Letters to Zell (22 page)

Important Fucking Correspondence from Snow B. White

Onyx Manor

West Road, Grimmland

Z,

It’s early, but I can’t sleep. Part of the problem is that I’m violently ill. I had some champagne, of course, but not as much as you think. Seems the royal caterers messed something up, and I’m told the majority of wedding guests have come down with food poisoning. The captain of William’s guard said the oysters were to blame. So you can still be upset that you weren’t there, but not upset that you missed the food. Maybe I should’ve had CeCi cater the stupid thing after all.

But that isn’t the only reason for the insomnia. I can’t stop this infernal thinking about everything in front of me and everything behind me. I’m excited but honestly, Zell, just a little disappointed. There’s this small part of me that hoped my father would show up yesterday. That he’d find a way to surprise me. A part that believed that with enough Human ingenuity, he’d have figured out how to be there for me, how to make amends for leaving me.

But this is the end of surprises. I have completed my Pages, delivered at the end of the wedding by Figgy’s canaries in a roll tied with a red ribbon. I go forward from here my own woman on my own journey, singing my own song and dancing my own dance.

Speaking of dancing, I suppose Valborg’s farewell went smoothly enough. I’m glad she died laughing. I’m glad I was surrounded by friends—family. It’s almost like it was a dream. One I both do and don’t want to remember.

After our guests went home, William and I spent the night with a bottle of bourbon at the beach, watching for shooting stars and renaming constellations. Well, at least until I got sick.

This morning, William (who, luckily, eschews oysters) springs into action, transforming our bar into a tactical den for my relocation. He says if I’m going to go, I might as well do it correctly, so I have the things I need to avoid homesickness and so that everyone can visit me as often as they’d like. He’s chosen ten strong birds expressly for letter-carrying and has started the search for a large guard dog to send with me.

Once I feel well enough to get up, an unexpected thing happens. He sits me down with a glass of ginger beer and says, “B, I’ve been thinking. Would you like me to come with you?”

I start bawling. And laughing, between great big gulps of air. “Fuck yeah, Will. That’d be awesome,” I manage. “But this, here, is what
you
want. And even though I’ll miss the shit out of you, I couldn’t ask that much. We’d get old and resent each other. You can’t be a king up there. They don’t have those anymore. I mean, they do, but they aren’t the same.”

“But I want you to know that I would.”

Will’s a good man, Zell. And I tell him so. “Your friendship is the best gift a princess could have.”

“I love you, Bianca. Not in the way you probably need, but in the best way I can.”

I know he’s trying to make this easier for me, but it’s the opposite. “I know. Me, too.”

“We’ll visit all the time.”

I pat his hand. “No, you won’t. But you’ll visit enough.”

“Okay,” he says. “I expect to be shown the best bourbon Outside has to offer.”

“Of course,” I sniff. “Nothing less.”

“Let’s get to work, then.”

And so we do. We set dates and make lists. We arrange trunks for donation and for storage. We plan what we’ll do when he comes to visit. We take a break so that I can throw up again. It’s a grand time.

Not two hours later, the pigeons deliver an envelope on unfamiliar stationery. I had forgotten the letter I sent to Odette a couple of months ago. I open her reply with Will’s pocketknife.

Bianca darling,

I’m so sorry for the late reply. I spent a month at our summer home in Neverland, and we were invaded by pirates! Can you imagine? Oh, they were nice enough, though, and once we sorted out that we both knew Smee, we invited them to stay on. (Besides, they brought some killer rum.)

Goodness, it’s been ages since we last saw you. I hope this arrives in time to congratulate you on your marriage. I so wish we could have come, but the timing was just no good. I’m shipping you a couple of swan-down pillows with the next Fed-Ox shipment.

I suppose the last time we caught up was at Puss’s animal welfare ball. Is it true that Rapunzel and Jason set off to live on a farm? Too much. Did you hear about the debacle when the Emperor of Toyland came to visit? He marched through the streets stark naked, claiming to be wearing the latest in fashion. Let me tell you, the stationery store almost sold out of paper with all the sympathy cards sent to the Empress.

As to the matter at hand, however, I am deeply sorry to hear about the arrival of Maro Green in your fair kingdom. That woman is nothing but a barnacle, and it is the fault of our bumbling royal guard she escaped at all.

It started simply enough. My cousin Albert’s father insisted his son stop faffing about and get married—to anyone at all. But Albert, the cad, insisted he wouldn’t marry anyone but a real princess.

His first mistake was making his quest public. What followed was a parade of princess impersonators of which I’ve never seen the like.

Maro was certainly the most convincing of the impostors. She had the palace staff falling all over themselves. She claimed to have felt a pebble in her mattress, and Albert was completely snowed by her sensitivity, which he swore was a virtue only the royal can possess. All the constant partying had become a bit much for me, and by the time Maro came about, I had begun the process of drying out for a bit, but my few interactions with her led me to believe that she was at best unpolished and at worst, a regular strumpet.

I assure you she felt something hard in her bed, but it wasn’t a pebble. (Albert was rabid about her cleavage, which I’m sure you’ve been more than privy to.)

Maro insisted on being married right away, and Albert was in no position to deny her. It was the queen who finally discovered her ruse. When Maro demanded the pebble she’d found in her bed be displayed at the Royal Museum, the queen was livid and demanded to know Maro’s lineage. No princess, Ms. Green is simply the daughter of tulip growers from the north with big dreams. Her deception, though shocking, was not the worst of her offenses. When exposed, she absconded with the royal jewels! Most of them were recovered from pawn shops between here and Toad Hollow.

If you need me to send someone to pick her up, just send word and I can arrange it. She’ll be welcome in Cell 1B of the Swan Lake Municipal Jail. King Ludwig paid off the
Tattler
lest thieves began to think they were an easy mark, so please be discreet.

A word of advice: Do keep her away from men with wandering eyes. She seems to rather enjoy activities of the carnal variety, regardless of prior claim.

Toodles,

Odette

I can’t wait to tell Rory she was right from the start. After their confrontation last night, she’ll no doubt be ecstatic to learn we’ll be sending Maro back where she belongs, just as soon as the constable recovers from his oyster consumption.

I leap to my feet, swaying like an inebriated privateer, but I bargain with my stomach that if it will stay calm, I will give it as much ginger beer as it can hold when we return.

When I arrive, though, Rory’s nursemaid tells me she’s out. I hang around for a while, pitching a frayed pair of slippers for Snoozer until he gets tired and falls asleep with his head in my lap. She rarely leaves Snoozer behind, but then again, it’s been a long time since she’s been herself. Perhaps she went to the alchemist for some stomach potions. I don’t know if she had any oysters before I pulled her off Maro.

I’d like to know how the conniving little troll got into my wedding in the first place. I’d also like to know what exactly made Rory throw another drink in her face. It was undoubtedly deserved, but still.

I give up waiting for Rory and head to CeCi’s to see if she’s heard from our wayward friend. CeCi is playing nursemaid to Lucinda, who apparently ate enough oysters for six people. Serves her right, the great, greedy snag.

CeCi hasn’t heard from Rory, either. She didn’t see her after the sentencing, too busy enjoying Edmund’s deflation of Lucinda’s big news bubble. As I had hoped, she’s delighted to hear about Maro’s feloniousness.

I feel so productive and energetic—the walking made me feel so much better—I decide to go home and fill the rows of empty trunks William procured for me. Helpful, supportive William. Damn, Zell, I am gonna miss him.

But I can’t wait to build a place of my own and share it with all of you. Just wait. It’ll be better than we can even imagine.

Love,

B

F
rom the Desk of Cecilia Cinder Charming

Crystal Palace

North Road, Grimmland

Dear Zell,

Honestly, if I had seen where the oysters had been stored—in the sun, for Grimm’s sake!—I’d have taken them off the buffet table myself. I don’t know how many Spew-cinda ate, but enough to make her miserable the night of the wedding, yesterday, and today.

And she isn’t the only victim. Yesterday morning, a courier brought me a note from Hansel and Gretel. They’re both sick, as well, and there’s a gaggle of tourists in from Neverland who’re scheduled to lunch at their café today. They’d been wondering how they’d ever manage, when word made it to them, somehow, that I could help.

So, I signed on for my very first restaurant gig.

This morning (after turning over my nursing duties to Darling and Sweetie), I started with bread and soup. I proofed the yeast and mixed sixteen loaves of whole-wheat dough in the big mixer. Then I set them to rise while I chopped a mirepoix for some beer cheese chowder, ensuring I didn’t burn the roux. I prepped my
mise en place
for the luncheon sandwiches and made sure the tables were set correctly. I squeezed lemonade and set the iced tea in the sun to steep. I wish Phil could have been there to see it. DJ stopped by with air kisses and white wine spritzers. Evidently, my trial run was big news around town, particularly as word of my extracurriculars circulated through the wedding guests in record time.

In the afternoon, orders flew out and compliments flooded back in. Bianca came. And Darling and Sweetie, though they didn’t stay long before returning home to check on their mother. Plates were licked clean, and I began to see the bottom of the soup pot with each ladle. The dining room finally went quiet and I set to returning everything to its original state. The pots hung gleaming from the racks and the spoons nestled in the drawers.

I have long fantasized about having a restaurant of my own. Every day would be this day. I would create. I would teach. I would lay exhausted in my triumph. I would feed my friends, my family, my village, my Realm. I would give them the gifts of my two hands.

I was just about to turn off the lights when Edmund arrived at the back door with roses and a bottle of champagne. “I’m so proud of you,” he said.

I kissed him. “I almost can’t wait to see what the future brings.”

“I’m more interested in the next hour or three,” he said, winking. We took the long way home. It felt like the night we got married. Everything was light, like I was dancing through clouds.

My feet are tired and my back is sore, but if my dream can make me feel this happy—even for a few minutes a day—it’s worth it. I want to do this for the rest of my life. I’ll let DJ manage the wine list. I’ll hire Rory to make weird centerpieces. Darling and Sweetie can greet customers. Snoozer can help with cleanup. Just kidding. Food Safety deems that sort of thing a health violation.

See what you’ve done, Zell? You’ve inspired us all to dream. I’ll never be able to thank you enough.

Love,

CeCi

PS. Did you hear about Maro? Bianca is falling on that news like hellfire. Just wait until we tell Rory.

Princess Briar R. Rose

Somnolent Tower Castle

South Road, Grimmland

Zell, CeCi, & Bianca,

First, please understand that I love you. I know that in the light of tomorrow, what I’ve done will not seem prudent. You will not understand fully. You will be angry with me, with my choice, but it is the only one I have left.

You see, at first, I blamed Maro for taking something away from me. But it turns out, I never had any of it to begin with.

I never had the kind of relationship with Henry that allowed us to be anything—not friends, not lovers, not confidants, not companions. We couldn’t even chat politely. He went looking to fulfill his needs elsewhere.

This is not to say I’m without blame, either. I’m quite sure I’ve been in love with Fred all this time, and Henry would never have been equal. All those subconscious expectations weren’t quite fair.

This can’t be completely Maro’s fault, either. She shares the blame, but her unchecked desire, her desperation must stem from some other, older wound we likely cannot fathom. I regret that I did not trust myself and, eventually, you—my friends.

CeCi, I regret that you blame yourself for Maro’s introduction into our lives. Please don’t. This kindling would have come to a fire no matter the order of events. She was not Henry’s first indiscretion. I suspected, of course, but it was easier when those others were just flings, nameless, passing ships. This time it involves love and a relationship and complexity. Most importantly, a child.

I didn’t like who I was when I was plotting Maro’s demise. I felt powerful, but not in a way that made me feel anything but black and crusted inside. When I went to seek Malice’s help, I felt fierce, but not happy.

And now that I’ve felt the extremes of both emotions, I think I’d trade strong for happy almost any day. I bet the three of you would tell me, once again, to try to find a balance, but I’m just too tired. I can’t do this anymore.

There are some final items I need your assistance with:

• CeCi and Bianca, it is imperative that you make up. Not just obligatory civility, but forgiving those past slights I’ll bet neither of you even remember. Face life together, not separately. Stand by each other no matter where your journeys take you. Find a way to have a new friendship, as we’ve done with Zell.
  
• One of you has to take Snoozer. He eats promptly at the nine in the morning and prefers his rib-eyes medium rare.
  
• CeCi, I hope you’ll name something after me at the Unicorn Café. Please do not put ketchup in it.
  
• Bianca, follow your heart. If you want Outside and your father and Rachel, that’s what you should do. I know you think I don’t believe in you. I do. More than any Fairy Tale could believe in another unwritten story.
  
• Zell, you’re stronger than you think you are. If your dream doesn’t make you happy, find another. Things don’t always work out like we plan. And be there for CeCi and Bianca. They’ll need you soon.
  
• Tell Maro that I forgive her.
  
• Even if you can’t manage the previous request, as I know it will be difficult, please do not punish the child. The baby bears no fault.
  

Please don’t be sad. Just because we won’t see each other again doesn’t mean that I’m gone. In a hundred years, I’ll try again, fully rested and restored, shored up by the lessons I’ve learned from all of you. I’ll know how to ask for what I want and how to walk away. But I can’t face another day right now. Not even another hour.

I cannot put you all through this any longer, either. I know what you tried to do for me all this time. I know you love me, and I’m trying to spare you, though I’m sure it won’t feel that way at first.

I’ll miss you all. You’ve been the bright lights of this part of my life. But I need to turn them off for a bit, battle away this despair, and rest.

Love always,

Rory

PS. You’ll find me by the swamp. It was always one of my favorite places. I’d prefer to rest in my own room this time, if you’ll make the arrangements. I expect the tower (and the portal) to be in perfect repair by the time I wake up.