David was there. He sat in the very back, his nurse by his side. He couldn't see very well--the cathedral was large and his father and new mother were golden dots gleaming almost out of sight. He wished he could see them. He could see the great windows though and stared at the light passing through them, watched it make patterns on the floor.
He saw a few people looking at him, covert backward glances covered by prayer books or fans but the moment he looked back they always looked away, strange looks crossing their faces as if they saw something other than him when they looked at him.
"People are looking at me," he whispered to his nurse, tugging on her sleeve. "Why are they looking at me?"
"Because you're so beautiful," she whispered back and tapped his knee. He moved his hand away. She shivered and drew her shawl more tightly around herself. "Why don't you read the prayer book for a little while?"
He thought about the word “read”. It sounded like what baskets were made of but he didn't think that was what his nurse meant. He looked at the pictures in the prayer book instead. They were pretty. The ice that covered the pew he was sitting on started to thaw. His nurse stopped shivering. David didn't notice. He was wondering when he'd meet his brother and sister. He was looking at the pictures of saints and martyrs and watching the way the light broke them into bright colored fragments.
He met his brother and sister three years later, long after he'd given up hope of ever seeing them.
It had been a bad year for the kingdom, endless heavy snows for six months, a white icy blanket covering everything. In spite of all the King did, many starved. His new wife was from a place warm and sunny and she was not thriving in this land. She'd barred the King from her bed two months ago, screamed that he'd never told her about his dead wife and cursed child so loudly even the scullery maids heard. When the King said, "But I have no son," in a gentle voice she slammed her bedchamber door in his face and screamed that she wished she was dead, that the King was crazy and cursed and that now she was too.
The sixth day of the sixth month of those endless heavy snows David's nurse taught him how to make gingerbread. It was the only recipe she'd ever been able to remember and they made it together after dinner, both of them burning their hands as they scooped pieces from it out of the baking tin they'd put on a tray above the fire.
"I'm sorry your new mother hasn't been to see you," she said as he was eating his third piece of gingerbread. "I have half a mind to march up to those fancy rooms of hers and tell her how daft she's being."
"Maybe she doesn't want to see me," David said. Ice pelted against the window, a sharp cutting rain.
"Nonsense," his nurse said stoutly, tucking her shawl more firmly around herself. "You're a love, and you know it. And very clever too. You made that gingerbread all by yourself."
"You told me how to," David said, but there was an almost smile on his face.
His nurse kissed the top of his head. "But you did all the work. Finish up and then I'll tuck you into bed."
David ate the rest of his gingerbread. His nurse leaned forward and let the heat of the fire melt the ice that coated her lips. Outside the furious falling snow slowed, and the clouds cleared enough to allow a glimpse of nighttime sky. Before David fell asleep his nurse told him stories of brave heroes and beautiful maidens and happily ever after, her voice quavering a bit every time the hero said "I love you" and the beautiful maiden said "I love you too." Then she pointed out the stars to him, smiled at his eager questions. She couldn't answer most of them, but she did name all the constellations for him. She made the names up, of course, but David didn't know that.
He met his brother and sister as he was crossing the courtyard to sit with his nurse while she smoked a pipe and talked to the second chamberlain's wife. David liked going because the second chamberlain's wife made his nurse smile and always gave him almonds to eat. He was thinking about almonds when his nurse stopped so suddenly that he walked right into her back.
"Your Highnesses," his nurse said, and her voice had gone high and terrified the way it did whenever anyone important was nearby. David leaned into the wall behind her.
"Who are you?" a voice asked, low and sweet, and David looked around his nurse to see who was speaking.
He knew they were his brother and sister right away. They were golden and lovely and dressed like his father, in jewels and glittering fabric, matching wreaths of flowers and diamonds on their heads. The one who spoke, the boy, raised his eyebrows when he saw David.
"You must be--" he said and launched into a long list of names that David didn't know.
"I'm David," he said in some confusion when the boy was done. "I'm your brother. And you're my brother. And sister."
"Of course you are," his sister said. Her voice was low and sweet too. "And I suppose we are."
She held out her hand and David took it hesitantly, stared down at the rings covering it. It was very warm.
His sister drew her hand away.
"Your hands are very cold," the Prince said, taking his sister's hand with one of his own, the two of them looking deep into each other's eyes. When he looked back at David there was a smile curving his mouth, a strange sharp tooth-filled smile.
"And you're quite pale," the Princess said and the same sharp smile was on her face. "Perhaps you're feeling poorly? Very sickly and soon to expire?"
"Oh no, Your Highness, he's as healthy as can be," his nurse said. "Never ever even been sick, not one--" The Prince looked at her and she fell silent, stared down at the floor.
"Insolent," the Prince said musingly. His eyes glowed bright green.
"But we have to go now," the Princess said, a hot thick regret in her voice that made David press back against the wall, skin prickling. Her eyes were very brown, endless dark. "Father is waiting for us." She looked at the Prince.
"Yes," the Prince said, as if answering a question that only he'd heard. He and the Princess walked down the hall together hand in hand.
***
David saw his father again as he entered his thirteenth year. He was in the cathedral sitting looking at the windows while his nurse prayed for a cure for her stiff joints. She'd been sleeping with an onion under her pillow every night but it hadn't helped. David tried to help out as much as he could--making gingerbread, singing his nurse the same songs she'd sung to him when he was young --but he didn't think he was being very helpful. She moved slowly now, every step she took seeming to cause her pain. The second chamberlain's wife had come to visit recently bearing a container of strong smelling ointment that she'd made his nurse promise to use. She'd helped her rub it into her hands and David watched his nurse smile for the first time in days, watch the knot of her hands unfurl. The chamberlain's wife sat down next to his nurse's bed then, took her hand and said, "You could ask someone to come and help out, you realize."
"And who would come?" his nurse said tartly, smile fading, and the chamberlain's wife sighed and nodded. David had stared at both of them feeling helpless and miserable, and then he'd gone and gotten the broom that his nurse kept in the cleaning cupboard. He'd never swept a floor before but he'd seen her do it every day. It was easier than he thought it would be and he liked the sound the broom made as it scraped across the floor, a scratchy almost song he hummed along with. When he was done sweeping he bent down and lifted up a corner of the rug just like his nurse always did. He heard the chamberlain's wife's laugh.
"Clearly he learned to sweep from you," she said to his nurse, a twinkling smile dancing across her eyes and curving her mouth. She looked at him then, the same expression on her face. "I'm afraid you'll never be a housekeeper," she said, and although he didn't know what a housekeeper was he liked her smile and the way it filled her voice. He thought perhaps she was the only person besides his nurse who'd ever truly smiled at him. He knew she was the only person other than his nurse who'd spoken to him in years. He smiled back at her and she blinked, eyes widening.
"Goodness," she said, and a flush bloomed across her face, her voice faltering a bit.
"His mother used to smile like that," his nurse said. "Remember? Right before he was born she was the loveliest thing in the world, wasn't she?"
"She was," the chamberlain's wife said softly. A look flitted across her face, something surprised and perhaps a little scared. "She truly was."
He saw his father come into the cathedral, heard murmurs of "The King!" break the silence of the church and saw people turn away from their prayers and look. Even his nurse did, twisting back to look behind her slowly.
His father wasn't alone. David's brother and sister were with him, one on either side of the King, trailing just a little behind him.
His father walked straight to the front of the cathedral, brisk long strides, and knelt by the altar.
A priest immediately moved toward him, bent down and listened to his whispered request and then nodded, made the sign of a blessing. His father bent his head down under the gesture as if he felt it touching him. His brother and sister knelt too, their little fingers touching. They didn't bow their heads during their blessing.
His father stood up while the priest was making the final sign of benediction over his brother and sister, turned away and strode back down the cathedral briskly. He looked at everyone as he passed, eyes skimming over them. David held his breath, but his father's gaze flickered across him, right through him.
His brother and sister saw him when they left though. David watched them look at him and then at each other, their expressions a perfect mirror, right down to the arched eyebrows and quick amused quirk of the mouth.
Next to him his nurse let out a soft pained gasp. David looked at her. Her hands had frozen to the pew, rested curved into it and coated with ice. He tried to pull them free but the ice grew thicker under his hands.
"Look at the windows, love," she said, her voice tired and ragged. "Aren't they very pretty?"
They were. David thought he could see colors under the ice that covered them, imagined them swirling and filling the church. Far over their heads the cathedral bells tolled, singing out that the King had been to worship, had been blessed. David hummed along with their song. By the time the song was over his nurse's hands were free and she said she was ready to leave.
"Do you want me to help you stand up?" David asked.
"No, no, don't fret," she said, and he watched her lever herself up slowly, slowly, fumbling to wrap her shawl around herself. Her hands were blue all the way home.
"Do you think he saw me?" David asked later.
"Of course," his nurse said. "He looked at everyone as he was leaving, didn't he?"
"He didn't see me. And he doesn't--he doesn't want to, does he?"
His nurse sighed and pulled the blanket she had wrapped around her knees up a bit, twisting it in her hands. "Did you know that once upon a time there used to be flowers and grass everywhere, as far as the eye could see?"
"I'm too old for stories," David said, and watched as she smiled a faint sad smile.
"There was. I promise you, there were all those things once back before you were born."
He saw what she didn't say in the way her eyes didn't quite meet his. "I changed things."
"Maybe," she said.
"I didn't mean to."
"Oh, love," she said, "I know. You can't help what you are."
"What am I?"
She didn't answer for a long time. But that evening, long after he went to bed, long after he was supposed to be asleep, he heard her shuffle slowly into his room, sit down next to him. "A curse," she said softly, sadly. Her hand touched his hair, stayed there till he could hear her shivering, teeth clattering together. When she got up and went to bed he heard her say her prayers and put a fresh onion under her pillow.
He asked the second chamberlain's wife what a curse was the next time she and his nurse visited.
She'd come and rubbed more of the strong smelling ointment into his nurse's hands again, said she'd try to get some more blankets sent to them. His nurse had smiled and said "Thank you,"
then fallen asleep looking almost peaceful.
"What's a curse?" he said and the second chamberlain's wife looked at him for a long time before she answered. When she was done talking she'd pulled her shawl tight around herself and her fingers had gone blue-white with cold. She said she had to go and she'd come to visit again soon.
She didn't smile at him. When she was gone he sat watching his nurse, feeling his eyes prickle hot wet.
"Did I fall asleep, love?" his nurse asked when she woke.
"Just for a minute."
"You look so sad," she said. "Are you unwell? I could make you some tea or--"
"I'm fine," David said, voice cracking, and ice bloomed across the wall behind his head. It took two weeks to melt.
***
The year he turned fifteen the new mother he'd never met died. She threw herself off the far tower, right down into the frozen river. Her body broke through the ice and came back up encased in it. It took four days in a room full of candles for all the water surrounding her to melt.
David saw the funeral from a hallway looking out over the courtyard, stood next to his nurse while far down below his father lit a funeral pyre and then turned to hold his children's hands. He waited while his wife burned, nobles passing by and pressing ornate twisting folds of paper into his hands. "Sorrow notes," his nurse whispered when he asked what they were. David wished he was down there with paper resting in his hands. He wished his father was waiting to touch his hand. He would like to write out words for him, dozens of them, but he didn't know how to. He made gingerbread instead, later, but his nurse ate it all before he could think of a way to find his father.
"You're a love to make this for me," she said, and her eyes were sparkling. David could see the swollen joints in her hands pressing hard against her skin.