First Light (Forever After Series)

by Michele Paige Holmes

  “Exhausted and lazy are not the same,” I said, jumping to my feet. “I had a long day yesterday.”

  “Yeah,” Maggie scoffed. “So long you up and disappeared after making them pastries. I had to prepare lunch all by myself.”

  “You knew where I was going,” I said defensively. “We talked about—”

  “Careful,” a familiar voice whispered.

  “Merry Anne?” I turned a slow circle, searching for her.

  “Don’t know no Merry Anne,” Maggie said. “Nor did I give you permission to be anywhere but here, doing your duty yesterday. You’re lucky I let the string out the door so you could get back in last night.”

  You’re the lucky one, I thought grumpily. Lucky I do your work while you waste your time getting soused. “Just because I wasn’t here doesn’t mean I wasn’t working. I—”

  “She doesn’t know,” Merry Anne’s voice hissed.

  “Doesn’t know what?” I asked aloud.

  Maggie wrinkled up her face at me and took a step closer. “What’s wrong with you, girl?”

  “She doesn’t know you left the castle grounds,” Merry Anne’s voice held a sense of urgency. “It’s critical you keep it that way.”

  “Oh.” I stood there pondering this as Maggie advanced.

  Moving quickly out of her way, I crossed the room and took my apron from the hook. I had no idea what I’d bake this morning but figured I’d start with a basic dough and see if inspiration struck. Pulling a bowl and spoon from the shelf, I went to the flour barrel. Behind me I felt a draft of cool air and turned in time to see Maggie leaving with the egg baskets in hand. I sighed with relief, grateful to be alone.

  “Merry Anne?” I asked tentatively.

  “Right here.”

  “Right where?” I was in no mood for games.

  “Here. Look down.” I did, peering at the floor and under the table and seeing nothing.

  “Not that far down— on the flour barrel.”

  Raising my eyes, I glanced at the barrel then gasped as they focused on an insect-sized Merry Anne standing on the edge. Bending lower, I squinted, hoping against hope that my eyes or my mind were playing tricks on me.

  They weren’t.

  “Helloo,” Merry Anne waved her tiny, sparkling needle at me.

  Speechless, I studied her carefully— pink dress, curls piled high on her head, rosy cheeks, near transparent wings. “You’re a— a—”

  “Fairy. But you knew that already.”

  Leaning back against the table, I wiped a hand across my forehead, suddenly hot. Maybe Maggie was right. Maybe something was wrong with me. Perhaps I’d caught a bad chill being out in yesterday’s storm.

  “I’ve heard you a lot, but I’ve never seen you like— this— before.”

  “Of course not. You didn’t completely believe in me before. And you have to trust one hundred percent to see.”

  “Oh.” I braced my hands on the table behind me and watched as the tiny Merry Anne rose in the air. She came closer to my face, her wings fluttering as rapidly as a hummingbird’s.

  “I never noticed the wings before,” I said.

  “You wouldn’t. We usually keep them hidden when we’re in our human form. Less troubling, you know.”

  Indeed. I nodded in agreement. “So you and Florence and the others are often in your— fairy form.” I stumbled over the words.

  “Quite often. It’s more natural to us.”

  I laughed at this, thinking that nothing seemed more unnatural. “And believers see you.”

  “All the time,” Merry Anne said. “Though fewer and fewer believe. But I knew you’d join us.” She beamed. “Yesterday was simply marvelous, wasn’t it? What with the way Florence kept replenishing those baskets.”

  “Yes,” I said, remembering what a miracle that was and how I’d chosen— in those moments of desperation— to suspend disbelief and trust in all things magical. I hadn’t considered the results would be this— something to turn my world, now and forever, so completely upside down.

  “But you mustn’t speak of your trip to anyone. There’s not a soul around here who knows of your journey, and it’s imperative we keep it that way.”

  “What of Christian and Henrie?” I asked.

  Merry Anne shook her tiny head sadly. “Nonbelievers. They weren’t distributing the apples as you were; they didn’t realize the magic.”

  “But the storm, and Florence, and the ride home were magical, too,” I said.

  “When a person doesn’t believe, any experience they have with magic sort of— wears off.” Merry Anne’s tiny arms flew out to the side. “Cristian and Henrie remember taking food to the poor, but they don’t remember how much food there was, or that there was a storm and Florence drove you home.”

  “But that’s impossible,” I said. “It was yesterday. Cristian has to remember something.”

  “All of yesterday’s experiences are tucked safely away in his subconscious, waiting— hopefully— for the day he becomes a believer. Until then, I’m afraid he will recall quite little.”

  I felt near despair at hearing this. Turning from Merry Anne, I made my way toward the still-cold fireplace. I threw in some logs and kindling, struck the flint on the tinder, and soon had a roaring fire warming the kitchen. But my heart remained cold.

  I sank to the floor in front of the fire, clutching my pillow, distressed that Christian wouldn’t remember our day together… and the miracle that had transpired. We broke the curse— if only for a short while. And if it can be done now, he doesn’t have to marry Princess Cecilia.

  “I still don’t see how he can have forgotten—” I began.

  “It’s very simple, really,” Merry Anne explained. She flitted down beside me, resting on top of my knee. “When you first came here, you were a nonbeliever, too.”

  “Not true,” I said. “I’d seen what the pearls can do.”

  “Yes.” Miniature though she was, I could still see Merry Anne’s eyes sparkling. “But you doubted the reality of it, even though you’d noticed sparks come out of my wand when we were in the carriage together, and you’d seen Florence’s spade make short work of a task that should have taken hours. You still wouldn’t quite allow yourself to believe the obvious— that we’re fairies.”

  I didn’t have a response to that. She spoke the truth. I’d made up any excuse— my lack of sleep, my new surroundings— anything other than considering the possibility of magic.

  “And how about the curse?” she asked. “When Mason first told you of it, you dismissed it as a silly tale— though you’d seen evidence firsthand.”

  “I did,” I admitted, feeling both regretful and foolish.

  “So you see,” Merry Anne said, “how long it can take someone to recognize and accept the enchantments all around them, to truly believe?”

  “Weeks,” I said, feeling more hopeless than ever. “But I haven’t got weeks— Cristian is to wed soon. Once he’s married I’ll lose him forever. But if he could just remember the miracle yesterday— that the curse lifted.” I turned suddenly to Merry Anne. “You know it did. And Florence was there. If the curse is so real, and he must wed the princess to break it, then what happened yesterday?’

  Merry Anne said nothing. Her wings began fluttering once more, and she rose in the air.

  I wasn’t ready for her to leave yet. I needed more answers. “The storm— was that Florence, too? Did she cause it just as she caused the apples to replenish?”

  “No, dear.” Merry Anne landed on my arm. “Even the fairies cannot overcome Nadamaris’s power. We did not and cannot alter the prophecy or counteract the curse. The rain was brought on by something much stronger, something Nadamaris longs to destroy.”

  “What?” I asked, rising to my knees, anxious to understand Merry Anne, to know what had caused relief from the drought— even temporarily. That knowledge could save the entire kingdom, as well as be the key to my future happiness— and Cristian’s. For I knew he felt the same way abo
ut me. Yesterday had only confirmed the depth of both our feelings.

  “Think, Adrielle. Remember all that Cristian told you about how he was to break the curse. And listen to your heart. Nadamaris is soon to realize what happened. You must, too. You must be on your guard, now more than ever.” Merry Anne’s face seemed troubled. “Take care in everything you do— and say.” She waved her wand, sending a tiny shower of fairy dust shooting through the air before disappearing through a crack in the wall.

  Shoulders sagging, I leaned my head back and groaned in frustration, knowing that if she’d only tell me— if I could figure it out— I could free Christian from his betrothal, and together we could save the kingdom.

  King Addison strode into the vast library and headed directly toward his desk. Behind him a servant backed into the hall, pulling the heavy doors shut. From her chair across the room, Merry Anne pointed her knitting needles at them. The bolt slid into place with a loud click.

  “See to the windows, Florence,” Merry Anne said quietly as she resumed her knitting, the yarn ball on her lap rapidly disappearing as a new garment formed in her nimble hands.

  “Yes, sister.” Florence sprang up on her toes and, in a sudden burst of fairy dust, disappeared from view. A few seconds later the high windows encircling the room began closing, their shutters folding inward, clasping together in tight seals.

  “You wished to speak to us,” Merry Anne said to the king when the final window was secure.

  “Someone has breached the bridge,” Queen Ellen blurted. She rose from her seat on the divan and crossed the room to stand in front of Merry Anne. “One of the guards discovered fresh hoof prints and wagon tracks coming off the bridge and onto the path leading to the outbuildings.”

  “Tsk,” Kindra said from her place across the room by the vast fireplace. “This wouldn’t have happened if you’d let me burn the bridge as I suggested.”

  “Hush, Kindra,” Merry Anne scolded.

  “Or if you’d let me carry everyone and run through the gates so fast there wouldn’t be any prints left behind,” Zipporah said, zipping a quick circle around them.

  With an exasperated sigh, Merry Anne set down her knitting needles and looked up at the ceiling. “Oh, that I had been an only fairy.”

  “Is it one of her people?” King Addison asked. “Has she finally managed to break through our security—”

  “And so close to the wedding,” Queen Ellen wailed. “Or is it—” She stopped mid-sentence, gasping at the smiles the four fairies were bestowing upon her.

  “It is,” Merry Anne said, her eyes twinkling. “Adrielle has returned.”

  “What— when?” King Addison stood abruptly. He came around the desk to stand next to his wife, bracing his arm around her. “Why were we not told?”

  Merry Anne stared up at the couple a moment before proceeding, choosing her words with care. “Adrielle has been here for quite some time. She recently left the castle on an errand. The tracks the bridge guard discovered were those of the wagon returning her. The rain that made those tracks possible was, in fact, a result of her errand.”

  “She was safely here, and you let her leave again?” The queen’s voice rose to a high pitch, and she looked as if she might swoon.

  “Have you all gone mad?” King Addison asked, turning to glare at each of the sisters. “Why would you allow her to do such a thing— to wander out in the open where Nadamaris might have—”

  “Adrielle was perfectly safe.” Florence drifted back to the floor and returned to her human form. “On her first journey home she had the animals of the forest watching out for her. And yesterday I was with her the entire time.”

  “You were with her. And she’s been here for how long?” King Addison’s deep voice boomed across the library. His arm tightened around his pale wife. “What of us? Had you no thought of how we might feel? Did it never occur to you that we might wish to see her ourselves?”

  “Yes, of course,” Merry Anne said. “But we thought it best to wait.”

  “You’ll recall the immense trouble the princess Briar Rose found herself in when she returned home earlier than planned,” Zipporah said. “The sleeping death.”

  “That magnificent, fire-breathing dragon.” Kindra’s eyes lit up. “How I wish I could have been there.”

  “And all those thorns that sprang up,” Florence added.

  “Sisters,” Merry Anne scolded, then looked at the king and queen again. “Though Zipporah is correct about our reasons for keeping Adrielle’s presence here a secret. We knew the longer it was concealed, the safer she would be. It was only the most unfortunate of circumstances that forced us to bring her here earlier than we’d planned.”

  “What circumstances?” King Addison asked, his anger tempering a bit.

  “Lady Gretta and Lord Stephen are both deceased,” Merry Anne said as gently as she could. “Lady Gretta fell prey to the epidemic; the infection went to her heart. Lord Stephen was killed by Nadamaris’s spies.”

  “Good Lord.” The king staggered backward to the nearest sofa, where both he and Queen Ellen sat in stunned silence.

  “They were that close to Adrielle, to—” Queen Ellen whispered.

  “Yes, your majesty,” Merry Anne said, her voice solemn. “Only Lord Stephen’s refusal to speak saved her.”

  King Addison’s face contorted with pain. “When I asked this of him, when I told him he might be required to forfeit his life— I never believed…”

  Queen Ellen put her arm around him.

  “Stephen was my best friend,” the king continued, his voice filled with anguish.

  “He proved true,” Merry Anne said. “And he loved Adrielle as his own. Let us not make his sacrifice in vain. Be patient a little longer.”

  “Have mercy on us,” Queen Ellen begged. “It has been nearly eighteen years. Do not make us wait any longer.”

  “Yes,” King Addison agreed. “If Adrielle is already here, why keep her from us? Where is the harm—”

  “There’s plenty of harm.” Merry Anne jumped up on the seat of her chair. “No one, aside from us— not even Adrielle herself— knows her true identity. That is the key to keeping her safe.”

  “But how can she protect herself should something happen? How can she—”

  “She has the charmed bracelet,” Florence said. “She understands its magic, and if need be, she will use it to protect herself again.”

  “Again?” the queen gasped. “What has happened already?”

  “Nothing of consequence.” Merry Anne shot an angry look at Florence. “Adrielle is here, after all.”

  “Please.” Queen Ellen’s voice broke on a sob. She fell to her knees in front of Merry Anne. “Please. I implore you. I beg of you. Let me see her.”

  King Addison grasped his wife’s elbow and pulled her to her feet. “There’s no need to grovel,” he said, his tone fierce. Looking straight at Merry Anne, he spoke firmly. “I command that you bring her to us at once.”

  Merry Anne took an embroidered handkerchief from her sleeve and used it to dab at the tears leaking down the side of the queen’s face. “Very well,” she said, unhappy with the king’s edict. “But I ask one thing of you— and I ask it out of concern for Adrielle’s safety.”

  “Go on,” King Addison said.

  “When you see her, I do not want you to tell her anything. It is too soon yet— too many ears might hear; there may yet be spies among us. Two weeks is ample time for Nadamaris to discover our secret.”

  King Addison sighed. Letting his arm drop from his wife’s shoulder, he returned to his desk and sat down, a weary look creasing his brow. “And what of Cecilia? And Prince Cristian? Cecilia has braced herself for this, but it seems cruel at best to abuse the prince this way.”

  “That will not be a problem,” Florence assured the king.

  “No?” King Addison said. “How can it not be?”

  “Because Cristian is already in love with Adrielle,” Merry Anne said. “Their errand outsid
e the castle walls yesterday has proved the strength of their bond. It is only his sense of duty that binds him to this kingdom and Cecilia. But I promise you, his heart is elsewhere.”

  “Cristian has seen Adrielle?” Queen Ellen asked, a fresh set of tears gathering in her eyes.

  “He knows not who she is,” Merry Anne said, hoping this might soften the blow to the queen’s heart. “Though,” Merry Anne brought a hand to her chin, a thoughtful expression on her face. “I daresay it is perhaps time he was told. Another set of eyes watching out can only help.”

  “I’ll tell him,” Kindra said. She turned away from the fireplace, the tip of her kindling stick glowing as she held it in the air. “And swear him to secrecy as well.”

  Cristian skulked about the bare orchard, hating the way it looked and felt now— devoid of its sweet fruit and the even sweeter maiden who had made it her purpose to harvest it. Adrielle. Her name was the first word in his mind each morning, her face the last image before he fell asleep each night. He knew he had to forget her, yet he couldn’t.

  The past two days he’d lingered outside the kitchen in the predawn hours, hoping for a glimpse of her. But with the cooler mornings, she’d taken to keeping the door closed longer. Still, he’d stayed to watch the smoke unfurl from the chimney, and a short while later he’d enjoyed the aroma of fresh baked bread. It had been comforting to know she was close, still here doing the same things she’d been doing as long as he had known her.

  He was the one who was changing, taking a different path— one that led away from her. Forever.

  He’d not allowed himself to talk with Adrielle since returning from their errand in Tallinyne. And soon he would have to give up trying to see her— even from a distance. But for a day or two more, he’d allow himself this last indulgence. A last joy and feeling of love before his heart was sealed tight against such happiness.

  A twig snapped loudly beneath his foot and stuck in his boot. Cristian bent to pry it loose, and when he stood again it was to find one of Adrielle’s strange little friends, the one with the flaming red hair, standing before him.