Chapter 47
My parents are dressed in their courtly raiment. It’s a good thing I’ve cleared so much of the clutter away over the last few months; my mother’s gown alone wouldn’t have fit through the passageway or up the narrow stairs all those months ago.
If they spot our clasped hands, they say nothing.
Their eyes trail over my clothing, my hair; I’ve left it partially unbraided, the habit I fell into some months ago and never addressed.
No royal personage with long hair would ever be seen in public with her hair undressed, but, I suppose, we’re not really in public.
Not yet. Perhaps I should have dressed more thoughtfully; after all, this is likely what I’ll be wearing when I finally set foot outside.
Or perhaps—more likely, I think—Mother will send for a gown for me once the curse is broken, and I’ll change again, back into my old clothes, so that I look appropriate, in keeping with my status and my standing, once I’m back outside.
Honeyrose would have thought to bring several of my gowns.
She’ll see to my hair, too, if Mother hasn’t brought a hairdresser along.
Perhaps I should have asked Honey to bring me a dress last night, for today.
But I hadn’t wanted to, and she—always so attuned to my needs—must have sensed that.
What will happen once the curse is broken?
Shall I be immediately bundled into a coach and driven away?
Mother would never stand to put me on a griffin.
Or might we go to the Inn of the Seven Princes and have lunch first?
Perhaps we can convince them to change the name again: the Inn of the Lonely Princess. The Inn of the Broken Heart.
I push the thought away.
“I don’t suppose there’s anywhere with a bit more space,” Mother says, glancing around. “Or must we repair to your…room.” She pronounces the word with the delicate phrasing of someone who’s just plucked a slug from her strawberries and cream.
“The third floor,” I say. “It’s quite open.
” Perhaps that’s appropriate; it was the first thing I changed when I first came here; aside from my room, it feels the most mine.
Or, perhaps, for the sake of symbolic heft, I should ask to be uncursed right here, crouching by the desk, where Mrs. Gooch just about breathed her last.
No, upstairs is better. I lead the way, the bluecaps overhead, the morning sun streaming in through the windows.
First floor: fiction. Blue Astebani rug.
Amaritha painted bluebells and kingfishers over the fireplace.
Second floor: nonfiction. Red rugs on the floor, robins and bright red midsummer asters decorate the walls.
Third floor: The rugs on the floor are a riot of color.
Sasha and Amaritha both painted the beams—twining flowers, tiny dragons, including my little green dragon, the one Sasha painted all those months ago, and some random poultry (in honor of the “chickens” section).
Pillows are piled on the floor by the windows, and the table and chairs for the book club are enspelled in such a way (I was very proud of this) that they miniaturize when not in use.
I got the idea from Household Magic, which suggested the spell for hostesses with limited space but grand dinner party ambitions. It took me a month to perfect.
I enter first and then move to the side to await the procession: Mother, Father, Honey, Bash, and a woman of middle height, middle age, and exceptional robes. The sorcerer, I presume. She’s accompanied by a very well-behaved spell sounder.
The sorcerer, whom Honey introduces as Patrovius of Parciful, examines me by the north dormer window, where the light is best, her spell sounder dancing around me joyfully.
“Well,” she finally says, calling her sounder to heel, “it’s a powerful one.” She sounds almost gleeful, and rubs her hands together. “Quite a challenge, this curse!” she calls to my parents. They clearly don’t share her obvious delight.
“And you can break it?” Mother says, her voice tight. “I’d like to finish this process sooner rather than later.”
“Oh yes, indeed,” Patrovius says. “Can’t rush it, of course; something this powerful might take some time. How many princes was it? Seven?”
I nod, and she murmurs something to herself about whether or not they’ll have weakened the curse any. I suspect not. She circles me, mumbling to herself, occasionally dipping a hand into the air near me as though testing the temperature of her bath.
I hear the bell ring, distantly below us; someone’s entered the shop. Onlookers, customers, it doesn’t matter much.
“Ooh, interesting little flux in the energy just now, girl,” the sorcerer says.
“Your Highness,” my mother corrects.
“Yes, yes,” she says, absently. “Was it the sound of the bell that did it, I wonder? Something to do with aural stimulation…” She trails off. Mother huffs a loud sigh. I stare at the floor, the lovely wooden floorboards, the way the sun spills across them.
I hear footsteps on the stairs. So it is onlookers, then. Mother won’t be happy about that.
“Can we join?” Sasha says, cautiously. I tear my gaze away from the floor. She and Amaritha are standing in the doorway, holding hands and looking uncertain. I smile wanly at them.
“This is a private affair,” Mother says.
“They’re my friends,” I say, and wave them in. If they’re here when the curse is broken and I’m swept away, I won’t have to search them out before I leave town. I have no idea where they live.
The sorcerer carries on circling me and talking to herself for the better part of half an hour.
I watch the sun crawl across the floor and try not to make eye contact with anyone.
I feel utterly miserable. Mother huffs several dramatic sighs.
Father seats himself on a pile of pillows and picks up a book about poultry.
“Honestly, Honeyrose,” Mother finally says. “This is taking forever.”
“Time, madam, time,” the sorcerer murmurs. “Marking the hours gives only the illusion of control.”
“We’ll miss lunch at this rate, and we need to be on the road before sundown. I’d rather not spend a second night at that little hotelier, surrounded by all those…young people.”
Ah, she means the Inn of the Seven Princes, the princes and their entourages. Honestly, I’m surprised the inn has the facilities to put them all up.
“At least the Astebani ensured that the inn is clean,” she adds. She glances around the room. “And this bookstore, Tanadelle.” I decide not to mention that it was quite clean before the Astebani made me clean it again.
“Deep magic is complex,” the sorcerer says, sounding a little annoyed. She’s just stuck her tongue out to taste the air near my shoulder. “Complex magic takes time to sort out. And this is very deep magic indeed.”
“By the great green dragon, Tanadelle,” Mother groans. “Deep magic. I would have thought better of you.”
“It was an accident!” I can’t help the petulant tone that sneaks into my voice. “I was just trying to help an old lady.”
“What is it Honey always says, darling—you’re too nice,” Mother says, looking piqued.
“There was an object, was there not?” the sorcerer says, ignoring our family dynamic. “I must evaluate it.”
She must mean the key, the one I pressed into Bash’s hand an hour ago. “It might be downstairs,” I say.
“I have it,” Bash says quietly, and hands the sorcerer the key before retreating.
“Ah, keys—excellent conductors,” the sorcerer says.
“You really ought to be careful about handling them.” She touches the tip of her tongue to the shank and I glance away, willing myself not to be annoyed.
I’m on edge; the room is too warm, there are too many people, and I can smell the faint scent of the sea, which makes me wish that Bash and I were still in bed and it was still early morning.
I haven’t even had a chance to think through everything that happened last night and this morning, and I worry I never will.
The sorcerer circles me again, holding the key aloft for no discernible reason.
The bell jingles again. Princes, onlookers, customers: It doesn’t matter.
They can all traipse up the stairs and wait to see what happens—which I suspect won’t be especially spectacular—or take books or rummage around in my things; they’re not going to be my things much longer anyway.
Bash never agreed to take the bookshop, after all, and he’s just handed the key over.
I feel the peculiar heaviness that wells up inside when one is near tears, and swallow it back down.
“Honestly, Roth,” mother says quietly to my father. “We haven’t got all day.”
“Why, Mother?” I say, unable to stop myself. “What do we have to do today?”
“We need to get you a proper bath, for one thing,” Mother says. “Imagine, not having a bathtub for months.”
“I don’t need a bathtub,” I say, and cast the little spell that cleans hair on my father, who gasps.
“Oh no, don’t do that,” the sorcerer says. “That’s terribly disruptive.”
“I taught myself little magic, you see,” I say. “I’ve just washed father’s hair.” My father looks delighted, and then schools his expression.
“I can light a fire, boil water, cook a turnip,” I say.
“Yes, but now you won’t have to,” Mother says, smiling indulgently. “Imagine: scented baths, towels the size of bedsheets, the softest fabrics to slip into.”
My dress is soft, I think, but keep that one to myself.
“In any event,” she says, “we’ve got the wintertide ball in a week; we’ve spent enough time getting here, dealing with this…
issue”—she gestures toward me—“that we’re now a week behind schedule, and you know what the ministers from Parciful are like; they insist on seeing our complete plans before their king so much as sets foot on our soil. ”
“Driz has been here for months and I don’t think he’s demanded anyone’s specs,” I say, a little petulant.
“Driz?!” Mother gasps.
“Prince Drizen,” I sigh. “The first one you sent here to kiss me.”