While Beauty Slept (24 page)

THE PATH OF COURTSHIP

I
recall that autumn and winter not as an orderly procession of days but in a jumble of memories. When life follows the course of our desires, it is easy to be swept along without thought. It is only now that certain incidents take on an importance they did not possess at the time. Much as one discounts a gentle breeze until it is recognized as the harbinger of a brutal storm, I overlooked any signs of trouble brewing. Lost in a love-struck haze, I forgot that we were all in danger, every one of us, from distant forces intent on revenge. Our enemies were content to lie low as they plotted our downfall, fading into the background of our thoughts. And so, through simple carelessness and ignorance, our fates were sealed.

But who among us can foresee the end result of our day-to-day decisions? I myself willfully ignored the consequences of falling in love with Marcus. Early on, in an endearingly mortified manner, he had explained that apprentices could not wed; any talk of marriage would have to wait until he had been accepted into the Merchants’ Guild in a year’s time. I was in no rush to leave the life I had made for myself at the castle, nor was the queen eager to release me from my duties at her side. Though she took a kindly interest in my romance, she remarked more than once that I should not rush into marriage, and I was quick to agree. And so, for a time, my daily routines continued much the same as before, even as I myself was transformed by love.

Under Marcus’s intent, admiring gaze, I became the woman I had always longed to be. I walked with a confident stride and spoke more freely, open to him with my thoughts as I was with no one else. Yet beneath my self-assured manner was a giddy girl who fidgeted with anticipation before each encounter, so eager was I to feel the warmth of his hand clasped around mine. Marcus, a gentleman in every way, never hastened me down the path of temptation, and I took inordinate pride in our chaste courtship. But the promise of more was always there, simmering beneath our lively conversations. I could feel him quiver on the rare occasions we stole a kiss in the shadow of a doorway. I had been intrigued by Marcus’s calm restraint from our very first meeting, yet it was the glimpse of those feelings—the very mirror of my own—that sent me hurtling into infatuation.

During our visits to town, Marcus never took me to his home, though he assured me repeatedly that Hannolt sent greetings and best wishes. He made passing references to his father’s ill health, and from this I understood that his parents did not welcome visitors. Seeing such a man laid low by sickness must have been painful for his son, and I avoided speaking of Hannolt unless Marcus did so first. In truth I was relieved to be spared awkward chitchat with his parents, as I treasured every moment we had to ourselves. At times I could not resist testing the limits of our flirtation, pressing my body against his when we kissed, feeling his arms tighten about my shoulders, watching his regret as he pulled away, cheeks flushed. It was exhilarating to see the effect my body had upon him, just as his every touch provoked the same breathlessness in me.

In my memory those golden months are intertwined with images of Rose as she grew from a toddling baby to an enchanting little girl. She was beautiful even then, trilling songs through the hallways of the castle, skipping through the garden and pulling off flowers to place haphazardly behind her ear. Queen Lenore tried in vain to keep her daughter’s reddish-gold hair smooth and her dresses clean, for Rose was always off on another adventure, anxious to see what lay around the next corner.

It was during one of these outdoor excursions that Flora took me aside, her thin fingers gently tugging at my sleeve. Eyes flickering over toward Rose, giggling among the wildflowers, she whispered, “It is time.”

I stared into her face, set in an expression of firm resolve, free of its usual air of melancholy. For a sudden, chilling instant, it was as if I were gazing at Millicent, hearing her thoughts overpower my own.
I will teach you all my secrets. Under my guidance you will learn to conquer death itself.
It had been so long since Flora had hinted at making me her apprentice that I had all but forgotten about her offer. Now I was overwhelmed by an intense hunger for the knowledge she promised. The force of that sudden, inexplicable desire scared me. Was this evidence of Flora’s own dark powers? Could she be trusted?

“My first loyalty is to the queen,” I said warily.

“Lenore will give you leave to visit me. She understands the importance of our work.”

Our work. So it had already been discussed and decided between them.

“If you are sure,” I said.

“I am.” She took my hands in hers, and a warm tingle of contentment flowed through me at her touch. The hint of danger that had so frightened me dissipated. For the first time, I believed myself capable of healing. Capable of rising to whatever challenges lay ahead.

Which is not to say that I performed my first tasks with any great skill. As the days grew shorter, I helped Flora cut the last of her herbs and hang them before the fireplace to dry, then began the slow, laborious work of crushing them into powders. Since I had little experience with mortar and pestle, my mixtures were lumpy and uneven, and my earliest attempts at blending an ointment had to be discarded completely. But I was captivated by the possibilities at my fingertips. I happily pored over Flora’s ledgers, filled with mysterious ingredients I had never heard of, and tried to match the names to the labels on her bottles. As is often the case when we set ourselves a challenge, I was inordinately proud of any small accomplishment, and my meetings with Flora became a welcome distraction from the gloom of winter.

With St. Elsip battered by icy winds, Marcus and I were forced to retreat to the Lower Hall for our Sunday meetings, where I would beg hot cider and warm bread from the cooks. Petra had admitted, reluctant to hurt my feelings, that some of the ladies’ maids mocked me for being courted by a shoemaker, and I was ever conscious that we were objects of gossip. For the first time, I saw Marcus through the eyes of my fellow servants: his drab, coarse clothes; his ignorance of court manners; his wide-eyed awe of luxuries we took for granted. The flickering light of the castle’s wall torches cast his many virtues into shadow, illuminating only the flaws of the man I thought my perfect match. Never granted a private moment or a private touch, we saw our interactions become more those of brother and sister than would-be lovers.

The dreariness of that winter took its toll on three-year-old Rose as well. Her sleep, never easy thanks to her mother’s fretting, became even more unsettled, and she began waking in the night, screaming from a horror she could not put into words. The first night the commotion was loud enough to wake both me and Queen Lenore in the next room, and despite the nurse’s assurances the queen insisted on tending to her daughter. Rose refused to close her eyes, terrified of what she would see in that darkness, and her mother held her tight for hours, soothing Rose until their eyelids drooped closed near dawn.

The following evening the screams returned, and again the night after. The queen’s face began to sag with exhaustion, and Rose dragged through her days red-eyed and irritable. On the fourth night, Queen Lenore jumped from her bed at the first sound of shrieking from Rose’s room. Drifting up from sleep, I watched her scurry past my pallet. I leapt from the floor and caught up to her.

“My lady,” I insisted. “I will go.”

“I must. I am the only one who can comfort her.”

“May I try? You have barely rested for days.”

Weariness slowed Queen Lenore’s response. “She may still call for me.”

“If she does, I will fetch you,” I promised. Rose’s sobbing was taking on a wild, wobbling tone, and I could faintly hear the nurse’s attempts to soothe her. “Please.”

Queen Lenore nodded and leaned her body against the doorframe. “I will wait here, in case I am needed.”

When I entered Rose’s room, her howls took on a higher, more desperate pitch. In the darkness I could faintly see the nurse’s arms wrapped around Rose’s shoulders as she struggled to break free. Only scattered embers remained in the fireplace, and the air was dank and cold.

“Mama! I want my mama!” Rose demanded.

“Hush, hush,” I said. “She is asleep. We must be quiet, so we don’t wake her.” I nodded to the nurse, who released Rose and went to light a candle. I ran one hand over Rose’s flushed face as I knelt by the side of the bed. Her eyes sought mine, wild with terror.

“I will stay with you tonight,” I said soothingly. “Only you must tell me what you are so frightened of.”

Rose clenched her eyes shut and shook her head defiantly back and forth.

What child refuses the chance to unburden herself? I thought frantically. Then the answer came to me: a child who fears she will be punished for speaking the truth. “Has someone told you to say nothing to your mama?”

Rose nodded, lips trembling.

“But you may tell me. It will be our secret.”

Rose considered my offer, her face twisted with indecision.

“Who came in your sleep, my darling? Who has scared you so?”

“The witch!”

I froze in shock. My first thought, horrible in its clarity, was of Millicent, calling out her curse at Rose’s baptism. Had she found a way to haunt Rose’s dreams?

“A witch?” I asked carefully. “What does she look like?”

“Horrible!” Rose whispered. “She has pointy teeth. And a black hat. And red eyes!”

I almost laughed with relief. Not Millicent. I must have been caught in a nightmare myself to imagine that the woman could disturb Rose’s slumber.

“Will she eat me?” Rose’s lips quivered as if she were about to burst into tears again.

“Of course not,” I scoffed. “Witches would get sick if they ate sweet girls like you. Don’t you know? They usually have rat tails or frog legs for supper, the rottener the better.”

“Eww!”

“Oh, yes.” I saw the hint of a smile emerge and did my best to tease it out. “The next time the witch tries to scare you, tell her to stop that nonsense. Or better yet, tell her your father is on his way. He’s a brave knight, is he not?”

“The bestest.”

“That will do, then. Just think of your father in his armor. He’ll have that witch flying off on her broomstick in no time.” I ran my hand over the top of her head and down her hair. “Do you feel better?”

Rose nodded.

“Do you think you could sleep?”

She reached out for my hand. “Will you stay?”

“Of course.”

I whispered to the nurse that I would lie down with Rose, and then I tucked us both under her blankets. Within minutes Rose was breathing in a steady drone, and it seemed the next moment that I was shaking off sleep as the sky lightened outside the window.

The following night Rose slept without waking, though her peaceful rest did not prevent the queen from standing over her bed for some time, taking note of each slow breath. The witch returned to Rose’s dreams off and on throughout her childhood, though she did not speak of the creature during waking hours. I came to suspect that Rose’s nightmares were an unintended consequence of her parents’ vigilance. Wondering why her safety caused such concern, she imagined her worst fear come to life. It was only much later, after I had seen the unspeakable consequences of Millicent’s anger, that I wondered if my first instinct had been correct after all. Did Millicent, from her far-off sanctuary, have the power to corrupt an innocent child’s dreams?

Perhaps as a result of my success in comforting her at night, Rose began demanding my companionship more frequently, always in search of a new diversion during those months when the weather confined her indoors. One Sunday she refused to leave my side when Queen Lenore dismissed me for the afternoon. I took her by the hand and led her to the castle’s front entrance, where Marcus stood before the guards, who were waiting for my approval before allowing him to pass.

After I waved him through, he stepped into the entryway, stamping snow from his boots on the stone floor. Rose stared at him curiously.

“Who is that?” she demanded.

I watched his face quickly rearrange from surprise to interest as he looked to me for guidance.

“This is my friend Marcus,” I said. “Marcus, may I present Princess Rose?”

Marcus bowed, keeping his head lowered so he could address her face-to-face.

“It is an honor to meet you,” he said.

“Marcus is paying me a visit, and you must be off to your room,” I told Rose. “Come, I’ll take you.”

“What’s that?” she asked, pointing to the white flakes that dusted Marcus’s coat.

“Snow,” Marcus said.

Rose pulled away from me and approached him, staring in wonder. She had watched snow fall outside the castle windows but never felt it. She held out her hand, and Marcus placed a fingerful of icy crystals on her palm.

“Ooh!” Rose exclaimed. She turned to me, eyes sparkling. “I want to see it!”

This was one of her favorite phrases, usually followed by “You mustn’t” or “Not now” from her mother. Rose chafed against her imprisonment, and I felt a swell of sympathy for the girl. Surely a few minutes outside would do her no harm?

“Sir, may I have your cloak?” I asked one of the men standing at the door. The guard pulled the heavy woolen garment from his shoulders, looking at me with a doubtful expression. I folded it over to prevent the bottom from trailing on the ground and wrapped it around Rose.

“Would you mind?” I asked Marcus.

“Of course not.” He smiled at Rose, and she clapped her hands in gleeful anticipation.

It took two men to tug open the massive wood doors. We stepped out into a frozen world. The usual bustle of the courtyard was gone, replaced by a hushed stillness as snowflakes floated downward and dusted every flat surface. Rose gasped as the freezing air hit her face.

“Is it too cold? Shall we go back?” I asked, knowing what her answer would be.

“No, no!” she squealed. She reached out her hands to grab the flakes and looked mystified as they melted against her skin.

“Where did they go?” she demanded, holding out her palms to me and then Marcus.