The Thirteenth Princess

by Nina Clare

  I ran to his side and looked over. He was right—there was no sign of Beryl. She was not falling down to the palace roofs and balconies or to the ground below. She had simply disappeared.

  And then I understood.

  I stepped onto the turret wall. I felt someone grasp my hand—it was the soldier.

  “It is well,” I assured him. “This is the door.”

  He nodded and stepped up beside me.

  I felt dizzy. I felt sick. “I do not know if I can do this,” I said, and I saw the same fear reflected in his eyes.

  My feet would not move. But Beryl—she had gone ahead. She would not lead us into danger. The earth below was so very far away. It looked so unfamiliar from that height that it took faith to believe the thin grey ribbon down below was really the river flowing with power and strength after the recent spring rains. Were those yellow and brown squares that seemed no bigger than a small handkerchief really the wide, open spaces I had often ridden over on horseback?

  The soldier looked into my eyes. No one had ever looked into my eyes like he did just then. It was the strangest feeling. As though he were looking into my soul, and I into his. I was standing upon a turret—the highest point in the kingdom—and I was about to step off the edge of it while looking into a man’s soul for the first time.

  It was a mere moment in time.

  It was the most momentous second of my life.

  Ready? he said with his eyes.

  Ready.

  We jumped.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  The moment after we stepped off the turret wall we found ourselves standing on a circular staircase of black, iridescent stone. Beryl was several steps below us.

  “Hurry!” she called as she disappeared around a bend in the stairwell.

  The awful rumbling noise that had shaken the ground and walls of the Great Hall was reverberating around us again. Great cracks were ripping through the black stone walls. We had to find the princes and escape while we still could—time was clearly running out.

  I glanced back to see Diamond, Almandine, and Nel’s frightened-but-determined faces.

  “Hurry!” I called to them. I heard more voices beyond, and I knew all my sisters had found the courage to follow us.

  The stairway led us down to a hall of glittering black stone. Through an archway, I could see the ballroom where we had spent most nights over the past months. It was still lit by torchlight, for it was still night-time in the underground world.

  “Where are they?” I heard Emerald call out.

  We scattered into the chambers leading off from the hall, searching and calling out.

  “They are not here,” said Opal when we regrouped in the hall.

  “The lake!” said Heliodor. “They must be on the lake.”

  A yawning crack had begun to stretch across the marble floor, and smaller fractures began fanning out like leaf veins . We ran outside, towards the lake; Beryl was already there.

  The usually silent air was filled with the sounds of fissures and fractures being made—the sounds of the end of the world. But the princes were nowhere to be seen and the swan boats were not moored at the water’s edge. I looked to Beryl, wondering how we would manage to cross the lake without boats. Could we swim?

  From behind us came a colossal crash as a part of the castle roof caved in.

  Beryl stepped onto the water’s surface—and began to walk.

  The lake was not made of water. It looked like water, it felt something like water, yet it was not wet and it did not give way. It yielded beneath my feet like wet sand, but so long as I kept moving forward quickly, I did not sink.

  The torchlights from the castle extinguished one after another as the structure broke down and fell apart piece by piece. The light from the diamond trees bordering the lake flashed back and forth like lightning, as though the trees were being shaken by violent winds. There was no wind, but the sound of destruction swirled round us as we hurried across the darkening, flashing lake.

  As we neared the lakeshore, we could see twelve swan boats abandoned at its edge.

  But no princes.

  We hastened through the avenue of diamond trees. The rainbow lights were frenzied and wild, and the sound of breaking glass made a piercing music.

  Still no princes.

  We ran through the tunnel of golden trees, panting for breath. It was a brilliant riot of angry lights—the smooth golden trunks of the trees were cracking and splitting from the ground upwards. We called out, shouting above the noise to the princes, but they were nowhere to be seen.

  The silver trees were likewise sending out blinding flares. The ground was strewn with their broken branches, we were forced to slow down and take care to avoid the sharp edges of metallic twigs and leaves.

  Small fissures appeared in the ground, forming a crazed pattern to the pathway. But there—at the far end of the silver avenue—at last! We could see the twelve princes and the six young lads who had served us wine.

  There was no time for a reunion—the destruction was fierce and growing. We ran to the stairs at the end of the path, hoping they would again take us to the door in our bedchamber floor.

  The soldier had run on ahead and reached the door first. He stood pushing and hammering on it with all his strength, but the large stone door at the top of the steps would not open. I looked down the stairway for Beryl, but she was not there. I ran back down, pressing past everyone. Only Beryl would know what to do now, for the door to our chamber could clearly not be opened from the inside.

  I found her back in the silver tree avenue. She seemed to be searching for something between the tree trunks.

  “Faery ways come in threes,” she called to me. “There is a third door—help me find it! Look for a pair of trees joined at the roots!”

  I relayed Beryl’s instructions to the others, and the frantic search began. The silver trees, once so serene and elegant, were quickly becoming jagged swords of broken branches. The gleaming silver was changing before our eyes to a dull, tin colour.

  We fanned out, hunting across the treacherous ground for a pair of trees joined at the roots. It was difficult, for the ground was so strewn about with leaves and limbs, and the trees stood so close together that everything already seemed to be intertwined.

  Every passing moment, our desperation grew. Once this world had seemed so timeless to us, and now time seemed a great monster ready to devour us. The sense of doom tracked us through the trees. All we could do was to keep moving, keep searching.

  We searched the silver avenue and passed back into the avenue of gold. Branches were raining down, and Beryl looked awful—I had never seen her look so terrible—clearly she was working hard to protect us, even with her strength severely sapped.

  “Here!” came a shout. “Two trunks together!” Prince Feldspar called.

  We shouted on the news, and then all gathered where Heliodor and Feldspar were lifting away sharp branches and metallic leaves from the base of two trees. The roots of the trees were indeed intertwined—they also rejoined higher up in the canopy, creating a perfect ellipse.

  “Go through the gap in pairs!” shouted Beryl above the din.

  The six young boys were propelled through the trees two by two. Each prince put a protective arm around his bride-to-be, and together they stepped between the golden tree trunks and disappeared: Heliodor and Feldspar, Opal and Prase, Emerald and Hauyne, Celestine and Malachite, Cornelia and Ivor. Couple by couple, our party vanished into the blackness beyond. The raging storm around us gathered strength with every passing moment.

  Peridot and Rube, Chalcedony and Jasper, Sapphire and Aventurine, Amethyst and Tom, Nel and Spessartine, Almandine and Laz, and finally Diamond and Andra.

  Someone put an arm around me.

  The soldier and I stepped over the broken branches, bent our heads, and moved closer together to fit through the door between the trees.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  We were in the apple orchard. We had
emerged from between the two great apple trees—out from the Cat’s Eye. The ground was shuddering and rippling beneath us, and we were all thrown to the grass as the earth arched up in a low wave and split open with the sound of ripping roots and grass. With a great tearing noise, the intertwined roots of the Cat’s Eye were ripped apart. The ground rippled once more then closed over, leaving a seam of torn grass and exposed earth and apple-tree roots.

  Quietness fell. The roaring that had filled my ears died away. I could hear the gentle sound of rustling leaves, of a bee buzzing in the blossom overhead, and of bleating goats nearby.

  We had scrambled away from the trees when the ground ruptured, so now we all sat, knelt, or staggered to our feet. We were dazed and blinking hard against the May sunshine despite the shade of the trees. We looked round at one another, all of us so pale, so faded—even the princes and the young boys were as wan-faced as a winter moon. Only the soldier looked tanned and dark by comparison—the one daytime creature amongst us.

  The young boys were gazing at one another as if they could not recall who they were. Long ago I had realised they were the missing orphans forced to work for the Dark Prince. The confusion slowly drained from their eyes, and recognition dawned.

  The sunlight dappled the ground under the new leaves of the apple trees; white blossoms still hung from many of them. Golden flecks of warm light danced on our pale faces. We remained for some moments with upturned faces, just listening to the sound of birdsong—it seemed so sweet and gentle after the roars of destruction we had been immersed in. Smiles broke out, and then our laughter rang through the orchard.

  We hugged and we cried and we rejoiced—for it had happened! After almost a year of living a half-life under the effects of the enchantment—finally, we were free!

  Everyone hugged everyone and everyone kissed everyone and everyone ended up in the arms of their betrothed—and, somehow, I ended up in the arms of the soldier.

  We laughed some more.

  When the Lord High Chancellor met us walking into the palace, all twelve princes alive and well, he was so astonished for once he could not blink, he could not hop, and he could not stammer out a word until we had sat him down and given him two and a half goblets of wine.

  We tried to explain everything to him, to his ministers, to all who had gathered round us, marvelling at the sight of the princes. We talked over one another in our excitement, but no one seemed able to take in what we were saying.

  “Send for the Proclaimer!” were the first words the chancellor uttered when the wine had loosened his stunned tongue. “The people must be told we shall have a new king—King Andra, who has not perished after all!”

  A great cheer resounded within the palace walls.

  “But wait!” said the First Senior Minister. “What about the soldier?” The cheering died away. “The Temporal King by Crown Proxy decreed in writing that any man who solved the mystery of the princesses would marry the eldest and inherit the crown!”

  I saw Diamond’s face tighten in fear.

  “But no,” interjected the chancellor as he turned to the soldier, “he said any prince, and . . . you, sir, are not a prince.”

  I saw Diamond’s face flood with relief.

  “Actually, sir,” said the soldier, “despite my rough travelling clothes, which are designed to conceal my true status, and which have therefore given the false appearance of my being a soldier, I am in fact a prince.”

  Diamond gave a cry of dismay, and her hand clutched Andra’s arm.

  “But . . . as it happens,” continued the soldier-who-was-not-a-soldier, “I am already promised to another.”

  “You are?” said the chancellor, giving his first happy bob of the day.

  “And I am not a man to break my word.”

  Diamond gave a second little cry, this time of relief.

  “But . . . but the crown?” said the chancellor.

  “I already have one to inherit.”

  “You do?” bobbed the chancellor.

  We were all staring at the soldier-prince with his long hair, his untrimmed beard, his rough clothes, and his wooden-soled boots.

  “Forgive me for having to deceive you in part,” said the soldier-prince, who was now addressing me. “I am truly not a soldier. I am from the kingdom of Storgenburg, and I am betrothed to a most remarkable young princess.”

  I could feel my cheeks flushing.

  He was looking directly at me.

  Do you remember me? he was asked with his eyes.

  Yes, I remember, I replied with mine.

  He took my hand. My sisters stared at us in bewilderment.

  “Almost a year ago, I was betrothed to your youngest princess,” he announced to all present. “I have been away on a long journey to seek out a suitable gemstone as a bridal gift for her.”

  I was so glad he did not say bride price.

  “I did not consider any of the jewels in my possession to bear a suitable name for her. Now, however, I have found one and have returned to claim her hand.”

  Diamond was the first of my astonished sisters to speak.

  “Princess! How can this be? We believed you to be betrothed to Prince Oglio?”

  “So did I!” I laughed. “I did not realise until today it was you who had asked for my hand and not he!”

  A look of concern passed over his unkempt face. “But will you still accept me?” he asked.

  “Yes! I will.”

  “But I do not recall meeting you at my betrothal feast,” Almandine told him.

  “Nor I,” said Emerald and Heliodor in unison.

  “And I do not remember seeing you dance with Princess at her ball,” puzzled Celestine.

  “I arrived late,” explained my prince. “I did not attend any of the feasts or balls. But I did meet Princess; we met outside, on a rose-scented terrace by the light of the stars. And we talked. But I did not introduce myself properly,” he said, turning back to me. “Forgive me.”

  “So . . . what is your name?” asked Amethyst.

  “My name is Sonsten Oskar Quirinus Raphael, Crown Prince of Storgenburg, Grand Duke of Lucierne. But to my friends and family I am known as . . . Sunny.”

  “Sunny?” I repeated.

  “An odd name, I know. I was called it as a boy, and it has stuck somehow.”

  And then he smiled, and it was like the sun coming out.

  “It suits you.”

  The Proclaimer was sent out immediately to announce the news. “The Temporal King by Crown Proxy is deceased—and Prince Andra, future king by impending royal marriage, is alive!”

  The sound of the city cheering was so loud we could hear it from the terrace gardens.

  ***

  Something felt different when I opened my eyes the next morning. The light coming through the gap in the curtains looked different. It looked more golden than usual, happier somehow. The birdsong outside sounded different, prettier, more musical somehow. I stretched on my bed like a cat bathing in the sun. I felt different. I was smiling up at the ceiling above me.

  I was happy.

  “Good morning, Princess!” said Rose, coming in with my breakfast. She was smiling. Beaming. She too was happy. “It is the most beautiful morning!”

  “Yes, it is.” I agreed with all my heart.

  The enchantment was broken. Jem was safe and recovering. Uncle was gone. My sisters had their beloved princes. And the most surprising thing of all had happened—I had mine.

  “Have you seen Beryl this morning?” I asked as I sat up in my own little bed once again, Sunny having been settled in the royal guest wing with the twelve princes.

  “No, Princess. I believe she may still be in her chamber.”

  “Take some breakfast to her, Rose. I shall go to her as soon as I am dressed.”

  “Yes, Princess. I’ll go straight away.”

  A little later, I tapped at Beryl’s door. I waited a moment before opening it and peeking in. There were no curtains at Beryl’s tiny window, for
even senior servants were expected to be up at dawn. A gentle shaft of sunlight settled upon the cover of her bed, where she lay. She had tied a large handkerchief over her eyes to keep out the brightness.

  “Beryl?” I whispered. She did not stir, so I turned to tiptoe out.

  “Yes, dear?”

  I whirled round at the door. “Oh, Beryl! Are you well?” I hurried back to her bedside.

  “I am well. Just tired. Very tired.”

  “Rose brought you some breakfast, but you have not eaten it.”

  Beryl took the cloth from her eyes and lifted her head as if to sit up, but then she dropped back against the pillow.

  “The glass bottle.” She pointed to a shelf on the wall. “The blue one.”

  I reached up for the little bottle of blue crystal.

  “Put three drops in the jug of water,” she said.

  The tear-shaped drops smelled something like chamomile and something like clover honey as they dropped into the jug with three soft splashes. I poured out a cupful, and Beryl leaned forward to drink it. She looked different that morning—she looked far older.

  “Much better,” she said when she had drunk the water. “And I think I could manage some of that bread and butter.” She smiled at me, but it was a thin smile. Thin as moonlight.

  “Will you be able to come down later?” I asked hopefully. “Sunny is bringing the jewels he brought for my bride gift.”

  “Of course I will be there, dear. I would not miss such a significant moment as you receiving your name.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Diamond and Andra were already acting as our new rulers. The public coronation would take place the day after the weddings, but they had assumed immediate rule of the kingdom due to Uncle’s unexpected demise.

  They sat at the head of the long, polished oak table in the Morning Chamber, radiating happiness as they waited with me for Sunny. He was to make the formal seal of betrothal by presenting the jewels of my bride gift to King Andra, who now represented my guardian, as the law decreed.

  I could not decide whether it was excitement or nerves that caused the fluttering in my stomach as I waited. What would Sunny bring? He had told me that for a princess who had not been given a name, he had determined to find a gemstone that had not been seen in our kingdom before. But he would not tell me what it was he had brought. My curiosity was unbearably stretched.