by Nina Clare
Beryl sat near to me, the decorum of servants not being seated in the presence of the king and queen abandoned due to her especial status. She still looked weak, but she smiled whenever I caught her eye. She looked like a proud mother at her daughter’s betrothal.
The chancellor blinked and smiled whenever he looked my way. Diamond and Andra also granted me a few happy smiles, but mostly they smiled at each other.
Finally, the chamber doors opened and in came Sunny. He was followed by a footman bearing a small, wooden chest. Sunny bowed to the new king and queen, he bowed to Beryl, to the chancellor, and then he met my eyes and bowed to me. I almost gasped at the transformation he presented—his beard was shaved, his hair washed and trimmed, and his clothes were truly fit for a crown prince. No longer would he be mistaken for a common soldier or attendant servant.
It was the first occasion I had to see him as he really was. I noted that his hair was of a medium brown, not remarkable in colour but thick and with a slight wave to it, and a lock that tumbled over his eyes, just like my favourite spaniel in the kennels. His eyes were likewise an unremarkable brown, but they were intelligent looking and expressive, with a light glinting out as though he were always smiling on the inside. He had not the princely and perfect good looks of Andra, to be sure—his nose was a little crooked, his mouth a little wide. He had not the exceptionally broad shoulders of Prince Jasper, nor the unusually noble height of Prince Malachite, though he did have as good a set of teeth as Prince Rubellite. But I thought him the most handsome prince I had ever met.
“There is no need for ceremony amongst us,” said Diamond, rising up from her chair. “Especially not with one who helped to break the enchantment. So we will pass over all formal supplications, presentations, benedictions, and so forth. Princess and I are just bursting to know what you have brought!” She laughed and held out a hand towards me, beckoning me to come closer.
“Well then, I will not prolong the suspense,” said Sunny. He motioned to the footman to place the chest on the great oak table. He drew a key from the leather purse at his belt and opened the lock, lifted back the lid, took out an uncut stone, and held it up for us to see.
I looked at the stone. Sunny must have noted my disappointed expression, for he said enthusiastically, “It is a very special jewel.”
I forced a smile, but it still looked like a drab piece of grey rock to me.
“So . . .” I began, “what is it called?”
“The indigenous peoples of its source call it Iolite, or, Iola,” said Sunny.
“Iolite . . .” I said the word slowly, as if it were some new food I was trying out for flavour.
“Iola,” said Beryl.
“Iola!” repeated Sunny in agreement.
“Iola,” I said, rolling it around in my mouth.
I had a real name at last.
“Prince Sonsten of Storgenburg, as Princess Iola of Cataluna’s paternal guardian, I do accept your bride gift,” declared King Andra. “Our blessings and felicitations to you both.”
“Yes, yes!” said the chancellor, hopping happily from foot to foot, “Congratulations! Who would have thought it! All thirteen betrothed!”
Sunny beamed at me across the table. I smiled back, a real smile this time. I moved around the table to pick up a stone from the chest and hold it up to the light. Even though it did have a pleasing name, I thought it still looked lamentably bland and grey.
“Wait until it has been cut and polished, dear,” said Beryl, knowing my thoughts as usual. “We will take them to Lapido.”
“The Great Lapido himself?” asked Sunny.
“You have heard of Lapido?” I replied.
“Who has not heard of Lapido? He is a genius! No one in all the high kingdoms can cut stones as he does. His techniques are a mystery—we have not yet got much beyond cabouchons elsewhere in the known world.”
“He accredits his technique to ‘absolute symmetry,’” I said, remembering one of Lapido’s favourite sayings. “He will cut the stones for our wedding rings,” I added shyly.
“He will? I wonder what stone he will use for mine?”
“We have already chosen it,” said Beryl. “A star-sunstone. Very rare.”
The old tradition of the betrothed couple having no contact between the day of betrothal and the day of the wedding was abandoned under our new monarchs, and so Beryl, Sunny, and I were able to walk together to the jewel house. The footman with the chest of stones walked ahead. Beryl was between us, my arm linked firmly through hers for her support. Sunny extended his arm for her to rest her hand upon, as though she were a royal lady he was escorting to a place of honour at a banquet.
“There are so many questions I have been wanting to ask you,” I said to them as we walked slowly through the inner courtyards. “When did you give Sunny the invisible cloak, Beryl? And why did you hide your identity from me?” I directed the second question to Sunny.
“Let Sunny tell you his story,” said Beryl.
“Well,” he began, “once I had finished my quest to find a new jewel, I sailed home on the Journeystar—a wonderful ship. I was on my way here to the palace after coming ashore at the docks. I was quite a sight from my travels, in desperate need of a wash and shave. I was intending to clean myself up at the nearest inn before coming here to claim my bride.” He smiled at me over Beryl’s white-capped head as he said this.
“So why did you not?”
“As I was walking into the city, I stopped at a well for a drink and I began conversing with some farmers who were on their way back from the market. I heard all about the great mystery at the palace from them, about your sisters and the tragedy of their princes, the puzzle of the worn-out slippers, and the proclamation that anyone who could solve the riddle could marry the eldest princess and become king.
“I heard how many had tried for months, but had all failed. It was such a strange tale I did not know what to think of it.”
He paused a moment, exchanging a knowing look with Beryl.
“The farmers left and an elderly woman appeared. I drew water for her, and she asked me where I was going. So I said, jokingly, I thought I might be on my way to the palace to solve the mystery of the princesses and their worn-out slippers.
“Then the woman said to me, ‘You should do just that!’ And it was most peculiar, for as she said the words, it was as if something inside me suddenly felt most strongly that it was exactly what I must do.”
I nodded understandingly.
“The woman took a small cloth parcel from her pocket and gave it to me, telling me: ‘Inside this cloth is an invisible cloak. Put it around your neck, and you will be able to follow the princesses wherever they go. You must remember one thing—you must not drink the wine the princesses give you at night. And keep your true identity a secret until you have been ordered to bring the truth into the light of day.’ That was what you said, was it not?” he asked Beryl.
“Almost word for word, dear.”
“And then the mysterious woman walked off, and by the time I had ceased staring in surprise at the parcel, and had turned around to thank her, she had vanished. It was a long, straight road, and I should have been able to see her for half a mile, but—she was gone!”
“Were you afraid?” I asked.
He shook his head. “I have travelled to many far-flung places, and I have seen some strange things. But I was surprised. I sat down by the well for a good half hour to digest what I had been told, and then I determined I would do exactly as she had suggested. So, instead of going to an inn and cleaning myself up, I came straight to the palace.”
“And what a sight you were!” I said. “I certainly did not recognise you.”
“That was the idea.”
“If you had come here and claimed my hand openly, Uncle would have found a way to get rid of you. You would have threatened his crown.”
“We have a lot to thank Beryl for,” he said.
“Yes. We do.” And I leaned in towards Beryl
and kissed her cheek. “But what did you do with the wine?” I asked. “You appeared to have drunk it.”
“I poured it into my water skin and tipped it into the lake in the morning.”
We reached the jewel house.
“Lapido does not like people in his work chamber,” I warned Sunny.
“He will not object when he learns the nature of our visit,” assured Beryl. “He has always had a soft spot for our Princess.”
“Silence!” growled out Lapido as we entered. “Out!” he shouted when he saw the unfamiliar faces of Sunny and the footman who was bearing the chest of gemstones.
“Lapido,” said Beryl, “this is Prince Sonsten of Storgenburg, who is the betrothed of our Princess. He has brought the gems for her bride gift.”
Lapido narrowed his eyes and stared at Sunny as if he were examining him for his worth. But he made no further objection to his presence.
The chest was set down on Beryl’s worktable, unlocked, and opened wide. Lapido put down his tools and came to us bearing a eyeglass with which to examine the presented stones.
“Hmm,” he murmured, peering at a stone carefully. “Hmm. Highly pleochroic. Perhaps a step cut. Hmm. What did you say this was called?”
“Iolite,” said Sunny. “It came from a country they call the Green Land. The sailors there are great explorers, and they use this stone as a navigational tool. When they are far out at sea, away from familiar coastlines, they hold it up to the sky to determine the position of the sun on cloudy days.”
“A navigator’s gem,” said Beryl.
“What is the Green Land like?” I asked.
“It should be called the White Land,” Sunny said, “because of the ice and snow—you have never seen snow so thick, so deep and white! It has lakes and seas of the bluest waters, great mountains and glaciers and then, suddenly, vast fields of wildflowers as far as the eye can see! And the creatures in the ocean—great beings swimming past with tails the size of boats!”
The old echo-song resounded through my soul as I listened to him and envisioned in my mind’s eye all that Sunny described.
“How I wish I could go there,” I said quietly, full of longing.
“We will go there,” Sunny promised.
“We will?” Suddenly life opened up before me like an ironbound door that had just been unlocked. Great vistas now spread before me in my imagination, as broad and spacious as the blue lakes and wildflower meadows of Green Land.
I looked again at the iolite stone. Iola. I decided I quite liked the name. It had a nice rolling sound, like a ship rolling on white-crested waves or a sea bird gliding over air currents. But it still looked like a very uninteresting piece of dull grey rock. I would have to wait and see what Lapido would do with it.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Summer arrived early. It announced itself at every window and doorway with bright shouts of sunshine. It brought a gift of roses that clambered like young children over walls and across trellises, compelling all who passed by to stop and inhale their perfume.
It sang to us through the voices of palace servants and royal masters and mistresses who moved through the lengthening days with snatches of songs, light steps, and glad words and smiles. A new world of hope had opened up to us all—a kingdom without hunger, homelessness, or tyranny.
The future was golden and sweet as honeysuckle, and everyone was very, very busy. Thirteen weddings and a magnificent coronation to prepare for made for a lot of busyness.
So why did I see Sunny looking sad as he walked towards me through the rose garden’s arches?
“Are you well?” I asked somewhat needlessly, for it was clear he was not.
“Iola, my love, I have received word from my family. My father is ill, very ill. I need to go to him. I need to leave immediately.”
“Oh dear. But of course you must go.”
Had a cloud suddenly filled the blue sky and hidden the sun, or did it just feel as though the light had changed and the air grown cool?
“How long will you be gone?”
“I cannot say. However long he takes to recover. He has not been well for some years now. Old battle wound.”
I nodded and looked away, blinking hard so he could not see my bitter tears.
“We could marry straightaway, so you could come with me?” I heard the hope in his voice.
I could leave with him—journey with him to a new kingdom. The air felt warmer and brighter again just for contemplating the idea. But . . . no. There was Beryl. Beryl who was also very unwell. It could be said she too was suffering from a battle wound. One inflicted by the Dark Prince. Beryl who was the closest person I had in the world to a mother.
“I cannot leave Beryl at this time,” I said.
“I knew you would say that.” He said it kindly, with no recrimination, which made me love him twice as much as I already did—which made me feel doubly anew the impending pain of his unexpected absence.
“I am so sorry, Iola. This is the second time I have had to postpone our wedding.”
“It cannot be helped. I do hope your father gets well quickly.”
“There is one thing I would like to request of you before I go. I should like to commission a portrait of you, just a miniature that could be painted quickly. I would like it to be sent on to me so I can show my father my bride-to-be, in case . . .”
He did not finish his sentence, but I understood his meaning. In case his father did not live to meet me in person. I had no desire to have my portrait painted, but how could I refuse his request? So I nodded.
He opened wide his arms to me, and I stepped into his embrace and clung to him. I breathed deeply while he held me, trying to fill my being with the smell of his nearness so I could remember it in the days and nights ahead.
And then he left.
It had been a new moon the night I first met Sunny, the night we had stood together and gazed up at the stars. The night he left there was a new moon also.
In Cataluna, weddings take place on the day of a full moon, symbolising the fullness of joy a wedding should bring. And so it was that the twelve weddings and the coronation were to take place on the next full moon, in thirteen days’ time.
I deliberately kept myself busy while Sunny was gone. I helped with the preparations for the weddings. The gowns had been made months earlier, but there were the obliging early roses to pick and dry for the flower maids to scatter, there were trunks to be packed with my sisters’ personal belongings, and new travelling clothes to be finished for the journeys to their new homes.
I kept busy to try and keep thoughts of Sunny at bay. How was it one could become so attached to another soul in such a short space of time? It was a great mystery to me.
Two days before the weddings, a young portrait artist appeared at the palace gates with a letter of introduction written in Sunny’s hand. On his journey home, he had sought out the artist and commissioned him. It pained me to have to sit for him, for sitting gave me time to think. Time to think about Sunny and how much I missed him, time to think about Beryl and how worried I was that my strong, unshakeable tower of strength was now so very weak. No. Sitting still and thinking was not something I wanted to do just then. Thankfully, the small painting did not take long.
Peridot and Prince Rube were very taken with the young painter, who favoured the new type of paints made with pigment and oil—they were so vivid and rich in colour in comparison to the tempera paints.
“I have recently studied with Leoni Piero of Vincenti,” said the young artist in response to Prince Rube’s enquiries. “Though he is very young, he is without doubt the greatest new artist in all the high kingdoms.”
“I have heard of him,” said Prince Rube. “I should very much like to see his work. I have heard there is none like him for portraying tone and luminance.”
“Indeed,” agreed the artist. “It was he who taught me to closely observe the light, but also the shadows. For it is the light we value—and the darker the shadows, th
e greater the light.”
My sisters admired the likeness of the painting, though Opal noted that my face looked a little sad. My little portrait was mounted in a gilt frame and dispatched by royal courier to the kingdom of Storgenburg. On the back of the painting I wrote a message to Sunny. It was based on a quote Peridot had shared with me by the artist Albertola: “May this picture be as a divine force to make the absent present, as friendship is said to do.”
The artist was greatly pleased to also be retained by Andra for a commission of a wedding portrait of the new king and queen—the first of many new paintings that would replace the superabundance of Uncle’s unwelcome images throughout the palace.
***
It was the eve of the weddings. Beryl sent word for us to meet with her in her chamber after supper. Earlier that day, she had sent me to the jewel house to collect a box from Lapido.
I had made my way there, quietly opening the door and creeping in, as I always did. Lapido was sat at his worktable. He looked up at me from under his bushy white eyebrows, but did not say a word. He simply pushed a narrow box across the table towards me.
I picked up the box, but I hesitated before turning to leave. “Lapido, have you finished my ring?” I could not resist asking, for I was so curious to see what the iolite would look like after he worked on it.
He lifted his eyes and stared at me as though trying to decide if I was worthy of viewing his work. Finally, he rose up and slowly crossed the chamber to the great chest chained to the wall. He took the key from his belt, unlocked the chest, and lifted back the lid.
Rainbow light gleamed from thirteen pairs of rings made of gemstones of every colour and hue. He bent down, picked one out, and held it up to the light.
“Is that my ring?”
I hardly recognised the stone. It was no longer a dull grey; it was now a delicate shade of violet blue. No other stone in the chest was anything like it. It was the colour of the haze that floats above the bluebells in the woodlands in springtime.