Destined for Doon (15 page)
I knew all this. We’d discussed it as the cover story to research the previous limbus, but I nodded along like I was hearing it for the first time. As Emily continued to speak, pointing out the organizational flow of the library, I studied the girl who’d gambled everything on true love and lost. Her stick-straight brown hair accentuated dark, wounded eyes. More than her physical appearance, she radiated an inner fragility that clung to the structure of her task causing her to wield her clipboard like protective armor. Unlike Analisa, this girl I could be friends with.
After the official tour, we split up. Relieved to go separate ways, I wandered toward the back of the library, marveling at the sheer volume of books. Who knew so many books had been written prior to the Renaissance? But what we were looking for were older volumes. Doon had vanished off the map right before the 1600s, and we needed firsthand accounts leading up to that event.
In an alcove at the back of the library, I discovered another inviting space arranged around a roaring fireplace. Above the mantle hung a portrait of a young woman wearing a crown. An unruly mass of auburn curls framed her lovely face. Her expression was equal parts mischievous and determined. The inscription read
Queen Lynnette
,
founder and patron of this esteemed place of learning.
This was the girl who’d been queen when Doon had been attacked? The one who’d died from illness at the height of the siege? She looked like a teenager, but at the same time she possessed a poise that transcended age. In truth, she reminded me of Vee — not in looks, but in bearing.
“I adore that painting.”
Vee’s voice startled me out of my musings. Standing behind me in one of her patented maxi dresses with a delicate crown entangled in her dark hair, she looked more like a fairy princess than a queen, except for the tightness around her eyes. The weariness in her face spoke of the weight she carried for her people. Had we been in a musical, now would’ve been the perfect time for an expository duet about the challenges of governing a kingdom.
Instead of warbling in beguiling soprano, Vee flopped into a chair. “Queen Lynnette was my age when the portrait was painted. The Master Archivist told me she’d just had a baby.”
“Really?” I looked again at the girl for signs of baby weight. Nothing. Then again, portraits were the original form of airbrushing. Heaven help the artist who captured nobility as they truly were rather than how they wanted to be seen.
“I often come here when I need a source of inspiration.” Vee inhaled softly and stood a little straighter. “Queen Lynnette gives me strength. She was a great visionary and a champion of the people. It’s because of her that this library exists. She had books brought in from all over the world. Languages, science, history, religion. Anyone could come to the library at Castle MacCrae and learn. At every Centennial, there’s a group of Doonians dedicated to continuing her legacy by collecting new books, both fiction and nonfiction.”
“Except this past one.” My words caused Vee to flinch. This last Centennial had been pandemonium. The bridge had been impassible due to a spell cast by the witch, Jamie nearly died, and Vee had ended up in charge of the Doonians. Which reminded me . . . “How did Analisa, Emily, and the others get here if the Brig o’ Doon wasn’t working?”
“A couple of the guys came through the mountains. The
rest were gathered at the bridge. When it opened, they took the scenic route around the lake — just like we did the first time. When we crossed at midnight, we went the opposite way, so we didn’t find them until the next morning.” Vee gingerly rolled her head from side to side. “We’d better get started. We’re looking for anything that mentions the limbus. Fiona will join us after her dress fitting.”
Heading to the right of the portrait, she pulled a stack of books from a section labeled local history and piled them on the end table between two leather chairs. As she settled into research mode, I wandered among the stacks in the alcove waiting for inspiration and humming the music to
Beauty and the Beast
.
Despite the overabundance of books, the library had killer acoustics. I wondered if anyone had ever thought to stage a concert here. I was just about to ask Vee when she set aside her book with a thump. “You
do
realize we’d accomplish more if you looked in the books and not just at them?” she huffed.
Doubtful. I don’t think I’d ever researched anything without either Cliffs notes or a Veronica Welling cheat sheet. I continued my perusal, unaffected by her impatience. “I’m searching for something specific.”
“What?”
“Books that look really old.”
“Kenna — you can’t just eyeball spines and tell the age of a book.”
“Why not?” I shrugged. “People do it with wine all the time.”
She glared at me like I’d spoken pig Latin. “What?”
“Wine. One sip and they can tell how old it is. Scotch too, I think. So I’m going off first impressions. Looking for something . . . like this.” Tucked between two large volumes that’d
tipped toward each other was a thin leather-bound book. Easy to overlook if one wasn’t really paying attention.
Vee shook her head while I eased the book from the shelf. As I opened the cover she said, “Just because it’s an old book doesn’t mean it’s applicable — ”
I cut her off with a wave of my hand. “A Complete History of Queen Lynnette Elizabeth Campbell MacCrae, Autobiographical.”
I’d discovered the Holy Grail. Vee leapt from the chair to get to the book. “May I see that?”
Rather than surrender it, I silently arched an eyebrow and waited until she said, “Fine. I’m so sorry. Your Jedi-like skills are far superior to my traditional research techniques. May I please have it now?”
I placed the book gently in her hand. “Was that so hard?”
Instead of answering, Vee checked the date in the front and then skimmed through the entries to the back. “Her entire life seems to be documented in here, in her own words . . . except for the end. And there’s chapter titles.”
She crossed back to the sitting area with her nose buried in the pages of Queen Lynnette’s life. I followed, looking over her shoulder at the uniform words. “If it’s told in her own hand, why is it typed? They didn’t have typewriters back in the medieval ages.” At least I didn’t think they did.
“No, but printing presses were common by the early fifteen hundreds. Someone must’ve printed this after she died.”
As Vee reclaimed the chair she’d previously occupied, I grabbed the notebook and pen I’d thought to bring from the modern world and sat opposite her. “I’ll take notes.” I might not have been a Master Jedi when it came to the heavy lifting part of research, but I was the Anakin Skywalker of bullet points — minus the whole dark-side thing.
My mind started to wander down the Star Wars Saga as a musical path. Like
Children of Eden
but with lightsabers and Darth Vader. Every once in a while Vee would read out a fact for me to capture. Age. Birthdate. Marriage. Philanthropy — Vee’s word, not mine. Most of it was not nearly as exciting as my vision of singing Ewoks.
We’d yet to unearth any mention of the witches’ siege, or the limbus that plagued the kingdom four hundred years before, when Fiona appeared. Her forceful stride made the petite girl seem taller than five two. As she approached, her strawberry blonde curls bobbed around her agitated face.
Vee set the book aside in favor of our friend. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s my mum.” She huffed to a stop in front of us and then began to pace as she elaborated. “I wanted a simple dress. Elegant and flowin’ like a mermaid. Or a glen fairy. With a garland of wildflowers. But Mum, she told the dressmaker
lace
. Yards and yards of stiff, itchy lace. An’ she’s got the milliner creating this abomination of a veil. I’m going ta look like a giant cumulous cloud!” She paused her movement on the last statement for emphasis.
In tandem, Vee and I stood to comfort our friend. “I’m sure it’s not so bad,” I said as I patted her arm.
From her other side, Vee added, “And lace is really — ”
“Veronica Welling,” Fiona interrupted. “Do you know what happens ta queens who lie? They roast in the fiery pit. So think carefully before ye finish that sentence. Lace is really
what
?”
Vee blanched and then replied tentatively, “We’ll love you anyway, even if you do look like a giant cloud.” She glanced at me, transferring the mental image of Fiona decked in miles of lace to my brain. We both began to snicker despite our distraught friend.
Like wildfire, the snickering became full-blown giggles. After a tense moment, Fiona caved, her agitation dissolving into maniacal laughter. We clung to each other until tears leaked from our eyes. As the hilarity ebbed, Fiona moaned, “What am I ta do?”
Sharing a brain, Vee and I said without hesitation, “Bachelorette party!”
“Who’s having a bachelorette party?” Analisa’s ghetto-British accent cut through the moment as she rounded the corner with Emily.
Before I could say ix-nay on the bachelorette arty-pay, Vee answered, “We are. For Fiona.”
Analisa rubbed her hands together. “We’re in.”
Fiona blinked at us curiously. “What’s a bachelorette party? A modern custom?”
Before I could explain, Analisa flashed her a wicked smile. “Oh, you’ll see.” Then she turned to Emily. “Could we get that oldest Rosetti boy to do the entertainment, do you think?”
Emily began to make notes on her clipboard when Vee interjected, “We are
not
getting anyone to do
that
kind of entertainment, as tempting as your suggestion is . . .” She shook her head to dispel the image. “I’d already planned on throwing a bridal shower. We’ll have the bachelorette party after. Strictly no boys allowed!”
“But we could do karaoke,” I suggested. “Show tunes!”
“Yes.” Vee nodded and pointed to Emily’s clipboard. “That one you can write down.”
Emily made a note and then turned to her queen. “Did you find any books mentioning Queen Lynnette? We found a couple of mentions, but nothing we didn’t already know.”
Vee shared a glance with Fiona and me before answering, “I did find a couple interesting accounts, but I’d like the chance
to read them through before we go any further. So, for the time being, can you and Analisa plan the shower and party? Oh, and the second wedding-night ball?”
Fiona paled. “You’re throwing me a ball for the second night?”
“Yep.” Before I could ask, Vee explained, “It’s tradition to have two wedding receptions. One after the ceremony and one the following day. Usually the second night reception is informal, but I recently learned that when royalty gets married in Doon, the second night is traditionally a ball held at the palace. So I was thinking that would be a nice tradition to start for all marriages in the kingdom. And . . . I think Emily and Analisa are the ones to organize it.”
Vee tilted her head ever-so-slightly as her eyes widened, meaning planning the second-night ball was a great way to get them out of the way while the Scooby gang focused on how to save Doon.
“I agree.” I smiled at the two newcomers. “They’re perfect for the job.”
It was a fabulous idea. A ball would be an excellent distraction for the whole kingdom. Plus, it would centralize the Doonians in one central and safe place, far away from the zombie fungus. Leave it to my bestie to face down the latest Doon apocalypse in style — any excuse for a party.
T
his party was a terrible idea!
Vee tugged at my hair, wrapping the medieval curling iron around a misbehaving strand. The sitting area of my rooms resembled the aftermath of a strip mall leveled by a tornado. Clothes and open-toed shoes were strewn across the couch. Cosmetics littered the table. But no matter how I tried to pretend Vee and I were getting ready for Winter Formal, little touches of Doonian culture reminded me that we weren’t in Kansas anymore.
On the eve before their Sabbath, the kingdom gathered at the castle for a feast and dancing. This would be Duncan’s and my first outing as a fake couple. Since he’d left for the borders shortly after our little powwow, we hadn’t had a chance to work out our characters yet. I prayed he would get back in plenty of time to rehearse.
Riding my wavelength, Vee said, “Jamie and Duncan are going to be late.”
“How do you know? Did they send a carrier pigeon or something?”
She rolled her eyes at me. “They sent a messenger.”
“So that’s how they texted in the Dark Ages. Nice.”
“We’re not in the Dark Ages. There. All finished.” She fluffed my hair. And then handed me a silver hand mirror.
Under Vee’s expert care, my waves looked more like the Little Mermaid than Ronald McDonald. The temptation to belt out “Part of Your World” lodged in my gut. But I couldn’t afford to want to be part of this world, at least not now.
Afraid Vee would read my thoughts, I said, “You look gorgeous!”
Despite Vee’s fashion-forward influence, she’d insisted we dress more traditionally for the weekly dinner-dance. We both wore peasant blouses, calf-length skirts, and cute laceup vests — emerald green for me and lavender for Vee. But my bestie also had a tiara adorning her dark curls and the Doonian plaid draped across her torso like a sash. “You’re like a Scottish prom queen.”
A shadow flickered across her eyes. “Kenna, this is the second time you’ve referred to me like I’m playing dress up. Being queen of prom and queen of a country are totally different things. As my best friend, I would expect you of all people to understand how difficult this is. I’m on the outside trying to learn the rules and customs. The people don’t respect my authority — not that I really have the opportunity to establish any with Jamie constantly stepping in, and worst of all, I never get to shed the crown and be a normal teenager. Ever again.”
Whoa — hold up, Hal Prince! She was definitely going through more than I’d realized. Unfortunately, she’d made the transition look so easy that I hadn’t noticed how much she
struggled. But as her best friend, I should’ve seen it . . . Maybe I would have if I hadn’t been so self-absorbed.
