This was a minor flaw. He confessed a more serious one.
You are almost my sole confidant in this. The other is my horse, to whom I tell everything—because he can’t condemn or offer advice. I write it to you because you must know all. I trust you to find the good in me, but the bad I must be sure you don’t overlook.
I am slow to anger, but also slow to forgive. For example, my languages tutor had a way of making me feel a fool. I endured his abuse but learned less than I might have if he’d been encouraging. Cecilia, who inherited his instruction after me, received the same treatment. The first time I found her crying, I warned him. The second time, I dismissed him. Father trusted my judgment enough to let my action stand.
I went further. Boy as I was, I took measures to ensure the tutor would teach no more. But although my victory was complete and the man was ruined, and six years have passed, the thought of him still infuriates me. I am angry now as I write these words.
You may excuse me on the grounds of being a kind brother, which I hope I am. But I wonder at my rage. And I wonder too if my action against the tutor was at bottom a case of refusing (in another form) to let someone throw a tomato at me or my family.
In reply I wrote,
Mandy says there are two sorts of people in the world: those who blame everyone else and those who blame only themselves. I place myself in a third category: among those who know where blame really lies. You stand condemned. Your crime: too much zeal in the protection of those you love. A fault and a virtue. Heinous!
Although you’ve revealed your shortcomings to me, I feel compelled to no such frankness. You must discover my faults for yourself. And, although you’ve said it goes against the grain, you must find a way to forgive them.
I remember the date of Char’s next letter: Thursday, May 24. He’d been gone half a year. Although the letter arrived in the morning, I was unable to read it all day. At dawn I had to scrub the flagstones in our courtyard for Mum Olga. Then Olive ordered me to count her coins in their thousands—repeatedly, because she kept thinking I had made a mistake. In the evening Hattie had me help her prepare for a ball, including plucking out the hairs that grew in profusion above her upper lip.
By the time Hattie departed, I was too late to help Mandy clean the kitchen. The rest of the night was mine to use as I liked.
In my room I opened my little window and let the cool air wash over me. Then I lit the bit of candle Mandy had smuggled to me, placing it carefully out of the breeze. I sat on my cot and opened my letter.
Dear Ella,
Impatience is not usually my weakness. But your letters torment me. They make me long to saddle my horse and ride to Frell, where I would make you explain yourself.
They are playful, interesting, thoughtful, and (occasionally) serious. I’m overjoyed to receive them, yet they bring misery. You say little of your daily life; I have no idea how you occupy yourself. I don’t mind; I enjoy guessing at the mystery. But what I really long to know you do not tell either: what you feel, although I’ve given you hints by the score of my regard.
You like me. You wouldn’t waste time or paper on a being you didn’t like. But I think I’ve loved you since we met at your mother’s funeral. I want to be with you forever and beyond, but you write that you are too young to marry or too old or too short or too hungry—until I crumple your letters up in despair, only to smooth them out again for a twelfth reading, hunting for hidden meanings.
Father asks frequently in his letters whether I fancy any Ayorthaian young lady or any in our acquaintance at home. I say no. I suppose I’m confessing another fault: pride. I don’t want him to know that I love if my affections are not returned.
You would charm him, and Mother too. They would be yours completely. As I am.
What a beautiful bride you’ll be, whomever you marry at whatever age. And what a queen if I am the man! Who has your grace? Your expression? Your voice? I could extol your virtues endlessly, but I want you to finish reading and answer me quickly.
Today I cannot write of Ayortha or my doings or anything. I can only post this and wait.
Love (it is such relief to pen the word!), love, love—
Char
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
I gaped at the page. Read it again. And gaped again. In my daze, I noticed that my sooty thumb had left marks on the letter.
He loved me. He’d loved me as long as he’d known me!
I hadn’t loved him as long, perhaps, but now I loved him equally well, or better. I loved his laugh, his handwriting, his steady gaze, his honorableness, his freckles, his appreciation of my jokes, his hands, his determination that I should know the worst of him. And, most of all, shameful though it might be, I loved his love for me.
Placing my candle carefully, I danced and whirled around my room.
I could marry Char and live with my love.
I could leave Mum Olga and her spawn.
No one would give me orders.
This was an unexpected solution to my trouble. Lucinda would have hated for me to evade my obedience by rising above it. And even Mandy would be surprised by this method of ending the curse.
I extracted paper from the hiding place at the bottom of my wardrobe. My love shouldn’t have an extra moment of impatience.
However, my stub of a candle flickered out as soon as I wrote, “Dearest Char, darling Char, beloved Char.” I ordered my mind to wake me the instant there was light enough to write by. Then I fell asleep composing my letter.
In the middle of the night, I awoke, my happiness draining away. I wouldn’t escape the curse by marrying Char. I would be more cursed than ever. And he would be cursed too.
Suppose my obedience were discovered … My stepfamily knew and would take advantage to improve their rank and fortune. But that would be the least of it—an enemy of Kyrria could put the curse to more awful use. In unscrupulous hands I would be a powerful tool. I could be made to reveal state secrets. I could even be forced to kill Char!
And I had no doubt my secret would be discovered. In court there would be eyes and ears that would be alive to such signs. I’d never manage to fool them all.
What could I do? Mother had ordered me not to tell anyone about the curse, but Mandy could countermand the order so I’d be able to tell Char. Then he could take precautions.
I’d tell him. I’d wake Mandy now. I sat up in bed, happy again. And sank back.
What precautions could Char take? He could prevent anyone from speaking to me or writing to me. He could shut me away. That might do, but he would have to bring me my meals, the flax to spin my clothes, the wood for my fire. It would be a burden similar to one of Lucinda’s wedding gifts. And what would Kyrria think of a hermit queen? And how would I feel, locked away like Rapunzel in her tower? Moreover, even the best precautions might fail.
I could ask him to give up being crown prince in favor of his sister. If he were never to be king, he might not be a target. But how could I ask such a thing? How could he accept? And would the danger simply move to his sister?
We could keep the marriage a secret. That was absurd. The secret would get out.
I cast about for other ideas, but none came. Cursed, I couldn’t marry him. But if I ever managed to break the curse, in a month or in twenty years, I would find him and win him over again if he was still free. No matter what I had to do, no matter how long it took. But now my only choice was to convince him to give me up.
When I finally thought what to say and began to write, I ruined three sheets of paper by crying on them and a fourth because I forgot to misspell words.
My dear Prince Charmont,
Your latest corespondence with my stepsister was recieved by my mother, Dame Olga, and myself. Ella and the cook, Mandy, were not here to except it.
Ella is absent because she has eloped, taking our cook with her. She left a note which I have enclosed for your perusal.
You have been much decieved in her. It was her custom to read your letters aloud
to us and crow over them, thinking it a feather in her cap to be writing to royalty, such as yourself.
For a while, she had ambitions to be queen, but she dispared of it and took another offer. She would go into one of her dreadful rages if she knew the contents of your letter. I do not think she liked living on our generosity, and longed to be able to lord it over us with greater splendor than we could hope for, although we fancy that our stile is very fine.
Your letter arrived four days after her departure. I know because Demby had a ball that night, and Ella was greatly missed. Her beaux turned to me for consolation, and I gave them the same advice I have for you: Think no more of the minks, because she has already forgotten you.
I am sorry to dismay you, but I hope you will be consoled by the fond wishes of this admirer.
Your angel of comfort,
Hattie
I tore a sheet of paper in half for the enclosure, written in my own hand.
These are the first words I ever penned as a married lady. You know him, but I shall not write his name, only that he is very old and very rich and lives far from Frell. And he is fool enough to make me his bride. Someday, and the day may not be long in coming, I shall be sole mistress of a vast estate. I shall not write again, but look for me. When my husband dies, I shall visit Frell. Should you spy a carriage that surpasses all others, peer inside. You will find me within, smiling at my jewels and laughing at the world—
Ella
Char’s anger at his tutor would be nothing compared with this. He would hate me until the end of the world.
In the morning, Mandy dispatched the correspondence, thinking it an ordinary letter. I didn’t tell her about Char’s proposal for fear she would think I should accept him. Although I knew I was right, I doubted I could withstand any argument.
As soon as she left to post the letter, I collapsed in front of the fireplace, sobbing. When she returned in half an hour, I was still in tears.
She gathered me in her arms. “What’s the trouble, sweet?”
For a few minutes I continued to cry too hard to speak. When I was able to control myself, I told her. “Did I do right?” I asked at the end.
“Come with me, Lady.” She grabbed my hand and half dragged me to her room, passing several servants in the hall. Once there, she closed the door and turned to me. “Lady, you did right. Now I’m going to do right, something I should have done long ago. Get behind the curtains, love.”
I hesitated, pushing back the urge to obey. “Why?”
“I’m going to settle scores of scores with Lucinda. I want you to see me do it, but I don’t want her to see you.”
I hid.
“Lucinda! I need you.”
The scent of lilacs filled the room. I stifled a gasp. I could see Lucinda’s outline through the rough weave of the draperies.
“I never thought the day would come when the kitchen fairy would call me. I’m delighted. How can I help you, dear?”
“Don’t ‘dear’ me.” Mandy sighed. “But you’re right. I need your help.”
“And I love to help.”
Safely hidden, I grimaced at her.
“I’ve been gathering my courage to ask you ever since the fairy ball.”
“One has only to ask.”
Mandy sounded regretful. “At the ball I got into an argument with Kirby.”
“You shouldn’t have. I never argue.”
“But I do. It was about you. Kirby said we should suggest you try being a squirrel and try being obedient. If you gave it a fair trial—three months as a squirrel, three as an obedient human—you’d find out that your gifts aren’t so wondrous after all.”
“I don’t have to try out my gifts to know they’re magnificent.”
“That’s what I said you’d say. There, I can tell Kirby I won the argument. I said you’d be too afraid you were wrong to put it to the test.”
Lucinda vanished. She must have been too angry at Mandy to continue the discussion. But then Mandy laughed. “Don’t forget to be obedient, little one. Here’s a nice walnut. I’m sending you to a comfortable park.” She paused. “You can come out, Lady.”
“Did she really turn herself into a squirrel?” I emerged cautiously.
“She did.” Mandy was still laughing.
“Do you think she’ll learn?”
“If she doesn’t, she’s even more of a blockhead than I think.”
“What if an animal eats her?”
“If that happened, I’d fear for the animal.” She chuckled. “What a stomachache it would have.”
“If she learns her lesson, will she undo all her gifts?”
“I don’t know. I just had to stop her mischief. You may yet break the curse yourself.”
“But if she discovers how wrong she was, she’ll want to lift the spell.”
“Maybe. But it would be more big magic.” Mandy drew me into a hug. “Oh, love, I know what that spell does to you.”
I pushed out of her arms. “You don’t know! And how can you warn against big magic when you just summoned Lucinda?”
“Nothing one fairy does to another is big magic, Lady.”
“Stop calling me ‘Lady.’ You used to call Mother that.”
“Now you’re a lady too. If you’d put yourself first and married the prince, someone would have come along to harm him and Kyrria, sure as cabbages. You’re a heroine, sweet.”
“I’d rather be his wife.” The tears welled up again, and I threw myself across Mandy’s bed.
She sat next to me, stroking my back and murmuring. “Oh, sweet, my Lady. Perhaps it will come right.” She shifted her weight. Something crackled, and she exclaimed, “What’s this? Oh, I forgot! When I posted your letter, there was one for you.” She pulled a letter out of her apron pocket.
I flew up.
“It’s not in the prince’s hand, love.”
It was from Father, saying he wouldn’t come home. My servitude pained him, but not enough to return him to the arms of his odious, though beloved, wife. He wrote, “When I find a husband for you who is rich enough to satisfy me, you will be released from my Olga. Until then, I urge you to be, as always, my stalwart daughter.”
I fell back on the bed, laughing wildly. Father would make my letter to Char come true. He would marry me off to an ancient man who would soon die and leave me enormously wealthy. The irony! I couldn’t catch my breath. Tears ran down my face, and I didn’t know whether I was laughing or crying.
Mandy held me until I quieted. While she rocked me, I thought that Lucinda still might save me. Mandy might be wrong. Once Lucinda knew how it was to be obedient, she wouldn’t be able to leave me cursed. She’d have to help me.
A week later I saw in my magic book that Char had received my message. I opened to an illustration in which he was burning my letters. I was glad to see his image, no matter what the image was doing.
After I gazed awhile and ran my fingers over his shape, I turned the page and found an entry in his journal.
I’ve lost nothing. She never was what I thought her, so I’ve lost nothing. I’m only fortunate, and Kyrria is blessed, that she eloped before my letter reached her.
When I received the message from her sister, I thought it had to be a ploy to make me hate Ella, and I resolved not to be taken in. For a while I considered leaving Ayortha to discover the truth. Gradually, however, I realized the truth was in my hands.
The sister could have no reason to lie to me. If Ella and I had married, she would only gain. But Ella’s note convinced me in the end. It was in her hand, and the last phrase about smiling at her jewels and laughing at the world was certainly her own.
She charmed me as easily as she did the ogres. I never did discover why she hid after her father’s wedding. She was probably avoiding a lovesick swain not wealthy enough or ancient enough to suit her. Her avoidance of me after the wedding was another trick, the meaning of which is too deep for me to fathom.
But her letters were the greatest deception of all
. She seemed so good-hearted. But I suppose that’s the way with such women: They wouldn’t be minxes if they weren’t masters of artifice and fraud. How she must have laughed when I confessed my faults to her!
There was more. In addition to minx, he called me flirt, harpy, siren, enchantress, temptress, and even monster. He ended by writing, “I wish I weren’t in Ayortha. The silence here offers too much time for thought. A thousand times a day I swear never to think of her. At least I can promise never to write or speak of her again, and can force my pen and my voice to keep my word.”
I endured six months of Hattie and Olive and Mum Olga by imagining my freedom when Lucinda released me from the curse.
I didn’t give up writing to Char. Since the new letters were never posted, I told him the truth about my life in Mum Olga’s household. When Hattie told me that this earl or that duke loved her, I laughed over the absurdity of it to him. When Olive made me count her money again, he was informed.
“Every day she invents new hiding places for her wealth. There are coins in the hem of her gown, coins sewn into her sash, and coins buried in the stuffing of her waist roll. With all the metal concealed about her person, she had best not set foot on a boat.”
When Mum Olga had me clean out the root cellar, and I found a tabby with her litter of kittens, Char learned of my delight. And when Mandy taught me cooking secrets, I shared them with him.
I also described my future without the curse.
“My first act,” I wrote, “will be to confess that I love you. I’ll beg pardon a thousand times for causing you unhappiness and make reparations by making you laugh a thousand times.”
The night before Lucinda’s reappearance, Hattie awakened me when she returned from a cotillion. She said I had to help her prepare for bed. I had never had to before, so I waited to learn her real reason.
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