The Fairest of Them All (13 page)

M
athena and I watched him leave, disappearing into the trees,
and then we were alone, as if a storm had passed through the forest, leaving an entirely new world in its wake.

We walked silently into the house, and sat on the couch, before the low fire. She put on a pot of stew to cook and sat next to me. Brune took her place on the mantel, tucking in her head.

“I can’t believe it,” I said. “I can’t believe you knew this would happen!”

“And now you will
be queen. This is what I’ve always wanted for you.”

I shook my head. “Madness,” I said. “Pure madness to think I could marry a king, and now it is happening.”

“Your life will be very different from now on.”

“I should think so!” I said, laughing from pure giddiness.

“Just remember that you will not be surrounded by friends there. Even though you will have a husband who loves you, and as his
queen you will have great power. You must be careful.”

“Be careful of what?”

“Of what happened to me before, when I was at court.”

“What do you mean?”

“Things changed when I was there, Rapunzel. I’ve told you how King Louis changed, how people’s hearts changed and it seemed no one believed in magic anymore. At least, not openly. And they began calling me a witch. I’ve always told you, it’s
a dangerous word. Especially to priests and those who take the church and its teachings too much to heart. They believe that witches worship the devil. If they get it in their minds and hearts, they can blame everything bad on you.”

“But,” I said, “we
are
witches.”

She shook her head. “We are healers. We are daughters of Artemis.”

“Mathena. You changed a man into a stag.”

Her face flared.
“You must never speak of such things. Not there. Take the spell book, Rapunzel, but hide it! And do not ever say that word around them, and do not practice where they can see. Josef is young like you, and he does not remember. Others will. Even if you are their queen.”

“Even if he could remember, he would not care,” I said. “I am sure of it.”

“He is young and spoiled,” she said. “And you may
be right. But others have much influence, around him.”

I nodded. “I will be careful.”

She reached up and brushed the hair out of my face, then traced the length of it as far as she could. “This hair of yours,” she said. “Look at it. What a gift you have. It gives you great beauty, and insight into everyone around you. Your beauty is your power, you know. You must watch over it carefully.”

I smiled. My hair stretched from the couch and through the open door, where it shone from the grass. Loup was curled up and sleeping in it, faint images of mice and birds streaming up to me from her warm body.

“I will miss it here,” I said. “I will miss you.”

“This is what you’ve always wanted,” she said, “to marry Josef. And what I’ve always wanted for you, to be queen. Use your power well,
Rapunzel. Protect it.”

An emotion passed over her face that I couldn’t quite understand. I knew there was more, maybe much more that she was not telling. But I was used to her being full of secrets.

“I will,” I said.

“And remember, he has a daughter now, and she is his heir.”

I flinched. “I will give him more children,” I said, ignoring the familiar ache inside me. “I had a son before. I will
have one again.”

T
he next day, we performed a ceremony at dusk, in the river, cleansing me of all my past sorrows. We were naked, the trees all around us. My hair streamed down the river like a golden raft. Mathena raised her arms and called to the four winds to ask for their protection and their power, sprinkled water onto my face and shoulders. We held hands, facing each
other, and gave thanks for the earth’s bounty.

After, once we’d dried ourselves and dressed, we had our supper outside by the garden, in the warm evening. The moon was rising. Earlier Mathena had prepared a whole roast pheasant that Brune had killed just for the occasion, and we ate it alongside cakes filled with figs and mint.

The food was delicious, and I savored each bite. Brune stood on
my shoulder and I fed her whole hunks of pheasant, while Mathena fed Loup, who sat on the grass next to her, her little body rumbling with pleasure. My hair blanketed the ground. We drank wine Mathena had made herself. This was all the family I had ever known, this woman, these creatures.

“I have something for you,” Mathena said. “For your new life.”

I did not know what to say. I was not used
to gifts.

She went into the house for a moment. Brune, as usual, followed after her. I reached out to pet Loup, and the moon bathed us in light.

I looked up at the tower, the stones sparkling in the moonlight. From the ground, it looked endless, as if you could climb it straight to the heavens. The sky was filled with thousands of stars, and trees swayed overhead, filled with sleeping beasts.

She reappeared from the house, with a long, flat package in her arms.

Stepping back in the circle, she sat down, cross-legged, and handed it to me.

“This will help you,” she said. “It’s my wedding gift to you.”

“You will not come to my wedding and give it to me then?”

“No, Rapunzel. You know I cannot leave the garden, but my heart will be with you.”

I nodded, trying to conceal my disappointment,
and took the package. I pushed back the cloth. Inside was the mirror that had been hanging from the wall in my tower. I looked up at her, confused.

“It’s a gift to protect your power and beauty, to ensure the
king’s love,” she said. “It will show you things. You can ask it any question you like.”

Was she mocking me? Awkwardly, I held it up with both hands, saw my own face staring back.

“Help
me how?”

“Ask it something.”

I looked into it again, and, very faintly, my own face rippled back at me. The glass was heavy in my arms. I set it flat on the earth and it swirled under us like a river.

“Like what?”

“Here,” she said. “Try this.” She seemed to think carefully about what she was about to ask, and then leaned in to it. “Mirror, mirror,” she said. “Who’s the fairest of them all?”

We stared down into the surface, both our faces reflected back to us.

It rippled then, more strongly than before, as if I’d thrown a pebble into water. And then a voice seemed to come out of it, like smoke. “Rapunzel is fairest of all,” it said, low and deep.

I gasped. My head snapped up and I looked at Mathena. “Did you do that?” I asked.

She shook her head, smiling. “There’s always been magic
in this glass. It’s enchanted. Haven’t you felt it before?”

I shook my head but, as I did so, realized that there had always been something odd about the glass, that I’d always felt it was watching over me.

“You just need to ask it a question, and it will answer and show you the thing you’ve been seeking.”

“You enchanted it?” I asked.

“No. There was already magic in this ancient castle when
we
came here. This glass is very old, from a time when this kingdom was filled with magic. Do you remember how it was waiting in the tower for you?”

I had a memory then, of the glass propped up on the floor, the laughing girl with bright yellow hair dancing about the room, imitating everything I did.

I nodded.

“I knew right away what it could do. That’s why I brought us to this place.”

“You
brought us here? You said we walked and walked and came upon the castle ruins by chance.”

She shook her head. “I knew it was here. A powerful sorcerer lived here once. Hundreds and hundreds of years ago. Back then, this kingdom was very great. Many hope that it might become that way again.”

I looked down again, at the moving silver.

“Who is the fairest of them all?” I asked again.

“Rapunzel
is fairest of all,” it said, and it was as if it were whispering in my ear.

I laughed and looked up at her. She sat watching me, the doorway to the house dark and empty behind her.

M
y last day with Mathena, I stared out of my tower at the forest surrounding me—at the slinking river, the massive garden, the trees on all sides, everything teeming with life and sound and
scent. The chirping and whirring of insects and birds, the howling of wolves, the patter of squirrels and rabbits, the soft whoosh of deer running over the grass and soil. The smell of earth and growing things, breezes carrying the scent of river
and rotting animals, the fear of travelers surprised on dark pathways.

I took the cloth from my hair, let it stream down around me.

I could sense the
horses and carriages as they left the inn, as they entered the forest and wound their way to us. I watched from the tower as they appeared in flashes through the trees, closing in, and then I ran down to the garden, to her.

“They’re coming!” I said.

She was bent over the cabbages, which squatted heavy and blue-green, like creatures from under the sea. She looked up at me, lifting a dirt-covered
hand and wiping it across her forehead. The sun shining down on her.

And then they arrived, in a flash of horse and silver and more people than I’d ever seen all together at the same time, up close. A host of guards and servants came to get me. At my direction, they swept up the curving stairs to my tower. It was all movement and chaos but before I knew it, my life was packed up and stowed away
in carriages and on horseback.

“He has not come himself?” I asked one of the ladies who seemed to be in charge of the servants.

“Oh, no,” she said. “The king is very busy. But he is waiting for you.”

I tried not to feel disappointed that he hadn’t come. Of course he had better things to do, as the king, but now I would be all alone.

I turned to Mathena, who stood by the garden watching everything,
a curious look on her face.

“What is it?” I asked, walking up to her. Brune stood on her shoulder.

“I’m just remembering when I was young,” she said. “Young and full of dreams. Madly in love with a young magician.”

I winced, but knew she was thinking only of the past, when she and Marcus had been lovers and everything had been possible.

I leaned in and kissed her cheek, taking in her faint
smell of spices. “You are still young, Mathena,” I said. “You can still dream.”

“I dream all the time,” she said strangely, and just as I was about to respond, one of the soldiers stepped forward.

“We are ready, my lady,” he said.

And then it seemed as if I had had no time at all to say good-bye to her.

I looked at her standing there by the garden, soil-covered yet as majestic as any member
of royalty. She could change men into stags, make a garden burst with vegetables when everyone else’s crops failed. I looked at our little stone house built from ruins, the tower that reached into the sky, the garden. It was all so lovely—it had been the whole universe to me for so long, and now I was leaving. And I was aware, painfully so, that if and when I returned, it would not be the same to
me. I would be a queen, accustomed to living in a palace. What would this all look like to me then?

What a strange feeling, suddenly seeing everything from the future, as if I were able to travel through time and this were a moment buried deep in my memory. Like a jewel I could pull out of my pocket at any time and hold up to the light.