Faerietale Read online

  But what had that fool cared? He'd had the best healers and sorcerers available at no charge. Not that that had saved him, in the end.

  She knew it wasn't a charitable thing to think, but she'd been glad when she'd learned that he'd been poisoned. It was too bad Nika's grandparents had eventually been caught and executed for the crime; she would've liked the chance to shake their hands.

  And while the Red Queen claimed to be better than her predecessor, changing things like this did not seem high on her priority list. Still, Scheherazade help them all if someone murdered this ruler and her son took the throne. That wretch probably wouldn't understand medical concerns unless they were explained in words of one syllable. Well, maybe if a girl in a skimpy outfit explained, he could focus.

  And this wasn't helping. She'd already sold their harp, a gift from her grandmother. She hated the idea of selling Madari's sheet music, but with no harp--

  No, wait. The table. Could probably get something for the table. And the bedframes. They could sleep on mattresses on the floor; Madari would love that.

  But could she get seventy-five gold pieces for a table and two bedframes?

  Muttering darkly, she paced around the tiny apartment. It looked like they'd just moved in. Barely any furniture, few personal belongings. She'd pawned almost everything to deal with last month's medical bills.

  Trying to keep the reason from Madari was tiring. How was she supposed to tell her daughter why they were slowly bleeding out? She knew Madari would blame herself, no matter how delicately she phrased the reasoning. So far she'd just told her that the Queen had raised taxes again. Hopefully that would keep working.

  There wasn't any getting around it. She'd have to ask Andrei for a loan.

  She knew he wouldn't mind-- he'd even offered a couple of months ago-- but she still hated the idea of taking charity from him. Especially since they'd been flirting with each other more often than not when she'd gone to pick Madari up. It would be one thing if they were married and sharing finances, but--

  It didn't matter that she didn't like it. There was nothing else to be done.

  At least she could find some reassurance in the knowledge that she wouldn't put her pride on the line for nothing. Andrei wouldn't turn her down. He was too kind. Cared for Madari like she was his own kid.

  Not a surprise, really, considering that Nika wasn't even his own. Her mother and father had been robbed and murdered by rebels in the forest. He'd lived next door to them and, knowing that her future held an orphanage, he'd applied to take her in.

  Not many people would've done that, she knew. Made her wish she'd held out for someone like him rather than marrying her first husband. But without him, she never would've had Madari, so she considered it a more than worthy tradeoff.

  Beckah locked the door behind her-- not that the place really held anything for thieves to take-- and then walked across the street and knocked on the door. When no one answered, she went around to check the backyard. Andrei and the kids weren't there.

  Hurrying back around front, she knocked again, louder this time. Unable to wait any longer, she tried the door. Open.

  "Hello?" she called. "Madari? Andrei--”

  And she saw the blood. Andrei was lying in a pool of it. His hand was reaching for Nika, little Nika, lying just a few feet away in her own pool--

  "Madari!" she screamed. She wanted to kneel next to Andrei and Nika, wanted to pause long enough for some semblance of grief but she couldn't, didn't dare, not until she knew.

  "Dari! Answer me!"

  She raced into the next room, and then the next, praying that she'd find her alive, find her at the kitchen table and the others would be too and this was all a vision, a horrible vision and she'd lost track of her mind, more medical bills, yes, but she didn't care, just so she could find her--

  "Madari!"

  She'd had such a bad cough when she was four months old, gotten it only a week after her father had left them, and she'd had three sleepless nights staying up with her, terrified that if she even let her out of her sight by closing her eyes for too long that she would stop breathing.

  She'd let her out of her sight. Out of her home. And maybe she wasn't breathing, maybe she was lying somewhere not breathing--

  "Mommy?"

  She almost didn't hear the tiny sound. Afraid she'd imagined it. "Baby? Dari, where are you?"

  "In here."

  It was coming from the next bedroom. She ran inside and, seeing nothing, checked under the bed and then in the closet. Madari was crouched in behind the clothes, sitting on the shoe shelf, almost invisible in the shadows.

  "Oh, honey," Beckah said, opening her arms. Madari dove into them, starting to sob, and at the sound Beckah felt tears pricking her own eyes. "It's okay," she said, over and over. "It's okay. Shhhh. Are you all right? Are you hurt?"

  "No. Nika. . ."

  "I know, baby. I saw. But you're not going to, okay? We're going out the back door and you're going to keep your eyes closed. Can you promise mommy that?"

  A sniffle, then a nod against her shoulder. "Uh-huh."

  "Good. We're going home now."

  She left the bedroom and almost ran out the back door and across the street to their house. She knew she needed to call a patroller, but that would have to wait. Madari was still crying.

  "Honey, it's okay," she said, knowing full well the words were useless. She sat her down on her small bed, knelt in front of her. It was only then that she realized her daughter's clothes were damp with blood. She had seen after all. "What happened?"

  Was that the right thing to ask? Should she have just waited for Madari to bring it up?

  Then she started to talk.

  "Men came in. I heard their voices. We were playing hide-and-seek, and I heard a really loud noise near the back door and Andrei started yelling. And I was scared and I stayed hid."

  "Good. That was exactly the right thing to do."

  "But Nika. . ."

  "You couldn't have done anything to stop what hap-- what they did," she said quietly. "The only thing you could've done was keep yourself safe. And you did that. Listen to me. I wish they'd been hidden, too, but that doesn't mean you should've come out."

  Madari stared at her solemnly for a moment, and then finally nodded.

  "Good. Do you know who they were?"

  She looked around, as if she expected them to burst into the room at the mention of them. And the fear wasn't entirely unfounded, Beckah thought. How could they stay here, knowing those maniacs were nearby? And where could they go instead?

  "They were the Bad Men," Madari whispered. "They hear all sorts of things. And if you say stuff about the Red Queen, or the Prince and Princess, they come get you in the middle of the night." Her lower lip trembled. "Except it's not dark. They're only supposed to come in the dark. That's what makes them monsters."

  "They're not monsters, sweetheart. They're people." And sometimes, she thought, that made it a lot worse.

  He didn't take the Knight's advice. When the Prince went back to the Shadow Realm, he once again went alone.

  This time the Knight didn't confront him, though he did see the other man a good distance off, watching him for a moment before he turned his attention back to the houses.

  He quietly made his way to the correct building, then climbed up the wooden stairs that led to the row of doors, knocking on Cybele's.

  When she opened the door, he nearly took a step back. He still wasn't used to her grayish color, but right now she actually looked washed-out. The day she'd been turned into a Shadow he'd brushed off her clear exhaustion as an aftereffect of the procedure, but this--

  "What happened?"

  "Good evening to you, too," she said, moving aside to let him in. It reminded him of so many nights when she'd waited for him in his room, but while her outfit was familiar and her nails were once again impeccably painted, this time there was no welcoming smile on her face, and she almost lost her footing as she moved to shut the door.
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  "I asked you a question."

  "And I didn't answer," she said, crossing her arms. "Because nothing happened."

  He paused, shook his head. He'd meant to come here, have a pleasant conversation, and instead she was glaring at him and if he was truthful with himself, probably for a good reason. "You look horrible."

  At that, her eyebrows rose up enough to disappear underneath her bangs, and he winced. "I'm sorry. That was not good phrasing."

  She didn't answer, simply turned and went to her small oven, grabbing a thick cloth mitt and pulling out a loaf of bread. She set it down on top of the oven and then picked up a small cup, filling it at the sink and using it to water the four small plants that lined her windowsill. He looked around, saw dishes in the drainboard that were still damp from being washed; bottles of nailpolish; a dress with its hem partway taken in; a book next to her chair that had a bookmark placed halfway through. "You're doing too much."

  "I most certainly am not."

  "I read about Shadows," he said. Granted, he'd read 1/4 of a book, two days ago, but knowledge was still knowledge. "The procedure drains your energy; you can't--"

  "I'm fine," she said, and he almost retreated simply because he'd never heard honest anger from her before.

  "All right, then," he said. "If you're fine, how about a footrace?"

  "It's not wise to be outside after dark," she said, giving him a pointed look even as she tried to cover a sway by leaning against the doorjamb. "The dragons. Otherwise, I'd win."

  "You can't even run the length of this apartment, can you?"

  "Of course I can!" she said, voice thick now. "When I feel like doing something, I'll do it! I refuse to be so weak that embroidering a shirt makes me feel exhausted! I'm gone from my sister, from my friends, from . . . from you, I will not have my life affected any further by this punishment!"

  Half-certain that she'd throw a punch at him for it, he went to her and wrapped his arms around her. She grumbled something that might well have been a very impolite name and then sagged against him, her breathing ragged, as if she couldn't get quite enough air.

  "I'm sorry," he said. "I should have read something about all this sooner."

  "S'okay," she murmured. "You're busy."

  There was no sarcasm in her voice at all, and he closed his eyes for a moment. "Come on.”

  "All right," she said, sitting down on the bed when he led her over to it. "If you insist, but you're going to have to do most of the work."

  She'd meant it as a joke, but he didn't laugh. Even in jest, the words 'if you insist' hit him like a slap, and he looked down at her colorless face and remembered how exuberant she'd always been, how she'd run to him and thrown herself into his arms that first day he'd motioned to her. She'd given him that greeting, had always treated him as though she truly wanted to be there, and he hadn't even possessed the decency to speak up for her when she'd needed it.

  "I know you didn't do it," he said, sitting down next to her. "I know you didn't do anything to deserve being here-- even if you had cheated, you wouldn't have earned this."

  She smiled, exhausted and colorless but still her, and leaned against him, resting there for a moment before she reclined the rest of the way onto the bed. He started to get to his feet, but she took his hand and tugged him down next to her.

  He lay very, very still for a moment, unsure of the context of lying in bed with this woman when they both still had their clothes on. Then she elbowed him in the side. "Relax," she said. "I promise not to steal your virtue."

  He laughed, and she nuzzled closer. "You say there used to be a storyteller at the palace," she said. "What kind of tales did he tell?"

  "The White Rabbit,” he said. “A friend of my mother's. He came from another world. Went through a Door unescorted. It seemed as though the only time his mind cooperated with him was when he told stories. My favorite had knights and kings and warriors almost as fierce as Little Red and a sword embedded in stone."

  "Tell me?"

  "Once upon a time. . ."

  He spoke quietly, stroking her hair, and eventually her eyes drifted closed and her breathing started to even out. He knew he should ease away, should get back into the familiar halls and rooms of the palace-- the longer he stayed here, the more chance there was of someone realizing he was gone-- but at the moment he couldn't bring himself to care.

  ***

  He did care the next morning, which found him standing in front of his mother's throne.

  "Where were you?" she demanded, and he decided that from this day forward he needed to carry a potion that would allow him to sink directly through the floor.

  "What do you mean?" he asked. "I've been with the harem, or out in the gardens, or--"

  "Do not lie to me. You are far too young and far too naïve to be any good at it."

  He fell silent, unsure of how to respond to that in a way that wouldn't raise her suspicions even further. "I . . . I went to the uppermost room. Snow used to tell ghost stories about it when I was a child. I must've fallen asleep. I apologize for worrying you."

  "Stop lying to me!" she said, her voice rising as she got to her feet. "The mirror said you'd left the palace grounds completely."

  "Mirror? What--"

  "Where. Were. You?"

  "The Shadow Realm," he whispered.

  She relaxed somewhat, though she remained standing. "Why?"

  "I was curious."

  "About what? Criminals and murderers there, nothing more."

  "Snow didn't think so." He wasn't even sure where those words had come from. Some deep-seated part of him that liked to be yelled at, apparently.

  "What was that?"

  "I said, Snow didn't think everyone there was--"

  "Was dangerous? You said you heard ghost stories as a child; you must've heard plenty about the Forest Witch. She's in there. You're quite lucky you didn't run into her."

  "When you sent Cybele in you told me she'd be safe."

  His mother's eyes gleamed, and he realized he'd just been very neatly maneuvered. "That flighty harem girl? So she has a name to you now?"

  The Prince shrugged. "Just because I don't care for her doesn't mean I wish to see her hurt."

  "Too young and too naïve," she repeated. "I'll let her be. But you are not to visit her again. Did you not think of what would happen if you were held for ransom? Or if one of the criminals recognized you and simply decided to get at me through you? Of course you didn't," she said, resting a palm against his cheek, a maternal smile on her face. "Why should you? Your life has no place for concerns such as that. Really, you're just a boy."

  For once, her endearment didn't sound so endearing. "Where's Snow?"

  "What?"

  "My sister. Surely you remember--"

  And the hand that had been resting gently on his face pulled back and whipped forward again, snake-fast, cracking against his cheek. "You are my child and I love you," she hissed. "That love has no limits, but my patience does. Do not test it again."

  He kept his gaze on his feet, startled and embarrassed and completely unsure of what to do next. He cleared his throat. "My Queen," he said quietly, tone respectful now. "What news of my sister?"

  "She visits the neighboring kingdom. There is hope that a marriage between her and the King's youngest son might prove a steady unifying factor. It is a mission known to only a few souls at this moment. If it fails, we don't want the entire realm's hopes to be dashed. Understand?"

  "Yes."

  "Good. You're dismissed, then."

  He turned and walked away from her, his pride stinging far worse than his face.

  ***

  “Catherine. You need to eat.”

  “I know,” she said, her face burning as Estelle held out the spoon. The fact that she needed to eat did not negate the fact that she hated having to be fed like an infant. “I'm just . . . I'm not hungry at the moment.”

  “I could ask them in the kitchens to make you something you could drink again,”
the Prince said, and his voice was earnest, near desperate, and she snapped.

  “I can learn this!” she growled, getting to her feet. “I will learn.” He got up as well, started to approach her, and she backed away a step. “Do not touch me.”

  “I . . . I know. I know,” he said, holding up his hands as he moved away.

  She sighed loudly, automatically started to reach up to pinch the bridge of her nose. Remembered. “I can't,” she said quietly. “It's just . . . excuse me.” She hurried out into the gardens. Estelle looked after her, a worried frown pinching her features. The other women tried their best to look as if they hadn't seen or heard any of the exchange.

  The Prince stalked over to the door, pausing only when Estelle took his arm. “My Prince,” she said. “Where are you going?”

  He started to snap at her, then looked down and saw that she seemed honestly concerned. “I'm going to see if I can fix this.”

  The concern gave way to confusion, but she did step back.

  He left and went directly to one of the lowermost rooms in the palace. The door had once been locked, but after another visit to the library-- stuffy and boring that place might be, yes, but it could also prove useful-- he'd learned how to get past that. However, entering the room had only brought disappointment; the room was empty save for a dusty old mirror.

  Now, after the talk with his mother, he was wondering if there might be a reason that room was kept locked after all.

  He stood in front of the mirror and stared into it, seeing nothing more than his own reflection. Raising his eyebrows, he waited for the thing to speak, or glow, or something.

  “Well?” he finally asked.

  “Well what?”

  The disembodied voice nearly made him jump. He took a hesitant step closer to the mirror, peering at it. No stranger's face appeared in the glass. Still nothing looked out of the ordinary.

  “So,” he said. “You need to be asked a question, then?”