Chapter Eleven Rapunzel
Eleven
Rapunzel
The atmosphere in the carriage feels decidedly different this time around.
For one thing, it’s not just a princesses-only club; Eugene is sitting next to Rapunzel, and because Eugene is there, Hughes is planted beside Verette.
That alone has shifted the energy from awkward silence to something like tentative, muddled confusion.
Verette did seem to be expecting them when they met her and Hughes at the palace steps, so Rapunzel’s best guess is that the chamberlain has brought her up to speed, at least. Hughes’s countenance remains as dismal as ever, but Verette has progressed from staring out the window to sneakily eyeing both Rapunzel and Eugene as they jostle down the hill into the city.
Finally Eugene breaks the ice: “Sorry about…er, my parents. And your mother.”
Verette swallows. A curious sort of relief seeps into her face.
“I’m sorry as well. This can’t be easy for you.
For what it’s worth…my mother was very ill at that point.
The only thing keeping her alive was the Starlight Spring, and only a miracle could have saved her.
I’m not even sure…” Her voice trails off, and she shakes her head.
“I don’t think we should be judged by our parents’ choices, just the choices we make in the aftermath. But I appreciate your sympathy.”
“And we will appreciate your discretion,” Hughes adds with a bit more steel.
Rapunzel catches herself tugging the ends of her hair again.
“Believe me, I understand. The power to heal, to prolong your life…I was locked in a tower for eighteen years so someone could keep that kind of power to themselves.” She pushes her long sleeves back to her elbows.
It’s been a lot to absorb, the tragedy and the history, but her mind has been racing almost all morning. “If it’s okay, I have some questions.”
“Go ahead.” Verette’s almost jarringly cordial. Perhaps with Astera’s secrets laid out, she doesn’t feel she has as much to hide.
“Do you know how big the spring is?”
“No, I’ve never seen it in person,” Verette answers. “Every route into the spring’s cavern was sealed off except for one, and only the current monarch has the key to it.”
“What if he loses it?” Eugene asks. When Hughes gives him a dubious look, he shrugs. “I’m just saying, I have dropped my keys into some vile places before.”
Hughes is unamused. “How fortunate for us all that the king has more grace.”
“Do you know what kind of poison it was?” Rapunzel asks. “Or how much?” Verette shakes her head to both, lips thinning. “Did anyone ever look into the source of the spring?”
“Councilor Laroux may have more thorough knowledge,” Hughes politely suggests.
“I wish I knew,” Verette admits. “But why do you ask?”
Now it’s Rapunzel’s turn to hunt for an answer. Sadly, the problem isn’t that she doesn’t have one; it’s that it’s embarrassing.
Despite the heartache, this is the best she’s felt in weeks.
The last month as a princess has been completely uncharted territory—no routines to follow yet, no goalposts to reach.
No way to show her parents she could do anything they asked, that she was ready not just to be a princess, but their daughter.
The invitation to Astera was her first opening, but it was also open-ended. It called for mastery of tact, intrigue, and etiquette, and her people skills are…limited.
This? A tangible problem she can tackle? That’s finally solid ground.
“I’m here to help,” Rapunzel says. “Any way I can.”
She doesn’t miss the looks Verette and Hughes trade.
“Can someone explain the whole councilor thing to me?” Eugene asks. “Back on the ship, Councilor Teophine said she was the south, or something? It’s been a couple days.”
Hughes draws himself up with a hint of drama, as if bureaucratic minutiae might be the highlight of his day.
“The Cardinal Council comprises five advisors, each of whom runs a separate wing of the administrative hall, which their role is named for. The north wing covers education and research—hence Councilor Laroux of the North may have more knowledge of the Starlight Spring. You’ve met Councilor Teophine Trahan of the South.
Councilor Brevala Savary of the East deals with labor and public welfare, Councilor Persevault of the West oversees the harbor and the navy, and Councilor Matelin of the Center is in charge of records and general administration. ”
“The council used to be chosen by the people of Astera,” Verette adds. “If a monarch passed away or was incapacitated before their heir was of age, the council governed in the interim, and they also had the ability to overrule a monarch’s decision by unanimous vote.”
“What an interesting use of past tense,” Eugene observes as the carriage slows.
It halts before Rapunzel can squeeze in a follow-up. As they exit, though, Verette says, “I’ll try to get you a meeting with Councilor Laroux this afternoon.”
“Thank you.” Rapunzel tries to hide her surprise.
Minister Cressien and Councilor Savary climb out of the carriage behind theirs.
Councilor Savary is a short, stout woman near Cressien’s age, with laugh lines in her deep gold face and a grandmother’s watchful eye.
She sweeps an arm at the two mismatched stories of the building before them as a rangy, almost birdlike doctor bows by the door.
“Welcome to Third Street Hospital, Your Highnesses. My wife is the director, and she’ll be guiding you through the visit,” Councilor Savary says.
“So sentimental,” the doctor laughs, planting a kiss on Savary’s cheek. Then, peering at the group, she wrinkles her nose. “Seven people might be a bit crowded. Why don’t the gentlemen head through the children’s ward first, and we’ll take the adult wing, then switch?”
“Very prudent, Dr. Savary,” Hughes says, to which she swats him lightly on the arm and motions them all in.
“I’ve told you a thousand times to call me Gwenna, you fuddy-duddy. Now go, and no lecturing the kids on civic duty this time.” She shoos them down a cramped hall to the right, then leads Rapunzel, Verette, and Councilor Savary to the left.
Inside, it’s just as close quarters as Gwenna had warned.
Rapunzel can see the lines of what used to be a small clinic, voids where walls were knocked down, divots in the floor from when beds were spaced farther apart.
A ramp leads upstairs, its wood a younger, paler hue than the floorboards.
Everything spells the prioritizing of hasty expansion over aesthetics, and she can see why; there’s a waiting room full of unhappy-looking patients, but nearly every bed is full.
“After the Night of the Poisoned Dagger,” Rapunzel starts, only to pause when Dr. and Councilor Savary both look at her, alarmed.
“Father told them,” Verette says quickly. “Please, continue.”
“Was there a surge in illness?” Rapunzel asks. “The symptoms might help identify the poison.” At Gwenna’s bafflement, she adds, “I grew up with three books total, and one of them was on botany. I read the section on poisonous plants a lot.”
Gwenna’s mouth twists. “It’s actually been the inverse.
We took our health for granted, and when the Starlight Spring was cut off, it took a few years for the long-term effects to start showing.
People were developing chronic conditions, seasonal illnesses hit them harder—all things we didn’t realize the spring water was keeping at bay.
” She touches her own tight white rows of braided hair.
“It used to be that the starlight turned everyone’s hair white by eighteen.
That was how you knew someone had come of age. But now it takes nearly twice as long.”
Rapunzel looks around the room and finds shades of pewter, sterling, slate; only people past their mid-thirties have true snowy hair. Something about that itches in the back of her mind, but she can’t put her finger on it.
The area upstairs seems intended for longer recuperation.
Some patients are carefully walking around with a nurse’s help, others sitting up and reading or bickering with their neighbors.
Little personal touches mark the walls by each bed; Rapunzel spies the pale shell moths of verette charms dangling from bedposts or pins in the walls or even worn as necklaces, crafted with everything from crude hemp and clay beads to silk ribbons and crystal.
“It’s been too long, Princess!” croaks an older man, grinning broadly, from a bed.
“It’s been one week,” Verette retorts with a grin of her own, “same as last time. How have you been?”
“We’re feeling it everywhere,” Councilor Savary says under her breath as Verette goes to speak with the old man. “The fountains haven’t run with starlight for over twenty years. Oh, the sight of it was…almost as beautiful as Gwenna.”
Her wife pushes her shoulder with an embarrassed smile. “You old sap.” The smile fades a bit. “But you’re right. The cost keeps growing. People aren’t recovering the way they should.”
“Fewer fish in the coves, smaller crops, even the hens don’t lay as many eggs,” the councilor says grimly. “We’re making do with less and less, but we can’t stretch much more.”
Rapunzel twists a lock of hair around a finger, thinking. Something like a theory is snowballing in her head; she just knows it needs another push or two. “And the sunmills, they’re tapping normal underground springs?”
“I would presume so?” Gwenna shrugs. As Verette rejoins them, she asks brightly, “So, Your Highness, do you think this year’s coming of age ceremony will be the one?”
Verette’s shoulders stiffen, just for a moment, as her gaze flicks to Councilor Savary. She laughs in a way that reminds Rapunzel of how she’d laugh at Gothel’s “teasing.” “Well, we’ll see in a few days, won’t we? But my father knows best.”
“You’d think the king would give you more of a heads-up,” Gwenna says.
Verette’s empty smile doesn’t crack. “You would think.”