The Frog Princess (2 page)

Two

I
spent the rest of the afternoon visiting my favorite places in the swamp. Following hidden pathways, I skirted the treacherous, boggy ground until I reached solid footing. After searching the thicket where I'd stumbled across twin fawns earlier that spring, I lounged by the deep pool that mirrored the drifting, puffball clouds. As the day grew warmer, I took off my shoes and stockings and waded through a shallow stream to a tiny island whose smooth, water-tumbled pebbles felt good under my bare feet.

It was late by the time I returned to the castle. Rather than going straight to my bedchamber, I climbed the long, narrow tower steps to my aunt Grassina's apartments. The Green Witch, as she is called, is my mother's sister and has lived in the castle since before I was born. She has taught me more than anyone else ever has, and not just about how to be a princess. And unlike the rest of my family, she doesn't criticize me at every opportunity.

Reaching the top of the stairs, I knocked softly on the door and waited for her to answer. Somehow, she always knew who was knocking. She'd told me how useful a skill that was, because she wouldn't have to answer the door if it were someone she didn't want to see. After only a few seconds the door flew open, but instead of my aunt's familiar features I saw a yellow duckling drop a gnawed stick and rush out of the room to snap at my ankles.

"Come back here, Bowser!" my aunt called from inside the room. "I'm not finished with you yet!"

The duckling darted back and forth, quacking loudly as it herded me over the threshold.

"Shut the door, Emeralda!" shouted my aunt from her seat by her workbench. "That stupid dog won't hold still long enough for me to finish the spell!"

"This is Bowser?" I asked, trying to fend off the ball of fluff that was viciously attacking the toe of my shoe. "Father won't be happy that you turned his favorite hound into a duck."

"Duck, dog, what's the difference? Bowser will be his miserable self again faster than you can say the Greek alphabet backward. Now, where was I? Oh, yes. Here, sprinkle some of this on him while I find the spell again."

"What, me? I can't!" I backed away from her outstretched hand. "I'll make a mess of it! Remember that time with the crab apple dumplings?" After I used that spell to make them, they grew claws and ran away. It took us weeks to find the crabby little things, and by then they were stale and their claws had pinched us black and blue.

"Phooey," said Aunt Grassina. "Everybody makes mistakes."

"But not the kind I make! I used that cleaning spell you told me about nearly four months ago and it's still as strong as ever! Every time I drop anything on the floor in my chamber, a little breeze whisks it away and dumps it on the dung heap behind the stables. You wouldn't believe how many stockings and hairpins I've lost that way! I can't do magic anymore. I just make things worse when I do."

"How do you ever think you'll learn to be a witch if you don't try?"

"I don't want to be a witch!" I said for the hundredth time. "I know you think I should, but I'd be terrible at it. If I could mess up such simple cooking and cleaning spells, imagine what I could do with something really important. We could all end up with three left feet or stuck head-down in some desert!"

"Oh, Emma! Of course you want to be a witch! You just don't know it yet. Give yourself some time and a little more practice. I'm sure you'll be very good at it once you decide to apply yourself. Now, where is that parchment? I know I put it around here somewhere."

I left my aunt shuffling through a stack of old, musty parchments and headed toward my favorite chair in front of the fireplace. The truth was, I used to dream about being a witch like Grassina, but to try so hard for so long and never have anything go quite right ... I slumped into the chair and closed my eyes, letting my bad day melt away in the peace of Grassina's room.

The difference between my aunt's room and the rest of the castle was wonderful. Whereas the castle itself was cold and damp and generally gloomy, Grassina's room was warm and inviting. A small fire always burned behind the decorated iron grate, heating the entire room, yet never needing new logs. Gleaming balls of witches' light bumped against the ceiling, bathing the whitewashed walls and brightly colored tapestries with a rosy glow. The cold stone floors were covered with thick, woven rugs of various shades of green, giving it the appearance of a forest floor dappled with sunlight. Sometimes the room smelled of freshly crushed mint leaves, or pine boughs like the ones used to decorate the Great Hall during the winter celebrations, or sun-warmed clover on a summer's day.

Two chairs cushioned for comfort and separated by a small table waited in front of the hearth. A fragrant bouquet of crystalline flowers bloomed in an etched bowl atop the table. A gift from the fairies, the bouquet was the home to glass butterflies whose delicate wings clicked softly as they flitted from one blossom to another. I'd spent many hours curled up in one of the chairs while my aunt occupied the other, regaling me with stories of far-off lands and times long ago.

There were many wonders to be found in my aunt's room. One of her tapestries depicted a miniature town in perfect detail with a lion and a unicorn fighting each other in the streets. Once, when I touched the lion with my fingertip, it bit me, taking a small sliver of skin from my finger. I howled as tears streamed down my face. My mother cuffed me for lying, but Grassina winked and wrapped my wound in spider's silk.

A sea witch named Coral had given Grassina a large bowl filled with salt water and the tiny replica of a castle, spires and all. The castle was perfect in every detail, and occasionally I'd see schools of miniature fish swimming by.

Sometimes, when I'd visit after the sun had set, I saw lights glowing in the tiny windows of the castle. Even so, I never would have thought it more than an interesting curiosity if I hadn't come to visit my aunt one winter's afternoon when I was nine or so. Having taken longer than usual to answer my knock, she came to the door with dripping hair and a cloth she was using to dry it. The entire room smelled strongly of fish, but when I asked what she'd been doing, she smiled and left the room to change her clothes. As I moved to warm my hands by the fireplace, I stepped in a damp patch on the floor and thought that the salt water in the bowl had overflowed. Glancing at the bowl, I saw a flash of silver and blue. I hurried closer to peer into the water, just as the diminutive figure of a mermaid reached one of the tiny doors. Jerking the door open, she turned to look over her shoulder and saw me. Her eyes grew wide in alarm and she darted through the opening, slamming the door behind her. I began to think that the bowl might contain more than it appeared.

The duckling quacked, a surprising sound in the quiet room. I opened my eyes and sat up, turning toward my aunt Grassina. She was perched on a tall stool facing a massive wooden table, ignoring the duckling as it gnawed on the table leg. An old quill pen stuck out of Grassina's thick chestnut hair, the same color as mine.

I've been told that Grassina and I look much alike, but whereas her nose is thin and refined, mine is prominent like my father's. Her eyes are green, a shade or two lighter than my own. Grassina's smile is beautiful on the rare occasion when she treats us to one. However, her smile never seems to reach her eyes. My old nanny, long since retired, told me that Grassina was quite cheerful in her youth but that time and my grandmother had taken their toll.

Grassina always wore green and her gown on this day was the color of summer moss. Shapeless and loose, it had no certain style, hanging limply from her tall frame. My aunt always dressed as she pleased, never worrying about what others might think. I was not so fortunate; my mother never let me forget that a princess is always on display.

I watched as Grassina, caught up in her work, used both hands to hold a partially unrolled parchment. Other parchments littered the table and spilled onto the floor. The last rays of the setting sun slanted through the window to pool on the surface of the table and turn her farseeing ball, just like the one she'd given me, into a dazzling sphere of light. A small apple-green snake lay coiled among the parchments, soaking up the sun's warmth.

"What are those for?" I asked. I hopped out of my chair and crossed the room to stand beside my aunt. The snake raised its head and flicked its tongue in my direction. Shuddering, I stepped back a pace or two. Although the creature had lived with my aunt for many years, I had never grown used to its presence. There were few things I feared in the world more than snakes, regardless of the temperament or type.

"I was cataloging my parchments when I came across the spell for ducklings. I thought I'd try it out and Bowser just happened to be handy. Now, where is that spell? I know it was in one of these

"So," she said, turning around in her seat and raising an eyebrow. "I have a feeling you have a question for me. You do have a question, don't you?"

"Have you ever turned anyone into something like, say, a frog?"

"Certainly. Human-to-frog is a simple spell and easy to remember. I've used it many times myself. Why do you ask?"

"I've met a frog who claims to be a prince, and I was wondering if he might be telling the truth."

"Now, that would be hard to say. He could be a prince, but then again he could simply be a talking frog. Some witches have strange senses of humor. I should know."

"Say he is a prince. What would he have to do to go back to being human?"

"That depends on the witch who cast the spell. But whatever it takes, she would have had to tell him. The spell won't work if there is no remedy or if she doesn't tell him what it is. However, the usual method involves asking a maiden, preferably a princess, for a kiss. I'm surprised you didn't know that. When I was young, kissing a frog was the only way some girls got dates. I myself spent too much time searching ponds and marshes for frogs to kiss. Of course, I was looking for one in particular at the time."

"You mean Haywood, your old beau?"

"You remember that story, do you? Yes, it's true. After I brought him home to meet your grandmother, she took a dislike to him and he disappeared for good. I was convinced that she'd turned him into a frog. Your grandmother was never a very imaginative person. But try as I did, I never found my darling Haywood. I'd given up eating and sleeping and spent all of my time searching the swamp, kissing every frog I could catch. My mother finally made me stop by threatening to lock me in an abandoned tower in the middle of nowhere unless I returned to my studies. He wasn't just my beau, you know. We were engaged to be married. He was the only man I've ever loved."

"So to turn a frog back into a prince ...," I said, trying to get the conversation back on track.

"Oh, yes, well, it doesn't have to be a kiss. It could be anything, within limits. If a spell were too easy to break, it wouldn't be strong enough to last. If breaking it were impossible, it would go against the natural laws of magic and also wouldn't last. There is a certain degree of fairness involved, you know. Speaking of fairness, do you think that you were being fair when you took off this morning, leaving me to deal with your mother? Chartreuse was madder than a wet peacock when no one could find you. I told her I had sent you on an errand, so now she's angry with me again."

"Sorry about that," I said, avoiding her eyes. "And thank you for covering for me. Mother had invited Prince Jorge to visit. Jorge spends all of his time bragging and acting as if I don't exist. I didn't see why I needed to be there. Jorge never talks to me anyway. As far as he's concerned, I might as well be a piece of furniture."

Bowser was scratching at my aunt's skirts with his webbed foot while making an odd whining sound. When she ignored him, he wandered off and attacked the table leg, his little bill clacking against the wood.

"Well, I don't mind this time," Grassina told me, brushing a stray lock of hair from her eyes, "but you'll have to face her one of these days. I won't always be around to cover for you like I was today. It's getting late and I doubt you've had a thing to eat. You'd better go get yourself something from the kitchen. I don't have time to cook for you and I'll never get anything done with you here distracting me. Now, where did I put that parchment?"

Three

T
he next morning I was out of bed and dressed long before the rest of the household was stirring. Wearing my dark blue gown with my pale blue kirtle, and carrying my third-best shoes in my hand, I tiptoed down the stairs, shivering at the icy chill of the stone. According to her maid, my mother had gone to bed with a headache the previous night. I had yet to see her. Coward that I was, I was determined to be out of the castle and away from the grounds before she could corner me about the previous day's disappearance.

The sun was peeking over the distant hills when I reached the edge of the swamp. A lone mosquito circled my head, whining in its high-pitched, irritating way. Tripping on my own feet, I stumbled into the underbrush and stirred up a cloud of its relatives. The black-flies swarmed as I neared the pond, but because I'd used a bitter-smelling salve that Grassina had made to repel them, none of the insects landed on me. Even so, the persistent whining began to get on my nerves. I flapped my hand to swat them away, and to my surprise, I connected with a large fly, knocking it over the water.

Thwip!
A long, froggy tongue flicked out and snagged the fly. "Thanks!" said a familiar voice. "I needed that!"

"I wasn't trying to feed you," I said. "I just hate these obnoxious bugs."

"Really?" said the frog. "I think they're delightful, although some are a little too salty. So tell me, did you sleep well last night or did your conscience bother you for abandoning me in my hour of need?"

"No, I didn't sleep well...."

"Ah-hah!"

"But it had nothing to do with my conscience. It was curiosity more than anything. I was wondering—exactly who is it you claim to be?"

"I am His Royal Highness, Prince Eadric of Upper Montevista." Bowing, the frog fluttered his hand in a noble gesture. "So what do you say?" he asked, looking up. "How about that kiss?"

"Just because you say you're Prince Eadric doesn't mean you really are. Traveling minstrels are awful gossips, and I would have heard if a prince had been turned into a frog."

"Only if people knew what had happened. I doubt my family has any knowledge of the calamity that befell me. Then again," he said under his breath, "they might know what happened and are trying to cover it up. That happens a lot in my family."

"Mine, too," I said. "You should see how fast my mother can make an embarrassing situation disappear. You'd almost think that she was the witch instead of Aunt Grassina."

"You have an aunt who's a witch?" the frog asked, becoming agitated. "Is she ... Is she really ugly with hair like a thistle? Is she mean and nasty and cruel to innocent fashion critics?"

"No, nothing like that. My aunt Grassina is wonderful! She's the best relative anybody could have. Grassina is the only one in my family who doesn't ridicule me for being clumsy. She doesn't expect me to be the perfect little lady every minute of the day, and she's taught me a lot of useful things that no one else would ever have thought of teaching me. And her presents! My parents always give me boring presents like clothes on my birthdays, but aunt Grassina gives me much more interesting things, like my farseeing ball and a bottomless bottle of perfume and this beautiful charm bracelet." I shook my wrist for emphasis, making my bracelet jingle merrily. "Grassina told me what the symbols mean, but I was only a little girl then, so I don't really remember. I love it, though. It glows in the dark and I wear it all the time, even at night."

Mosquitoes tickled my scalp, the one place I hadn't put any salve. When I tried to brush them away with my hand, one of my combs fell out and landed in the mud. I reached for it and it came out with a squelch, splattering my sleeve with muddy droplets. "Listen, I'd better go now. If you're Eadric, you're going to have to prove it."

"How?"

"I don't know. Think of something. I'll come back when I can."

I hurried off with the insects pursuing me all the way home. It didn't seem to matter where I was—it just wasn't going to be an easy morning. I knew I couldn't put off facing my mother any longer, and my stomach was already tying itself in knots. I tried to distract myself by thinking of the frog's request. If he really was Prince Eadric, he was in big trouble and needed my help. I couldn't stand to see any animal suffer, whether he was an enchanted prince or not. And if it was all a trick, well, I needed to know that, too. I already made a fool of myself too often without someone else doing it for me.

My mother must have alerted all the servants to watch for me: as soon as I set foot on the castle grounds the head gardener intercepted me and hustled me off to my mother's chamber. For someone who had been anxious to see me, my mother didn't seem very pleased.

"So there you are!" she said, looking me over from head to toe just as she always did. "Stand up straight, Emeralda! Don't slouch! Look at you! Your hair is a mess, your dress is soiled, and you have mud on your shoes." My mother lifted her chin and sniffed daintily, her delicate nostrils flaring only the tiniest bit, the barely discernable wrinkles around her eyes deepening only slightly.

"Good morning, Mother. I'm sorry I displease you."

'You've been off to that dreadful swamp again, I see." Mother curled her lip in disgust.

"Yes, Mother," I said, focusing on one of Mother's carefully crafted curls. She spent hours on her appearance each morning, and I had never seen her without her honey-gold hair looking perfect.

"It's a pity you weren't around yesterday. I had a lovely visit with Prince Jorge. He really is quite charming."

'Yes, Mother," I said, barely able to force the words past my lips. Although I'd seen him be charming to other people, he'd never acted that way toward me. The first time I met him I tripped entering the room. Instead of helping me up, he laughed, making me feel even more like an idiot. Our relationship had only gone downhill from there.

"I've done something wonderful for you, child, and you will, of course, thank me for it."

"Thank you, Mother," I said, wondering what it could be. The last time I'd had to thank her without knowing what I was thanking her for, I'd been ill and she'd invited a bloodletter to put leeches on me. I hoped there were no leeches involved this time, although with my mother, anything was possible.

Mother smiled smugly as she adjusted the lace on her sleeve. "I've begun engagement negotiations. We've tentatively scheduled the wedding for the end of the summer."

My heart sank. Marry Prince Jorge? I couldn't believe that anyone might think that we were suitable for each other. I was clumsy in social situations and terrified of talking in public, never knowing quite what to say. Jorge was poised and handsome and so full of himself that even his horse had to kneel when his master entered the stable. I began to think that the arrival of the bloodletter and his leeches might have been better news.

"But I can't marry Jorge! We don't love each other!"

My mother gave me a look so cold that I stepped back a pace. "What does that have to do with anything?" she asked. "Husbands and wives who love each other are the exception, not the rule. Stop whining and be happy that he wants your hand at all. Not many princes would be willing to marry someone as awkward as you. Despite all my efforts, you have few social graces. If only you'd been born a boy as your father and I had wanted! Maybe then I could have made something of you. As it is, this match is the best that you can hope for, so I expect you to be gracious about it. Now see what you've done! I can feel my headache returning."

Marrying Jorge would be a terrible mistake. I was beginning to feel so desperate that I was unable to let the subject drop. "Mother," I said, "Jorge is a fool! I can't marry him!"

"Many women have married fools and been perfectly happy. Negotiations have begun and despite what you may think, they do not require your approval. You should be glad that I care enough to arrange a marriage for you at all. Now, hurry and fetch my maid. My head is pounding."

I was devastated. To think that my mother wanted me to leave my beautiful swamp and marry that horrid Prince Jorge! After sending my mother's maid to her, I went in search of my aunt Grassina, but the door to her tower room was locked. A dripping sign written in red berry juice had been nailed to the thick wood.

Beware, all ye who would trespass here. Those who set foot beyond this portal uninvited shall have their hearts ripped out by dragons and their brains eaten by maggots. Deliverymen, please leave all packages by the door. Emeralda, I've been called away for a few days. I'll let you know when I get back. We'll make your favorite fruit tarts.

Grassina, the Green Witch

I had to talk to someone about my mother's dreadful plans. I went in search of a friend who wasn't too busy to talk to me, but I didn't have much luck. Fortunata, the daughter of mother's favorite lady-in-waiting, was sick in bed with a cold and couldn't be disturbed, which was just as well, for she was a terrible snob herself and probably would have considered Prince Jorge a great catch. Violet, the scullery maid, was scrubbing the kitchen floor for the second time that day and was not in a good mood. Bernard, the undergardener, was being scolded for failing to rid the garden of slugs. Chloe, the second-best seamstress, was helping the head seamstress sew yet another gown for my mother. I tried to think of someone else I could talk to, someone who wouldn't be too busy or impatient for a real conversation. Somehow, I kept thinking about the obnoxious little frog in the swamp. He was rude and sarcastic, but at least he wanted to talk to me.

Hurrying back to the swamp, I was surprised at how eager I was to see the frog again. When I saw him sitting on his lily pad, I smiled for the first time that day.

"Couldn't stay away, huh?" he said as soon as he saw me. "Sorry, I haven't thought of any proof yet, although I could tell you about some of my exploits. I'm sure the minstrels are singing about them already. For instance, there was the time that I—"

"Never mind that now. I just have to talk to someone! You'll never guess what awful thing my mother has done!"

"She nailed all of your shoes to the floor."

"Of course not! Why would she do that?"

"She had a servant wash all of your whites with red stockings!"

"Whatever are you talking about? You aren't even close!"

"She ordered you to kiss the first frog you met!" the frog said, batting his eyelids at me.

"Not in a million years! I told you you'd never guess it. She's arranging for me to marry Prince Jorge!"

"You're kidding! I can't imagine anyone marrying Jorge. He's so in love with himself that there's no room for anyone else in the relationship. Have you ever seen the way he looks at his own reflection in a looking glass? It's enough to make a dog sick! And confidentially," whispered the frog after looking around to make sure that no one else was listening, "I've heard that Jorge has a fondness for ladies' shoes. He has a whole trunk of them that he keeps locked in his bedchamber!"

"I don't know about that, but I do know that I can't marry him. He's a rude idiot who barely acknowledges my existence. I could never be happy married to someone like that! Besides, he makes me so nervous I get all tongue-tied and can't think of what to say."

"You don't seem to have any problem talking to me," said the frog.

"You're different. It's easy to talk to you. You're just a frog."

"I'm a prince, too!"

"Maybe, but you don't look like one. You don't act like one, either, so it's easy to forget. But Jorge is something else. He never lets you forget that he's a prince."

"Maybe if you talk to your mother ..."

"It wouldn't make a bit of difference if I did. Appearance is everything to my mother. I know she won't change her mind. And my father will do whatever she says just so he doesn't have to argue with her. How could my mother do this to me? Why, I'd rather marry you than Prince Jorge, whether you're a prince or not. You wouldn't ignore me or laugh at me, would you?"

The frog blinked in surprise. "No, of course not."

"See? And at least if I married you, I wouldn't have to leave the swamp!"

"Gee," said the frog, looking flustered. "I don't know. All I asked for was a kiss."

"You want a kiss? Fine! I'll give you a kiss. I'd rather kiss you than Prince Jorge any day!"

I knelt on the ground at the edge of the pond. With a mighty leap, the frog landed on the ground beside me and puckered his lips.

"Wait just a minute," I said, drawing back.

The frog looked distressed. "You haven't changed your mind, have you?"

"No, no, it's just that... well, here." Fumbling in the small pouch attached to the waist of my gown, I found an embroidered handkerchief. I reached out and gently patted the frog's mouth clean. 'You had dried fly feet stuck to your lips," I said, shuddering. "All right, let's try again."

This time the kiss went without a hitch. I leaned down, puckered my lips, and closed my eyes. Violet, who had had far more experience than I, had told me you should always do that when kissing a boy. I assumed it was the same when kissing a boy frog. The frog's lips felt cool and smooth against mine. The sensation wasn't too unpleasant. It was what happened next that took me by surprise.