Chapter 32
When I wake up the next morning, everything aches.
My head is throbbing and sensitive to the touch; my back feels like someone dropped a load of rocks on me; and, because I fell asleep in a ball like a hedgehog and never uncurled in the night, my shoulders are tight.
I am sure I must have felt physically worse at some point in my life, but at this moment, I can’t remember when that might have been.
It’s late morning: Light is streaming in through the windows leading to the little garden, which means the sun’s pretty high in the sky.
I slept later than I intended. I sigh as I uncurl and get up, and hobble over to Household Magic for another anti-aching spell.
It doesn’t do much, but it helps a little.
I peel off my clothes from yesterday—another reason I woke up uncomfortable; I’m not wearing stays these days, but my vest is tight and my skirt has a waistband without much give—cast the light prestidigitation spell, wash myself off with some cold water from the basin, and then dig around for something clean to wear.
I find one of Mrs. Gooch’s old dresses, the gray one with black-and-white embroidery I’d admired when I first pulled it out of the drawers under the bed, and pull it on.
It fits perfectly. The skirt flares nicely when I twirl, which makes me feel a bit better.
I can’t muster the energy to put my hair up—and what’s the point, anyway?
—so I tie it back with a ribbon, eat a roll, and head out into the shop.
The collapsed bookcase has been set on its side, as has the one it collapsed into.
The latter is salvageable, but the former is no better than kindling.
Sasha and the pirate piled everything up neatly last night, but the path to the door is now so narrow as to permit only one person through at a time.
There’s not much I can do about it, given that I can’t leave the premises to pile the books up outside, so I sit down at my desk and pull a fresh sheet of paper over to myself, and stare down at it.
Dear Honey,
As difficult as the others have been, Ternis is the first prince to cause me bodily harm.
He declaimed for twenty minutes and then grabbed me and dipped me in what I assume was intended to be a romantic gesture, but which in fact sent me knocking into a bookcase I’d accidentally de-spelled while tidying, which sent the bookcase tumbling onto me.
He, romantically, saw what was happening and let go and stepped out of the way, but I, overbalanced, could not do the same.
I haven’t had a chance to look at my back, but I’ve cast two anti-aching spells since it happened, and it still hurts like nobody’s business, so I assume it looks an absolute state.
To judge from the bruise on my temple, which I can see in the mirror, I’m probably completely black and blue.
Don’t tell Mother.
Oh, Honeyrose. You know I’m being serious because I’m using your full name.
Sometimes I feel like I can’t bear it. I think Calla and Astebaen will be fairly straightforward princes, but when they don’t work…
that means my mother and father may try something more drastic.
Please do your best to keep them from making any decisions without consulting you first. And under no circumstances are you to let them consult Gasteyer.
In the three months I’ve been here, this is the first moment I’ve felt truly…well, trapped.
I set my pen down and stare at the words I’ve just written. Trapped. Is that what I feel? So soon after the moment in the rain, when I finally felt almost free? Can one feel both trapped and free simultaneously?
The situation with Bash hasn’t improved things, or helped, in any way; I keep thinking, if I’m cursed and can’t leave, and he’s cursed and won’t leave, then perhaps…
but it hardly bears thinking about; never in my wildest fancies could anything happen.
Mother and Dad would never allow it. My sister would never allow it.
Oh, Honey, I wish you were here to talk to.
I feel like I haven’t got anyone I can be completely honest with.
To be fair, I can’t be completely honest with you, either; at the end of the day, we’re not merely friends.
You’re in the employ of the palace, which means my parents.
You’d never willingly divulge a confidence but you’re irritatingly honest, and if anyone ever thought to ask you something like “Is whatever nonsense going on up in Little Pepperidge merely Tandy indulging in a bit of royal self-sabotage,” I suspect you’d clam up instead of just lying, and that’d be answer enough. Certainly for my parents.
I sit back. Another letter I can’t possibly send, much less let anyone ever, ever read.
Maybe the months stuck inside are finally starting to get to me.
I must be going mad; that’s the only explanation.
I can’t believe I wrote what I did about Bash.
I’ve never admitted such a sentiment to myself before. I can’t again.
I fold up the letter, seal it, and hide it in my room with the others.
Upon my return to the desk, I compose a much lighter note to Honey, along the lines of Ternis accidentally dropped a bookcase on me during his attempt; don’t worry, everything’s fine and the curse is intact; please find a sorcerer soon or else—as was suggested to me yesterday—my parents might resort to sending enchanted frogs my way, and I’m not sure I can take it.
There, that sounds lighthearted but conveys enough desperation that she’ll read between the lines and take it seriously.
Sasha strolls in later in the morning, with Driz, Yenny and two trumpeters, and Ternis—looking rather cast down—in her wake.
She sets the men to work setting out the tables and carrying books to them, then hands me an axe and, with a gleam in her eye, tells me to ask Bash to chop up the bookcases.
I gleam right back at her and tell her he’s not here and that I could use the exercise.
Once the books are cleared away, I take to the destroyed bookcase with a will and chop it to kindling in about half an hour.
It doesn’t make my aching back feel any better, but it’s remarkably satisfying.
Once little more than splinters remain, I ask Ternis to help carry them into the back garden with me.
“Is that where you live?” he says, unable to keep the horror from his voice after his first trip through my room.
“Yes,” I say, in a voice that brooks no dissent. I quite like my little room.
“Ah,” he says, and heads back out for another armload of kindling.
By noon, the passageway is cleared and Sasha’s outside with the princes, hawking books from yesterday’s incident at “half-price.” Which is, of course, full price.
They’re gone in an hour. Driz takes the others to the newly named Inn of the Five Princes with offers to buy everyone a round.
Sasha reappears, jams a wad of cash into the money box, and grins at me.
“When’s your friend coming?” I say, since the last thing she needs is more praise from me.
Sasha immediately blushes. “Dunno, after lunch. I guess.”
Ah.
“Do you want lunch? I can make something.”
She looks around a little vacantly. “Maybe we should tidy up a bit more. Make it look a little more…you know.” She waves a clawed hand. I suppose I do know, if she puts it like that. Happy though I am with the bookstore, it is still a little…well, rustic, as one of the princes put it.
“Of course; you take the lead,” I say. Within moments she’s pulling a short bookcase out from behind my desk and settling it in a nook behind the staircase, and arranging some of the more attractive of the books on it.
I leave her to it, head out to the garden, and fill a cup with water and rosemary and rose hips, which are a bright autumnal red.
Satisfied with my flower arranging, I bring the cup back and set it on the desk.
It’s one of Mrs. Gooch’s ugly cups, but it’ll do.
“Do you think the bluecaps might come out?” Sasha says, a little anxiously, a few minutes later. “They’re so pretty, you know.”
“Why don’t we go chat with them?” I say, though it’s never really been clear to me whether they understand language, or whether they just respond to need. In any event, it’s worth a try.
“Bluecaps,” Sasha says, gently, once we’re in my room. “Would you like to come out for a while today?”
“We’re meeting a new person,” I add. “It might be interesting.”
The gentle blue glow of their nest brightens, which means we have their attention. I nudge Sasha and smile.
“We’re going to talk about repainting the sign outside,” Sasha says. “And maybe copying it on bags and things, for customers. My friend is going to design the new sign. She’s really talented.”
The bluecaps begin to drift out of the nest, and Sasha and I smile at each other and lead the way back to the desk.
They waft up to the chandelier above the desk and settle on it, which does, truly, make the bookstore look that much lovelier.
And, it must be said, more magical. I may be a cursed princess, but it’s clearly an enchanted bookshop.
Or, at least, looks a little like one now.
Especially with the cat asleep on the bookcase Sasha just moved.
When the bell over the door rings, we both look up a little too fast, but Sasha sighs in disappointment; it’s only Bash.
I blush, and busy myself with rearranging a pile of very, very small books that are sitting on my desk, waiting for my attention.
What does one do with a pile of tiny books? In this case, one moves them about.
“What are you doing here?” Sasha says, sounding annoyed.
He shrugs. “Figured I’d drop by and see how things are getting on.” He surveys the now clear and entirely safe hallway. “Apparently, well.”
“We could have used your help earlier,” she says, a little sternly.