Letters to Zell (7 page)

Princess Briar R. Rose

Somnolent Tower Castle

South Road, Grimmland

Dearest Zell,

CeCi, Bianca, and I had a lovely lunch at Gretel’s Caf
é
today. Hansel traveled Outside recently, scouring Human supermarkets for new ingredients, and so there are quite a few new things on the menu. Gretel has come to favor something called
ketchup
, and while it’s delicious, I think maybe not quite so many things should be made with it, pies in particular. It’s a very pretty tomato color, and I will admit it goes well with fried potatoes.

Bianca ate quite a lot of it. I told her that she should be careful lest she not fit into her wedding dress and she held up her middle finger at me, like the motor coach men did when we arrived at the Magic Castle. I’ve gathered that it’s a gesture that means that the gesturer does not like what one has said or done and plans to disregard it. Or that the gesturer plans to consume your potatoes as well as hers and ask for another bottle of ketchup. One guess is as likely as the other.

I told CeCi and Bianca about the tea I planned with Maro. CeCi didn’t say very much, and Bianca told me to cancel the date. Actually, she commanded it. But I’m finished letting Bianca boss me around. I am going to embrace my own decisions. When I don’t like something, they fall in love with that very same thing. When I change my mind, they change theirs back. While amusing for them, I find the exercise completely draining. I’m sure they didn’t think I saw them walking away after lunch, heads bent together in secret, not sparing a single thought of how that must have felt to me.

I wonder if you know how lonely it is to have once been a part of a group and then suddenly feel as if you aren’t a part of it anymore—as if you’ve missed out on the joke and it floats around you constantly like a bee ready to sting. I can’t say I like the feeling at all. I’m sure they’d tell me it’s all in my head or that I’ve misinterpreted things or that I’m just plain wrong. You may even agree. But that won’t make it any better. I feel as if I’ve been left behind, and yet I’m still standing right here.

If I’m honest, I suppose I’ve felt that way ever since I woke up.

That’s why my new bulldog, Snoozer, is the perfect companion for me—he is a champion sleeper. He’s fat and brown and not yet grown into his skin. I’ll have the court artist paint a small picture to include in my next post. You’ll have to excuse my handwriting; he’s chewing on the other end of my quill as I write.

Tonight I’m auditioning cellists for the wedding, and after that I have scheduled relations with Henry. I miss you, Zell, and I hope you’re doing all right with all the chaos life is throwing at you. I’m sure Jason will find a way to repair the house and the barn and the well. We’re very lucky not to have witches or farmhouses falling out of the sky here in Grimmland. Don’t worry, the kids will stop fighting and so will the unicorns. This is your dream and, according to CeCi, dreams never come easily.

Love,

Rory

T
he Blank Pages of Her Life

F
rom the Desk of Cecilia Cinder Charming

Crystal Palace

North Road, Grimmland

Dear Zell,

Worms are disgusting. In a big pile, they look like raw meat, and they don’t smell much better, either. I traded the fisherman’s wife an old tiara for two baskets. Edmund won’t notice, but Lucinda most definitely will. I’ll have to worry about that later.

Figgy’s tree looks bigger than ever, if you can believe it. The woodcarver put new stairs in since we’d been there, which was good because things were getting a bit dicey if you ask me. Bianca brought a bottle of ketchup as a gift, a condiment for worms. When I told her she was bizarre, she told me that my trap was flapping and I should shut it.

Figgy has switched her sentinels from those crested blue jays to a bunch of fat robins. Inspection was quicker than usual and we were hustled into her grand living room. She’s obviously been doing quite well these past few years.

“Who, who, who comes to visit today?” said Figgy, swiveling her head from her desk to us as she threw out her traditional greeting. She’s greyer than she used to be, her plumes a bit shaggy around the edges. But those round, sharp eyes are as clear as ever. “Ah, well. If it isn’t my two favorite princesses.”

Bianca wheeled around. “Where?”

Figgy burst into laughter as she rose, wrapping us in her wings.

“And Miss Cecilia,” Figgy said, composing herself. “What is it that you’ve brought me?”

“Half is a present and half is a payment for services to be rendered,” I said.

“I see,” she said, taking a basket on each wing and setting them to the side. “Many thanks—”

“And I brought you some ketchup to try with your meal,” Bianca added. Figgy shut one eye as she examined the bottle.

“We’re here about Rory. Briar Rose,” I said. I didn’t want to spend any more time in her warm living room than we had to. A music box tinkled its melody into the room, making things seem even more cloying.

“Briar Rose’s Pages are finished,” Figgy said, returning to her desk. “What could she possibly need from me?”

Bianca glowered. “She needs your help, Figgy.”

“But the birds have told me no such news. She has followed the path, my dear.”

I can understand how Figgy was chosen to be the Keeper of the Pages. Solace welcomes new information as it streams through the portals, but Fairy Godmother Figueroa does things strictly by the book. And Grimm help us when there’s no book.

“I’m sure you know she wants children,” I explained. “But things, they aren’t working.”

“What things specifically?” asked Figgy.

“Well, I—I’m not sure exactly,” I stammered. “But she’s not getting pregnant.”

“How do you know what sort of assistance she needs, then?”

“I don’t. I don’t know that.” I willed myself to stop blushing.

Bianca rolled her eyes at me. “Are you saying you won’t help her?”

Figgy sat back down at her desk, chuckling to herself. “Oh, no, my dears. I didn’t quite say that.”

“Can’t you make a potion? Perhaps a fertility potion or an elixir of romance,” I suggested.

“I can indeed. But a potion might not be the solution to her troubles.”

“The spell Malice used when she put Rory to sleep—did it damage her, you know, insides?” I asked.

“She has aged, my dears, but not so much so that she is unable to have children. Is this what has you in such a state? I have half a mind to tell the Post to cease delivery of all those fatuous magazines.”

Bianca was holding her chin with one hand, and her other arm folded over her chest.

“What?” I growled under my breath. “I can see your clockwork smoking from here.”

“Maybe Figgy’s trying to tell us something.”

“What is it, Figgy? Just tell us.” My voice went a little hoarse.

Figgy looked into my eyes. “My dear, it takes two, does it not?”

Bianca began to pace. “I knew it! I heard he’s been messing around with at least three of the Waltzing Wandas, and they aren’t pregnant, either.”

“Who told you that? But they could have—” Figgy looked flustered. “Now girls, you know I never lay blame.”

But she had implied it. I wondered if Rory had considered that the problem was Henry’s. Knowing her, she’d still find a way to blame herself.

Bianca shrugged. “If he’s shooting blanks, then give us something for him instead.”

“Is that wise, my dear,” said Figgy, “considering his, ah, indiscretions?”

I flopped down in an overstuffed chair. “Shit.”

“There, there,” said the old owl. She made a slight movement with her head, and two tiny canaries delivered me a handkerchief and a cup of tea. I tried to wave them off. “I don’t want any of this, Figgy.”

“Come now, we’ve discussed our differences. You can’t continue to harbor ill feelings toward me. The birds and I merely helped you fulfill your Pages.”

I couldn’t meet Figgy’s eyes, lest my surliness betray itself as actual sadness. Maybe we
had
been unrealistic to think Rory’s happiness lay in Henry’s attentions or even a child.

“Pages. Horseshit,” said Bianca, refolding herself. “Don’t get me started.”

I picked at the edge of the hanky. “Figgy, how come you’re so eager to help people who don’t want your help and then can’t be bothered to help those who do?”

“Briar Rose is not here seeking my help, is she? I would venture to guess that she doesn’t know that you’re here at all. Is that true?”

“You aren’t being fair.” I sniffed. “We’re her friends. We can’t just let her suffer.” Both Bianca and Rory had kept my secret and done everything but take the test for me. Trying to help Rory seems to be the very least I can do.

“Come back in five days. I’ll think on it til then.” She shooed us out into the branches. It seemed much windier than when we arrived.

I glared at Bianca. “Fat lot of help you were.”

“Like you were any better? She said she’d think about it. Stop being so bitchy.”

So we came home empty-handed in every way. I don’t even feel up to sneaking down to the kitchens to bake. I can’t believe I’m so useless that I can’t even manage to buy a love potion from a Fairy.

Love,

CeCi

I
mportant Fucking Correspondence from Snow B. White

Onyx Manor

West Road, Grimmland

Z,

Figgy is considering our request. Contrary to what CeCi thinks, all hope is not lost.

I empathize with CeCi’s anger, but I can’t get it through her thick skull that she’s mad at Figgy for the wrong offense. She blames Figgy’s birds for Darling and Sweetie’s blindness. But CeCi is the one who saddled herself with their care instead of marrying them off to a couple of Edmund’s friends. (He has to have at least a couple who aren’t picky about feet.)

She
made the decision not to send her stepsisters away. And
she
kept Lucinda around for their sake. If she’s mad at Figgy for anything, it should be for maiming the twins instead of her father.

I suppose none of you hit the jackpot in the parental division. Not even Rory. Can you imagine what her parents were like? Always doting on her, controlling her, championing her, planning her wedding? Even when they realized Henry was a blustering jerk, they smoothed things over with commentary like “Ahem, is there any more of that wine?” Then they wiped their hands of the entire mess, moved over to the south wing of the palace, and proceeded to order room service for the next five years.

When I find my father, I’m going to tell him that I’m glad my memories of us together, as few as they are, are happy ones. I expect I’ll hear from him any day now. He’ll tell me where he’s been. I’ll talk to him about Outside and thank him for all the money and the journals he left for us to use. Without them, I’d never have been able to help CeCi.

Speaking of, we’ve put off approaching Solace for long enough. We have to go Outside again next week so that CeCi can take the test to finalize her admission to the cooking school. And we still have to buy the rest of her supplies so she can start the week after. This will be a perfect excuse for another bachelorette party. This time, no soufflés. I want to go to a fancy hotel, to a fancy restaurant, to Disneyland!

I wrote you a short poem:

Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair

And come Outside with three friends fair.

So many fun things to see and do

Alas, you must shovel the unicorn poo.

(Did you see? I can rhyme! I amuse myself.)

B

Princess Briar R. Rose

Somnolent Tower Castle

South Road, Grimmland

Dearest Zell,

When Maro arrived today, she suggested we have tea outdoors on the “pretty green grass.” But I told her that here in Grimmland, the weather is perfect and the sky blue and the clouds puffy and the hills purple and the butterflies yellow almost every single day. I may have intimated that she wouldn’t be invited to see my tower every single day. And that it was
my
luncheon. (I said that I was trying to be benevolent toward Maro, not that I have perfected such behavior.) She agreed and followed me up all the stairs, her jeweled hand riding on her heaving chest.

Halfway up we met Henry, coming from his chambers. I introduced Maro and, curiously, she bowed instead of curtsied. At first I hoped Henry wasn’t looking at her bosom, but I suppose even I was looking at it, as generously as it had been presented. She righted herself and I impulsively invited Henry to join us for tea. He declined, stating he was leaving for a few weeks of hunting and needed to make preparations. However, he did appear to consider it, for which I was quite heartened. I told you we’d eventually make progress.

At the top of the tower, the maids had set out crumpets and scones and fruit and honey. It’s a long climb up there, you know, so the tea was a bit tepid. But the complete privacy was splendid—and the view! From the large eastern window, I can see the glittering spires of CeCi’s castle to the north and the black columns of Bianca’s palace to the west, and the whole town in between. I can see the Wolf Woods and the edge of your castle—or, I suppose, the castle that used to be yours. I can see Figgy’s big tree and the large gear on top of Solace’s shop and the yellow road that leads to Oz and, eventually, to you. There’s so much out there, the Realm ever expanding. And we are so small, aren’t we?

Anyway. It was a fine tea. Maro is quite adept at carrying on conversations without input or assistance, and eventually I began to nod off. I excused myself—I’m not used to having to explain how sleepy I get—and she saw herself out. I’m glad I extended an olive branch. I’ve demonstrated far more maturity than CeCi and Bianca. First they’re hot, then they’re cold. I’m quite pleased with myself for adjusting my attitude.

One odd thing happened afterward, though. Following my nap, I made my way down to the conference chamber to confirm the musical arrangements with the cellist I’ve selected for Bianca’s wedding. (Can you believe he had the nerve to suggest Pachelbel’s monotonous Canon in D? I almost fired him on the spot.)

I was rounding the corner to the courtyard when who should I bump into but Maro, who I thought had left hours earlier. Evidently she’d been so taken with the tea sandwiches that she’d asked for a lesson in the kitchen—in the spirit of CeCi’s intrepid pioneering. I reminded her that CeCi’s machinations were still secret, and she assured me she hadn’t breathed a word. I am a paragon of trust, aren’t I? There was a time when I would have gone running to Bianca and CeCi trying to assign Maro nefarious intent.

I hope you enjoy the enclosed portrait of Snoozer. Please send a stuffed unicorn chew toy from the gift shop, if you have one in stock. Oh, and maybe a nice pink unicorn collar? I’ll have my barrister forward the appropriate credits.

I’m so sorry to hear about young Bea’s continued allergy problems. How fortunate Arthur was spared. (I thought twins shared
everything
!) Being allergic to unicorns while living on a unicorn preserve seems most inconvenient. I ran into Bianca’s dwarf friend, the one with chronic rhinitis, at the apothecary yesterday and I’m sending a few of the potions he recommended. Let me know what works best and I’ll send another batch. I’m sure Oz has physicians, but after hearing about that whole fake wizard debacle, I’d be careful about who you trust until you get your bearings around there. Also, try bee pollen. Or honey. Or maybe both.

Snoozer needs to perambulate, but I’ll write again soon.

Love,

Rory