The Sleeping Beauty (21 page)

“Oh, I would expect that. You’ve already shown how clever you
are, just by staging all of this—” his gesture took in the room full of Princes and the gardens beyond “—in order to hold off the wolves that would have descended when your father died. I admire your skill and your wit, Princess, and your ability to think when pressed and pressed hard. You have enemies ready to swoop down over the borders and swallow you whole, so you manage to get almost a hundred hostages to come to you and put themselves willingly in your hands. Very good strategy. I couldn’t have managed better myself.”

For a moment, it seemed as if the two of them were encased in a bubble that held everyone else out. He gazed into her eyes with a hint of challenge. She raised an eyebrow at him. “You don’t approve?”

“Oh, I very much approve. I wouldn’t be here myself if I didn’t approve.” His smile never wavered. “There are plenty of available royal ladies out there who don’t have the sense to save themselves or the wit to figure out how. They rely on men to do all that for them. They don’t interest me.”

“And I do?” She was getting charmed, despite trying not to be. She couldn’t help it; that last came out with more than a hint of flirtation in it.

“I wouldn’t still be here if you didn’t.” He gave her a bow, and the moment passed, the invisible bubble evaporated, and people were moving into their space as they talked. “But I am keeping you from the rest of your guests. I understand that protocol must be observed here. It wouldn’t do to be seen talking too long with any particular fellow among us. You can’t have favorites.”

But his knowing smile said
not even me, even though you’d like that.

“Quite right.” She gave him a nod, and softened it with a smile. “Best of luck in the next contest, Prince Desmond.”

As she moved on to the next guest, a waft of breeze carried the scent of roses in from the garden and she found she was still smiling, the disappointment over not seeing Siegfried quite, quite gone.

Lily collapsed in a chair beside the cold fireplace, which in summer was filled with flowers. Once the last of the spells had been broken, she felt as if she had been carrying every one of those Princes across the finish line on her own back. It had been a very, very long day, first transforming, then releasing all those mouse-horses, conjuring and dismissing the armor. Even with nearly unlimited Traditional power pressing down on this kingdom like swollen-bellied rain clouds, the work had still taken its toll on her. A hot bath had helped, and after a light supper Rosamund had volunteered to be the gracious hostess, and Lily had blessed her for the few hours alone. She’d not gotten many of those of late, and she surely missed her privacy and the comfort of her own Palace.

This was the most time she had spent in the company of anyone other than her Brownies in decades. Godmothers generally worked alone, and Lily was no exception to that rule. She had forgotten how wearying the constant presence of mortals was. Especially when she had to keep up her disguise of Queen Sable. They seemed to be everywhere, and they all wanted something of her. Her Brownies were exquisitely sensitive to her moods, and knew when to leave her alone. The human servants…weren’t. If she didn’t periodically lock her door, she’d never keep them out.

But now the doors
were
locked, the windows were open, there was a lovely breeze coming in off the garden, and the people who crammed the Palace full betrayed themselves by nothing more annoying than a distant murmur, like bees. She sipped at a glass of sherbet.

“Have you had any luck with the Huntsman?” she asked aloud. And Jimson, as she had known he would, answered her.

“He has been very circumspect, Lily. He’s scarcely moved from his quarters except to conduct his duties. I don’t understand it. In
short, he gets up, he eats, he goes out to hunt, he comes back laden with game for the royal tables, he eats, and then goes to sleep.”

She frowned. That was unexpected. She had thought that surely he would have made contact with one of the Princes—whoever had paid him to dispose of Rosa. She wouldn’t have thought he’d have given up so easily. “Somehow I don’t think we frightened him. Do you?”

“No,” the Mirror Servant said flatly. “I do not.” Then Jimson sighed, and Lily thought she detected a distinct note of guilt in his voice. “I believe he has been ordered to keep quiet, possibly by one of the candidates our neighbors sent, although how he got those orders, I don’t know. I thought I was watching him very closely. I am sorry. I must not have been watching him closely enough. This is on my head.”

“It’s not your fault,” Lily replied, waving off the apology. “You’ve been every bit as busy as Rosa and I have. For all we know, the Huntsman’s orders came in a note left in a kennel, and catching him looking for that would have taxed anyone. It’s not as if I haven’t had you doing the work of three Mirror Servants—even with the help of your Apprentices—” She paused when Jimson coughed discreetly. “What is it?”

“Oh, I have been watching the Huntsman personally,” Jimson replied, “I hope you do not think I delegated that—”

“I know better than that. Don’t be ridiculous, Jimson. I work you harder than any Godmother has ever worked someone, and I know I can always rely on you to do what you say you will—no one could keep up with me but you! I really do not know what I would do without you, especially now!” She smiled over her shoulder at him, and he flushed a slightly deeper green. “If you need more apprentices for this, then get them. Let them handle things that are tedious and less important. I need you for the clever things.” She got up and moved to the chair facing the mirror. As another breeze wafted through the room, she lifted the hair off the back of her neck to let
the cooling air get to it. “Speaking of clever things, the next contest should be something where magic is not going to help. There were too many of those young men using charms—and I don’t think that the King of Eltaria should place too much reliance on magic—except for mine.” She sighed. “And mine is not infallible.”

Jimson frowned, his brows furrowing. “That isn’t going to be easy. You can forbid the use of it, but that doesn’t mean they won’t cheat. Finding a task where magic is useless will be a tall order.”

“I’ve been thinking about this a little.” She sipped her sherbet and pondered the question. “We could make it strictly a test of intelligence, a chess tournament, perhaps. Though I am not sure that would serve if not all of them know chess. Or solving a puzzle? That’s Traditional.”

“Don’t make it untying a knot,” Jimson replied, making a face. “There’s a Traditional answer for that, which leaves you without a knot to be solved by the rest of the candidates. And they can’t all chop the thing to bits.”

She twined a strand of hair around her fingers, thinking. “A maze, a puzzle… we would have to put some sort of negation spell on them so that magic couldn’t be used to solve them. Besides, that seems too…small.” She shook her head. “Am I not thinking spectacularly enough?”

Jimson nodded. “Whatever we do, if it is a public trial, it must be flamboyant. The Tradition expects that. Remember, the more we satisfy The Tradition, the more power will be available to you. And whatever we choose, we need to make sure it has something to do with testing the capabilities of a potential king for this country.”

“I can’t see how puzzles or mazes would be relevant, then,” Lily sighed. They needed a contest and they needed one soon, or their enemies would see this for what it was—an attempt to stall for time. “What would be relevant?”

“Finding a way to get what you want without having to fight,” said Jimson wryly. “That would be relevant, considering that Thurman managed to fend off fights more often than he actually engaged in them. Traditionally, one of the tasks in a trial is to fetch something with a dangerous guardian. Could we have them get something for us? Don’t we have a dragon up on Sharpstone Pass? Don’t dragons have the ability to nullify magic?”

“Some of them do.” She frowned, thinking. She hadn’t had much to do with the Sharpstone Dragon in a century. Even when she had, he hadn’t spoken more than three words, and one of them had been “No.” Still, he was perfectly happy with his monthly tribute of sheep, no one really wanted to use the Sharpstone Pass, and the only people who ever tried to come through there were generally up to no good. “I don’t want him hurt. He’s a very effective deterrent on that pass. The question is if he would be willing to cooperate. You know that he is not going to want to part with any of his hoard.”

“What dragon ever does? And even if we gave him things for them to…. oh…” Jimson suddenly became very alert. “I think I have a plan. But as you say, we would have to see if he will cooperate. Is there anyone we can send so that you don’t have to go?”

Lily drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair for a moment. “Perhaps. Perhaps. Can you see if Godmother Elena is able to talk? I need to find another dragon. Sharpstone won’t talk to me, but he will to one of his own kind.”

Jimson beamed. “Immediately, Lily!”

SIEGFRIED AND LEOPOLD SLIPPED BACK INTO THE
Palace by the servants’ entrance, after an evening spent trying to puzzle out what the next contest might be at the King’s Arms. Neither one of them wanted to mingle—again—with the rest of the candidates as was the custom after supper, to tell the truth. The regular evening gatherings were already getting rather tedious to both of them. Nothing ever happened, except the endless subtle and not-so-subtle jockeying for information and status. In fact, what both of them wanted most to do was get some sleep. It only occurred to Siegfried, just as he was drifting off, that the so-helpful old lady might be waiting in the garden again to give them hints about what the next contest was. But of course, at that point it was too late to do anything about it.

In the morning, they went together to the dining hall, got food and took it out into the gardens to see if the bird was about. She was, but she didn’t have any good ideas, either. She happily shared their breakfast, but that was all. “I was asleep last night,” she explained needlessly. “And besides, it’s not a good idea to spy on a Godmother.
They are sometimes swift to anger, and I am easy to transform. I like being a bird. I wouldn’t like being a toad.”

Lacking anything else to do, they separated to see if they could get more information that way. Leopold joined the Princes idling in the garden, Siegfried joined the ones idling in the stables and the practice grounds. From everything that Siegfried could see, no one else had any clues, either. Many tried to guess, of course. A good many decided fearfully that it was likely to involve fighting. Even more came to the same conclusion, but regarded the prospect with a great deal of enthusiasm. This meant that the practice ground was thick with young men sparring with each other by midmorning. The ladies of the court found this much more appealing to watch than their needlework. There was a rough stand of sorts set up, with a canvas shade to keep the sun off, just outside the fence. Since this was a practice field normally used by the knights of the court, there was often a lady watching, but this might have been the first time in a very long time that the stands were full.

Siegfried joined them, but only to keep his hand in and stay fit, not because he thought they were right. Leopold did not join them, but leaned on the fence to observe with several other men. Siegfried did not think he was doing this because he was lazy, as some of the others said in voices they thought too low to carry. When he was resting, he watched Leopold watching them. Analyzing the fighting styles of others was, oddly perhaps, not what he was good at. But then, his people were not themselves noted for subtle fighting styles—and his own style was, truthfully, to rush in like a great bear and attempt to batter his opponent into unconsciousness, or at least submission, within the first dozen blows. But Leopold was watching all of the other Princes very closely in a carefully-not-watching way as they fought. Siegfried had hopes he was going to get an earful about how the others measured up, and even higher hopes that Leopold might be able to coach him through some changes to his own fighting.

When Siegfried was satisfied that he had gotten enough of a workout, and several of his fellow Princes were nursing the bruises he had given them with winces and rueful glances, he joined Leopold at the fence. The Prince wrinkled his nose as Siegfried approached. Siegfried moved downwind.

“I know. I stink.” The Northerner made apologetic motions with his hands. “I’m going to get cleaned up, and then it will be time for dinner.”

“I don’t know how you can even think of dinner after doing something like that,” Leopold mock-complained. “Considering how many blows you took, you should be sick by now.”

“Because a little exercise makes a man hungry,” Siegfried replied. Then quietly he added, “Studying their styles, I hope? It’s not as if I can’t adapt, but I need coaching. A lot of coaching.”

“Indeed I was, and if you and I need to fight them, they are going to be even more bruised than they are now, because I am a very good coach.” Leopold shared a conspiratorial grin with him.

“I’m glad to hear that.” Siegfried was gladder than ever that he and Leopold had cooked up this alliance. The more time he spent with the handsome devil, the better he liked the man.

“And hope that you don’t ever have to face Desmond.” Leopold sobered. “He is not someone to underestimate. He’s got the same reach you do, he’s as strong as you are, and he’s quicker.”

“I’m not glad to hear that.” Siegfried frowned. This was not the sort of thing that boosted his confidence. But—these fellows were usually trained in very specific styles, and Siegfried came from a land where anything was fair—

“And don’t think fighting dirty will help. He’ll fight dirty, too.” Leopold might have been reading his mind.

“Bah.” Siegfried vaulted over the fence, and the two of them headed in the direction of the Palace, Siegfried carefully remaining downwind.

They parted at the Palace, Siegfried to go get a quick wash at the
stable, where there were pumps, Leopold to collect rumors. But what he collected was not a rumor, but a fact, and he caught up with Siegfried while the latter was still shirtless and toweling off his hair.

“After dinner the next contest is going to be announced,” he said, with suppressed excitement. “And that’s all anyone knows. But it is definitely official. I heard the Queen herself confirming it.”

“So whatever it is, either Old Maggie thinks we can handle it without advance warning, or she took her services elsewhere,” murmured Siegfried, a little disappointment in his voice.

“Or she didn’t know, either. I would bet on that.” Leopold seemed very sure. Siegfried wasn’t nearly as certain. But—well, he should give the woman the benefit of the doubt, he supposed.

The announcement had spread like wildfire, and the Queen and Princess looked down at the restless men at the very full tables with enigmatic smiles. Finally when the last of the food had been cleared away, the Queen arose.

“We are pleased to announce the second contest of the trials,” she said without any preamble. “We think it will prove something of a challenge.”

As she spoke, servants began bringing in baskets lined with white silk cloth—and curiously, they all wore silk gloves. Siegfried’s brows furrowed, as he stared at them.
What on earth
—why would they need to handle what was in those baskets with silk? Were the items that delicate? Was the contest to keep from breaking them?

“Our servants are going among you and handing you small, valuable objects. They are all made of gold. Please take one, and hold on to it while the rest are distributed.” There was something very odd about the gleam in the Queen’s eyes.

Sure enough, the servant that was working their table handed Leopold a strange neck-chain, and Siegfried a gold ring. And the moment he touched it, he got a familiar mixed feeling of danger and
desire from it. And a tingle. It was the same sort of feeling that he had gotten from—

“Doom!”
sang his bird at his shoulder. He stared at her in alarm. Oh surely, surely no one had gotten hold of
that
ring and brought it here! Then she trilled a chuckle. “Only, not the doom you think—”

By that point every one of the Princes had his object and was holding it, wearing varying expressions, ranging from boredom to bafflement.

“Each of you has been given a cursed object,” the Queen said with apparent relish.

I knew it!
He wanted to throw the ring as far away from him as he could, but he knew it was too late now.
That
was why the servants had been wearing silk. Silk insulated you from magic.

“Now we assure you,” she continued, her voice strengthening to carry over the sounds of outrage and surprise. “We assure you that they are merely inconvenient curses, not fatal ones. Some of the curses will cause some discomfort, some will cause embarrassment, and some will change your behavior, which will probably also cause embarrassment. Still, you will want to get rid of these things. And that is your contest—you are to rid yourselves of these objects as quickly as possible. Only you are not to merely discard them, nor give them to whatever magician you have in your employ, nor fob them off on a Dwarf. You won’t be able to in any event. The object will return to you unchanged unless you meet the very specific condition required. No, there is only one way and one place you can go to be rid of these things.”

She smiled. Siegfried groaned. He knew what was coming, knew it instinctively. After all, what was the one thing that was almost immune to magic and loved gold more than Dwarves did?

“You must place your object in the hoard of the Dragon of Sharpstone Pass. And you must do so without harming the dragon in any
way. He is useful to us. If you hurt him, you forfeit. There will be a Marshal there to make sure you abide by this.” She gazed down at the Princes. “You may persuade him, trick him, slip the object into the hoard without him knowing, bargain with him—the possibilities are endless. As long as you don’t attempt to harm him, anything is fair. Time is flying, gentlemen. Time is flying. The curses have not yet come home to you, and the dragon is a good distance away from here. And the longer you dally, the more likely it is you will find out personally just what curse your object carries.”

“You are a sadistic woman,” said Rosa, from her vantage point in the window overlooking the garden. The garden boiled with activity, like a nest of ants that a child had stirred up. Behind her, Lily chuckled.

“Don’t blame me, blame Jimson. It was his idea,” she replied. “I merely agreed that it was a good one, since we specifically wanted a task that couldn’t be helped with magic. Even Sharpstone was amused, once Gina explained things properly to him.”

“Gina?” Rosa asked, her brow wrinkling. “I don’t recall that name. Do I know anyone named Gina?” She turned to look at Lily. She realized at that moment that they were beginning to look like a mother-daughter pair—both in the black of mourning, both in garments made by the same Brownies.

The only difference was that Lily had a far more revealing bodice. The protective one that Rosa was wearing was a lot more comfortable than she had thought it would be, but the high neck had the curious effect of making her look younger than she actually was, which annoyed her once in a while. Usually when she was trying to get one or another of the Princes to see her as
her,
and not the prize-to-be-won.

“Not directly. She’s a dragon, specifically, a Dragon Champion. One of only two that I know of, although, who knows—” The Godmother shrugged. “I would expect that the other dragons are studying
this, and there may one day be more. Dragons take a long time to decide if they are going to do something—almost as long as the Fae. At any rate, your indirect connection is that Gina is the donor for your dose of Dragon’s Blood. She and her mate are extremely friendly and helpful to the Godmothers, and I was able to contact her again through Godmother Elena. Sharpstone is not particularly friendly to humans, but I thought he might be willing to listen to our proposition if we made it through another dragon.”

“I can see that a dragon would be happy to add to his hoard, and all of those things are made of gold, so that would make them attractive to him, as well.” Rosa nodded and turned back to her perusal of the garden. Things were getting quite interesting down there, more so by the moment. “What I don’t understand is why he would be willing to have so many cursed objects near him. I would think even a dragon would need to worry about curses.”

Lily laughed as she replied. “The reason is why this entire scheme works so very well for all of us. Sharpstone won’t be any more concerned about those curses than he would be about fleas. He is one of those powerful old dragons whose very presence nullifies any magic but his own. It’s something a dragon acquires over time, just like increasingly tough scales, which is why the older a dragon is, the harder it becomes to kill even with a magic weapon.”

Rosa turned away from the window to see that Jimson was more or less looking over Lily’s shoulder at her, both of them looking, not smug, but commendably pleased with themselves. “I didn’t know that!” she exclaimed. “Is that why really old, wicked dragons need
blessed
weapons to kill them, rather than magic?”

“Indeed.” It was Jimson who replied. “And that is half the reason why he is willing to take in cursed articles. The curses are negligible to him. He is so powerful he could nullify a hundred times more than we’ll send him. But as you wisely pointed out, the objects themselves
are gold, and there is nothing that a dragon of his sort loves better than gold.”

Lily smiled. “The other half of the sum that makes him willing to work with us is that fairly soon word will spread that his hoard is full of cursed objects, and it won’t be possible for anyone to tell which are cursed and which are not. Would
you
try stealing from that hoard under those circumstances?”

Rosa had to laugh at that. It would be a very, very foolish person who would take that sort of risk—first to have to face an old and powerful dragon, and then assume that you might be infected with not just one, but many curses. Unless you had someone along with you who could do a wholesale curse removal… “I don’t think so! And anyone who would—well he’d have to be so stupid he would deserve what he got. But where did you get all those cursed objects?”

Lily smiled ruefully, and shared a glance with Jimson. “Well, that comes under the day-to-day tasks that a Godmother does without really thinking about it. Things with curses on them turn up all the time, and when I find out about them, I generally take them away from the owner, because my control of Traditional magic is powerful enough to allow me to do that. Most magicians just can’t command that kind of force—it’s relatively easy to take a curse off an object before the curse has infected anyone, but it’s a lot harder to negate the magic that binds the object and the curse to a person. Because we Godmothers routinely put these sorts of minor curses on people that need a lesson, Traditionally it’s easier for us to bind and unbind curses and cursed objects.”