by Aya Ling
I close the door and ask her to take a seat. She does, her gaze shifting cautiously around the room, and I sit across from her. I am thinking of how to begin this conversation when Katriona opens her mouth.
“Why?”
“Can you be a bit more specific?” I say. “I’m sure there are many things that you are wondering about.”
She raises her head and stares at me. “Why did you withdraw? You were succeeding in making the court believe you were the victim.”
I shrug. “Aren’t you happy I did it?”
“I wouldn’t know what goes on in a witch’s mind.”
I laugh. “I can see that Bianca has planted some strange ideas in your head. Believe me or not, I’m a victim just like you. I can’t tell you how you ended up in Moryn, and I can’t tell you why we happen to look alike. But I can tell you that I became princess because Edward fell in love with my character. I didn’t resort to spells or charms—which I’m sure Bianca is convinced that I dabble in—because I’m not a witch. I can’t do any magic.”
Katriona continues to stare at me, as if trying to discern any witchlike characteristics in me. For a country that doesn’t believe in magic, the citizens are surprisingly superstitious.
“Why did you choose me?” she finally says. “I’ve never seen you before. Is it because we look so alike that you chose to kidnap me and have me brought to Moryn?”
“I would like to know the answers as well. But for now, in exchange for my volunteering to step down and admit that you are Katriona Bradshaw, I would ask you for something.”
“What can I do? You’re better off asking Bianca.”
“Great, but number one, she hates me. Number two, only you can help me with this.” I lean forward and will myself not to choke or cough. My supply of oxygen is vanishing quickly. “When it is made known that you are indeed Katriona Bradshaw, I will not be able to stay in the palace. I know you must have suffered through some hard times in Moryn, but those hard days are over. You will be princess, and even if Edward decides to file for divorce, you will still have a handsome allowance.”
I tell her about compulsory education, and also about Princess College. “Please don’t undo the work I have accomplished so far. And please don’t hate Edward if he doesn’t treat you well.”
A curious gleam shines in her eyes, and she leans forward. “Are you telling me that I can take your place and be princess of this country?”
I feel bad for Edward. The more I talk to her, the more I dislike Katriona. If only she were more like Elle, he might have resigned himself to the marriage. Katriona may not be stunning or intimidating, as Bianca is, but there are characteristics that the Bradshaw sisters share in common—such as an obsession with becoming royal.
“Yes. After all, it’s your name in the wedding register. You are wedded to him. In two days, I will leave the palace. If Edward asks for a divorce, please try to understand.”
“Because he wants you back?”
I shake my head. “I don’t think that will happen. But Katriona, please consider what I say. If you can help Edward improve the lives of the citizens of Athelia, that will be wonderful. But even if you can’t, please continue to support the school. I am not the wicked, scheming, evil person that Bianca tries to paint me to be. Trust me, I didn’t mean to impersonate you. All I ask is that you be receptive to whatever Edward asks of you. Including a divorce.”
She tilts her head. “All right.” But it’s not hard to read the craftiness in her eyes. I’d bet my entire wardrobe that she won’t agree to a divorce. She’s going to take advantage of this sudden turn of fortune.
In my mind, I apologize to Edward. I can only hope that Mr. Davenport, or some other lawyer well-versed in marriage laws, will be able to obtain a divorce for him as soon as possible. I don’t want to give Edward up, but since it has to happen, I want him to eventually find love, no matter how long it takes for him to get over me. I want him to meet a nice girl who genuinely cares for him, regardless of his royal status, a girl who can soften his gaze and make his eyes twinkle with amusement. I very much doubt Katriona fits these criteria.
47
On the last day, we have no doubt that what Krev says is true. The mark on my shoulder has faded into an almost indistinguishable shade of pink. If I didn’t know it was there, I wouldn’t have noticed unless I looked really hard in the mirror. And my health has deteriorated dramatically. I’m having trouble breathing, and I cough every five minutes as I move around. So, I try to avoid walking as much as possible. Fortunately, I had already asked Elle and Poppy and Henry around to visit me, under the pretense that I’m worried about the trial. They comfort me and tell me that no matter what happens, Edward will stand by me. I don’t dare to tell them the truth of my health, of course. It’s too much of a hassle to explain everything.
“Here’s a mug of hot water and lemon and honey for your throat, Your Highness,” Mabel says, setting a tray on the table.
Amelie enters my bedroom, carrying a pile of glossy pink and green satin. “I unearthed an extra handmade quilt from the storage closet. It’s the warmest one we have.”
“Thank you. Oh, by the way, Amelie? I know you don’t want to get married, but you’re still so young, and there are good men out there. Trust me.”
Amelie blinks her pretty brown eyes. Seldom have I lectured her on men. “Yes, Your Highness.”
“It’s the other way for you, Mabel. Spend some time getting to know that handsome palace guard you’ve been ogling, and if his character is as wonderful as his looks, then you can consider a serious relationship with him.”
I smile at them, then turn away abruptly so they can’t see the tears threatening to slide down my face. I’ve grown very fond of my maids, and I’m sorry that I can’t live to see what will become of them.
* * *
By the afternoon, I just sit in the study and gaze out of the windows. I am swathed in blankets, leaning against the back of the window seat. Edward doesn’t leave my side. He does most of the talking, since I tend to cough as I attempt conversation.
My last day in Athelia. I feel like crying, but strangely, there are no tears. It’s as if all the tears I have were used up on the day that Krev told me I was going to die. I clutch Edward’s hand and wish that I could imprint this image of him in my mind permanently.
“I don’t want to go home,” I say suddenly. “I want to stay with you. I want to stay!” My voice turns into a cough, and Edward gets me some water.
“When I said I would do anything to keep you in Athelia, I thought that once I had your heart, everything would be all right. But now, I see how powerless I am. I can only stand here and cannot do anything to save you.” He looks away before I can make sure there’s a tear glistening in his eye.
“Just hold me, Edward.”
He draws his arms around me, and I lay my head against his chest. Because I have a problem breathing, he doesn’t dare to embrace me tightly. Nor does he kiss me on the lips, for fear that I might be short of breath. Only butterfly kisses on my face and neck, but never my lips. I feel so bad—I’m reminded of the last day we said goodbye to each other before the wedding day. This time, it feels even more tragic, not just because of my emaciated body, but also because we have grown closer to each other in body and spirit.
“Say you love me.” Edward’s voice sounds broken. “Say that you will never forget me.”
I lift my head and kiss his jaw. “I love you, Edward. Even if I go back to my own world, I will never, ever, forget you.” I pull back so I can look at him in the eye. “You have spoiled me for life. I expect that I will remain single always, because no one in my world will ever measure up to you.”
“I could foresee the same for myself.” He adjusts his position so I can snuggle more comfortably in his arms. “After you . . . go, I am going to tell my parents that I will abdicate. Henry can have the throne. I will not be pressurized into taking a wife and begetting an heir.”
My hand goes to my sto
mach, which is flat and smooth. Edward and I slept together for some time, but I never showed any sign of pregnancy. Maybe I can never get pregnant unless I am an Athelian. “You can’t do that. You are your parents’ only son.”
“They will understand,” he says quietly. “And I will not bring some hapless maid into a loveless marriage.”
“You shouldn’t think like that,” I mumble. “But I’m glad you do.”
* * *
When night falls, a snowstorm sets in like an ill omen. I am coughing so frequently that I don’t even bother to speak. Edward has to bring me paper and a pen for communication. By this time, though, neither of us feels inclined to speak anyway. Most of the time, I just lean against him, my head tucked snugly under his chin, his arms around my body. Now and then, he gets up to pour me some water, but for most of the time, we remain in a comfortable embrace.
‘Do you know what was the first thing I thought when I met you at Elle’s house?’ Edward writes.
‘An idiot who couldn’t keep her mouth shut?’
‘A bold and brave girl, as charming as she is compassionate.’
I grin and take the pen from him. ‘Do you know what’s the first thing I thought when I met you?’
‘An arrogant man who could do nothing when encountering sickness and poverty?’
‘A man with devastating good looks who could never be interested in me.’
His response is to kiss the corner of my jaw. “How could I not?” he murmurs in my ear. “Even though, in the beginning, you made it clear you weren’t interested in me, I couldn’t help wanting to see you, talk to you, and make you be aware of my existence.”
We end up playing a game of tic-tac-toe, surprisingly. But at this moment, there really is nothing more that can be said or done. In my heart, I pray for some miracle that one day we can still be reunited.
The familiar popping sound. Krev appears in midair, above the fireplace. Edward jerks his head back, his eyes wide.
“Can you see him?”
Krev puts his hands on his hips. “I have chosen to show myself to make things easier.”
Edward gently sets me aside and goes over to face Krev. “Is there absolutely no way that she can survive in Athelia?”
Krev holds out his hands, palms up. “How will a fish and a bird live together?”
I cough at the same time, a cough so violent that bloodstains appear on my sleeve. Edward rushes to my side, his face ashen. “You must go,” he says tonelessly, but his face looks as if life has drained out of it. “You must get well. Get well, and don’t ever forget me.”
The book. Somehow, it has appeared and hovers in the air. There’s something strange about it—the title on the cover is different. I make out the words, Twice Upon a Time. Krev starts to chant some indecipherable words, and the book begins to spin. I should go to the goblin, but my feet refuse to budge. I don’t want to leave Edward. I turn and throw myself in his arms. I kiss him, and tears run down my face.
“Rather . . . die,” I croak. “Don’t . . . wanna . . . leave . . .”
“Kat.” Edward clamps his hands on my shoulders. “You cannot die. I would rather see you alive in another world than unable to survive in Athelia. Go.”
And he carries me, bridal style, toward Krev. I try to struggle—I try to move away from the book, but Edward keeps a firm grip on my body.
“That’s right, girlie,” Krev is saying. “Just a little bit farther . . . come along, you only have a few minutes left!”
“I love you,” Edward whispers in my ear. “I will always love you, Kat.”
I open my mouth, but no sound comes out. Nevertheless, I make my mouth form the words, “I love you too.”
The next second, the yellow-green glow from the book engulfs me. Edward’s face flashes before me for a moment. I want to reach out to him, but everything turns black.
Farewell, my love.
48
The goblin king surveyed his court with a heavy heart. Littered with broken rocks and debris, some of them smeared with blood, the once-magnificent royal dwelling was now a pathetic sight. Here the final battle with Borg took place—a long, drawn-out fight that claimed dozens of lives. He could still hear the sounds of magic sizzling as the two sides clashed and fought, the shrieks and screams of goblins when hit by powerful spells, and the ear-splitting explosions when entire pillars were split into half.
Finally it was all over…no, it wasn’t. Borg may be defeated, but there was a long list of things they had to do.
Barthelius raised his hand. The emerald green ring on his finger glittered and flashed. When Borg had received the ring from Pippi, he had stirred up a rebellion by using the magic contained within the ring—magic that was accumulated from several generations. Empowered by the ancient magic, Borg was able to challenge Barthelius and threaten him to step down. It took months of fighting, hundreds of casualties on both sides, until Barthelius finally prevailed.
But the damage was already done. Never in his life had Barthelius felt so helpless, so deprived of magic. If he were at the height of his powers—like when he created Athelia a hundred years ago—he could have sent Katherine Wilson back to her family. She wouldn’t have stayed long enough to break through the memory spell Morag put on her, and fallen hopelessly in love with Prince Edward—again. According to Krev, Kat had been close to a mental breakdown when she learned that her body wasn’t equipped to survive in Athelia.
But he was well past middle age for a goblin, and his powers had dwindled to a fraction of his peak. Like something they call an Olympic athlete in the human world—in his prime he could win a gold medal, but there was no way he could sprint or turn somersaults at his age now.
There was a popping sound; a female goblin appeared by his side, her wings flapping. Bruises and cuts marred her slender arms, and a white bandage was wrapped around her ankle.
“Just saw the remaining members of Borg’s gang expelled from the realm,” she said. “I’ve also ordered Grex and Zanok to strengthen the border lines and ensure none of the rebels have the power to enter our realm again.”
“Very good.” Barthelius didn’t turn around or look at her. His expression remained pensive as he stared at a pillar lying on the ground. “When Borg and I were mere weaklings, he used to jump out behind this pillar and laugh at me if I squealed in surprise. He used to call me the midget of the family, and he was always there to cheer me up when Father got mad at me. We were pals.” He gestured at the cracked stone floor. “Since Father chose me as the successor, our relationship has been fractured like this, until the point of no return.” He sank down on the floor, cross-legged and head bowed.
Morag put a hand on his shoulder. “Borg brought this onto himself. If he didn’t use live creatures as sacrifices in order to gain greater powers, your father might have chosen him to inherit the ring. Didn’t you tell me that Borg was actually stronger than you when your father made the decision that you be the future king?”
“Theoretically he was more powerful, but Father said my powers were still latent, and when fully developed, no goblin could compete with me. Even when I did become the most powerful goblin in the realm, Borg still harbored a grudge. It was a terrible blow to his pride that he was passed over as the eldest son.”
Morag nodded and sat down beside him. Blood sacrifices may be a shortcut, but it was not how a king—or simply a normal goblin—would perform magic. Borg could never be allowed to lead, considering his blatant disregard for goblin rights.
Barthelius patted his wife’s hand, careful to avoid a rather nasty bruise. “Were it not for you, dear, we could have been defeated. I’ve long passed the peak of my powers, and without the ring, I’m no match for my brother. If you didn’t attack him with that lightning spell, he might have made us prisoners—or worse.”
“If he didn’t try to harm Pippi I couldn’t have channeled my inner magic.” Morag shivered and leaned against her husband’s shoulder. She still had chills when she thought of the possib
ility of Pippi being injured. “So what do you plan to do now?”
“Rebuild our kingdom, of course.”
“You know what I’m referring to.”
Barthelius sighed. “You’re talking about the human girl.”
When they found out that Borg had forced Kat out of her own world and pushed her into Athelia, Barthelius was thunderstruck. Getting a human into Athelia was vastly different from letting a human soul enter an Athelian’s body. If there was any tiny flaw in the spell that provided a finite amount of oxygen, she could have been dead within minutes. But since they were at war, the best he could do was to preserve just enough magic to send Krev to Athelia, and make sure Kat lived long enough until they could send her back. Pippi would be devastated, of course, but what could they do? It was like making a human survive on Mars, the only outer space planet he could remember. A lifetime beyond Earth was impossible.
Pop. A squashed-faced goblin with pointed ears and bulbous eyes appeared in the air.
“Well?” Barthelius said. “Have you taken Katherine Wilson back to her own world?”
“How’s her condition?” Morag asked.
“She’s weak, but she’s home.” Krev flew to the ground and sat down. He exhaled and relaxed his limbs. “Her family will take good care of her.”
“The poor girl,” Morag said, remembering the one time she visited Athelia to administer a memory spell on Kat. She would have done it this time, if only she wasn’t completely exhausted after the war. “She has suffered so much. Falling in love with the prince for a second time, and now going back to her own world…she’s going to be depressed.”
“At least she is alive,” Barthelius said. He crossed his arms, and a determined look came over his face. “Something has to be done. We must not allow this disaster to happen again.”