“What are they?” His rich voice echoes around the room.
“Well, for one, why am I having these dreams again? I mean, when I was having them before, you said there was a limit or something, and then I had to find you in person to talk to you again. Why are we back to this?”
“I do not know for certain, but I believe it has something to do with the library.”
“You mean when I saw your arm.”
“Yes, that.”
He almost sounds…sarcastic? Snarky? It’s new. I bite back a giggle at the thought of serious, medieval mystery cloak man wielding the art of sarcasm. “All right then. Next question. Why can you speak English?”
“I can’t.”
This gets my attention. I sit up and turn my head to look at him. “What do you mean? You’ve been talking in English ever since I met you. Perfect English, really.”
He shakes his head slowly. “I speak in French, my native language. You hear English. You speak English, and I hear French.”
I return to leaning against his chair, still processing this new information. “So that’s another part of the magic?”
“Yes.”
“But I can speak French almost as well as the villagers now. Does the magic just ignore that? Keep translating anyway? I mean, I don’t really need it anymore.”
“I cannot pretend to understand the rules of the enchantments here. Most of what I know I’ve simply worked out myself over the years. I’ve had a great deal of time to think.”
Again with the hint of snark. I like it. “Okay, fair enough. But then why doesn’t the translation thing work with everyone? The villagers all speak French, but I hear French. And vice versa when I speak English.”
There’s a pause before he answers, and I wonder if he’s deciding how much to say or if he’s still working this out, too. “You are the key to breaking the curse. Magic works differently around you and I than it does around the others.”
“If I’m the key, then what makes you different?” I’ve obviously noticed the many differences between him and the villagers, but I’m still in the dark concerning why he is different. My voice softens when I ask, “Is your arm part of the curse?”
“Yes.” I notice he only answers my second question. A thought occurs to me and I go back to my previous questions, knowing better than to push him with things he can’t answer.
“If you’re speaking French, then why didn’t I automatically hear the poem in English when you read to me in the library? Why did you have to translate it? If you’re reading French out loud, shouldn’t I just hear English?”
“The magic translates for our original words. Reading does not translate the same way.” He pauses. I wonder how he figured that one out. “Although…if we were to write our original thoughts and then read them aloud, possibly…I’m not quite sure if that would translate or not. I’ve never tried it.”
“Okay.” I imagine him experimenting, testing the limits of the magic, roaming his castle. It seems a much better picture than him sitting alone in this room for centuries.
Someone knocks on the doors of Shadow’s room. I sit up and turn to look at him, surprised. “What’s that?”
“I’m not sure…” I can’t tell if he’s just surprised or if he’s worried. It sounds like both. “It’s…outside the dream, I think.”
Outside the dream? That would have to mean…”Someone’s knocking on my bedroom door?”
“Possibly.”
The mystery person knocks again, louder and faster than before. “Should I get that?”
“You must. I cannot.”
“If I open the doors, I’ll wake up in bed. Then I can answer it.”
He nods. There’s a third knock.
“Well, goodbye then.”
“Farewell.”
I walk to the doors and pull them open, stepping through without hesitation. The minute I open my eyes, I kick off my blankets and hurry to my bedroom door.
“Coming, coming!” I call in French, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.
I tug my dress down to make sure it’s not twisted from sleeping. Pulling open the door, I say, “You shouldn’t be out, it’s not…”
The rest of my warning remains unspoken as I stare in shock at a raggedly dressed woman.
Nine
She has brown hair, not curly but not quite straight either. The ends brush against her shoulders with the slightest movement. Her eyes are clear and light brown, and looking into them reminds me of looking in a mirror. They’re my eyes, but this woman is a stranger. She can only be a decade older than me, max, and she’s clear-skinned, but her forehead is lined and her eyes and mouth crinkle at the edges. Her jaw is strong under the soft curves of her slightly sunken cheeks. She’s the same height as me, but her dress and shoes are plain and poor, like the garments I saw in the clothing shop.
Her skirt ripples and sways, and a young girl peeks out from behind her, with the same eyes. The girl has long, straight hair, brown like the woman’s, but with more red in it.
“Louna?” I look back up at the woman, seeking confirmation of my guess. “Adele? Is that you?” It has to be. Other than Louna and Adele, I don’t know any of the village girls or their mothers well enough to explain any home visit, much less in the middle of the night.
She answers me in rapid, urgent French. “Yes. We shouldn’t be here—shouldn’t be out—but time is running out. Come with us, please.”
“O-okay.” I step outside with them and pull the door shut behind me, listening to the griffin’s shrieks and desperately hoping this is a dream, too. The conversation about Adele’s husband suddenly comes to mind. I imagine what must have happened to Bellamy, seeing a man with limbs twisted at unnatural angles or even missing altogether, the metallic smell of blood strong as it pools around a body getting colder and more ashen-looking by the minute. I shudder and shake away the thought.
Adele and Louna, each holding one of my hands, lead me through the deserted tunnels. I have no idea what’s going on, but I think we’re headed toward the garden. After Adele’s urgency and Louna’s shy behavior before, I wonder why she wants to hold my hand rather than her mother’s. I don’t entertain the thought long. There’s a skinny path in the garden that lets out closer to my room than the main entrances. I’d never noticed it before, but Adele leads me through it. We don’t stop when we reach the empty center of the garden, though; she continues to pull me toward another small path. As we near the tunnel outside the garden, I can hear the muted sounds of people whispering—a lot of people whispering—and…I think the other village children are out, too, whimpering as the adults whisper. What is going on?
We exit the garden. Adele leads me straight to the church doors, Louna almost running to keep up on her smaller legs. Her mother throws open the door, and I gasp.
People crowd the pew benches. Not the sounds of people, not floating objects showing where people are seated, but actual, visible people, with tired, old eyes and dark hair and plain, ragged, old-fashioned clothing. People staring at me.
Adele drops my hand and walks purposefully to the pulpit. Louna stays with me, still holding my hand. I stand frozen in the doorway, my mouth hanging slightly open, as I take in the sight. Children clutching rag dolls and their parents’ hands sit close to their mothers, clearly afraid. Their wide, dark eyes show the strain of their lives in the tunnels. I realize with a start that these children, frozen at such young ages, have all lived centuries longer than me. I look around the room, skimming across lined, tight faces stained with the dust of the tunnel dirt. The men and women alike all look at me, staring directly at me, looking afraid, looking expectant. I avoid eye contact as I glance over the crowd and find Adele at the front of the church. She’s standing behind the pulpit now; she is staring at me, too.
“Adele, what—what’s going on?” My quiet question sounds too loud in the eerily quiet room.
She walks back toward me, taking my hand in hers
again, and pulls me up to the stage. Louna follows, letting go of me to hide behind her mother once we reach the pulpit. Adele turns to me. Her voice sounds strange, pinched with worry and projected so everyone can hear, though she only addresses me. “Beila, we are cursed. You know that. This enchantment has held us for nearly five hundred years, and you are the only one who can break it. But since your arrival here, the magic has changed—accelerated. Our world is falling apart, and there’s not much time. The truth will set you free. The truth will set us all free. And you must seek it for yourself.”
I’m confused, and I’m afraid. Adele’s worried, and everyone here is afraid, and they’re all out at night where the griffin could easily get anyone, and Adele shouldn’t be so loud where her voice can echo and carry and draw the creature’s attention. “I don’t—”
She interrupts, her voice even more commanding than before. “You must learn the truth, and you must remember. Only then will we be free and safe. You have to hurry, Beila.” Her voice starts to tremble, and the tone of authority changes to one of desperation. “Please, sister. Our lives are in your hands. Our king…he is in danger, and it affects us all. Soon we will be lost.”
Why are we here? Why are we discussing this now? Have they all gone crazy? “I want to help you, I really do. But I don’t know what to do! How am I supposed to find the truth? What does that even mean? Beside the point, shouldn’t we be in our rooms? It’s not safe out here!” I feel like there’s a lot more questions I should be asking right now, like why Adele is suddenly using the whole “sister” thing I’ve only heard at churches, or what she means by their king, but right now I’m a lot more focused on the giant wild animal loose in the village.
“We are no safer in our homes than in this chapel, protected by dirt walls and wooden doors.” This isn’t the answer I was expecting, and of course it only makes my panic worse. It sounds like she’s saying there’s nowhere safe left. An image flashes through my mind, of a body twisted and bloody and growing cold, but this time it’s a familiar woman’s body and not her husband’s. A shock courses through me. I can’t let that happen—not to Adele, not to anyone. I am somehow responsible for this village, their princess, their savior. I don’t know what they means yet, but I’m determined to find out—soon.
Adele steps forward, leaving Louna standing a few feet behind her, and takes both my hands firmly in hers. “You have to be strong. You have to be…creative.” One corner of her mouth turns up. “I know you’re capable of that.” The ghost of a smile vanishes. She lowers her voice and looks straight into my eyes, leaning in even closer. “Stay in the library. There’s got to be something there.” It’s barely a whisper; I’m certain only I heard her. Adele knows about the castle, and about my exploring. How? She’s telling me to return. Why? She’s a leader, a mother hen, an enforcer of rules and traditions, and she’s telling me to go to the dangerous forbidden tunnels?
She’s still staring at me, waiting for me to respond. I can ask her my many questions later. I nod and squeeze her hands. “I’ll do my best.” I can’t promise more than that.
She lets go and grabs Louna’s hand, turning to address the crowd. I wonder why they were all assembled here in the first place. Couldn’t she have come spoken to me in my room? Couldn’t this at least wait until morning? “Hurry back. Her Royal Highness is right; we aren’t safe here.” Then she pulls Louna behind her toward the door. I follow them. As soon as I’ve reached the doorway, the villagers in the pews shuffle in one writhing crowd behind me. I break into a run the minute I’ve left the room and don’t stop until I’ve slammed my door behind me, falling to the floor.
I don’t go back to sleep. I don’t even bother trying; there’s too much to think about right now. I spend the night making lists of questions, writing down everything that seems important from tonight. I try to think of any hints dropped by Shadow and even Adele about my mission here. I work backward. How does Adele know about the library in the castle? How does she know I’ve been going there? How much does she know about Shadow, and about my visits with him? Why does she want me to “stay in the library”?
How much danger are we in right now, if the homes in the tunnels aren’t enough protection? I probably should have thought that one through before; of course wooden doors on rooms made of dirt can’t really keep back a mythical beast powered by magic.
I think I can work out the king thing, or at least part of it. From our conversations, I get the idea that Shadow used to be more involved with the village. He seems to care a lot about the people there. And the people all know about this king in danger, although I don’t see why he’d be in any more danger than the rest of us. Plus, there’s the castle thing. A castle sticking out from this tunnel world, inhabited only by Shadow in his little back room. Not to jump to conclusions or anything, but if there’s any king here, I’m pretty sure it’s him. Once I’ve thought the whole thing through, that isn’t really that surprising. His old-fashioned manners, his regal speech, even an actual throne…it’s honestly pretty obvious. I’ll have to figure out how to bring it up the next time I see him.
I wish I could remember more of the things Shadow and I talked about. I write down everything I can remember: five hundred years, magic translation, magic cleaning, books appearing in the library after they’re published, the magic now failing, me picking up French, me being the key to the curse, magic affecting Shadow and me differently, his arm, his cloak, that night he fell over and sent me away, the castle being designed for someone special, the danger of someone telling or showing me too much, “the truth will set you free.” It’s all out of order, written as I think of it.
Some of the pieces fit together—like Shadow getting hurt right before the griffin came out, and acting like it was no big deal, fits with his talons and my theory that he is the griffin. But most of it doesn’t make any more sense written down than it did jumbled up in my head. Even the griffin theory doesn’t really work. There’s absolutely no way Shadow would act like that monstrous, instinctual animal, and I can’t even think about Shadow hurting anyone. It doesn’t compute. Not to mention, I don’t see anything that would connect the king and the griffin, and Shadow’s got to be the king.
There’s quite a few things that don’t point anywhere, but all the pieces that do seem to point to Shadow. Maybe Adele’s instruction to stay in the library has more to do with him than the books.
It’s time to quit acting like a tourist or a visitor. I don’t know why I’m here yet, but I know there is a why. I don’t know what the people know about their curse, but it’s clearly more than I know; I intend to find more out. There’s a lot I don’t know about Adele either, but assuming she still stops in every morning, I can fix that. I’m here on a mission; I intend to accomplish it. There are lives depending on me.
The next morning Adele arrives in my room as usual. We greet each other with the typical “good morning”s. For a moment I think about offering to do her hair instead of her doing mine for today, but then I realize that braiding hair I can’t see probably wouldn’t go very well. Instead, I let her dress and decorate me while I ask questions.
“What do you do all day when you’re not taking care of me?” The question sounds a little off, but I can’t think of a better way to word it. I ask in French, of course, and Adele answers in French.
Adele laughs. “Between you and Louna, I find mothering to be a full-time job.”
I guess I’m not the only one to feel like our relationship is more mother-daughter than friends. It feels right to have her in that position. Not that she’s replaced my mother…just that she belongs in that place in my life. Like it’s natural, meant to be. “Why do you take care of me?”
“What do you mean?” She laughs again as she responds, but it sounds a little shaky.
“I mean, why you? Why were you the one who always took responsibility for me from the day I came here? And why do you keep taking care of me? Why not leave me to do my own thing?”
“I’ll have you know that I’ve always been highly fashionable and current. I can learn your medieval ways.”
“Oh, I know you could. You’d be quite happy to sketch out every garment in that wardrobe, I’m sure. But there are mysteries here for you to uncover, and those will always come before the fashions for you, whether others think they should or not.”
I’m surprised she knows me this well. Nobody I knew before would have pegged me like that. I’m not sure how to respond, but then I realize she never answered my original question. “Back to the point. Why you?”
She hesitates, remaining silent as she slides the last pin into my hair, which she’s braided and pinned up into a crown style. She pulls me up from my chair and opens the wardrobe. I can see the dresses moving as she decides which to dress me in today. I clear my throat; finally, she answers. “It was never really a decision for me to attend to you. It was always assumed. Everyone knew I would be…closest to you when you came, and so I was.”
This just confuses me more. “Why? How would anyone know that?”
“I cannot say.”
Another dead end. At this point, I know better than to push when people shut down my questions. I move on to another one. I’m a little more cautious with this question, trying my hardest to make my voice soft and sympathetic. “When you told me about your life before the tunnels, you mentioned you had a sister.” I pause, trying to figure out how to word this. “I don’t think I’ve met her here, have I?”
She doesn’t reply, so I continue. “What happened to her?”
Her pause now lasts even longer. She selects a dress and helps me into it. I turn around, allowing her to tie and fasten and do whatever else this dress requires. The shoes come next, floating to the floor in front of me, and I step into them. Finally, I am ready for the day.
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