Letters to Zell (21 page)

I
mportant Fucking Correspondence from Snow B. White

Onyx Manor

West Road, Grimmland

Z,

The morning of the wedding is a blur. CeCi and Rory pull on their admittedly gorgeous lilac dresses and fuss with my hair and makeup. I catch CeCi pouting, and Rory still isn’t saying much to either of us.

“I thought all your problems were over, CeCi. What’s the matter now?” I ask.

“Well, how am I supposed to feel, Bianca? There’s kind of a lot going on.”

“For example?”

“Fine, Bridezilla, I don’t want to say good-bye to you. Happy?”

“Oh, CeCi. Let’s worry about later later. I won’t be leaving until the portal is fixed, anyway.”

“Maybe we should leave it broken,” she sniffs.

“That’s a stupid thing to say. Have you been drinking tea with Figgy or something?”

“I’m going to miss you. Is that so wrong?” I roll my eyes at her, but she still isn’t finished. “Everyone leaves,” she says. I fight the urge to slap her again.

Rory gives CeCi a wounded look. She’s been so quiet lately, it’s refreshing to see her react to something—anything. “Not
everyone
leaves, Cecilia.”

CeCi blinks at her. “Oh, Rory. You know that’s not what I meant.”

I interrupt. “This is
my
wedding day. For crying out loud, CeCi, it’s not fucking always about you.” I’m not being terribly fair. All three of us have been inexcusably self-absorbed lately.

CeCi wraps her arms around herself as if she’s been hit in the stomach by a flying carpet. She drops down on the chaise, a puddle of lavender. “Why does everyone keep saying that? Am I really that selfish?”

“Right this second, you are. What are you doing? Get up.” I should apologize, but I can’t for some reason. “You can’t quit in the middle of bridal cosmetology. Wedding bells. ‘Get me to the church on time.’ Vamoose. Chop-chop.”

Rory shakes her head at CeCi and assumes the task of adjusting of my headpiece—an infernal creation that seems to need a magical sort of glue to adhere to my head. I try to stay still as I pour champagne for each of us, but I’m likely making Rory’s job even more difficult.

“Let’s celebrate today, ladies. Okay? Let’s be together right now, just us, and, for once, not worry about tomorrow.” They lift their glasses and we toast to conquering my monster veil. “To the first day of the rest of our lives.”

Out in the hall, guests finish their chicken or trout or lamb and polish off their luncheon wine. (Can you believe Humans don’t feed their guests until after the ceremony? Cruel and unusual.) I step out into the hallway to signal the cellist to start warming up. DJ is heading down the hall with a martini in his hand and gives me the thumbs up.

“Just a few more minutes,” I tell him. I’m glad he agreed to walk me down the aisle. For my something borrowed, he lends me his favorite CD,
Best Ibiza Anthems
. . .
Ever
. Yes, it’s funny. Particularly because the only place in Grimmland with a CD player is the Swinging Vine.

“Oooh, look, a shiny Frisbee!” I say.

He wags a finger at me. “Don’t you dare, sister.”

“Where the hell is Ibiza?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Someplace where they dance a whole lot.” He spins three times and lands with jazz hands.

“You
have
to tell me so that I never accidentally end up there.”

He grins and puts a hand on my wrist. “There’d better not be any scratches on this when I get it back, either.”

Rory gifts me something blue. It’s a necklace—an improbably blue stone in a silver setting she tells me is from a place called Tiffany & Co. in a city called New York. Patricia helped her get it. I hug her as tight as I can, and she manages to smile at me and nod her approval before starting to cry, first polite tears of joys and then what I can only assume are sobs of a more convoluted set of emotions. I whisper to her that when she’s ready, I need her to put the rings into the pockets of Snoozer’s tuxedo vest.

CeCi gives me something old—though not that old. It’s the clock bracelet from our first trip Outside together, when we went from Solace’s shop. She had Solace deactivate it, and she had it set with a few jewels from each of our jewelry collections. And I’m wearing the beautiful new unicorn-horn earrings you sent. I can imagine you performing the ritual request for a piece of horn, carefully gathering it so the animal wasn’t harmed. I know you’re probably dying not being here. And we miss you just as much.

DJ is knocking. So it’s time I wrap this up. I can’t help but be excited. Here comes the rest of my life.

Love,

B

F
rom the Desk of Cecilia Cinder Charming

Crystal Palace

North Road, Grimmland

Dear Zell,

I wish you could have seen Bianca in her wedding gown. Her polka dots were small and white. You couldn’t even see them until you got close. Even Rory thought her dress was marvelous.

Bianca was radiant, so happy that I hoped for a tiny moment she might have changed her mind about leaving. But when I saw William’s resigned face at the end of the aisle, I knew that he was getting ready to let Bianca go just like we were. It was heartbreaking and endearing all at the same time. Our near miss with the portal only seems to have solidified her decision. I think if it weren’t for the destruction of the Realm, she would have stayed with Rachel until the end of time without a second thought for her old life.

Even though I have been feeling sorry for myself, Bianca’s right: It’s
not
about me. I’ll only lose Bianca if I allow myself to. Our friendship—just like our friendships with you, Zell—will become different animals than they are now. It’s not the end of anything as long as we treat it like another beginning.

Bianca’s shindig easily doubled the attendance of any of our own weddings. And it was fun. There was dancing and drinking and toasting and nonsense. At some point, we all went out and smoked cigars with the groomsmen. I found myself lost in the breadth of the evening, blissfully ignoring the changes to our lives up ahead. Bianca asked us, and we obliged, forgetting—mostly—just for one night.

The vows were standard and short. Toasts were made afterward when the cake was cut. And while I won’t recite them for you, they were everything you might imagine. Love and possibility and friendship and celebration.

William, Rory, Bianca, and I joined the Council in an adjoining room, where Valborg sat at a long table in a grey shift, drinking wine from a large cup. Bianca had spiked her drink with euphorics. When the old woman stood, a strange smile played across her eyes and lips. She held her arms out.

“Come, my dear,” she said. “Let this mistake be over.” I thought it sort of trivialized the situation, and I looked at Rory, who tacitly confirmed my puzzlement. Bianca didn’t seem to take offense, only embraced her—perhaps they had some sort of understanding. Perhaps there are many things I think I know that I don’t actually know.

The Council asked Bianca to repeat some standard sentencing language and then she stepped back. A small quartet filled the room. The lead Councilor looked at his paperwork askance. “Is this right?”

“Give her the shoes and let her dance,” Bianca said.

The Councilor opened his mouth but then closed it again. It was the smart thing to do. Valborg was already swaying back and forth, even without music, and the attendants had trouble getting her still enough to put on the shoes at all. But by that time, we were moving backward toward the door.

As soon as the Councilor nodded, we made our exit—Rory and I holding Bianca’s hands and William following behind, holding her shoulders. Over the swelling string music, all we heard was laughter, great peals of it, and then it faded as we re-entered the noise of the big reception hall. Bianca stopped and took a deep breath.

“Are you okay?” William asked.

Bianca nodded, though she was fighting back tears, and biting her lip.

“Come now,” Rory said, taking her by the elbow. “You wouldn’t want to ruin that perfect makeup, now would you?”

Edmund was on the other side of the room, scanning the crowd. I raised a hand and waved.

Bianca pushed the small of my back. “I’m fine. Go.”

I looked at Rory. “I’ve got this,” she said.

Bianca nodded. “I’m good. I promise. Nothing a little champagne won’t fix. William, would you?”

“I’d like some unicorn cake,” said Rory.

Bianca’s lips split into a wide grin. “Let’s go.” I watched them retreat arm in arm, feeling calmer than I had in a long while.

When I crossed the room, I saw Darling and Sweetie against the wall chatting with the prince with one swan wing. They had some suspect-looking oysters in their palms, and I collected them on my way past. “Don’t eat those, okay? Stick to the crudités.” They nodded and giggled, and the Swan Prince gave me a light nod. I hoped he knew they’d be a handful.

Lucinda had her back to me, busy hissing into Edmund’s ear. His face was all concentrated mock earnestness. “And here’s our girl now!” he said, beaming.

“Ta-da!” I said, pirouetting in my lilac petticoats for good measure.

Lucinda looked at me like Snoozer looks at Rory when he gets caught chewing her slippers. “I tried to tell her. Disgrace over our house.”

Edmund clapped Lucinda on the back. “Nonsense, Lucinda. I couldn’t be prouder.”

“What?” she asked with a cough. Oyster shells clattered on the plate in the hand not clutching her throat. “You know? You’ve known about this, this . . . outrage?”

“She cooked for you, didn’t she?”

“Well, yes, but
 . . .
That’s different. She was a servant.”

“Your servant? I thought you said she was a member of your family.”

“Of course. She was my daughter. Cooking was simply a chore that she managed. A chore no longer befitting of her status. Queens do not . . . cook!”

“Then you’ll be exceedingly relieved to learn I won’t be becoming a queen anytime soon,” I said.

Her eyes widened. She looked like she was about to collapse. “Our fortunes are cast to the streets, then. Just as I’d feared.”

“Nonsense,” said Edmund. “Nothing changes at all. My folks keep their crowns. CeCi becomes a chef. You do . . . whatever it is you do.”

“Cooking makes me happy, Lucinda,” I said. “You should try it. Making yourself happy. Maybe you’d be less of a meddling swine.” I heard Darling and Sweetie giggle. But they were too far away to hear me insult their mother. They were merely flirting. My heart swelled for them. “Hear your joyful daughters? You should get to know them. You should get to know me. You should get to know you. We’re free to live our dreams now. Why wouldn’t we?”

“A toast!” Edmund waved a waiter over with a tray of glasses. “To my brilliant wife and her big dream.”

“To dreaming dreams together,” I added. I whispered in Edmund’s ear, “Tonight you are my hero.”

Bianca swirled drunkenly into our circle. “What are we toasting? I toast it! To you! To me! Hooray!” She took Lucinda’s full glass from her and spun away again, like a cottonwood seed in the breeze.

Love,

CeCi

Princess Briar R. Rose

Somnolent Tower Castle

South Road, Grimmland

Dearest Zell,

I missed you the most at the wedding. Everything was as beautiful as you might have expected. Snoozer did an absolutely perfect job as the ring bearer. He didn’t even try to chew Bianca’s shoes. My centerpieces were well received. Many people commented that they’d never seen such unique sculptures before.

The second worst part of the evening was having to be civil to Henry. But most of the time I was with Bianca and CeCi, anyway. I was still having that out-of-body feeling. I watched our friends talking to me, and I watched myself struggling to participate in the conversation. I tried hard to put aside Bianca’s decision to leave the Realm, as she requested, but I suppose I never quite shook it.

I won’t deny I was surprised to see Maro at the reception. She was most definitely not invited, but it isn’t as if decorum stops a woman like her from doing whatever she pleases. I avoided her and it felt good for a while, knowing that I had the perfect revenge, the upper hand, and she would remain completely unaware until it was too late.

Unfortunately, I didn’t manage to avoid her all evening. Accordingly, the worst part of the party occurred when she cornered me near the cake display, mouth full of red velvet and frosting.

“I have nothing to say to you,” I said, trying to fight a wave of people descending on the groom’s cake.

She dabbed the corner of her mouth. “Henry tells me that you’re aware of our situation.”

I stared at her. “Situation? Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

“He tells me that you could make life very difficult for us. That the contract between your family included certain provisos.”

I nodded. My parents had been eager to see Figgy’s new Pages fulfilled, yet they had protected me, too. “Actions have consequences, Maro. Betrayal is an action.”

“He also tells me that his fortunes change when he has an heir.”

“Then it’s a good thing he doesn’t.”

She sidled even closer to me. “Ah, but there’s where you’re wrong.”

I would have moved if I could have. “I’m not sure I follow.”

“Henry has an heir.” She put her hand on her middle and smiled. “It’ll all work out fine. I am your surrogate.”

“You fabricating cow,” I said quietly. But somewhere deep down I knew she wasn’t lying.

Rapunzel, I wanted to kill her. I wanted to grind her into the stones, throw her into the cake, rip her teeth from her skull, slap her into next week. I scanned the room for Henry. He was there, but wasn’t watching us. I wanted to rip his heart out, so that he could feel like I felt. Torn apart and mortified.

But Bianca
had
seen us. She made a sharp beeline toward us from the champagne table, snapping at guards on the way, her face dark.

I threw the second drink of my life in Maro’s face and began swinging wildly, hoping to connect with any part of her body, but Bianca—so tall in her wedding shoes—hauled me backward, demanding the guards remove Maro and Henry and anyone who’d been talking to them. She was whispering in my ear, telling me to breathe. She said if I didn’t, I’d “give that bitch power” over me. I didn’t have the energy to tell her that Maro did have power over me, no matter how hard I tried to get the upper hand.

It’ll never get better, will it? Oh, Zell, what will I do? I can’t give her the sleeping potion if she’s pregnant. Or can I? The child means nothing to me. What if she’s lying about the child? If I take the risk, what kind of monster do I become? Is that what Malice meant?

Sometimes, when I look around, it becomes completely clear that there’s nothing and no one left for me in this life. How silly I was to have once thought any differently.

Rory