Chapter 5
“I can’t leave…the bookstore,” I repeat, a little unsure of what I’ve just heard. I suppose that would explain why I’m still inside, but also: “How do you know?”
“We tried to carry you out after you collapsed,” someone says to my left. I turn to regard the speaker. A large dracone man. Definitely maybe someone I remember from yesterday.
“We couldn’t,” another voice says.
“Perhaps I should try,” I say. Honey holds out her hand and I gingerly get to my feet, other hands on my arms and shoulders, helping me rise.
I stagger a bit, then right myself. The door is open.
A crowd is assembled outside. It seems the entire town knows that the visiting princess passed out in the bookstore.
I steady myself on the doorframe, then take a step forward.
And stop. It’s as though I’ve stepped into a wall. I bring my hands up and feel in front of myself. The lovely blue rectangle of daylight before me is solid beneath my fingers. I push against it. I might as well be shoving a boulder. Nothing happens.
I step back. It’s entirely possible this is all a dream. That tea was very bitter, after all.
The tea.
The old lady.
I turn back to Honey—her face stands out among the crowd of concerned onlookers. “What happened to the old lady?”
“She’s gone,” someone says. The Lord Mayor.
“Gone,” I repeat, my question obvious. Gone where?
“Passed on, poor dear,” someone says. “We carried her out an hour ago.”
“An hour ago? How long have I been asleep?” No wonder Honey looks furious. We’re terribly late.
“Just about an hour,” someone says soothingly, as though rounding down a little might help.
“We need to go,” I say, a little desperately. I can recover in the carriage. “I’m supposed to be in…in…” Grimswold. Fantamir. Puddleby-on-Strand. Somewhere.
“You’re not going anywhere,” someone else says. “We ran a little spell sounder over here when it seemed you weren’t just fainted; the creature went mad on whatever you were cursed with.”
A spell sounder. A little animal somewhere between a pig and a dog, used to sniff out pockets of magic. And, occasionally, diagnose magical infections, like curses.
“I could try the window,” I suggest, but the person who mentioned the spell sounder merely shakes her head.
“You reek of magic, my dear,” the Lord Mayor says. I glance over at Honey. She looks a bit like she’s about to burst into tears. Really angry tears.
“And I can’t leave the bookshop.” An old woman handed me a key, told me she hoped it would help me unlock my heart’s desire, and now I’m trapped inside a bookshop.
I think about it for a moment. My head’s clearing up and I’m steadier on my feet than I was a moment ago. I’m stuck inside a bookshop. A thousand miles from my parents. Unable to carry on with my royal duties. I’m stuck. Inside. A bookshop.
For as long as it takes someone to break the curse, or for me to fulfill it and unlock my heart’s desire.
I lean my head against the door and start to laugh.