A Kiss in Time (26 page)

Tears fill her eyes, and I know what is coming, know why my brother was never spoken of by my parents. I expected to see the baby sleeping
peacefully. Instead,

I saw an infant, blue and still. Dead. The fabric slips from my lap to the floor. I tried
mightily to revive him, shaking him, even slap-

ping his little cheeks. Then, failing this, I tried magic. It was then that Lady Brooke
entered the nursery. Seeing the baby dead, and me standing over him reciting incantations,
and perhaps fearing repercussions for leaving her post, she began to scream. She screamed
so loudly that everyone came, and when they did come, she concocted a story of how I had
put a spell on her to remove her from the room, the better to suffocate the baby.

All who came believed her, for I was a solitary being, not well liked by the others. And
soon, the king heard tell of it, and in his grief, he had me removed from the castle. He
wished to kill me, but I was too clever, with knowledge from my hundreds of years of
existence. I outwitted him. I slipped into my realm, and later I disguised myself so that
he could not find me. Still, he declared that, evermore, I should be known as a witch and
not a fairy, and I was ostra- cized by one and all.

But it was not your fault! I say.

Nay. I loved the babe. It would have been my pride and joy to see a prince wearing a dress
of my creation. But no one would listen to me, and I felt lucky to escape with my life.
From that moment on, I was ostracized as a child killer. It was not fair. It was not fair. I remember my fear at Fathers anger. I touch her black- clad shoulder. No. It was not fair.

But I will make it fair, she says. I was accused of kill- ing one of King Louiss children,
when I had not done so. If I kill the other, twill be the perfect revenge.

I look away, eyes filling with tears. She will kill me. It is all over. But I cannot let
that happen. I swallow my tears and turn to her. Good fairy, I am sorry for your misfor-
tune. My father was, indeed, wrong to accuse you in such a way. It was cruel.

The old woman nods. Aye, it was. And it is for that reason that I must seek justice.

But killing me for my fathers cruelty is not justice. Can you not see that? I allow the
tears to run down my cheeks and implore her. I am not my father. To kill me would be just
as great an injustice as was done to you. Please do not do this.

I wait for her response. She starts to speak, then stops and looks down. Finally, after a
long while, she says, You had best return to your sewing.

I do, wishing that I might have a quantity of seed pearls to sew on, to prolong the job.
But, of course, I do not ask. It is no use. It is no use.

W
e get into Euphrasia at high noon, with Dad wearing dress shoes and carrying a briefcase
and a laptop. The hedge is a lot smaller, so its easier to push through. But I see Dads
eyes get big when he sees the place. It looks even more like Colonial Williamsburg than
before. Now there are a bunch of people in old-fashioned clothes doing old-fashioned
things like watering horses. The plants are still dead and the paint is still faded, but
the people are alive.

I didnt believe you, Dad says. I thought I was indulg- ing you.

I know. Its amazing. All this . . . for three hundred years. We walk farther until we come
to the castle. My dads trying to check his BlackBerry when I hear a voice cry, There he is! And another. Seize him!

And soon, two meaty hands are clenched around my neck while another guy grabs my arms.

Hey! my dad yells. Hey! Whats going on here?

This is the villain who has taken my daughter, the king says. Tell me where she is.

Here we go again. I dont have her. Please! I came to help you look for her.

We already went to the cottage on the highest hill. She was not there.

You went already? You know, its kind of hard to talk with this gorilla holding my neck.
Any chance he could not do that?

The king gestures to the guard to let go of me, which he doesslowly.

I say, Did you go to Malvolias cottage yourself?

Of course not. I cannot climb hills. I have henchmen to do that for me.

I look at the henchman. Hey, arent you the same guy who was guarding the dungeon the day I
escaped?

The guy nods sheepishly.

You did a great job then. Is it possible you missed something when you went to the cottage?

Nay. Cuthbert here was with me, and hell tell you there was naught in that cottage. Right,
Cuthbert?

They exchange a look. Right.

And you searched the whole cottage, Pleasant? the king asks. Pleasant?

Yes, sire, Pleasant says. From top to bottom? Aye, the smaller one, Cuthbert, says. Even
the cellar? the king asks. Nay, there was no cellar, Pleasant says. But we looked in all the closets. They looked, the king says. And now there are more men out, visiting every house in Euphrasia. I will leave no stone unturned in the quest
for my daughter.

Then let me go, too. I want to look for Talia. You could send these guys with me.

The two guards dont seem too happy about the idea of going out again, but they cant
exactly say that, so they just grunt.

The king looks at me and Travis, obviously seeing two able-bodied guys who can help look
for his daughter, and says, Very well. If there is anything you can do, I will not stop
you. I only want to see Talia again. I said . . . He looks away. I said horrible things to
her. I do not want to go on living if I cannot set them right. And you . . . He glances at
Dad. You will stay with me, as assurance that they will return.

And so Travis, Cuthbert, Pleasant, and I go to look for Talia.

T
he bodice is finished, and Malvolias design for the skirt is quite plain. It will be short
work. My life may end tomorrow, or tonight. I gaze out the window at the night sky, at the
stars which are brighter in Euphrasia than any- where with electric lights. I try to sew
slowly. A tear falls from my eye. I use the strip of silk which I have secreted in my
waistband to wipe it away. It is hard to believe I once so wanted a dress like this. Now I
shall have it, but at what cost?

Keep working, Malvolia says.

I sigh, then return the fabric to the waistline of my pants against future tears. I begin
to sew the skirt, using even more minuscule stitches.

I have decided something, Malvolia says after a time. What is that? I say, although I dare
not hope she has decided to let me go. I have decided not to kill you. Tis not your fault that your father was unjust to me, any more than Baby Georges death was my fault. Twould be
wrong for me to kill you. So I may go? I almost drop my needle from joy.

Thank you! No. It will not do to let you go. But I will give you a chance at life. A chance?

You almost fulfilled the terms of my curse. You slept three hundred years, and you were
awakened by a kiss. But I am less certain than you that twas loves first kiss. After all,
the young man did not wish to marry you.

People do not marry at sixteen in the twenty-first century.

Ah, that is true indeed, Malvolia says. In this cen- tury, everyone thinks they are going
to be something called a rock star. But it does make it harder to say, They lived happily
ever after. So I have decided on a test.

A test?

Aye. I will finish this dress, for you are the slowest seamstress I have ever encountered.

I went slowly on purpose, so you would not kill me!

. . . and after I have finished it, you shall wear it, and I shall prick your finger with
a spindle.

Again? I am not pleased with this turn of events.

Again. You will fall asleep, and I will place an enchant- ment upon you that will surpass
Flavias sickly spell. You will wake only if kissed by a young man who is truly your love, truly your destiny, one
who would walk miles and face torturous tests to find you. If he does, you shall be free.

But . . . but the castle guards were already here. You told them I was not within. How
will he even find me?

I said it was a difficult test. True love would look a second time. True love would not be
thwarted. True love would not accept no for an answer. He would search the world and
certainly look again and again in every cottage in Euphrasia until he finds you.

And if he does not? Then you shall sleep forever. A second tear falls upon the green
skirt. I love Jack. I do. But to rely upon his diligence seems rather a tall order. Stop crying on that dress,
Malvolia barks. Twill stain. Then she takes it from me and begins to sew. I sit dumbly a moment, crying, looking
at the tree just outside the window. It is a windy day. I go to pull the streamer of fabric from my
waistband to dry my tears. I stop.

Excuse me, I say. What now? the old woman mutters. I wonder if I might perhaps go outside.
The old woman laughs. And escape? Tis not likely.

She continues her sewing. But I thought . . . I feel the lump of fabric at my waist.

I mean, I know you are a powerful fairy. Surely, there is some spell you could perform to prevent my escaping. It is merely that I wanted to breathe
the fresh Euphrasian air before you put me to sleep again. It may be my last chance.

Malvolia chuckles. Not too confident in your beloved, then?

I shrug. I am. But you have set a difficult task for him.

She thinks upon it a moment. Very well. I suppose there is no harm in it. But if you
venture beyond that stand of pines, twill be the last thing you do.

I nod, looking at the chestnut tree, which is closer. I only wish to feel the wind in my
lungs.

Then, before she can protest further, I stand and walk toward the door, hoping she will
not see the bulge from the streamer of fabric in my waistband.

I
ve been to more cottages than I ever wanted to see in my life. Weird thing about being in
a place with no mass communicationwhere I come from, if a celebrity gets photographed
getting into a car with no underwear, every- one in the world knows about it in fifteen
minutes. But here, people dont know really basic stuff like:

1. The princess is missing; 2. Theyve been asleep for three hundred years; 3. Its now the
twenty-first century. So we have to keep explaining it to them over and over.

We must have walked twenty miles. The sun is setting, and theres no sign of Talia.

The road sort of dead-ends into a hill.

We should go back, Pleasant says. We can look more tomorrow. We can look more today, I say.

Nay, Cuthbert says. There are no houses near here. Twill take us an hour to reach one.

What about that one? Travis points to a lone cottage at the top of the hill.

We were already there. That was the first one we looked in, Pleasant says.

Thats the cottage on the highest hill? I say. I feel a chill wind whip across my chest.

Aye. We had to climb all that way on a fools errand.

I stare up at the cottage. Everything around it looks overgrown, even more overgrown than
the rest of Euphrasia. My feet hurt, and I want to stop walking as much as the next guy.
Maybe Talia was wrong about the cottage. After all, it was just a dream she had. Maybe
shes not even in Euphrasia. Maybe Ill never see her again.

Okay. I start to walk away, trying not to think too hard about what walking away means,
that Im giving up. No, Im not giving up. Well look more tomorrow. I glance back at the
cottage one last time. The trees are blowing back and forth, almost like a hurricane.

Something catches my eye, something in the tall chest- nut tree not far from the cottage
door.

I nudge Travis. Do you see that? What? Look, I say, in that big tree. I remember Talias
description of the old lady with the roomful of green dresses. There was a lady, an old woman.
334 It was she who brought the green dresses.

The color of her eyes. Finally, Travis looks. Do you see it? I say. He nods. But that
doesnt mean . . . Its just a ratty old piece of . . . It means something. We have to go up there.

M
alvolia sews with alarming speed. But after all, she is a fairyor a witch, depending upon
whom you ask. Within two hours, the skirt is finished and attached to the bodice.

Put it on, she says.

Must I? But I do not say it, for I know I must. I know Malvolia believes she is doing me a
favor by not killing me, a favor in the name of true love, so to doubt that Jack will come
for me would be to say that our love is not strong enough to warrant the chance she is
giving me.

It is strong enough. My doubt is founded merely upon Jacks immaturity. I know Jack loves
me, but he is young and not always serious, prone to mistakes. In his own words, a
screwup. So while I know down to my fingertips that he loves me, I am not so confident in his ability to thwart Malvolia . . . or my
father.

And still, because I cannot say this, I try on the dress.

It is beautiful. If I must sleep another three hundred years, at least I shall be a vision
of loveliness.

Thank you, I say, for giving me this chance. You do not wish it, I can tell. That is not
true. I am very grateful to you. Ifwhen my beloved wakes me, I will speak to my father about you, to persuade him to forgive you.

That is kind. I know you fear your young man will not find you. But if he loves you, he
will.

I nod.

And who would not love you, Princess? Even I, mad for revenge could not bring myself to
kill you. You are well past the insolent brat I met three hundred years ago. You think of
others besides yourself: your parents, Jack, even me.

I nod again.

And now, my dear, I must ask you to lie down. She leads me to my little feather bed in the
corner. I glance out the window at the chestnut tree.

What will you do to me? I say. Will it hurt?

Nay. She looks off as if to something in the distance. It will be just like last time you
slept, only this time I sus- pect it will not be for three hundred years. Now, we must
make haste. At that, she pulls a spindle from behind her back. Make a wish. Her voice is hypnotic.
Then touch the spindle.