Eight Princesses and a Magic Mirror

by Natasha Farrant

  Héloïse picked up the coin and weighed it in one hand. “The witch wants payment,” she said. She picked up the mirror. She did not say, “And I am the one who must pay,” but went slowly up the stairs to her own chamber, carpets of violets sprouting beneath her feet. She closed the door and sat on her window seat with the fox and the raven. She put the gold coin in her pocket and opened the mirror.

  A small, pale princess peered back at her, with string tied to glasses that sat lopsided on her nose, and eyes tired from watching over a sick bed.

  “I don’t understand,” she told the fox and the raven.

  She snapped the mirror shut and dropped it onto the window seat. Wild strawberries spread around it. She glared at them. She heard footsteps, Emmy’s door opening, and her sister shouting that there were hazel trees growing in her room.

  The fox nosed the mirror back toward her. She opened it again. What wasn’t she seeing?

  There she was, small and . . . Héloïse looked closer. It was her in the mirror, but somehow she didn’t look small. She raised her chin. What was it the witch had said to her? You’ve brains and courage, haven’t you? She straightened her glasses, raised her chin still further—she had been brave, and she knew she was clever. . . .

  The fox yapped. She glanced at him. He stretched his snout toward the strawberries. The raven tilted her head.

  “I don’t understand,” Héloïse said.

  In among the strawberries, a single star flower appeared then vanished, its petals tipped with gold.

  “Oh!” gasped Héloïse. “Oh!”

  The raven pecked her ear. The fox licked her chin.

  Héloïse jumped down from the window seat and ran to find her sister.

  “A quest!” announced the king. “A quest for a chance to win the hand of the fair Emmeline!

  “On the summit of the tallest of the Eastern Mountains, protected by the emerald fire dragon, grows a single star flower, its petals tipped with solid gold. Whosoever brings back this flower and a scale from the dragon’s back shall win my daughter’s eternal love, and marry her, and, on my death, become king!”

  By sundown, all the knights were gone. And, of course, since the star flower did not exist, none of them ever found it. They were so embarrassed that they never returned. The witch was never seen again either, though the forest continued to grow back whenever anyone tried to chop it down, so Héloïse guessed she was still in her cottage, doing her work. The king and his family repaired the broken windows of their castle and rebuilt the walls, but there wasn’t much they could do about the oak tree in the Great Hall, or the flowers or willows or hazel trees. So they kept them, and soon the castle became famous for being the only one in the world to have a forest inside it as well as out.

  Emmeline married a poet who loved her forever. The king took up gardening as a hobby. As for Héloïse, she studied hard and became a powerful healer, just as the witch had told her she could, and people came from far and wide to learn from her.

  THE

  DESERT

  PRINCESS

  Silent as a panther, Princess Leila al’Aqbar crept through the dark courtyards of the Garden Palace. She stopped at the foot of a stout vine, checked to make sure no one was following then, one hand over the other, feet braced against the marble wall, began to climb. She paused on the parapet, head tilted to listen, one foot dangling into the void, the other hovering above the tiles of the Jasmine Terrace. It was a twenty-foot drop into the courtyard, but she wasn’t afraid. She’d done this scores of times—hundreds of times! Had even boasted that she could do it blindfolded, though so far no one had dared her to, not even Hisham, who was waiting below for the all-clear.

  Ah, but it was wonderful up here! Soon she must do what she was sworn to, fulfill Hisham’s latest, maddest dare, and let loose all manner of mayhem. But for a moment she was alone between the stars and the desert. Beyond the walls of the palace compound, in the dunes rippling beneath the crescent moon, the fennec vixen that Leila had been watching for weeks was leading her cubs out to hunt. In the palace kitchens, servants were clearing dinner, while others carried trays of tea and pastries up to this very terrace. Horses, including her own silver Blaze, were snuffling at their hay nets in the stables. And she, Leila, was above it all! No longer a twelve-year-old girl, often grubby and usually in trouble, but a queen like her mother, mistress of all she surveyed. She stretched up her hand. If she reached high enough, she might even pluck a star. . . .

  A shake of the vine informed her that Hisham had grown bored of waiting and was climbing up to join her.

  Queen Leila of the Sands and Stars was banished, replaced by Princess Leila, Maker of Mischief. She grinned at Hisham as he joined her astride the parapet, his dark eyes dancing like hers.

  “Ready?” he whispered.

  Leila patted the cloth bag she wore across her body.

  The bag wriggled in protest.

  The roof terrace was covered by a pergola, thick with jasmine and climbing roses, a ceiling of flowers. Leila slept here sometimes in high summer when the nights were hot, waking as dawn broke pink and blue over the Western Mountains. It was her favorite part of the palace, but now it was being used by Queen Rania to entertain her guests. In flickering candlelight they sat at low tables, nibbling pastries, sipping tea and talking.

  Always, always, talking . . .

  When Leila was queen, she was not going to waste her time chatting. When Leila was queen, she would make her guests spend their days galloping over sand dunes, hunting with falcons, and in the evenings maybe singing, like the desert nomads. When Leila was queen, she frequently informed her mother, nobody would be bored.

  “Which goes to show you understand nothing about being queen,” her mother typically replied, when she wasn’t too busy reading or writing or giving orders.

  All the kings of the desert were here this evening except for one, and they were talking about him. Snatches of conversation floated over the terrace.

  “Aziz is on the move . . . heavily armed . . . his black and gold colors are everywhere . . . soldiers, modern ideas, no respect for the old ways . . . we must invite him to talk . . . ”

  This last comment from Rania, obviously. Leila rolled her eyes and nodded to Hisham.

  Light as cats, they scurried along the edge of the wall. Still in darkness but level with the candlelight, they jumped softly back onto the parapet, then inched forward along the pergola until they were directly above the kings and Queen Rania. Hisham squeaked as a rose thorn pierced his thumb. Leila glared.

  They held their breath, but nobody looked up.

  Leila felt a twinge of remorse at what she was about to do. Her mother sat below her, a queen among six kings. All were dressed in white, as was the custom on these occasions, but in Leila’s eyes, Rania, in her close-fitting coat and billowing trousers, shone the brightest. The kings were arguing. Rania silenced them with a graceful flick of a jeweled finger; Leila felt a thrill of pride in her and hesitated.

  But Hisham, flat on the strut across from her, was making faces, and yesterday Leila had lost a dare over that whole messy business of wading through the eel mud in the lake, and honor must be saved. She wriggled until she was right above fat old King Amir.

  A jasmine flower floated toward the table and landed in Queen Rania’s glass.

  Please don’t look up! Oh, please! begged Leila silently.

  Rania tilted her head. . . .

  “I cannot agree!” Everyone jumped, including the spies in the pergola, as King Omar thumped the table. “Aziz is not to be trusted!”

  Rania’s attention returned to the table. Leila breathed again and, before she could lose her nerve, reached carefully into her cloth bag.

  It is not easy to catch hold of a mouse, even when the mouse is imprisoned in a bag and cannot escape. Twice, Leila’s fingers closed around its small furry body. Twice, it twisted away. Once, it bit her, and she had to clamp her lips together not to cry out. But eventually she got a firm hold
of it, pulled it out of the bag—and let go. . . .

  In their wildest dreams, Leila and Hisham could not have hoped for what happened next!

  The mouse landed on King Amir’s gleaming bald head, bounced, then shot into his robes to hide.

  Amir yelped and leaped to his feet, upsetting the table. A teapot fell into the lap of King Bruhier, who screamed, jumped up, and slipped on a tray of pastries. A palace cat, attracted by the commotion, slunk from the shadows and pounced on the mouse as it emerged from Amir’s robes, tripping King Sami as he helped Bruhier to his feet. All the while Amir hopped about shrieking, “Get it away from me! Get it away from me!” and everyone else ran around shouting, “To arms! To arms! Aziz has attacked!” In the pergola above, helpless with laughter, Leila and Hisham crept away.

  Back at the parapet, there remained a final part of the dare to complete. Leila threw back her head and opened her mouth.

  “Ululululululu!”

  A battle cry, learned from Hisham, who had it from a cousin who had traveled beyond the mountains and fought in real wars. Leila loved the way it vibrated from her throat to her toes, the way it made her feel bigger and taller. She could see herself, standing in her stirrups as Blaze galloped across the desert, the wind in her hair, sunlight glinting off the blade of her raised saber. . . .

  How brave she was! How gallant! How . . .

  “Got you!”

  The arms of a palace guard closed around her. Leila’s battle cry ended in a squeak.

  Leila, locked in her room, lay on her bed and fumed as she relived her mother’s scolding.

  “When will you learn that you are a princess not a desert urchin . . . screaming like a savage . . . this was an important meeting, we were not gathered to play but to discuss the grave danger that threatens the kingdoms . . . I’m embarrassed, Leila, embarrassed and ashamed. . . . ”

  Throughout the Battle of the Jasmine Terrace, one person had not moved. Queen Rania had not run, or shouted or shrieked or screamed, and she most certainly had not stepped in pastries or upset teapots. Just narrowed her eyes at the quivering shadows retreating along the rafters and nodded to her guards.

  It had been the same lecture as always, but this time with six kings, watching and tutting and muttering—and Rania’s final order to take a good look at yourself in the mirror, young lady, and decide what you want to become.

  Leila had no time for mirrors. There was only one in her room, a compact on a scarlet ribbon, a present, before he had died, from her father. . . . She snapped it open now and glared at it. Her reflection glared back, dirty and bedraggled, with twigs of jasmine in her hair.

  I’m ashamed of you.

  If only her mother could see her, just once, as she saw herself! Saber in hand, standing in her stirrups, galloping across the dunes with the wind in her hair! Or quiet and still, merging with the silver shadows, waiting for the fennec vixen and her cubs. Not everyone could get close to a fennec. They were shy creatures, you had to be patient, and Leila could be patient—but not at the things her mother wanted, like lessons, and hair brushing, and talking. . . . She glared at the mirror again. It was . . . oddly shiny. She peered more closely. No, nothing was different, except . . . She raised her chin, swept back her hair, gazed down her nose, and flared her nostrils as Rania did when she gave a command.

  Leila had inherited her father’s dark eyes, his smile, even his dimples. She had never realized, before, how much she also looked like her mother.

  She didn’t suppose her mother had ever noticed either. Or that she would care, even if she had. She stuffed the mirror into the pocket of her coat and rolled off the bed over to the window.

  She leaned out of the open window and thought she heard her father’s voice. One day, little one, we will ride out to watch the dawn together from the Western Mountains. You will see then how big the world can be.

  Oh, Papa!

  Oh, the silver rippling dunes, the endless desert, the moon! Blaze in his stable, his breath on her neck when he greeted her, the soft pounding of his hooves on the sand! The vixen and her cubs, the pink and blue of sunrise! What was she still doing here? The locked door was a joke. How many times had she sneaked out through the window, slunk from the palace into the desert? She listened—no voices, now, no footsteps. The night, still as still, everyone asleep but her. . . .

  A rope, one end tied to the bed, the other thrown out of the window . . . Feet braced against the wall again, rappelling down the gleaming marble walls, boots padding through the courtyards under cover of lemons and pomegranates, Blaze’s quiet snicker of greeting. The soapy smell of leather as she saddled and bridled him, the quiet clip-clop of his hooves, the creak of the side door that always needed oiling and then . . .

  Freedom!

  A short trot to warm up, a slow canter, a whooping gallop, and not a king or queen in sight. Just a princess and her horse riding beneath the stars, on and on until they reached the foothills of the Western Mountains.

  Leila slid off Blaze’s back, kissed his nose, then leaned against him while they both caught their breath. A shooting star traced a bright path across the sky, and she closed her eyes tight, only opening them when she had made her wish.

  “We’re going to go on like this forever,” she whispered to Blaze. “We’re never going back. We’ll carry on up into the mountains where the whole world is green, then down to the sea where we’ll gallop through the waves. We’ll become famous, like a story. People will write books about us!”

  Blaze snorted.

  It was a small sound in all that desert.

  There were snakes out here, scorpions and sandstorms. Leila had ridden this far before, but never alone. She had sneaked out on her own, but never this far. . . . She shivered. Not because she was scared, she told herself, or because if something happened to her, nobody would know where she was. It was just that the wind had picked up, and that desert nights are cold, and she felt tired after her ride.

  She reached into her saddlebag for a blanket and her water bottle, found a handful of almonds that she shared with Blaze. She drew comfort from the warmth, the drink and food, her horse snuffling the nuts from her hand. He rested his head on her shoulder, and she slid her arm around his neck and turned her face to the stars.

  Once, her tutor had told her that the stars could sing (it was the only time she had almost liked him). She hadn’t believed him, of course, but with no Hisham to laugh at her, it was worth a try. . . . Feeling slightly foolish, she cupped her hands over her ears.

  And froze.

  She could hear singing!

  Except, would the stars sing with human voices?

  And did the stars laugh?

  Because there was laughter, as well as music, borne toward Leila on the westerly wind. Blaze pricked his ears. Could horses hear stars?

  Leila didn’t think so.

  “Let’s go and look.”

  Leila crept through the shadows of the foothills, leading Blaze. The singing grew louder. She came to a ridge, and saw flickering firelight . . . a camp, with hundreds of men. Flags fluttered over their tents, black and gold, reminding her of something, but what? The singing came from a group of men sitting around one of the fires. Leila craned forward to hear better, then shrank back as a man emerged from the tent closest to her.

  He was younger than many of the men, and he was dressed like them in a padded black coat over loose black trousers tucked into boots, but he had the assured, confident bearing of a prince.

  No, not a prince—a king!

  A king who rode under a banner of black and gold . . .

  A king with soldiers, on the move . . .

  A king who had not been at the Garden Palace . . .

  Leila never rode as hard as she rode that night. “I’m sorry, old friend,” she whispered to Blaze as she urged him into a gallop back home. Blaze was exhausted, but as if he understood that everything depended on him, he never slowed. On and on he galloped, through the chill desert night, hooves pounding the sa
nd, until sweat poured from horse and girl.

  As the Garden Palace gleamed into view in the pink and blue of dawn, Leila stood in her stirrups, threw back her head, and screamed.

  “Ululululululu!”

  When Aziz’s men attacked, the Garden Palace was ready for them. The battle was brutal but short. Rania, watching from the Jasmine Terrace with the kings, saw how evenly matched the two sides were. She understood that unless she intervened, it would not stop until too many were dead. And so she sent a messenger to parley with Aziz, and the queen and all the kings talked through the day and into the following night, and for many more days and many more nights after that, until a peace was agreed, and a new order was born, which included some of Aziz’s modern ideas, and some of the desert’s old ways. Everyone agreed it would not have been possible if Leila, the quick-as-a-panther, desert-urchin princess had not ridden like the wind to warn her mother of what was coming. And as Leila raised her chin and smiled proudly, she did not need a mirror to tell her that she looked, if not like a queen, at least like a queen in waiting.

  THE

  PRINCESS

  OF ABSOLUTE

  LOVELINESS

  High on the tallest of the Central Mountains nestles the ancient city of Bamfou. Forest stretches into the clouds above it, and far below, sea the color of sapphires glitters and breaks on dark beaches. But it is the river that flows around the city in lazy loops that allows it to thrive. The people of Bamfou have planted gardens on its banks, where they grow rice and yams and okra, coffee and berries and melon. Legend says the river is guarded by a shaman who lives in the forest, a wise woman over a thousand years old. For the most part, she does an excellent job of keeping the water flowing pure and sweet, never too slow nor too fast. Every few years, when the rains come, and the river bursts its banks, the townspeople grumble that she must have fallen asleep. Then the sun comes out again and they forget.