Once Upon a Dream (6 page)

A MONTH PASSED.

Soon it was time for another ball.

This time the theme was “Gold.”

People assumed it was the bright metal kind, in coins and necklaces. But that wasn’t the sort of gold Aurora was imagining.

She was imagining the sun.

She
tried
not to think about it. She tried not to wish for it. She tried to be like Lianna—thankful and grateful just for being and there being a sun somewhere up in the sky at all. She spent a lot of time lying down these days, trying very hard to be grateful—when she wasn’t just staring into space. Trying not to feel restless and caged. Once in a while, the sun would push one ray through the protective vines on her bedroom window and its thick, heavy light would make its way to her bed. She would lie in its warmth for hours, like a cat in front of the fire, wishing it would cover her entire body.

Sometimes she would spend a whole afternoon watching little motes of dust doing their slow dances in the golden light like lazy, otherworldly fairies. Sometimes it seemed that if she just concentrated hard enough, she could make them dance the way she wanted them to. They performed whole ballets and routines just for her, each one unique, each little dancer jagged and golden. Sometimes she drifted off during the performances, which might have been rude but was also unavoidable.

Sometimes she would waste the hours observing a single spot of sunlight slowly moving across the room and up the wall before disappearing

She slept a
lot
.

Lady Astrid, a second cousin from somewhere on her father’s side, was one of the few nobles who noticed her complete dropping out of even the tiny and desperate life those in the castle led.

The short, plump woman showed up at her door in the middle of one of the many endless afternoons with a needle and a frame and a look of steely determination.

“Your Royal Highness, I think maybe some useful work would help you cheer up and pass the time constructively.”

“Mmmfh mmmng mmmmbr,” Aurora said into her pillow. She didn’t
have
to get up for a lady.

“I beg your pardon, Your Highness?”

“Thank you, but not today, Lady Astrid. I’m not feeling up to it.”

“Your Highness,” Astrid said through clenched teeth. “I do believe this is for your own good. Prithee get up off that bed and start acting like a princess and not a lazy, spoiled brat.”

Aurora sat up at that, shocked.

“If the queen’s servants heard you speaking to me that way, they would throw you into the dungeon.”

“Fat lot of difference that would make around here,” the older lady said pleasantly. “And there aren’t any around. Thank heaven for small miracles. Now, are you coming? There’s no seat in here comfortable enough for my robust, aging backside.”

And Aurora, whose basic mode of being was to not do
anything
—or to do whatever she was told for want of any good reason to do otherwise, followed Lady Astrid meekly to the closest study.

It was a slightly more interesting way to spend time than staring into space—despite the little pricks of blood on the cloth, the countless times she had to squint and rethread the needle, and the general mess she made of the piece. Fortunately it was just a sampler, nothing fancy.

Eventually, she got into a groove and made little rows of knots that weren’t too terrible.

“You do this every day?” Aurora asked, frowning at where the needle was stuck on the backside of her cloth.

“Every afternoon,” Lady Astrid said briskly. She sat in a larger, more comfortable chair, closer to the fire. Her brows furrowed as she did a tricky bit, beautiful arched brows above her plump and sagging face. “After lunch, before the
nones
—my midafternoon prayers.”

“You have a
schedule
?”

“Of course. You have to keep a mind and body busy. Idle hands are the devil’s playthings. Rise, dress, stretch,
matins
, breakfast, a brisk walk around the castle for digestion,
lauds
, midmorning snack if it’s available, a visit with some of the older residents—or laundry inspection, mending, et cetera—
terces
, perhaps a little liturgical discussion with Lady Carlisle or the Marquis Belloq, lunch, say a quick prayer for those precious souls we have lost since our confinement here, review of the stores or, alternately, review of the servants, a tour of the lamentable remaining greenery in the courtyard, see if there’s anything for arranging or decorating…”

“Goodness,” the princess said. “You have every minute of the day planned.”

“I would go mad if I didn’t,” the lady said, half under her breath. “And more people would do better if they did,” she added pointedly.

The princess paused in her work and bit her lip, regarding the funny little woman. Some of the nobles—like Brodeur—had fallen into strange excesses during the confinement—which everyone tried to keep Aurora from hearing about. Here was a plain Jane sensible old lady who, despite being a little boring and plenty judgmental, had adapted to life in the Thorn Castle as best she could and made herself useful wherever she could. Levelheaded.

Aurora fingered the little pouch on her chatelaine. She had decided not to tell anyone about the feather since the incident with Brodeur. But this prudent—and low-profile—woman didn’t seem like the type of person who would make a fuss. Like Brodeur.

After a moment, she came to a decision and pulled out the feather.

“What…Lady Astrid…what do you think of
this
?”

And for once, the lady looked astonished.

Her face softened when she saw it, crumpling into something like wonder.

“It looks…
fresh
,” she said softly. “Not years and years old. And it’s too…
imperfect
to be magic. It looks like it’s from Outs—”

She started to reach out her hand for it and then curled up her fingers at the last moment.

“Where did you get it?”

“I’m not sure I can say,” Aurora admitted, thinking about Brodeur’s reaction. “Do you know what kind of feather it is? What bird it’s from?”

“Do I
seem
like some sort of expert on animals—on birds and other winged things?” Astrid asked sharply, regaining her composure. “Since it…cannot be…from the
Outside
…I’m going to assume it’s from a pigeon or one of those other flying rats that haunt the bailey.”

She went back to her work.

Aurora looked at the feather glumly.

“I wouldn’t talk to anyone else…
inside
the castle about the feather, Your Highness,” the lady added quietly after a moment. “If you ask me, people are a little tense and stir-crazy…and the walls have ears. Your—blessèd—aunt has saved us all, but she gets very touchy about anything having to do with the Outside. For good reason, I suppose. I’ll keep your secret….There are others who wouldn’t.”

The princess nodded—again, glumly. She wished she had spoken to Astrid
before
the last ball. Was Count Brodeur already telling everyone her secret? Or worse, would he tell her aunt? Aurora wouldn’t get in trouble, most likely, but the poor minstrel…Right now he was enduring her wrath for his public drunkenness. How much worse could it be for him if her aunt found out he went Outside?

Aurora put the feather away and went back to sewing.

It was better, she supposed, than doing nothing at all.

The days leading up to the ball were particularly grim.

Though sometimes
days
were hard to count, with little sun and no moon and clocks that didn’t keep hours in any way that made sense.

But even with the world changed, seasons run amok, the moon gone, and the protective vines keeping the castle dwellers safe from the unnatural world that raged Outside…there were still some markers of the course of time.

At the beginning of each year of their confinement, for instance, a strange bell would toll across the land. Once or twice a day for several days it would strike, its reverberations lasting for hours at a time, gradually increasing and echoing in the corridors until everyone was fairly shaken and crazed. Everyone from the lowest peasant to Aurora herself stuffed their ears with wool and cowered under their pillows trying to escape the sound. Even Maleficent seemed to be gritting her teeth and on edge.

The passing of weeks could be observed by keeping careful track—or observing how the queen herself waxed and waned. By the end of each ball she was healthy, energetic, and her magic was at its most powerful: for many days after, meals were interesting and fantastic, new diversions were summoned, clothing was refreshed, and the stores all restocked. Everyone rejoiced, and life in the Thorn Castle was bearable for a time.

But…after a while…the queen began looking more tired, with deeper shadows under her eyes and a languor that surpassed her usual show of ennui in the days furthest from a feast.

Meals were still served, but the food was gray and bland and hard to remember. The fires and candles and lanterns, all burning with magical fuel, dimmed. People clustered closer to them and went to bed earlier, terrified of the thought they might go out entirely. Between the constant grayness of the keep and the strangely forgettable meals, time lost all meaning entirely, and people began to lose any remaining hope they had.

They flitted through the halls like ghosts, silent and gloomy.

Often this was when they finally noticed that someone had disappeared from their dwindling ranks, and found the body of someone who just couldn’t take it anymore.

At these times, when morale in the castle was at its lowest, when even the peasants seemed to give up on their little gardens and things grew dusty for lack of the servants’ care and no one reprimanded them—no one had the energy—at these times, Maleficent would ask Aurora to sing.

For everyone.

All would gather in the great hall: nobility and royalty in front, of course, on chairs and cushions arranged for them. Behind them were lesser nobility and the remaining artisans, merchants, and freemen, on stools and rugs. Then the villeins and peasants and servants, wherever they could fit themselves. They all forgot their hunger, their confinement, their growing insanity the moment her voice rang out its very first note.

The princess sang for hours, for everyone—at a time when she least wanted to see
anyone
, much less sing.

“I can’t do it this time, Lianna.”

Aurora sat, slumped, on her pink-cushioned chair, her hair around her in very slight tangles—which was as messy as her handmaiden ever let it get.

Lianna regarded her princess with impassive eyes. She was the only one who seemed unaffected by these doldrums and had little patience for those who were.

“You must,” she said simply. “It is a much-needed, pleasant distraction for the people.”

“Distraction?” Aurora asked, momentarily roused by the odd word choice.

Lianna shrugged impatiently. She picked up her brush and began brushing. “From their depression or sadness or whatever. Whatever it is that has you people so low. And besides being just a nice thing to do, your queen asked you. You should obey—happily.”

“I know,” the princess sighed, slumping again. “I just…hate it. I
hate
standing in front of everyone…singing….Singing is just something I do. For
me.
I feel like I’m on display up there.”

“You
are
on display,” Lianna said with her usual bluntness. “You are their beautiful princess. A shining beacon of hope. You were given beauty and song and a royal title and…absolutely
gorgeous
hair. Being on display is one of your duties. And speaking of hair…”

She picked up a single long, golden lock and began to systematically brush it.

“I didn’t ask for any of these things,” Aurora mumbled. She pulled the feather out of her chatelaine and began to roll it desultorily through her fingers.

“
Nobody
asks for the things they are given, most of the time. I didn’t ask for…black hair…or…my clumsy feet…or…what I am now.
Where
I am now. Would you rather you were a servant, forced to scrub all day? Or one of those peasants out there, pretending you’re still farming the land? It’s rather ridiculous, you know. I actually heard several of them discussing the prospect of breeding those sad, silly sheep they keep in that…
petting zoo
, trying to save the line. And the horses.”

Aurora smiled knowingly.

“You don’t like animals much, do you?”

Her handmaiden shrugged.

“They have their uses I suppose.”

“I love them. I wish there were more of them. I wish…” She stopped herself, thinking about what Maleficent had said about wishes. Lianna cocked her head at the princess curiously. Aurora quickly changed the subject. “Did you…did you ever have a pet or anything at all? Where you grew up?”

The girl stopped brushing. Her eyes grew unfocused, like Aurora had never seen before. Her face softened at an unseen memory.

“I…I had a bird once. A raven.”

Aurora blinked in surprise.

She stayed as quiet as possible, not wanting to disturb Lianna out of her story.

“He had fallen out of his nest. A fledgling. His flight feathers hadn’t come in yet. I picked him up and brought him home. Raised him from a baby.”

Without realizing it, Lianna was miming the motions of what she had done, making her hands tuck the invisible bird into some soft cloth, carrying it delicately.

“He lived. He grew into a strong, healthy man-bird with ebon feathers and a bright yellow beak. Such bright eyes, too! He went with me everywhere. He sat on my shoulder. He sat on the back of my chair, behind me, at meals. He never left my side….”

Lianna trailed off, lost in the memory.

Aurora didn’t want to break the spell, but couldn’t help asking.

“What…happened to him?”

And the spell was broken.

Her handmaiden shook herself. “He was turned into stone. By a fairy. A stupid, stupid fairy. The only thing I ever loved, and she killed him.”

“I’m so sorry,” Aurora said, reaching out to clasp Lianna’s hand. “It seems like fairies do nothing but evil. To all of us.”