Regina Rising

by Wendy Toliver

  “Oh. Well…” She sucked in her lower lip for a second or two. “We aren’t supposed to reveal those things. You shouldn’t make known what we do in our lessons, either. It’s…how it is. We will try again tomorrow, after tea.” She shrugged and then leaned over and blew out the remaining candles.

  Tuesday, May 9

  “Good morning, Regina,” Jasper B. Holding said as he set up my paints and easel. He was correct; it was an exceptionally lovely morning. My shoes glistened with dew I’d picked up trekking across the grass. Puffs of bright white clouds dotted the cerulean sky, and though the sun shone brightly, the breeze kept me cool despite my decision to wear my hair down.

  “Good morning, Jasper. I brought something for you,” I said, desperately trying to hide the blush that I felt creeping over my cheeks.

  He situated the wooden stools and peered up at me through his reddish-brown hair. His hair was longer on top, and had an endearing way of flopping into his blue-green eyes even when there was no wind to blame. I wanted to run my fingers through it, but the mere thought of doing so made my palms sweat.

  “What is it?” he asked. He sounded wary, perhaps even frightened.

  Inwardly, I sighed. I wished he knew that even though I was Cora’s daughter, he didn’t have to fear me.

  But I had to confess, I also liked how I could put him on edge.

  “A surprise,” I said. “Close your eyes.”

  Jasper tucked his hands into the pockets of his trousers and glanced up at the house and then back at me. Finally, he took a quick breath and shut his eyes.

  “Hold out your hand.” He did so, and I placed the apple in it. “All right, open up.”

  He stared down at the apple, which I’d polished to a nearly blinding gleam. “It’s an apple,” he said, his tone rising at the end as if in question.

  “Do you notice anything special about this one?” I asked, having gotten enough confidence back to do so coyly.

  “It’s very nice,” he said. “Especially for this time of year.”

  “Yes,” I agreed. “Would you go so far as to say it’s perfect?”

  He grinned, but I could tell he still had no idea what the deeper meaning was. “Yes, I would. In fact, it would be a shame to eat such a fine example of fruit.”

  “Ah! But, if you recall, you said, ‘Nothing found in nature is truly perfect.’” I placed my finger on the apple, silently driving my point into his mind for a second or two. “It was when I painted tree trunks perfectly straight, and the leaves perfectly symmetrical. That was the context.”

  He laughed, his eyes dancing. “And you brought me this apple so I could literally eat my words?”

  “I could never have passed up such a perfect opportunity,” I said.

  A breeze blew past, sweeping my hair into my eyes. I brushed it off my face as best I could. Jasper reached over and gently ran his thumbnail along my brow to get the strands that had stuck in my lashes. “Thank you,” I said. Yet I couldn’t look at him, not with the humiliating blush I felt staining my cheeks. Instead, I sat in the little wooden chair, crossed my ankles, and gripped my brush. “Now then, what shall I paint today?” I asked as glibly as possible, awestricken that with a simple gesture, Jasper had rendered me completely powerless. But unlike when my mother did so, this felt…pleasant. I dipped my brush in bright red and began painting. Before I knew it, I was caught up in my work.

  “Regina?” he asked. I’d been so lost in my thoughts, I had no inkling whether minutes or hours had passed.

  I looked up from my painting.

  “When I said nothing in nature is truly perfect, I was mistaken.” He looked at me deeply, like he had when he was painting my portrait. I felt his eyes linger on each of my features in turn, as if committing them to memory. Though my instinct was to fidget under his perusal, I forced myself to sit still. “Since then, I’ve learned perfection does occur in nature, but only once in a great while.” His gaze lingered on my lips, and I turned my head. A horrible heat rose to my face, no doubt turning it the same hue as the apple in his hand.

  “How was your art lesson?” my mother asked between sips of her tea. I kept waiting for the announcement that Claire was there to call on me, but teatime seemed to drag on for an eternity.

  “It was fine, Mother.”

  Keeping secrets from my mother was tough business, and I tried not to squirm or give her any reason to suspect I might be pining for my art teacher. Or that I had an inkling he might possibly feel the same way about me.

  “What are you and Casper working on now?”

  I sloshed the steaming tea in my cup, bringing it precariously close to the rim. It didn’t taste as sweet as usual, and I couldn’t help wondering if Rainy was under strict orders to put less sugar on the table now that party season was on the horizon.

  “Jasper,” I said.

  “What’s that?”

  “My art teacher’s name is Jasper.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’m painting a landscape of the apple orchard.”

  “That sounds nice.” The corner of her mouth ticked upward for a split second, almost looking like a smile.

  “Would you like to see it?” I asked. “It isn’t finished, but it’s close. I’m sure you can get the idea, anyhow.”

  “You needn’t babble, Regina.” She rang the bell, and Solomon entered the room.

  “Yes, Your Highness?”

  “Bring us Regina’s painting,” my mother said.

  “It’s the one of the orchard, next to my wardrobe.”

  She sipped her tea as we waited for his return, but my belly was twisted in knots. When Solomon held up my painting for my mother to scrutinize, I felt like a desperate little girl. I wanted nothing more than to hear my mother’s praise. When her lips parted to speak, I clasped my hands in my lap and held my breath.

  “Well, we cannot be good at everything,” she said, shooing Solomon, and my painting, out.

  Under the table, I pressed my fingernails into the soft centers of my palms. “No, I suppose we cannot.”

  Later, when I was reading in the library to pass the time, Solomon came in and announced Claire’s arrival. I hurried out to the foyer and greeted my friend with a hug.

  “What do you two girls have planned this afternoon?” my mother asked, entering the foyer behind us. The second Claire saw her, she let go of me and instead stood at my side.

  “We haven’t any plans,” I said, shrugging. “At least, nothing interesting.” Keeping my feelings for Jasper hush-hush was hard enough; now I had to keep Claire’s magic lessons secret, as well.

  Claire cleared her throat. “I’ve invited Regina to my uncle’s house. She has such beautiful penmanship, and I would like for her to help me write my mother a special letter, as it’s almost her birthday. If that is acceptable to you, of course.”

  My mother beamed. “It is fine with me, Claire.”

  Although I simply wanted to slip out without raising any suspicions, a wave of irritation hit me. Why is everything Claire suggests always a good idea? I mashed my lips together, determined not to take it out on my friend. It wasn’t her fault. And really, shouldn’t I be thankful my mother wasn’t doing everything in her power to sabotage our relationship?

  My mother smoothed what must have been a flyaway tress behind my ear and added, “It’s a thoughtful gesture, and I’m certain your mother will be deeply touched by it.” She glanced at me but didn’t meet my eyes. “I don’t believe my own daughter has ever written me anything.”

  I shifted my weight from one leg to the other.

  “Oh. Well, thank you, Cora,” Claire said, breaking the tension. “I do hope you’re right and my ma likes it.”

  My mother laughed. Claire might have interpreted it as a jovial, carefree chuckle. But I knew better. “Oh, my dear girl,” she said, laughing once more. “I am always right.”

  Instead of bringing us to Giles’s house as expected, the white carriage delivered us to a small frog pond in the woods just
beyond it. After Claire told the coachman when to come back for us, she sat on a moss-covered log on the bank and patted the space next to her.

  “I cannot thank you enough for teaching me,” I said, hoping to get the session started on a positive note. “I have a feeling I’ll make progress today.” I took a seat next to her and held on to my knees.

  “Yes, I’m sure you will, Regina.”

  As I looked around, a sense of serenity filled my heart. If the place woven into my bedroom rug really existed, I thought, this might be it. Lily pads floated on the deep green water, some bearing white and yellow flowers, and one carrying a rather plump and vocal bullfrog. Glittery dragonflies, delicate butterflies, and a variety of birds populated the air and shoreline. They all went on with their lives, seemingly undisturbed by the two human trespassers.

  “Do you see that frog on the lily pad?” Claire asked.

  I nodded. “I spotted him right when I sat down. Hard to miss, as big as he is.”

  “Good. He’s your target today.”

  “You mean, kill him?”

  She crinkled her nose. “Or just make him fall into the water.”

  She guided me through the energy-centering exercises again. I brewed up all my anger and concentrated on the frog. Fall into the water. The command resonated in my mind so clearly, so loudly, so fully; I could think of no excuse for it not to happen.

  The frog flicked out his tongue and ate a fly. He blinked his big yellow eyes, and though I couldn’t tell from a distance, I could have sworn he had the nerve to let out a most indulgent belch.

  I gawked at the impudent creature, feeling like I was the one falling into the pond, with stones tied to my feet. Sinking down, down, down. My lungs running out of air. My heart running out of hope.

  No. I wouldn’t allow myself to be without hope.

  I set my jaw and held out my hand, forcing the heat in my body to concentrate in my open palm. I focused on the frog so intensely I thought I might have screamed out loud.

  Then the frog was in the pond water. I’d blinked at a most unfortunate time, so I couldn’t know with certainty how it had happened. Still, the frog was no longer on the lily pad. Wide-eyed, I looked at my friend. “Was that…?”

  Claire’s grin spread from ear to ear. “Magic? Yes, my friend, I believe it was.”

  As I embraced Claire and celebrated my success, I wondered what my mother would do if she were here to see me doing magic for the first time.

  Directly behind us, the grass rustled. Claire twisted around and screamed. A second later, I got a glimpse of what had her so panicked.

  “It’s just a snake,” I said in a chiding tone. But I had to confess I was glad when it slithered away and out of sight under a moss-speckled boulder.

  Tuesday, May 16

  Claire gave me magic lessons almost every day, and when she couldn’t I practiced on my own. However, it had been an entire week and I hadn’t made any more progress. “You’re doing fine, Regina,” she’d insisted. “Magic can’t be rushed.”

  My friend’s encouraging, patient words had been drowned out by a voice in my head. It kept questioning whether the frog flopping into the water had anything to do with my emerging magic, or if he’d simply hopped off the lily pad of his own volition. Any confidence I’d accrued was slipping through my fingers like sand.

  My mounting stress caused me a disagreeable stomach, and the previous night, I’d had a disturbing nightmare.

  In it, I knelt beside Jasper, who lay in the green grass of a vast meadow. Though he appeared to be dead, his chest rose and fell just enough to confirm he was merely sleeping. I leaned over and kissed his lips, then waited for his eyes to flutter open. A horrible laugh filled the air, and I glanced up to see my mother dressed in a sleek black jacket and high heels. Before I could ask her what she was doing there, she disappeared in a cloud of smoke, leaving behind a perfect red apple. When I picked up the apple, I saw someone had taken a bite out of it. The apple started glowing and beating in my hand, morphing into a heart. It turned from red to black and, finally, to nothing but dust.

  The nightmare had been so realistic, I was actually brushing my palms together when I awoke, trying to wipe off the blackish-red residue.

  Although I’d spent a good ten minutes staring at my reflection in my bedroom mirror, trying to rise above the malaise and put my best face forward for Jasper, I kept thinking I should have stayed under the covers and told Rainy I wasn’t feeling well.

  Then again, she would have alerted my parents, and before I knew it, Giles would’ve been at our home, pressing down my tongue with a spoon and making me say aaaaaaah. When he couldn’t find anything wrong with me, he’d probably make me take some kind of terrible-tasting medicine anyway, to appease my mother.

  “Uh-oh,” Jasper said, raising his brows at me as I made my way over to the easel and chairs he’d set up by the orchard for that day’s lesson.

  Uh-oh? I suddenly wondered if, in my disheartened state, I’d forgotten to do something important, like button up my blouse. However, after a quick check, I seemed to be adequately put together. Besides, Rainy would not have allowed me out of the house had I not been. “What is it, Jasper?”

  “You look like your dog died. He didn’t, did he?”

  “No. Thaddeus is alive and as fine as can be expected. Although, he’s so lazy, sometimes I wonder if he’s been put under a sleeping spell.”

  “I’m glad to hear he’s well. I grew rather fond of that hound when I painted your family portrait. I’ve never had anyone—person or pet—sit so still for the entire process. Or snore so loudly.”

  I shook my head at the joint memory, and I felt my spirits rising.

  “Now, speaking of portraits, that’s a good way to think about painting landscapes,” Jasper said. “Paint every tree, every blade of grass, every cloud as if each is a person with its own unique characteristics.”

  As he began detailing the day’s goals, I lost myself in a daydream. In it, Jasper brushed my hair off my face and gazed longingly into my eyes. What are you thinking about, Regina? he asked. From under my lashes, I gazed at him coyly and asked if he would paint my portrait—just me, this time. I will, if that’s what you wish, he responded. However, I’ll never be able to fully capture your true beauty with mere paint. His face moved nearer to mine, and I closed my eyes and—

  “So, do you have all of that?” Jasper asked, and I blinked out of my fantasy. He grinned so charmingly, I couldn’t help smiling back, just a little.

  “Ah, that’s better,” he said, clapping his hands together twice. “You should smile more often. Now, sit. You have a painting to finish. I have a feeling this will be your best one yet, Regina.”

  I sighed inwardly. Jasper always dedicated every minute of our time together to art lessons, nothing more. “Must we paint today, Jasper?” I asked.

  “Do you want to use another medium?”

  “No. I mean, how about we…I don’t know, go on a horseback ride? Or maybe we could take a stroll to the meadow?”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Regina, when I’m here, it’s to teach you how to paint. It’s what your parents hired me to do. While going on a ride or walk with you sounds pleasant, I’m afraid I cannot.” His gaze shifted from my face—which I tried to keep neutral so he wouldn’t see how disappointed and embarrassed I was about being turned down—to the house. I was sure he thought my mother was watching us from the balcony, and he was probably correct. Now that I thought about it, she’d probably made him vow to keep all the painting lessons within sight of the house, as they all had been and likely would forever be. I gritted my teeth, frustrated.

  If only Jasper and I could meet sometime on the sly and spend some time together beyond the art lessons. Someplace where my mother wasn’t able to watch our every move. I was suddenly struck with an idea.

  “Jasper, are you attending King Leopold and Queen Eva’s ball Saturday evening?” I asked. Normally, this would be a very rude question, since
artists were rarely, if ever, on the guest list for royal functions. However, the king and queen had hired Jasper to paint their portraits and had recommended him highly to my parents, so I believed there was a chance they’d made an exception.

  “I received an invitation,” he answered. “I thought it might be a good place to meet prospective clients.”

  My heart leapt. “Wonderful. You should definitely go, then. I will be there.”

  “I thought you might.” Neither his expression nor his tone gave me a hint as to whether he was happy about that or not.

  I took a deep breath, smiled broadly, and decided to be optimistic. “Well, I do hope to see you there. If you decide to attend, I believe that at ten o’clock I’ll have become weary of all the music and dancing and need to wander outside.” I brainstormed someplace to meet as quickly as I could, recalling one of my favorite spots to ride Rocinante, especially in the spring and summer. “There’s a lovely little bridge just beyond the rose garden, the perfect place to get some fresh air. Perhaps you’ll need some fresh air, as well.”

  He cocked his right eyebrow. “I think I know your parents well enough to say they wouldn’t be keen on us meeting up outside of your lessons,” he said, sounding frustratingly logical.

  “They would never find out,” I said. “I promise. It will be our secret, and even if we are caught, I’ll say it was happenstance we were in the same place at the same time, and insist to my parents I didn’t want to be impolite by ignoring my art teacher.”

  He looked at me for a long while before sighing as if in surrender. “Very well then. I will meet you at this bridge you speak of.”

  “Ten o’clock,” I reminded him, much too eagerly.

  “At the stroke,” he agreed.

  I was very much looking forward to going to the ball. Not only would Claire be there, but now, so would Jasper. I wasn’t quite sure what we would do once he and I were on the bridge, but the thought of outfoxing my mother—even in this small way—brought a smile to my face.