Princess of the Silver Woods (Twelve Dancing Princesses)

by Jessica Day George

  Kestilan appeared before she had taken two steps.

  “No, I’m still not ready to dance,” Petunia told him, watching the dancers for a break in the pattern so that she could walk through without getting trampled.

  “You’ve sat out an entire dance almost,” Kestilan said.

  “And I’ll sit out another if I have to,” Petunia said without looking at him. “Jonquil needs us. Just look at the state of her! Pan and I are going to help her get herself together.”

  With that she began weaving her way between the figures of a particularly wild gigue. She hoped that Pansy and Oliver were able to stay with her. The sooner they got Jonquil out, the sooner Galen could send Orchid and Lilac, and then the others.

  When she reached Jonquil and the fox-faced man, Petunia stopped them with a firm hand on Jonquil’s arm. “Come, darling,” Petunia said, “let’s get you freshened up.”

  “She must dance,” said Jonquil’s partner, leering down at her.

  “She needs to retire for a moment,” Petunia said, trying to pry the courtier’s fingers from Jonquil’s thin arm.

  “No,” the foxy man snarled.

  “Say no to me one more time,” Petunia snarled back, “and I will have you killed. And if you think I won’t, and if you think Rionin won’t, then you don’t know either of us very well.”

  Petunia caught Jonquil around the waist as the fox-faced man pushed her away. At the archway that led to the hall, Tirolian had his hands locked around Daisy’s waist as though preventing her from fleeing.

  “Daisy doesn’t need freshening up,” he said. “She’s just come back from the retiring room, haven’t you, my pet?”

  “Pet is my nickname, if you must know,” Petunia told him. “Now make way; Jonquil is faint.”

  As they walked around Daisy and Tirolian, Petunia had to fight the urge to give Daisy some sign that all would be well. But she could feel Oliver’s hand on her back, urging her on, and knew that the least hint of something amiss would ruin their chances. Tirolian was watching, so they went quickly into the retiring room.

  “I can’t take it,” Jonquil said, bursting into fresh tears. She sank down on stool covered in threadbare velvet.

  “Shhh,” Pansy said, wiping at their older sister’s face with her handkerchief. “We’re going now, please don’t cry.”

  “Now?” Jonquil gulped, looking around. “Are Galen and Oliver … ?” She stopped crying and got to her feet with visible effort. “I’m ready.”

  Petunia had stayed near the door while Oliver kept watch just outside. The door opened a crack and his voice came in softly.

  “It’s clear.”

  “Let’s go,” Petunia whispered.

  They walked swiftly through the front hall to the palace doors. One was ajar, but Petunia didn’t have time to wonder about it, just kept going as she half carried Jonquil.

  “The boats are there,” Oliver whispered. “I’ll row you across and—”

  “Hello, Olga,” Petunia said.

  They stopped short a few paces from the boats. Olga was sitting in one, trying to row even though the boat was too far out of the water to actually move.

  “Where are you going?” Olga eyed them suspiciously.

  “We were going to hide in the silver wood, to get away from our princes for a time,” Petunia said. Jonquil let out a little moan, and Petunia squeezed her waist to make her stop.

  Olga looked outraged and started to say something, but Petunia cut her off.

  “Do you want us to help you across? You’re not going to get far, otherwise,” Petunia said.

  “What are you doing?” Oliver whispered in her ear.

  “Pan and I will row Jonquil and Olga across,” she murmured, trying not to move her lips. “You get Orchid and Lilac.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Petunia decided that she had had quite enough of everyone doubting her.

  “Come on, Jonquil,” she said, pulling her sister toward the boat. Pansy trailed behind, looking uncertain. “We’ll help you get to your darling Grigori,” Petunia told Olga, “but you keep your mouth shut about what we’re doing, all right?”

  Olga still looked suspicious.

  “Do you love Grigori or not?” Petunia wanted to slap the girl. How dare she sit there like a mule; did she not realize that Petunia and her sisters were in grave danger and it was partially her fault?

  “Get in,” Olga said. “I’ll keep quiet.”

  Petunia installed Jonquil in the bow, and Olga moved to the stern. Petunia sat in the middle and Pansy pushed them easily down into the water. Petunia could tell that Oliver was helping her, and just hoped that Olga wasn’t looking when Pansy miraculously leaped into the boat without getting her skirts wet.

  “It’s too easy,” Jonquil whispered.

  Rescuer

  Once Petunia was well under way with Pansy and Jonquil, Oliver ran back to the ballroom. He scanned the room, but of course there was no sign of Galen. Then Oliver realized: they were supposed to take the princesses out youngest to oldest, to avoid confusion … but he didn’t know who came after Pansy. Iris? Lilac?

  Then he saw one of them coming his way. It was Orchid, with the spectacles. She had spilled something purple on her skirt and was holding it up so it wouldn’t drip on the floor.

  “Clumsy me,” she called almost gaily over her shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”

  “I’ll help you,” said another one. Lilac?

  “Hurry,” Oliver muttered as they passed him.

  The other one—Lilac, he was almost certain—jumped.

  “Sorry,” Oliver muttered.

  “Galen’s bringing Violet,” Orchid whispered. “See if you can get Iris away from Derivos.” She gave a little flutter with her free hand in the direction of the dais.

  “Thanks,” Oliver murmured.

  Iris was engaged in heated debate with her prince right at the foot of the dais. Lily had gotten up from her throne, and Rose was moving toward them as well.

  “It’s just not fair,” Iris was saying shrilly. “Why can’t I be with Blathen? And you’ve always had your eyes on Rose, Derivos, don’t deny it!” She jabbed Derivos’s chest with one finger.

  “You want to marry Blathen?” Derivos was plainly baffled by this turn of events.

  The King Under Stone sat on his throne, laughing.

  Oliver could see what Iris was doing. She was causing a diversion so the others could slip away. But he’d heard about their escape ten years ago, and that diversion. When it had ended, the king had seen immediately that the most of the princesses were gone. If Rionin saw through Iris’s ploy before the others were out …

  “It’s just not fair,” Iris said, beginning to cry. “You get to trade us or cast us aside! And we’re stuck with your decision! It’s just not fair!”

  “Of course it’s not fair,” said Poppy, coming forward and putting her arm around Iris’s waist. “When have they ever been fair?” She glared at Rionin.

  “Come, dear, you’re not yourself. Let’s go get something to drink,” said Daisy, coming up on Iris’s other side.

  That was nine of them, Oliver calculated. Nine of them out safely, if the twins managed to sneak Iris out now. Leaving Hyacinth, Rose, and Lily. There would have to be another diversion, Oliver realized. A big one. They’d hoped to slip the princesses out without resorting to extreme measures, but Oliver’s stomach was twisting with fear and he knew they needed to go, now.

  Galen had the same thought.

  “Grab Rose, Lily, and Hya,” came the crown prince’s voice in his ear. “I’m going to make some noise.”

  “Right,” Oliver whispered.

  Galen didn’t wait long. Oliver was just reaching for Rose’s arm when the far wall of the ballroom exploded outward in a maelstrom of black shards. Everyone screamed, including Oliver, much to his embarrassment. He was fortunate that no one noticed the extra voice in all the confusion.

  Rionin stepped down from the dais and strode toward the
explosion. Rose had Lily by one arm and was calling for Hyacinth. Oliver could see her, caught in the melee in the middle of the dance floor. He tugged at Rose’s sleeve to get her attention.

  “What is it?” She looked around, irritated.

  “It’s Oliver,” he said, speaking normally so that he could be heard over the din. “I’ll get Hyacinth, you and Lily run for the boats.”

  “All right,” she said reluctantly.

  Oliver dodged through the crowd to Hyacinth. She was looking around for her sisters, but her partner wouldn’t let go of her elbow. Oliver took her free hand in his, leaned close, and whispered. “It’s Oliver, come with me.”

  “I have to find Violet; she hates loud noises,” Hyacinth babbled to her partner.

  She yanked free of her prince, and then Oliver was leading her through the throng as swiftly as he could. They were in the main hall, and he saw tears streaking Hyacinth’s face, when they heard the cry.

  “Our brides!”

  “Run!” Hyacinth screamed.

  She let go of Oliver’s hand and raced for the doors. Oliver stayed close on her heels. When they were through the enormous front doors, he barred them with a silver twig. It seemed foolish: so small and fragile, balanced between the two great latches. But when their pursuers rattled the doors, the silver glowed and no one came through.

  “Hya! Hya!” Rose called.

  “Come on,” Hyacinth said blindly to Oliver.

  He unfastened the short purple cape and gathered up the longer cloak he wore beneath it, following her to where Rose and Lily were waiting in one of the two boats left. He pointed Hyacinth toward the empty boat, but Rose stopped him.

  “Don’t,” she said, “Galen …”

  “I’m sorry,” Oliver said, stepping back.

  Hyacinth climbed into the other boat with Rose and Lily, and Oliver pushed off, leaping into the bow at the last moment. Hyacinth and Rose were in the rower’s seat, and Lily was in the stern. In her hand she clutched two silver knitting needles, and her face was beautiful and strained.

  The princes had broken the door to the palace open before their boat reached the other shore, the silver twig proving to be a temporary lock. The princes came down to the water, the courtiers following behind, and four of the princes jumped into the remaining boat.

  There was no sign of Galen.

  When their boat crunched onto the far shore, Oliver leaped out and dragged it farther up the sand. The three princesses climbed out and began to run up the path. Rose had tears streaming down her cheeks, but she didn’t look back.

  “Are you wearing Petunia’s cloak?” Hyacinth said suddenly, slowing down a little to stare at him.

  “Yes,” Oliver said, taking her arm and hurrying her along. “I knew she’d want it, and she left it in her room. I couldn’t think of how else to carry it.”

  “You’re a good boy,” Hyacinth said.

  They reached the gate at last, and the others were waiting. As soon as he saw Oliver, Heinrich opened the silver-and-pearl gate to reveal a golden staircase. Lily and Rose stayed back, and so did Petunia, but the others began disappearing up the shining stair.

  Oliver took off both cloaks and helped Petunia into hers. She stood on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek, and then Heinrich was telling her to hurry.

  “I don’t think so,” said a voice, and there was the sound of a pistol cocking.

  Oliver turned, one arm still around Petunia, and found Prince Grigori only a few paces away. He was holding a pistol and smiling. Behind him stood Olga, her face blotchy from crying.

  “Petunia stays with me,” he said. “The rest of you must go back to the palace.”

  Violet, on the lowest stair, called out. “I have a husband waiting for me!”

  “Your husband is waiting for you back there,” Grigori said, jerking his head toward the Palace Under Stone. “When your children are grown they will break the king free of this prison and we will rule Ionia together!”

  Poppy snorted. “I’m sure Rionin will be delighted to share his throne,” she muttered.

  Petunia couldn’t take it anymore. “When will you stop?” She stepped forward, anger clear in every line of her body. “When will any of you stop?”

  And on the last word, she threw her red cloak at Grigori. It went over his head and down over his upper body, covering the pistol. He struggled and fired a shot. The bullet tore through the velvet and went wild past Oliver’s shoulder.

  “Run,” Oliver said.

  But they never reached the stair. Crumpled on the black soil just inside the gate was Rose, her hands clutched to her left side. Heinrich knelt over her, and Lily held her head.

  “Not Rose,” Petunia whispered, and her lower lip began to tremble.

  “One less to plague me,” Prince Grigori said, freeing himself of the cloak.

  Oliver didn’t hesitate. He drew his own pistol, aiming for the Russakan prince’s heart. But before he could fire, someone else did. The bullet found its mark and Grigori fell without a sound. Screaming, Olga threw herself on the fallen prince.

  Oliver wheeled and saw Lily lower one of Heinrich’s pistols. Petunia knelt on Rose’s other side, sobbing in great gulps. Over the sound of her weeping, Oliver could hear booted feet stomping up the path toward them.

  He met Heinrich’s gaze.

  “Take them up the stairs,” Oliver ordered in a voice that was suddenly not his own. It was Karl’s and Johan’s, and even his father’s half-remembered bark. “Carry Pet if you have to.”

  “But Rose—” Petunia began.

  “More power for the spell if I stay,” Rose murmured.

  “She’s right,” Oliver said. “Give the signal, Heinrich. We have to start now.”

  Lily and Petunia kissed Rose as Heinrich pulled them away. When Petunia’s foot was on the bottom stair, Heinrich tookout a pistol and fired two quick shots in the air. Oliver knelt by Rose and raised her up to lean against his chest.

  “You know what to do?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “I helped Galen in his studies.”

  Oliver began pulling things out of his pockets: a wand of silver, a bag of black soil mixed with powdered diamonds, an intricate knot of unbleached wool. He laid the knot on Rose’s lap and scattered the soil and diamond dust around them both. Then he helped her take a silver knitting needle out of her bodice. It was red and sticky.

  “I never meant to leave Galen behind, anyway,” she whispered. “Not when he came back for me. He always comes back for me.” She gripped the bloody needle, looking like a sorceress from a story, all terrible beauty.

  He took out a long silver branch of his own and held it up like a sword. He was ready.

  The dark princes rounded the corner of the path and headed for Oliver and Rose, their faces twisted with rage, but it didn’t matter. There was a strange tug in Oliver’s chest, and then he heard a voice that boomed over the sound of the princes’ shouts, over the wails from Olga as she crouched over Grigori’s body, over the sound of Rose’s quiet tears.

  The voice was that of the good frau, and yet it could not be the good frau, for it was so loud that it made Oliver’s ears hurt, and so beautiful that it brought tears to his eyes. It was old and young and beyond time itself. He loved the voice, and feared it too.

  The voice went on and on for an age, and all the while Oliver forced himself to think, as he had been told, of a wall of silver without door or break, a wall that ran around the Kingdom Under Stone. He had no magic of his own, but Walter Vogel had told him it wouldn’t matter: the strength of his spirit, his conviction, would be enough.

  Oliver thought so hard about this wall, and held so tightly to Rose, that when the wood began to burn he never noticed. His eyes were shut anyway, and the pulling in his chest was so strong that when hands began to drag him backward through the gate, he only held tighter to Rose. They must not be separated. Together they would let the good frau draw all the strength she needed from them, and then the silver wall would have no se
am.

  The voice stopped, and Oliver fell into darkness.

  Cloaked

  Petunia only paused long enough at the top of the stair to see that her sisters and Heinrich were safe. Then she picked up her skirts and started back down.

  “Petunia, no!” Pansy wailed.

  “Wait,” Heinrich said, and she heard his boots hit the first step. “Take this.”

  She looked back and he was holding out a pistol. She grabbed it and then flew down the stairs, leaving it to him to stop the others from following. She was not going to leave Oliver and Rose to die.

  At the bottom of the stairs a great voice suddenly overtook her. She staggered to Rose and Oliver, who were in the gateway. She stood behind them, bracing her upper arm against the side of the gate as Telinros came howling toward them.

  She shot him.

  His body jerked and then tumbled to the ground, nearly tripping Blathen who was right behind. Petunia aimed for Blathen next.

  “Mine!” Poppy said from behind her.

  Petunia leaped aside as Poppy leveled her pistol and shot Blathen through the heart. “Bastard,” she muttered as his body crumpled atop Telinros’s. She exchanged a fierce smile with Petunia.

  And then there was the king. The King Under Stone stepped toward them, his face taut with rage.

  “Come with me now and your punishments shall be lessened. Unlike your sisters’.”

  “No,” Petunia said. She leveled the pistol at him, but her heart quailed. Heinrich didn’t know that the grand duchess had called her son Alexei. If his bullets were marked, they would be marked only with the name Rionin.

  “Ha!” Poppy fired her pistol, but the king swiveled, bending backward in a way no human could have done. The bullet struck Derivos, and he dropped with a scream, clutching his side.

  “I am not so easy to kill as my brothers,” the king purred.

  “That’s what you think,” Poppy snarled, and cocked her pistol again.

  “Alexei,” Petunia said, suddenly.

  The king’s gaze snapped to her. “What did you say?”

  Petunia reached up to her elaborate coiffure. After Olga had left she had nestled several silver needles into it. All had been etched with the name Alexei Rionin Under Stone. She handed one behind her to Poppy, then rolled the others between her fingers.