I lead my mother towards her bunk, the occasional shudder still interrupting my movements.
“But you’re both soaking wet!”
“There was water everywhere. It kept pouring in the doorway. Something seems to be wrong with her.”
I hadn’t even been able to wipe my face, since I had yet to encounter anything dry, and the only reason I could feel the tears still running down my cheeks was their warmth against my skin. Celine thrust a blanket into my hands, but I wrapped it around Mother.
Celine half slid across the room and returned with a second dry blanket. She pushed our mother down to sit on her bunk and then turned to me. She didn’t offer me the blanket.
“Get your dress off, quickly.”
“What?” I frowned, feigning confusion.
“Do it, now. You need to get dry.”
“Oh.” I worked as fast as my fumbling fingers would allow, dropping the garments onto the floor and kicking them away from me. Celine then wrapped me gently in the blissful warmth of the blanket. She gave me only a moment to enjoy it before she began to vigorously rub my shoulders through the material.
“Dry yourself off and get into something warm.”
I obeyed, casting anxious glances back at my mother, still huddled on the bed. As soon as I was clothed again, Celine and I managed to undress our mother and force her into a dry shift. Tucking her into bed and piling on all the blankets I could find, I turned worried eyes on Celine.
My sister already had her hand on the door. “I’m going to find the ship’s doctor. She’s delirious and much too hot.”
I didn’t want to let her go, but I had no choice. The curse prevented me from arguing that I was more capable of fetching help than her.
I sat on the bunk next to my mother and waited. I didn’t regret any part of my actions, but I feared what would happen when my mother returned to health. Would she remember what had happened and who had saved her? What consequence would the curse exact if she did?
As my mind wandered, remembering the series of terrifying experiences, I recalled the face at the porthole. It had seemed so vivid, not at all like the tricks of the mind that produced such strange luminescence in the wake of lightning.
And the flicker of movement in the corridor had come some time after the lightning. Had someone been in the passageway, peering out into the storm? If so, why had they fled instead of offering us aid. And, even more importantly, had they seen what I had done?
Celine tucked me into bed as soon as she returned and refused to allow me to get back up again. She brushed away my gratitude, claiming she was merely trying to avoid ending up responsible for two sick relatives.
By morning, the storm had faded into nothing, and the sea lapped calmly against the sides of the ship. I woke to a gentle rocking instead of a violent shaking and was informed that my mother had already significantly improved. The doctor had diagnosed shock and a fever, brought on by a prolonged cold soaking. He had found a small bump on her head but still expected her to be completely recovered within a couple of days.
Rafe and Marie visited as soon as they heard of her illness and then left to carry the good news of her improvement to William. Uncle Horace attempted to come in as well, but Celine refused him entry, claiming she did so under doctor’s orders. He was forced to bluster and complain from the doorway, demanding an explanation of what had happened to the queen.
Celine merely shrugged. “She isn’t lucid yet. And the doctor said she might not remember even when she is. Celeste found her lying just inside the doorway, so I suspect she found the door open, attempted to close it, and fell. Who knows how long she was there? Thank goodness Celeste has no sense whatsoever and decided to go wandering below decks in the middle of a storm.”
I was too grateful for her reasonable interpretation of events to even twitch at her unflattering portrayal of my role.
When our uncle finally left, I frowned at her, however. “The doctor didn’t say anything about keeping Uncle Horace out.”
She grinned, unrepentant. “He said to keep a calm and quiet atmosphere which means the same thing.”
I shook my head but couldn’t resist smiling back at her. The sea had calmed and the sun once again shone through our portholes. And the doctor said Mother would soon be well. The world seemed an entirely different place than it had just a few hours before.
For three full days, Celine and I barely left the cabin, devoting our full attention to seeing our mother restored to full health. After the final, long day, the three of us sat around the table together, my mother appearing well and entirely unruffled by her experience.
Celine had been unusually quiet the whole day, and I was surprised she didn’t seem more pleased with our mother’s progress. Clearly something was on her mind.
“Mother, I have to ask you something.” Her words proved my suspicions right.
“Certainly, my dear. I only hope it is not about the mysterious happenings during the storm. It would sadden me to disappoint you. You know I can’t remember a thing about it.”
Celine drummed her fingers on the table. “It is about what happened in the storm–sort of. Not about your accident, though. About afterwards.”
I picked up a piece of embroidery. It was easier to hide my true interest in a conversation if my hands were occupied.
Celine’s fingers tapped faster. “You were delirious for much of the night, talking in your sleep.” She flashed a glance at me. “Lettie was sleeping. She didn’t hear.”
I peeked at my mother’s face, and my fingers stilled. She looked paler than I had ever seen her, and her hand trembled where it rested on her lap.
Celine continued. “There’s something you’re not telling us. About Aunt Melisande. I think it’s time you told us the truth. I…I need to know the truth.”
Chapter 22
Bile rose in my throat at the mention of my aunt, a mix of fear and anger and desperate curiosity. What secrets had my parents been concealing from me?
But my own emotions didn’t blind me to Celine’s response. I knew what fuelled her anxiety, and my heart ached with pity. I hated that I was the one who had put her in this situation.
Our mother looked back and forth between us. “Oh girls.” She folded and unfolded her hands, twisting them together in her lap in a nervous gesture I had never seen her make before.
Neither of us responded and, after a long moment of silence, she spoke again.
“It all happened so long ago. I only wish I could forget it but, of course, I cannot.” A shadow lurked in her eyes as she looked at me. The living reminder. “And, truly, I should not wish to. Some things should not be forgotten. People should not be forgotten.”
My embroidery lay forgotten in my lap. People? What people? Surely she didn’t mean my aunt?
“Before either of you girls were born, your aunt married a minor noble from Arcadia. He had no great riches or position, but your aunt loved him so fiercely that she convinced your grandparents to allow the match. At first she was blissfully happy. But slowly her joy faded.” Our mother’s hands stilled, squeezing together so tightly I feared she would cut off her circulation.
“No child came to them, though your aunt desperately wanted one. She loved your brother Frederic when he came, but I could see she found it more difficult to smile when the twins arrived. Such an excess for me, when she had nothing. When I became pregnant with Rafe, I was almost too afraid to tell her. But, of course, such things cannot be hidden for long.”
She drew a deep breath. “Everything changed when I became pregnant with you, Celeste. For several days I fretted about telling her, until I noticed how radiant she had become. The smile never left her face, though she started missing meals. I knew, then, what had happened, of course. I could not have been more delighted.
“I told her my news, and she responded with her own happy announcement. Her baby was due two months before mine, and she had just been preparing to tell us the news. Our shared joy transformed both of
our pregnancies. I delighted in you, Celeste, like I had not let myself delight in Rafe. Your aunt and I spent hours together, sewing for our new babies and imagining the mischief you would get up to together.” Several tears leaked down my mother’s face, but she didn’t stop to wipe them away.
“After waiting so long, Melisande was very careful. She didn’t leave the palace, and she never overexerted herself. She often scolded me for my own careless ways. But after so many pregnancies, I couldn’t bear to be too confined.”
I clutched at my embroidery until my knuckles turned white. I couldn’t imagine my aunt as a loving, joyful young mother. It made no sense.
“When her time came, she had a healthy baby girl. We both hoped then that you would be a girl as well. Two cousins who would be closer than sisters.
“Your aunt asked if her daughter could share the nursery with our own children. But with four young ones and another on the way, our two poor nursemaids were already overworked. Leonardo and I refused, but we helped her set up a nursery of her own.
“One week after the birth, her husband went out riding and was thrown from his horse. He broke his neck instantly.”
Celine gasped and covered her mouth with a shaking hand. I sat as still as a statue and reminded myself I had no reason to pity my aunt.
Our mother ignored us both, she seemed to have lost herself in the memories. “Your aunt took it badly, of course, how could she not? Not that she screamed or cried after the first horrific day. Instead, she poured herself into her baby with an intensity that frightened me. It wasn’t healthy. I could tell, even then. But what could I say? She had just lost her husband.
“At first she wouldn’t let the baby leave her side. But, eventually, the grief and the demands of a newborn took their toll. Your father and I forced her to leave her baby with her nursemaid for a few hours, so she could get some sleep. We didn’t mean…How could we have known?” A small, hiccupping sob broke the words.
After a pause, she continued. “But the nursemaid fell asleep. And, somehow, we’ll never know how, one of the candles started a fire. It was the middle of the night. It took a while for anyone to realise what had happened. A guard smelled the smoke, and an alarm was raised in time to stop the fire spreading to the rest of the palace. But when it was safe to enter the room, we found it was too late for the nursemaid.” She shook. “And too late for your baby cousin. The smoke had gotten to them – the baby in her crib, and the nursemaid in a rocking chair beside her.”
Our mother looked between us wildly, her eyes bright with tears. I didn’t think it was us she saw. “There was nothing we could do! When I remember your aunt’s face after she broke through the crowd and saw the scene…” A full sob racked her body, and she cried quietly for a full minute.
At last she regained enough control to continue speaking. Neither Celine nor I had made a sound. “She screamed so loudly, and for so long, I thought we should all go mad with her. She screamed that it was all our fault. For refusing to let her daughter into our nursery. For choosing an irresponsible nursemaid. For sending her to bed.
“And then the morning came and brought with it silence. And I realised that the quiet was worse. She became like stone, with no emotion at all. How could I even attempt to comfort her, huge still with my own baby. The stress brought on my labour pains, and you were born three weeks early, Celeste.”
Her voice dropped to a whisper. “A little girl, just like we hoped.” She cleared her throat. “You were so perfect, and I felt so terribly guilty to have you safe in my arms. Five! I had five children while my sister-in-law had nothing. And, with her husband gone, not even the hope of another child.
“When she came to see you, she made no more accusations. Just a single request. That your father issue a royal edict: no one in the entire kingdom was ever to speak of her husband or daughter again. The baby had yet to be Christened, so she hadn’t even been officially named.
“As mad as the request seemed, when faced with her pain, we agreed. As far as I know, this is the first time anyone has spoken of either of them in nineteen years.”
I forced my eyes away from my mother’s face, unable to bear the emotions reflected there. Silent tears streamed down Celine’s face. I looked into my lap.
“I didn’t know what to say to Melisande, after that. We didn’t want to remind her of her loss, so we avoided her. And kept all of you children away, too. But, of course, we had to have you Christened. It felt cruel to ask her to come and join a celebration for my fifth healthy child. So we didn’t invite her.
“She turned up, anyway, of course. Along with the whole court and far more godmothers than was usual. Everyone seemed desperate to celebrate life in the face of such a horrible loss, but it must have seemed so pointed to poor Melisande. And you both know what happened after that. But now you know why. Her grief had turned to anger and bitterness and resentment. She had twisted into a different person.
“But she was still Leonardo’s sister, and we had loved her, and her poor, dead baby. We couldn’t execute her, no matter what she’d done.
“So we banished her instead, sending her somewhere far away, where she couldn’t hurt our children. I couldn’t bear to even think of her and fought every day to suppress the memories. Eventually it worked. And the stresses of seven children turned out to be less onerous than I had anticipated. I had lived through the kind of tragedy that puts everything else into perspective. By the time the curse hit, my grief had faded. It pained me to see even the limited effects of the curse, and I have thought many times on the wrong Melisande did us.”
She paused, and a different expression crossed her face. “You are both young, my dears, and I hope you treasure it. But with age comes wisdom, at least in some small measure. For more than three years now I have dwelt with this and considered it in my heart. And I see, now, that I was at least partially to blame as well.
“Melisande asked us not to speak of her loss, but that did not mean she wanted to be alone. In her rawest grief she blamed us, certainly, but that did not necessarily reflect her ongoing opinion. And yet we abandoned her. We had told ourselves we did it for her. But, now, that almost two decades have passed, I have looked into my heart and seen the truth. I did it for myself. Because I could not bear the feelings of guilt and grief. I chose to protect myself first and I left her alone in her grief, far worse than anything I faced.”
She heaved a deep sigh. “Oh, girls. It is not always a pretty sight to examine our own deepest motivations. Remember that, if you can, next time you find yourself convinced of your own innocence.”
I frowned. I didn’t need to examine my heart. The facts were clear and undisputed. I had been the innocent victim before I could walk or talk.
Celine moved her chair closer and took our mother’s hand. “What an awful, awful thing. But why are we going to find her? Why now?”
“Because of you, Celine.”
“Me?”
“You asked what had happened to her, and I realised it was the very question that burned in my own heart.”
I tried to smile, but it came out as a grimace. So William had ultimately been right. It had been the machinations of Aurora that had brought us to this point after all.
Mother turned to gaze out the nearest porthole. “And here was your brother about to embark on a voyage to the islands. The coincidence seemed more than opportune. After all these years, it is time that Melisande and I spoke again. We don’t know if we can break through the hedge, of course, or what we’ll find on the other side if we do. But I am determined to try.
“Your father would have preferred to come as well, but he cannot be spared from the capital right now. Just as we could not risk travelling to Cordelia’s wedding.”
“Why?” Celine’s voice sounded weak and fragile, as if she were afraid of any more revelations. I had been right not to burden her with information about the rebellion.
“Nothing for you to worry about.” But something shaded our mother’s eyes. How
much of the rebellion had they managed to uncover on their own? I hoped the duchess had arrived in the capital by now, and that she and my father were working to annihilate the diseased branches, while I attacked the root.
Except my righteous certainty had wavered. Bringing justice against a violent madwoman, enraged to the point of murder by a petty slight was one thing. But bringing it against a bereaved young wife and mother, driven to the point of madness by grief? The crime had not changed, and yet too much else had changed.
Stabbing pains in my stomach reminded me that I sat in full view of others. And yet still I couldn’t maintain any sort of detachment from my mother’s story. If my pain was any indication, the raging storm played out plainly across my face.
She had wronged me, had attempted to kill me for no other crime than being alive. But I would have been inhuman not to be affected by her story. Could I really stand by now and watch her killed?
My old emotions still roiled–I could not forget them entirely. But now new ones had joined the mix, and I was horribly afraid I would not be able to contain the explosive mix.
Then I remembered that I was not going to Banishment Island because of my curse. I went to put down a rebellion. Whatever the excuse for my aunt’s past crimes, there could be no justification for her current ones.
I stood up, letting my embroidery fall to the floor, and retreated to the privacy of my bed without a word. It was the only safe thing for me to do.
But my head pounded and my stomach cramped all night, giving me little rest. How much of it was the curse, and how much my own unbridled emotions?
The restless tossing from Celine’s bunk, and the quiet sobs from my mother, told me I wasn’t the only one unable to sleep. The tragedy might have increased my mother’s natural composure all these years, but even she couldn’t outrun the grief forever.
Chapter 23
When we woke the next morning, all three of us acted as if the day before had not occurred. I suspected that they, like me, simply didn’t know what to say. Thankfully we could finally emerge from the cabin, although that meant facing our uncle at last.
The Princess Game: A Reimagining of Sleeping Beauty (The Four Kingdoms Book 4) Page 17