In this installment, the story really picks up pace. This is proving to be a lot of fun for me - I hope it is for you, too!
***
“Fellows,”
Musetta said, a deeply displeased tone in her voice, “this requires
much more rehearsing.”
“But Etta, my feet are tired,”
Soleil moaned, squatting to the floor of the red-plush corridor. It
was a sweltering June afternoon. Percy could feel the sweat
trickling down his back and gathering beneath his collar. He could
only imagine what the girls were experiencing, with their tights and
layers of petticoats.
“No complaining. Mama and Papa
deserve the best. Now pick up your scripts,” Musetta commanded.
Percy complied without protestation. He stared distantly at the
inky, spotted papers in his hands. He was thinking about everything
he wanted to do this summer – learn to ride horseback without
Papa's assistance, swim about in the country lake, explore the
surrounding forest with the girls...
“Percy,” Musetta rapped,
shaking him out of the reverie. “You're not in this part. You can
go away for now.”
Percy galloped away down the hall,
grinning at his new-found liberation.
Slowing to a walk, he unbuttoned
the front of his silk shirt so that the faint breeze could stir
against his belly. He turned onto the corridor where his mother's
private study was located. He wanted to tell her all about his
summertime dreamings. Perhaps she'd even tell him a story.
As he approached the room, a
strange sound caused him to halt.
Someone was crying.
He crept to his mother's door,
which was slightly ajar.
“Have you heard from him? At
all? Has he not even given you some sort of sign, or further
directions?” That was Mama's voice. It was harsh, raised far
above its normal tone. The only other time Percy could remember her
sounding like that was when Musetta had fainted during a carriage
ride a year or so ago.
Percy peeked through the crack in
the door. Mama stood with her back to him, but she immediately
ceased to be the object of interest: for a girl, a young woman,
really, was pacing back and forth before the window that led to the
balcony. She was very beautiful, with long, dark waves of hair and
warm, rosy-bronze skin. And she was sobbing violently. Her whole
face was red, and her lips were flushed a deep purple. Percy
wondered, fascinated, if her heart or lungs might come bleeding out
of her mouth.
“I haven't heard a thing. He's
been completely silent for days,” she gasped, pressing her hands to
her head.
“And the prince – he won't even
speak to you?”
“He speaks to me, alright! He
says the same things over and over, nonsense words. I don't know
where his mind has gone. I had drawn him so close to me, and I was
opening up his mind, and his heart, and he was changing – he was
becoming a new man – and now I've lost him, Viv! He's forgotten
all about me, and I don't know what to do.”
“The dog,” Mama growled, in a
voice that made Percy shiver. “I could kill him. Does he not
understand what's going to happen? Who you are? Who has sent you?”
“He's not allowed to know! I was
told – if he did not know me by my heart, then he did not have the
right to hear my name. And if only I could speak to him, and make
him understand! Because I'm still mute back there - and he's grown
tired of sitting with me while I write to him in my little book. He
doesn't have patience for me, anymore. And he's – he's made his
decision.”
“Oh, Odessa,” Mama said. There
was a long pause, broken only by the girl's hiccuping breath. Then -
“And now she's
come to me. Or rather, she sent my sisters to me,” the girl said
lowly, jaggedly. “She's always twisting love. They gave me a
dagger. Said, if I just kill him, while he's sleeping, then I – I
can – be free -” it seemed she could barely breathe. “But what
kind of freedom would that be? I don't care how he's hurt me. I
love him still. And I can't kill him. I'd rather die. And I will
die. Oh, Viviana, what is happening to me?” the girl cried,
staring down at her open hands as if she did not recognize them. “I
don't understand. Is this my reward? Is this how I am repaid?”
And she sank to her knees.
“Oh, my darling,” Mama cried,
flying to the girl and gathering her into her arms. “Oh, my
darling.”
Percy wasn't sure how much longer
he stood there; how much longer the exchange within the room took
place. But after a while, the girl's sobs stilled to quiet,
shuddering breaths, and, together with his mother's murmurs, they
made a somnolent rhythm. And then Percy saw the strangest thing.
The girl's face, which was tucked over the queen's shoulder, broke
into a smile. It was strange because Percy could see that she was
still crying.
And then she was gone.
Mama got slowly to her feet, and
stood facing the balcony for several minutes. Then she turned
towards the door. She walked forward, her head hanging and shoulders
slouched. Percy thought that he had never seen her look so tired.
She pushed the door wide open. Percy stared up at her, entranced.
She knelt down before him and took his face in her hands.
“Percy, sweetheart,” she said,
“you mustn't tell anyone about this. Do you understand?”
“Who was she, Mama?” Percy
asked in a hushed voice.
“She's a friend of mine.”
“Is she alright?”
“No,” his mother answered,
after a pause, “but all will be right in the end.”
“But Mama,” he said, grasping
her hands, “I want to know! I
want to know everything – please,” he begged. She didn't
understand – this was it. This was the glimpse of real adventure,
real magic. It was the open gate. He couldn't turn back now, now
that he had seen. The girl's strange, sad smile had pierced his
heart, and now it was as if eternity was pouring through the wound in
his chest.
“No, Percy,” she said, almost
sternly. “Not yet. Now go and make sure your sisters aren't
getting into trouble.”
Percy
stood in the doorway of the dark, still room, his hands clasped
behind his back, his head bowed. He was alone – no servants
stirred in this part of the castle anymore.
Fourteen years was
a long time. What's more, Percy knew how absentminded he could be.
There were days he'd walk into a room, and have completely forgotten
his purpose in entering. And it had been very hot that day. It
could easily have been the daydream of an imaginative seven-year-old,
or, even more plausible, a real-life occurrence mixed up in his mind
with a night-dream.
“Not
yet.” Whatever she had had to
tell him – if there had been anything at all - was now buried in
the ground. It was dead.
It's
over. I ought to forget.
Percy
closed the door and shuffled away. He could forget, perhaps, but he
could not ignore how his heart was still pierced, and how some
eternal whisper was still coursing through that wound. It was
running his valves ragged.
***
Soleil wound up
staying by Percy's side almost all night, anyway. He was more
relieved than anything. He held her arm and clasped her free hand
over the crook of his elbow most of the time: and now, ever since
Musetta had brought it up again, he'd become acutely aware of just
how many men really did stare at the little redhead. He had taken to
scanning the ballroom furiously throughout the night. It was a sea
of vibrantly-clad dancers whirling to the sound of lively strings.
Luckily, the wretched Renaud was nowhere to be seen.
“Percy,”
Soleil said.
He started, and
looked down into his sister's wide, warm face. He bent his ear down
to hear her over the music.
“I'm really
alright. I promise.” He straightened to look into her eyes. They
were smiling. “There's already one madman in my life,” she said.
“Let's keep it that way.” She gently extracted herself from
Percy's death-grip on her waist.
“Alright,
Sunshine,” Percy sighed.
“Ooh!” Soleil
squealed. “Come, come, come.” She took Percy's hand and,
weaving in and out of chattering party guests, led him to one of the
long serving tables at the other side of room. “Look,” she said
in a half-whisper, one finger on her lips. She pointed to the food.
Percy looked. “I
don't understand what I'm supposed to be seeing, here,” he
chuckled.
“Look!”
Soleil insisted.
Upon closer
inspection, Percy realized that everything was labeled. Hansel's
bread, he read in a fine script beside trays of warm baguettes,
and Deadly delicious apples, beside a decadent – looking
sweet salad made with red apple, almonds, and caramel. Mermaid's
chowder stood by a great pot of a most alluring-smelling seafood
concoction.
“Oh, my
goodness,” Percy laughed, delighted.
“Isn't it
perfect? I thought of it, last-minute. I got one of the footmen to
slip them in.” Percy noticed one of the table servers glance over
at Soleil, and the flicker of a smile pass his lips, before his eyes
dropped downwards once more.
“I figured that
we may as well make this night our own, if it's going to be our last
here for a while,” she explained. She reached over and stirred the
ladle of the chowder. “Remember that summer when Sophie was
incredibly ill?” she asked.
A chill ran down
Percy's spine, but he didn't let it show in his face. “Of course I
do. We didn't understand, at first – we were all just very
crestfallen because we weren't allowed to play in the kitchen for
several days.”
“That's right.
Well, I managed to sneak down there tonight while Sophie and all the
rest of the servants were busy preparing the food, and she told me
the story about how she recovered that time.” Soleil's eyes were
shining and solemn.
“Tell me,”
Percy said, smiling.
“Mama made her
this chowder,” Soleil said, touching the ladle.
“Wait – you're
joking.” Percy's chest swelled with pride, and something else that
he couldn't name.
“I am not,”
Soleil said, her face crinkling up into a grin. “But, yes. I
decided to give it a name that would've pleased her.”
“The older I
get, the lovelier she becomes,” Percy murmured. A long silence
ensued, during which Soleil leaned her head against Percy's shoulder.
“How are you
doing, Percy?” she asked softly.
“Soleil, I – I
feel as though -” Percy stopped to try to sort out his thoughts.
“I feel out of place. Like a vase whose flowers have been thrown
out, or a chest stripped of its gold and jewels. Something that was
once full, but is now empty. And – is it Mama dying? Yes.
Undoubtedly. But it's so much more than that, so much older. And I
feel as though losing her is what's tipped the scales. I can't
ignore it, anymore.”
“The emptiness,
you mean,” Soleil said quietly, her hazel eyes wide.
“Yes. And
feeling as though I'm not where I belong.”
“We all feel it,
Percy. All three of us, I mean,” she said, glancing away as if
looking for their sister.
“And, you know,
if it means that I will be unhappy my entire life, then. Then so be
it, because, uh.” He played with one of the food labels. The
princess's pea and munster quiche. 'Be sure to pick the right one',
he added as a subtitle. “I'm not one to run away from what I
have to do.”
“Well,” Soleil
said, her brow knotting up in its serious way, “she was
happy. But she was also older, when we knew her best. Maybe we just
can't understand, yet.”
“Soleil,”
Percy said hesitantly, “there's something...I mean, that summer...”
They were
interrupted by high-pitched giggles.
“What on earth
is this?”
Percy turned
around. It was Annette Grégoire, decked out in a scarlet,
gold-embroidered brocade gown that made Soleil's plum silk look dull.
The prime minister's daughter was accompanied by a gaggle of her
friends. They, too, were examining the table's dishes and their
accompanying labels. Annette's eyes landed upon Percy and Soleil,
and she turned towards them, as if surprised.
“Oh, your
Highnesses!” She and her entourage sank into low curtseys.
Percy eyed them
skeptically. “Please, be at ease,” he said uncomfortably.
Annette stood to her feet with a sugary smile.
“We were just
observing the, uh, little signs scattered about on this table. One
of the servants got a bit carried away, no?” She gave a another
condescending chuckle. Percy could sense Soleil beside him: a mass
of burning, quivering flame. He waited a moment in silence before
carefully glancing over at her. Her face had been drained of all its
rosy color. He watched her swallow a couple times, then -
“I made those
signs,” she said, rather faintly. Her eyes were fixed on some
indeterminate point among the girls' rainbowed gowns. Percy felt her
hand brush against his. It was trembling.
“Oh!” Annette
cried, her eyes going wide. “I do beg pardon for my mistake, dear
Soleil,” she said. “I should have known – you do so love
fairy-tale things. And how perfectly quaint this is!”
Percy closed his
eyes, and resisted the urge to speak. At least not right away.
Soleil needed the chance to do this on her own.
“A - actually,”
Soleil stammered, “I don't think that's really the most fitting
description for – for what I've done here.” Percy watched her
force her gaze up to meet Annette's. “I thought that it would be a
fitting and – and beautiful touch to our farewell ball. And
I did it mostly because it's something I think my mother would have
done.”
The mixture of
disgust and disappointment on Annette's face caused Percy to smirk
behind his cup of Aladdin's enchanted coffee. The young
noblewoman had a long history of trying to corner Soleil into some
sort of backhanded cat-fight. She, along with many of the other
nobles of the court, could make neither head nor tail of the three
siblings and their unconventional upbringing. It seemed a constant
thorn in her side that such eccentrics were considered royalty, while
she, who acted like a princess, and a normal princess, would
never actually be one. But her spiteful, veiled attacks upon the
youngest of the royal family, in particular, continually backfired.
Soleil would always respond to her with pure, and sometimes painful
sincerity, because that's just what Soleil did. Percy beamed fondly
at his youngest sister.
“Annette,
darling!” Musetta's rich voice rang out. She approached the
assembled group with long, graceful steps, her chin held high. She
looked regal in dark green velvet, and with her hair pinned up in
elaborate braids.
“I presume you
were just complimenting my clever designer of a sister on these
little touches? I think it's lovely. Just beautiful. Our mother,
the late Queen Viviana, would have been enchanted by such magical
sentiments.” Musetta smiled severely down on Annette. Tall and
slender, she had the advantage of being able to tower at least three
inches over most other girls her age.
“I – uh –
yes, of course,” Annette stuttered, utter confusion clouding her
face.
“Now, if you
don't mind, my dear, I was hoping for a word in private with my
brother and sister,” Musetta continued, gently pushing Annette away
by the shoulder. “Oh – and that gown, my dear!”
Annette drew
herself up proudly. “Isn't it lovely? It's the latest thing over
in, uh -”
“Oh, I've never
seen anything like it! I...find that I can barely look away,”
Musetta breathed, raising an eyebrow.
Annette's eyes
narrowed. She dropped a hasty curtsy, spun around, and flounced
away, followed by her little flock of friends.
Musetta broke into
hushed laughter the moment they were out of earshot.
“Now, Etta,”
Percy chortled, “I think you just ruined the night for poor
Annette.”
“I was all the
way across the room, but all I had to see was your faces,” Musetta
said, shaking her head. She reached out to take Soleil's hand.
“Come, my dear, and walk this way with me. I'm determined to get
you to dance with that Claude Danton before the night is through.
He's a genuinely sweet man – he's just a little shy, like you! It
would be a match made in Heaven,” she gushed.
“Musetta,”
Percy called, “promise me that this plan won't end up with
deliberately spilling wine all over someone?”
“Oh, shush,”
Musetta returned with a wink.
Percy was just
turning away when something unusual caught his eye. It appeared for
a moment out on the ballroom floor, and then vanished before he get a
closer look. He rolled his eyes. The pets of the wealthy were
evidently becoming more and more ridiculous. What he'd seen was a
black snake, he was sure of it. With a sigh, he raised a glass of
champagne to his lips, casting his glance to the other side of the
room. He immediately stood up straight, frowning.
A man – a tall,
elderly, man – was bobbing about in the sidelines, pausing every
few seconds to peer over someone's shoulder into the flurry of
dancing couples. Percy had never seen him before. As the stranger
drew closer to Percy, his form became clearer: he had silvery-gray
hair that curled atop his head, and a beard that fell over his chest
in the same color. He wore a suit made of silver material,
embroidered all over in a diamond pattern, causing him to look like a
harlequin. There were little designs scattered among the jacket's
cloth that Percy couldn't make out. The old man took a few stealthy
steps closer to the table, and Percy saw what they were: his suit was
embroidered with alternating images of crescent moons, and cats: cats
dancing, cats playing the violin, cats sitting upon thrones. Percy
grinned. His father had hired a clown for the night, apparently. He
watched as the man nearly ran into a footman carrying a tray of food,
and had to help the servant steady and rearrange the silver platter.
Once the jester
had finally reached the table, he came to an abrupt halt.
“What is this?”
he cried, his green eyes wide with wonder. He held up one of
Soleil's little cards. “Why, this is the most delightful idea!
Simply splendid! I love it! Oh,” he said, covering his mouth and
glancing around bashfully. Then his eyes fell upon Percy. “Oh!”
He exclaimed, as if he had remembered the purpose of his venture to
that side of the room.
“Prince
Percival!” The old man hailed him from the other end of the table,
a hand shielding his mouth. “Prince Percival! It is I, Mortimer
of Minnowway! Your mother's cousin?” Percy nearly choked on his
mouthful of quiche. The man took another wild glance about, and
crept towards him.
“I understand
that this really probably isn't the best time, but, well, I really
had no choice,” he whispered desperately, wringing his hands.
“Pardon - pardon
me, Sir,” Percy stammered, “but it was my understanding that we
weren't expecting you until tomorrow.” Percy glanced over
to where his father sat, at the very end of the hall.
“Oh, dear boy, I
wasn't expecting me until tomorrow, either! Well, I mean -” the
old man broke off with a wave of his hand - “you know what I mean.
In short, there's been an unavoidable change of plans.” Percy
stared, mystified.
“Here's the
quandary,” the man explained in an undertone, taking Percy by the
arm and steering him off into the semi-privacy behind a pillar. “I'm
being pursued. As we speak, we are surrounded – the enemy is right
here with us, in this room! It's a good thing none of these lords
and ladies can see them, or else everyone would be in an uproar!
It's only the four of us they're after – me, you and your sisters.
You've got to come away with me, immediately, before it's too late!”
With a jolt, Percy
understood. His father had left out – or perhaps he didn't even
know – that Mother's cousin was an eccentric, senile old character
who needed not so much guests in his house, as the constant
monitoring of caretakers. How humiliating! Percy closed his eyes
wearily. He saw a long, long month stretching out before him. Oh
well, he thought. So much for a relaxing retreat. At least
this will make for a good story. He opened his eyes to find the
old man frowning at him. The stranger's eyes were unusually clear
and bright for a man his age – a vivid, glassy green.
“You think I'm
insane, don't you? Just a senile old man?”
There are
dancing cats embroidered on your jacket, Percy felt like saying.
“Here,” the
man said, reaching down into his shirt. “She told me to bring this
in case of this precise situation.” He pulled out an amulet.
It was an ornate,
golden sun.
Percy's stomach
flipped. He clawed at his own chest – he could feel it there, the
matching sun resting warm against his ribs. “What are you talking
about? Where did you - who - who told you about my charm?” he
demanded.
“Your mother,”
the man answered with a gentle smile. “Just days before her
death.”
“You're lying,”
Percy said harshly. “She was here with us for nearly a week before
she died. First she kept indoors, then finally she was confined to
her bed. She didn't go anywhere during that time, and one of us was
always with her.”
“There are still
things about your mother that you do not know,” the man continued calmly. “You know that she was a wonderful
person. You just don't understand how wonderful, yet.”
“Stop speaking
riddles to me,” Percy growled. “I have no patience for this.
Not after living through Hell the past four months. Who are you and
what do you want?”
The man's eyebrows
furrowed in frustration. “I've told you who I am! The name's
Mortimer. As for what I want – it's not so much my personal
wishes, as what I've been sent to do. You need to gather your two
sisters and come away with me – immediately. You're all three of
you in grave danger.”
“Why, I – I -”
Percy was tongue-tied. And all the while, he couldn't shake the
luminous, green eyes that the old man had trained on him.
“This is some
sick, elaborate joke, isn't it? Damn you. There're plenty of nobles
who dislike my family; one of them's hired you to mock me. Why, I'm
just about ready to – to become the first prince to publicly
address this problem. Right here, right now! I don't care if it's
graceless! I don't care if it flouts social etiquette! I've had
enough!”
“Your Highness!”
The man called Mortimer pleaded, clasping his hands. Percy stared,
perplexed. It was such an odd gesture, for an old man. “Just one
moment, please! If you would only calm down and look logically at
everything that I have presented to you, you'd see that my story,
while seemingly nonsensical, actually has a lot going for it!”
Percy stared for
another beat before breaking into an agitated dance-in-place. “Ohhh,
I know! I want to trust you! You have no idea! You're just
like someone out of one of my mother's stories, but – but - how do
I know that you're trustworthy?”
Mortimer shrugged.
“She knew,” he said.
Percy chewed the
inside of his cheek. He bored his eyes into the strange, old man.
“My favorite
fairytale, growing up, and still, today,” he whispered.
Mortimer raised
his eyebrows quizzically.
“What is it?”
Percy demanded.
“Oh. 'The Queen
Bee', naturally,” Mortimer replied with a grin.
“And why is that
my favorite?” High in the tower of the castle, the clock began to
strike midnight.
Mortimer's smile
faded. “Because you sometimes feel like Simpleton, the youngest
prince. But, as your mother always told you -” he paused, and his
eyes searched the ceiling - “'you will grow up into not just any
king's son, but a true King, yourself. And somewhere in this world,
there is a honey-lipped princess waiting for your kiss.'”
“Right,” Percy
breathed, and whirled around into the clamor of music and dance.
“The carriage is
waiting outside!” Mortimer called after him.
Percy searched the
crowd frantically for Soleil. He singled her out: she was just about
to accept a dance from the Claude fellow. Percy rushed to her and
snatched her hand away, pulling her in the opposite direction.
“Percy!” she
exclaimed, shocked.
“There's no time
to explain. Come with me.” He moved them along as quickly as
possible, dodging gawking party guests and servants alike. They were
just yards from where Musetta stood talking and laughing, surrounded
by a group of clearly fascinated young men, when a huge, dark form shot
forward on the floor, blocking their path. Percy and Soleil skidded
to a stop.
It was the snake.
Lightning-quick, the animal coiled itself once around their feet, and
reared its head, hissing at them. Soleil shrieked. Without
thinking, Percy pushed his sister behind him and stomped on the
snake's black head. It writhed about in pain for a moment, and then
seemed to gather itself. The creature's beady, black eyes flickered
upward to meet Percy's. Then it slithered away, hissing angrily.
Percy stumbled
backwards a step, astonished. He looked up to see the same reaction
in Musetta's gaping face. The men around her seemed confused as to why she had suddenly dropped her glass of champagne.
“Musetta!”
Percy cried, beckoning. She leaped over the men picking up shattered
glass, and flew to her brother and sister.
“What on earth
is going on?” she gasped.
“I have no
idea,” Percy said helplessly. “I think I'm going mad.”
“Was that a
snake?” Musetta whispered.
“Yes. And it
looked at me like a person. And that man over there -” Percy
pointed to Mortimer, who was off by the doorway, brandishing a rapier
at yet another snake - “is Mama's cousin.”
Musetta looked,
and blanched paler than the fine white tablecloths.
“Right,” she
squeaked.
“Girls,” Percy
said, suppressing an hysterical giggle, “either this is a dream, or
our mother's stories were a lot more real than we've ever suspected.
Honestly, it's a toss-up for me.”
“Either way, we
have to go,” Soleil said, pointing to Mortimer, who was waving
frantically from the doorway. The three took off running towards
him.
“Hurry,” he
cried, leading the way out of the ballroom and into the hall. A
backward glance showed Percy that three snakes were in hot pursuit,
slithering around the ankles of oblivious dancers.
The three siblings
followed the old man to the great doors that led outside. Mortimer
pushed the doors open, and there Percy stopped for a moment,
breathless.
The carriage that
awaited them just below in the drive appeared to have been made of
pure gold. The body of the carriage was like the center of the sun,
adorned with whorls and scrolls, and rays of varying length emanated
from it. At the front of the carriage stood two fine, white horses.
At the snap of Mortimer's fingers, huge, feathery wings unfurled from
the beasts' backs. The footmen – if they could be called footmen –
lifted their heads, unfolding themselves from where they had been
waiting against the carriage. They were beautiful, unearthly
creatures that seemed to have been dipped in gold and covered in
jewels. They, too, bore wings: the feathers stretched up like
scarlet flames into the night sky.
“We'll be
flying, tonight,” Mortimer said with a grin.
“If this is a
dream, then I don't want to wake up,” Musetta breathed.
Mortimer laughed.
“I assure you, you're quite awake and alive and kicking in this
strange, wonderful place called Reality.”
Percy and his
sisters bounded down the flight of stairs. One of the golden
creatures was just about to open the carriage door when a snake shot
forward, barring their path. This one dwarfed all of the snakes that
had previously appeared. Its body was as thick as a tree-trunk, and
it towered over Percy. A hood flared out around its head as it bared
its fangs, hissing. Percy stared, terrified, into the gaping chasm
of the monster's mouth.
Mortimer darted
forward, placing himself between Percy and the snake. “Not on my
watch, Amelia,” he muttered. He did something with his hands that
Percy couldn't see, and then the snake gave an almost human squeal of
pain, dropped to the ground, and slithered away.
“Now!”
Mortimer cried, ushering the three youths into the carriage. Percy
stared hazily at their strange escort. If someone were to ask him,
he'd say that the man called Mortimer didn't look nearly as elderly
as he had when they first met back in the ballroom. But he was
suddenly too tired to care. Without further comment, Percy tumbled
inside the sun-carriage, and his sisters followed. He heard Mortimer
leap onto the driver's seat and slap the whip against the horses'
backs. The lush, padded interior of the carriage was irresistible –
Percy could feel himself already drifting away into sleep. The last
thing he would remember, upon waking, was the whirring of many wings.
Copyright © 2012 by Olivia Meldrum
***
Thanks for reading! Stay tuned for more!
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