First Light (30 page)

“Sisters,” Zipporah cried suddenly. “Adrielle’s crying. We’re hurting her.”

“This isn’t working, anyway,” Kindra said. “All of you away. Florence, finish brewing your tea, and leave me to work alone.”

I felt a breeze pass my face as they scattered. Across the room, teacups rattled. Beneath the covers, my hands clenched into fists, and I tried to take comfort in that. Perhaps my fingers were not as afflicted.

“She’s still shivering,” Merry Anne said. “I keep thinking I sense her thoughts, but then— nothing. Her mind is not yet fully awake.”

“If only she’d come to the castle when summoned,” Florence said.

“Or if she’d noticed the storm a moment sooner and tried to run.” Zipporah’s voice lacked its usual speed.

“As if
any
one could outrun Nadamaris,” Kindra said.

“The tea is ready,” Florence announced. “I believe it will restore— most all.”

“Wake, Adrielle.” Merry Anne commanded.

Heavy lidded, my eyes opened to find all four fairies anxiously peering down at me. Zipporah helped me sit up, and Florence brought me a steaming teacup. I took a sip and found it sweet and irresistible, then drank the whole thing down too quickly to decipher what herbs she’d used. A delightful warmth began spreading through my body.

“Thank you, Florence.” I lay my head back on the pillows.

“Poor dear,” Merry Anne said. “You’ve had a terrible time.”

“What happened?” I asked, for the moment more curious than anything else. The warmth flowing through me felt magical enough that I believed even my feet might be made whole by it.

Florence went to the window and pulled back the tapestry. “Nadamaris sent a storm last night.”

I turned my head to see what she was looking at and saw the blackened remains of the orchards. From here it almost appeared as if a fire had swept through them.
Impossible one woman could have caused that much destruction.

“
Oh, it’s possible,” Merry Anne said, but she smiled. “You
are
back with us now. Your thoughts are crystal clear again.”

“Lovely,” I murmured but returned her smile. In the orchard last night, I’d been desperate for her to hear them. If she had, it was likely what had saved me.

“Nadamaris has great powers.” Florence allowed the curtain to fall back into place. “All of them used to destroy.” Her eyes were sad.

“Even you could not outrun her temper,” Zipporah said.

“Don’t you mean temp
est
?” I asked.

The fairies all shook their heads.

“'Twas her temper,” Merry Anne explained. “She was in a rare form when she realized it was these orchards that fed so many of Canelia’s starving.”

I remembered the fierce wind that had nearly swept me away, the bitter cold that had blackened my toes. “How is it that one woman, a human being, can control the wind and clouds and—”

“She is not entirely human,” Florence reminded me.

“And she does have command— though 'tis limited still— over the elements.” Merry Anne’s usual jovial manner was absent. “It is what has caused the drought and suffering you’ve seen.”

“Don’t give up hope,” Florence said. “All is not lost. You are better already, and that—”

“
That
will do, Florence,” Merry Anne said, rising to her feet and fixing each of her sisters with a rather serious look. “Adrielle needs sleep. Let us go.”

“Don’t leave.” I attempted to raise my hand, but it— along with the rest of my body— suddenly felt very heavy.
Oh Florence, what have you done?

“What about my toes? Please don’t cut them off.” Against my will, my eyelids closed.
Bewitched again.

After what I guessed to be about three days in bed— I hadn’t a complete account of the time that had passed, as Florence’s healing tea had caused me to sleep through much of it— I had no intention of resting any longer.

When I awoke and found not a soul or fairy— that I could see, anyway— in the room, I wasted no time throwing back the quilts to discover whether or not the worst had happened.

The sight that met me brought tears to my eyes, and I wept with both joy and sorrow as nine of my toes, pink and whole, without a blemish upon them, wiggled happily. They seemed no worse for the ordeal they’d gone through, but the tenth, the littlest toe on my right foot, remained a lifeless, black stub. Summoning courage, I drew my knee up to my chest and touched the offensive appendage, partly to make sure it was still all there, partly to see if I could even feel it.

I could, though it refused to move at all, even when I concentrated my hardest.

“Black magic always leaves a mark.” Fairy wings beat softly beside my face, and Zipporah came to rest on my shoulder. “We did the best we could, my sisters and I,” she explained. “You’ll be able to run almost as fast as before. And you can keep that toe as well, though it will always look and feel as it does now.”

“Oh, thank you,” I cried, wishing I could hug her. I could live with one ugly toe, but I wasn’t sure I would have been able to endure losing them all, losing my ability to run. At that moment, magic seemed the most blessed thing on earth. I vowed never again to doubt, but to throw myself wholeheartedly into supporting the fairies and ending Nadamaris’s curse.

“I must go and tell the others you’re awake.” Zipporah took flight, disappearing as quickly as she’d arrived.

Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I took a moment to steady myself and more fully take in the luxuries surrounding me. On the far side of the chamber, a fire crackled in the immense fireplace, bringing both light and warmth. A pink, plush, comfy-looking chair resided next to the fire, and on a round table beside it lay a pretty silver tea set and a tray of cookies.

Feeling suddenly hungry, I slid carefully from the high bed— I noticed a narrow set of stairs near the foot of the bed after I’d landed quite hard— and helped myself to both a cookie and the chair.

From here I studied the canopied four-poster bed that rose up in splendor, its lavish curtains swept back to reveal the intricately embroidered quilt and piles of pillows. The curtains at the window matched those of the bed, and a dressing screen on the far side of the room boasted the same fabric. Behind that, I could make out a large wardrobe.

Though curious about its contents, I felt more eager to explore the rest of the castle, namely the servants’ quarters, where I hoped to find news of my sister. Deciding it best not to take the time to find something to change into— lest the fairies returned— I started out. Wearing only a night shift and wrapper, and with my feet bare, I left the lavish chamber, making my way out into a splendid hall adorned with portraits of generations of Canelian royalty. My feet on the stone were quiet, leaving no need for me to tiptoe, but I did so anyway, still overcome with gratitude that I was in possession of my toes.

Beneath the portraits, elegant tables lined the corridor, holding vases overflowing with the most exotic and fragrant flowers I’d ever seen.

Florence has something to do with these, no doubt.
I paused and leaned over to press my face into one of the bouquets. The most exquisite sweetness filled my senses, at once clouding my mind and leaving me intoxicated with the heady scent.

“Don’t do that!” A feminine voice yelled sharply as a hand pulled me away from the flowers— as if I’d been an errant child stealing a sweet.

My head began to ache and spin, but I shrugged off the hand and faced a dark-haired beauty, the very one I’d seen walking with Cristian the afternoon before the storm.

Princess Cecilia.

I thought suddenly of my mother and hoped she could not see this moment, when, in my state of dishevelment and undress, I actually
was
meeting a real, live princess.

“I wasn’t going to steal them,” I said, inclining my head toward the flowers. “I only wanted to enjoy their fragrance."

“Their scent will make you very ill. They’ve a befuddling spell on them.” The princess held her hands out, as if afraid I might fall. “Oh dear, I fear it has worked already. Are you quite well?”

“Yes,” I said, though I crossed the hall to the other side, where I could lean against the wall.

“I’m sorry,” the princess continued. “We never intended you to be alone. I thought I’d be up to greet you before you got out of bed. Mother’s only just left your room.”

“The queen was with me?” This made me feel even more uncomfortable than I did at the moment, standing here in a nightgown, talking to the princess.

“We’ve all taken a turn,” Princess Cecilia said. “Father, Mother, Cristian, and I.”

Cristian?

“Let me help you back to bed.” The princess stepped forward and took my arm. “Florence made the flowers irresistible to anyone who doesn’t know their secret. They’re made to lure strangers in with their beauty, then hold them prisoner with their sweet scent. A person is never able to leave on her own and never able to find my chamber.”

“I see.” I allowed her to guide me back to the room I’d left. In the space of a heartbeat I’d succumbed to the spell and now suffered for it.

“I hope you like your chamber.” The princess sounded almost nervous.

“It’s divine.” I turned to her. “As lovely as you are.” There was no denying her flawless skin, silken hair, and fine features. It pained me to admit it, but the princess was as beautiful as Cristian was handsome.

She looked away, as if uncomfortable with such praise. I made my way unsteadily over to the chair beside the fire. Princess Cecilia followed, sitting on the matching footstool. My head was starting to clear, and I realized the opportunity before me.

“Do you know why I was summoned to the castle a few days past?”

“I suppose it was about the wedding cake.” She did not look at me as she spoke. “But then you didn’t come, and there was that awful storm, so they brought you here to recover. This is the loveliest— and safest— chamber in the castle.”

“This is
your
room?” I guessed. On trembling legs, I rose from the chair. Mother may not have been entirely successful in teaching me proper manners, but I knew it ought to be me on the footstool, or standing, while Cecilia sat in the chair.

“I’m so glad you like it,” she said, ignoring my surprise and retaining her seat on the stool. “'Tis your chamber now— while you recover,” she added.

“I couldn’t,” I said, taken aback at such a generous offer. “I feel better already. Perhaps I can sleep in the maids’ quarters.”

“No. Here it has to be. Merry Anne’s explicit orders,” Cecilia said.

“But why?” I asked.

The princess shrugged. “Why not? The other rooms are full to bursting with Cristian’s family. And quite honestly, I shall enjoy the company. Unless, that is, you’d rather be alone?”

Her eyes shone with a sudden vulnerability, and she bit her lip, as if uncertain of my response.

“No.” I shook my head. “I do not wish to be alone.” I looked at her more closely, seeing, for the first time, something beyond her beauty and delicate features.

She sighed. “I’m ever so glad. May we start again? I’d not planned on our first meeting being me ordering you to remove your head from a plant.”

I couldn’t seem to help my smile. “What had you planned?”

“This.” Her face grew serious. She slid off the stool and fell down on her knees. “It is an honor to finally meet you, Adrielle. I’ve waited ever so long.”

“What— what are you doing?” I stepped backward, away from her. “You mustn’t kneel before
me.
”

“May I hug you then?” Without waiting for an answer, she stood and rushed forward, circling her arms around me. “I
must
hug you.”

I stood awkwardly, conscious of my rough, dry skin; my dull, straight hair, my simple nightgown. And worse than that, the fact I was so undeserving of her kindness.
I wished to steal her betrothed.

“Welcome,” she said, stepping back to look at me, shocking me further by the tears glistening in her eyes— eyes that seemed somehow familiar.

I stared at them curiously. “Do you know anything of my sister?”

The princess shook her head.

“I think,” I began, then stopped, wary of even voicing such an untamed thought. “I think you look very much like I imagined she might. And
her
name is Cecilia, too.”

The princess’s lip trembled. “Oh, Adrielle. You are wrong. I’m so sorry. I wish Merry Anne hadn’t led you to believe otherwise, but you’ve no sister here at the castle. No sister anywhere in Tallinyne.”

“That’s impossible.” I stepped back as if she’d dealt me a physical blow. “We sent her a letter. My parents spoke of her.”

“Did they?” the princess asked, a pained expression on her face.

“Yes,” I said. “She is real. I must find her. 'Tis why I’ve come.”

Princess Cecilia leaned forward and took my hands in hers. “The fairies brought you here for another purpose— which is not mine to say. But I must tell you this. The sister you speak of is gone. The Cecilia your parents loved is no more.”