The Thirteenth Princess (14 page)

As we reached Milek, I heard a strange noise and saw beyond him the golden trees leaning forward toward us, as in a heavy wind. The wind itself struck a moment later. A whirling darkness covered us, and I felt the breath pulled out of me. My light-stick spun out of my hand and away. Objects flew through the air and struck me on my face, my shoulders and chest. I leaned forward, trying to move, but the force of the wind was too strong. Then I felt a hand on my arm and knew it must be Milek's. I turned to grasp the person behind me—was it still Breckin?—and hoped that whoever it was, he or she would do the same to the person behind. We pushed against the wind, pulling one another along. My eyes were closed against the grit that the gale pushed into them. We seemed to move this way, one hard-fought step at a time, for hours, and then suddenly the wind dropped. We were so bent forward against its force that when it ceased, we all fell onto our faces, scraping painfully against the dirt of the path. I lay sobbing and trying to catch my breath, but Milek would not let us rest.

“Up!” he commanded. “You must get up. If we don't get back before daybreak, I don't know if we will ever get back. Zita, Breckin, help me!”

I rubbed the dirt out of my eyes and wobbled to my feet. I could see the silver trees just ahead, and I knew we were almost back. Behind me, my sisters lay sprawled, pale and nearly senseless. I ran to them, urging them to rise, helping each one to her feet. “We're nearly there,” I told them, trying to brush grass from their hair, dirt from their faces. “It's almost over. You can rest soon. Just a little farther.”

Then I heard a sound that filled me with dread. It was the roar of the wall of water that followed us each time we ran to the enchanted castle. This time it came from the other direction.

“Run!” I screamed, and my sisters heard the terror in my voice, picked up their skirts, and ran. I brought up the rear now, with Breckin and Milek in front. Behind me I could hear the great wave approaching, and I imagined I could feel its spray on my back. My clothes seemed to grow heavy with moisture.
It cannot be real, it cannot,
I said to myself, chanting the words as I ran. My feet sloshed in their wet boots, and my hair dripped into my eyes. Ahead I could see Milek piling the princesses into the dumbwaiter, three—no, four at a time, their wide skirts crushed together to make room. He
and Breckin worked the ropes. Up, then down—four more. Up and down, and the last four piled in and disappeared as I ran up. We had done it! They were safe at last—but we were not.

Milek, Breckin, and I turned to face the wall of water that did not exist, and it broke over us with tremendous force. We were tumbled head over heels until there was no way to tell which way was up, but I struck out swimming anyway, kicking off my sodden boots and flailing desperately with my arms. The water was dark and greenish, but I thought I could see a lighter milky green in the distance. I remember feeling that I was thinking very clearly for someone who was drowning, and I thought,
That must be the surface and daylight.
I headed in that direction. My chest burned with the need to breathe. I had to take a breath. I thought,
For an imaginary wave, this one seems very real
, and then I opened my mouth and breathed in. I breathed in water, and I choked and coughed and clawed at my throat in a panic.
It is real,
I told myself.
I should have waited a little longer to breathe. I am dying
. And then I thought no more.

P
erhaps I did die for a moment. I don't know. There was nothingness, and then there was feeling again. If death is nothingness, then I suppose I could have been dead. I do know that waking—or living again—was very terrible. I came to consciousness with lungs full of water and spent a long time retching and coughing until I thought my very insides would rush out of me with the water I expelled. For a time I lay nearly insensible, feeling hard ground beneath me and cold air moving over me. I began to shiver, and I felt something heavy and warm laid over me. I thought
about opening my eyes; through my heavy lids I could tell that it was day. But it was just too hard. I slept, or was unconscious again, for a time, and when I woke I heard someone else going through the retching and coughing that I had finished. I felt a great wave of relief but did not know why, and then the reason came to me: Breckin too was alive. He was lying near me, coughing his lungs out on the mossy ground. And Milek? I heard him groan, not far off, and I thought about smiling, but my face was too tired to form itself into any shape at all.

A voice whispered in my ear, “You can sit up now,” and so I did. Sitting was as hard as anything I had ever done. I ached all over, arms and legs from swimming, skin from falling and scraping and being pelted with pebbles and sticks in wind and wave, even inside my throat and chest where I had coughed and coughed. I wobbled, and strong arms supported me. I smelled the scent of lemon biscuits and said, “Babette?”

“Oh, my dear,” she replied, hugging me. I collapsed into her embrace, noting too late that my sodden clothes were soaking her through. I tried to pull away, but she would not let me, so I rested there against her warmth and strength.

“The others are all right,” Babette said at length. “They were not as bad off as you. You took quite a bit of
work, my love! I haven't worked like that in three score years or more.”

“You did magic on me?” I said weakly. “You healed me?”

“Oh, you're a strong one,” Babette said lightly. “It wasn't much, really. But I'm glad to know I still have the skills. Here, let me do something about those bruises.” She began to run her hands over my black-and-blue arms, murmuring words I did not recognize. As she touched a spot, the ache there subsided. She did the same to my poor throbbing head, and finally I could focus my eyes and look around me. On the ground nearby, Breckin and Milek lay like waterlogged branches, limp and seemingly lifeless. I must have made a sound of concern, for Babette interrupted her healing to say, “They're all right, love. They're just resting. Gathering their strength.”

I nodded. “Where are we?” I asked. I had some idea that we were on a magical isle or the shore of an enchanted lake, but Babette pointed behind me, and I looked out over the water to see our palace shimmering in the sunlight.

“We're on the far side of the lake,” she said. “You were thrown here by the wave. It's a good thing it was moving in this direction, and not the other, or the palace would have been swamped by it.”

“My sisters—,” I started.

“They are all upstairs. Do you remember?”

I recalled the desperate pulls on the dumbwaiter ropes and my great relief just before the wave broke, and I nodded. “And how did you come here?” I asked, stretching out my legs so she could work over them. There was a big gash along my left calf, and I watched with great interest as it began to knit itself. Soon barely a scar remained of it.

“I was tending to my lilacs—you know, they must be pruned in winter, before spring growth begins. And suddenly there was a huge crash, and the whole world seemed to waver before my eyes. I had never seen such a thing before.” She paused and asked, “Shall I dry you?”

I nodded, and she passed her hands over my body from head to foot. Liquid cascaded off me as if I were a waterfall, and within moments I was wrung out and perfectly dry. I could feel warmth returning to my hands and feet.

“Go on,” I urged her.

“It was obvious that some very strong magic was taking place, and all I could imagine was that it had to do with you. I packed a basket with everything I thought I might need, and I left my cottage for the first time in many years. The forest had grown up so much! I feared I
might get lost, but the pull of the magic was very strong. I came to the lake just as the wave hit the shore, and I found the three of you easily enough. And here I am.” She nodded and blinked her bright eyes.

“Oh, Babette,” I said mournfully. “It was all my fault. I nearly got us all killed. I forgot to hide myself.”

“It is all for the best,” she said comfortably, patting my head. “Now everything is out in the open. You cannot fight what you cannot see.”

“But I still don't
know
,” I told her. “I don't know who is doing it, or why.”

“I think perhaps you do,” Babette replied. “I think that if you look closely, you will see that you know.”

“Look closely at what?” I demanded crossly, standing up and brushing ineffectively at my wrinkled skirt.

Babette gave a gesture that could have meant anything or anywhere. I looked around me, at the trees and grasses, still clothed in the brown of winter. I looked at Breckin and Milek, starting to stir now as Babette moved to them and began her healing art. It was neither of them. That I was sure of. I turned to look at the lake, peering into its depths as if I could see the castle far below if I looked hard enough. There was nothing but mud and rock. I looked up at the palace, its faceted windows glimmering in the pale wintry sun. Was she speaking of my father, asking me to look at my father's
home? Was this her way of telling me it was he who had tried to kill us all?

I rarely saw the palace from this angle; I had last been on this side of the lake back in spring, when I picked strawberries. From this side, my sisters' bedroom window showed, and I stared at it hard.

“Oh,” I said faintly. This was the view that showed in the embroidered coverlet my sisters had made for my twelfth birthday, where I stood at the window and looked out. And there, in the real window, I could see the shadow that had embroidered itself into the coverlet, that Alanna had claimed was spilled chocolate. It was not a spill, I could see that now. It was a face, and it peered out the window, seeming to look right at me. I could see it was not Father. It was a woman, with long hair. I squinted, trying to read the features. They were so familiar, and yet not. Was it Chiara? But Chiara wore her hair up, always in its tight coil. Was it one of my sisters? No, the nose was sharp and the hair dark, not blond. I could see the face clearly now, and I both recognized it and did not. And then in a moment it changed, and wrinkles furrowed the cheeks, the hair grayed, and the features settled into the familiar and beloved face of Nurse. Our own, my sisters' Nurse.

“Oh no,” I whispered, clutching at my throat. It was Nurse who had done such wicked things to my
poor sisters, who had tried to kill Breckin and Milek and me? How could that be? And
why
? I was filled with horror, and then a moment later I realized,
It was not Father. Oh, thank heaven, it was not Father.

I spun around to look back at Babette. She was staring up at the window, and I knew that she had seen what I'd seen. We exchanged a look. She nodded to me, and out loud I asked, “But why?”

“I don't know, my dear,” Babette answered sadly. “I can't even begin to imagine.”

“What shall we do? My sisters are up there with her! They aren't safe. We must get them out!”

Milek sat up with a groan, shaking out his sore limbs. He poked Breckin, who shook his damp red curls till the water drops flew.

“Makes you glad Willem taught us to swim, eh, brother?” Milek said. “I remember cursing him when he threw us in the pond and told us to paddle, but think if he hadn't!”

Breckin laughed weakly, then stared in amazement as Babette dried him as she had me.

“
That's
useful magic,” he pointed out. “We could have used some of that under the lake last night.”

“It would have done you no good,” Babette said tartly. “I couldn't fight against the strength of that. I'm not nearly good enough.”

“Then what,” I demanded, “are we going to do about Nurse? How shall we break her enchantment if you aren't a good enough witch to do it?”

“Nurse?” Breckin said. “It was Nurse?”

I nodded, and he gaped at me.

“Use Milek's magic to break the enchantment,” Babette told me. We stared at her blankly.

“I have no magic, ma'am,” Milek said at last. “Only the cloak you gave me, and that's—” He looked around him, but there was no trace of the cloak, torn away by the force of the wave. “That's gone.”

Babette smiled gently. “Oh, you have magic,” she said. “It's not in spells or potions, but it works just the same. It's been working all along.” She and Milek exchanged a look, and he smiled suddenly, a radiant smile that made his weathered face still more handsome.

“Well, then,” he said briskly. “We must hurry.”

I was bewildered. “But what is our plan? Hurry to do what?”

Milek took my face in his rough hands and looked into my eyes. “Can you trust me to do the best for your sisters, Zita?” he asked. I looked into his deep brown eyes and saw a little of Breckin there. I knew then that he would do everything he could, and that I could trust him. I nodded.

“Just tell me what to do,” I said.

We made our way around the edge of the lake to the land bridge, struggling through thorny bushes and tall grasses. When we got to the bridge, I said to Babette, “She will see us crossing. She watches the bridge.”

“I know,” Babette replied. “I want her to see us.”

“
You're
coming in?” Breckin asked her, astonished. “What if the king finds out? What will Nurse do to you?”

Babette shrugged. “I have no idea. But now that she knows who I am, there is no point in hiding. I want to pull her out, bring her to us. We need to unmask her.”

I thought of the face I had seen in the window—young, dark-eyed and dark-haired, beautiful in a cold, harsh way—and then a moment later old and wrinkled, the face of a beloved servant. Which was the mask? When the disguise was removed, what face would be revealed?

We marched across the bridge and were met by a guard. He was much larger than any guard I had seen there before, and I did not recognize him. He held a lance before us, and I could see a sword and a knife at his side.

“Halt,” he commanded us. We stopped, unnerved by the sharp point of the lance.

I stepped forward, nearly impaling myself on the point. “I am Zita, King Aricin's daughter,” I said in as
imperious a voice as I could muster. “Stand aside.”

The guard snorted but did not reply, and he did not move. I held my breath and stepped forward, expecting to feel the painful push of the lance against my breastbone. But the lance passed right through me, and the guard wavered as the princes had the night before, and disappeared.

“Oh, very good, Zita!” Babette said approvingly. “Your Nurse is excellent at illusion. I would not have guessed.”

“I didn't recognize him,” I told her. “I knew there had been no new servants but Milek hired this month.”

“It can be useful, being a princess and a serving girl,” Breckin teased, poking me. I swatted at his hand, swallowing the fear I'd felt when I stepped into the lance.

We started up the stairs nervously, unsure what threat might leap out at us from behind each tapestry or curtain. On the landing of the second floor, there was a sudden hiss and flapping, and a great number of bats swooped down from the ceiling. I shrieked and ducked and covered my head, sure that the nasty things—rats with wings!—would tangle themselves in my hair.

“They're nothing, Zita!” Breckin reminded me, pulling me upright. “Just an illusion.” We moved on, up the marble stairs, but the distance from stair to stair began to grow greater. Soon we were clambering from
one step to the next, and then leaping, and then we had to boost one another up to the next stair. I stopped, panting, after one such climb, and looked behind us. The staircase seemed to drop off below to nothingness, as if we were looking over the edge of an enormous cliff. Milek followed my gaze and wobbled a bit on the step. I grabbed his arm.

“I don't much like heights,” he admitted, steadying himself.

“It's just a staircase,” I reminded him. “It isn't real.”

“This climb surely
feels
real,” he said, laughing, and I laughed too, weakly.

At last we reached the top floor, and I looked down the hall toward my sisters' room. As the staircase had become endlessly high, so the hall was now endlessly long, the far end wreathed in fog or smoke. Sighing, we set out down the corridor, moving as quickly as we could.

Miles and miles we trudged, or so it felt. I was confused: we were walking and walking, so it couldn't be an illusion, could it? But it couldn't be real, either, for I knew perfectly well that our hallway was not ten miles long. It made my brain ache to think about it.

Then, finally, we stood outside my sisters' door. I reached out to hammer on the door, fearful of what was taking place within, but Babette stopped my hand.
We listened for a moment; there was no sound from inside. Then Milek put his face close to the door, spoke Aurelia's name, and began to talk.

I could not tell you exactly what he said. It was a song and a poem and a story, a tapestry of a tale, woven with strands of fear and magic and love. He spoke for Aurelia's ears, though we did not know whether she could hear on the other side of the door. He told of our adventure beneath the lake, again as if it were a dream he'd had. He described the dance, reminding Aurelia of her beauty and of his love for her, and then he told of the cock's crow and the terrifying disintegration of the castle. He recounted the disappearance of the princes, and I thought I heard a muffled gasp from within the chamber. He told of our terror over the snakes and the water rats, of the terrible wind, and then he described the wave that had taken and nearly killed us. When he was done, there was silence for a long, long time.