First Light (21 page)

Having learned both Maggie’s and Rose’s history, I imagined what Cristian might be up against. And I feared for him. Whether he wished to obey his father or not, if he didn’t, the outcome could be devastating— for both of us, if, as I suspected, I was involved.

“And if you don’t follow their counsel?” I asked.

Cristian looked away from me, out through the orchard, then down at our entwined hands. “Consequences,” he said solemnly. “Many, many consequences— for everyone.”

Consequences aside— whatever those were exactly, as Cristian never would tell me— in the coming days, we continued in our project of clearing the orchard to feed the hungry. The work helped take my mind from my parents’ deaths and the task of finding Merry Anne or Cecilia. Though Cristian had made inquiries for me in the castle, so far he’d learned nothing about either.

“That’s the last of them.” He hoisted a fifty-pound bag of wheat into the back of the wagon.

“You’re wonderful,” I exclaimed. “Absolutely wonderful.” I felt like hugging him, so happy was I with the way he’d come through for me on our project. In addition to the bushels of apples we’d picked, somehow Cristian had managed to acquire large quantities of wheat, barley, and beans for our mission as well. Thinking of the joy and hope our little delivery might bring the families on the outskirts of Tallinyne, I could hardly wait for our trip.

“Another two days, you think?” Cristian asked, using the back of his arm to wipe sweat from his brow before lifting another basket into the wagon.

“Oh, yes. We’ll be done by then. The orchard is nearly bare. You’ve been a tremendous help.” And he had. What remained unspoken between us was the knowledge that we could have been done much sooner, had Henrie continued to work with us beyond those first few days. But he’d stopped coming, and I sensed it was because he disliked me. I didn’t know
why
he didn’t care for me, or what, if anything, I’d done to offend.

Surely he wasn’t that upset by my one joke at his expense.
Though I could come up with no other reason for his absence.

Normally I would have been bothered by something like this, but with Henrie gone, it had been just Cristian and me together nearly every afternoon for three glorious weeks. And I so enjoyed
his
company, that I was almost glad Henrie didn’t like me.

Cristian was a good worker— efficient and strong. Even so, I wondered how much earlier he had to rise each morning to complete his tasks so he might be free to spend the late afternoon by my side in the orchard. He was full of ideas, and we talked a lot during those hours of apple picking. He loved the outdoors as I did, and he longed to travel and see the world. I shared with him a little of my journey from my home to Tallinyne.

After that one night when I’d broken down and told him of my parents’ deaths— and he’d spoken of the strain between him and his parents— we’d kept our conversations much lighter. I entertained him with stories of my large family, siblings who teased, the pranks— mostly at my expense— they pulled, and our life of poverty.

Cristian seldom spoke of his background, and I didn’t push him to, realizing I still harbored plenty of secrets of my own. But I’d finally found a measure of peace— during the days, at least. My nights were still lonely and troubled.

“Henrie has agreed to go with us and drive one of the wagons,” Cristian said as we left the orchard and headed back toward the castle.

“That’s good,” I said. “I’ll be sure to thank him.” And I would, for though I was perfectly capable of handling a wagon— I’d been driving a team since almost before I could walk— if Henrie drove, that meant I was free to ride with Cristian.
An entire day together.
I couldn’t keep the smile from my face.

“And Maggie’s all right with you being gone for the day?” Cristian asked, giving me a sideways glance. “Because we’ll have to leave well before sunup and won’t return until night.”

“I’ll speak with her tomorrow,” I said, not at all sure Maggie was going to be “all right” with such an arrangement. In reality, I imagined a frying pan or two being flung my way after I made my request. “I’ll talk with Florence, too. She’s in favor of this, you know.”

“So you’ve told me,” Cristian said.

Since her abrupt appearance and departure with her sisters, he’d only seen Florence one other time. She’d come to the orchard alone to check our progress. She’d seemed a little giddy to find us there, tipsy almost, and I wondered if perhaps she’d been to gather eggs— and partake of a certain beverage— with Maggie. At any rate, Cristian hadn’t been duly impressed by her either time.

“What if Maggie says no, and Florence won’t help us get beyond the gates?” he asked.

“I have a plan,” I assured him. As I’d known he would, he respected my silence on said plan. I was hoping Merry Anne’s name still held sway over the bridge guards. If not, as a last resort, I knew I could use a pearl for our journey. In a way, doing so would be a relief. I could be free of their secret and share it with the one person I longed to tell everything to. But for now, I dared not say anything. I
wouldn’t
say anything unless absolutely necessary.

During our time together I’d learned that Cristian was skeptical regarding things involving mysticism of any sort. He thought the princess’s curse a silly tale, and he didn’t believe in fairies. The only kind of magic he acknowledged was the kind created by hard work and diligence— the kind we were creating, harvesting the orchard and giving its abundance to those in need.

In this matter, as in many others, he and I were much alike, though I could not deny the existence of the pearls or the enchantments I’d seen both Merry Anne and Florence work.

“Well, good night then,” Cristian said as we stopped in front of the door to the kitchens. We’d hardly spoken on the way back, but I didn’t worry we’d wasted the time. The silences we shared when together were nearly as comfortable as our teasing and conversation.

“Thank you, again, for getting all that wheat.” I smiled up at him.

“It was nothing." For a moment he looked as if he was about to say something, then changed his mind.

“Have a good night’s sleep,” he said, our joke between us, as we knew each was retiring to less-than-favorable accommodations.

“You, too. Don’t let some horse nibble your hair during the night.”

He raised a hand in farewell as he left. I pushed open the door and went inside. The fire was almost out— no surprise— and a bundle was piled beside the hearth. Curious, I went to it and found a thick blanket and soft feather pillow. On top was a small piece of parchment with elegant letters sprawled across the middle.

Sweet Dreams—

Cristian

Hugging the pillow to my chest, I closed my eyes and smiled. I didn’t need dreams. Life seemed suddenly very sweet— all by itself.

“Lovely of you to stop by,” I said sarcastically to Mason as he lugged the pails of milk toward the table. “I thought you’d forgotten we were friends now.”

“You’re always too busy, off picking apples with your
other
friends
.” He spoke the last two words so bitterly, and wore such a look of disdain on his face, that I wanted to laugh and reach down to hug him at the same time.

Instead I handed him a braided loaf from the table. “Here. You may have a whole one. I made extra today.”

Mason took it reluctantly. “Probably only ‘cause you hoped
they’d
stop by.”

“Guilty,” I confessed. “But I’d hoped to see you, too. You tell better stories. And tomorrow I’ll be gone by this time, so I was wondering if I might get the milk earlier.”

“Where you goin’?” Mason mumbled through a bite of bread.

“To deliver all those apples we’ve picked to the starving people in the city.” I bent down close to him. “But that’s our secret— all right?”

“Sure.” He gave me another sour look. “I suppose the prince is going with you.”

“No.” My brow furrowed. “Why would you think such a thing? I came in using my own devices, and I’ll get back out the same way.” Or so I really hoped. “You needn’t fret. I’m going to be very careful about the whole thing." I untied my apron and hung it on the hook near the broom. Passing the fireplace— and the pillow and blanket stacked nearby— I couldn’t help but smile. Thanks to Cristian, I’d slept better last night than I had in a very long time.

Mason tore off another chunk of bread. “Well, you’re always with
him
.”

“You mean Cristian?” I took baskets from a high shelf, then returned to the table and began filling them with the braided loaves.

“That’s
Prince
Cristian, but maybe he don’t expect you to call him that. I seen you with him in the orchard and here. You like him better’n me now.”

I froze, a loaf of bread in each hand. Ignoring Mason’s hurt, accusatory expression, I focused on the first of his sentence. “Cristian is not a prince.”

“Sure. And I get this milk from the rooster.” Mason thumped the side of the pail.

I moved closer, leaning over the table to stare at him. “Be serious. Cristian
isn’t
a prince. He works at the stables.”

Mason shook his head, his mop of hair flying back and forth. “He causes ruckus at the stables. He and his friend are always up to no good— makin’ more work for the rest of us. Though leastwise that’s stopped a bit since he’s been hangin’ ‘round the orchard with you.”

“But—”

“I gotta go. I got no end of tasks to do lately.” Mason walked to the door. “Thanks for the bread.”

I ran to him, catching his arm before he could leave. “This isn’t funny. If Cristian
was
a prince, he certainly wouldn’t be spending so much time picking apples with me.”

Mason shook his head again. “Girls,” he said, disgusted. “You don’t know nothing. ‘Course he’d be hangin’ round you. You’re kind and funny and— pretty. And it 'pears I wasn’t the only one who noticed.” With that, he shrugged off my arm and left the kitchen.

I stood there a moment, watching him go before I closed the door and barred it. I didn’t want any other visitors just now— maybe ever, if what Mason had told me was true.

Returning to the table, I began gathering the bread and throwing it in the baskets.
A prince?
For some reason I’d had it in my mind that Princess Cecilia was an only child. But why shouldn’t she have siblings?
Cecilia and Cristian.
Maybe their parents had a thing for starting names with the letter C the way my parents liked to end names with the letter A
.
If it was true, I wondered if there were more brothers and sisters running around. Maybe a Courtney or Camille.

Though the focus had certainly been on Cecilia and her impending wedding, it made perfect sense that she would also have a brother or two.

With a sinking heart and no little amount of mortification, I thought of all the things about my family,
myself
, that I’d shared with Cristian. I remembered the way he’d listened— half-fascinated, half-amused— to my tales of farm life. I didn’t for one minute buy Mason’s explanation of why Cristian had wanted to spend time with me, but I could see that perhaps I’d proven an interesting distraction in the everyday life of a prince.

Glancing toward the hearth, I was tempted to hurl the pillow and blanket into the fire.
How pathetic I must seem to him
. With shame, I looked down at my dress— near rag status from being worn and washed constantly. I remembered the way I’d thought it odd that Cristian didn’t seem to know any of the names of the other servants. I suddenly understood why.

His refined speech… his nice clothes… even his ability to get wagons and food for our mission— all because what Mason had told me must be true.

And the responsibilities his father was pressing on him— no wonder they were at odds. His father would likely be furious about Cristian’s friendship with a servant, with me.

I sank down on one of the stools and stared into the flames of the fire.

Cristian is a prince
.