Sleeping Beauty's Daughters

by Diane Zahler

  “Mama didn’t want to make the same mistake her own mother made, did she?” Luna asked. “That’s why we live so far from anywhere, and see so few people. It’s to keep Aurora out of harm’s way.”

  “Yes, child,” Papa affirmed. “Manon never said if her evil spell was to take hold when Aurora was sixteen, as it did your mother, or earlier, or later. So we had to be vigilant. We left my father’s castle and spent months trying to find Emmeline to see if she could help, as she’d helped your mother so long before. But she had disappeared completely. We even consulted with other fairies to see what could be done. None had the power to reverse Manon’s curse, for her magic had grown and strengthened over the years. I had Castle Armelle built in this remote place to safeguard you, to try to keep the fairy’s prophecy from coming true. And to keep Manon from finding us, should she decide to make sure the curse comes to pass.”

  “And you forbade all things sharp, so Aurora couldn’t prick her finger!” Luna exclaimed, and Papa nodded.

  “But why have I been subjected to the same rules?” Luna asked. “I was never in any danger. It isn’t fair.”

  “We could not raise you differently,” Papa pointed out mildly. “You are both our daughters.”

  Papa suggested that we stroll along the cliff top, where our palace perched, overlooking the sea. “You need some air, Aurora,” he said to me. “You are looking very pale.”

  It was a fine afternoon; the warm sun sparkled on the waves, though the wind gusted as it always did. We stopped on a promontory that jutted out over the sea. I breathed in the salty air for courage. Gulls wheeled and called around us, and below us the waves rolled the smooth, round stones on the beach back and forth in a soothing rhythm. Luna picked up shells that the birds had dropped and threw them out over the cliff, laughing as the wind blew them back again.

  Still trying to make sense of all that I had heard, I suddenly said, “It was a little foolish to ban sharp objects, wasn’t it, Papa? For how could you avoid a thorn from the forest, or a splinter of wood—or a broken glass jar?”

  Papa didn’t take offense at being called foolish. “We have done our best to protect you girls,” he said. “That is why all your needlework is done in Vittray, and why we men go there to have our beards trimmed. That is why we hunt with falcons and not arrows. And that is why our meat comes to us already cut or sliced, and even our forks are dull. But whether it is possible to escape one’s fate—that I do not know.”

  I shook my head in dismay. “How terrible for you and Mama, to be afraid all the time!”

  “It has been terrible indeed,” Papa allowed. “It was worse for your mother, for she feels responsible for handing down this curse. So it is understandable that she should be quite overwhelmed when she saw the blood—”

  “But I was the one who was injured, not Aurora,” Luna pointed out.

  “It was rather difficult to tell, in all the mess.” Papa’s tone was scolding and fond at the same time. “And after all these years of worry, your mother did not stop to wonder which of you was injured. She simply thought the prophecy had come to pass.”

  “But why?” I asked desperately. “Why does Manon hate us so much?”

  “She had loved your uncle very deeply, it was clear,” Papa said. “And because she lost him to Emmeline at your mother’s christening, I believe she felt that her thwarted love was your mother’s fault. And then, to see our happiness together . . . In her bitterness, perhaps our joy was too much for her to endure.”

  I shuddered. “But Papa, what shall I do? How can I be sure to stay safe?”

  He pulled me close in a hug, his strong arms a comfort. “We have kept you from harm thus far, my dear. I hope that is some consolation.”

  After our walk, I trudged to my room. Curled up on my high, soft bed, I thought about Mama’s story. Was my curse worse than hers? I thought it was. She, at least, had awakened to a few familiar faces—and to Papa. But I would sleep alone, as my family aged and died without me. When I woke, no one would remember that I’d even existed. It was too dreadful to think about, and I began to cry.

  A moment later, Luna pushed my door open and came inside, uninvited. “Whatever is wrong?” she asked me, leaping onto the bed and bouncing energetically.

  “Do go away, Luna,” I begged. “I’m not in the mood for your games just now.”

  “Games?” she repeated, affronted. “I’m not playing games. I just wanted to talk about our new tutor. He seems rather . . . interesting, don’t you think?”

  I turned away.

  “What’s wrong with you?” she persisted. “Do you have a headache, like Mama?”

  “You are such an infant!” I flared, sitting up. “How can you be so selfish? You heard what Mama said! Have you forgotten that I’m cursed? At any moment I could prick my finger. I won’t know when or where it will happen, but it will surely happen. I’m going to fall down and sleep for a century, and when I wake—if I wake—everyone I know will be dead and gone!”

  “Of course I haven’t forgotten,” Luna said. But I knew that she hadn’t really thought about what Mama’s story might mean. I closed my eyes and lay back against the pillows as Luna tried to make things better.

  “Mama and Papa won’t let anything happen to you,” she said confidently. “They’ve kept you safe so far, after all.”

  I thought about how we were sheltered and watched over every day. We had known we must stay close to home, though we hadn’t known why. I’d always felt that protecting Luna was my job, but I hadn’t realized that my parents did the same for me. They had done so much to safeguard us.

  I sat up again, wiping my face with a corner of my satin bedspread.

  “You’re right,” I said, though I didn’t truly believe it. “I must rely on Mama and Papa, and you and I can be especially careful as well. We know what to look for now.”

  “We do?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Yes, silly. We must watch for a fairy. She’ll probably look like an old woman, as Manon did when she came to Mama. And we must beware of sharp objects. If I don’t prick my finger, all may yet be well.”

  “It shouldn’t be so very difficult,” Luna said. “You’ve escaped the curse for all these years already. The fairy has probably forgotten about it.”

  “Perhaps,” I agreed, but just as the dread of the curse had weighed on our parents, so it now weighed on me. Restless, I climbed out of bed and went to sit before the looking glass, taking up my brush.

  “Aurora,” Luna said.

  “Yes?” I replied, trying to focus on my reflection.

  “I’ll do my very best to protect you—I promise I will.”

  I turned from the mirror and looked hard and long at my sister. Her face was worried; it was not an expression she wore often. My heart went out to her. She was a terrible pest, but I was suddenly glad to have her near. I smiled, trying to hide my own fear.

  “I do believe that you will, Luna!” I said warmly. “Now, let’s go downstairs to dinner, and see how short a time it will take you to try the patience of our interesting new tutor.”

  5

  Of a Curse That Came to Pass

  It was as strange that the tutor should eat with us as it was that he should have a bedroom on our floor of the castle. Ordinarily our tutors took their meals in the kitchen with the servants. This evening it was only the family and Master Julien at table. He stood and bowed when Luna and I entered the dining room. I curtsied in return, but Luna, with her usual lack of manners, did not.

  Luna was convinced that he was as odd-looking as our last tutor, Master Fabrice, but I didn’t find this true at all. Master Fabrice had been a dreadfully disagreeable man. He sucked his teeth with a nasty sound as we worked on our lessons and had almost no patience at all with Luna. Somehow, a few months after he came to us, a ball of pine pitch became entangled in his thinning hair, and he had to go into town to have it all cut off. He never returned. I knew Luna was responsible, but when she tried to boast to me about it, I held u
p a hand.

  “If I don’t know, I can’t say anything,” I advised her, and for once she was quiet.

  Our new tutor was quite different. His green eyes were shrewd and intelligent. Luna whispered to me that his nose was as long as Pinocchio’s, but I thought it gave character to his face.

  “Girls,” Papa said as we sat, “Master Julien comes to us highly recommended, for I know his father, King Josselin, quite well.”

  A prince—and a tutor? I was amazed.

  As always, Luna didn’t hesitate to blurt out what she was thinking. “You are a prince?” she demanded. “Why didn’t you tell me that was why you didn’t bow? And why are you teaching rather than ruling?”

  I winced at her directness, but Master Julien didn’t seem to mind.

  “I am the seventh of seven sons,” he explained as Jacquelle began to serve. “The likelihood that I will ever rule—well, you can imagine how slight it is. And frankly, I would not want it to be otherwise. I have an affinity for books and learning, so I thought to make my way in the world as a teacher. My father greatly values learning, and I have his blessing.”

  “It is a noble calling,” Mama said with approval. She was still pale and drawn from the strains of the day.

  “There are few paths open to a seventh son,” Master Julien said ruefully. “I am lucky that my abilities and my desire have both pointed me down this one.”

  “We are lucky to have you!” Papa declared. “Perhaps your love of learning will rub off a bit on Luna, for her grasp of Latin is considerably less than it should be.”

  Luna rolled her eyes and chanted, “Amo, amas, amat. Latin is such a dull language—and dead as well! What’s the use of learning it?”

  “What is the use?” Master Julien seemed amused. “Why, it’s the basis of our language, and it was the language spoken in the greatest empire the world has ever known. To learn Latin is to learn your own history. What could be more useful?”

  Unlike Luna, I was quite good at Latin, but I had never thought it especially useful or interesting. Master Julien made it sound almost . . . exciting.

  Our dinner passed most pleasantly. Master Julien spoke with ease about every subject that Papa introduced, from falconry to the shipping lanes that led to our kingdom’s harbor town. He looked quizzically at the fowl and meat dishes that came to the table already cut, but he said nothing. We parted cheerfully, and I found myself looking forward to the next day’s lessons.

  In the morning I took a little extra trouble with my dress and hair. Luna, with her sharp eyes, noticed immediately.

  “Are you prettying yourself for Master Birdbeak?” she teased. I ignored her, but she persisted. “You don’t have to do anything to make him admire you, Aurora. Just gaze at him with your big blue eyes, and twine a strand of your golden hair around your finger, and he’ll be love-struck.”

  “You are impossible!” I exclaimed, putting down my brush. She was almost too much to bear. Why did I have such an exasperating sister? But when she laughed at my vexed expression, I had to laugh too. He was just a tutor, though he was a prince. And no doubt Luna would chase him off quickly. There was no point in primping for him.

  We were a little late because of my extra time before the mirror, so we hurried to the sunlit chamber that we called the classroom. I loved it there, though Luna insisted that the smell of chalk dust made her sneeze. To me, there was nothing better on a cold afternoon than curling up in a cozy chair before the fire with a book.

  In the room’s center was a round table with an inlaid flower pattern in many types and colors of wood. The petals were a rose color that Papa said was ivorywood. The flower’s heart, in the very middle of the table, was made of a glowing golden wood. Sitting at the table, the three of us took turns reading Caesar aloud in Latin, using the most imperial voices we could manage. Luna had so much fun imitating a Roman emperor that she read far better than usual.

  Next we practiced oratory, both of us giving the same speech on a ridiculous topic: “That pickled cucumbers are better, both in taste and healthfulness, than unpickled.” This was very different from the tedious subjects other tutors had assigned. I was better at speaking in measured tones, but Luna, after she had finished giggling over the idea of talking about pickles, won great praise for her dramatic delivery. She was quite pleased.

  “But isn’t what we say more important than how it is said?” I asked, a little irritated at the tutor’s admiration of my sister.

  “Both are crucial,” he explained to me. “If you speak without conviction, your words will have little weight.” Then he turned to Luna and went on, “If you become too emotional and stumble over your words, your listeners will not understand you. And if your argument is not sound, they will not be convinced.”

  Then Master Julien wanted to see examples of our writing, so we pulled out our slates and chalk. The tutor was perplexed. “What are those?” he asked, pointing at our lengths of chalk.

  “Have you never seen chalk before?” Luna’s tone made it clear what she thought of his ignorance. She rolled her eyes at me; we’d gone through the same explanation with every tutor we’d had.

  “The cliffs to our south are made of chalk,” I said quickly, trying to make up for her discourtesy. “It makes a fine writing instrument, especially on dark slate.” I wrote a few letters to show him.

  “I see.” Master Julien was intrigued. “When your father engaged me, he told me that you wrote without pens. I wondered how it was done.”

  He picked up a piece of chalk. After he wrote on the slate, I showed him how to rub it clean. “But how do you write your correspondence? Or do you send slate invitations and announcements to your friends? That would be quite a heavy burden for the post carrier!”

  Luna laughed, and I replied, “We don’t send many letters. Or any at all, in fact. You can see we are quite . . . isolated here. We rarely entertain. We don’t really have any friends.”

  Master Julien looked astonished, and I could see that he wanted to ask many questions. But he held back, and said only, “Your father has some unusual ideas! Still, if this is what he wants, I can write with chalk myself.”

  We stopped for lunch, and then spent the afternoon on history and a little mathematics, for Master Julien wanted to see where we were in our studies. Luna surprised him with her ability at calculations. Numbers had always been her strength, while I tended to prefer the liberal arts, especially history and literature.

  We dined together again that night, and spent a lovely evening in the conservatory, where I played my newest piece on the pianoforte and sang—quite well, I thought. When darkness fell, Master Julien took us outside and pointed out constellations in the night sky.

  “We will study astronomy as well,” Master Julien told us, and Luna said, excited, “I’ve always wanted to learn about the stars!”

  The next morning Luna and I came into the classroom early, before Master Julien. I sat down and began to study our day’s Latin. A loud thump made me look up from my book to see what Luna was doing.

  She had pulled Master Julien’s pack off one of the classroom shelves and was already rifling through it, tugging out books, rolled parchments, a peculiar object with beads on a wire. . . .

  “Luna!” I said. “Leave that be—it doesn’t belong to you!”

  But she ignored me, blowing into a flutelike musical instrument that squawked like a crow. Finally, she pulled out a long feather and a little silver container. The feather was striking, an iridescent blue that seemed black until the light hit it. Then it shone a deep indigo.

  “What on earth is that for?” I asked, curious despite myself. “Is it part of a nature study? Let me see it.”

  I put down my Latin text as Luna carried the feather to the table. She stroked it, turning it this way and that in the sunlight that streamed through the long windows. Then she stuck it through her curls, where it dipped dramatically over her eye. Intrigued, I plucked it from her hair to investigate it more closely.

 
The quill itself was hollow. Of course—it was a quill pen! The silver jar had to be an inkpot. I had heard of quill pens but had never been able to imagine how a feather could hold ink. Now I could see that a little of the ink would be drawn up into the hollow tube, and come out at the point as one wrote. The point—it was so sharp. As sharp as a knife . . .

  At that moment Luna too noticed the sharp point and cried out, “No!” Her voice was high with terror. I jumped in alarm as she reached over to grab the pen from me. The quill slipped in my grasp, and its pointed end pierced my finger. I stared, aghast, as a single drop of my crimson blood fell from my hand to the table, where it lay glistening like a ruby in the center of the inlaid wood flower.

  6

  Of a Partner and a Plan

  It was only one drop of blood. It seemed so little to do so much. Immediately, though, I felt a wave of sleepiness pass over me. Luna leaped up and lunged across the table, pinching me hard.

  “Ouch!” I cried, jerking back into alertness.

  “Princess Luna, what are you doing?” Master Julian spoke from the doorway.

  Luna turned in a rage to him. “How dare you?” she demanded in a voice so low and controlled that I hardly recognized it. “Remove your disguise, you foul creature. Show yourself to us!”

  My mouth dropped open. Master Julien looked utterly bewildered. He stammered but could not form a sentence. Then another surge of drowsiness hit me, and my eyes closed. Luna pinched me once more.

  The tutor looked from one of us to the other like a nervous bird. Finally he managed, “What is wrong, Princesses? What has happened?”

  Luna snorted and slapped me smartly on the hand as my shoulders slumped. I straightened quickly. Ignoring Master Julien, she cried, “Sister, the curse has come to pass. You must stay awake. You must! We’ll find a way to save you, but you cannot fall asleep. Stand up, we must go. Now!”

  Her words seemed to be coming from very far away. I felt so strange. It wasn’t like being ordinarily sleepy or even truly exhausted. It was as if Sleep were alive, a being of irresistible fascination who called to me over and over, Come! Come to me and all will be well! It was a terrible struggle not to give in. I wanted more than anything to close my eyes, lay down my head, and do as Sleep entreated.