Twice Upon a Marigold

by Jean Ferris

  Marigold pretended to be asleep so she wouldn't disturb Chris, but she hadn't forgotten what Olympia had once planned, either.

  Lazy Susan, having slept all afternoon, was wide awake, wishing she'd never had a friend named Angie.

  And Mr. Lucasa stayed up all night making alterations to Olympia's gowns.

  The next morning, Olympia was the only one of them whose eyes weren't bloodshot.

  10

  Magnus Tobias Hunter, who had been briefly engaged to Marigold before that crazy day when she ended up marrying King Christian of Zandelphia instead, was having a leisurely luncheon on the terrace of his country manor house. He could hardly believe how happy, and how lucky, he was. He had his own home at last, one that he'd designed himself to be exactly what he wanted. He had a job as royal architect and engineer, which had allowed him to make substantial improvements to the living conditions of Beaurivage's subjects. In just a year, this had made him so popular that, to his amazement, he'd won the annual Kingdom's Favorite Person Award. And that night Lord and Lady Buffleton, along with their daughter Sephronia, were coming to dinner.

  Although Magnus had been willing to marry Marigold, he had mostly just wanted something he'd never had before—a place to belong. He liked Marigold well enough even though they had next to nothing in common. With Sephronia it was different. They always had plenty to talk about, and she even shared his interest in architecture and mapmaking. At tonight's dinner he intended to ask Lord Buffleton for permission to court Sephronia.

  As he lifted his goblet of pomegranate juice to his lips, Magnus looked up to see something he couldn't believe. Queen Olympia appeared to be steaming across the terrace toward him, but that was impossible. While he'd been shocked at what happened to her on that wedding day a year ago, he couldn't say he was sorry. She had intimidated and manipulated and frightened him into a plot to do away with King Swithbert, and it had been the worst time of his life. She considered herself too refined to do any actual exterminating—that's what she wanted him to do. Magnus really loved Swithbert, who had never been anything but kind and generous to him, but he had been terrified of Olympia. He had been beyond relieved when she'd gone into the river, believing that she'd never bother him again.

  Yet here she was, looking fit and extravagantly dressed, complete with ferret, and very much alive. His pomegranate juice went down the wrong way and he coughed so hard he saw stars.

  "Just as competent as ever, I see," Olympia said, coming to a halt in front of his table while he kept trying to catch his breath. She yanked out a chair and sat down. "Nice little place you've got here, Magnus. A butler and all the trimmings. I'll bet Swithbert is behind your having it, am I right?" Without waiting for an answer, she said, "You were supposed to end up with nothing if you didn't marry Marigold. Which is exactly what would have happened if I'd still been around. But Swithbert ..." She shook her head in disgust. "I'll bet you'd like to keep living in this nice place, wouldn't you?"

  Magnus was too stunned to do more than look at her, his lips trembling.

  "Of course you would," Olympia went on, reaching for Magnus's glass of pomegranate juice and drinking it down. "So I know you'll be glad to help me do what I want to do in exchange for your getting to stay here. Correct?"

  "What—what—" Magnus licked his lips. "What do you want to do?"

  "Ah, that's my boy," Olympia said. "Well, I want to be queen, of course."

  "But aren't you queen now?" Magnus asked.

  "Well, yes, technically. But the succession is through Swithbert. I was a commoner—though quite an uncommon one, I must say—when he married me. Succession goes to his offspring. Since Tatiana and Marigold are already queens of their own kingdoms, that leaves Calista and Eve, who tried being queens and didn't like it. And Swithbert would never make them do something they didn't want to do. So who better than me to succeed him? Once we get rid of him?"

  It was Magnus's worst nightmare—she wanted him in on a plot to kill Swithbert again. In spite of his anxiety, a thought came to him. "Where have you been for the last year?"

  "I can see I'm going to have to print my story in the Daily Discourse. I'm getting tired of explaining it." She sighed and summarized the whole thing for him in a singsongy voice. "Now. That's out of the way. Let's get back to business. Swithbert."

  "Uncle Swithbert already has a plan for the succession," Magnus said hesitantly. "He wants to combine the kingdoms of Zandelphia and Beaurivage. Especially since the new Zandelphia-Beaurivage Bridge makes it so much easier to go back and forth now. And he wants Christian and Marigold to rule both kingdoms when he retires."

  "There's a bridge?" Olympia was outraged. "I don't want a bridge! I want Beaurivage to be its own separate kingdom. My own separate kingdom. And if Swithbert's retiring, I should be first choice as ruler, not Marigold. One kingdom should be enough for her." Olympia stood and began pacing, with Fenleigh clinging to her shoulder. "Is this plan in writing yet? Is it official? Does anybody else know about it?"

  "I don't know. I know he's mentioned it to Chris and Marigold, but I don't know if it's anywhere in writing."

  "I'll just have to talk to him about that, then." She turned her hard eyes on Magnus. "And if he doesn't cooperate, I'll be back to see you." She turned and swept out, leaving Magnus in such a state of nerves and terror that he put his head down on the luncheon table and wept.

  11

  "No, Olympia," Swithbert told her calmly. "Ed is not moving out. And we're not tearing down the bridge. And we will combine the kingdoms, if Chris and Marigold agree. And when I retire, you will not be my successor. But even if you're not queen then, you can still have a very comfortable life here at court." He hated to say this, but he couldn't bring himself to exile her. She was still his wife, after all. And he took any vow very seriously.

  "I'm queen now, and I want to stay queen," she told him. "Beaurivage is my kingdom."

  Why, he wondered, couldn't Olympia just be satisfied with things as they were? She had so much to be grateful for, so much more than many others would ever have. Yet it was never enough.

  "Are you forgetting that Marigold's adopted, and that her husband, in spite of his royal blood, managed to get himself lost in the forest years ago and was raised by that troll?"

  "Olympia, that's enough," Swithbert said wearily. "I'm not changing my mind. Find a way to be happy now that you're back." He left the room.

  "Oh, I'll find a way," Olympia said to the closed door. "But you can be sure it won't be your way."

  SOMEHOW MAGNUS overcame the awful distress caused by Olympia's visit long enough to see to the preparations for his dinner with the Buffletons. Still, he was sweating profusely when they arrived, and so agitated he could hardly speak.

  "Magnus," Sephronia whispered as they followed her parents into the reception room, "is something wrong? You don't seem yourself."

  "I wish I wasn't myself," he murmured. "I wish I was someone who lived far away."

  "Why, Magnus," Sephronia said, drawing back from him. "If you lived far away, you wouldn't be living near me. Is that what you want?"

  "No! No, Sephronia! That's not what I mean. I just mean—oh, it's too complicated to explain."

  "Don't even bother," she said huffily. "I think I understand. I thought it was me you were interested in, but I see you were just using me to get to my parents. Are you angling to design a villa for them? Well, go ahead. But be careful they don't find out how manipulative you are." She hurried ahead to join her parents, and spent the rest of the evening in a silent funk while Magnus struggled to make conversation with the very puzzled Buffletons, who had been expecting to celebrate their daughter's engagement over dessert.

  Sephronia didn't even say good night to him. She simply stalked out to the Buffletons' coach while Lady Buffleton called after her, "Sephronia! Where are your manners?"

  Her manners, apparently, also wished to be living far away. At least far away from Magnus.

  After they had gone, Magnus sank dow
n on the entry hall bench with his head in his hands and wept for the second time in eight hours.

  OLYMPIA DIDN'T EVEN wait until lunchtime the next day.

  Magnus was gazing without the slightest bit of appetite at the breakfast plate of pigeon eggs and summer berries that Winterbottom, his butler, had brought him. He heard the front door bang open, and then the door to his dining room also banged open. And there she was—his holy terror, his nemesis, his bête noire: Olympia.

  He groaned.

  "Does that mean you aren't glad to see me?" she asked gaily, pulling out a dining room chair and seating herself. "Surely not, when I'm the one who's going to make sure that you get to keep this pretty manor house." When he remained silent, she went on, "Don't you want to know more about what you have to do to make that happen?"

  Dismally, he shook his head.

  "Now, now, Magnus, don't be difficult."

  Fenleigh crawled off her shoulder onto the table, where he went to work on Magnus's breakfast plate. He was particularly fond of pigeon eggs.

  'All I'm asking," Olympia went on, "is for you to help me make sure neither Swithbert, Marigold, nor Christian gets to be ruler of Beaurivage instead of me. That's all."

  He looked at her through bleary eyes. "I don't suppose you mean they'll be going on a nice long vacation."

  She smiled. "I guess you could look at it that way. A kind of permanent vacation."

  He shook his head, even as he knew what it meant for him. But he'd already lost Sephronia because of Olympia. What did the loss of his home mean after that?

  "You're saying no to me?" Olympia asked, astonished.

  This time he nodded.

  "You're sure about that?" she asked, looking at him through narrowed eyes.

  He nodded again.

  She stood. "Come, Fenleigh." The ferret ran up Olympia's arm and wrapped himself around her neck. "Magnus, you're making things harder for me. You're going to be so sorry you did that."

  "I know," he said miserably.

  After she'd gone, he looked around his pretty dining room with its elegant proportions, tall sunny windows, and lovely pale green walls. How he would miss it when he went back to living with various relatives, none of whom would be especially thrilled to see him. But he'd been pushed around by Olympia before. He knew what that felt like, and he didn't ever want to feel so guilty and craven again, regardless of the consequences. And he would never forgive himself if any harm came to Swithbert, Marigold, or Christian.

  He wished doing the right thing was always easy and painless, but it didn't seem to work out that way.

  12

  Chris and Marigold were exceedingly polite with each other, measuring their words carefully, monitoring their behavior so they wouldn't do anything to upset the other person. Neither of them wanted a repeat of the day they'd had their first argument, when they felt farther apart than when they had lived on opposite sides of the river. They were supposed to be each other's best friend—and best friends behaved better than they had that day.

  Besides, they had Olympia to think about.

  "She's up to no good already. I know it," Marigold said.

  "No doubt about it," Chris said. "And I'm thinking she still wants to be the queen. All by herself."

  "You think papa and I are in danger again?"

  "I'm sure of it. Especially once she finds out Swithbert wants to unite our two kingdoms. She's not big on sharing."

  "We don't have to combine the kingdoms."

  "That still won't protect Swithbert. Besides, I think combining the kingdoms is a good idea. Anything that unites people instead of dividing them seems valuable."

  Marigold sighed. "I agree. So what are we going to do about her?"

  "What about those pals of yours? Those elves and sorcerers and all? Can they help?"

  "Hmmm. Maybe. I'll send out a few p-mails and see."

  Then, because telling him jokes had been part of their getting to know each other, even though he didn't always think they were very funny, she decided to offer him one. "Christian, do you know how long Cleopatra lived?"

  "Huh?"

  "Cleopatra. Do you know how long she lived?"

  "Uh—I don't know. Maybe forty years?"

  "No, silly. The answer is, all her life."

  "Oh. Is this one of your jokes?"

  "You couldn't tell it was a joke?"

  "I thought it was a real question. A serious question."

  "You really couldn't tell it was a joke?"

  "I told you I couldn't. Are you suggesting I'm stupid?"

  "I just thought it was obvious."

  "Obviously not."

  "Are you saying I'm not a good joke teller?"

  "I didn't say that. But joke telling is an art."

  "And I'm not a good artist?"

  "Well, I didn't know it was a joke, did I?"

  "Maybe that's your fault, not mine."

  And suddenly, they were back where they had been before, without quite knowing how it had happened. It was as if Olympia's return had brought poisoned air that invaded their brains and turned them into the worst versions of themselves.

  Christian reached across the table and took Marigold's hand. "We have to stop this. We're supposed to be living happily ever after."

  She clung to his hand. "Maybe this is happily ever after. Maybe happy people still have disagreements."

  "I don't doubt that," Chris said. "But the ones we're having are so stupid. Shouldn't we be disagreeing about more important things?"

  "I think Olympia has something to do with it. I think during that year her memory was gone and she was somebody else—somebody nicer—all her bad qualities piled up and got stronger because she wasn't using them. Now she's taken them back and they're bigger and more forceful than they used to be, and they're loose in our air. It's like we're inhaling a little bit of Olympia's personality with every breath."

  Chris cupped his hand over his mouth. "What a disgusting thought. But maybe you're right. That would make me feel better about these stupid arguments. I don't like thinking that we're being stupid all by ourselves, though I suppose that's possible. And if you're right, we're going to need some major help to get things back to normal."

  "I'll get busy on those p-mails," Marigold said.

  ED AND SWITHBERT sat in front of the fire, ignoring the fact that summer heat had arrived when Olympia had and a fire was unnecessary. There is something safe and comforting about sitting by a fire, and they needed to feel both.

  "Olympia means to be sole ruler," Swithbert said glumly, mopping his brow with a handkerchief. "No matter who's in the way. Meaning me, and probably Marigold."

  "What else is news to me?" Ed said, unbuttoning his jacket.

  "I can't let that happen. It would be the worst thing possible for the entire kingdom."

  "How you gonna stop her?"

  Swithbert shook his head. "I don't know. I've never been good at stopping her from doing anything. She's like a charging bull. Or cow, I suppose. How do you stop one of those?"

  "Spears. Arrows. Trip wires. Maces. Broadaxes. Cutlasses. Halberds. Pikes. Hatchets—"

  "Okay, okay, Ed. But you know I'm not going to use any of those on her. I can't."

  "Maybe we can find somebody who can."

  "Oh, Ed. You don't mean that. Anyway, you know I can't do that, either."

  "I'm not sure I don't mean it. But I get that you're a rock stuck in a hard place. Can't live with her, can't eliminate her."

  "Things were so good while she was gone. If only we could figure out a way to make her go away once more."

  "I could push her into the river again. I'd be glad to."

  Swithbert sighed. "She's my problem, not yours."

  Sedgewick came into the room. "Forgive me for interrupting, sire," he said, "but something odd is happening down in the dungeon. My, it's awfully warm in here." He wiped his brow with his green-trimmed hankie.

  "What's happening in the dungeon?" Swithbert asked.

  "
The queen's ordered them emptied. All of Sir Edric's collections are being shoveled out of the cells and left in a disordered heap to be disposed of later."

  "What!" Ed squealed. "Okay. Now she's my problem, too." He ran out of the sitting room and through the labyrinthine corridors of the castle until he came to the steep stone staircase that led to the dungeon. He'd spent some time in there, thanks to Olympia, so it seemed poetic justice (or prose justice, in Ed's mind) that he'd been able to store his collections there when he moved out of the crystal cave-castle so that Christian and Marigold could move in. He'd spent years accumulating those forest-found items and every one was precious to him.

  He hustled down the steps yelling, "Stop! Stop!" even before he could see anybody doing anything.

  In the dungeon four of Rollo's men were working away with big shovels, flinging Ed's carefully sorted items (one cell for left shoes, one cell for right shoes, one cell for forks, one cell for books, two cells for weapons, etc.) into one big pile at the darkest end of the dungeon's passageway. That was bad enough, but worse, he could see that the soldiers had helped themselves to some of the finest specimens, setting them aside to take away once the cleanout was finished.

  "Stop!" he yelled again. And once again the soldiers ignored him. "Those are mine!"

  "Not anymore," one of the soldiers said, flinging a shovelful right over Ed's head, into the messy conglobation beyond him.

  "Why are you doing this? Those things have been there for a year."

  "Queen Olympia's orders. She wants to use the dungeon again."

  That was not good news.

  Ed could see there was no stopping the soldiers, but at least he could stay and keep an eye on them so they didn't steal any more of what belonged to him. Well, it had belonged to somebody else once, but it belonged to him now.