World of Shadows

by Emily Rachelle

  “Here, take it.” He passes the necklace to me and slips his hand into his other pocket. “I brought something else with me as well.”

  He pulls a similar necklace from his pocket. This piece has a chain of the same length and is made of the same material. However, a different design adorns a portrait of a different face. A delicate pattern similar to the traditional frames hanging in the palace halls frames a portrait of myself. In the painting, I wear a red and gold gown reminiscent of the current queen’s wardrobe.

  “I had a piece made for myself as well, to keep me with you when I am away.” He beams proudly at me.

  I smile, flattered. “But how did the artist capture my likeness? I never sat for a portrait, and I’ve never worn anything like that.”

  “You recall your visit to the palace several months ago?”

  I nod. Shortly after our engagement, Francis brought me to the capital. The intention was for me to stay until the wedding, when I would move from my room to one in his wing of the castle. However, my simple life in the village and my family pulled at my heart. After a fortnight in the palace, Francis agreed to my unusual request to return to my village until we wed.

  “You sketched yourself as an engagement gift to me. Remember?”

  I nod again.

  “I had the sketch and this gown brought out. Our artist easily replicated an altered version of your image, though I do believe the original face dulls this portrait in comparison.”

  I laugh and shake my head. “Always one for flattery.”

  He grins and holds his hand out. “One more thing.” I pass my necklace back to him. He turns our portraits to face each other and presses the frames together. The longer edges of his simple frame fit snugly around the bows on mine and click together. The result is a single shining pendant resembling a locket hanging on a dual chain.

  “It’s beautiful.” I glance from the pendant to meet his gaze, softened with his love for me.

  “I hope you won’t think me presumptuous, but I thought…well, one day, hopefully long from now, we will both be gone from this earth. I hope we will be blessed to leave an heir, and he or she should have something to remember us by.”

  “A child,” I breathe, staring at the treasure that now represents my future husband’s dreams for us. “Oh, Francis, I love it.”

  He presses his thumb on the side of the locket. The two pieces click apart; he holds mine out.

  “Here, help me put it on.” I turn my back to him, brushing the loose strands of hair from the back of my neck. That’s when I notice a guard running toward us.

  “Your Highness! Sire!”

  Francis turns. “Olivier. Yes?”

  “Sir, a servant just arrived on horseback, one of the kitchen girls. Says she rode straight from the palace—she insists on seeing you, sir.”

  Francis nodded. “Tell her I’ll be with her presently.”

  The guard nods and runs back in the direction he came from.

  “What’s happened?”

  “I don’t know.” Francis drops the necklaces back in his pocket and takes my hand. “I’ll take you home and find out. I wish I could say it’s a small matter, but any news that brings a servant out today must be incredibly urgent.”

  His concern worries me, but his honesty is what I love about him. “I’ll go with you.”

  “This could take a long while. I haven’t any idea what the news is about, that a servant girl would be sent to bear it.”

  “Let me come with you. If necessary, I’ll return home. But let me start out with you, at least. Today is our day together, and I’d rather it not be cut short.”

  He hesitates.

  “If we’re to be married, these things will soon be just as much my responsibility as yours. There’s no need or reason to shelter me from whatever news might come.”

  Francis nods. “All right then. We’d best hurry.”

  I nearly have to run to keep up with his fast pace; he’s clearly even more worried than he let on. Soon we sit inside Francis’s carriage across from a red-haired girl named Anne. She insisted we speak privately, hence the carriage. The girl is between twelve and fifteen years of age, I’d wager, close to my own age. Her eyebrows draw tightly together; her hands clench tightly in her lap.

  “What word do you bring that is so important?” Francis’s voice is strong and demanding. I can tell the girl is frightened; I wish he would let up a bit.

  “I apologize, Your Highness, but I heard news that I thought you—and the lady, sire—ought to hear straight out.”

  “Well then, let’s hear it.”

  The servant nods. “You know of Pierrette, I wager?”

  Francis nods, as do I. Rumors of the fanatic Catholic miracle woman have travelled far, though many insist they’re nothing more than mere rumors. Some say the woman is a saint. Others say she’s a devil in disguise. Even many Catholics fear her and her legendary power. Nobody knows where she’s from or who her family is. The stories make it clear that she’s no friend to Protestants, or any other threat to her devout faith.

  “She’s living in a house near the castle.”

  Francis raises an eyebrow, but the terror in Anne’s eyes seems very real to me.

  “I know, it’s hardly to be believed. But it’s true. I’ve seen her.”

  “You expect me to believe this?” He pauses. The girl does not respond. “What do you expect me to do?”

  Her body shifts, visibly agitated. Her voice is less decisive and more pleading now. She leans forward, toward the prince. “Send out guards, I beg you. Have the matter investigated. Just, please—at least look into it, and be careful.” Her gaze shifts from Francis to me, and cold dread fills my heart. If the fabled woman wanted to hurt someone, she would choose someone seen as a threat to her faith. Someone in power who wasn’t Catholic, or Catholic enough for her taste. I don’t practice any faith in particular, but my village has a Protestant church. And as the prince’s fiancée, I’m certainly set to gain a fair deal of power. That would be more than enough to draw Pierrette’s wrath. “Be careful.”

  Francis sends Anne out of the carriage and back on her horse to the castle. As he prepares to climb out as well, I place a hand on his arm. “Please send out the guards.”

  I expect him to argue and insist that it’s ridiculous, that the woman’s just a scary story. But he simply nods and leaves the carriage. His lack of resistance frightens me most of all.

  Five weeks pass before Francis returns, and this time with no letter or notice ahead of time. When he arrives at the door, it’s nearly suppertime. Adele and I are busy preparing the evening meal, the heat from the fire smothering the air in the house, when we hear his knock. The moment Adele and I see the worry on his face and haunted fear in his eyes, I take off my apron and go with him to his carriage. I’m surprised to find Anne sitting inside, but I don’t say anything until a few minutes after the carriage is in motion.

  “Where are we going? What’s happened?”

  Francis stares out the window, not looking at me or Anne while he talks. Anne has been looking down at her hands, fidgeting with her dress in her lap, since I first entered the carriage. “It’s real, Beila. She’s really here, in the royal city.” He looks over at me now, and the look in his eyes scares me to death. I’ve never seen this side of him before. “She’s eluded all my efforts. My men and I have failed to capture her. I fear for your safety.” He continues to hold my gaze for a moment, then looks back out the window.

  “So what will we do?”

  This time Anne looks up. “If I may, miss…”

  I nod. As fiancée of the heir to the throne, I’ve had to get used to being treated like a princess myself. I still don’t like it very much, but the people seem so eager to please me that I try to oblige them.

  “There’s a fairy hiding in a cave in the forest near the edge of the country. As it seems to be our only hope—well, your Highnesses’ hope, that is—the prince a
greed to seek counsel from the sprite.”

  “A fairy?” I repeat, skeptical.

  Francis holds his hands out. “I know it sounds mad, but Anne insists this woman can help us. If the fanatic Pierrette is a real threat, this forest woman is at least worth consideration. It was hard for me to accept, too, but it cannot hurt to try.”

  I nod again. It’s all so much to take in. “How far is it?”

  Francis takes my hand. “Three hours’ ride to the forest. From there we must continue on foot. Anne believes she can find the cave, but it may take anywhere from an hour to all night. I hope you’re prepared for a lot of walking. Truly, I am sorry for the lack of notice, but we could not spare any delay.”

  I nod. “Of course.” I hope dangers like these do not become a regular part of royal life, but I could learn to adapt for a life with Francis. I must be strong and understanding.

  The rest of the ride is mostly silent. The three of us watch towns, marketplaces, and acres of land pass by the carriage windows. After what feels like all day, the swaying and bumping motion stops and Francis’s guards help me and Anne out of the carriage. A guard takes one of the carriage lanterns and passes it to Anne, our designated guide.

  “This way, Highnesses.” Anne sets off. Francis takes my hand and we follow close behind her. The walking is tedious and slow, especially as we travel farther into the forest. Fallen branches and even entire trees block our way. There is absolutely nothing resembling a path. How does Anne know where we’re going? Has she visited this so-called fairy before? Dangerously sharp rocks and slick green moss hide under the rotting leaves and tiny wildflowers that grow along the ground.

  In some places, the moonlight seems to be fighting its way through the thick greenery overhead. Twice I slip in the moss. Anne and I both trip over branches and logs at least three times. At least the lantern never goes out; that’s a blessing. Francis’s foot slips into a rock, but thankfully it doesn’t cut through his shoe or injure him.

  After about an hour of walking, the little light the moon provided is almost entirely gone. We are barely moving forward, straining to see the ground ahead of us and keep from further mishaps. Finally, though, we come across a creek, glittering black in the lantern’s light. Seemingly with a renewed spirit, Anne declares that we’re close. Only a few minutes’ walk farther, a large boulder stands before us, resting against the side of a hill. With help from Anne, Francis and I can make out the shadow of the hidden opening to the cave, protected from view unless you stand at a certain angle to the rock. She insists on staying outside, though.

  Francis speaks in a low whisper. “I’ll enter first. If it’s safe, I’ll come for Beila. Anne, you may wait here.” We both nod. Francis draws a sleek dagger from his waistband and slowly enters the cave.

  I feel as though there’s something Anne’s not telling us, although she might just fear meeting a fairy. Many peasant children would be. She’s a bit of a mystery to me—acting as a scared child one minute, a mature forest guide the next. Something about her unsettles me. Selfishly, I hope not to see too much of her when I live in the palace. I immediately repent of the thought, reminding myself that this girl is doing everything she can to save me and my fiancé from danger.

  Several minutes later, Francis returns, dagger sheathed, and offers his hand to me. I take it and follow him in.

  Inside, the cave is pitch black, the darkest black I’ve seen in my life. I feel the ground in front of me before putting my weight on each foot. Francis guides me as he feels along the wall. We take a right turn. A faint orange glow reflects off the rock walls and formations around us, a light that seems to be coming from something up ahead and to the left. Moving more quickly now with light to see by, we turn left and enter a small cavern room lit by two torches hanging on opposite rock walls.

  The room smells odd, but in a pleasant way, a bit like the apothecary stands in the marketplace. A tiny woman, scrawny and silver-haired, hovers a few inches above the ground. A wispy blue-gray fabric is wrapped over her body, the torn ends of the skirt ruffling like in a breeze, exposing her bare feet. Her eyes are closed, her palms pressed together in front of her chest. It takes me a minute to realize that she’s humming, very softly, in a low monotone. The deep folds and wrinkles along her face and arms suggest old age, but her humming sounds like a young woman’s voice. Long, thin, wavy hair spills across her chest and shoulders. Her skin pulses with an odd faint blue glow, filling the cave with light.

  She doesn’t seem to have noticed us, as she continues her humming. After a moment, Francis clears his throat. Another few moments pass before she opens her eyes and her hands fall to her sides.

  “Visitors. How odd.” She speaks with the voice of a young woman, but her low, grave tone suggests she has lived as many centuries as she looks.

  “Ma’am, are you the fairy Christine?” Anne must have told Francis the woman’s name before I joined them in the carriage. I wonder what else she told him about this creature.

  Her body descends until her feet rest against the floor, her piercing pale blue gaze turned to Francis. “I am. Who are you?”

  “My name is Francis. This is my fiancée, Beila. We need your help.”

  She nods, looking at me. Her expression is not stern, but neither is it welcoming. “Many have sought me out. Few have found me. Did you find me yourselves?”

  I shake my head. “No, ma’am. A ser—a friend of ours led us here.”

  She nods. “You answer wisely. Anne’s a dear girl, I know. You must be in true despair to have sought me.”

  I try to hide my shock, but the fairy laughs. “Yes, I know the girl. I know your story and your trouble, too. I can’t have just anyone in here.”

  I can tell Francis is taken aback by all of this. I wasn’t sure what to expect from a real fairy, but I don’t think he was expecting to find her in the first place. He clears his throat again. “So, you know Anne?”

  Christine looks back at my fiancé. “All the fairies know Anne. Anne does not know us.” Her gaze shifts to me. “She has a special gift, that one. She’s very dear to magic folk.”

  That servant girl becomes more of a mystery with each minute. Francis shifts from one foot to the other and scratches the back of his neck. I decide to focus on our more pressing concern. “Ma’am, we’re here because of Pierrette. The Catholic fanatic? It’s believed that she intends to…well, do something. To us, or more likely, to me. Can you help us?”

  Her eyebrows hunch together. “Pierrette is as Catholic as a mouse is venomous. Her power does not come from any faith.”

  I don’t know what to make of this declaration. Even if Pierrette isn’t Catholic—which plenty of the stories have suggested—she could still be a threat. I realize this fairy may send us away without help. What will we do then?

  She takes a deep breath and nods, staring at me. “I will help you. I see in you something different, Beila Petit.” She pauses. “One day you will be of great importance. Yes, I will help.”

  Francis takes my hand. We both breathe a sigh of relief. “What can we do?”

  Christine shakes her head at him. “No. There is nothing that you can do. Neither can Beila act in this case. Against Pierrette’s, only magic can help you, and strong magic at that.”

  He glances at me. “Then what’s the plan?”

  Her steady, grave face and low voice have not wavered during our conversation. “I can offer a protection spell, but you must realize the risks before we proceed. My help may be in vain.”

  “What do you mean?” Francis’s frustration rings through in his voice, and he takes a step between myself and the fairy. I’m not sure he even realizes he’s moved, he’s so tense.

  “There is a high possibility that whatever I do to help you will fail. Strong magic has its risks.”

  I decide to intervene before Francis does something he’ll regret. “Tell us what those risks are.”

  She shrugs, an odd movement for this etherea
l creature. “That is the issue, dear. I cannot know and cannot predict. You could find each other again…or you may well be separated forever, memory wiped clean.”

  I wrap my arm around Francis’s. “I could never forget him.”

  He lays his hand on my arm, glancing at me. “Nor I her.” He returns his gaze to the fairy. “Any risks are worth her safety. We will find each other again; I can promise that.”

  She sighs and nods. “If you insist.” She turns away from us, lifting into the air and hovering to the back of the cavern, where she returns to the ground. She touches the stalagmites in what seems to be a pattern. Then she turns back to us.

  “You must say your goodbyes here. Beila must then follow me. I’ll give you a moment.” She proceeds to walk straight through the back wall and disappear with a flash of bright blue light.

  Francis squeezes my hand on his arm before dropping his hand. I turn toward him, slide my hand down into his. “I won’t forget you. You know that. No magic can part us. I’ll be safe with Christine until you figure out what Pierrette wants and get rid of her. Then you can find me.” I try not to imagine where the fairy might be taking me. Is this really the best plan? Right now, it’s our only plan.

  He nods. “I know. I just…” He clears his throat. “I love you.”

  I step forward and rest my forehead on his shoulder. “I love you too.”

  Neither of us needs to say any more. I’m sure we’ll be stronger together when this is over, when we find each other again. We stand for a few minutes, hand in hand, just breathing. Finally he pulls my chin up to look at him.

  “Farewell, my love. Be safe.” He leans forward and kisses my forehead, then drops his hand from my chin.

  “Be careful,” I respond. He nods. “Farewell.”

  We walk together toward the back of the cave wall. He squeezes my hand one last time. I let go and step through the rock.

  Bright blue light pulses and dances to a rhythm. I close my eyes, squeezing my eyelids shut, desperately trying to block it out, but it continues to beat through my eyelids, blinding me. I’m floating in midair, the wind around me tearing at my gown. A strong force pushes, pulls, pushes my arms and legs. Everything is blazing hot, dangerously cold. I can’t stop shaking. A sharp pain pulses out from my chest into my arms, my legs, my head—stabbing pain pulsing out through my body until I can no longer fight it. Darkness claims my consciousness.