First Light (25 page)

“This is where the tale waxes romantic,” he said drily.

“Oh?” Maybe I didn’t want to know. I chanced to look over at him and caught him watching me as well. Our eyes met, and in his I read a regret and sadness as deep as my own. It should have helped, to know he’d not played me the fool on purpose, but it didn’t. That he was hurting too made my own sorrow that much worse.

Because I love him.
I’d not dared put a name to my feelings before, and it was folly to do so now, but I couldn’t seem to help it. Throwing caution to the wind, I scooted closer to Cristian and placed my hand on his arm. He adjusted the reins and took my hand in his. It felt warm and comfortable and like the most natural thing in the world.

An odd, stray cloud blocked the rising sun, cloaking us in near darkness, making us feel even more alone, and the moment seem even more intimate. Until I heard Henrie hollering to his team behind us.

“Careful, or Henrie may try to run us over,” I said, only half-teasing. I imagined his consternation at seeing Cristian and me sitting so close.

“Let him, then,” Cristian said, releasing my hand to put his arm around me. “We’ve at least got today. I don’t want to waste it.”

“Nor do I.” I leaned my head against his shoulder, savoring his nearness. But I still wanted to know the whole story. “Will you tell me— as much as you can?”

“As much as I know.” He sat up straight and took the reins in both hands again, as we’d hit another bumpy patch of road. The ground here was cracked and dry— even this close to the castle. Changes had come to this part of the land during the weeks I’d spent working in the kitchen and trying to find my sister.

“For hundreds of years, it’s been said that fairies and other magic folk inhabit these parts. In particular, they’re drawn to Canelia and have a history of blessing the Canelian nobility with gifts.”

“What sort of gifts?” I asked, uneasy as I recalled Florence’s question about which
gift
I found most useful.

“Courage, faithfulness— that sort of thing mostly.”

“So never specific abilities,” I asked. “Like being good at gardening or building fires?”

“Not that I’ve heard of.” Cristian’s brow furrowed in thought. “It was rather odd how those women asked you about gifts that day in the orchard. Of course,
they
were rather odd.”

You have no idea.
“Perhaps I have royal Canelian blood,” I said, joking. Though as I said it, a strange thrill ran through me. If I somehow
was
of the nobility, then my relationship with Cristian would be on more stable ground.

Excepting that he’s engaged to the princess.
There remained that one, significant obstacle.

“You don’t need royal blood.” Cristian said. “You’re grand all on your own.”

“Thank you.” My face and heart warmed from his compliment.

“Anyway, it’s not only Canelian nobles who receive gifts. Supposedly I’ve been given one, too— the gift of helping others. Whether I wish to or not, I must always help someone in need.”

This notion bothered me. Cristian
was
helpful; he’d helped me quite a lot and was doing so this very moment. I wanted to believe he did that of his own accord. Just as I was good at building fires and growing herbs because I chose to do those things until I was quite adept, Cristian was helpful and kind because it was his nature, not some forced gift from a fairy.

I must ask Merry Anne about this later.

“So you see,” Cristian said. “It’s destined I’ll do right by Princess Cecilia and her people.”

“You haven’t yet explained
how
you’ll do right. Is something magical to happen the moment you marry?”

“I don’t think so. The prophecy is a little vague there.” He paused, raised his head slightly, and began in a different voice, as if reading a royal proclamation.

“A daughter shall be born to the good King Addison and Queen Ellen. She shall grow in grace and beauty and strength until she reaches eighteen years of age and is united in marriage to the prince of Rincoln. Their love for one another shall cease the reign of Queen Nadamaris of Baldwinidad and end the long suffering of those in Canelia.”

“Love?” I choked out. “How is that to—”

Cristian held up his hand and continued in a monotone voice.

“As Queen Nadamaris’s power arose from black magic and a deep hatred and jealousy, so shall powers higher than that be required to end it. Only the deepest abiding love and trust between the two afore spoken will be enough to cripple her and end her reign of terror. If they fail in this endeavor, Canelia will fall and be forever lost.”

“How old were you the first time you heard this?” I asked, indignant on his behalf.

“I had it memorized by the time I was five.” Cristian’s tone was indifferent, but I knew his feelings could not be.

“It’s awful,” I said. “A terrible thing to put upon a child— to put upon you. And even if it made any sense, how can it possibly work when you don’t—” I stopped abruptly. It was not my place to say whom Cristian did or did not love.

He said it anyway. “I don’t love her.”

I sighed as I looked up at him. “Might you, do you think— if I hadn’t gotten in the way?”

He shook his head. “It’s doubtful. She’s not a woman of action. You are. I admire that. We’d never be bored together, you and I.”

“No. We wouldn’t,” I agreed. Though I longed to reach for him again, my fingers remained still on my own lap. After all, we’d never get the chance to test that hunch.

It was well past sunrise when we reached the wealthy shopping district I’d passed on my way to the castle the first time. The morning chill had burned off somewhat in the face of another sunny day, but the chill of Cristian’s tale remained.

Henrie pulled up beside us, complaining he needed something to eat. I pointed out that he had an entire wagon full of apples, but he didn’t find that amusing. So we stopped in front of a bakery, and Henrie went in to inquire about sustenance for us all.

Cristian seemed as enthralled as I’d been on my first visit through this area, and I offered to drive after we ate so he could take it all in.

“No need,” he said, eyes focused on something behind me. “But I think I’ll walk around a bit until Henrie returns. Would you like to come?”

“No, thank you. I’ll stay with the wagons.” I seriously doubted that anyone in these parts would have interest in taking our goods, but I also had no desire to venture into any of the fashionable shops, dressed as simply as I was. True, the dress I wore was at least the proper length now and without holes, but it was obviously the garment of a serving girl. And my cloak, while new as well, was of thick, coarse material, not unlike that of oat sacks for horses. I, too, was like the second kind of poor— proud of what little I had, not wanting charity from anyone higher up on the ladder.

Drawing the cloak closer, as if to protect me from the stares of passersby, I sat stiffly on the wagon seat, awaiting Cristian’s and Henrie’s return. It was not long before Henrie came from the bakery, a bag jostling in his hand. He handed me a pastry from the sack, then took one for himself and bit into it. A second later, his face soured in bitter disappointment.

“These aren’t nearly as tasty as your cinnamon rolls, Adrielle.” He glanced back at the bakery. “You’d do well to open a shop of your own here— put these poor fellas out of business.”

I smiled at his genuine compliment. “I may,” I said. “After…"
After Cristian and Cecilia are married and I can no longer bear living at the castle.

“Please don’t make it harder on him,” Henrie said, not unkindly. “I’ve nothing against you, Adrielle, but Cristian has long been my friend, and my concern must be for him and the life he must lead.”

I said nothing but nodded and turned away, stiff on my seat.

Cristian returned a few minutes later, and as the wagons set off again I struggled to get my roiling emotions under control. I felt angry and sad— near despair and completely unable to cope with soon-to-be loss.

“What are you thinking?” Cristian asked, after some time had passed in silence.

“I’m still wondering how you are to do this great feat— aside from loving a princess

you hardly know?” I tried to keep bitterness from my voice but feared I was not entirely

successful.

“Did your father have you practicing with toy swords from a very young age?” I imagined

Cristian as a little boy, sitting at his father’s knee and having such a burden placed upon him.

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Cristian said. “I spent years under the tutelage of the finest swordsmen and was instructed much in the leading and commanding of armies. All that is well and good for any future king to learn. But believe me,” Cristian added, “it was with much skepticism that I arrived in Canelia. It is with much reluctance that I’ve become acquainted with my betrothed.”

It was with much jealousy that I endured him speaking of her. “She’s a princess; surely she cannot be that bad.”

“She is neither bad nor good, nor any other way to me,” Cristian said. “Nor I to her, for that matter. We are simply the both of us caught up in this whole ridiculous curse nonsense.”

“You still don’t believe it, then?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I don’t know what to believe. Tallinyne and particularly Castle Canelia are strange, to be certain, but you’re the first, and only, person who has told me any solid evidence of a serious famine or plague sweeping the land. Our passage from Rincoln to the castle showed some evidence of drought, but mostly it was dreadfully boring.”

“Is that why you’ve helped me these past weeks and with this errand?” I asked. “So you might see and judge for yourself the condition of the land?”

“Yes.” Cristian looked straight ahead as he answered. I felt another pinprick of hurt, but a second later it healed over as he looked at me, a tender expression in his eyes.

“That was my reason at first, anyway. But it was the irresistible pull of your friendship that kept me coming.” He reached for my hand once more.

Queen Nadamaris frowned as she stepped onto the balcony adjoining her chamber. Walking to the edge, she looked down, peering out across her kingdom as far as she could see. Something felt… unusual. Out of place.
Wrong
. Inhaling deeply, Nadamaris realized what it was— the air was lighter, and the fog wasn’t quite as thick as usual.

Lifting her face to the sky, her eyes rolled around, taking in the heavy, gray clouds that hung permanently over the castle and all of Baldwinidad. They were her greatest accomplishment thus far, one both respected and feared by the residents of the neighboring kingdoms. As well it should be— she was the only ruler in history who’d mastered the ability to control Mother Nature. And control it she did, gathering clouds and moisture from other lands and bringing them to hers.

When someday she had the ability to control fire as well… How great would be her powers then, how endless her reign.

But just now, something seemed—

Nadamaris’s eyes narrowed then blinked rapidly, as they swept the far end of the valley beyond the forest. From here it almost appeared there was a break in the clouds.

“Impossible,” she muttered, continuing to stare as the gap slowly widened, exposing the blue sky above. Whirling around, she reached for her telescope that was no more—
forgotten
over the past several weeks since she’d thrown it at Hale.

With a last, angry look at the sky, she marched indoors, to her chamber, colder and darker than outside. She commanded the candles on her table to light then stood before a floor-to-ceiling curtain, covering a corner alcove. For a moment she hesitated, not quite fearing, but certainly dreading what lay behind.

It has been a long time… still, my telescope is broken, and I must know immediately.

With her head held high and proud, she swept the curtains aside to stare at the large oval mirror behind. Its murky surface waved like the waters of the sea, beckoning her question.

“Mirror,” Nadamaris began in a steady voice. “Has someone stolen from my clouds?”

She paused, waiting as a figure began to form in the depths of the mirror. “If they have, and done it by right, show me now where to find them.”