel proposed to you, I think you may have agreed to the marriage part
ly to please our father.”
“It seemed to me that you were dazzled by the glamour and the excitement of it all,” Cordelia added, overhearing. “But you liked Gabriel well enough, I believe.” She watched him across the room. “He is a handsome man, I dare say, for those who admire such things.”
Suddenly Zara appeared in front of them. “What’s this!” she exclaimed, snatching at Anita’s hands. “Weary already? Fie! The night is young; come, I have called for your favorite dance—Fine Companion. It will blow away all the cobwebs! On your feet, lazy-bones; there is many a measure to tread before dawn!”
Anita gave Sancha and Cordelia a helpless grin as she was towed onto the dance floor by her tireless sister.
It was not until three more dances had passed that Anita was able to escape Zara’s attentions. Slightly dizzy from being spun around and around, she made her way through the courtiers, looking for a place to sit and rest for a while.
Suddenly a hand grasped her wrist and a familiar voice hissed close to her ear. “We must talk.”
She turned her head and saw Edric’s face at her shoulder.
For a split second she was vividly reminded of another time when a boy she knew as Evan Thomas had taken hold of her wrist.
A concert, a few months ago in North London. Loud rock music, battering at her ears, electric guitars screaming through her head, the bass rumbling in the pit of her stomach. The dance floor heaving with sweating bodies. Strobe lights raking the darkened walls. And her in the middle of the crush, enjoying every frenzied moment of it, until she was caught by a fierce press of bodies as the crowd surged toward the stage. She was trapped in the stampede, gasping for breath, unable to get out. In real danger of falling and being trampled underfoot.
And then—rescue! Evan’s hand, grabbing hold of her wrist, yanking her out of the suffocating pack, towing her to safety.
Relieved. Throwing her arms around his neck. Laughing above the noise. Yelling in his ear. “I think you just saved my life!” And in that moment, awakening to the awesome notion that she just might be in love with him.