Princess of the Silver Woods (Twelve Dancing Princesses)

by Jessica Day George

  “I don’t think it will work,” Petunia admitted. “And Jonquil’s right: I shouldn’t use up all my matches just playing around. I’ve never seen them so frightened; there must be some way to use that against them.” She closed the little box of matches and put it in her bodice.

  “What was it exactly that you started on fire last night?” Rose’s forehead was creased with concentration.

  “The horrid flowers that I had picked in the wood,” Petunia recited. “And my fan from the ball, and my handkerchief.”

  “Did it all burn?”

  “Yes!” Then Petunia stopped. “No,” she said more thoughtfully. “I don’t really think the fan burned. But that handkerchief—wait! That handkerchief was one of mine! It burned and so did the flowers. There was a nasty mess on my dressing table afterward; I could see it through the webby thing that Rionin put over it all. I don’t know if the sticks of the fan burned; I could see its shape through the web. But a footman cleared it all away before I got a good look at it.”

  “If they are so afraid of fire,” Orchid said, “it might be that things here aren’t meant to burn. They might have some chemical on them, or be made of things that aren’t naturally flammable.” She pushed her spectacles up higher and nodded.

  “What isn’t flammable?” Petunia frowned at her.

  She’d never heard of such a thing. Her father had lectured her at length when she was a child about how everything had the potential to burn, and burn out of control, from green wood on down a list of household items he thought she might try her matches on.

  “Wool doesn’t burn,” said Orchid. “In fact, it smothers fires.”

  “I don’t think this is wool,” Petunia said, fingering the slippery shreds of what had been a black handkerchief edged with rather tatty lace.

  “Silk burns,” said Orchid. “But not very well.” She squinted at the mess around the table leg. “Did that even singe?”

  “Not a bit,” said Petunia with despair.

  “It makes sense that they wouldn’t have clothes and things that could burn, if they’re afraid of fire,” said Hyacinth. “Which is a shame, since we shan’t be able to burn this place to the ground after all.”

  The others all stared at her in surprise, and she flushed.

  “Well, there must be something around here that burns,” said Lilac, disgruntled.

  “I’m not sure that this chair is even really wood,” said Petunia, chipping at the lacquered leg with a fingernail.

  “If something did burn, how could they replace it?” Rose pointed out.“I don’t know how the first king created all this, but I doubt Rionin has the power to do the same. There’s no quarry to get new stone, no forests other than the silver wood.”

  Petunia’s head snapped up and she blinked at her oldest sister. “The silver wood! Do you think that would burn?”

  “It’s silver,” Iris said. “Metal doesn’t burn.” She was rearranging her hair in the dressing-table mirror. “But I do wish we could go across the lake to the forest. I want some knitting needles.”

  “What are you going to knit?” Lilac wanted to know. “A nice scarf for Derivos?” Her voice was thick with scorn.

  “No,” Iris retorted, “I want something that doesn’t look like a weapon so that they won’t take it away from me, but I could still stab someone with it.”

  “I just want clothes that don’t scratch at me,” Jonquil fretted. Her pale skin was red where the lace of the bodice chafed, and she was so thin that the gown hung off her shoulders, though Lily had tried pinning it up as best she could.

  “I wonder,” Petunia said, tucking the box of matches into her own bodice and getting to her feet, “if they would let us go over to the wood if we said that we wanted knitting needles.”

  “It can’t hurt to ask,” Rose said, her eyes gleaming.

  “Someone’s coming,” Lily whispered, and hurried to sit on the end of the bed by Pansy.

  The door was thrown open, and at first Petunia wasn’t sure what she was seeing. It looked like a mountain of clothing had come to life and was about to attack them. Then she noticed a high pile of black curls atop the pile—Poppy. And some of the clothing was familiar too.…

  “My riding gown!” Pansy leaped up to seize a pale-yellow gown from the middle of the pile.

  “Careful!”

  Poppy tipped forward and all the gowns spilled on the floor. She came all the way into the room, kicking the pile ahead of her, with Violet on her heels holding a lumpy bundle wrapped in a petticoat.

  “The good news,” Poppy said, closing the door behind Violet, “is that Blathen is the worst poker player in the history of the game. I mean, really, Violet and I simply slaughtered him and Telinros.” She smiled at the memory. “The better news is that I won back all our clothes, including our boots, as you can see.” She made an expansive gesture at the pile on the floor, and the bundle that Violet was putting down with greater care.

  “If you’re good with numbers, poker isn’t all that difficult,” Violet said. She shook her head over the princes’ lack of skill but couldn’t hide a pleased smile.

  The sisters quickly shed their Under Stone gowns and put on their own things. Even Jonquil, the most fashion-minded among them, didn’t complain about wearing a riding habit and boots indoors. Instead, she smiled for the first time since they had arrived, and Poppy hugged her in an uncharacteristic show of affection.

  Petunia even tied on her scarlet cloak. She had brought it with her to Rose’s room, not wanting to let it out of her sight. She had been using it as a blanket at night, instead of the thin, slick covers on her bed, which gave off little warmth and smelled like pond water.

  Once she was dressed, Pansy looked around nervously at her sisters. “Shall we all go together?”

  “Go where?” Poppy looked up from putting Petunia’s pistol in a pocket that tied around her waist under her gown. “Are we going to try to rush out the front door?” She looked rather excited by this idea. “I still say they won’t expect it, always a benefit in any battle.”

  “We’re going to ask if we can go to the wood,” Rose said. “And gather twigs to use as knitting needles.”

  “And then we’re going to stab Rionin with them,” said Jonquil firmly.

  “I love this idea,” announced Poppy. “Let’s all pick a prince, inscribe his name on our needles, and then attack tonight during the ball. If we all strike at the same time, no one will stop us until it’s too late. Then we run for it. If there are ways in, there are ways out.”

  Petunia felt a chill at Poppy’s cheerful words. It seemed far too easy. If there was a way in and out, shouldn’t Galen and the others have found it by now? It had been almost five days! At least carrying some kind of weapon would make her feel safer.

  So they all trooped out of Rose’s room and down the corridor, until they found where the princes were gathered. Their request to cross the lake was met variously with unease or hilarity, however, until at last Hyacinth’s partner Stavian silenced his brothers with a loud hiss.

  “You cannot leave the palace,” he told the princesses.

  “If we are to stay here forever, we will need some things,” Rose said evenly.

  “You have been given clothing, and your old things were just returned to you,” Telinros said. Petunia noticed that his fists were clenched: he probably had not enjoyed losing to Poppy and Violet.

  “I refuse to wear someone else’s stockings,” Lily said with a snap in her voice that Petunia had never heard before. “If I am to be your queen, I will not wear tatty old stockings and garters made to fit some common courtier with elephantine legs!”

  Everyone gaped at her. Derivos actually let out a little bray of laughter.

  “I don’t know where your clothing comes from,” Lily went on, “or how to get more, but if you provide us with yarn and needles we will make our own. And the best, sharpest needles to be had are taken from the branches of the silver trees across the lake!”

  Petu
nia cringed and just behind her Daisy sucked in her breath loudly. Even Lily’s face had gone rigid, and Petunia knew that her sister had gone too far. The princes would surely guess why they really wanted twigs from the silver wood, now that Lily had reminded them all of what had happened the last time someone had used the silver wood for knitting needles.

  “Do you think we are fools?” asked Stavian.

  “Princess Rose has made it clear before that she does not find us all that intelligent,” remarked the King Under Stone as he strolled into the room. “Isn’t that right, dear Rose?”

  A chill went up Petunia’s back. “Dear Rose” had been the first king’s way of addressing Rose. In the grayish light of the sitting room, Rionin looked even more like his father than he had in the ballroom. She nudged Poppy, whose hand was already hovering near her right leg. Petunia wondered if Poppy had cut a slit in her riding gown so that she could reach a pistol more easily. Poppy moved to the front so that she had a clear view of Rionin.

  “What is it that our dear brides wish?” Rionin smiled at them with pointed teeth.

  In the days since they had arrived in the Kingdom Under Stone, he had glutted himself on the power from their dancing. His hair shone silver, and his eyes blazed green. He reminded her of someone … not his father, but someone else she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

  “They want to go to the silver wood to make knitting needles,” said Derivos.

  “We need stockings that fit,” said Pansy, her voice little more than a squeak. She was holding Lily’s hand.

  “Naturally you do,” said the King Under Stone. “And it would be wise to find something to occupy you during the days. Can’t have you wandering about the palace, plotting mischief, now can we?” His cold eyes fixed on Poppy, and he snapped his long fingers.

  In an instant Blathen had leaped at Poppy and wrestled her to the ground. Rose flung herself at him, hammering his back with her fists. Daisy kicked him in the side with her riding boot and shouted for him to let her twin go. Poppy was screaming obscenities and pulling at Blathen’s ears so hard that Petunia, who was frozen in place, thought they might come right off.

  “Got it,” Blathen panted, slithering away from his assailants.

  He held up the heavy pistol, triumphant despite his scratched and bruised face. Rose helped Poppy to her feet, and to Petunia’s increased horror, Poppy was sobbing.

  “Never touch me again,” she choked out.

  Blathen just leered at her.

  The others circled around her, Daisy taking Poppy in her arms and rocking her. But Petunia couldn’t keep her eyes off of Rionin, and Rionin was staring right back at her.

  “Pet … isn’t that what they call you?”

  “They do, but not you,” Petunia said, but her bravado was ruined by her shaking voice.

  “Dear little Pet,” said the King Under Stone, smiling even wider. “I think you would be the perfect choice to go and fetch some twigs from the wood. And your betrothed can accompany you.”

  “I want Telinros or Derivos to come as well,” Kestilan said, looking uneasy.

  “Take them both, if you are feeling cowardly. Although I fail to see how one little girl can do much harm,” the king retorted. Then he swept out of the room, and the sisters weren’t the only ones who sighed with relief when he left.

  Woodsman

  So this is Maude’s forest,” Bishop Schelker said wonderingly.

  “An inadvertent gift to her daughters,” Galen said.

  They moved through the silent woods, the tree branches swaying over their heads in a breeze that could not be felt. Oliver had never seen anything like it. The trunks of the trees were softly gleaming, and the leaves were shaped like hearts, each one the length of his thumb. It looked like the work of a silversmith, but he could see where their roots were digging deep into the black soil.

  Walter led them into the woods a little way so that they were hidden from the path that wound through it. He took a saw-edged knife from his belt and reached up, cupping a hand gently over a low-hanging branch. With a deep breath, he began to cut.

  Oliver watched with a faintly sick feeling as Walter’s knife rasped through the silver tree. Then he chose a thicker tree branch. He’d taken Karl’s ax before sending his men, with Prince Frederick, to the grand duchess’s estate. Oliver hesitated, aiming the ax at it several times, before a nod from Galen gave him the encouragement he needed. He swung and took the branch off with one blow.

  The crone gave an appreciative whistle.

  “I’ve been taking out my frustrations on firewood since I was twelve,” Oliver told her. He braced his foot on the fallen branch and cut it in half with another blow.

  “I don’t know how inadvertent this was,” Bishop Schelker said, fingering some of the silver leaves.

  “What do you mean?”

  Oliver picked up the smaller part of the branch he had just severed and studied the end. The wood, if wood it was, was silver clear through and didn’t have rings, so there was no way of telling how old it was. A few strange, soft fibers poked out of the cut, and the branch felt like neither metal nor wood, but a mixture of both.

  “I didn’t know what she was doing at night, of course,” the bishop said, “nor why she was becoming more sorrowful even as her beautiful daughters were bringing such joy to Gregor.

  “She told me that she was troubled by dreams. I knew she was holding back, but only now do I realize how much.” Schelker kicked at the sparkling black soil at their feet.

  “In one of her dreams,” the bishop continued, “she said that she planted the silver cross I had given her. The cross sprouted into a shining forest that brought hope and protection to her children. She was expecting at the time … Lilac, as I recall … and I assumed that it was the fancy of a woman in her delicate condition.” He grimaced and snapped off a twig to add to the crown prince’s growing pile. “I assured her that her children were in no danger. I remember how sadly she looked at me, as if I had disappointed her. A few days later she stopped wearing the brooch. I thought she had put it away because I had upset her.”

  “Lily always said that her mother had dropped the brooch returning from the Midnight Ball,” Heinrich said. “But perhaps she decided that her dream was more than just a dream and planted it on purpose.”

  “I rather suspect that she did,” Bishop Schelker said.

  “Of course she did,” Walter grunted. He was stripping leaves from the branches and putting them in his bag. “Maude believed in dreams, and magic, or we wouldn’t be here.”

  “Should we be watching for … guards or anything?”

  Oliver had been about to take a swing at another branch, but wondered if the noise they were making would attract unwanted attention. Everything was so still and silent without birds or insects or even a real wind that the sound of Walter picking leaves was making him twitch.

  “There are no guards,” the crown prince said. “There’s the king, the princes, and the court, but they never venture across the lake.”

  “Hurry and get a few more branches if you would, Oliver,” Walter Vogel said. “Then we’ll find a place to make our preparations.”

  “How large is this wood?” Oliver asked.

  He took a few steps farther into the thick of the trees. They had been taking leaves and cutting branches right beside a narrow path, and he worried that Grigori or someone else who used the same gate would notice. A few steps in he selected another branch and lopped it off near the trunk of the shining tree.

  “I don’t know that anyone’s ever explored it,” Walter said. “Galen and the girls were too busy running to really take it all in the last time.” He gave a dry chuckle.

  “Running and shooting,” the crown prince said.

  “Aren’t we glad that I taught Lily to shoot?” Heinrich was gathering up handfuls of black dirt to fill small leather bags.

  “Not a day goes by that I don’t give thanks for that,” his cousin said fervently.

  “A
nd then you taught the other princesses to shoot afterward?” Oliver dragged the branch he had cut back to the path.

  “Yes, after what happened the king was quite adamant that they all learn,” Galen said. “That’s why I’m surprised that you, er, abducted Petunia. Wasn’t she armed?”

  “Yes, she was,” Oliver said, smiling to himself. “The first time I saw her, she had a pistol aimed directly at my face. But I jumped down out of a tree later and caught her off guard,” he explained.

  The others laughed at that, which reassured Oliver. If they could laugh, if Walter Vogel could hum as he gathered up the twigs, then Oliver felt that this might all turn out all right.

  When they had gathered the wood, leaves, and soil that they needed, they continued down the path until they came to a lake of black water. Rising from an island at the center was a palace, ragged and menacing against the dull-gray nothingness that formed the sky. Oliver felt prickles of ice go down his spine.

  “Stay in the trees,” Walter Vogel cautioned. “They can see us from the palace. We’ll need to move just around here a ways, to find a place to work.”

  Reluctantly, Oliver pulled back into the trees with his armload of silver wood. He tripped several times trying to crane his neck and keep the palace in sight. It didn’t seem to have any windows, only a single large door, but still he wished for a glimpse of Petunia. Was she all right? Had they hurt her?

  “They are well,” Heinrich said quietly, walking along beside Oliver. “It’s thin consolation, but the princes do want their brides unharmed.”

  Oliver cringed. Their brides. And Petunia had been six when they’d first stolen her away to make her a bride. Now she was barely sixteen, and he still could not fathom it. She might show a bold face to the world, but she was still so very vulnerable.