A Kiss in Time (24 page)

Shut up, I say. Thats not it, Dad says. What is it then? Dad thinks a minute. I want to
see this Euphrasia.

Besides, if its really like you say, with witches and curses and kidnappings, it could be
dangerous. If this Malvolia has really been plotting against Talia for three hundred
years, shes not going to give up easily.

Wow. He actually listened and believed me.

Okay. Then I guess we should get going.

And thats how I end up spending the next twenty-four hours alone with my dad, flying to
Brussels and then driv- ing to Euphrasia.

C
aught! I feel Malvolias icy fingers upon my bare arm. Going somewhere? she says.

Merely home. I thank you kindly for bringing me this far.

I am afraid not. With her claw, she draws me around, then into the room.

What interesting . . . attire, she says, her black eyes scanning my pajamas. You cannot go
home like this. It is hardly what one would expect of a princess.

Are you going to torture me? Chain me to the wall? Then I realize I may merely be giving
her ideas which she had not yet considered. So I am quiet.

Nay, Princess. You have done me no harm. Then you will allow me to leave? She shakes her head. It is upon your father I seek revenge. You are merely a pawn.

I, who have studied the game of chess, know that it is no good thing to be a pawn. Pawns
are eliminated quickly while kings and queens stay to fight the battle.

So you plan to . . . kill me? But surely this is not neces- sary. My father adores me, and
he will pay whatever you wish for my safe return.

Whatever I wish? Malvolia looks into space, con- sidering. What I wish is to see your
father miserable and heartbroken, as he has made me.

She leads me to a table set up for sewing. Cuts of fabric lie all around, and I realize
they are meant to be parts of a dress, a dress the exact shade of my eyes. The gown is
unfinished, panels unsewn, buttons lying beside it on the table.

We will create a beautiful dress for you, Princess. That is what is important to you, nay?
To have the most beautiful dress? Now you shall sew it yourself. And then I will deliver
it to your father, wrapped around your dead body.

My dead body! Revenge is not a pretty thing, Princess. She means not only to kill me, but
first to use me to sew my own shroud. I look into the old womans black eyes, and I see something I have never
seen before: hatred. This is what Father and Mother sheltered me from, protected me from.

I realize, too late, that Father and Mother were right. They were right, and I shall never be able to tell them. I shall never see nor speak to
them again.

Out the window are the verdant Euphrasian hills. I shall never go home.

No. This is impossible! It is impossible that I should live three hundred years only to
die in this manner. Perhaps it was my destiny for my life to end like this, but must I
accept this fate?

Was it not enough to make me sleep three hundred years? I ask. Can you not consider
yourself avenged and let me go?

Come now, Princess. Malvolias voice is like the rocks under carriage wheels. It is time to
sew your lovely dress.

Why should I sew? I want to ask her. Why should I, a princess destined to become queen,
sew a gown for myself only so I can be killed?

But then I look at the dress. It is pieces, only pieces, which would take days, maybe a
week, for even a skilled seamstress to sew. I have never sewn anything in my life, and if
my skill at painting is any indication, my hands are lacking in dexterity. It will take a
long timelong enough for someone to rescue me?

Jack. I dare not hope that Jack . . . and yet, I told him the exact location of Malvolias
cottage. Of course, he thought me daft at the time, but now perhaps he will remember.
Perhaps he will come here in time to rescue me before Malvolia . . .

Time to sew, the witch repeats. I do not know how to sew, I say, sweet as pie to this old lady who would murder me. You
will need to teach me.

I fully intend to.

But please . . . I remember the story of Scheherazade in Arabian Nights (which Lady Brooke
tried to prevent my reading), who put off her death night after night by daw- dling at her
storytelling until her captor changed his mind. Might I have breakfast first? I will sew
better on a full stomach.

The old womans eyes appraise me, attempting to catch a lie. But finally she says, You do
look thin, Your High- ness. I will fix you breakfast. You may set the table.

I glance out the window again. There is no one in the distance, no chance of rescue.

No chance but Jack.

A
fter we book the plane tickets, I call Travis and ask him to tell Talias dad to look on
the highest hill in Euphrasia, where Talia and Lady Brooke used to go for pic- nics. He
says hell tell them.

But . . . I say. What? Be careful, okay, when you go there. Talia was really scared of this Malvolia chick. She could be dangerous. Whats she going to havean assault
weapon? Worse, I say. Shes got magical powers. In all the activity, I try not to think
about the fact that Talias gone, that I might never see her again, that she might even be dead, and that if Id
just listened to her in the first place, I might have been able to prevent it.

But I have lots of time to think about that on the airplane. I wonder how many times in my life I would have been able to prevent something, change
something, do some- thing different, if only Id listened to someone. I dont know, but when
this is over, Im going to try and listen a lot more.

I spend about three hours sitting in the plane seat (one good thing about going with Dadhe
sprung for first class), listening to my iPod and contemplating life. Thats a lot of
contemplating for me, but I cant sleep. Im too worried about Talia. I wish I could use my
phone and call Travis. I wonder if it really would interfere with the planes signal.
Still, it would suck if the plane crashed, and if Travis is back in Euphrasia, his phone
wont work, anyway.

Dads been sitting doing work, paying zero attention to me, which is what Im used to,
anyway. So I take out my garden design and start working on that. But even then I cant
concentrate, because when I try to decide what kind of flowers would grow around the trees
in front of the castle, that gets me thinking about Euphrasia and that hill. Where is it?
And is Talia really there?

Dad taps my shoulder. Whats that youre working on?

Huh? Instinctively, I cover the design with the sleeve of my hoodie.

That. He points. What is it?

Oh. I try to look casual. Homework. Math. This is the best way to get rid of parents, Ive
found. They dont want to get stuck helping with math. In the summer? Stupid. Im trying to get ahead. He
should like that. He nods. It doesnt look like math. It looked like a design of some sort. Geometry. They make us do maps and plans. I took geometry in ninth
grade, but I doubt Dad will remember that. I thought you took geometry in ninth grade. Nabbed. Yeah, but next year Im
taking trig, and thats got a lot of geometry in it, so you have to remember You took trig last year, Dad says.
Never mind. He goes back to his work. I try to go back to mine, but now I feel bad about Talia and sort of bad about blowing Dad off. I just figured hed think it was stupid. In fact, I
know he will. He already said gardening was stupid. But, on the other hand, I do com-
plain a lot about Dad blowing me off. And he did seem happy when Id said I was waiting for
his advice. And I am surprised that he knows so much about what classes Ive taken.

I start to turn the paper toward him, to show him, then change my mind. I cant take the
chance of him say- ing its stupid. Hes finally starting to believe me about stuff, to
treat me like Im not just some dumb slacker. But if I start talking about gardening again,
I could ruin it all. I keep working on it until they turn off the lights. I could turn on my overhead light,
but I decide I should at least try to sleep so Ill be rested for tomorrow.

I wonder what Talias doing right now.

T
he old lady fixes me breakfast. I wonder, at first, if I should eat it, but then I realize
that if she wished to kill me now, she need not poison me. Indeed, she might easily have
killed me already.

After breakfast, I dawdle about, clearing the dishes, looking out the window at the
chestnut tree. Would that I could climb it, be free once more. Malvolia reproaches me. I
should have known not to expect much work from you.

Considering that she intends to kill me, this seems only reasonable. But I finish the
dishes, and then Malvolia begins the chore of teaching me to sew.

Breakfast was a silent meal, but afterward, as we are sit- ting together at the table, it
occurs to me that I should use the diplomacy skills that were the work of years. After all, perhaps if I talk to her, she will begin to like me, rather than see me merely as a
spoiled extension of my hated father. Then she may be less likely to kill me. At least, it
is worth a try.

You sew extremely well, I say as she shows me how to fit the pieces together.

I am not sewing, Princess. You are.

No, but I meant the dresses you made for me that day. Perhaps you do not remember it, for
it was three hundred years ago, but they were the loveliest I had ever seen. Were they
made with magic?

She shakes her head. Nay. Magic can sew a dress, but it cannot design one. To make a
beautiful gown, one needs skill, not merely arts. There is an unmistakable hint of pride
in her voice.

Well, you certainly have skill. I have managed to thread the needle and am now attempting
to make a knot in the thread. I have none.

I was a seamstress by trade, before your father destroyed me.

My father?

Oh, drat! The old woman looks past me to the win- dow. How have they found me?

I turn, looking for what she is talking about. At first, I see nothing. Then, far off in
the distance, I spy a man on horseback, then another. I recognize the shape of the larger
one. It is Pleasant, one of the castle guards, the drunkard who watched Jack that night in
the dungeon. They ride toward the cottage. I am saved! I am saved! They are coming for me! I cry. Silence! And
then, when I try to cry out again, I find that I can-

not. My mouth will make no sound. And sit still. As soon as she says it, I cannot move.

Much better. I do not know how they have found me. My location has been secret since
before your birth. But they shall not thwart me.

I know how they found out. Jack! Jack believed me, and he rememberedthe highest hill in
Euphrasia. Jack has contacted my father somehow. They are coming for me.

But they will not find me, for the old woman is now, with surprising strength for one over
five hundred years old, dragging my stiff body across the room. She kicks aside a rag rug,
and I see a trapdoor under it. She opens the door, and proceeds to pull me down the cellar
stairs. The staircase is long and steep, and I fear there may be rats at the end of it. I
suppose I should be happy that Malvolia at least drags me by the arms, lest my head bump
against each step. But this is small comfort when rescue is so close.

Finally, we reach the bottom of the stairs. It is pitch- black, and Malvolia drags me to
the corner, throwing a blanket atop my unmoving form.

Rest, Princess, she says.

Her footsteps move away, but I cannot see her. I can see the smallest bit through a hole
in the blanket, and only when she reaches the top do I spy her face. She has changed into someone else, not Malvolia, not the old thing who displayed the dresses at the castle
that day, either, but an entirely different old lady, a sweet and kindly looking one, one
I have never seen before.

She shuts the trapdoor, and I am left in darkness.

I hear Malvolia walking around upstairs, maybe pulling the rug over the trapdoor or,
perhaps, even enchanting the door itself. Then there is silence and blackness and noth-
ing. I struggle to move, struggle to speak, but there is no way. Finally, I stop. Will I
stay this way forever? Will she remove the spell after they leave? And what does it
matter, if she intends to kill me, anyway?

Upstairs, I hear the two men enter.

We have to search the house. I recognize the voice of Pleasant.

Oh, me! A high-pitched old ladys voice. Must ye? I am afraid I have not cleaned too well.

Kings orders, another voicemy fathers guard, Cuthbert, who is not renowned for his
witsays. We shant be a minute, maam.

Ah, me. Can I get ye a cup of tea, gentlemen? No, maam. We will just look around. I hear
the two clumsy oafs walking about, overturning things, and all I can do is hopejust hopethat they will see the trapdoor.

What is this about, then? Malvolia asks. The kings daughter, Cuthbert says. The pretty one
with the curse on her? How is she? Shes disappeared, maam. The king believes it was the doing of the witch Malvolia.

Malvolia laughs. Do I look like the witch Malvolia, then? Were I a witch, I would be able
to free meself from this rheumatism.

Cuthbert laughs, too. Kings orders. Is there a cellar here?

Nay. Tis only a small cottage, and I can barely keep that.

We must have a look around, nonetheless. The king requires it.

I hear them walking toward the door. I am saved! I am savedalthough possibly a mute
paralytic for the rest of my life.

Ye look parched, Malvolia says. Would ye not care for a wee bit of port?

We should not, says Cuthbert, who is clearly the con- science keeper of the two.

Should not, my arse, Pleasant says. Twas a long ride and a hot dayand a fools errand if ye
ask me. There is nothing here.

Indeed, Malvolia says. Nothing but an old lady offering a nice bit of port. Please join
me, for I hate to drink alone.

Somethinga fly or even worsecrawls onto my cheek under the blanket. I wish to scream, to
flail, but I can do nothing. It is as if I am already dead, and maggots are munching upon
my face. Aye, we should have some, Pleasant goes on. There is naught to drink at the castle.