First Light (27 page)

“I said
don’t
touch!” Florence shouted. “
You
are what is causing this storm. The closer you are to one another, the worse it is. And if we’re discovered by Nadamaris before we can get back—”

We’re causing it?
That made no sense, but then, neither she nor her sisters ever did.

“Get back there and sit between them,” Florence said to Henrie, practically pushing him over the seat back to the wagon box. He landed with a thud between us.

“What’s this all about, Adrielle?” he demanded, holding his arm tenderly as if it was injured. He glanced over his shoulder at Florence. “She’s got the strength of an ox.”

“Quiet,” Florence barked. “Nadamaris can hear voices and see things miles away.”

“Then why are you talking?” Cristian rose up as if to climb in the front with her.

“Because she can’t hear
me
,” Florence said, as if that ought to be the most obvious thing in the world.

“Let her be,” Henrie said to Cristian. “She may be addled, but she’s not a bad driver, and she’s taking us in the right direction, at least. I won’t mind not having to drive all those hours back to the castle.”

And we’ll get there a lot faster
, I observed. We were already more than halfway through the deserted main street. Behind us, thick, gray clouds still hung low over the earth, and the downpour continued. But a mere sprinkle was all that fell on us here, and up ahead I could see clear sky once more.

Still looking annoyed, Cristian settled down on the other side of Henrie.

Instead of rattling and swaying, the wagon ride became smoother, so that I’d have almost believed we were floating, had I not seen the wheels and ground beneath us. The countryside rushed by, and it wasn’t long before I began to grow sleepy. Beside me, I noticed Henrie in much the same condition. Only Cristian appeared alert and on guard. Several times I caught him looking at me, concern in his gaze.

I smiled briefly, before finally giving into my heavy eyelids. As my head bobbed against Henrie’s shoulder, it occurred to me that this ride was like another I’d had once— in a sleek, black carriage on my way to Tallinyne.

When I next awoke, it was to find my head resting on my pillow. My tired eyes blinked as they tried to focus on the worn bricks inches away. I shivered and wondered why the kitchen was so very cold.

“What? You’re not up yet?” Maggie’s squawking voice remedied that situation almost immediately. A cold breeze tickled my back, and her footsteps hurried toward me. I sat up as her broom met my backside. “You lazy thing.”

“
Exhausted
and
lazy
are not the same,” I said, jumping to my feet. “I had a long day yesterday.”

“Yeah,” Maggie scoffed. “So long you up and disappeared after making them pastries. I had to prepare lunch all by myself.”

“You knew where I was going,” I said defensively. “We talked about—”

“Careful,” a familiar voice whispered.

“Merry Anne?” I turned a slow circle, searching for her.

“Don’t know no Merry Anne,” Maggie said. “Nor did I give you permission to be anywhere but here, doing your duty yesterday. You’re lucky I let the string out the door so you could get back in last night.”

You’re the lucky one
, I thought grumpily.
Lucky I do your work while you waste your time getting soused.
“Just because I wasn’t here doesn’t mean I wasn’t working. I—”

“She doesn’t know,” Merry Anne’s voice hissed.

“Doesn’t know what?” I asked aloud.

Maggie wrinkled up her face at me and took a step closer. “What’s wrong with you, girl?”

“She doesn’t know you left the castle grounds,” Merry Anne’s voice held a sense of urgency. “It’s critical you keep it that way.”

“Oh.” I stood there pondering this as Maggie advanced.

Moving quickly out of her way, I crossed the room and took my apron from the hook. I had no idea what I’d bake this morning but figured I’d start with a basic dough and see if inspiration struck. Pulling a bowl and spoon from the shelf, I went to the flour barrel. Behind me I felt a draft of cool air and turned in time to see Maggie leaving with the egg baskets in hand. I sighed with relief, grateful to be alone.

“Merry Anne?” I asked tentatively.

“Right here.”

“Right
where
?” I was in no mood for games.

“Here. Look down.” I did, peering at the floor and under the table and seeing nothing.

“Not that far down— on the flour barrel.”

Raising my eyes, I glanced at the barrel then gasped as they focused on an insect-sized Merry Anne standing on the edge. Bending lower, I squinted, hoping against hope that my eyes or my mind were playing tricks on me.

They weren’t.

“Helloo,” Merry Anne waved her tiny, sparkling needle at me.

Speechless, I studied her carefully— pink dress, curls piled high on her head, rosy cheeks, near transparent
wings
. “You’re a— a—”

“Fairy. But you knew that already.”

Leaning back against the table, I wiped a hand across my forehead, suddenly hot. Maybe Maggie was right. Maybe something was wrong with me. Perhaps I’d caught a bad chill being out in yesterday’s storm.

“I’ve heard you a lot, but I’ve never seen you like— this— before.”

“Of course not. You didn’t
completely
believe in me before. And you have to trust one hundred percent to see.”

“Oh.” I braced my hands on the table behind me and watched as the tiny Merry Anne rose in the air. She came closer to my face, her wings fluttering as rapidly as a hummingbird’s.

“I never noticed the wings before,” I said.

“You wouldn’t. We usually keep them hidden when we’re in our human form. Less troubling, you know.”

Indeed.
I nodded in agreement. “So you and Florence and the others are often in your— fairy form.” I stumbled over the words.

“Quite often. It’s more natural to us.”

I laughed at this, thinking that nothing seemed more
un
natural. “And believers see you.”

“All the time,” Merry Anne said. “Though fewer and fewer believe. But I knew you’d join us.” She beamed. “Yesterday was simply marvelous, wasn’t it? What with the way Florence kept replenishing those baskets.”

“Yes,” I said, remembering what a miracle that was and how I’d chosen— in those moments of desperation— to suspend disbelief and trust in all things magical. I hadn’t considered the results would be this— something to turn my world, now and forever, so completely upside down.

“But you mustn’t speak of your trip to anyone. There’s not a soul around here who knows of your journey, and it’s imperative we keep it that way.”

“What of Christian and Henrie?” I asked.

Merry Anne shook her tiny head sadly. “Nonbelievers. They weren’t distributing the apples as you were; they didn’t realize the magic.”

“But the storm, and Florence, and the ride home were magical, too,” I said.

“When a person doesn’t believe, any experience they have with magic sort of— wears off.” Merry Anne’s tiny arms flew out to the side. “Cristian and Henrie remember taking food to the poor, but they don’t remember how much food there was, or that there was a storm and Florence drove you home.”

“But that’s impossible,” I said. “It was
yesterday.
Cristian has to remember something.”

“All of yesterday’s experiences are tucked safely away in his subconscious, waiting— hopefully— for the day he becomes a believer. Until then, I’m afraid he will recall quite little.”

I felt near despair at hearing this. Turning from Merry Anne, I made my way toward the still-cold fireplace. I threw in some logs and kindling, struck the flint on the tinder, and soon had a roaring fire warming the kitchen. But my heart remained cold.

I sank to the floor in front of the fire, clutching my pillow, distressed that Christian wouldn’t remember our day together… and the miracle that had transpired.
We broke the curse— if only for a short while. And if it can be done now, he doesn’t have to marry Princess Cecilia.

“I still don’t see how he can have forgotten—” I began.

“It’s very simple, really,” Merry Anne explained. She flitted down beside me, resting on top of my knee. “When you first came here, you were a nonbeliever, too.”

“Not true,” I said. “I’d seen what the pearls can do.”

“Yes.” Miniature though she was, I could still see Merry Anne’s eyes sparkling. “But you doubted the reality of it, even though you’d noticed sparks come out of my wand when we were in the carriage together, and you’d seen Florence’s spade make short work of a task that should have taken hours. You still wouldn’t quite allow yourself to believe the obvious— that we’re fairies.”

I didn’t have a response to that. She spoke the truth. I’d made up any excuse— my lack of sleep, my new surroundings— anything other than considering the possibility of magic.

“And how about the curse?” she asked. “When Mason first told you of it, you dismissed it as a silly tale— though you’d seen evidence firsthand.”

“I did,” I admitted, feeling both regretful and foolish.

“So you see,” Merry Anne said, “how long it can take someone to recognize and accept the enchantments all around them, to truly believe?”

“Weeks,” I said, feeling more hopeless than ever. “But I haven’t got weeks— Cristian is to wed soon. Once he’s married I’ll lose him forever. But if he could just remember the miracle yesterday— that the curse lifted.” I turned suddenly to Merry Anne. “You know it did. And Florence was there. If the curse is so real, and he must wed the princess to break it, then what happened yesterday?’

Merry Anne said nothing. Her wings began fluttering once more, and she rose in the air.

I wasn’t ready for her to leave yet. I needed more answers. “The storm— was that Florence, too? Did she cause it just as she caused the apples to replenish?”

“No, dear.” Merry Anne landed on my arm. “Even the fairies cannot overcome Nadamaris’s power. We did not and cannot alter the prophecy or counteract the curse. The rain was brought on by something much stronger, something Nadamaris longs to destroy.”

“What?” I asked, rising to my knees, anxious to understand Merry Anne, to know what had caused relief from the drought— even temporarily. That knowledge could save the entire kingdom, as well as be the key to my future happiness— and Cristian’s. For I knew he felt the same way about me. Yesterday had only confirmed the depth of
both
our feelings.

“Think, Adrielle. Remember all that Cristian told you about how he was to break the curse. And listen to your heart. Nadamaris is soon to realize what happened. You must, too. You must be on your guard, now more than ever.” Merry Anne’s face seemed troubled. “Take care in everything you do— and say.” She waved her wand, sending a tiny shower of fairy dust shooting through the air before disappearing through a crack in the wall.

Shoulders sagging, I leaned my head back and groaned in frustration, knowing that if she’d only tell me— if I could figure it out— I could free Christian from his betrothal, and together we could save the kingdom.

King Addison strode into the vast library and headed directly toward his desk. Behind him a servant backed into the hall, pulling the heavy doors shut. From her chair across the room, Merry Anne pointed her knitting needles at them. The bolt slid into place with a loud click.

“See to the windows, Florence,” Merry Anne said quietly as she resumed her knitting, the yarn ball on her lap rapidly disappearing as a new garment formed in her nimble hands.

“Yes, sister.” Florence sprang up on her toes and, in a sudden burst of fairy dust, disappeared from view. A few seconds later the high windows encircling the room began closing, their shutters folding inward, clasping together in tight seals.

“You wished to speak to us,” Merry Anne said to the king when the final window was secure.

“Someone has breached the bridge,” Queen Ellen blurted. She rose from her seat on the divan and crossed the room to stand in front of Merry Anne. “One of the guards discovered fresh hoof prints and wagon tracks coming off the bridge and onto the path leading to the outbuildings.”

“
Tsk
,” Kindra said from her place across the room by the vast fireplace. “This wouldn’t have happened if you’d let me burn the bridge as I suggested.”