The Thirteenth Princess

by Nina Clare

  Beryl now passed me by. “Come along, dear,” she said as she walked on ahead.

  We were walking through the avenue of golden trees when I again heard the same cracking noise as before. I spun round to look behind me. Sure enough, there was another snapped-off branch.

  What was going on? What could be happening?

  I had nearly caught up with my sisters, who were entering the tunnel of diamond trees, when for the third time I heard a noise close behind me.

  “Did you hear that?” I called out to Beryl and Celestine. “It is the third time I have heard that noise! Did you not hear it?”

  But Beryl and Celestine had moved too far ahead to hear me. I retraced my steps, examining the glassy, sparkling trees. I found one with a branch snapped off. I reached out my hand to touch it, as if to prove to myself what I alone had heard was real. A drop of crimson blood dropped to the ground as I cut my finger on the shard of broken branch. I took a handkerchief from the pocket of my gown to press on my wound, and looked around me.

  How could the branch just snap off? Where had the broken branch gone? Was the enchantment weakening? Were the trees all going to break and disappear? In the rainbow light of the diamond trees, I thought I saw a shimmer of something flash ahead of me. I blinked hard. Was I imagining it? Was it even possible to imagine things in a dream world? A kind of double dreaming? I hurried after my sisters, feeling most disconcerted.

  Celestine and Diamond were the only ones still waiting at the lakeside. Beryl and the others had gone ahead, and the swan boats were gliding away.

  “Where have you been?” asked Diamond.

  “Are you well?” asked Celestine, looking at my bandaged finger. “You look as though you have seen a ghost.”

  “I feel a little strange,” I said. “Something odd is happening tonight.”

  “Don’t be a silly goose,” said Diamond in a kindly tone. “Everything is the same as it is every other night.”

  Andra helped me into the boat, and we moved across the still lake. Just ahead of us, Malachite rowed Celestine.

  “This boat feels heavy tonight,” I heard him say.

  The night passed just as Diamond had said: the same way as it had every other night. And yet I did not feel the same as I had done all other nights. I still felt the insistent sense of something about to happen pressing on me.

  When the music ended, we left the castle ballroom and crossed the lake. My sisters said their farewells to their princes and we walked back through the trees, our weariness settling heavily upon us as we reached the top of the stairs. My tired feet tripped more than once on the hem of my gown as I climbed up to our chamber.

  ***

  I opened my eyes in the late-spring sun. I sat bolt upright on my makeshift bed.

  “What has happened?” I cried out.

  “Princess?” said Rose in alarm. “Are you well?”

  “Has anything happened while I have slept?” I asked urgently.

  She looked at me with concern. “Nothing has happened. Are you feeling unwell? Shall I call Mistress Beryl?”

  “No, no, I am not unwell.” I fell back down onto my pillow. “I must have been dreaming.”

  But the weighty feeling of expectancy lingered.

  “The man—the soldier—is he still here?”

  “He has gone out riding, I believe,” said Rose.

  The day passed much the same as the day before, except I felt very restless. This was a new feeling for me since I had been shrouded with apathy for many months past. I wandered in the gardens with Old Han’s wife chaperoning me. From the orchard wall, I could see the figure of the soldier riding in the meadows beyond. He galloped across the landscape, his cape flying behind him. I felt a pang of envy at his freedom. It had been the greater part of a year since I had been able to gallop freely on horseback. Uncle had forbidden us to go beyond the palace gardens since our mysterious evenings began.

  That evening the sky was so thickly clouded we feared there would not be enough moonlight to open the door. Almandine did not retire to bed at all; she paced up and down before the windows, stopping to observe the sky and willing the moon—in its last quarter—to appear.

  The key rattled in the lock of the door, and Old Han’s wife ushered in the soldier. We turned our heads away, but again I saw him out of the corner of my eye glancing round at us all. His gaze seemed to rest on me, so I half looked up out of curiosity, but I would not look fully into his face. He turned into my antechamber, and Old Han’s wife left us.

  Diamond took in the wine, and we all lay down and waited.

  The second watch of the night had long sounded before the clouds parted enough for the moonlight to rest upon the dove. We had been dressed and waiting for some time, listening to the crackling of the fire and the snoring of the soldier. When the dove glowed luminescent Diamond hurried to press it. The flagstone moved. We hastened down the steps, almost running through the avenues of trees and down to the lake where the princes waited.

  ***

  I opened my eyes and sat bolt upright.

  “What has happened?” I cried out.

  “Nothing, Princess. Have you been dreaming again?” said Rose, startled by my sudden awakening.

  “Are you sure nothing happened while I slept?”

  “Nothing, Princess. All is as it usually is.”

  I shook my head, trying to dispel the heavy, pressing feeling that something was at work, some new and different and urgent. I let Rose place my breakfast before me.

  “The soldier—is he still here?”

  “He has gone out riding again, I believe.”

  “And he has said nothing?”

  “Just that he was tired.”

  When Rose and the maids had gone about their work, I slipped unseen into my usurped bedchamber. I looked around. He was clearly a tidy soldier, for the maids had not been in to clean and yet his bed was neatly made up.

  On the floor behind my desk was a leather bag. I peeked inside it and saw small scrolls and folded parchments; they were maps, all well worn and grubby, as if they had been written and read not in libraries and study chambers, but out of doors, exposed to the open air and the dirt of the earth.

  A bag full of maps seemed a strange thing for a soldier from Borgonia to be carrying. Where was his uniform? His weaponry? I supposed they would have taken his sword from him when he arrived at the palace.

  I noticed the items on my desk had been moved. I opened the lid of my desk—my own map of the underground world I had drawn was gone! I looked round the chamber. Where was it?

  It was beside the bed, lying tucked behind the neatly placed pillow. So he had been reading my map.

  The curtain to the door opened behind me. I spun round to see a maid coming in; she stopped in surprise and dropped a curtsey.

  “Beg your pardon, milady,” she apologised. “I was sent in to clean out the fireplace.”

  “Carry on.”

  As I left the chamber, I noticed that the wine decanter on the tray was empty. If he had drunk Beryl’s wine, then why was he complaining of tiredness today?

  Chapter Thirty

  The soldier’s third and final night came to pass.

  The moon was a waning crescent. Soon a new moon would come again, and we would not be able to venture into the secret kingdom. But that night we danced, whirling and spinning across the marble floor. Each prince gallantly took turns dancing with me. When the music paused between dances, Prince Hauyne led me to where Emerald waited for him. A puzzled look danced in her amber-flecked eyes.

  “Are you well, Em?” I asked upon seeing her strange expression.

  She was stood beside the long table. “I was drinking a cup of wine,” she said, “and when I turned to take some more, the goblet vanished before my eyes.”

  “Perhaps,” said Hauyne as he took her hand to lead her in the next dance, “one of the serving boys took it.”

  “But no,” I heard Emerald reply. “There really was no one else there.”
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  I was encouraged to see Emerald engaging in thought and conversation; it was a welcome change from the blankness of her usual dreamlike state. Perhaps she was finally awakening by degree. Perhaps it explained the heavy expectancy I had been feeling the past three days and nights—the expectancy of something both awful and wonderful about to happen.

  The breaking of the enchantment.

  ***

  Rose was trying to awaken me, but the light outside the window was weak. It was the light of morning not long after dawn. Why was she waking me so early? I had barely slept.

  “Something has happened!” she said.

  I sat straight up. “What is it?” I rubbed my tired eyes.

  “The soldier!”

  “What about him?” I yawned. “He has gone like all the others, has he not?”

  “No. He hasn’t gone! And the king has ordered you all to appear in the Public Hall immediately.”

  She shook out my gown, holding it up to the light to check for marks or rips. I looked over to Beryl’s makeshift bed, but she was not there.

  “Oh dear,” said Rose when she spotted my worn-through slippers, “You’ll have to wear these to go down.”

  My sisters were as puzzled and tired-looking as myself. We filed out of the chamber, eldest to youngest, following Old Han.

  Despite its name, the Public Hall was rarely open to the public. When our father was king, it was opened three mornings of every week. Our father believed in listening to his people.

  It is an imposing place. Immensely tall ceilings with great vaulting archways of stone. A balcony runs around it, far above visitors’ heads. It was designed for nobles to observe the people below. The common people entered through an archway farthest from the stately throne at the end of the hall. Pennants in rich jewel colours reached from the balcony down to the inlaid floor.

  Uncle’s coat of arms was hung above his throne: a huge shield twice the size of the heraldic shields of any past kings, which hung on the adjacent walls. Uncle’s shield bore his symbol of a black boar with fierce tusks and red eyes—wearing a large golden crown.

  Beneath the crowned boar sat Uncle, his hands gripping the golden boar heads carved into the arms of his throne. A body of his private guards stood at attention, forming two lines leading towards him. Their great spears were held upright, like an avenue of weaponry trees.

  There was an orderly knot of persons standing before Uncle, one of whom was the Lord High Chancellor; the others wore the grey gowns and caps of government officials over their tunics and hose. And in the midst of the ministers stood the soldier, who should have disappeared that morning, like all the others who had failed in their quest.

  We proceeded reluctantly towards the waiting assembly. I looked around for the comforting presence of Beryl, but she was not to be seen.

  As we neared the throne, I looked directly at the man who had been our unwanted night-time guest for the first time. I had only seen him by candlelight—now I could see he was a young man with a light-brown beard that was flecked with red. His hair was likewise brown, and like his beard, was too long. His face and neck were a golden colour, like that of a serf. He must have spent much time outdoors, in the sunshine. But how did he get so sun-browned when it was not yet summer? Something about his posture and the way he held his head reminded me of someone, but I could not say who.

  We reached Uncle’s throne and dropped a low curtsey to him. The chancellor, the ministers, and the soldier all bowed to us. We stood in an apprehensive semicircle, waiting to hear why we had been so ceremoniously summoned.

  “Speak, then!” commanded Uncle. He was looking down at the soldier. “You say you know where it is the princesses go at night? Speak!” He waved a ring-laden finger at him.

  The soldier half turned so all could hear him.

  “They visit an underground world,” he said in a clear voice.

  There was silence. Someone made a snorting noise of disbelief. I lifted my eyes to Uncle to gauge his expression. I thought he looked afraid.

  “There, they pass through an avenue of trees made of silver,” the soldier continued.

  Something about his voice was familiar to me.

  “Next, they pass through a pathway of trees made of gold.”

  Where had I heard his voice before?

  “Finally, they walk under trees made of diamonds and continue until they reach a crystal lake.”

  The faces of the chancellor and the ministers were filled with appalled disbelief. They clearly thought the soldier before them was mad—and about to arouse the wrath of Uncle with his nonsense. The chancellor was so astonished he forgot to blink; he was staring at Uncle and holding his breath in anticipation of the order to have the soldier dragged out of his presence and executed for mockery.

  “When they reach the lake, they are met by twelve princes in twelve swan boats.”

  “Twelve princes . . . ?” I heard someone murmur. “Did he say twelve princes?”

  Uncle’s face was draining of colour. I had never seen such a look of fear as he now showed. He gripped the armrests of his throne like a vice.

  “Then they enter a castle where they drink wine from golden goblets and dance until their slippers are worn through.”

  The chancellor had resumed blinking. The ministers were staring with a mixture of disbelief and amazement at the soldier and whispering to one another. The soldier stood tall and confident. His eyes rested upon me.

  “And . . .” stammered the chancellor, “can you prove any of this . . . this most . . . most unusual account?”

  The soldier drew back the cloak draped across his arm. Beneath it, in his left hand, he revealed three branches. He lifted up the first branch—silver light gleamed from its leaves.

  The ministers gasped.

  He held up a second branch. A golden glow reflected onto his face.

  The ministers gaped.

  He raised the third branch. Rainbows scattered as the light from the window behind him caught its faceted berries.

  The ministers shook their rainbow-marked heads in astonishment.

  Out of his belt, which was beneath his outer tunic, the soldier drew a golden goblet and held it up for all to see.

  Someone gave a loud cry. My sisters and I turned to the source of the sound—it was Emerald. She was staring at the goblet. She looked round at us all, her amber eyes wide with recognition.

  “I remember!” she breathed.

  Uncle sat as if frozen on his throne of boar heads.

  “Princesses!” said the chancellor. “Princesses, is this . . . can it . . . could it . . . can it possibly be . . . true?”

  Diamond stepped forwards.

  “We do not deny it. It is all just as he says.”

  The chancellor and ministers gawked at us in amazement. For a moment, no one spoke. In the pause, I felt again—and more strongly than ever before—the heavy sense of expectancy. The sense of something about to happen. The very stones seemed to be holding their breath. No one said a word.

  And then the awful noise began.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The noise was coming from beneath our feet. The patterns on the floor shimmered with movement, the inlaid tiles moving before our eyes. It was a rumbling noise—a low roar of thunder rising up from deep beneath the earth. My sisters cried out, their hands reaching out to one another. The ministers looked terrified, as did Uncle. Even the armed guards in their imposing breastplates and boar-tusk helmets looked afraid.

  “What is happening?” cried Peridot. She clung to my arm as the ground rippled beneath us.

  Someone took hold of my other arm—it was Beryl. “Oh, Beryl!” I cried out in relief at the sight of her. “Beryl! What is this?”

  “The enchantment is breaking! Come away, girls!” She took hold of one of my hands and one of Peridot’s and pulled us towards the hall entrance. I looked back to see the carpet leading to the throne undulating like the magic carpet in the stories I had read with Rose.

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nbsp; We passed under the vaulted arches of stone, which quivered like young birch trees in the wind; the pennants hanging from the balcony fluttered wildly. The guards and ministers had by now fled through the commoners’ entrance, but Uncle remained seated upon his throne as though he had been turned to stone.

  A great cracking filled the hall—a terrifying noise that made it sound as if the world were splitting in two. At the entrance to the hall, a figure appeared—a tall, thin man in black robes, his white hair and beard spilling over his chest and shoulders like a lion’s mane. Something about him struck fresh fear into me. It felt as though something malignant had entered the hall. I felt the presence of something dark, just as I had felt when I climbed the stairs in Uncle’s study.

  I gripped Beryl’s hand. The tall man with the white mane now stood at the end of the rippling carpet. He was staring down to the other end of it—to where Uncle sat, paralysed. Uncle’s great coat of arms on the wall above him seemed ready to crash down on his head as it shuddered against the quaking wall.

  Uncle was suddenly released from his frozen state. He flew down the throne steps with an unexpected speed and energy, as if he were the round, dark bull on the huge shield above him. He charged down the carpet towards the dark figure.

  “What are you doing here?” he bellowed above the noise. The stone balusters and balustrades of the balconies were beginning to shake.

  “Who has done this?” roared the lion-man, his voice surprisingly strong for one so aged. “Who has broken my enchantment?”

  His long fingers curled around a staff of blackened wood. The head of the staff was shaped like the rounded claw of a bird, which held an uncut, black stone. The lion-man stared round the hall, looking for something or someone. I could not take my eyes from him—he was an awful, compelling presence.

  I saw a crack appear in the tiled floor near where Uncle stood.

  “You!” bellowed the lion-man, pointing a long finger at Beryl. “I knew there was someone working against me! Why didn’t you find out who it was?” he shouted at Uncle.

  “She’s just a servant,” bawled back Uncle. “She’s no sorceress!”