First Light (Forever After Series)

by Michele Paige Holmes

  “They’d want nothing to do with you,” I said. “Though there is the possibility a few might go the other way and be angry that the royal family has done virtually nothing to help.”

  “I see,” Cristian said. “I have a lot to learn.”

  “Told you,” Merry Anne’s sing-song voice whispered in my ear. I brushed my hand along the side of my face as if there was an insect hovering there. I felt something, but when I turned to look, there was nothing there.

  “Will you come with us if we take the wagons?” Cristian asked.

  I shrugged, though in my heart I already knew what my answer was. Merry Anne was right. I would not miss the chance at an entire day with Cristian— even if it was the last we spent together.

  “You can ride with Henrie if you like. I think he’s coming now.” At the sound of a wagon approaching, Cristian looked over his shoulder. I turned in my seat and saw the second wagon heading toward us rapidly. Henrie held the reins, a terrified look on his face. Realizing he would hit us if we didn’t move, I picked up the straps and called out to the horses. They loped forward onto the road only a few seconds before the second wagon was upon us.

  “Tell him to pull back and slow down,” I ordered Cristian. He yelled the instructions to Henrie, and a few seconds later, I could hear his wagon slowing.

  “Hasn’t he ever driven before?” I asked.

  “Guess not,” Cristian said. “We ride a lot, but driving…”

  I gave a grunt of disgust. “Looks like I’m going then,” I said. “I can’t risk three weeks’ worth of work getting dumped on the side of the road.”

  Cristian turned out to be a better driver than Henrie, for which I was grateful. Once we’d passed the guards and gate— without the help of the pearls, though I was fairly certain Florence had something to do with our ease in leaving— he asked to drive, and I let him. We pulled off the side of the road briefly, where I instructed both him and Henrie on the finer points of handling a team and controlling a wagon. After that, Henrie continued to struggle, but Cristian seemed to have a natural ability with the reins. Soon I was able to relax and enjoy being outside on such a beautiful fall day.

  “Do you think we might continue our conversation from last night?” Cristian asked when some time had passed with only silence between us.

  I knew he was referring to the way I’d run off after his shocking announcement about his impending marriage. “There’s nothing else to say. For either of us,” I added.

  “I’d like to explain, to tell you how it is between us.”

  I wasn’t sure which us he referred to— him and Cecilia, or him and me. With a little sigh to let him know I didn’t really want to hear but was fairly certain I would anyway, I said, “Go on.”

  “I was two when Cecilia was born. Our parents arranged the betrothal, and my family and I came here to sign the contracts.”

  “That was before Queen What’s-her-name interfered,” I said.

  Cristian nodded. “Nadamaris, and yes. Only a few days after we left to return home, she and her son appeared, demanding their kingdom be the one joined to Canelia.”

  “Would that have been so bad?” I asked, thinking that would nicely solve all of my problems if Cecilia was to marry into some other royal family.

  “At one time, no,” Cristian said. “Nadamaris’s father was reputed to be a good and just man, as was his father before him. But the corruption started when Nadamaris was a young girl. The story goes that she had a twin sister, and they were very jealous of each other, always vying for their father’s attention.”

  “How did that corrupt an entire kingdom?” I asked, thinking this wasn’t the turn I’d imagined his explanation to take.

  “Well,” Cristian said, “according to my History of Politics tutors, the girls were always pulling stunts— using the magic that ran in their family— to outdo each other and gain their father’s approval. They knew that someday only one of them could be queen, and each dearly wanted the role for herself.”

  “Wait a minute,” I said, turning to Cristian. “You mentioned magic. I thought you didn’t believe in such things.”

  “I’m not sure what I believe,” Cristian said. Leaning back in the seat, he looked at me. “Though that was something how we got past the guards and through those gates this morning.” His brows rose, as if asking me to explain.

  I shrugged. “Florence arranged it. That’s all I know.”

  “And all I know is the story of Queen Nadamaris’s magic as it has been told to me.”

  “What sort of magic did she and her sister do?” I asked, thinking of the coin pulled from my ear and other sorts of tricks my brothers used to perform.

  “Harmless pranks, mostly, except for the spell that supposedly changed everything.” Cristian stopped talking a moment as he guided the team over a particularly rough patch of ground. “The name of Nadamaris’s kingdom is Baldwinidad— after a great warrior who fought there centuries ago. But Nadamaris and her twin, Naominclel, thought of the name differently. The last part they broke into win-a-dad, meaning to win their father over.”

  “What about bald?” I asked, finding the story, to this point, rather silly and amusing.

  “That is where it gets good.” Cristian winked at me as if he knew of my skepticism. “Naominclel convinced her sister that she’d come up with a spell that would catch her father’s attention and keep it forever. Every time he looked at her, Naominclel told Nadamaris, he would think of their kingdom’s name as being synonymous with Naominclel.”

  Again Cristian grew silent, and I waited while he slowed the wagon as we went down a steep section of road. He handled the team with ease— unlike Henrie, behind us, who continued to struggle with his load. I couldn’t help but admire Cristian’s strength and skill, and I sighed inwardly, wishing with all my heart that I might see in him a spoiled and wimpy prince instead of the capable man I knew he was.

  “Well?” I asked impatiently several seconds after the road had leveled out once more and Cristian remained silent.

  “Well, what?” he asked, not quite able to hide his grin.

  “You know what,” I said. “Tell me about Naominclel’s spell."

  “It was more than a spell,” Cristian said. “She’d created a potion, one Nadamaris discovered would transform Naominclel’s appearance into that of the great warrior Baldwinidad whenever her father looked at her.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “She wanted to look like some old dead guy?”

  “An old dead hero,” Cristian corrected. “The very man whose strength and courage were responsible for founding the kingdom.”

  “And in seeing this hero, naturally her father would bestow his power on Naominclel when the time came.”

  “Yes,” Cristian said. “And there you have it.”

  “No, I don’t.” I turned to him, irritation flashing in my eyes. “That obviously didn’t happen, because I’ve never heard of Naominclel until now. It’s always Nadamaris this, and Nadamaris that. She’s become the bane of my existence.” As I spoke the words, I realized how very true they were. If not for her, curse, sickness, famine, and drought would not be sweeping the land, and I might still have my family and home.

  If not for the possibility of breaking that curse, Cristian would not feel so obligated in his betrothal to Cecilia, and our friendship might have had a chance to grow into something more. I at least needed to hear the entire history— or legend, if that’s all it was. Maybe then I could decipher if there really was magic about— both good and bad— and how it played into my life.

  “Nadamaris snuck into Naominclel’s chamber, found the potion, and drank it,” Cristian said. “But it did not have the effect Naominclel had boasted of. Instead of transforming Nadamaris temporarily in her father’s presence, it transformed her permanently, in a most unusual and disfiguring way— removing all the hair on one half of her body.”

  “Bald,” I said, linking the spell to the first of the kingdom’s name.

  Cris
tian nodded. “Bald and hideous. Legend says the potion also cast an eerie sort of glow to Nadamaris’s skin, causing those in her presence to look away, repulsed.”

  “And Naominclel?” I asked. “Was her father so angry with her that he gave Nadamaris the kingdom anyway?”

  Cristian shook his head. “He never knew what she’d done. Nadamaris was in such a rage that she killed both her sister and her father the very night she drank the potion. The girls were barely nine years of age.”

  “How is it exactly,” I began sometime later, when I’d absorbed the shock of hearing that a nine-year-old girl had murdered her family, “that your marriage to the princess is supposed to stop this evil woman?” I knew there must be more to the story, and I’d spent the past few minutes worrying over it. Aside from a marriage he didn’t want, what else lay in store for Cristian? If there was any truth to what he’d told me, I feared for his safety.

  “This is where the tale waxes romantic,” he said drily.

  “Oh?” Maybe I didn’t want to know. I chanced to look over at him and caught him watching me as well. Our eyes met, and in his I read a regret and sadness as deep as my own. It should have helped, to know he’d not played me the fool on purpose, but it didn’t. That he was hurting too made my own sorrow that much worse.

  Because I love him. I’d not dared put a name to my feelings before, and it was folly to do so now, but I couldn’t seem to help it. Throwing caution to the wind, I scooted closer to Cristian and placed my hand on his arm. He adjusted the reins and took my hand in his. It felt warm and comfortable and like the most natural thing in the world.

  An odd, stray cloud blocked the rising sun, cloaking us in near darkness, making us feel even more alone, and the moment seem even more intimate. Until I heard Henrie hollering to his team behind us.

  “Careful, or Henrie may try to run us over,” I said, only half-teasing. I imagined his consternation at seeing Cristian and me sitting so close.

  “Let him, then,” Cristian said, releasing my hand to put his arm around me. “We’ve at least got today. I don’t want to waste it.”

  “Nor do I.” I leaned my head against his shoulder, savoring his nearness. But I still wanted to know the whole story. “Will you tell me— as much as you can?”

  “As much as I know.” He sat up straight and took the reins in both hands again, as we’d hit another bumpy patch of road. The ground here was cracked and dry— even this close to the castle. Changes had come to this part of the land during the weeks I’d spent working in the kitchen and trying to find my sister.

  “For hundreds of years, it’s been said that fairies and other magic folk inhabit these parts. In particular, they’re drawn to Canelia and have a history of blessing the Canelian nobility with gifts.”

  “What sort of gifts?” I asked, uneasy as I recalled Florence’s question about which gift I found most useful.

  “Courage, faithfulness— that sort of thing mostly.”

  “So never specific abilities,” I asked. “Like being good at gardening or building fires?”

  “Not that I’ve heard of.” Cristian’s brow furrowed in thought. “It was rather odd how those women asked you about gifts that day in the orchard. Of course, they were rather odd.”

  You have no idea. “Perhaps I have royal Canelian blood,” I said, joking. Though as I said it, a strange thrill ran through me. If I somehow was of the nobility, then my relationship with Cristian would be on more stable ground.

  Excepting that he’s engaged to the princess. There remained that one, significant obstacle.

  “You don’t need royal blood.” Cristian said. “You’re grand all on your own.”

  “Thank you.” My face and heart warmed from his compliment.

  “Anyway, it’s not only Canelian nobles who receive gifts. Supposedly I’ve been given one, too— the gift of helping others. Whether I wish to or not, I must always help someone in need.”

  This notion bothered me. Cristian was helpful; he’d helped me quite a lot and was doing so this very moment. I wanted to believe he did that of his own accord. Just as I was good at building fires and growing herbs because I chose to do those things until I was quite adept, Cristian was helpful and kind because it was his nature, not some forced gift from a fairy.

  I must ask Merry Anne about this later.

  “So you see,” Cristian said. “It’s destined I’ll do right by Princess Cecilia and her people.”

  “You haven’t yet explained how you’ll do right. Is something magical to happen the moment you marry?”

  “I don’t think so. The prophecy is a little vague there.” He paused, raised his head slightly, and began in a different voice, as if reading a royal proclamation.

  “A daughter shall be born to the good King Addison and Queen Ellen. She shall grow in grace and beauty and strength until she reaches eighteen years of age and is united in marriage to the prince of Rincoln. Their love for one another shall cease the reign of Queen Nadamaris of Baldwinidad and end the long suffering of those in Canelia.”

  “Love?” I choked out. “How is that to—”

  Cristian held up his hand and continued in a monotone voice.

  “As Queen Nadamaris’s power arose from black magic and a deep hatred and jealousy, so shall powers higher than that be required to end it. Only the deepest abiding love and trust between the two afore spoken will be enough to cripple her and end her reign of terror. If they fail in this endeavor, Canelia will fall and be forever lost.”

  “How old were you the first time you heard this?” I asked, indignant on his behalf.

  “I had it memorized by the time I was five.” Cristian’s tone was indifferent, but I knew his feelings could not be.

  “It’s awful,” I said. “A terrible thing to put upon a child— to put upon you. And even if it made any sense, how can it possibly work when you don’t—” I stopped abruptly. It was not my place to say whom Cristian did or did not love.

  He said it anyway. “I don’t love her.”

  I sighed as I looked up at him. “Might you, do you think— if I hadn’t gotten in the way?”

  He shook his head. “It’s doubtful. She’s not a woman of action. You are. I admire that. We’d never be bored together, you and I.”

  “No. We wouldn’t,” I agreed. Though I longed to reach for him again, my fingers remained still on my own lap. After all, we’d never get the chance to test that hunch.

  It was well past sunrise when we reached the wealthy shopping district I’d passed on my way to the castle the first time. The morning chill had burned off somewhat in the face of another sunny day, but the chill of Cristian’s tale remained.

  Henrie pulled up beside us, complaining he needed something to eat. I pointed out that he had an entire wagon full of apples, but he didn’t find that amusing. So we stopped in front of a bakery, and Henrie went in to inquire about sustenance for us all.

  Cristian seemed as enthralled as I’d been on my first visit through this area, and I offered to drive after we ate so he could take it all in.

  “No need,” he said, eyes focused on something behind me. “But I think I’ll walk around a bit until Henrie returns. Would you like to come?”

  “No, thank you. I’ll stay with the wagons.” I seriously doubted that anyone in these parts would have interest in taking our goods, but I also had no desire to venture into any of the fashionable shops, dressed as simply as I was. True, the dress I wore was at least the proper length now and without holes, but it was obviously the garment of a serving girl. And my cloak, while new as well, was of thick, coarse material, not unlike that of oat sacks for horses. I, too, was like the second kind of poor— proud of what little I had, not wanting charity from anyone higher up on the ladder.

  Drawing the cloak closer, as if to protect me from the stares of passersby, I sat stiffly on the wagon seat, awaiting Cristian’s and Henrie’s return. It was not long before Henrie came from the bakery, a bag jostling in his hand. He handed me a pas
try from the sack, then took one for himself and bit into it. A second later, his face soured in bitter disappointment.

  “These aren’t nearly as tasty as your cinnamon rolls, Adrielle.” He glanced back at the bakery. “You’d do well to open a shop of your own here— put these poor fellas out of business.”

  I smiled at his genuine compliment. “I may,” I said. “After…" After Cristian and Cecilia are married and I can no longer bear living at the castle.

  “Please don’t make it harder on him,” Henrie said, not unkindly. “I’ve nothing against you, Adrielle, but Cristian has long been my friend, and my concern must be for him and the life he must lead.”

  I said nothing but nodded and turned away, stiff on my seat.

  Cristian returned a few minutes later, and as the wagons set off again I struggled to get my roiling emotions under control. I felt angry and sad— near despair and completely unable to cope with soon-to-be loss.

  “What are you thinking?” Cristian asked, after some time had passed in silence.

  “I’m still wondering how you are to do this great feat— aside from loving a princess

  you hardly know?” I tried to keep bitterness from my voice but feared I was not entirely

  successful.

  “Did your father have you practicing with toy swords from a very young age?” I imagined

  Cristian as a little boy, sitting at his father’s knee and having such a burden placed upon him.

  “As a matter of fact, yes,” Cristian said. “I spent years under the tutelage of the finest swordsmen and was instructed much in the leading and commanding of armies. All that is well and good for any future king to learn. But believe me,” Cristian added, “it was with much skepticism that I arrived in Canelia. It is with much reluctance that I’ve become acquainted with my betrothed.”

  It was with much jealousy that I endured him speaking of her. “She’s a princess; surely she cannot be that bad.”

  “She is neither bad nor good, nor any other way to me,” Cristian said. “Nor I to her, for that matter. We are simply the both of us caught up in this whole ridiculous curse nonsense.”