Letters to Zell (16 page)

Princess Briar R. Rose

Somnolent Tower Castle

South Road, Grimmland

Dearest Zell,

I’m sure you know by now that Bianca is inconsolable about her father, though it is certainly understandable in this case. Could he have known how much Bianca would love Outside? Or that she’d become the kind of person who’d spend the rest of her life searching for him? That is one laudable thing about our Bianca, no matter how vexing she can be: She never gives up.

I wish I could claim such tenacity. On my own battlefront, my efforts have once more proven useless. I’m trying to keep myself in good spirits, but it’s becoming increasingly difficult.

Last night, I marched into Henry’s bedroom with my new hairstyle and makeup and dressed in my new lingerie. I’d envisioned rendering him speechless. He’d drop whatever he was doing and stare, enraptured. Instead, he lowered the scroll he was puzzling over and said, “What are you supposed to be?”

“I’m your fantasy!” I spun around, nearly losing my balance on my new heels. To my credit, his mouth did hang a bit agape. “I’m just trying to become what you want.”

He began to laugh, harder than necessary. “Did you happen to bring a sandwich, then?”

I drew a hand across my eyes to catch the welling tears. My fingers came away black and sparkling.

“Come here,” he said. I tripped toward him, my heel sticking in the grout between the stones.

“You’re a good person, Rosie,” he said. “I appreciate the effort.”

“But?”

“Hey. Don’t cry, babe. I’m sorry that things aren’t exactly the way you want them to be with us.”

“Not as sorry as I am,” I said. I tried to make my way to the door, but I felt warm all of a sudden. And dizzy. I tottered over to a sturdy chair and sat down. “Is it so ridiculous that I need the attention of my husband? I want to start our family, Henry. You can settle down. Stop sowing your oats or whatever you’re doing. My father can start including you at court. You won’t have go on all those beastly hunts anymore. You can spend more time with my friends—”

“Rosie, wait.” He paused, taking a big slug of whatever was in his pewter mug. “I adore you, you know that, right? But we’re in two different places right now.”

“We’re both sitting here in this very room. You aren’t making sense.”

“Okay. How about this: I don’t want to debate social justice with William or design Rodent Roundabouts with Edmund. I
want
to be on hunts. I want to find the next big adventure. Rescue the princess. Slay the dragon. Outwit the ogre. That’s who I am. I don’t want to be in court, listening to old people debate property lines and knighting bears. I’m still young. So are you. Sort of.”

“But everyone grows up eventually, don’t they?” I asked.

He shrugged. “We rushed into things, Rosie. We don’t have much chemistry. Besides, you must want something other than . . . this.” He made a wide sweep of his hands. I looked around his room—a place as foreign to me as someone else’s castle.

“I’m not sure what you mean. This”—I mirrored his motion—“is exactly what I want. You are exactly what I want.”

“How can that be? I’m not ready for the kind of life you clearly want to live.”

“But when will you be ready? Don’t you want a baby?”

“Well, I don’t
not
want a baby.”

“Tell me what you mean.” I tried to look him in the eyes, but they were everywhere but on me. It was almost as if he were embarrassed.

“It means that I don’t know yet. And I don’t want to hurt you any more than I already have. Look, let’s just be honest with one another. Lots of Fairy Tale couples make their marriages work for their circumstances. Look at William and Bianca, they—”

“They aren’t even married yet!”

“That’s not the point. Listen, you don’t have to turn yourself into something you’re not for my sake,” he said, gesturing up and down at my new black lingerie. “Don’t get me wrong. You look great. But I know who you are, and it’s not . . . whatever this is.”

I snuggled up to him like Star did to Sabian in
The Cake and the Damned
. “I can be whoever you want me to be.”

He jumped up, moving away from me. “You’re creeping me out. Stop.”

I felt nauseated. “Why don’t you understand I’m willing to wait for you? I’m willing to change for you.”

“But
I
don’t even know what I want. Can’t you understand not knowing? Haven’t you ever not known, Rosie?”

“All I know is that I hate it when you call me Rosie.” I was overcome by sobs.

“I’ll get your nurse,” he said and left the room. I spent the night in his bed, covered in the furs of dead animals. I have no idea where he slept. I wish I didn’t care.

And now I’m supposed to go Outside with Bianca and CeCi. I can listen to them explain once more how stupid I’ve been, or I can pretend everything is just fine. There’s no preferable option except to go back to bed and pretend last night never happened at all. One thing is certain, Zell: I am a fool.

At least now I know what a long shot is.

Love,

Rory

I
mportant Fucking Correspondence from Snow B. White

Onyx Manor

West Road, Grimmland

Z,

I think and think and think and I decide the only person left who may be able to shed any light on my father’s decision is Valborg herself. The guards sedate her, so she was pretty out of it the last time I visited, but I might get lucky. I figure I have to at least try.

She’s kept under guard at my father’s old hunting retreat just a bit south of Grimmland, near Avalon. A place that’s sad and beautiful at the same time. It’s usually cool and drizzling, and sometimes fog comes and goes in little puffs. When it’s clear, the lake is so still you can see the reflection of the Big Rock Candy Mountains. Waterfowl fly over dead tree trunks in sharp silhouette.

It’s bright out when I arrive, but raining at the same time. Almost like the sun is crying. That’s how I’ve felt since I found out about my father. Clear yet bereft, angry but yearning, and all at once.

A guard shows me to a large, wooden door. They tell me no one has come to see Valborg in some time.

“Who was the last to visit?”

“Figueroa. She comes every couple of months.” Of course she does. There is nothing that snoopy fowl doesn’t meddle in.

Valborg’s cavern is huge, hewn from rough grey stone. There are a few muted rugs, a bed, and a couple of chairs, but the otherwise the room is empty. She’s dressed in darker grey, as cold as the stone around her, and she’s looking out at the sunlit rain without expression.

“The fairest of them all,” she says. She sounds like she’s been gargling gravel. “You’ve come for me.”

“Valborg.”

“Are you here to finally kill me?”

Is she relieved? She can’t be. “Haven’t they told you about the wedding?”

“They told me. But I was hoping you’d moved up the timetable.” Unmistakable disappointment lines her face.

“Figgy says the Pages are pretty specific on the timeline. Can’t screw with the Pages, you know.”

“So it seems.” She doesn’t smile. “I do wish someone could make time go faster, though.”

“I didn’t come to talk about that, anyway,” I say, pointing to the chairs.

She turns to face me fully, and I can’t stop myself from gasping. She looks a good two decades older than she did the last time I saw her. I wonder if that mirror did more than just
tell
her she was beautiful. Or if the suggestion itself could make up the stark change in her appearance.

“I’ll get to it then,” I say, not knowing what else to add. “I need to know when you last saw my father.”

“It was just after William found you and they arrested me. He came to see me, after all that time and all those letters. He came here.” She spreads her hands, then looks at them as if they’re revealing this information to her for the first time.

“Did he tell you that he was leaving? Where he was going?”

“As he was preparing to leave on one of his adventures, when you were only eight or nine, he told me I’d been a mistake. I didn’t know how to be a mistake. I only knew how to be a woman.”

“You don’t have to explain anything to me.” I turn my back on her. We obviously aren’t going to sit down, and I don’t want to hear this torrent of berserk.

“This may be my only chance for confession, Snow. Beautiful Snow. The fate that lies before me is a fair one. Never for a moment fool yourself into thinking I had no choice but to hurt you. I didn’t care that you had Pages or even what was in them. Not until everything was finished. I alone was responsible. I hurt you because I wanted to, because I could.”

“Does
why
matter anymore?”

“Maybe not to you.”

I don’t have anything to say to this.

She finally sits. “I bought the mirror after your father began to leave us for months at a time. You and I got on well enough then, for strangers. Your father’s trips grew longer and longer. On the rare occasions he did return, you were all he cared to see. He was all you cared to see. For a time, I sent you away and told him you were at boarding school or off with your friends. It wasn’t until later I sought a more permanent solution.”

“Why would you keep us apart?”

“I was lonely and I wanted his attention. I wanted your father to see me and only me, to realize
he’d
made the mistake. The mirror gave me advantages, and I reveled in them.”

“But you didn’t need them. Even if my father was a jackass.”

“The mirror was in my head day and night. It told me that I was not a mistake. It told me that I was beautiful and because I was beautiful, I was worthy. I was wanted. I was necessary. I had a purpose. Can you understand how it healed me? And how it destroyed me?”

“Yes,” I whisper. Purpose. Hope. A ladybug crawls across the chest-high balcony wall. Below, a single red rose blooms.

For a brief instant, I understand why CeCi let Lucinda stay. I don’t want to feel this way. I don’t want to care at all.

“The mirror healed me so fully that it became a second skin. When you awoke and it told me you were once more the fairest, I felt as if that skin was being torn from my body. When you destroyed the mirror, I was able to see myself again. My real self. Not only as a mistake but one who continued to perpetuate mistakes. I hurt you to punish your father for his absence. I hurt the Huntsman to get to you. I hurt you to hurt you. Now you will hurt me.”

“Stop with the pronouncements. Do you know where he is? My father. Did he say exactly where he was going?”

“He came to me because you had awakened. He blamed himself. Did you know that?”

She’s barely listening to me. I grind my teeth to keep from screaming. “I’ve heard. I know he’s Outside. I just want to know where.”

“The blame is mine alone.” She looks out into the distance, eyes dull.

I want to shake her, but instead just shake my hands at her. “Blame isn’t like a wishbone. It’s like the whole fucking chicken—there’s more than enough to go around.”

A brief smile passes over her face without stopping.

“I’m not talking about blame,” I say. “Did you ever travel Outside with him? Do you know where he would have gone?”

“Your father never stayed in one place long.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“If he went anywhere repeatedly, it would have been the place that’s a tribute to the Realm called
 . . .
”

“Disneyland?”

“Yes. That. He was going to help them.”

“He and Rory, eh?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Never mind.”

“He thought that he could pay tribute to his life here. The Humans thought he was just the sort of creative mind they needed. They were going to send him around their world with his colorful ideas. They thought he was some sort of artist.”

“He loved Humans that much?”

“He loved you that much.”

“Funny way to show it.” I want a drink, though whether it’s to dull my senses or smash against the wall, I’m not sure.

“It was a way to maintain a connection with you and still give himself the punishment he thought he deserved.”

“But he’ll die.”

“We’ll all die one day, Snow. Some of us simply do it sooner than others.”

“I can promise you won’t feel any pain. I have a plan.”

“Ah,
now
you’re willing to talk about that, are you? You can’t promise such a thing. No one can. I’m ready. You should be, too.”

I take her hands. “We can end with joy. One last dance. It will be painless. What do you say?”

“I gave up my say long ago.”

“Whatever. Fuck it.” I let go with an involuntary shudder. “If this is how you want it to be. Riddles and vagaries. I’m sorry for how he made you feel. The rest, well
 . . .
”

“That is not your apology to make.” She turns away from me, her attention returning to the mist. “It was good of you to come.”

I can’t see the ladybug anymore. I can’t see the rose anymore, either. Everything looks grey. I feel grey.

Isn’t it wonderful to get news from me? Don’t you miss us? Just another beautiful day, just another perfect once upon a time.

B

F
rom the Desk of Cecilia Cinder Charming

Crystal Palace

North Road, Grimmland

Dear Zell,

No one was very happy when we met at Rory’s on makeover morning. We stumbled up the tower steps glowering at our feet until Bianca looked up and threw her arms out to stop us. “Wait a minute. What happened to your new look?” She gave Rory a once-over.

“It wasn’t what he wanted.”

“No shit.” I think Bianca meant to say it to herself in defense of Rory. But it didn’t come out that way.

“You’re not helping,” I said. I took Rory by the shoulders. “What happened?”

“He’s repulsed by me.” She pulled away and stomped a few more steps past Bianca. “What did you expect?”

“Well, he’s repulsive. So everybody wins,” Bianca said.

“Still not helping,” I sang. Bianca held up her palms and dropped back a step, tripping over Snoozer’s leash.

“You’re beautiful, Rory,” I said. “Outside and inside. So what if Henry wants something else? Maybe it’s better that you find something—someone—who makes
you
happy.”

Snoozer twisted his leash around Bianca’s legs, and she let out a string of curses. “Just give me the damned leash.” Rory stopped and shoved the lead into her hand.

“I don’t know what will make me happy. I’ve spent my whole life trying to want
this
. And you’re not helping. Either of you.”

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll stop. We’ll stop.”

At the top of the steps, Snoozer began to growl, hackles raised, and we all slowed. My stomach squirmed but I couldn’t see Bianca’s face to see if she’d noticed. Rory was too busy being huffy to identify anything out of the ordinary, but I smelled Maro’s lavender perfume, though she was nowhere in sight.

I cursed Rory’s hospitality. There was no telling how many times Maro had accessed the open room or why. At least we’d hidden the clock bracelets well—until Bianca pulled them from behind the loose brick in the wall.

I tried to make eye contact with Bianca, but she was oblivious. There was no way to turn us around without explaining to Rory.

I set my knives on the tea table and made a quick pass around the small room. Maro was either very well hidden or had very recently vacated the space.

“Chop-chop, Your Royal Chefness,” Bianca said, tossing a clock bracelet in my direction. “What’s the holdup?” She herded Rory and Snoozer through the portal with a little shove. I took one last look around the room and followed them into the darkened tunnel.

“What were you looking at?” asked Rory.

“I thought I saw a mouse, is all. Oh, my knives! I’ll be right back. Wait for me on the other side.” I spun and trotted back through the portal.

When I stepped back into the tower, Maro was standing on the other side of the portal, jaw hanging open. She let out a little squeak of surprise; her throat and chest were blotched with a red latticework of guilt.

“I thought I smelled you, Maro. What are you doing up here?”

“CeCi! My goodness, it’s been ages!” she said, recovering her composure.

“Not long enough, I’m afraid.”

She tittered like a small and stupid bird. “This must be how you get back and forth to your classes, how clever!”

“Were you . . . spying?”

She laughed again, waving her hand dismissively. “I forgot what a ham you are. Didn’t Rory mention I’m staying here? You should have seen the tarantulas at the Inn. Poor Muffet! Rory’s been such a doll to let me stay. We have tea up here all the time, and the view is just to die for so I thought I’d—”

“Muffet was finished fumigating the Inn weeks ago.” I could feel my hatred coming off my skin like sunburn, but she either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

“What?” asked Maro. “Oh well, maybe I’m confused.”

“No,” I said. “I’m sure you know exactly what’s going on. I’ll repeat myself one more time.
Why are you here?
”

“Well, Rory was telling me about the new clock and I just wanted to see it for myself. It’s, uh, something. Certainly a work of . . . art.” She gestured to the portal. “But I don’t want to keep you from your business Outside. Perhaps sometime you’ll give me a tour. I’ve never been, you know.”

“You can’t be serious,” I said. “I wouldn’t give you a clock bracelet if
 . . .
”

Henry rounded the corner from the staircase. He froze, taking in the scene: me, Maro, the portal, the rest of the empty room. He closed his eyes and sighed.

“Shit,” he said.

“You were this close,” I said, pinching my finger and thumb together. I was tempted to push both of them down the steps. “Poor form, Henry, poor form.”

“She said she didn’t come up here anymore. We thought for a change in scenery we’d—”

“I can’t even tell you how much I don’t want to hear the end of that sentence.” Blood thumped in my ears. I tried to tamp down the anger in my voice. “If you knew anything about her, you’d know this tower is special, private. She only comes up here when it’s important.”

“I had no idea,” Maro said, lying through the giant space in her front teeth.

“Just save it, Maro, your story has changed three times since you started talking. I can’t believe the two of you. If you insist on breaking her heart, do it somewhere else.”

“You’re not going to tell her, are you?” Henry studied the clock, then the floor.

“Who cares?” Maro’s voice dropped an octave.

“That’s more like it,” I said. “Let’s see your true colors.”

She managed a lopsided sneer, accentuated by her over-rouged lips. “You and Bianca never liked me, anyway.”

“It was Rory who knew what you really were. We told her to give you a chance, and look where that got us. Unbelievable. In her own castle!” I shook my head.

“But you aren’t going to tell her, right?” Henry asked again. Honestly. I’ve met pond scum with more integrity.

I walked up to him and shoved my finger in his barrel chest. “No. You are. And you’re going to do it soon. I’m not lying to her anymore.”

“So what?” Maro crossed her arms and looked at him. “Tell her. Don’t tell her. What’s the difference?”

“Maro, stop,” he said. He looked almost genuinely pained. His face was easier to read than Bianca’s
Cosmo
. He evidently had not informed Maro of the balance of monetary power set forth in their pre-marriage bargaining.

I couldn’t contain a grin. “Actually, Maro, Henry has quite a bit to lose. Reputation. Money. Title. This castle.”

“Whatever do you mean?” asked Maro. “It’s already his.”

“It’s complicated,” Henry said, putting his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “My ownership of Rory’s, rather, my kingship, my claim
 . . .
There’s no heir.”

“Oh, it gets better,” I said. “Rory’s parents wanted to see her get married—a day she’d been waiting for over a hundred long years—but old Henry here’s parents got a little greedy, wanting everything to be handed down to the couple immediately. As a compromise, Rory’s parents left everything to Henry’s heir. They were still overly trusting of the lecherous jerk. But it all worked out in the end, since he’s shooting blanks.”

Maro paused, seemingly unsure which of us to be angrier with. Then she turned to me. “Don’t forget that I can tell everyone about your little cooking excursions. I have leverage, you know.”

All of her bluster reminded me of Lucinda. Even I was surprised by the laugh that erupted from my throat. So what if the kingdom thinks I’m common? So what if they talk? I’d rather Edmund knew the truth and have the big, inevitable fight than let this festering ambivalence ruin our relationship. It felt good to throw her words back in her face. “Tell them. Don’t tell them. What’s the difference?”

“The difference is that everyone will know that you’re nothing and you’ll always be nothing,” Maro said. “Once a filthy little cinder girl, always a filthy little cinder girl.”

“Maro,” Henry said, looking at the floor. “Don’t. Let’s go.”

“The thing is, Maro, I may be nothing. I may be a tiny, little mention for the
Tattler
,” I said, taking a step toward her. “Or even a great big scandal. But you will suffer actual repercussions if you tear Rory’s kingdom apart. You’d better clear the hell out of her life. Or next time I’ll let Bianca handle you.”

Maro let out a
hmph
and began to clomp down the stairs, Henry blustering after her. I picked up my knives and trotted back through the portal, emerging into blinding sunlight.

“Fuck’s sake, CeCi. You’re slower than molasses. Some of us have shit to do, you know.” Bianca was sprawled out on the grass next to Snoozer.

In my head, I apologized, but all that came out of my mouth was “Rory, did you tell anyone about our new clock? Henry? Or anyone? Maro? Accidentally, even?”

“No. I don’t think so. I can’t remember. Why?”

“I just
 . . 
. I don’t know. I guess I was curious. That’s all.”

Bianca raised her eyebrows at me. I shook my head and mouthed, “Later.”

By the time we found a taxi and made it to the school, I was five minutes late for class. We grudgingly agreed on a meeting place for afterward and I left Bianca and Rory rolling their eyes at one another, the dog panting between them.

It was hard to focus during my classes. I answered everything wrong. I wrecked a batch of bread. I scorched the roux.

“There’s a special place in hell for people who burn the roux,” Phil said to me.

“Says who?” I asked.

“A very wise man,” he said.

“Why does everything always go to hell at once?”

He twirled me in a circle and said, “C’est la vie.” Then we were reprimanded for unsafe kitchen practices.

Have I told you that Phil has a drawing of a whisk on his forearm? I asked him if he had to wash it off every night, and he asked my favorite question: if I’m “for real.” If only I could tell him about the epic irony of his question. I desperately wanted to tell him no, but I focused on looking mildly offended instead.

He explained his
tattoos
were permanent and that I should get one shaped like a question mark on account of my inquisitiveness. He’s a charmer, that Phil. I’m going to have to introduce him to Bianca. I think they’ll be the best of friends.

Love,

CeCi