The Last Princess (23 page)
Authors: Galaxy Craze
There was a maypole for the children, along with an apple dunk and a juggling clown, and Scottish
bagpipers and fiddlers and dancing. Horses and donkeys, their manes brushed and braided with gold ribbons, stood in a ring for the village children to ride. I smiled at the sight of Caligula, a full head taller than the other horses, carrying three children on her back and tolerating several others as they combed her
tail. The church had been repainted since Hollister’s army had tried to burn
it down, and it gleamed white in the sun.
Tents had been set up in the square in case of rain, but there was no chance of that today. Rows of long tables spilled over, piled high with homemade pies and scones, fresh-baked breads and cheeses, cold cider and even some long-forgotten delicacies. People had traveled for miles for this celebration.
In her first act as queen, Mary had donated the
royal lands to the British farmers. All over England, fresh crops had been planted to feed the nation. The masses were no longer starving. Most important, Cornelius Hollister was securely locked away in the Steel Tower, his army disbanded.
Mary greeted her people with open arms. The arrow wound still caused her pain, and though she tried to hide it, I sometimes saw her wince before catching herself
and covering it with a gracious smile. Eoghan was constantly at her side, dark-haired and tall in his navy summer suit. His two young sons played at the maypole while he and Mary looked on.
After Hollister’s arrest, Wesley and I had traveled back to the cottage where Nora and Rita lived. We found them tired and thin, skeletons of their former selves, living off weeds and the remains of the canned
goods they had stored away. We brought them to Balmoral and set them up in the
small gardener’s cottage, a new house free of the nightmarish memories of that night. But I never told them I had been there.
I stood in a patch of sunlight on the lawn watching Wesley and Jamie play soccer, Jamie finally learning the tricks of the game he had never been able to play. My eyesight blurred with tears
as he laughed and ran, kicking the ball with abandon. Why was it that the happy things now brought tears to my eyes? But I did not want to cry today. I stood up, heading over to the food-laden tables.
Polly, Clara, and George were gathered around General Wallace, who was recounting stories of the war planes he had flown many, many years ago. Clara sat drinking a glass of lemonade, wearing a new
dress she had sewn. I recognized the fabric, the small purple flowers against the pale blue background. It had once been a curtain in Polly’s bedroom.
Polly walked over to me. She had put her hair up on either side with combs and wore a white-and-yellow sundress that had once belonged to Mary.
“You look pretty,” I said.
“So do you.”
My hair had grown to just below my ears, and even the scar
on my cheek was fading.
“Did you see that chocolate cake over there? I’m dying for a piece.”
I grabbed her hand. “Let’s get some.” We walked over, staring in awe at the round, three-layer cake. I couldn’t remember the last time I had eaten chocolate. It was such a rarity.
As we cut a slice to share, I noticed a young boy carrying a blue-and-white bowl of strawberries. He looked about five or
six years old and was dressed in a pair of overalls.
“Just look at those strawberries!” Polly cried, her mouth full of cake. “Wherever did you find them?” She stared down into the bowl as though looking at a beautiful work of art.
The bright red color of the berries and their gorgeous, waxy sheen was utterly mouthwatering—but there was also something strange about them. I picked one up, then
another, then a third. Each berry was exactly the same, as though they had been cast from a mold.
Polly held a strawberry to her lips, opening her mouth to bite it.
“Polly, wait! No!” I screamed, knocking it forcefully out of her hands. A tinge of pink stained her lips.
“What?” she cried out, frightened by the panic she saw in my eyes.
I quickly snatched up a napkin and wiped the juice from
her lips like a mother would to a child. Taking my thumb and forefinger, I broke open the berry. The inside was full of tiny metal stars. I dropped the berry to the ground, turning to run after the boy. I stepped outside onto the crowded green, looking for the blue of his overalls, the white-blond hair, but I didn’t see him in the mass of people dancing and drinking and playing music. The sunlight
hit my face and I shielded my eyes, but I already knew that I would find no sign of him.
The boy was gone.
I FEEL VERY GRATEFUL TO HAVE BEEN GIVEN THE OPPORTUNITY
to write this book. The first person I’d like to thank in this process is Dan Ehrenhaft, for his continued encouragement and for bringing me to Alloy.
I am forever thankful to Josh Bank, Sara Shandler, and Joelle Hobeika for trusting me to fulfill their vision of
The Last Princess
.
I could not have been luckier than to
be paired with Joelle Hobeika for this book. This was a true collaboration between editor and writer. Joelle is the kind of hands-on old-fashioned editor people say no longer exist. Her edits beautifully sculpted this book. Her encouragements pushed the story further and her critiques were always exactly right.
And I could not have asked for a better editor than Cindy Eagan at Little, Brown.
Cindy’s vision and foresight transformed the world of the story and the arc of the plot. I am so happy that we will all be working together again.
A huge thanks to Katie McGee at Alloy for her help, especially recapturing the lost details.
Steve Stone, for the beautiful cover art.
Lauren Singer, for her intelligent comments and pre-edit edits on early drafts of the manuscript.
Anna VanLenten,
for her continued friendship and encouragement.
To Simon Sher at Northampton Martial Arts, for instructing me on sword fighting strategies and fighting techniques.
To Anabel Mehran, for friendship and the photograph.
Lots of love to Sam, Rowan, and Tess, for understanding the days spent at the library.
My family: my grandmother, Polly Smith; my mother, Sophy Craze; my brother, Jett Craze;
my father, Edward Craze; and my wonderful stepmother, Victoria Craze. Thank you to Carol and Allen Shiff. To Fred, Sally, Peter, Christina, and Alexandra Brumbaugh, for their enthusiasm.
To Isabella Rose Lederman and Chianna Li Cohen, my neighbors, for reading early drafts and encouragement.
Contents
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2012 by Alloy Entertainment and Galaxy Craze
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading,
and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
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First e-book edition: May 2012
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ISBN 978-0-316-20282-4
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