First Light (22 page)

From my spot high in the apple tree, I could see Cristian approaching, whistling as he walked, acting as if he hadn’t a care in the world. It was near our usual meeting time, and I’d half-hoped he wouldn’t come. Though now that he had, I picked up one of several apples from my lap and prepared to launch it. Having had the day to think about his deception, I’d arrived at a state somewhere between despair and fury. Cristian was the second man— Gemine being the first— to have fooled me about his true character, and
this
time I was in a position to let him know how I felt about it.

Cristian stopped a dozen feet from my tree, facing away from me. I took aim and let fly with an extra large apple. When it struck true, he yelped and grabbed the back of his head. By the time he’d turned around, I’d thrown a second. This one he saw just before it grazed the side of his face.

“Adrielle!” he shouted up at me. “That isn’t funny. Those hurt. You throw as hard as you run.”

“And your lies are as smooth as your manners and dress,” I retorted as tears pricked the back of my eyes.
No
, I thought, dismayed.
No tears.
But seeing Cristian standing there brought my initial sorrow to the surface. True enough, I was angry with him, but greater than that was the loss I’d felt, realizing we were from such different worlds. Worlds that, sooner or later, would have to part.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, glancing down at his clothing, as if that was where the problem lay.

Boys
, I thought. Pulling back my arm, I threw another apple as hard as I could. This one he dodged completely.

“Have you gone mad?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m mad!” I shouted. “I’m furious because you lied to me. You— you
prince
!”

Cristian’s mouth opened briefly, but no words came out. Finally he shrugged then held his hands up as if in surrender. “Who told you?”

“Does it matter?” I was not about to risk getting Mason in trouble. With the kind of power Cristian had, I needed to be much more careful about what I said than I had been previously. “Why didn’t
you
tell me?” I asked. “Why did you let me think you were a servant at the stables?”

“
You
assumed that,” Cristian said. “And I did try telling you the truth. Only—”

“Only my tales of poverty were so amusing you decided to wait a little longer?”

“No.” Cristian walked nearer to the tree and stared up at me. With reluctance, I met his gaze.

“I enjoy your company, Adrielle. And I feared I’d lose it if you knew my true identity.”

“You might have given me the chance to decide.”

“I should have,” he agreed. “Though I can see
already
that I was right. You feel differently about me now.” His voice had an edge to it. He turned and started walking away.

“Wait,” I cried, wondering what had just happened.
How dare he act upset with me when
he
was the one who lied.

I stood quickly, and the remaining apples spilled from my lap, bouncing off tree branches and falling haphazardly to the ground. I jumped down after them and ran to stand in front of Cristian, blocking his path. “
You
cannot be angry.” I stomped my foot in the dirt. “You’re not the one who bared your soul these past weeks. I told you things about my family that I’ve never told anyone. I’ve paraded around in this ragged dress. You even saw where I sleep each night, all the while letting me believe your circumstances were the same.”

“And had I not, would we still have become friends?” Cristian demanded. “Would you have told me those things, would you have asked for my help? Would you have treated me the same— or avoided me as if I had some contagious disease?”

“I—”

“Don’t answer,” he said. “I can see it in your eyes.” He moved around me and started walking again.

Though I knew I was in the right and dearly wanted to win this battle, I felt my anger starting to dissipate. “I thought we were equals, and now…”

“Now I could have you thrown in the dungeon for chucking apples at me.”

I whirled around to face him. “You wouldn’t.”

“Or…” Cristian paused. “I could have you beaten with the very spoon you struck me with that first day we met.”

Boldly I stepped up beside him and looked at his face, trying to determine if he was serious. He met my gaze, his expression thoughtful.

“Or, I could make it so that once you leave the castle grounds tomorrow, you are not permitted back again.”

I sucked in my breath sharply then tried to swallow my sudden unease. Not at all liking this new, authoritative Cristian, I remembered all too well the way Gemine and the other gypsies had exercised their power.

“But it wouldn’t much matter
what
I decided to do to you.” Cristian gave an over-dramatic sigh. “Because you’d outrun me before I could catch you.” He winked as a slow grin spread across his face.

“Oh!”
He’s teasing. I’m furious, and he thinks it a joke.

He burst out laughing. “Ah, Adrielle. You really do think of me as some kind of ogre now.”

What I thought was that he was extremely lucky I hadn’t any other fruit within reach.

“Please don’t hate me,” he said earnestly, misinterpreting my silence as agreement. “I’m still your friend. Just because I have a title doesn’t make me any different inside. And you’ve only to put up with me for a little longer anyway,” he added, as if that might change my mind.

“What do you mean?” Still angry with him, I folded my arms across my chest. “Are the king and queen sending you off to finishing school somewhere?”

“That I should be so fortunate to travel—
any
where.” He looked off into the distance. “What I meant is that there are only a few weeks left until the wedding. After that…” His voice trailed off, and he dropped his gaze, but not before I’d glimpsed him looking, for all the world, as sad as I felt.

“After the wedding…” I prompted, my voice quieter.

He shrugged and mumbled something about Henrie being right. “I didn’t mean for things to— for us to— I wanted to have a friend, to have some fun before I married.”

It took a second for his words to register. I gasped. “Married?”

“Yes.” Cristian raised his head, giving me a curious look. “I thought you knew. I’m betrothed to the princess. I’m marrying Cecilia.”

If I’d had a dozen pillows and the softest of feather beds— or even an entire chamber to myself— I wouldn’t have slept that night. As it was, the one pillow I had— a gift from Cristian— served only to catch my many tears that fell throughout the long hours of darkness.

My heart and soul felt bleak, and try though I might, I was unable to shake the sense of loss that had settled over me since his announcement.

I’m marrying Cecilia... betrothed to the princess… marrying Cecilia.
Cecilia, who did
not
have a brother after all, but a fiancé named Cristian. I had not known until the moment he’d told me, and our conversation hadn’t ended well. I’d thought I was upset before, but that Cristian had also failed to mention his impending marriage knocked the breath from me, crushing what spirit I’d had left. It had been all I could do to stagger and then run away from him, tears coursing down my cheeks.

Sometime around midnight, judging by the moon when I went out to use the privy, I gave up all attempt at rest. I’d planned to rise early, to make the bread for the day so we could leave on time for our trip, and I got an even earlier start now and began measuring flour into a bowl. There would be no trip— not for me, anyway. Cristian and Henrie could go by themselves. I wanted nothing to do with either of them now.

“You know that isn’t entirely true,” a sing-song voice whispered in my ear.

So real was the voice that I jumped, spilling a good portion of flour on the floor.
Or maybe I should go and never come back
, I thought, considering the fact that I was now imagining voices on an almost daily basis.

“This place is no good for me,” I said aloud, rationalizing that talking to myself was no worse than hearing people who weren’t here talking to me.

“Now don’t go getting any rash ideas, Adrielle,” a voice that sounded very much like Merry Anne’s scolded. A second later I felt a tickle of air at my cheek. A second after that, I heard a noise at the door and watched, frightened, as the latch jiggled then lifted. The door swung open before I’d had time to grab even a spoon with which to defend myself.

Merry Anne breezed in, a smile on her face and her cheeks pink and rosy, matching the gown she wore. She shut and latched the door behind her, then turned to me.

“Hello, Adrielle.”

This was the last straw. “
Hello?
That’s all you’ve got to say when I’ve been searching for you for weeks? I risked my life chasing outlaws to get your pearls back. I escaped a band of gypsies. I walked all the way here and was nearly run through by the guards at the gate, all while trying to follow— and find— you.”

Merry Anne’s smile grew brighter, and she clasped her hands together. “And you did so beautifully, dear. I’ve never been so proud.”

Ignoring her obvious joy, I reached into my dress and pulled out the string with the remaining two pearls. “Here. You can take this back now. One is missing because I accidentally used it— getting away from the gypsies,” I added.

“Oh, and so clever of you to figure out the bracelet’s magic on your own. Clever, and quick.” She did a little jig around the table but made no move to take the pearls.

But now that she was here, I had no intentions of letting her go without the trinket and without giving me a good explanation about what was going on and where she’d last seen my sister.

“
Take it
,” I said, thrusting the pearls across the table.

“Oh no, dear. It’s yours. You must keep it for your protection.” Merry Anne pulled a knitting needle from her pocket and hooked the bracelet on one end. She raised it until it was level with my chest. I watched in awe as the string of pearls floated in the air toward me. It bumped my skin then slid down inside my dress, where it had been.

“You know the magic of its charm now. You need only wish for something— and state it clearly aloud— and that wish will be granted.”

“
Any
wish?” I’d wondered about that since the first pearl had helped me escape, but I hadn’t been brave enough or curious enough to test my theory.

“Not quite,” Merry Anne said. “Like any magical device, the bracelet has limits.”

“Such as?” I felt myself holding my breath, suddenly anxious to hear her answer.
Was it possible? Might I be able to—

“You cannot wish anyone back from the dead.” She spoke softly. “Stephen and Gretta— your parents— cannot return to life.”

“Oh.” The breath I’d been holding eased out in a heavy sigh, and tears rushed to my eyes. Though this time I hadn’t been crying for my parents, it seemed that sadness was never far from the surface. Devoid of the secret hope I’d been harboring, and knowing I’d lost Cristian as well, I felt more alone than ever.

Merry Anne’s eyebrows rose as she stared at me. “Nor can you use the pearls to wish someone dead.”

Obviously she’d picked up on my fleeting, though murderous thought about Cristian.

“I don’t see that the pearls are much good then,” I said sarcastically, trying to keep my tears and overwrought emotions at bay.

“Someday you may feel differently,” Merry Anne said. “You have but two wishes left. Don’t use them foolishly. Remember that in addition to their abilities to grant wishes, the pearls will grow warm to warn you of imminent danger. But you must act as soon as you feel their warning. If black magic is used against you, the pearls are not strong enough to counteract such a curse.”

I found myself only half-listening.
Cursed
seemed to sum up my whole existence. “Pity the pearls don’t warn against someone pretending to be something they aren’t.” Unable to stop the tears leaking from my eyes, I closed them and pressed my hand to the bodice of my dress, feeling the bracelet beneath the fabric. Knowing it was still there was oddly comforting.
This
enchantment
is all I have.
How I wished Papa could have seen it.

I opened my eyes and stared at Merry Anne for a long moment, wondering if I was hallucinating— or maybe even dreaming. Perhaps I had fallen asleep and was imagining this whole exchange. Bracelets didn’t float in the air; pearls didn’t grant wishes— except that I’d already seen one do just that— and jolly little ladies didn’t do magic with knitting needles.

I blinked and wiped the tears from my eyes, but Merry Anne did not disappear. “Are you some sort of fairy godmother or something?” I asked, recalling the conversation when Papa had told me magic was all around us.

“Heavens no,” she exclaimed as she returned her needle— or whatever it was— to her pocket. “That system went out some time ago.” She paused, a reflective look on her face. “With Cinderella, I believe.”

“Cinder— who?”

“Cinderella,” Merry Anne said. “They called her that because she slept by the fire among the ashes and cinders each night.”

“Kind of like me?” I asked, glancing toward my discarded pillow and blanket, lying beside the hearth.