Princess of the Midnight Ball (13 page)

She gave him a tight smile and slipped out of the room. She stopped in her own rooms only long enough to drop her sewing basket on a chair and put a long fur-lined cloak over her wool gown before setting out for the gardens.

In the hothouse with the experimental roses, she ran into Head Gardener Orm. He gave her a grim nod as he carefully inspected the leaves of the pink-and-scarlet rosebush. She tried not to look too guilty, certain that he knew about Galen cutting one of the flowers for her, and backed out.

She wandered, disconsolate, into the other hothouses, but couldn’t find Galen. She wasn’t even sure why she was looking for him, but she was sick to death of her sisters, and there was no one else near her age in the palace. Anne, their governess, had always been the girls’ confidant, but it was lesson time. And even had Anne been free, Rose did not feel the
need to seek her out as strongly as she longed to speak with Galen.

“Rose! Rose! Rose!”

The younger set came tumbling across the winter-brown lawns to meet her. They were red-cheeked from the cold, their hair and cloaks flying. Rose judged that they had just been released from their lessons for the day.

“Rosie-rosie-rose-rose,” sang Orchid. “You have a present!”

“
I
want a present too,” Pansy said, pouting. “Where’s
my
present?”

“It is not your birthday,” Petunia said with great authority. “There are only presents on your birthday and the holidays.”

“But it’s not Rose’s birthday either,” Orchid said, dancing around Rose. “That’s what makes it an extra-special present.”

All the dancing and pouting and singing, after her long walk across the gardens and back, was making Rose tired. She took hold of Pansy with one hand and Orchid with the other and continued walking back to the palace. Petunia followed obediently.

“Now,” said Rose when they had calmed down. “What’s this about a present?”

The younger set could only babble that one of the maids had been given the present by a tall young man who said it was for Rose. When they reached the princesses’ apartments, Poppy filled in the details.

“One of the under-gardeners sent you a present,” she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “I think you can guess which one, can’t you?” She shook back her dark hair. “No guesses?
Well, it was the handsome one. The young, handsome one with the broad shoulders. The one who
fancies
you. What’s his name again? Oh, yes! Galen!”

Her twin, Daisy, frowned. “He doesn’t fancy Rose,” she said earnestly. “It’s impossible: he’s a commoner.”

Rose brushed aside that remark.

“What about Heinrich and Lily?” Poppy’s eyes sparked with challenge.

“May I see my present?” Rose interrupted, not wanting to stir up old heartaches even though Lily wasn’t there. Thinking of the handsome young soldier—so like Galen in appearance—gave her a pang. She knew Lily still grieved for him. Rose gave a significant look to the package, neatly wrapped in brown paper, that Poppy was holding.

The younger girl handed it over, and Rose took it to her favorite divan by the window. Her sisters followed her. Rose gave them another look. The younger set didn’t understand, but Poppy did. With a sigh, she pulled them away, taking her twin with her. They sat on the other side of the sitting room, watching Rose.

Realizing that was as much privacy as she was going to get, Rose turned her attention to the package. It was lightweight and soft within the crackling paper. It had been tied with yarn rather than string, pretty red wool that gave it a festive appearance. She untied the wool and folded back the paper. Out of the corner of her eye Rose saw Poppy half rise from the couch, craning her neck to see what the package contained.

It was a shawl. A triangular cobweb of soft white wool,
warm and light. The shape of a flower had been worked into the back. Rose held it up and heard her sisters gasp. A folded letter fell to her lap. She let the shawl drape across her knees and opened the letter.

She read,

Your Highness
,

I thought you might need this, as the days are getting colder. White will look good with your hair, and the scarlet ball gown I’ve seen you wear in the evenings. I hope it was not too presumptuous of me
.

Yours sincerely,
Galen Werner

“What does it say?” Poppy was on her feet now, dancing around in anticipation. “What does it say? Does he love you madly?”

“Poppy,” Daisy frowned. “I told you—”

But Poppy was already across the room, holding the shawl up to the light to admire it, putting it down again to reach for the letter. “What does it say?”

Rose snatched the letter out of her sister’s reach. “It says that the weather is cold, and he thought I might like a shawl. The end.” She refolded the letter and tucked it into her belt.

The words of the letter had been very formal, almost stilted. But she fancied that there was a little hidden warmth there. He had noticed the color of her hair and remembered her red gown.
He had taken the time to make her this shawl, and there had been the meetings in the hothouses, the bouquets for them all, and the rose he picked just for her. …

“Why are you laughing?” Jonquil came into the sitting room, looking upset.

“Galen, the good-looking under-gardener, is in love with Rose,” Poppy said.

“What?” Jonquil frowned around at them, not even seeming to really hear what Poppy had said.

Lily came into the room, looking just as upset as Jonquil. “Have you heard?”

“Heard what?” Rose got to her feet. She took the shawl back from Poppy and, without really thinking about it, swung it around her shoulders. Lily and Jonquil both looked very grave.

“Father has just had a letter from the archbishop,” Lily said. Her face was as white as chalk. “He’s accusing us of witchcraft. The archbishop is threatening to excommunicate Father and the twelve of us, if it proves to be true.” She stretched out her hands to Rose. “The bishop who brought the letter has already taken Anne to his rooms for questioning. I suppose he thinks she’s teaching us spells along with geography. Bishop Schelker tried to stop him, but he doesn’t have the authority.”

The younger set stopped giggling. Poppy stopped trying to snatch the letter out of Rose’s belt, and Daisy went pale and swayed where she stood. Rose felt as though all the blood had been drained from her face and hands, and for the second time that day she felt the floor falling out from under her.

“But why?” Rose could barely form the words. “Why?”

King Gregor came into the room just then, one arm around a sobbing Hyacinth. In his free hand he held a long roll of parchment with seals and ribbons hanging from the bottom of it. His skin was gray and waxy. “Why?” he said in a hoarse voice. “Because, according to the kings of Analousia, La Belge, Breton, Spania, and nearly every other nation in Ionia, I not only condone the practice of witchcraft, but used it to kill the princes who refused to marry my daughters.”

Hyacinth fainted dead away.

Galen was sitting in Zelda’s pastry shop, talking to Jutta and her husband, when the news reached the city at large. His cousin, Ulrike, her normally rosy-cheeked face ghastly pale, ran into the shop and skidded to a halt at their table. She clutched Galen’s shoulder and panted for a moment while they all stared at her.

“Have you … have you … have you heard?” She gasped out the words, her free hand pressed to her side.

“Heard what?” Galen rose to his feet, concerned, and helped the girl into a chair.

Jutta fetched another cup and poured some tea for Ulrike from the pot on their table. “Has there been an accident?”

Galen felt a surge of alarm. “Uncle Reiner? Tante Liesel? What’s happened?”

Shaking her head, Ulrike took up the teacup in shaking hands. “A bishop from Roma came with a letter from the archbishop,” she said.

“About what?” Galen felt a stirring of dread in his gut.

“They say the royal governess is a witch. She’s already been arrested! The archbishop has accused the princesses as well. The letter says they’ve been using magic to kill all those foreign princes. If they don’t confess, they’ll be excommunicated. And if they do, it will probably be worse!”

They all sat in shocked silence at this. The ladies seated at the next table had been eavesdropping, and one of them dropped her teacup with a small scream. Soon the room was a hubbub of sound as the news spread to the other tables.

“There’s more,” Ulrike said, leaning over the table and whispering so that their hysterical neighbors would not hear. “Westfalin has been placed under Interdict.”

Jutta shuddered and her husband put his arm around her, his expression horrified. Galen was so busy worrying about Rose that he almost didn’t hear.

“Interdict?” he said finally, shaking himself. “You don’t mean …”

“I do,” Ulrike breathed. “No mass. No marriages, no funerals, no christenings. For anyone.” Ulrike took a shaky sip of tea and splashed some on her dress in the process. She blotted at the stain with her handkerchief, not really seeming to care.

“The royal governess is a witch?” Jutta frowned. “She comes here from time to time, for tea. She always seemed so kind.”

Galen shook his head. “It’s a ploy to get the princesses to confess to something they didn’t do, to appease the foreign kings. At least you can’t execute royalty for witchcraft. Can you?”

“No, but you
can
force a king to abdicate,” Jutta said, shaking her head.

Her husband looked at Galen. “Are they guilty, do you think? Have you seen anything suspicious at the palace?”

Galen envisioned little Petunia running shrieking through the hedge maze. It was madness to think of her being a witch. Or delicate Pansy and quiet, gracious Lily. Poppy was a wild one, he thought with a small smile, but he still couldn’t believe such a thing of her. And it was certain that her twin, Daisy, and the devout Hyacinth were not witches.

And Rose?

“Impossible,” he said, putting down his teacup. “It’s impossible for any of those girls—I mean, the princesses—to be witches.”

“Well,” Jutta’s husband said, leaning back in his chair. “It makes sense that something unnatural is afoot, doesn’t it?” He was a large, thoughtful man with thick blond hair and a placid expression. “And they won’t say what it is, will they? And then these princes come, and try to find out, and they die for their trouble.”

Galen clenched his fists. “They are not witches.”

Jutta raised her eyebrows at his vehement tone. “You must admit, however, that all these deaths are suspicious.” She lowered her voice. “And you’ve probably never heard the rumors about Queen Maude.”

“What rumors?” Ulrike looked curiously at Jutta. “All I’ve ever heard about her was how much she loved her garden.” She wrinkled her nose. “Of course, this all comes from Father,
who probably loves the garden more than the queen and king put together.”

“Well”—Jutta looked around to make sure that no one was listening in—“the king and queen didn’t have any children for a long, long time. After a while they became very sorrowful over it: they never had any parties, the queen hardly left the Fol—the garden. Then one day, they threw a huge ball and started telling everyone that they
knew
they’d be blessed with a child within the next year. And they were: Princess Rose. And then, after years of being barren, Queen Maude gave birth to twelve daughters, right in a row. Very strange, don’t you think?”

This gave Galen pause. Walter had said a few things about the old queen, as well. Could she have used magic to have her twelve daughters? It was very strange, as Jutta said. They sat in silence for a while, sipping tea that had gone cold and crumbling sweet rolls that no one had any appetite for.

“Do they have any other choice?” Galen said finally. “The king must confess to witchcraft or be excommunicated? And if he does confess, isn’t the penalty excommunication anyway? And what about the governess? Hanging?” He looked at his cousin.

Ulrike shook her head. Her father had not told her the details, if he even knew them. Then she grimaced. It was clear to all of them that there was little hope for King Gregor and his twelve daughters.

“I’m going to find out more,” Galen said. He threw down his napkin and got to his feet. He nodded a farewell to Jutta and her husband, and took his cousin’s arm. “You’d better
come home as well.” He frowned at the panicky people moving around the shop in restless, gossiping clusters. “In case the city gets out of hand.”

Their friends stood as well. “You will tell us, if you find out anything?” Jutta gave him an anxious look.

Galen nodded as he escorted his cousin out of the shop. Signs of unrest were everywhere. Knots of people stood right in the middle of the street, forcing carriages to go around them as they talked. Passing a small church, Galen saw that it was so crowded, the doors could not be shut. Within, a priest could be heard racing through the words of the mass, trying to perform one final service before the Interdict was enforced.

A city guard was nailing an official proclamation to a signpost a little farther on. People flocked to read it, pushing one another and cursing as feet were stepped on and shawls snagged. Galen’s height gave him an advantage. He and Ulrike stood at the back of the crowd, and he read aloud to her the official news of the Interdiction.