Awaken - Sleeping Beauty Retold

by Jade

  Rosamond flapped her hand to get Monika's attention. "Go to Sir Warin and give him this," she instructed, thrusting a piece of pink fabric at her maid. "Tell him he fights for his princess's honour."

  Monika didn't say anything. She simply took the handkerchief and made her way from the royal stand to where Sir Warin stood, drinking his cup of ale.

  The queen, noticing Rosamond's preoccupation, followed her gaze. "So that's why you aren't flirting with the courtiers here. You have better men at home."

  Rosamond reddened. "I don't know how to flirt, Your Majesty. And even if I did..."

  Margareta patted her hand. "Most men won't notice anyway. They're simple creatures, really. Let him kiss you, find a way for him to glimpse you naked, and then refuse all else until you are married. Everything else is just so you can make sure he's not a complete ass, right, Erik?"

  "Mm?" the king said. His attention was on the remaining six men forming up on the field once more. "Yes, of course. They're about to fight again."

  Margareta's serene smile surfaced as she added softly to Rosamond, "And never agree to host a tourney. I swear, this will be our last."

  The horn blasted its command for the fight to begin, and Rosamond hid behind her hands. But if she peeped between her fingers, she could still see the pink handkerchief tied to the shoulder of Sir Warin's cuirass as six men became four, then three, then two, until he faced a single foe who was much larger than him.

  Their staves clacked together like practice swords, but both men wielded them like steel blades they intended to kill one another with. They circled, crossed, thrust...it looked like an elegant dance, until Warin stumbled on an uneven patch of ground and his thrust went wide. His opponent saw his chance and brought his stave down hard against Warin's sword arm.

  Rosamond heard the crack as Warin's arm broke, but the shouts and cheers from the stands drowned out her frantic cry.

  The other man lifted his wooden sword in salute to the king, turning his back on Warin. Warin still held his stave in his injured arm, but he transferred it to his other hand and assumed a fighting stance.

  "This is not over – I do not yield!" Sir Warin roared, loud enough for even Rosamond to hear.

  Her heart beat rapidly in her breast. How could he be so brave, when he was injured?

  The bigger man turned, and brought his stave up slowly. He, too, was tired, but he wasn't as badly hurt as Warin. The dance resumed. Warin's opponent dragged one foot, as though his knee had been damaged. Warin kept his broken arm close to his body, but as far away from the other man as possible.

  Each time the staves knocked together, it seemed softer, as though both men lacked the strength to continue.

  Time ticked by. A second. An hour. An eternity. Or so it seemed to Rosamond, who longed to run out onto the field and heal her hero, but she could not until this duel was over.

  A collective gasp rose from the stands as the big man overbalanced and fell to his knees. Warin, in an almost leisurely movement, set the point of his stave to the man's throat.

  Rosamond heard wild cheering, and it took her a moment to realise the sound came from her own throat.

  "Do we have a winner?" King Erik boomed.

  Warin pulled the pink handkerchief from his cuirass and waved it above his head like a flag as he staggered to the royal box. When he reached it, he fell to his knees. "I am the victor, Your Majesties," he said.

  "To the joy of your countrywomen. I'm sure they are glad they will be protected by an able knight like yourself for their journey home," the king replied.

  Countrywomen? Oh, of course. Monika. Rosamond dismissed the maid from her mind easily. Sir Warin was the captain of the princess's guard. He would defend her with his life, before he even glanced at Monika.

  That was why she needed to heal him. She might be a poor witch, but he had fought for her honour and won. Rosamond rose and descended to the grass, or what had been grass before the fighting had churned it into dust. Heedless of her gown or who saw, she knelt beside her valiant knight and reached for his broken arm.

  Blood. She needed blood to cast a spell. There were no thorns today, so she scraped her hand along the edge of his stave until she felt the prick of a splinter. With her fingers bleeding, she touched her wounded knight, closed her eyes and concentrated on healing him.

  She concentrated so hard she barely noticed when the spell sent her into yet another deep swoon.

  THREE

  When Rosamond opened her eyes, she met the frightened gaze of a maidservant she did not know. The girl bobbed a curtsey, said, "I shall fetch the queen," and hurried off, leaving Rosamond alone.

  Alone with a tray of food, at least, Rosamond noted, reaching for one of the strange orange berries. It burst like a bubble of white wine on her tongue. Eagerly, she reached for another.

  "So you like cloudberries, too, Princess?" Margareta asked as she swept into the room. "Erik says they aren't sweet enough for his liking." She reached for one and popped it into her mouth. "More for me."

  Suddenly awkward, Rosamond didn't know what to do. Surely she should curtsey, or offer the queen a chair. What did one do when a queen visited your bedchamber?

  Margareta dragged a bench from the corner to the side of Rosamond's bed and enthroned herself on it. "Your maid tells me you are unwell, and must return home. The royal physician says you should not be moved, you are so gravely ill. What say you?"

  Rosamond wet her lips. "I am fine, Your Majesty."

  "Are you with child?" the queen demanded. "If he refuses to marry you, I can make the man change his mind." Her smile was fierce.

  Rosamond shivered. "No, Your Majesty. I have not chosen a husband yet, and my father has not chosen one for me."

  "Not with child, and not ill," the queen said, ticking them off on her long fingers. "Then whatever is the matter?"

  "My...gift. The magic I was born with. It is not strong. When I try to use it, I...am not strong enough, either." Rosamond swallowed. "At home, I only used my powers on living plants, and it was not so bad. Here...on cut flowers, and on men, I am not strong enough."

  Margareta laughed. "So, what you are saying is that men are hard work while plants are not? I will agree with you there!"

  Rosamond wasn't sure what to say to that. Queen Margareta was nothing like she'd expected. Fortunately, she was saved from finding a response by the entry of a maidservant carrying a wooden box.

  "I have a gift for you," the queen announced, taking the box. "It has been a week since my coronation and...look!" She flipped open the lid and revealed the crown of roses she'd worn on her coronation day.

  Yet...this could not be the same crown. The roses were as fresh as if they had just been picked, instead of dried out in the summer heat as they surely should have been.

  "Whatever spell you cast on them, these roses will not die. They remain perfect. You are gifted with powerful magic, Princess. I have little magic, but I have placed a blessing on the crown. When you take a husband, he will be loyal to you from the day you first wear this crown until the day he dies. I would advise wearing it on your wedding day." Margareta set the crown back in its box, and closed the lid.

  "Thank you," Rosamond said. She didn't have the heart to tell the queen that she didn't want any husband, loyal or otherwise. "I thought you said you would give me some of that new cloth to take home, not a crown."

  "So I did!" the queen exclaimed. "I forgot to ask Penelope if she has enough, or whether she must make more for you. I will send someone directly."

  The maidservant who'd brought the box was quickly despatched, but the queen stayed to tell Rosamond all about the remainder of the tournament, which she'd missed. From the sound of it, that was a good thing. The melee on foot had been followed by one where the combatants rode on horseback, and Margareta sounded almost gleeful at the number of broken limbs she described in vivid detail.

  Rosamond's stomach roiled, making her regret breaking her fast at all.

  FOUR

&
nbsp; Three days Rosamond waited for the queen's gift, while watching the crowds at court dwindle as other guests returned to their homes. When Rosamond hinted at her plans to depart, too, Queen Margareta insisted that the princess's gift would be ready within the hour, but hours came and went with no sign of any cloth.

  Finally, Rosamond lost patience and sent Monika to find the weaver. The maid returned with a puzzled look on her face.

  "Did you say the weaver was a woman named Penelope?" Monika asked.

  Rosamond nodded. "That's what the queen called her. Yes."

  "I found a Penelope. She is the queen's own dressmaker, not just a weaver, and a noblewoman in her own right. Lady Penelope is a knight's widow and the queen's companion. She has not been at court because her daughter is ill." Monika frowned. "She says that if you are willing to come to her chambers, she will measure you for a new gown directly."

  "I do not understand. The queen said..." Rosamond stopped. She had been the queen's companion in place of Lady Penelope. Queen Margareta evidently did not wish to give her up until her original companion was at her side again. "No matter. I shall go now."

  Monika led the way back to Lady Penelope's chambers, an airy apartment that was bigger than the one Rosamond had been given. Evidently the queen's companion was held in high regard.

  "Her Royal Highness, Princess Rosamond," Monika announced.

  Movement in the window alcove drew Rosamond's attention as a petite, dark-haired woman climbed down from the window seat, setting down her sewing. She bobbed a curtsey. "Your Highness. I'm Penelope. Queen Margareta told me you wanted a gown like her red velvet one, but when my daughter took ill, I could not leave her side." Penelope tilted her head to the side, like a curious bird. "I don't think the red would suit you. Too dark. Perhaps pink or sage..." She crossed the room and knelt by a chest beside a small couch that Rosamond realised was occupied.

  The pale girl on the couch looked perhaps ten years old, but her skin had a waxen sheen like she was not long for this life. Rosamond's heart went out to the girl, and to her poor mother.

  "Melitta fell ill so suddenly. For three days, she unpacked the chests of cloth that arrived in port last week, exclaiming over all the new colours. And on the fourth...she could not rise from her bed." Penelope's tears spilled over and she wept into her hands.

  Melitta looked like she would never rise again, in Rosamond's opinion. Unless she could heal the girl. Rosamond glanced around the room, looking for something sharp. She spotted a strange contraption with a wheel mounted on a low table, and a short staff with a spindle sticking up from the table. Rosamond swiped her finger across the spindle, wincing at the sting as the sharp point drew blood, then knelt beside the girl.

  Laying her hand on Melitta's forehead, Rosamond closed her eyes. She focussed first on cooling the girl's fever, then on ridding the girl's blood of the disease. As Rosamond felt her own head grow fuzzy, she released the girl and rose unsteadily to her feet. She fumbled blindly for the windowsill, then cried out as something sharp pierced her hand. Yet something about the pain cleared her vision almost instantly.

  Rosamond glanced down. She had grasped a briar rose growing through the window, and the thorns had bitten deep into her palm. In the back of her mind, somewhere in the memories of how her magical gifts were supposed to work, Rosamond remembered that her healing ability was linked to plants. Suppressing a second cry of pain, she wrapped her hand firmly around the flower stem, burying the thorns even more deeply, and reached for the girl with her free hand.

  Within moments, the girl's eyes fluttered open. She coughed wetly before she murmured something that sounded like, "Mitera?" and coughed again.

  "I am here," Lady Penelope said.

  The disease had settled in Melitta's lungs. Rosamond felt blood trickle down her wrist, but she closed her eyes once more to focus on the girl's lungs, where fluid was making it hard for her to breathe. Rosamond concentrated, and the fluid seemed to lessen a little. Slowly at first, then more strongly, she poured what magic she had into the girl. Melitta coughed again, not so thickly this time, and Rosamond took hope as she rid the girl of the disease that had plagued her.

  In triumph, Rosamond pushed away from the girl, panting, as black spots danced before her eyes. She would not swoon today, she swore. Today, weak as she was, she was mistress of her own magic.

  FIVE

  Rosamond surveyed the horses. They all looked well rested and well fed — perfect for the journey home. If anything, their loads were lighter, now that the king and queen had their coronation gifts.

  "What is all this?" Warin demanded.

  Half a dozen servants came into view, each pair bearing between them an enormous chest.

  "From Queen Margareta and Lady Penelope." They set the chests down and took off back into the palace.

  Lady Penelope? Oh, then this must be the cloth the queen promised her, Rosamond decided. She had not expected this much. Perhaps this was Lady Penelope's doing. After all, if it weren't for Rosamond, her daughter Melitta would be dead. Rosamond shivered. They were all but a breath away from death, though she hoped her life would hold a great many more breaths than just one.

  "We are not taking those chests with us," Sir Warin said. His deep voice held a command that any of his guardsmen would hurry to obey.

  Rosamond was no guardsman, though. The princess gave orders. She did not obey them. She smiled. "And refuse the queen's gift? I think not. That would be rude. Some might see it as a declaration of war."

  Sir Warin snorted, but he did not say a word.

  Monika stepped forward. "Mistress, the chests are too heavy for the horses to carry. But I could pack the cloth into the saddlebags on the packhorses. Then we need not refuse the queen's gift."

  So Warin nodded curtly. "Do it, then." He strode away, muttering under his breath.

  Rosamond admired each folded length of fabric as her maid packed them into the saddlebags. There was pink, as Penelope had promised, but also sage, gold, cream, and a deep red that her mother might fancy. The only colour missing was blue. As the queen seemed to favour blue gowns for her wardrobe, Rosamond supposed that the queen had used all the blue fabric already and Lady Penelope had not had time to weave more. No matter. There was enough rich fabric here to keep her mother's dressmaker sewing into winter. Rosamond like that idea. She could have new gowns for Yule.

  Finally, they were finished. Sir Warin returned, with a squad of guards in tow. Princess Rosamond mounted her horse, and Monika did the same. They had said their farewells to the king and queen the previous evening, before retiring, so now they formed up and rode out the gate, with far less fanfare than when they had arrived.

  Nevertheless, when Rosamond glanced back at the palace she saw the queen standing at the battlements, dressed in blue and waving a blue handkerchief in farewell.

  SIX

  Rosamond tired easily on the first day, and the second, and the third. When the guards pitched her pavilion by the setting rays of the sun, she had been quite ready to retire early for the first week of their journey home. Perhaps travelling did not agree with her, or the magic she had expended in healing Lady Penelope's daughter Melitta had taken its toll on her strength. She might not have swooned, but she was certain if she tried to use her magic again, she would most certainly faint.

  So she stumbled to bed with the sun, falling asleep to the low hum of conversation between the guards, Monika and Sir Warin. Aside from Monika and Warin, the others maintained a respectful silence in her presence, but once she was inside the pavilion, they thought nothing of making bawdy jokes that still made her blush. So much for not knowing what a couple did on their wedding night, though that seemed tame compared to their stories about the goings-on in the brothels they'd visited while staying in King Erik's capital.

  Usually, Monika rode at her side. No matter how many times she asked Sir Warin to ride with her, he insisted that he was better at protecting her than making conversation that would amuse her.

&
nbsp; Rosamond privately disagreed. Monika said little, and what she did say usually involved minding the skirt of her gown, or not overexerting herself. It was like travelling with her mother.

  At the end of the sixth day, Rosamond was delighted to find Sir Warin riding beside her. "Welcome home, Princess."

  Rosamond glanced around, but she saw nothing new except the edge of a wood they were about to enter. "Are we home already?" she asked, wrinkling her nose in puzzlement.

  "You are, for those bramble hedges mark the boundary of your kingdom, Princess. One of your ancestors decreed that his borders must be marked with berry bushes, and no one disobeyed the king, so it was done. Now the thickets are so dense the farmers at the borders regard them as another crop. If we didn't export our berry wine, every man in the kingdom would be drunk as a lord, every day of the year!" Sir Warin laughed.

  Rosamond shuddered. She'd seen far too many drunk lords at King Erik's court. There were so many reasons she didn't want a husband.

  Sir Warin had not been drunk, though. She had never seen him anything but sober and alert, as befit a knight and a captain of the guard.

  Could a princess marry a knight? Her mother had told her to look for a prince or a lord at least, but they were all foreigners. A knight who was her own countryman was surely more acceptable than some foreign barbarian, no matter what title he held. Sure, foreigners might bring extra lands to the kingdom, but what need had they for more land? Her kingdom's borders were already marked by berry bushes. If they expanded their territory, her people would have to plant more bushes just to know where the boundaries lay.

  Rosamond trailed her fingers through a bush that grew beside the road, and felt an overwhelming sense of welcome, as if the plants were as delighted as she was that she would soon be home again.

  Rosamond almost laughed. Such sentimental nonsense. Plants didn't have feelings. She stripped off a handful of berries and nibbled on them as she rode.