First Light

by Michele Paige Holmes

  Our pawns went quickly, save one I managed to turn to a queen by distracting Cecilia and sacrificing a bishop.

  “The least shall be the greatest,” Cecilia mumbled. “Brilliant move.”

  I pulled my gaze from the board to stare at her. “What did you say?”

  “Umm… a fine move?”

  “No. Before that. You said something about the least—”

  “Being the greatest,” she finished. “Something my father taught me. Canelia is only as good as its people. It behooves us to remember that and treat all classes with dignity and respect.”

  “Oh.” I nodded. “Of course.” Beneath my gown my heart raced. Her explanation made perfect sense. It was the sort of thing a king would teach his daughter. It was also what my father had tried to teach me. With some difficulty, I returned my attention to the game.

  An hour more passed, then another half. The king and queen watched closely, observing from their nearby chairs. Tension filled the air. Cecilia still held her king, queen, one bishop and a rook. I had only my king, my pawn-turned-queen and a knight by my side. Each move took long, agonizing minutes.

  Cristian and Henrie had finished their game, though I did not know the outcome. I was vaguely aware that they stood somewhere behind us but did not fully register either’s presence until at last I knew I had Cecilia’s king cornered.

  “Checkmate,” Cristian said quietly before I uttered the word. I looked up to find him standing beside me. Our eyes met. “Congratulations.”

  “Thank you.” The tension of a moment before was replaced by almost tangible emotion between us. I forced myself to look away, knowing the king, queen, and Cecilia all observed the interchange.

  “I suppose we shall play after all, Princess,” Henrie said. “As I, too, lost my match.”

  Cecilia smiled graciously. “Later, perhaps. Adrielle has tired me. I’ve not had such a challenge in a long time.” Her words held a hint of sadness.

  I viewed her with new empathy. She may have led a life of luxury and leisure, but even so, she’d been deprived of companionship. A minute earlier I’d wanted so badly to win our match, to have one thing to claim as mine because she had everything— parents, a fine home… Cristian.

  Now winning seemed utterly unimportant. What really mattered was setting things right in this kingdom, so Cecilia, Cristian— all of us— might be free. Guilt tore at me again.

  I, too, was tired but also not about to pass up a chance at a match with Cristian. I knew our friendship had to end, yet I couldn’t bring myself to do the right thing— to get as far away from him as possible. It was rather unhelpful that Cecilia and her parents encouraged us to play.

  He settled into the princess’s spot, and we began. It wasn’t long before I knew I was in trouble— not because Cristian excelled at strategy any more than Cecilia or myself, but because I could not keep my mind on the game. Instead of watching the board and speculating on his possible moves and how I might respond, I watched him— his eyes, the curve of his lips, the creases in his forehead as he concentrated.

  I longed to touch his hand when it stretched across the board to move a piece. I wished more than anything that we might talk of that day in Tallinyne and the miracle that transpired. I dared not, for as much as I watched Cristian, I was also aware of several sets of eyes studying me.

  The game progressed, and it became apparent I was the inferior player. I didn’t care, other than to prolong this time together in such close proximity with my future king.

  King. In a few days’ time he will be married. The thought washed over me like a bucket of well water. Cristian would be king someday. Cecilia would be his queen. Together they faced the saving of a kingdom from a powerful evil.

  I must not distract him from his duty. But sometime in the past few minutes, I’d noticed I was distracting him. Cristian’s furtive glances at me became more and more obvious. Twice our fingers touched on the board. Finally, as I looked up from my latest move, I found his face close to mine, and our eyes again connected.

  “I’ve missed you,” he whispered.

  “Don’t,” I said. Don’t tell me that. Don’t stray from your duty. Don’t make this harder than it already is. I lost the game as quickly as possible after that. Mercifully, Cristian did not speak again.

  King Addison and Queen Ellen bade us a fond good night. Again I was taken aback by the affection bestowed upon me. Knowing I was undeserving, I followed Cecilia up a winding staircase to her chamber.

  “I’m sorry this is so hard for you, so— unfair.” She spoke almost as if she, too, could read my mind. I swallowed uneasily and met her gaze full of caring and concern. Cecilia was a princess in every sense of the word. Gentle, soft-spoken, generous, beautiful. She would do well as queen of Canelia. She would be a lovely bride for Cristian.

  “I’ll be all right,” I said. “I think that somehow it’s lonelier inside the castle than it is when I’m by myself out there.”

  She nodded. “I know what you mean."

  Back in her bedchamber, I hurried behind the screen to change into my nightgown while Cecilia left to request a fresh basin of water. When I peeled the dress away, the pearls, still tucked in my bodice, shone up at me. Though I’d slept with them before, during my long recovery, I was loath to do so now, worrying they might come loose in the night and be lost in the princess’s shared bed.

  But I need them near in case… In case of what, I wasn’t sure. Certainly I was safe here in this castle of enchantments.

  Footsteps sounded in the hall. Cecilia returning already? I looked around for a place to hide the bracelet, and my eyes rested on the tall bed. I walked to it, reaching my hand beneath the thick mattress. Wriggling my fingers, I pushed the pearls far beneath, away from the edge, confident the bracelet was secure.

  “Last one in bed has to put out the light.” Cecilia made a graceful leap through the air, landing on the mattress and sending pillows flying. I stood there, mouth agape.

  She laughed. “Adrielle, you look as if you’ve just seen a fairy transform for the first time.”

  “No. Only a princess who can run… and jump. I didn’t expect—”

  “I wasn’t always so prim, you know.” Cecilia patted the bed. “Come on. Show me your feet have recovered well.”

  I blew out the candle then used the steps to climb into bed. Cecilia frowned at me.

  “I know you can run, Adrielle. Off with you.” She gave me a little push toward the edge.

  “Oh—” I scooted from the bed quickly. I felt my face heat with embarrassment. Perhaps she hadn’t meant for me to sleep there after all.

  “This time do it proper,” Cecilia said. “Show me a good run.” She stood up on the bed, her back against the enormous headboard.

  “You want me to… run?”

  “And jump up here.” She beckoned with her hand.

  I hesitated, sure this must be some kind of trickery. How was it that I’d arrived in this place— in the princess’s chamber— about to run and jump on her bed?

  “Adrielle,” Cecilia said, impatience in her tone. When I still didn’t move, she flopped forward on the mattress then bounced off, landing on her feet on the floor. “I’ll race you then, if it will help.” She crossed the room to stand beside me.

  I glanced at her, wondering if she’d been affected by one of the castle enchantments meant to protect her. Never in a hundred years would I have imagined Cecilia behaving this way.

  She grasped my arm and looked at me, pleading. “It’s been forever since I’ve had any fun— please.”

  I forgot myself then, forgot about everything but that pleading look. Again I felt it was somehow familiar. Kind, mischievous… teasing.

  “At your ready, set—”

  “Go!” I shouted with her, and we raced across the floor, slippers pattering. At nearly the same moment we threw our arms forward, diving toward the bed. Again Cecilia landed gracefully in the middle— 'twas obvious she’d practiced before. I, however, did not j
ump far enough and began sliding backward, taking a fistful of silken sheets and the canopy curtain with me. Cecilia shrieked and grabbed my arm, towing me back on the bed. We collapsed, laughing and breathing hard.

  “That was pathetic,” Cecilia said when her giggling subsided. “We’d best have another go at it.”

  I turned my head to face her. “No. I concede. You are far better at leaping than I.” Feeling too near the edge of the bed for comfort, I rolled toward the center, pulling the heavy fabric with me. The curtain stretched taut beneath my weight, and I struggled to sit up, intending to free myself from the entanglement. With a loud whoosh, the heavy drape hanging over us fell down, cloaking us in darkness.

  I tensed, thinking Cecilia would surely be upset I’d disturbed her bed. Instead I heard more laughter. Anxious to make certain she had not been hurt, I dug myself out from beneath the cover.

  “Your hair is a sight.” Cecilia wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “Oh, Adrielle. I haven’t laughed like this since—”

  She stopped suddenly, her eyes large as she stared past me at the top side of the drape I’d pulled down. I leaned back to see if it was a spider or some other creature that held her paralyzed. But instead of seeing the expected insect, I found myself staring at the ceiling and a painted scene so real I nearly felt myself sucked into it.

  I, too, ceased movement, nearly ceased breathing, as the picture pulled me in, captivating every one of my senses. My mouth opened in a breathless gasp, and the fresh scent of a pine forest assaulted me. I tilted my head back farther as I took in the scene. The forest framed a landscape of rolling hills, farmland, and a large red barn in need of a fresh coat of paint. A short distance from this stood a narrow, two-story house surrounded by willow trees, one of which sheltered an old stump, the faint lines of a chess board burned into the top.

  At last I tore my gaze from the painting to stare at Cecilia. “How— what is this?”

  Her eyes were watering. “I like to imagine it is my home. Florence helped me paint it.”

  “But it is my home,” I said. “We are sisters. I knew it. You’ve Papa’s eyes!” I finally placed what it was about her that seemed familiar.

  “No.” She shook her head adamantly. “You’ve got it wrong, Adrielle. I swear, the same blood does not run through our veins.”

  “Then how do you explain that?” I demanded, pointing to the ceiling. I supposed I ought not to be talking to the princess in such a fashion, but sometime during the evening, between our chess game and our race to the bed, she’d become more like my friend than the princess.

  And friends tell each other the truth.

  Cecilia sighed heavily and began twisting a loose string from the coverlet around her finger. “Our fathers were friends. Best friends. Many years ago, just after Nadamaris’s curse, one asked a favor of the other— a terrible favor.” Her eyes welled with tears. “And it was not denied.”

  “What was it?” I put my arm around her. “You can tell me.”

  She shook her head again. “I cannot. But you will learn it soon enough. Do not ask me to tell you more. Good night, Adrielle. Bless you.” She hugged me briefly, then pulled the covers back and crawled beneath them, rolling onto her side, away from me.

  “Good night,” I murmured then lay on my back, staring up at the ghosts of my past.

  I lay there for what seemed like hours, looking at the painting and trying to understand its tie to the castle— the tie that bound me from my old world to the new, with all its magic and mystery. Why was it that everything said to me never made sense? It seemed the people— and fairies— around me spoke in half mysteries, never quite completing their thoughts.

  Just as Mother never would. The thought was alarming— and enlightening. My father had been friends with the king. He and Mother had surely known of all this. They’d known I would end up here. Again I was brought back to that day in the barn, just before Mother’s death. There had been talk of sending me away, and of a lost child.

  Of course! They’d been planning to send me here, to the castle. And each, in their own way, had been trying to prepare me. But why?

  I thought of all that had happened since then— the carriage that arrived for me, the pearls, the gypsies’ conversation, the fairies, my gifts. I sat up quickly, the jolt of discovery coinciding with the feeling of a red hot poker in my back.

  I am of royal blood. And the favor King Addison asked of my father…

  I am here to protect the princess. To give my life for hers? It would certainly explain the royal family’s excessive gratitude toward me.

  A shudder rippled across my back, and the last of the fire flickered out. I strained to make out the window, to see if it could possibly be open or if I’d imagined the icy breeze. I sat still, waiting to feel it again, but did not. Deciding it was my imagination, I lay down, only to feel the same, hot discomfort. Perhaps I had dislodged an insect when I’d pulled down the draperies.

  I knelt on the bed, determined to find the cause of my irritation. A faint, round glow bubbled up through the thick mattress.

  The pearls.

  I scrambled from the bed and thrust my hand beneath the mattress, retrieving the bracelet. Its charms were working, for I’d never seen its glow brighter, and it was hot enough that I could barely touch the pearls. Holding them in the fold of my nightgown so I wouldn’t get burned, I walked around to the foot of the bed, intending to discover where the danger lay.

  A cool breeze brushed past my face as I neared the window, followed by a faint hissing sound. I turned toward it and nearly dropped the bracelet when I saw the open window and the vipers slithering through it. Paralyzed with fear, I watched as one snake crossed the floor then rapidly wound its way up the bedpost.

  Cecilia! Too late I came to my senses and rushed after the serpent. Still clutching the pearls, I leapt onto the bed. The snake, its long body already coiling around the princess’s neck, lifted its head and looked at me with beady eyes a second before its forked tongue appeared, hovering over Cecilia’s arm.

  “No!” I threw the bracelet as I screamed. It caught the snake’s tongue, scorching it so that a tiny puff of smoke fizzled in the air. I lunged onto the bed, grabbing the paralyzed snake’s head with both hands, squeezing tightly so it couldn’t open its mouth. Cecilia woke up screaming, flailing her arms, trying to get the coil from her neck. Two more vipers were crawling up the bedposts, and a fourth hung from the canopy overhead. We were both shouting now, and I was reaching for the pearls to wish the snakes away when four fairies appeared in our chamber.

  “Close the window,” Merry Anne shouted.

  Florence hurried to do her bidding while Kindra used her kindling stick to set a flame to the snakes on the bed. Zipporah rushed around the room, catching the remaining vipers, which Merry Anne made quick work of strangling with her yarn. Cecilia and I huddled together in the middle of the bed, watching the fairies work their magic.

  “Gotcha,” Kindra said as she skewered a snake with her stick.

  On the other side of the chamber, Merry Anne lassoed a half dozen of the serpents. Zipporah dashed by, collected them, and tossed them in the roaring fire Kindra had brought to life.

  “That’s the last of them.” Kindra blew on the end of her stick.

  “Not quite, Sister.” Florence’s face was pressed to the windowpane. “At least a hundred more are making their way up the wall outside.”

  “Nadamaris,” Merry Anne and Kindra whispered together.

  “She’ll have planted them in the orchard trees with her wicked wind,” Florence said.

  “But how did the wind get in?” Kindra asked. How did she breach the enchantments we’ve over the castle and grounds?

  “It’s my fault,” Florence said. “It must have come in with us, when we returned from the village a few days ago.”

  “Check every window and door. Alert the king and queen and Cristian and his parents.” Merry Anne sounded weary. “Zipporah and Kindra, can you gather the snakes
on the wall and burn them?”

  “Of course, Sister.” Zipporah sprang up on her tiptoes and flew toward the hall.

  Looking at Florence, Merry Anne asked, “What can be done about the orchard?”

  “The trees will have to be killed,” Florence said. “If they aren’t already dead. I had hoped— in the spring…” Her words died off as she peered out the window, staring in the direction of the orchards.

  “Fire would be quickest,” Kindra said softly, for once not appearing over-anxious to use her gift.

  “Yes,” Merry Anne said. “Burn them all, please. Make certain not a limb or root remains, or the snakes will likely resurface.”

  “It will take time.” Kindra walked to Florence and placed a comforting arm around her shoulders. “I am sorry. Truly.”

  “I know,” Florence said, trying to muster a smile. “'Tis only trees we speak of losing. It could have been much worse.” She looked up and met my gaze. “You saved more than one life tonight, Adrielle.”

  “It wasn’t me. I couldn’t sleep. The pearls—”

  “The bravest thing you could have done,” Merry Anne finished. “Might I have a word?” She walked to the end of the bed and held her hand out, indicating I was to descend. I let go of Cecilia and noticed her eyes were still large and her face pale. I felt reluctant to leave her in such a state.

  “She’ll be all right,” Merry Anne said. “Florence will tend to her.”

  And indeed Florence was already making her way to the bed, a steaming cup having magically appeared in her hand.

  “A soothing ale will do the trick, I think. With a pinch—” she held her fingers over the cup and something blue and sparkly wafted down into it “— of moonbeam to help you sleep again.” She climbed onto the stool and held the cup out to Cecilia.

  I slid off the other side of the bed and followed Merry Anne into the hall.

  “I believe you misplaced these.” She took my hand in hers, transferring the bracelet to my palm.