The Thirteenth Princess

by Nina Clare

  “Look,” commanded Lapido as he turned the ring at an angle.

  “Oh!” I exclaimed. “It has changed colour!” The stone had suddenly turned a golden yellow, like sap beading on the spring trees before it dries.

  “Look again,” he said as he turned the ring at yet another angle. The colour changed again, transforming from yellow to blue, and then—the colour disappeared completely.

  “The colour is gone!” I said in surprise. “How did that happen?”

  “Pleochroism,” said Lapido. “It makes the stone very difficult to cut. The cut must be very precise. Only an exacting placement of the facets will show all the colours in the stone. A most unusual jewel.”

  “It is beautiful,” I said. “Your cutting has made it beautiful.”

  “It is not the cut that makes the beauty. It is the light within the stone. The light is already there. The cut merely allows it to be seen.”

  My sisters and I met up outside Beryl’s chamber. I clutched Lapido’s box tightly and waited my turn to follow my sisters inside.

  Beryl was lying in bed, propped up against the wall with some extra pillows I had brought. Rose was with her—I had insisted she wait upon Beryl while she was unwell. Rose was just taking an emptied cup from Beryl, and I noted the blue crystal bottle was now only three-quarters full.

  “Are you well, Beryl?” said Peridot and Cornelia together.

  “A little tired,” answered Beryl. “Gather round,” she said to summon us. “This is the eve of your weddings—such a momentous day! Your mother would have been so proud. Let me bless you this night. I want you each to wish for whatever good thing your heart desires for your future.”

  “Oh, Beryl, there is nothing we want more than to have you well again!” said Nel. We all agreed.

  “I shall give you each a gift, then. Something I have been saving for you for this occasion. Iola, dear, Rose has opened my wooden chest. I want you to bring me the white box from it—the rectangular one.”

  I bent over the open chest, still full of the mysterious boxes that had delighted and confounded me as a child. I took out a glassy white box and brought it to Beryl.

  “This is for you, Diamond.”

  I well remembered how the box Diamond now held would not open for me as a child; the lid had remained tightly shut. But Diamond took the box and opened it easily. She lifted out a pair of silver compasses with diamonds set in the handles.

  “Queen Diamond the Just,” Beryl announced, her authoritative voice sounding like her usual self. “Your kingdom shall be first to release the people from their yoke of poverty. You will divide the lands your uncle has wrongfully taken and return them. But there will arise much dispute over their true boundaries. Use these compasses upon the maps that will be drawn, and the division will always be true.

  “Bring me the pink silk box next, Iola.”

  I brought the box that was beautifully covered in a deep red-pink silk. Beryl gave it to Almandine.

  “Almandine,” said Beryl when she had opened it, “these astronomy charts are very advanced. They will broaden the understanding of the next generation. You must keep their knowledge until the right time.”

  Beryl continued distributing gifts—there was a box for each of my sisters.

  “Spinel. A quadrant to determine the time, not according to the sun’s altitude, but according to the time of your generations. It will equip you with wisdom as you rule beside your husband.

  “Amethyst. An ocarina small enough for the fingers of your children, for they will inherit your love of music and be celebrated musicians, advancing the knowledge and appreciation of music for all to come.

  “Sapphire. The words to a sacred song to strengthen the heart and life of its singers.

  “Chalcedony. The music on this parchment will comfort and minister hope to even the heaviest of hearts when played with understanding.

  “Emerald. Balm to heal any wound or injury to your horses that your Horse Masters cannot cure.

  “Opal. This arrow will never miss its mark. It will save many lives when used as an arrow of defence.

  “Heliodor. Seeds for a new plant that will save your people from hunger in a season of drought to come later in your days.

  “Peridot. These brushes will give a true likeness of anyone you choose to paint. You will show what is hidden beyond outward appearances. This will prove useful in your time of reign.

  “Cornelia. A quill to assist you in translating your thoughts into language that will be considered the most beautiful poetry.

  “Celestine. This book is a story full of truths. Each time it is read to your children— and their children—you will see new wisdom.”

  There were three boxes left—the only three I was ever able to open. There was the octagonal red box with a golden clasp that I knew held a mirror that was not just a mirror, but also a framed picture. There was the beautiful, round, golden box with a painting of a tiger around it. And last, the plain ebony box in which I had found the invisible cloak.

  “Take the golden box, Iola,” said Beryl. “It is for you.”

  “For me? But it is not yet the eve of my wedding.”

  “I know. But open it now.”

  I took the box and held it, feeling a strong reluctance to open it. I looked at Beryl; she looked steadily back at me. I knew she knew what I was thinking. I was thinking she was giving me my gift now because she would not be alive to give it to me on the eve of my wedding.

  “Open it, dear,” she said.

  I lifted the lid. I already knew what I would see. Inside was another box, a perfectly round, polished wooden case with a perfectly round, polished object inside. An object of gold and wood with a dial and a star shape in the centre of it. Letters danced all around its edge.

  “What is it?”

  “It is a mariner’s compass. A navigational instrument used for finding direction. It is much more reliable than the wind-rose charts.”

  “How can it guide the way?”

  “The needle you see aligns with the unseen energy of the earth, and points the way to the north.”

  “Unseen energy? Is that a kind of magic?”

  “Some might think so,” said Beryl with a faint smile.

  “Ivor has told me of compasses,” said Cornelia, leaning over my shoulder to look at it. “It is what one poet calls ‘the needle that points to the stars.’ He read it to me recently.”

  “Thank you,” I said to Beryl, turning the object around to examine it, just as I had as a child.

  “It is for your natural gifts,” said Beryl.

  “But I do not have any.”

  “You have many, dear.”

  “I do?”

  “Your curiosity, for one.”

  “I thought that was a defect, not a gift?”

  “Put to its proper use, it is an excellent gift for one who will explore new lands.”

  “I will?”

  “And your love of maps and atlases—that is an explorer’s gift.”

  So I was to be an explorer. What a wonderful gift indeed!

  “But your best gift, dear, is your concern for others. Kingdoms will rise and fall, new continents and even the very stars that guide you will eventually fail, but love for others is the one thing that passes beyond the world we see.”

  There was silence as Beryl’s words lingered.

  “What of the last two boxes?” asked Sapphire after a few moments.

  “Those are my own,” said Beryl. “But you may look into the red one, if you wish.”

  I picked up the red box with the golden clasp. I opened it, and saw the silver-framed mirror. Briefly, it showed me—not the childish, freckled face of my youth as when I had last looked into it, but me as a young woman whose blue-grey eyes were a little sad, and whose freckles had lightened with time. But then I gave a gasp, for it was not myself I saw next, but a picture of a much-beloved face.

  “It is Sunny!” I cried. “But—when I looked into this frame as a child, I saw
the face of a young boy,” I admitted to Beryl.

  “The frame will show you your future husband. The picture you saw as a child was of Sunny as he appeared at that time.”

  Celestine took the frame and looked it into it. “It is Malachite!” she laughed.

  Opal looked into it, and Prince Prase appeared.

  “Would you like to look, dear?” Beryl said to Rose.

  “Me?” asked Rose in surprise.

  Beryl nodded. Rose came forward, hesitated a moment, and took the frame from Opal.

  “Oh!” she cried. “It’s him!”

  “Who, Rose? Who is it?” I asked.

  She turned it towards me, and I glimpsed the face of a gentle-looking young man in the frame.

  “It’s John!” she said, her eyes filling with tears. “My friend. If he is my future husband . . .” she said to Beryl as the tears spilled down her face, “then that means he will come back with my father, doesn’t it?”

  Beryl nodded. “Yes, dear. The future is not for looking into to satisfy curiosity—that is a selfish misuse of sight—but when seeing what is to come gives hope to the present, that is a good use of faery power.

  “I have one more gift for you all,” Beryl said. She picked up the box I had collected from Lapido. Inside, carefully laid on a velvet cloth, were clusters of pendants. The chains were of very fine gold, such as the royal goldsmith makes. On the end of each chain hung a small, clear stone. They were not cut or faceted stones. They were irregular in shape, though highly polished to a glassy finish.

  Beryl held one up by its chain. “These are the shards I gathered of The Dark Prince’s staff.”

  “Are they not dangerous?” exclaimed Diamond, shrinking back.

  “They are not dangerous. The stone is from ancient times. The Dark Prince misused it for his own ambitions, but his power is over. The stone’s origins are good. The power is greatly reduced now it has been divided, and time will reduce the power further. As shards, these pieces of stone will bring you blessings. There are thirteen stones, one for each of you.”

  She gave the box to Diamond, who took one and passed the box to Almandine. We each took a pendant, then placed them around our necks.

  Beryl sank back against her pillows and closed her eyes.

  “And now I must rest awhile. I want to be well enough to attend your weddings tomorrow.”

  And so we had to leave her.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  The weddings were sumptuous. Spectacular. Stunning. How could they not be? The twelve most beautiful princesses of all the known realms stood in their exquisite bridal gowns, and beside them stood twelve of the most handsome princes in all the known kingdoms, dressed in the finest of silks and velvets and adorned with the costliest of stones. Every nobleman and noblewoman of Cataluna was present, wearing his or her finery. The representatives of the princes’ royal families were there too, in a dazzling array of gold and satin and lace and jewels.

  Lapido himself was to make a rare public appearance at the request of Queen Diamond. I had not realised just how famous he was in all the kingdoms. The guests were buzzing with the excitement of seeing him.

  At the appointed time, he entered the Great Hall with six musicians heralding his entrance and twenty-four pages before him. Each page carried a velvet cushion bearing one of the twenty-four wedding rings. I noticed that the six young lads we had rescued from the underground kingdom were amongst the privileged pages. I also noted that the white-and-green-liveried page, who proudly bore the ring for Queen Diamond, was Jem.

  Lapido stood on the dais at the rear of the hall, his wild white hair as untamed as ever, his clothes the same simple linen smock he always wore, though I saw he had been persuaded to remove his leather work apron. His shabbiness was in stark contrast to the opulence and splendour populating the hall before him.

  A hush descended as everyone waited to hear him speak. My sisters stood near the dais. He looked slowly round at each one of them from under his eyebrows, as though he were examining them.

  “Excellent jewels are like royal daughters,” he announced. His deep, slow voice carried to the farthest walls. “Their beauty is unaffected by the roughness of everyday life. Their strength is the measure of their resistance to abrasion. Their beauty lies in their clarity, in their integrity, and in the lack of flaw within. This is what gives utter uniqueness to every stone, for each has their own possession of light, that no-one else can have.

  “As the great Orosmo says, ‘colour and light are of the same nature.’ Therefore, an excellent jewel is one whose light can be fully seen.”

  The hall erupted into applause and cap waving and exclamations of admiration for the genius—the Great Lapido himself!

  And then the ceremonies began.

  ***

  My sisters had gone. Diamond had been crowned queen and moved into the royal wing that had been our mother’s. Our bedchamber was empty now. Except for me.

  The great carved bedsteads of my departed sisters loomed up to the vaulted ceiling like the masts of abandoned ships, their cloth-of-silver canopies like empty sails. My footsteps sounded timorous on the flagstone floor. The looking glasses stared blankly around the chamber. I caught sight of myself as I passed by them—an insignificant figure amidst the grandeur, hurrying across the deserted space as quickly as I could. I felt like a lingering ghost from the days when our chambers had been filled with chatter and laughter and the sound of Amethyst’s lute and Sapphire’s singing. Now there were only memories.

  In my memories, I heard Celestine reading her favourite poems aloud to us. I saw Heliodor tending her indoor plants, and Peridot tinting her drawings. I saw Chalcedony at her desk poring over music scrolls while Diamond frowned becomingly as she concentrated on her mathematical works.

  At night, I lay in my little bedchamber and tried to drown out the silence with the consolations of my beloved atlases, which, frustratingly, did not show me where the kingdom of Storgenburg lay.

  I wrote to Sunny, though I knew my letters could not be sent—the heavy autumn rains had made travelling hazardous. I wrote in my tall, spiky handwriting, and tried to sound as full of cheer as I could. I wrote of our future, I wrote that when we were ruling our own kingdom we would make certain every subject had enough to eat and a home to dwell in. I did not write about how lonely I felt now that my sisters had gone. I tried not to dwell too much on how worried I was for Beryl, who had barely a quarter of the drops in her blue crystal bottle left, and who was not getting any stronger.

  The days passed. The swallows left. The trees shed their leaves. The air grew chill. Frost patterned my window every morning.

  I sat with Beryl part of each day, as did Rose. I had released Rose from being my ladies’ maid, for she had more than enough work in tending to Beryl. I took many long walks about the autumnal grounds, and I dined with Diamond and Andra in the evenings. There were always guests at the palace and at the supper table. Some were very interesting to talk to, though Diamond and Andra favoured aspiring mathematicians and scientists and encouraged them in their work. I could not always follow their conversations. I read and wrote in the evenings. And I waited. Waited like the sap inside the winter trees, still and resting and waiting for spring—knowing there could be a long winter to endure.

  ***

  On the first day of spring, Beryl’s blue crystal bottle was emptied of the last drop. I sat near her bed. Rose picked up the wood basket and took it out to refill it.

  I looked at Beryl. Her face was as pale as a magnolia blossom.

  “Why did you not heal Mother when she was ill?” I asked. It was a question that had often haunted me.

  “I cannot stop death, Iola. I cannot interfere with destiny. I can heal. There are those whose power is strong enough to delay death, but such power can only speed up or slow down things destined to happen. Always our power must work within the confines of certain laws.”

  She stretched out a hand to me to tuck a wayward strand of hair behind m
y ear—just as she had done all through my childhood.

  “I know what you are thinking, Iola. You do not understand why I cannot make myself well.”

  I looked into her beloved face, so aged and weary, but it still seemed to me the loveliest face I knew.

  “Why can you not make yourself well?” I asked, my voice almost a whisper.

  “It takes strength, and my strength is limited. My bodily form is not immortal, and now I am nearly spent.”

  “You cannot die!” I could not stop the tears now.

  “Faeries do not die, they pass on.”

  “Pass on where?”

  “To another form.”

  “But not yet! You will not leave yet?”

  She smiled sadly at me.

  “Oh, Beryl, I need you! Please do not leave me!” I flung myself across her bed and wept as noisily as though I were a six-year-old again.

  “Iola, dear, you have Sunny now. You both have a full life ahead of you. I have stayed far longer than I should have. I have conserved my strength very carefully to keep the promise I made to your mother to watch over you and your sisters, and to see you all make happy marriages. Now my departure is long overdue.”

  “When?” I sobbed. “When are you going?”

  “There is one thing I am waiting for.”

  “What is that?”

  “I wish to give a blessing to the new baby.”

  “What new baby?”

  Beryl did not answer. I lifted my teary face and stared at her. Then it dawned on me.

  “Diamond?” I asked. “Diamond is going to have a baby?”

  Suddenly I recalled thinking that Diamond had been looking different these past months. There had been a new look about her, which I had put down to the changes of being a new wife and queen. But I recalled also that I had idly thought she was looking a little plump, which I had considered due to her contentment with married life. I had noticed her change in dress—the fitted style she had formerly favoured had, in recent months, been replaced with a looser, more voluminous style. How could I not have realised before? She was with child!