Faerietale

by Stephanie Rabig

  “I'm all right,” she said, pulling back. “I'm not a coward; I didn't run! I watched all of it!”

  Mother Miriam regarded her for a long moment, giving her one of those Looks adults gave when they were judging whether or not you were telling the truth. Then she walked back to the door and closed it securely.

  “You mustn't breathe a word of this to anyone, not even--”

  “I know,” she huffed. “I'm not a simpleton! If it was something to discuss in public you would've done it in the Central Courtyard!”

  “Good. All right.” She sat down on the bed and patted the spot next to her. Little Red followed the motion, taking her place next to her grandmother. “It was done because it had to be. Even the most powerful curses can be broken. I could See, sweetheart. If she had stayed Queen, war would've been declared. Your uncle, Cinderella. . .” She swallowed hard. “You. Many in Faerietale would've lost their lives. Many more would've been enslaved. The survivors reduced to living in the forest like . . . like animals,” she whispered, tracing the point at the hollow of her throat where her golden amulet had once rested.

  “It's all right, grandmother,” she said. “I know. I've seen the hunters work; we aren't so different. Things exist to either hunt or be killed. And Gold-Tree was weak.” So was uncle, she thought, if he couldn't understand such a simple fact. To run. And leave her alone, without so much as a goodbye! And how could he leave Cinderella, just when she was discovering what a brilliant ruler she could be?

  Mother Miriam nodded once, her expression distracted and rather stunned-- she always said it was a surprise how perceptive she was, Red thought proudly-- and then she got up and went to the door. As she reached out for the handle, Red saw that her hand was shaking.

  She was probably furious with uncle, too, she thought. She'd entertain herself today; give grandmother time to calm down.

  Peter might not have spoken so harshly had she not snuck up on him. Normally he heard anyone who came along; great rustling footsteps, muttered curses when a wayward branch snagged clothing or hair.

  But not her. He was just sitting up in a tree, minding his own business, and then he felt eyes on him and she was just there, standing underneath his tree and watching him. Had the gall to look amused, even, which meant she was probably gloating about getting the drop on him.

  “Hey!” he snapped. “State your business.”

  “Merely out for a walk.”

  “With a bow?”

  “A lady would be a fool to wander this forest without defense.”

  “Aye. Especially when wearing red.”

  Her fingers traced against the cloak she wore, and she smiled darkly. “Not a Queen's man, then?”

  “Never really thought about it one way or the other.” He thought of Hook, of the payments he made to the White Rabbit that found their way to the Queen, and his own expression darkened. “But one of my enemies is a Queen's man, so. . .”

  “Suppose that puts us on opposing sides, then.”

  “Suppose so. Especially since another friend warned me that you're quite dangerous,” he said, remembering Wendy's words of Little Red and how she wasn't seen unless she wanted to be. “Don't take kindly to anyone scaring my friends.”

  “If I apologize, would that make a difference?”

  And her smile was sweet now, her face kind and innocent, but there was still something about the way she held herself that rattled him badly. “No, I don't think so. You'd . . . you'd best leave now.”

  “Come down from your perch and make me, boy.”

  And any semblance of innocence was gone now, leaving behind something dark and cold that promised to spill blood, but he dropped down from the tree and landed in front of her anyway, because nobody addressed Peter Pan like that. As soon as his feet touched the earth he reached out and shoved at her, once and then again.

  Before now, she had been slightly unsure as to how to deal with him. Every person and creature in this forest had heard tales of Pan and his Lost Boys; at the sight of him she'd realized how he managed to draw such loyalty. He was ancient; had gradually soaked so much of Faerietale's natural power into himself that he was able to make people swear allegiance to him with simply a smile. It was quite possible he even surpassed Mother Miriam's level of power, and the idea thrilled her.

  But how to turn the tables, to make him swear allegiance to her? He was free; she could not use the same tactic she would soon employ on the Forest Witch and rescue him from a prison. Trying to place him in her debt would be ineffective at this point.

  Then he dropped down from the tree and began to shove at her with all the recklessness and irritation of a small boy involved in a schoolyard fight, and she knew. For all his magic, all his potential, there was something of the Prince in him-- truly more boy than man, unable to deal with a woman on her own terms; needing her to be just another face in a harem or yet another maternal figure in a long line of them.

  She took a quick step back and he began to smile, opened his mouth to taunt, and then she took two equally quick steps forward and suddenly she was close, body flush with his and her knee pressed between his legs and a hand in his hair, yanking his head back.

  “I am no lackey,” she whispered. “The Queen is the one in power now, nothing more. I serve myself first and foremost, and will ally with any who make me believe they could prove useful. Can you inspire me, Peter?” she hissed, voice low and breath hot on his ear, and he knew he needed to answer, wanted to speak, but it felt like he could barely take a breath.

  “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  She stepped back, no longer as close physically, but her eyes still locked with his and he found himself still having trouble breathing with any sort of normal rhythm.

  “I'll be on my way, then,” she told him. “But I'll see you again soon.”

  In answer, he just nodded, his gaze helplessly roaming over her as she began to walk away. Sensing it, she glanced back over her shoulder. “Do you enjoy the view?”

  “I-- well, you-- I wasn't--”

  She approached him again, and he just knew that she was going to hit him or stab him with one of her arrows.

  Instead, she leaned forward until her cheek touched his, and then she nipped at his earlobe. He flinched at that and she chuckled, her lips moving to his cheek, then to his jawline, and then she kissed the corner of his mouth and he started to turn, confusion warring with want, and she stepped back with a smile and a low contented hum that made him want to grab hold of her and pull her close.

  “I'll see you very soon,” she whispered.

  Then she walked away once more, and though he watched again, this time she didn't turn. He stood there, trying to focus, to compose himself, but didn't manage the concentration needed to fly back up to his perch until almost ten minutes later.

  ***

  "Estelle. Would-- would you like to come with me tonight?"

  Estelle started to get up, but as his question registered in her mind, she froze. “What?”

  The Prince cleared his throat. "I asked if you would like to come with me."

  "And if I were to say no?"

  "That is fine, too."

  "Then I would rather not," she said, giving him a half-wary, half-apologetic smile.

  "Fiametta?"

  "I would, truly, but I've almost got this potion figured out. Your mother's quite anxious about it, you see, and I just . . ." She trailed off, bowed quickly. “No thank you.”

  "Beckah?"

  "No."

  The Prince thought of how often she'd scratched or bitten him, wondered now if that was truly just her way in bed or if it was the only way she could wound him. He thought of missing hands. "Shani?" he managed, knowing her answer before she could say it, but now this was something he had to finish, a humiliation he had to endure.

  She shook her head.

  "Roxana?"

  "I'm busy tonight," she said. "Perhaps another time."

  He left the room quietly, shutting the
door with a click that sounded far too final. He wondered if he would ever feel welcome in there again; wondered if he ever should have felt welcome.

  There was one more answer he had to receive. He almost stopped walking, wanted nothing more than to just lean against the wall and leave things as they were.

  But he had promised himself that he would know for certain from now on. Would be sure when a woman actually wanted to be with him or if she was simply under the impression that he would have her killed if she uttered the word 'no'.

  If she thought that permanently crippling herself might be the only way out.

  He reached the White Rabbit's former office and slipped inside, not allowing himself to hesitate before he stepped through the Door.

  A Knight met him almost immediately. He thought of Shani, of how she would've been so much happier in armor like this man's, wielding a sword, and instead for years she'd been stripped nearly bare.

  "I would see Cybele.”

  The Knight nodded once. "I would advise you to bring a Guard should you feel inclined to visit again, Your Majesty. I might not always be so close at hand, and not everyone here is as harmless as your friend."

  He started to deny the label of 'friend'-- he wasn't even sure if 'lover' had been accurate-- but he couldn't make himself speak. Not until he'd heard it from her. He could hold the denial close for that long, at least.

  When they reached her small apartment, he started to open the door, and then remembered himself and knocked. The Knight turned and went back down the stairs, and a moment later Cybele opened the door.

  "Oh!" she exclaimed, grinning. "What are you doing here? I wasn't sure you were allowed in!"

  "I go where I please," he said, and then he winced at how that had sounded. Did he always sound like that? "Cybele. I-- I have a question."

  "All right," she said, motioning him in, yawning as she closed the door.

  “I-- were you asleep? I could come back in the morning?”

  “No, it's fine,” she said. “Shadows just don't have as much energy, that's all. Go ahead.”

  "I asked each of the other women if they would accompany me tonight. One by one, they each said no."

  For an instant, she was confused, thinking he'd asked them to accompany him here. But there was no way Estelle would've refused that, and--

  And then she realized. She supposed she should've caught on straight away, but the idea of him asking something like that was so uncharacteristic.

  As uncharacteristic as the look on his face right now. He looked worried, sad, and like he was steeling himself for something decidedly unpleasant. She'd never seen that look before. Unpleasant things had happened, of course-- the day Fiametta had miscalculated on a potion and turned herself entirely magenta; the fight that had happened once between Beckah and Estelle . . . but whenever something happened that the Prince didn't feel like dealing with, he just turned and walked out of the room.

  "What is it?" she asked, reflexively reaching out to rest a hand on his arm. He jerked away.

  "Don't," he said. "I would--" He cleared his throat. "I would know. Any of the times I requested you-- were there nights when you didn't wish to go?"

  "No."

  He smiled faintly, no humor in it. "And now you're lying to try and make me feel better, aren't you?"

  She took his hand, and this time didn't let him pull away. "You listen to me. If I hadn't wanted to go, then I wouldn't have gone."

  "When there was apparently a death sentence for refusing? Cybele, you--"

  "All right, so I wouldn't have said it in as many words," Cybele admitted. "But before I left home, mother insisted on speaking with me. She said that I didn't know you, that you might be a decent sort or an absolute boor, and that if the latter were true then if you asked for me I should fake a horrible coughing fit and while my hands were covering my mouth I should put a finger down my throat. She said no man will go near a woman after something like that, and that if I appeared constantly weak and sick you would send me back home. Now I have never had to perform that trick. Which is just as well, as I absolutely abhor throwing up."

  And she was getting off-track. "The point is, each of them had their own reasons for saying no tonight and maybe tomorrow or yesterday the answers would be different and you shouldn't expect a constant no from any of us any more than you ever should've expected a constant yes. You have amends to make to them any way you can, yes, but it's not the same amends you need to make to me."

  "And what amends do I need to make to you?" he asked quietly.

  "I-- well--" Had that actually come out that way? Realizing that it had, she squared her shoulders. "I never minded lying with you. What I minded was knowing that the previous night one of the others had been in my place, and the next night there would be someone else, and you saw no difference. I would . . . someday I would like you to know me well enough to realize I'm telling the truth when I say I didn't cheat.”

  “I . . . I know you didn't!”

  She smiled. “The first thing you should know about me. I'm not that easily fooled.”

  ***

  Beauty wasn't sure exactly what made her start walking back towards her old home.

  Boredom, most likely. Yesterday, Wolf had returned and promptly set off with Alice and the Princess for the rebel camp. And suddenly this place seemed far too quiet.

  She hadn't asked if he planned to come back, didn't dare. She had already started to look forward to sundown far too much. It was unnerving.

  And she couldn't start looking forward to that. Couldn't keep remembering the look on his face when she'd thanked him. Couldn't let him occupy her thoughts like this. It was improper and

  and pointless

  and a betrayal to the man she'd been promised to.

  That was what she had to remember. She had a fiancé. She'd told him, just before she'd run, that she would break this curse. That she'd be back. Michael knew that she would get this accomplished-- he had to know it; didn't she always get whatever she wanted?-- and granted, usually that was because someone gave it to her without her even asking, but she could get things done herself.

  She hoped.

  All I need to do is see him, Beauty thought. She just needed to go home, creep in so that no one caught sight of her, and see.

  It took her a good part of the day, but she finally made it back to the outskirts of her Village. After carefully searching for any witnesses, she darted behind the closest house, peering out to look for anyone else before seeking shelter behind the next dwelling.

  After repeating this several more times, she got within sight of the town square. And there was Michael, just as he was every day, sitting in the shade of the largest tree.

  Just as she remembered him. Reed-thin, his blond hair pulled back impeccably into a short ponytail. Pristine clothes, no dirt under his nails.

  This was where she belonged. In this more civilized place, where she could buy her food instead of killing it, where someone else would always be there to repair her home or clean her clothes. Where strange men with curses hanging over them didn't lead her thoughts down paths they had no business exploring.

  And then Genevieve walked up to Michael and sat down right in his lap.

  Beauty's mouth dropped open. For a few seconds she tried to believe that she must be seeing things, or maybe imagining motives where there were none-- perhaps Genevieve had just tripped, and she hadn't seen that part because she was focused on Michael?

  But then they were kissing each other, pulling back just long enough to murmur things that she couldn't hear and didn't want to.

  She closed her eyes tightly, turning away, and then she fled.

  Beauty was surprised no one called out an alarm, that no one shrieked with fear; she was far less careful leaving the village than she had been entering it. But no one saw her, and she re-entered the shelter of the forest without incident.

  It had only been a year. From the way he'd acted when they'd been together, he hadn't even
cared to speak to Genevieve.

  Or had he been lying to her even then, and she'd been foolish enough to believe it?

  No. She couldn't start thinking of him that way. He was her fiancé. He loved her. Perhaps he thought she wasn't still trying to break this curse, but she was, would come back exactly as she should be and then things would--

  And she couldn't even keep up the lie in her own mind anymore.

  She hated crying. Had done too much of it lately and didn't want to start again now. So she swore instead, taking full swings at the random branches that lashed out at her face. It didn't make her feel any better.

  Finally she reached the cabin, trying to ignore the relief she felt at the sight of it. It wasn't her home. It was just where she had to stay until this horrific episode of her life was done with.

  Chapter Nine

  Once Upon a Time...

  Beckah watched her daughter race across the street to Nika's house, and then she smiled and closed the door. She knew how it would go: Madari would conveniently forget that she was supposed to be home before sundown; she'd have to go knock on the door; Madari would happily get another half-hour of play as she and Nika's father got to talking. Since she liked talking to Andrei, let the kid think she was pulling one over on her mom.

  Then her smile faded as she turned back around. She had three hours to get these bills straightened out. Madari had broken her arm two months ago when she'd fallen from a tree, and she swore the med-bill staff were deliberately trying to confuse her.

  If she didn't come up with seventy-five gold pieces by the end of the month, they would contact her employer and deduct the entire bill from her pay.

  Decades before, the former King had been petitioned by hundreds of citizens for a change in the system. He'd changed it, all right. Said a lot of things about discounts for qualified citizens, periods where no pay would be required. Forgot to mention a couple of things-- such as how many things were required to 'qualify' (though a nice donation to the Royals seemed to do the trick) or that interest would pile up at an insane rate during the non-paying months.