Authors: Cameron Dokey
Or are you suggesting I set out to conquer what few enemies I have by sending my daughter to visit them, one by one?"
"Let her at least go from the court," le Renard spoke up. "She enjoys the outdoors, does she not? Perhaps a habitation in the countryside could be found."
“A fine suggestion," Oswald put in. "I'm sure she'd enjoy your properties, my lord, particularly the ones nearest the ocean.
Unless you fear she'd cause too many storms and sink all those ships of yours with their fine, rich cargoes."
"If I might suggest," the soothsayer murmured, as le Renard stepped toward Oswald, his color high. "There is another course of action we might pursue. Though I fear, Majesties, it will be even less to your liking."
At these words, a third and final silence fell upon us. A terrible silence. A silence like a blight. In it, I seemed to feel all joy within me wither, as the crops that should have grown and sustained our people had so lately done. I sank back down onto the straight-backed couch.
I knew what the soothsayer meant. We all did. If the spells spoken over me in my cradle were fulfilled, the war within me would be over. The calamaties which threatened to destroy us all 58
would stop. All it would take was the prick of a finger. Followed by one bright drop of my life's blood.
I heard a rustle of garments as my father moved to stand behind me and my mother. Exactly between us, framed by the curve of our heads and necks as we sat upon the sofa.
Connecting us, turning the three of us into one as he laid a hand on each of our shoulders. Though I could not see him, for I did not turn, I had some notion of what was in his face, for I saw it in reflected in the eyes of those who stood before us.
And the thing in my fathers face was so pure and fierce that, strong though they were, the noblemen cried out and shielded their eyes, all save the soothsayer and le Renard. Oswald stood to one side as he had throughout, so still it seemed to me he had been turned to stone.
"We will speak no more of this," my father said, in a voice that I cannot to this day describe. For it contained so many things it was like a thousand voices speaking all together. A single voice and yet a chorus. "Leave me now, if you value your lives."
At this, even le Renard looked shaken. "Your Majesty, we only meant..."
"Oh, keep talking. Please," said Oswald.
At this, le Renard's face blanched. Without another word, he and the nobles with him bowed as if they had a single body, then backed out the audience-chamber door. As if they feared my father might yet change his mind and slay them on the spot if they turned their backs upon him. The royal soothsayer scuttled out behind them all.
"Well," Oswald said when the door was safely closed.
"Something tells me that little worm will soon be looking for another job."
"You can't call him little," I contradicted, though how I managed to speak through a throat that had suddenly become so constricted I could hardly breathe I do not know. "He's way too tall."
"True. But let us both at least agree that he is low."
"Oh, how can you?" my mother exclaimed suddenly. "How can you joke at a time like this, the two of you?"
A sentiment that was somewhat undermined when my father laughed aloud. Not that he sounded all that amused.
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"Let them joke, Mathilde," he told Maman. "They remind me to keep my perspective." He moved to the front of the sofa and knelt down before me, taking my hands in his, rubbing them when he found that they were cold.
"I want you to go back to your room and get a good night's sleep, Aurore. Don't let the ramblings of frightened fools keep you awake. In the morning, we will decide what must be done."
Then he released me and stood. "You will see her to her room, Oswald."
"With pleasure, Uncle."
"Good night, then," said my father.
And though he turned away swiftly, he was not swift enough, for I saw the thing that was in his heart. The thing that the others had seen in his face. That had made them cry out and cover their eyes.
Grief.
For his own fate. But even more, for mine.
By the time Oswald and I reached my rooms, I had made up my mind. Not that I mentioned this to him, of course. Some things are best kept to yourself. Particularly when you're not sure whether or not other people will approve, but you're pretty sure they won't.
So I simply thanked him for seeing me safely to my room, went inside, then dismissed my nurse, who had waited up for me as she always did, drowsing in a chair before the fire. Though my heart hammered that I should hurry, hurry, hurry, for a moment I stood still in the center of my room. As if the rules of the universe had suddenly changed and the racing of my mind and heart had unexpectedly resulted in my limbs becoming frozen.
And then I realized that the reason for my paralysis was this: I had absolutely no idea what I was about to face. I only knew that, for the first time in my life, I would be all alone.
Though I might need new skills, there would be no one to teach them to me. No one of whom I could ask questions, from whom I could learn, as I had done for so long. I would have no mentors. No teachers. No one to guide me. What I was about to 60
attempt was a thing that only I could do. And I would do it on my own.
And so, even as my mind and heart raced on ahead, my body paused, wanting one last moment in familiar surroundings before embarking into a great unknown. One last moment of solid ground before leaping straight out over a bottomless abyss. Then the moment passed, and my limbs began to obey the dictates of my heart and mind.
Near the alcove where my bed lay were two identical wooden chests, sitting side by side. The right one held what Nurse referred to as garments befitting a princess. Of the contents of the left chest, she preferred not to speak at all. It was this chest that I now opened, for it contained clothing much more suited for what I was about to attempt.
From this trunk, I selected a homespun shirt, a leather jerkin, and my favorite pair of breeches. Followed by warm socks and my sturdiest, most supple pair of boots. These I put on, being careful to fold the garments befitting a princess I was taking off and put them in their proper place. Nurse was going to be upset enough as it was. There was no sense in adding to her distress by not taking care of the things she valued.
Then I took out a second set of work clothes nearly identical to the first and put them in a knapsack I could carry upon my back, leaving both my arms free. To this, I added my knife in its sheath, though, after a moment, I took it out again and strapped it to my right leg so that the hilt just protruded above the top of my boot. I didn't know into what kind of danger I might be going, and I could hardly defend myself with a knife safely tucked away in a knapsack on my back.
From the kitchens, I could acquire provisions. From the stables, my bow and arrow, which I kept hidden behind a bale of hay in my horse's stall so Maman would not come to know about them. My mind whispered that I should take the horse as well, for I would make better time if I did. But my heart rebelled. I had no wish to take him into unknown danger, for I loved him well.
So I would go alone, and go on foot. Go without further delay.
Go now. Out through the kitchen gardens, I thought, as I hoisted the pack upon my back, then covered it by tossing on my warmest cloak. A thing that seemed right and fitting, for had I not taken my first steps into the world through the same door?
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Not only that, if I went that way, I could stop at the healer's cottage on my way to the stables. She slept in the palace, so she would never know until after I was gone. And taking with me what I might need to bind a wound or treat a fever seemed a wise and sensible thing.
If I was going to go haring off, I ought to be wise and sensible about one thing at least.
Sucking in a breath, I blew out my candles, then waited until my eyes had adjusted to the room being lit by the firelight alone.
The palace corridors would be much like this as I made my way along them, illuminated by torches set at regular intervals along the walls. Earlier in the evening, they would have blazed brightly.
But by now, they would have burned down low. When I was satisfied that my eyes would serve, I moved to my door and eased it open, then leaped back, startled.
Oswald stood on the other side.
Arms folded tightly across his chest as if to keep his heart from bursting out of it. His eyes hot and furious, a thing I could have discerned even had the room been much darker than it was.
"I knew it," he said. "You re going to run. You're so predictable, Aurore."
Before I quite realized what I intended, I took two steps forward, seized him by the front of his shirt, yanked him over the threshold, and closed the door behind him. How I managed not to slam it, I have no idea.
"I am not running," I hissed. "At least not running away."
"What does that mean?" he shot back, though he did keep his voice down."That you're running toward? Don't be stupid.
Running is running. Don't do it. You'll be giving that weasel le Renard exactly what he wants."
"So what if I am?" I said. "Even a weasel is capable of seeing the truth, Oswald. If they have nothing else, they have sharp eyes."
"And teeth," said my cousin.
"It doesn't matter! Don't you understand?" I cried. "He's right!
You know it. I know it. Even Papa knows, though he doesn't want me to see that he does. All the terrible things that are happening 62
to us—they're all my fault. They'll keep on happening as long as I stay. I have to go away. Don't try to stop me. Please, Oswald."
We stared at each another, and I realized both of us were breathing hard.
"I sincerely hate it when you do that," Oswald said at last.
"Do what?"
"Say please. Appeal to my better nature."
"It shouldn't. I'm not so sure you have one."
"Oh, Aurore." As if suddenly incredibly weary, Oswald crossed the room and sat down on the edge of my bed. After a moment, I went to sit beside him. "You really don't think very much of me, do you?"
"It's not that," I protested. "It's just—I don't understand you, Oswald. I never have. Not really."
"What's so mysterious about me?" he asked, his voice as sad as I had ever heard it. Actually, I don't think I'd ever heard Oswald sound sad before. "Why should we be so different, you and I? Do you think I don't want the same things you do?"
"To wear my father's crown, you mean," I said, and heard him draw in one swift breath.
"That really is what you think, isn't it?" he asked, and now his voice was bitter. "It's what you've always thought. Devious, scheming Cousin Oswald. So devious and scheming it never occurs to you I might want something simple and mundane. So simple and mundane you don't even see it when it's yours.
"What about, to be a part of a family? To be wanted. To be loved. Did you never think I might want those things, ma petite Aurore?'
"But," I said, then found the words I'd been about to say simply die away and slide back down my throat. For the truth was that such a thing had never occurred to me. Not even once. I don't think it had occurred to any of us, not even to Papa.
Oswald turned his head. I could feel his eyes upon my face.
"You might as well just admit it," he said.
And so I told the truth and answered, "No."
He sighed, as I'd placed and lifted a great burden on his shoulders all at once.
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"Wait a minute. You are part of a family," I said, sitting up a little straighten Angry all of a sudden. "We're a family, aren't we?"
Oswald gave a derisive snort. "Don't insult my intelligence, Aurore. Having relatives isn't the same as being part of a family."
"But you never said anything," I protested. At which he snorted once again.
"What on earth would you have had me say? One cannot simply ask to be loved. To be included where one is not. 'Please pass the marmalade, Uncle, and, oh, by the way, could you see your way clear to think of me not as your brother's son but as your own?"'
"You could have tried giving it," I said.
"It isn't as simple as that, Aurore."
Now it was my turn to snort."Don't you be stupid. Of course it is. How many people do you think have the courage to love all on their own? It's really much easier when you do it in groups."
"You make it sound like a herd of cows."
My lips twitched. "I prefer the image of a flock of birds, myself."
"Crows?"
"Snow geese. I'm sorry, Oswald."
To my astonishment, he closed one of his hands over mine, then raised it to his lips and pressed a kiss into my palm. Then he kept my hand in his, resting it lightly upon one knee.
"So am I, ma petite Aurore. I kept telling myself that, someday, one of you would see me, see the things for which my heart longed. But you never did. There were days when I thought I knew just how Cousin Jane must have felt."
"Invisible," I whispered, and felt my whole body begin to shiver as fingers of ice walked down my spine. "It's you in my dream. Not her. Its been you all along."