“Alexei,” Petunia said again. “Catch!” And she tossed the needles like darts.
They struck him in the chest, not hard enough to wound, but he hissed and swatted at them. While he was distracted Poppy shoved the last needle down the barrel of her pistol and then took her shot. A black flower blossomed on the white breast of the King Under Stone’s shirt. He looked up at the sisters with horror.
His scream tore at their ears.
“Ha!” Poppy shouted again. There were tears on her cheeks.
Rionin’s scream went on as he crumpled in a hideous, boneless way. When Petunia tore her attention from the king, she saw the remaining princes slinking away, hands to their ears, as the voice of the spell grew. Petunia and Poppy shot at them, but their shots went wild, as though the air were warping inward toward the palace. Petunia thought with horror that Rose and Oliver might be trapped half-inside and half-outside the new wall when the spell finished.
“Go,” she shouted to Poppy. “I’ll help Rose and Oliver.”
“But I can’t let you—”
“Yes, you can,” Petunia said. “Christian is waiting.”
Poppy grimaced, but then she turned and ran up the stairs.
Petunia went to the pair slumped between the gateposts. They were so caught up in the spell that Petunia doubted either of them knew she was there. But as she leaned down to get a grip under Oliver’s arms, Rose’s voice brought her up short.
“Galen. He always came back for us, Pet,” Rose said. Her eyes pleaded with Petunia as she continued to hold her wand steady in front of her.
Looking up, Petunia saw that Kestilan had turned back and was coming toward her, straining against the onslaught of the voice. There was a black dagger in his hand.
“Mother, please protect us,” she whispered.
Then Petunia reached into the bodice of her gown for her matches. She lit one and dropped it back into the box. The matches flared and she tossed the tiny ball of flames into the woods at her right.
The silver wood went up in a great sheet of blue-white flame. Kestilan and the tattered remnants of the court of the King Under Stone fled back to the lake. Petunia grabbed Oliver under the arms and dragged him to the foot of the golden stair, grateful that he was holding so tight to Rose.
The heat from the fire was intense. Petunia drew her cloak around her, gathering what little protection she could. Then she took a deep breath and plunged into the smoke and flames, looking for any sign of Galen or Bishop Schelker or Walter Vogel and the crone.
There was nothing, nothing but silver trees burning white and blue. She reached the shore and saw that the court had taken all the boats. They were well on their way back to the palace, and Petunia was alone. She swayed and nearly went to her knees at the edge of the lake. But the oppressive heat from the burning wood drove her on. She ran along the shore, calling out for Galen and Bishop Schelker.
When she found them, she hardly knew what it was she had found.
In a sudden clearing in the wood were four figures made of light, and for a moment she thought they were just more burning trees. But this light was green, as green as new grass or tulip leaves or the glass of her father’s hothouses. It rose up like four shining columns in the clearing. She stopped, gasping for breath, and through the intense glow she could make out the dear familiar face of Galen, and beyond him Bishop Schelker, Walter Vogel, and a tall, beautiful woman who was speaking the endless words of the spell.
“The crone?”
The words burst out before she could stop them. Galen and Oliver had told her of the toothless old woman, but the face she could see through the green was wrenchingly beautiful. Long, dark hair fell on either side of the serene features, and a crown rested on her brow.
“My queen,” said a familiar voice, and Petunia looked and saw that through the green, Walter was also young, and handsome, standing straight on two strong legs.
“Your queen?”
The heat forced her farther into the clearing, until she stood in the cool protection of the four columns of green light. Galen and the bishop smiled at her, though their faces were otherwise rigid with the intensity of the spell.
“One of the greatest queens Westfalin has ever known,” Walter said. “Beautiful, brilliant, and just. When Ranulf, her husband, was killed by Wolfram von Aue, she learned magic that she might bind him in this prison. And I learned it, too, so that I might help her.”
“Then she was … Oh!” Petunia put a hand to her mouth in awe.
“Ethelia,” Walter said. “Blessed Ethelia, they called her. And I was her knight.”
Petunia did not know what to say. The grizzled old gardener who had shown her bird’s nests when she was a child had been the knight protector of a queen? And one of the great wizards who had bound the King Under Stone?
“Pet, you have to go,” said Galen, his voice strained.
“Come with me,” she begged.
“I can’t, not alone.”
Queen Ethelia’s voice was rising, and the figures in the columns of green light were stretching and wavering with the force of it.
“Go, Petunia,” said Walter. “Go and save the others.”
“Get Rose out of here,” Galen said.
Petunia whirled and ran, racing along the shore until she reached the path. The flames rose ever higher, and the smoke choked her. She ran down the path, pulling the hood of her cloak up over her hair as sparks and burning leaves rained down.
Just before she reached the gate, a tree fell across the path.
The blue-white flames were staining her vision, and the heat made her cloak feel like it was made of lead. Beyond the fallen log she could see Oliver and Rose, huddled at the very foot of the stair. She turned, seeing nothing but flames and more trees falling as the fire tore away their roots.
“There’s nothing for it,” she said. She pulled the cloak even tighter around her. “This velvet was once a gown worn at the Midnight Ball. The silver was given to me by Bishop Schelker for my nameday. It’s all I’ve got, and it had better be enough.”
Petunia rose up on her toes, took two quick steps, and then leaped through the flames.
The fire did not touch her. She landed within the arch of the gate and dropped to her knees beside Rose.
There was no movement from Oliver or Rose, save for the blood that continued to ooze from Rose’s side. Petunia tore off a strip of her skirt and pressed it against the wound.
The powerful voice of the ancient queen rose to a crescendo, and Petunia swayed on her knees. And then there was a sound that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. Petunia wasn’t even sure she had heard it with her ears; it might have come from inside her body for all she could tell.
The darkness overhead glowed green, and within the green Petunia thought she saw a face of ineffable beauty smiling down at her. From the ground at the outer edge of the burning forest, a band of silver light stretched upward and became a massive wall without a door or gate as far as she could see in either direction.
It was done.
Tears slipped down Petunia’s cheeks, and she keeled forward over Rose for a moment in sheer relief. Her ears felt like they were full of cotton, and she wondered if the spell had damaged her hearing for good. She freed her sister from Oliver’s grip and began to drag Rose up the stairs. Halfway to safety her burden was lifted by a pair of large, rough hands, and there was the giant bandit Karl, grinning at her.
Petunia hurried back for Oliver, but when she reached him someone stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. The older bandit, Johan, had followed her and was saying something, but she could hear only her own heartbeat. Seeing that she didn’t understand, he just smiled and leaned down to hoist Oliver across his shoulders. Then he began slowly climbing the stair.
Petunia stood shaking at the bottom for a moment, wondering if Karl or Johan would carry her up. For the first time, she understood: they were safe. It was over. And they would always be safe from the King Under Stone.
/> The new king, whoever he was, could not leave his shining prison. If the fire did not destroy them all …
Her knees buckled.
“Come on, Pet,” Galen said as her ears finally cleared. “I don’t think I can carry you under my arm this time.”
Epilogue
The twins’ wedding was such a grand affair that two days later there was a small party in the gardens, just for the royal family. Spring was always unpredictable in Westfalin, but that day the sun shone and it was warm enough to be pleasant, though still cool enough for cloaks and muffs.
“I shall buy you a new red cloak,” Oliver promised Petunia as they sat on a small bench to one side of the lawns.
Christian was attempting to put a rosy glow in everyone’s cheeks by teaching them a game featuring several wooden balls and a child’s hoop he’d found somewhere. Petunia was fairly certain that he was making it up as he went along, but Poppy didn’t seem to mind even though she was losing badly. Hyacinth was fairing rather better, though her husband kept breaking her concentration by trying to kiss her.
“I like my old one,” Petunia said.
“It has a bullet hole in it,” Oliver said, “and I understand that it still smells of smoke.”
“Any cloak that can save you from a fire so hot it can melt silver is worth mending,” Petunia said primly.
“That is true,” Oliver agreed, his gaze on a sofa near the mouth of the hedge maze.
On the sofa, covered in a beautifully knitted throw blanket, Rose reclined like an exotic queen. Her side no longer pained her, but Dr. Kelling had insisted that she rest after the rigors of the wedding, hence the sofa in the gardens. It worried Petunia that Rose hadn’t objected to this, but it soothed some of her worry to know how much worse things had almost been.
Galen sat on the end of the sofa by Rose’s feet, knitting something that Petunia had thought was a hat but now seemed to be much too large. White frosted his hair on the sides, and there were new lines around his eyes, but otherwise he seemed well enough. They were all mourning the loss of Bishop Schelker, Walter Vogel, and the good frau, but every time she looked at Galen, Petunia wanted to cheer. With her last ounce of power, the good frau—Queen Ethelia, Petunia had to remind herself—had pushed Galen out of the silver prison wall.
Jonquil went by with a full plate of food, and Petunia reached out and tried to snag a small cream puff from it. Jonquil lifted it over Petunia’s head before she could, and clucked her tongue.
“These are for Lily,” she said.
“Oh, really?” Petunia gave her a look.
“And possibly some are for that Analousian duke Jacques invited,” Jonquil said with a sparkle in her eyes. “But none are for you.”
Then she flipped one to Oliver.
“You can have one, my lord earl,” she said, and twirled away.
“These are excellent,” Oliver said, eating half of it in one bite. He fed Petunia the other half so that she wouldn’t get cream on her knitting. Oliver was just leaning in to steal a kiss—
“I hope this means you’re planning on marrying her, boy,” barked King Gregor.
Oliver leaped to his feet. “Sire! Yes! I mean … I … sire!”
“I didn’t pardon you and restore your earldom so that you could loll around in my gardens flirting with my daughters,” King Gregor said. Then he bent down and gave Petunia a kiss on the cheek. “I like him,” he whispered loudly in her ear.
“Me too,” she whispered back, blushing.
“What are you knitting? Something for Lily’s baby?” King Gregor beamed down at the white wool in Petunia’s hands.
“Er, actually, it’s a muff,” Petunia said. “For me, but …”
“I can see your point,” Dr. Kelling said, while Oliver continued to stand awkwardly next to the bench, turning red and white in turns. “The weather continues to be cool.” The doctor gave Oliver a sympathetic look from beneath his bushy brows.
“Go over and speak to Galen, would you?” King Gregor pleaded. “He and Rose are being coy about something and I don’t like it.”
“Sire,” Oliver said as he helped Petunia to her feet, “I’d like to marry Petunia.”
“Of course you would,” retorted King Gregor. “But not right now! We just got those two taken care of.” He pointed to the twins who were still trying to play Christian’s odd game. “And weddings are expensive!”
He and Dr. Kelling walked off, leaving Oliver standing, stunned, beside Petunia.
“You’ll have to get used to Papa,” she told him, dropping her knitting on the bench and taking his arm.
“Indeed I will,” he said faintly as they crossed the lawn.
“Does this mean I can finally go see how Lady Emily has redecorated the manor?” Petunia asked.
“I suppose so,” Oliver said.
“Perhaps we can go when my sisters aren’t around … just the two of us?”
“Yes, we should,” Oliver said with more enthusiasm this time.
“You should what?” Rose looked up at them from the dish of hothouse strawberries she was eating.
“Ask Galen what he’s knitting,” Petunia said.
“It’s a baby blanket,” Rose said.
“It’s round.” Petunia squinted at the thing her brother-in-law was holding. “It looks like a mushroom.”
“Wait and see,” Galen said.
“Is it for Lily’s baby?” Petunia asked.
“No,” Rose said, looking up from her strawberries with a broad smile. “It’s for mine.”
Petunia’s Fingerless Gloves
Materials:
1 skein medium-weight yarn
Size 8 (US) double-pointed needles
Instructions:
Cast on 40 stitches, dividing between three of the needles. Place marker at beginning of row and join for working in the round.
Knit in a 3×2 rib (knit 3, purl 2) for 1 inch.
Thumb: Bind off the first 6 stitches, continue working the row in pattern. On the next round, loosely cast on 6 stitches, continue working the row in pattern.
Work the 3×2 rib for 5 inches, or as long as desired. Bind off loosely in pattern, weave in ends.
Cast on the second glove immediately.
Rose’s Baby Blanket
Materials:
140 yards medium-weight cotton yarn (approximately)
1 skein novelty yarn such as pompom or faux fur
Size 10½ (US) double-pointed needles
Size 10½ circular needles in 16” and 32” lengths
Instructions:
On one double-pointed needle, cast on 4 stitches.
Row 1: (Knit 1, yarn over) repeat to end. You now have eight stitches. Divide them onto three of the double-pointed needles and join for working in the round.
Row 2: (Knit 2, place a marker) repeat to end.
Row 3: (Knit to marker, slip the marker, yarn over) repeat to end.
Row 4: Knit all stitches, carefully slipping markers.
Repeat rows 3 and 4, switching to circular needles as needed.
When you can no longer fit more stitches onto the 32″ needle, the blanket will be large enough. Switch to the novelty yarn and bind off all stitches. Weave in ends.
Acknowledgments
Great things come in threes, so as soon as I started working on Princess of Glass, I knew that I would need to write a third book about the Westfalian princesses or it just wouldn’t feel right. But in order to write Petunia’s story I was going to need some help, especially since I was expecting my third child during the initial writing stage and caring for a newborn during editing!
Help came, as it always does, in the shape of friends and family who loved, supported, and fed me (and my children!) while I was working. Thank you all so much! In particular, my stalwart husband cooked, cleaned, took the two older children on long car rides, and held the baby late into the night so that I could work. Our favorite babysitter spent hours playing “restaurant” and Indiana Jones (thanks, Miranda!), while
I hunched over my trusty laptop in the library. Thanks, too, to our local librarians, for providing me with a lovely place to work. (And, occasionally, nap.)
Special thanks to everybody at Bloomsbury for all their hard work and tireless cheerleading. Melanie Cecka, my beloved editor on seven previous books, gave advice and feedback in the early stages of this book. Michelle Nagler is due for some custom knitwear as thanks for leaping into the breach with me when it came time to edit. Tim Travaglini, he of the dapper bowties, got roped into the editing party as well, making this book truly a team effort.
But very special thanks go to Amy Jameson, my fantastic agent. Seven years ago I didn’t know what a literary agent did; now I couldn’t imagine the world without her. Her unflagging support, friendship, editorial feedback, and generally soothing presence make my books possible. And so, with great pleasure and the most sincere affection, I dedicate this book to her.
About the Author
Jessica Day George is the author of many books for young readers and teens, including Princess of the Midnight Ball, Princess of Glass, and Princess of the Silver Woods; Sun and Moon, Ice and Snow; Tuesdays at the Castle and the New York Times bestseller Wednesdays in the Tower; and the Dragon Slippers trilogy. Originally from Idaho, Jessica studied at Brigham Young University and worked as a librarian and bookseller before turning to writing full time. She now lives in Salt Lake City, Utah, with her husband and three children.
www.JessicaDayGeorge.com
Also by Jessica Day George
Dragon Slippers
Dragon Flight
Dragon Spear
Sun and Moon, Ice and Snow
Tuesdays at the Castle
Princess of the Midnight Ball
Princess of Glass
Princess of the Silver Woods Page 24