First Light (14 page)

Mason’s face paled as I nodded.

“Yes. I came here hoping to find my sister, Ce— Ow!”

A sharp kick to my shin interrupted my explanation. Mason had returned to my side. “You promised me a tart!” he yelled. “I want it now. I got to get back to work.”

“Take your tart,” I grumbled, glancing at him sideways as I bent over, rubbing my leg.

“And get on outta here,” Maggie scolded.

Mason ran around the table, reaching the cooling tray.

I started to finish my explanation. “I was led to believe that my sister Ce—”

“Ouch!” Mason exclaimed. “Them’s hot.”

“Of course they’re hot,” Maggie said, clearly annoyed. When she turned away, rolling her eyes in exasperation, I caught Mason’s desperate look and hand gestures. He was trying to tell me something. It was then I remembered the guards and their reactions to both Merry Anne’s and Cecilia’s names. Ever-so-subtly, I nodded to Mason.

“Merry Anne bade me come here,” I said, finally finishing a sentence without interruption.

For a brief second, Maggie appeared puzzled, then the lines of her face smoothed out into a serene expression. “Well then,” she said, waving her hand toward the table of half-prepared tarts. “Go on with you. If you’re gonna work here, you’d best hurry with the breakfast, and make sure to clean up your mess when you’re done. Wipe the tables and mop the floor when you’re finished with the baking. Then we’ll see about you helping in the garden.”

“I can stay?” I asked, hardly daring to believe I’d get off this easy.

Still looking tranquil, Maggie glided across the kitchen and took her apron from its peg. “You may prepare the breakfast and bake the bread each day.”

“Thank you.” I clasped my hands together and grinned at Mason.

“But don’t think on gathering no eggs,” Maggie said, some of the old edge back in her voice. “That job’s mine, and no one’s gonna take it.”

“Ha! Told you that bull wouldn’t be such an easy pushover.” Cristian slapped his knee, laughing out loud as his friend, Henrie, dove between the slats of the corral fence and landed face down in the dirt.

“You were wicked to bet me about it,” Henrie said when he’d finally caught his breath. He glanced over his shoulder at the snorting bull parading around the pen. “I could’ve been killed.”

“You weren’t in
that
much danger,” Cristian said. “No more so than when that cow went after me for getting too near her calf this morning. As if I’d tip over a baby.”

“Wouldn’t put it past you. As I said— wicked.”

Cristian shook his head. “It’s
bored
I am.”

“Then go play with your princess.” Henrie stood up, looking ruefully at a tear in his breeches.

Cristian reached over and ripped off the flap. “There. Now you can quit fussing over your clothes and concentrate on having fun.”

“Cow tipping no longer qualifies. Let’s get cleaned up and go back to the castle.” Henrie reached up, brushing straw from his dark hair. “Surely Princess Cecilia has a cousin or someone who can entertain me while the two of you get acquainted.”

“I’m acquainted enough,” Cristian grumbled. He’d realized that within the first few hours of his arrival. He and Princess Cecilia had nothing in common— other than a betrothal contract. He pushed off the side of the barn. “If I have to sit in that stuffy old castle and
converse
with those old people any longer—”

“The princess doesn’t
look
old.” Henrie followed Cristian across the yard. “In fact, I’d say she looks great for being over
thirty
. Are you sure all that nonsense about fairies and charms is true?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s
not
true. But who knows?” Cristian shrugged. “Strange tales seem to flourish around here.”

“It’s a cursed business,” Henrie said.

“You’re terribly funny,” Cristian said without laughing. “Somehow I don’t think you’d find the situation so amusing if you were the one being forced to marry.”

“Well, you can’t blame Cecilia’s parents for not wanting her to marry ol’ Nadamaris’s crippled son.” Henrie sidestepped a pile of manure as they left the barnyard. “Or into that family, period.”

“I don’t,” Cristian agreed. “But being betrothed at the age of two is ridiculous— this whole thing is ridiculous. To base the remainder of our lives on a stupid curse and fairies— magical beings I’ve yet to see,” he added, sarcastically. “And that everyone expects me to believe these fairies advanced Cecilia’s age to eighteen,
nearly eighteen years ago,
and kept her at that age to protect her from the Queen…”

“How romantic,” Henrie teased. “If it’s true, then for almost eighteen years she’s been patiently waiting for her prince to grow up.”

“I wish she hadn’t bothered.” Cristian’s brow furrowed. “And don’t tell me you believe all that drivel any more than I do. Besides, just because she
looks
eighteen doesn’t mean she’s any fun. She
acts
all of thirty and older.”

“Perhaps you would, too,” Henrie said, “if you’d been shut up in a castle, afraid for your life all these years.”

“I wouldn’t have stayed shut up, cowering like a frightened bird. I would have done something about it— fought back.” Cristian punched the air with his fist.

“
What
would you have done?” Henrie asked. “Run over to Baldwinidad and tipped over Queen Nadamaris’s cattle?”

“I’m starting to find you about as amusing as the princess.”

“I can go home,” Henrie reminded him. “After all, the ladies of Rincoln are likely beside themselves for want of entertainment in my absence.”

“Likely so,” Cristian agreed. “Nevertheless, you’re staying. If I’ve got to be here— be
married
in six weeks— the least you can do is keep me company in the meantime.”

Henrie shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

“I can’t, and that’s exactly the problem.” Cristian’s steps grew slow and heavy as they neared the castle. “The last thing I want to do is marry a woman who is supposedly years older than me, who never wants to leave the castle, who does nothing but sit and stitch samplers all day. But what choice do I have?”

“None. If you want someday to be king over…” Henrie paused, his arm swept out in front of him. “The not-so-lovely Canelia.”

“I’ve no desire to be king over this miserable land, and you well know it,” Cristian said. “But if I don’t, if I refuse to do my duty— as my father so succinctly puts it— Nadamaris’s curse on the land will worsen, and I’ll be responsible for the demise of thousands, the ruin of the entire wretched kingdom.”

“Inconvenient,” Henrie said.

“Just a little.” Cristian brought a hand to his head, rubbing his temples.

“At least the bride is beautiful,” Henrie said.

Cristian glared at him. “I couldn’t care less.”

“I know. But you will on your—”

“Stop.” Cristian held his hand up as he turned toward Henrie. “Not another word about my wedding night— or any other time after I enter into matrimony. I don’t want to think or talk of it anymore. Let’s try to have as bearable a time as possible these next few weeks.”

“Whatever you say—
prince
.” Henrie sidestepped away from Cristian’s outstretched fist and kept walking. They continued in silence, meandering around the various outbuildings surrounding the castle.

Henrie stopped suddenly, lifting his face and sniffing the air. “Where’s that wonderful smell coming from?”

“Probably the kitchens,” Cristian said. “I’ll say one thing— the Canelian royals have a fabulous baker.”

“Let’s drop in for samples,” Henrie suggested. “All that running made me hungry.”

“Sure,” Cristian said, unenthused.

“Ouch!” Slamming the pan of cinnamon rolls down on the table, I pulled my hand back quickly and stuck my finger in my mouth. Yet again, I’d forgotten about the hole in the cloth I’d used to take the pan from the oven. Furious, I flung the offending rag across the kitchen, where it landed in a heap of laundry. Still nursing my burnt finger, I began separating the buns so I could move them to a fancier tray for serving.

The knife slipped on the second roll, ruining the perfect spiral. I bit my tongue to keep from cursing aloud and continued my work, all the while tired and cross about it— about everything.

A full week had passed since I’d revealed my non-elf existence to Maggie. In that time, my situation had not improved. Though hearing Merry Anne’s name had been enough to pacify Maggie into allowing me to work here— to do much of
her
work— she hadn’t allowed me to join the other girls in the servants’ quarters. It was best, she said, if we kept our arrangement between us.

Best for whom?
I wondered angrily. I felt tired and grumpy, as any normal person would, after sleeping on bricks for two weeks straight. How I longed for a bed, a pillow… a real bath. Only desperation to be clean had finally driven me to bathe in the chilled pond at the far edge of the orchard. And now I was paying for it. Since yesterday afternoon’s wash, my head had ached, my nose had run, and I felt so tired. I didn’t care that I’d promised Maggie I’d work in the garden today. As soon as these buns were in the oven, I intended to find a
soft
place to curl up and go to sleep.

I glanced at the sky through the open doorway. It was high time the milk was delivered, but I’d yet to see it— or Mason— this morning. Probably he was sulking somewhere, after the scolding I’d given him and his friends yesterday. I hadn’t minded sharing the morning’s fare with Mason. And it was all right when he brought one friend along. But the
five
boys he’d shown up with the morning past had put me in a temper. Between them they’d devoured an entire pan of scones while I was busy mixing honey butter.

“Do you still believe I’m an elf?” I’d shouted. “I’m not, and this food doesn’t magically appear, you know. I’ve been up half the night preparing it, and now I’ve got to make more dough or we’ll be short for breakfast.”

Of course I felt bad after the boys left. I felt especially sorry to have shouted at Mason. He was the only friend I’d made here— the only one I could talk to about Merry Anne and Cecilia and my hope of finding them.

And after two weeks, I wasn’t
any closer to finding either— especially Cecilia, considering I couldn’t even mention her name. After Mason had warned me by badly bruising my shin that first non-elf day in the kitchen, he’d explained that anyone outside the royal family who even mentioned Princess Cecilia’s name was carted off to the dungeons— or worse.

“No one really knows where they go,” Mason had whispered. “But they
never
come back.”

It appeared this whole princess-curse business was taken pretty seriously around here.

My rotten luck
, I thought,
that the princess’s name turned out to be Cecilia, too. Princess Cecilia of Canelia… good grief.

“What were her parents thinking?” I muttered under my breath as I continued separating the rolls. Until now I’d always been a little envious of my older sisters’ names. They all sounded soft and pretty and somehow the same— Cecilia, Cassandra, Brianna, Melissa, Emma, Belinda, Claudia, Rebecca, Maura. And then… Adrielle. After nine girls, who could blame my parents for choosing a name that began with an A instead of ending with one. I’d always imagined they were all out of options by then. I was probably fortunate they hadn’t given me a boy’s name.

But my name
was
different.
I
was different— from my sisters. All except Cecilia, perhaps. If I could ever find her. And that didn’t seem likely. Getting inside the castle seemed impossible— none of the guards near the doors had responded positively when I’d mentioned Merry Anne’s name— and with all the tasks set before me each day, I had precious little time to explore other places.

I sighed heavily as the sound of footsteps and laughter drifted past the open doorway. Stirring the icing with my uninjured hand, I glanced at the cinnamon rolls spread across the table.
Those boys wouldn’t dare come back, would they?
I started to set the bowl aside, intending to close and bolt the door, when a hand was suddenly beside me, snatching a roll from the table.

I reacted, but not quite fast enough, missing the first boy and smacking the hand of the second offender as he, too, reached for a roll.