“And I wouldn’t have given it to him.” Lona had despised Rhoswen’s father, Galloran, nearly as much Rhoswen herself did, for what he’d done to Arabella.
The younger son by ten years, Galloran had grown up with no thought of inheriting the throne from his elder brother, Wesley. But when the king and queen remained childless long after Galloran had grown, married, and fathered Rhoswen, he had begun to set his heart on becoming king someday. Then, long after anyone would have believed it possible, the frail and aging queen conceived. Upon the birth of a healthy baby girl, Galloran had conspired against her innocent life.
And thus had begun a tragic chain of events.
“I am grateful that I have always had a potion of your making to take,” Rhoswen said, breaking into Lona’s thoughts. “I would trust no one else’s hand with something so volatile.”
“I have always taken the greatest care with yours,” Lona said somberly. Then her eyes brightened. “But you will no longer need it. With your father gone, you may resume your natural life. You can even bear children if you wish. I am sure you will no longer be barren once the potion is out of your system.”
“I intend to do exactly that, and many other things. I will marry again and forge ties with another kingdom. I will restore our agriculture and trade so that our people may flourish once more.”
“But surely, my lady, that will be work for Arabella to do. You have inherited the regency, but now that your father is gone, we may concentrate on breaking the curse. You should send out a proclamation calling for princes and lords to come. Send away the dragon and move soldiers into the fens to clear out the thieves so the journey is safe.”
Lady Rhoswen’s face had been bright and expressive, but now it smoothed into impassivity. “No. Such effort would be fruitless, and the monarchy must be made secure or the kingdom will erupt into chaos. All these years, I have hoped to see my dear, sweet cousin take her rightful place, but we no longer have the luxury of time. We must face the truth: This curse will never be broken.”
“It’s a spell now, not a curse,” Lona argued, feeling as if the floor were shifting beneath her feet but not sure why.
“Ah, yes. Well, you did what you could there. Such a shame you were so young and inexperienced. A wiser fairy wouldn’t have placed such an impossible impediment to the spell’s being broken.”
“I didn’t mean to say it,” Lona said, her voice quiet with shame. “I was going to say she would be awakened by another prick with the spindle, but Isemay spoke in my ear and her words came out of my mouth before I could stop them. True love’s kiss. Of all the shatter-brained ideas.”
“Exactly so. Thus I fear there is but one merciful thing to do.”
Lona’s eyes grew round. “Merciful? What do you mean?”
“I mean, my dear fairy, it isn’t kind to let Arabella remain forever in an enchanted sleep. The kingdom cannot bear it either. I have made my decision: If she has not awakened by the waning of the moon, we shall release her from the curse however we must.”
An icy chill ran through Lona’s veins. She knew exactly what Lady Rhoswen proposed; she could see the answer clearly in the lady’s eye. “I won’t let you do it,” she said.
Lady Rhoswen stood and wrapped her cloak around her shoulders. “Truly, I mean it as a kindness. You have served her long and loyally. The best thing you can do for her now is to let her go.”
“I will never give up.”
Gently patting Lona’s red cheek, Lady Rhoswen said, “Of course not. That is why I must do this for her. For you. I have told you now so that you might prepare yourself, and for no other reason. Do not let your heartbreak lead you to any rash actions.”
“I will tell her what you intend to do.”
“I expect you will.” Rhoswen gave her a wry, sad smile. “But consider how unkind it is to cause her worry. Let her rest in peace for the time she has left.”
On those parting words she left, and John’s torch briefly illuminated the stone walls beyond the doorway as he lit the way for her.
Her breast heaving with panic and confusion, Lona raced back to the tower room. Once there, she paced back and forth, assessing Lady Rhoswen’s parting words. Thorns caught at Lona’s ragged dress, and she tore free with a jerk of frustration. Then her gaze fell on Arabella, who lay as still as a statue though flushed with the color of life.
Two tears, one from each eye, slid down Lona’s cheeks. She caught them on the end of her wand and let it absorb the tears. Fairy tears were powerful, and she didn’t want to waste them. She would need all the power she could muster in coming days. She knew this as surely as she knew that she must warn Arabella even though it would alarm her.
Lona sat on the stool beside Arabella’s bed, took one of the girl’s soft hands in her own calloused one, and tugged on a string around her neck, drawing from under her gown a long, pointed spindle—the very spindle that had initiated the enchantment more than a century ago. Lona always carried it on her person; for it was not only the source of doom, it was also the source of the one blessing afforded during long years of isolation.
It was Lona’s key to the dream world.
Holding the smooth wood in her fingers, she wondered again why Lady Rhoswen had never once asked to make use of it. Sighing, she closed her eyes and willed herself to fall asleep. Soon she felt the familiar pulling on her mind and allowed unconsciousness to draw her into its stream.
She emerged from dark mist into Arabella’s chamber again, but now in the dream world instead of the waking one.
“Arabella, you are in great danger,” she said in a rush as soon as she saw the elegant princess standing at her window, which was larger here. Unlike a window in the real world, this one showed a changing landscape, visions of the outside world.
Arabella turned. “What do you mean? In danger from what?”
“From Lady Rhoswen. She means to kill you.” Arabella’s blue eyes reflected confusion and disbelief, so Lona took a breath and tried to speak calmly. “She says she intends it as a kindness, to spare you from this curse. And perhaps it would be mericful, but I could never allow her to kill you.”
With a faraway look in her eye, Arabella asked, “When does she mean to do it?”
“At the waning of the moon.”
“A fortnight then, no more. I wonder if anyone can fall in love so quickly.”
“Not if they aren’t around to do it.” Lona paced and planned. “I shall have to hide you somewhere.”
“Perhaps, but not yet. There is hope.”
“What hope?”
Arabella turned to look out the window again. “Someone is coming.”
Chapter 2
ACROSS THE BORDER BETWEEN Stone Haven and Timber Vale lay a vast, desolate plain. There were no trees, no thriving farms or pasturelands. Edmond and his companion had been traveling across it for three days. They had passed no villages and met no other travelers on the road. On the second day, a patrol of a dozen soldiers had detained them briefly.
Edmond had expected mockery or suspicion from the soldiers upon hearing that he was a prince in search of the sleeping princess. But the battle-hardened men had accepted his words without question and wished them good fortune. As if they actually believed in the legends.
Edmond studied the clods of dirt Martin’s horse left in a trail before him. The soil was soft, dark, and fertile. Rivers and streams crisscrossed the vast flatlands, some flowing down from the mountains of his own country and some fed by the springs and marshes of Timber Vale. It was no wonder his father so desperately wanted control of this land.
King Osden was a hard and calculating man who asked much but gave nothing, even when saying farewell to his own son.
“Edmond, I hold little expectation of seeing you again. No one has yet survived the trials of Briar Fen to reach the sleeping princess, but I am not completely without hope. Remember your training and think of your homeland. If you should succeed and bring back the princess to be your brother’s bride,
it would mean the salvation of our kingdom. Go with honor.”
Edmond had expected neither affection nor concern. But surely sending a son to face almost certain death should have awakened some sort of reluctance in a father’s heart, or at the least inspired some ceremony. Instead, the King had seen him alone, and he and Martin had left unheralded. Edmond’s bitterness was complete.
“Martin, I am a fool,” Edmond called.
Reining in his horse, Martin turned his craggy face to look back in surprise. As Edmond drew even with him, Martin inquired, “Would Your Highness wish me to agree with you or disagree?”
The corner of Edmond’s mouth twitched. Martin was the only person who had ever been able to make him laugh. “Agree with me, certainly, for it is the truth. Why else would I ride to almost certain death so that my brother may gain a rich and beautiful bride?”
“No reason I know of, unless it be love of your father and loyalty to the kingdom.”
“Well then, I am proven a fool.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Edmond glanced sideways at Martin. With his high forehead and jutting cheekbones, the man could have been carved from the mountains himself, but he was not a native of Stone Haven. Nearly a decade before, the king had made a bargain with Lord Galloran, regent of Timber Vale. In return for helping him find and capture one of the feared black dragons that sometimes nested in Stone Haven, Lord Galloran had sent King Osden precious timber and one other gift—a soldier of the Royal Guard.
Martin was that soldier.
Stone Haven had its own formidable army of well-trained soldiers, but a man trained in Timber Vales’s fighting methods and familiar with its geography, legends, and people was invaluable to King Osden’s ambition.
One might have thought a man would harbor resentment at being bartered like livestock between two monarchs. Nevertheless, Martin had always treated Edmond with respect and, at King Osden’s orders, had set about training the young prince with stern diligence.
“Now that we are returning to your homeland, where do your loyalties lie?” Edmond asked.
As clouds obscured the setting sun behind them, the sky above them darkened, making Martin’s expression difficult to see. He was silent for so long, Edmond wondered if he would answer. When he did, his words surprised the prince.
“In truth, Your Highness, my first loyalty lies with Princess Arabella and her people. Though I have no liking for Lord Galloran or his bargain with your father, I have always thought my task in training you to be in accord with my duty to the princess. Have no doubt: As long as waking the princess is your goal, I am your man.”
“Then you cannot like my father’s plans. As her bridegroom, my brother will strip her lands of their riches and suck the kingdom dry like a marrow bone—all to fulfill his ambition.”
Martin shook his head. “It is an evil plan, but I have little fear of its being carried through.”
“And why is that?”
“Have I not drummed the legend into your head since you were a boy? You will be able to waken the princess only if you truly love her. Could you hand over the woman of your heart to the devilfish that is your brother?”
“I wouldn’t hand over a dog I liked to that man.”
“There you are. And now we must ride hard before we are overtaken by the storm behind us. There is a keep just ahead.”
Edmond looked back to see that the lazy grey clouds overhead were being chased by angry black clouds that churned in the skies. “How far ahead?” he asked.
“About two miles,” Martin answered, and urged his mount to a gallop.
The horses seemed as anxious as their riders to outrun the storm, but they were still several hundred yards from the keep’s walls when the clouds broke over their heads.
The rain was cold and drenching, penetrating the men’s heavy cloaks. Fierce gusts of wind blew the rain into their faces. Blinded, Edmond trusted his horse to follow Martin’s and hunched his shoulders against the onslaught of the skies. Only when their horses’ hooves clumped onto the heavy wooden drawbridge of the keep did Edmond relax. Never had a sight been more welcome than the torchlight in the stone battlements above.
“Who goes there?” called the gatekeeper.
Martin answered, “Prince Edmond of Stone Haven.”
There followed a creak and groan as the guardsmen raised the portcullis, and they rode through into the courtyard.
“I’ll take your horse, sir,” a boy said, shouting above the tumult of rain and thunder. Edmond relinquished the reins to him as he dismounted. His boots sank into mud, and the wet wool of his cloak clung to his shoulders as he followed a guard across the wide courtyard. The guard hauled on an iron ring set into one of the heavy doors; and as it opened, sounds of music and revelry spilled into the miserable night.
Eager for shelter from the rain, Edmond strode inside and paused just beyond the threshold to peel off his dripping cloak. He wished he might remove his boots as well, but the thought of vermin in the rushes on the floor dissuaded him.
A dozen or more men seated on benches around the hall ate steaming pottage from trenchers and drank spiced ale. In one corner, a minstrel played a lively tune on his lute; a few soldiers joined their voices with his.
Soon after Martin entered, carrying their packs, the chamberlain, a portly man with receding hair and beady eyes, appeared and welcomed them. He directed a page to lay their cloaks by the fire to dry, and said, “Your Highness, we are honored by your presence tonight. Do you intend to travel through Timber Vale, or do you pass along our border?”
“We will travel though. I desire to see if the legends about the sleeping princess are true.”
The small man’s head bobbed as if his neck were a spring. “Oh yes, sir. They are true—though it is unlikely you will see her. Regardless, the Lady Regent wishes us to offer hospitality to all foreign princes, so I’ll give you food and lodging for the night with her great goodwill.”
“Lady Regent?” said Edmond with some surprise. “What has become of Lord Galloran?”
A shadow seemed to pass over the chamberlain’s face. “He died recently,” he said, but something in his voice implied there was more to the tale, perhaps something sinister. “His daughter, Lady Rhoswen, is now regent of this land.”
Edmond nodded. He had heard of Lady Rhoswen before now: Lord Galloran’s beautiful russet-haired daughter. He wondered if she would prove as iron-fisted as her father had been, and how she would view any attempts to break the curse on the sleeping princess, for surely it was not in her best interest.
“On the morrow,” the chamberlain continued, “you must journey to White Thorn Castle and present yourselves to her.”
Although he disliked the highhanded tone of this statement, Edmond nodded politely. When the chamberlain bowed and left to see to their dinner, Edmond strode over to warm himself at the massive hearth, standing with his back to the fire and keeping a wary eye on the soldiers around them. Martin sat on a bench nearby and leaned back against the stone wall, but Edmond knew that he, too, would stay alert.
Soon, a girl with a tattered dress and downcast eyes brought trenchers of pottage and jugs of ale. She set the food on a table near them and slunk away. As they sat down to their meal, the chamberlain returned to inquire after their comfort. Before he left, Edmond asked, “What can you tell me of Lady Rhoswen?”
With a small nod, the chamberlain said, “She is all things lovely and wise, though she is well over a century in age. ’Tis said she drinks a fairy potion to keep young so that she might guard our kingdom until the sleeping princess may take her throne.”
Edmond kept his voice light and pleasant. “And Lady Rhoswen will relinquish all her power if the spell is broken?”
“Yes, for such has always been the desire of the good lady’s heart. The princess is her very own cousin, and she loves her as a sister. Indeed, it was well known that Lord Galloran wanted nothing more than to take her life and thus become king, for the chains of la
w fettered his power as regent, but Lady Rhoswen has protected her all these long years.”
“She sounds a good and worthy lady,” said Edmond, keeping his doubts to himself.
After eating, Edmond and Martin wrapped themselves in thin blankets provided by the chamberlain and lay near the dying embers in the fireplace of the great hall. Because of his nobility, a cot was found for Edmond, with a goose-down mattress and even a linen sheet, but Martin was left to sleep on the rushes.
Long after Martin fell asleep, Edmond stared at the vaulted ceilings above him, thinking. The people here believed in magic, even as Martin did. But could there really be a regent who never aged and a princess that never woke?
Chapter 3
THE LANDSCAPE BEFORE ARABELLA swirled with images and colors, but one spot of clarity remained fixed before her: a man’s face, half illuminated by firelight. His features were carved in noble lines, though his skin was darkened and weathered by sun and wind. He was accompanied by an older man seemingly fashioned of leather and stone, who treated him as his master. From the obsequious bows of the chamberlain, she knew that the younger man was a lord—perhaps even a prince.
And all of her hopes rested on him.
Would he survive the treacherous journey through Briar Fen? Perhaps, for he looked to be made entirely of sinew and steel. Only two other men had ever made it to the castle. One had been carried off by the dragon as he tried to find a way through the thorns. Arabella had watched helplessly from her dream window, unable to call to Lona to help him. The other man had made it as far as her chamber, and Lona suspected he had come through the tunnel, though how he had known of it they never learned. He had certainly not come through the thorns.
She had only known he was coming when she heard the scrabble of loose stones disturbed on the stair and the heavy tread of boots across the floor. Lona came and went with sure steps that fell like a whisper, so Arabella had instantly known that a stranger approached her.
Five Enchanted Roses: A Collection of Beauty and the Beast Stories Page 41