Sunstroke, Chapter 6: Unveiling

In which all the heroes and heroines become acquainted with one another;

Musetta swoons;

And the Simon children meet their mother

***

Hi there!  This is an extra-long installment since it's been a while.  I'm making minor adjustments and additions as I go along: the big one in this chapter being that the Simon family's house/kingdom finally has a name!  Enjoy. :)

***

Genevieve knew that she had been right in telling her brother not to worry.

Granted, she couldn't deny the small twinge of disappointment that she immediately felt in her own stomach. How she had hoped that this would be the time; this would be it – that, regardless of what purposes for which the King might have summoned him here, they might have had something to do with her own dilemma. The locket had been weighing so heavily, lately. She'd been lingering in bed each morning and dragging her feet through each day, unsure of whether the ache was concentrated in her shoulders, or in her heart.

But now, the veil lifted and her eyesight unobscured, she realized that any sense of disappointment was largely irrelevant to the situation at hand.

The small, sweet-faced boy (she found it incredible that he was supposed to be one whole year older than her; he could have passed for seventeen – then again, she shouldn't talk for she was quite tiny herself) was staring straight at her. His plain brown eyes were wide, beneath plain brown hair and over tired gray circles; but they were wondering, not mocking. Gen observed Prince Percival in light of his sisters (who, one red-gold and the other black-white, seemed to be two sides of the same exotic coin), and decided that she had never seen anyone so charmingly ordinary.

The glance of mutual appraisal was broken when, suddenly, the taller of the sisters staggered on her feet, and began a graceful descent to the ground. Prince Percival jumped to catch her with a soft exclamation.

“Oh! I assure you, she does not mean the slightest offense! In fact, she faints out of sheer delight over things quite frequently,” he hurried to explain. Gen eyed the swooning princess dubiously. She heard a soft snort, and turned to see Mortimer practically doubled over in suppressed laughter.

“It could have been worse. It could have been much, much worse,” Hamlin was saying plaintively.

“Shush, both of you!” Gen snapped, and clapped her hands. A servant rushed in, his white gloves pumping. “Fetch cool water for the princess,” Gen ordered, and the servant rushed away once more.

“Your Highness,” Gen said, turning back to the prince, “there's no need to apologize for anything. We are delighted simply that you and your sisters haven't yet run away screaming.”

Prince Percival's eyes sparkled. “Well, don't get too excited, my Lady. I've endured an awful lot over the past ten hours or so, and am likely to snap at any moment. Where is the exit again?” He asked, peering around with a grin.

Genevieve laughed out loud at this, and then coughed, startled at the sound of her voice. She couldn't remember the last time she'd laughed like that. She averted the prince's gaze with a blush, and noticed instead that the redheaded sister was glancing from her brother, to Gen, and back again, a look of quiet interest on her face.

The servant came running back, bearing a glass of water. Gen noticed that Prince Percival thanked the servant – warmly, though he seemed unsure of where to look – before taking the glass and holding it to his sister's lips.

“If I may ask, how are you faring?” Gen ventured. “Truly?”

The prince looked up at her, his eyes suddenly tired and serious again. “I hardly know,” he said simply. “To be quite honest, I have no idea what's going on. I feel as though before, even just one day ago, I never would have been able to accept any of this. And yet look at me, at all of us.”

Gen beamed at him, at his simple, honest face. Suddenly, everything that she'd been holding back - everything that she'd longed to share for the past three years – came bubbling up to her lips.

Not just yet. It must happen bit by bit, or else they will truly become overwhelmed, and they will turn away.

She bit her tongue. Yes, Papa, she replied.

But oh, how she yearned to simply whisk the prince and his sisters away into one of the corridors, into each and every room, upstairs and down, out to the the gardens, everywhere; to show them Minnowway, and watch it cast its enchantment...

Gen caught the redheaded sister staring again, and watched as her wary regard melted into the very sweetest of smiles. Her face glowed pink, and she looked away shyly.

The sister who Gen had decided must be Musetta stirred in her brother's arms. Her eyelids fluttered open, and she smiled beatifically at Gen and Hamlin.

“You are real,” she said softly. Prince Percival stood and helped her to her feet. He looked back up at Gen.

“I know,” the small, ordinary, brown-haired prince continued, a wry smile playing about his lips, “I know for a fact that if I were to go back this very moment and tell anyone at home about this, they'd think I was mad.”

“Anyone? Really? Oh, I don't know about that,” Gen murmured, smiling down at her shoes and pushing back the names that fizzled about in her mouth. She looked up to see the prince staring at her with a mixture of frustration and amusement. He was shaking his head.

“And still, the mystery deepens. Puzzle within puzzle, just like a nesting doll. You're all relentless. I hope you know I've got at least two thousand questions, and I expect them all to be answered.” Despite his exasperated words, his face was flushed and his chest was swelling with deep breaths. The air is full of wine, at Minnowway. Gen thought it would make a good book title.

“As is only fitting,” she replied, grinning and spreading her hands. “So, let's begin. Follow me.” And she turned and made for the stone archway. It was time to show them the Library.

As they all walked out and past the great central staircase, Genevieve was seized by the strongest desire to hear from the one person who had yet to open her mouth. Gen whirled around to face the little redheaded sister.

“Princess Soleil,” she said, “the first question belongs to you.”

***

Soleil was feeling too many things at once for her to keep count of on her fingers, and so she had settled for gripping the skirts of her plum silk gown (which was quite rumpled by now, anyway).

First, she was in awe of the lovely cat-people. (Their faces – and, it seemed, their whole bodies – were covered in a layer of fine, snow-white fur. Their noses were pink and snubbed, with white whiskers underneath. Their ears stood on top of their heads in velvety-looking triangles, and their eyes were overwhelming, blue-marbled affairs rimmed with thick, white lashes.) The young woman was as perfect and dainty as something out of a book, and her brother, though he seemed a little stiff and gloomy, was fearsomely handsome and seemed quite nice, as well.

Then, Soleil was also embarrassed over Musetta fainting (Etta always fainted. In fact, she always did things that drew attention, regardless of whether or not they were on purpose). Thirdly, she was surprised that, for some reason, the cat-woman had been able to bring out the twinkle in Percy's eye (which had been missing for quite some time).

The youngest of the Simon siblings also felt cramped (it had been too long for heels and corset), giddy (because magical things were suddenly real), afraid (because who was to say that it wasn't just a dream, after all?), warm (because all of these feelings were causing her to blush), heartache-y (because everything made her think of Mama), confused (because nothing had yet been explained), and silly (because part of her didn't even desire or need an explanation).

But there was one feeling that kept trying to surface from beneath all of these. It fluttered sweetly within her, as warm and vibrant as one of the bees that had grazed against her cheeks and lips. As everyone moved through the corridor just beyond the great hall, she stole a backwards glance at the man who called himself Mortimer. She didn't know what to think of him – only that he was terribly beautiful, with his tall, willowy frame and glassy green eyes; that when he'd complimented her, regardless of his motivations, he'd not been trying to get something from her; and that, although it was supposedly the Cat Siblings who were the recluses, it was Mortimer who seemed, for some reason, to stand outside.

“Princess Soleil,” someone called in a rich, husky voice. “The first question belongs to you.”

Soleil snapped out of her reverie to see Genevieve, the cat-girl, smiling at her, blue eyes glittering playfully.

“Oh,” Soleil murmured, clasping her hands self-consciously. Why was she being put on the spot?

“Well,” she said, after a moment, “we probably ought to begin at the beginning. Who was our mother? And what connection did she have to Minnowway?”

With no response but a wink, Genevieve beckoned the three siblings to a mahogany door adorned with a big, brass knob. She seemed to be enjoying all this immensely, her steps buoyant and smart; her pink lips smugly pleased. The tiny creature reached out and drew the door open.

Soleil was the first one through. She caught her breath at the sight that met her eyes: row upon row of books lined every wall of the library. A wrought-iron staircase began over to the left and spiraled up into a lofted second floor, also filled to the brim with colorful, lush-looking volumes. Further ladders leaned against each bookcase, allowing for access to any book. An enormous dome overstretched all, and Soleil realized it was one big mosaic: countless little tiles made to form stars, planets, sky, clouds – at the center of all was fixed a huge sun, just like the pendant that Mama had given to Percy. Ornate candelabrum were suspended over a few tables in the center of the room.

Genevieve walked to one of the tables, opened a draw beneath the tabletop, and pulled out a thick, leather-bound volume. “Please, have a seat,” she said, setting the book upon the table. Soleil took one of the carved wood chairs, and Percy and Musetta came to sit on either side of her. Genevieve and the two men sat down on the other side of the table.

“This book was your mother's,” Genevieve said gently. Soleil placed a hand upon the buttery leather cover, and felt anger simmer within her. What were they doing with her mother's belongings?

“She entrusted it to us months ago, when she knew the end was near,” Genevieve explained. “We've been guarding it for you.” The fire in Soleil's chest cooled. She ran her fingers over an embossment upon the leather - “GEO”.

“Geo?” She queried, glancing up at Genevieve.

The cat-girl bit her lips. “It's an acronym,” she explained.

“What for?” Musetta asked, sounding intrigued.

“It stands for the Guild of Enchanted Ones,” Hamlin interjected gruffly. “It's a very old organization. Your mother was a part of it.”

“Just open the book,” Genevieve advised.

Soliel complied hesitantly.

A letter had been pinned to the inside front cover. Soleil removed it carefully. She recognized her mother's handwriting.

January 14^th, 1763

My darlings,

If you are reading this, it means that you have already arrived at Minnowway, and have met Genevieve, Hamlin, and Mortimer. Know that they are good people, and trustworthy, and that they, along with the others, will become the best friends you'll ever have.

I do not have long. I can already feel the fever burning away at my thoughts. I am so, so, sorry, my children, that I was never able to explain everything to you myself. I always wanted to, of course, but the time was never right. Or perhaps I was too tentative, too afraid of what such an unveiling would mean for our country, for everyone. The Magic is such as wildfire – when one person catches, he finds it impossible to keep it to himself, and must spread it on, and so on.

But the three of you are not at all timid. You are so brave. Thank you for taking the leap to trust the Beaulieu family. Once I am gone, your Papa will be in great danger. Do not worry – Marion, Sophie, and several other of our servants – dear friends of mine – will be there to protect him while you three learn what you must learn, and prepare for what is to come.

I love you. I will see you again.

Mother

Soleil's eyes blurred over as she finished the letter. She couldn't help but wonder what Mother meant by “I will see you again.” Was she referring to some sort of afterlife? Percy slid his arm over Soleil's shoulders and kissed her lightly on the cheek. “Good old Marion,” he murmured.

Soleil pinned the piece of parchment back to the inside of the book, and turned to the first page.

October 6^th, 1744

Began tonight. Took what I've learned and went, as I had been told, out into the streets. Visited an impoverished family in the ghetto. Brought them food and drink. They did not recognize me; told them I was from a charity organization. One of their sons was sick with what seemed to be a chest cold. I cast a charm of healing upon him, and by the time I left, his cough was clearing up. Asked them if they'd like to hear a fairytale, and told them Nadette's and William's story, of course using the mythologized form of “The Beauty and the Beast”. I kept it as close to truth as possible without seeming unusual. They were entertained; I think they thought me quaint. It matters not – I'll try again next time. Asked them if they knew of any pregnant mothers in the area who might not be able to afford the services of a physician or midwife. They gave me names, which I took down. These women and their families will be the ones I visit next.

For some reason, I have developed a cough. It seemed to arise just as the little boy's was fading. Don't know what this entails. I will find out soon enough.

Soleil gaped at book.

“They were true,” Musetta said faintly. “The rumors were true.”

Soleil turned the page.

October 17^th, 1744

Tended to a young, unwed pregnant mother tonight. Gave her nutritious things to eat and took down the time around when we might expect the baby. Her family largely disregarded me, but I told her of “The Frog Prince” and she listened with the same earnest, rapt delight with which she'd no doubt listened to her lover. I had the satisfaction of knowing that, this time, the story was true.

Also visited elderly couple whose children had moved away. The man had fallen and cut open his arm days ago; the wound was already red and swollen. Washed it and applied a poultice; sneaked in a charm of purging and binding. Made conversation with them about the Magic of everyday life, how it is all around us, and potent in each moment; they agreed vigorously.  I think they understood, if only on a surface-deep level. The Magic is deeper in them than they know, perhaps because they are old enough that they're becoming like children again.

Lastly visited family whose daughter has what seems to be tuberculosis. I administered a healing charm, but also a blessing of peace over the house. My magic is not that strong yet. They are going to lose her.

There are not enough of me. I wish that some of my brothers and sisters could come join me here in Rosegate to help fight all the despair and depravity I see amongst my people. But perhaps it is right this way. I am their Queen.

I've acquired enchanted poppy pollen to assist me in casting a forgetfulness spell over everyone whom I visit. They remember my words and actions, but not my face. It will be safe, for now, this way. I shiver to think what would happen if Thomas found out. He became so angry with me the last time I tried to speak to him about fairytales, even playfully. Each time I go out, I place a charm upon his mind that will divert it from thoughts of me until I return. I do not know how strong it is, though, so I am taking a risk each time I go. It's a risk that must be taken.

It seems as though, when I perform a healing, the patient's ailment transfers itself to me, in a milder, often invisible form. My arm is aching, and my lungs are on fire, but I am perfectly healthy and able. At least, I must be, for my baby will arriving any week. It is a feisty one, already, hammering away inside of me. I will have to take a break to tend to this little one.

Soleil tried to take all of this in. She knitted her eyebrows at the page. She thought she was beginning to understand.

“She means you, Etta,” Percy said, leaning forward to look over at their sister. Etta merely giggled in reply. Her eyes were shining.

The next entry read:

December 2^nd, 1744

I have been shaken to the core.

Tonight was my first night back. Little Etta can't bear to be separated from me, so I strapped her to my front beneath my cloak and channeled all my heat to her in order to keep her warm.

I visited as many houses as I could before Etta got too fussy, and then headed back to Rosegate. It was just beginning to snow. I was passing the last building before the lawn surrounding the castle, when my eye caught sight of a dark form in one of the alleyways. I turned, thinking it might be someone in need. As I drew near, I saw her face. Snow-white, as if bloodless, her long black hair blowing in the wind. Her eyes glowed deep red. I knew who she was: they call her the snake-woman, the spider-woman, the woman who is not really a woman at all, who was once more beautiful than any of us. Kay and Gerda did not teach me much about her, because they say that even to study the darkness is dangerous, and should be left only to a chosen few. But I do know that they call that person Amelia.

She approached me, smiling strangely, and whether it was fear, or some sort of spell she was casting upon me, I stood frozen to the spot, clutching my baby to my breast. Etta stirred in my arms and began to cry. Heaven help me, I was so afraid. Still Amelia came closer; still I could not move. She bared her teeth at me, contorting her face into a terrible, ugly shape, and growled at me like an animal. I know that she must hate me, and hate what I am doing.

I don't know what would have happened had I not remembered the Cry to the Goldenwings. I uttered the words, and it seemed only moments before he came blazing through the sky – a beautiful, golden creature with fiery wings. For an instant, the night seemed as bright as day. He came suited in armor, and bearing a glittering sword which he brandished at the woman. She glowered at him, then looked back to me, and finally turned and slunk away sullenly. The goldenwing drew closer to me and wrapped his wings around us, supporting me with his arm. And thank goodness for that, because I could barely walk for trembling. He escorted me to the eastern entrance, whereupon he disappeared with a flash. Marion was waiting to let me in. He still doesn't fully understand what is happening, but he says that he will trust and obey his queen.

Soleil's head swam.

“A-Amelia?” Percy stammered. “I heard you say that name, Mortimer. Who is she?”

“She is the enemy,” Mortimer said lowly, his face grave. “She was doing her utmost to prevent the three of you from coming here.” Soleil felt the prickle of gooseflesh creep down her neck, recalling how the snake's eyes had glowed red. “She has no difficulty keeping a firm reign on Slumberers, ones who have fallen asleep to the Magic,” Mortimer continued. “But she becomes frightened when people start waking up. She feels threatened by living, fighting, fully-conscious things. And that's exactly what you'll be doing here. Coming fully awake, fully alive.” He smiled as he crossed his arms upon the tabletop.

“But I don't understand,” Percy said. “What is the 'Magic'? Where does it come from?”

“First, continue with this,” Genevieve encouraged. “We don't have time for you to read all of it right now, but it would be best for you to skip to the very end,” she said softly, her pink-padded fingertips brushing the pages. Soleil slowly turned to where her hand had indicated.

January 11^th, 1763

It has finally happened. Amelia approached me tonight, and refused to leave me alone. Over the years, she has tempted me, and found me resistant. She has tried to intimidate me with her ugliness, and she has succeeded many times. But now I am almost thirty-nine years old, and she has shown me every ugly face she can muster (ugliness, unlike beauty, has an end, and can be exhausted), and I am not afraid of her anymore. She taunted me today, filling my ears with lies about my loves, saying that Thomas is domineering and that he does not love me; that Soleil is stunted and backwards; that Musetta is silly and shallow; that Percy is weak and effeminate. I denied each lie bluntly.

And then she found my weak spot. She must have been planning it for a very long time.

She threatened to cast a curse upon my loves: a fatal blow – a sickness ending in death. I panicked, and ran home, ran to our rooms. She followed me all the way. But then I thought: perhaps, perhaps, I may be able to internalize the sickness before it reached my darlings, so that it would not ever even touch them. One thing that I feel Amelia will never be able to understand is the act of making one's self vulnerable. But I am a healer. For me, at least, this is what healing means.

I am unsure whether Amelia was aware of the peculiarity of my body when she attacked me; if she knew what I was going to do. Perhaps she simply wanted me gone from the beginning. Even if so, the fact remains that I have loved. I have won the only fight that has ever interested me.

The malady she has cast is a fever. I give myself three days at the most; for maintaining consciousness, perhaps less. It will be enough time to say goodbye to my husband and children. May the Great Enchanter grant us all peace.

Tears streamed down Soleil's face. Her fists were angry balls perched tensely upon her thighs. Fire was raging inside of her chest.

“I can't believe it,” Percy choked. “I can't believe it.”

“My friends,” Genevieve said softly, “know that your mother was one of the finest heroines this world has ever known. And know that she was not afraid, but peaceful, at the end. All she wanted was to love and to heal, and she was given the opportunity to do both, to the fullest.”

“She spent nearly twenty years ministering to the needy of Roseland,” Mortimer interjected. “And, in that time, she healed not only people's bodies, but helped renew their minds and hearts. She planted the seeds. She placed the sparks in the kindling. Now all that's needed is a bellows to fan the flames. And you, her children, could be the ones. You could set the world on fire.”

“There's your army, Etta,” Percy hiccuped. Musetta gave a trembling smile, smearing tears away from under her eyes.

“You know, it's odd,” Genevieve said. “Viviana went to so much trouble to hide her identity from people outside the castle walls, and yet everyone seemed to remember her by one very distinctive characteristic. They called her the 'Ginger Fairy.' It seems that, for all her poppy-seed spells, she was never able to erase the impression of her hair from people's minds.”

“Too red,” Mortimer murmured, smiling at Soleil. She laughed helplessly.

Copyright © 2012 by Olivia Meldrum

Sunstroke, Chapter 5: Minnowway

Here is the next installment of my Sunstroke project for your reading enjoyment.  If you have been following this from its beginning 2 months or so ago, I thank you!  If not, you might want to backtrack to the beginning, which you can find here.  I want to start titling these chapters - which means I'll have to go back and add titles to the last installments.  Also, I'm already noticing minor loose ends and inconsistencies among what I've written so far...editing will become a necessity!  This is very much a work in progress, so please feel free to share your thoughts. :)

***

Once, when Percy was quite young, he had the very worst of nightmares. This world of shadows was particularly terrible because it was very much like real life. Mama and Papa were having a quarrel in the upstairs drawing room, except that he could tell by their eyes, somehow, that they didn't love each other anymore; it was a quarrel of hatred. He ran away to find Marion, to ask him to show him magic tricks, but the old valet brushed him away. When he sought out his sisters, Musetta had run off with all the prissy, priggish little girls, leaving Soleil stunned and alone in her bedchamber.

It was real life, except muddied.

And Percy couldn't see straight. Where is the place for me? He thought, staggering through corridors. Where where where...

And then -

“Percy!” It was his mother's voice.

He snapped to attention, snapped back to the reality of Mama's lovely face stooping over him. He remembered that they were all on their way to their summer home for a holiday. He sat up fully in the carriage. Papa was holding Mama's hand. Musetta and Soleil were poring over a book together. All was well.

Percy.

Percy.

It wasn't his mother's voice. Percy started awake, and found himself once again sprawled back upon the carriage seat. The green and gold tapestry whirled about on the ceiling, whirled like his thoughts. Everything from the night before came rushing back, and his stomach gave a thrill.

He sat upright, taking in the interior of the coach by the soft light that was filtering in. The raspberry-hued velvet looked old, but clean and well-brushed. Musetta and Soleil were kneeling together at one window, conversing quietly.

Percy eyed the other window curiously. He shifted over to the right, drew aside the golden curtain, and unlatched the window.

A whirring gust of wind hit him in the face and he blinked, delighted. It smelt of sea salt and springtime. At first, all he could make out was a dizzying commotion of wings: layer upon layer of scarlet seemed first to billow and snap like banners; then to pulse warmly like the first embers of a fire. Suddenly, with a gentle rustle, a footman's face surfaced from among the feathers. The golden eyes crinkled into a smile, and the flaxen curls bounced as the creature inclined its head.

“Good morning, Prince Percival,” it piped in strange, lyrical tones. And then the great, glowing wings that had been guarding the window were swept away.

Percy found himself gripping the window's ledge furiously. The sea stretched out for as far as he could see, shimmering in the sunlight. He peeked cautiously around the side of the carriage, towards the front where the two winged horses were racing. He had to shield his eyes: the carriage was soaring due east, straight into the sunrise. Leaning forward as far as he dared, he gazed down into the water below. There seemed to be some disturbance amongst the waves – he could vaguely make out little fish and other creatures leaping about.

“The ocean's inhabitants are happy to see you!” A voice cried jubilantly. Percy jumped. Another head popped out from behind one of the coachman's wings. There was a young man clinging to the outside of the carriage, and he was carefully inching his way towards the window. He looked about Percy's age, perhaps a little older; with dark hair and milky-white skin. His eyes were large and very green. Percy frowned. Having finally reached the window, the man sighed with relief. “Well,” he said, gesturing outward, “what do you think?”

“There was a spell cast on you.” Percy turned to see Musetta scrutinizing the young man, her head cocked to one side.

“How perceptive of you, Princess,” Mortimer replied with a gracious nod. “I do beg your pardon for having employed a disguise. See, we decided that an old-man relation would be far more convincing than a young one.”

“Who's 'we'?” Musetta demanded, lifting her eyebrows authoritatively.

“Myself, and my brother and sister – well, they're not really – in spirit, not in blood – and then the King.”

“The king?” Percy's heart had begun pounding, for some reason. “What king?”

Mortimer's lips curled in a coy smile. “The King,” he said simply.

Percy wished he could act stuffy and chagrined – as if all this were too absurd, too much of an imposition upon his royal dignity. But he couldn't. The carriage, the wings, the eyes, the sea – they were all streaming through the hole in Percy's chest. Please, Mama, I have to know.

“King of what? And if you're not our mother's cousin, who is?” He asked.

Mortimer laughed, head back and full of joy. “Just wait,” he said. “I can't explain everything right now. But in the meantime - this, Highnesses, is for you.” He extended a tray with one hand, balancing it with seeming effortlessness upon his fingertips. It bore fruit, pastries, and three glasses of some pinkish drink. “You'll be glad of some breakfast, I promise,” Mortimer said with a grin.

Percy took the tray tentatively. “Where did it come from?”

Mortimer's eyes widened. “Magic,” he whispered. Then his face sobered. “I suppose I'll add one more word, before our arrival,” he said, leaning against the window frame. “It's regarding my brother and sister. Here's the quandary: they're both rather stranger-shy, and they don't get out much...it's been a while since they've had visitors. Actually,” he added, a little sadly, “it's been a very, very long time.”

“They're recluses?” Musetta's hands were clasped beneath her chin. “Oh, for what reasons? How terribly romantic!”

“Well,” Mortimer said, his grin returning, “you'll see.”

“My sisters and I were taught to be kind and gracious to everyone whom we encounter,” Percy assured. “We will be nothing less to your siblings. Especially since you all – you're all friends of our mother's. And any friend of hers is a friend of ours.”

Mortimer gave another little bow. “Thank you, your Highness.” Percy watched his eyes stray to Soleil, who'd been observing all in total silence ever since Percy had woken up. Mortimer's smile deepened, and a dimple appeared.

“Are you enjoying your ride in the sun-carriage, Princess?” he asked earnestly. “You make it shine all the brighter.” Soleil's eyes widened at this. “I hope you know that you've got the loveliest hair,” he added. “You look just like your mother.”

Soleil was blushing a deep pink beneath her freckles. “Thank you, Sir,” she murmured, her eyes downcast.

“We're almost there,” Mortimer said, speaking to the rest of the carriage. “I'll see you again soon.” And he disappeared amongst the wings.

Percy smiled, pleasantly surprised at whatever it was that had just happened. He caught Soleil's eye and raised his brows encouragingly, which only resulted in her flush spreading to the tips of her ears. Musetta was being odd – sitting up stiffly, with a pinched, faintly amused expression on her face.

Percy chuckled inwardly. Oh, dear. This, among everything else. What are the Simon children galloping into this time?

It seemed only minutes later that Percy could feel the carriage beginning to descend. He flew to the window. They had arrived in a region that he knew he'd never seen before. It was green, all around – where there was not forest, there was meadow or rolling hill. It was nothing like their home – smog and cobblestones everywhere, and any kind of countryside at least an hour away. A river coursed by below, and Percy could hear its quiet roar.

Again, the appearance of the carriage seemed to elicit a response from the wildlife it encountered. Deer gathered in herds and raced along below, throwing their heads up in salutation. To Percy's amazement, even bears and wolves made an appearance, frolicking with seeming geniality beside the other animals. Winged things began to enter into the carriage – sparrows and swallows swooped through to nuzzle the sibling's faces and settle in their hands; a swarm of ladybirds was followed by a swarm of bees, which covered Percy and his sisters with tiny, buzzing steps that warmed like kisses. Soon the carriage was alive with joyous, wordless laughter.

Then, finally, the castle came into view.

Perhaps, in some very distant, childhood dream, Percy had seen Minnowway before. He blinked hard, rubbed his eyes, pinched his leg; to no avail. He couldn't shake the sense that he was somehow returning: both to rest from a long journey, and to begin a new one.

A stately, stone castle was rising up before them (as the carriage was dropping), inset with tall windows and crowned with a multitude of turrets. This structure was indeed impressive; but moss grew between those stones, and vines upon the gates behind, and it was a simple, dirt road that ran between the two. What seemed to be acres of orchard and meadowland stretched off into the distance.

Percy was not able to register much, when the carriage finally landed in the courtyard. The footmen opened the doors, smiling and chattering, although Percy couldn't hear their words. Musetta took hold of him with one hand and Soleil with the other, and he didn't think to object in any way. They moved, hand-in-hand, in the direction of the entryway, though Percy couldn't feel his arms or legs. Mortimer jogged ahead of them, grinning hugely, frequently turning around to engage them in some elaborate story. Percy became aware of a clamorous, overwhelming sound: that of applause.

There was a crowd of floating, white gloves all around the steps leading up to the castle's front door. Dozens of pairs of hands were clapping furiously, and shouting, too: 'Huzzah's', 'Heys'; each of the three siblings' names, and their mother's name, too. Mortimer gestured toward them with an outstretched arm; each of the pairs of hands likewise extended an invisible arm; and they all bowed together. Everything came in pieces: Mortimer's dark curls flopping as he danced about (he was jester, after all), the foxes and rabbits appearing and fawning at their feet, the butterflies landing upon their faces and clothing like so many falling petals, the hands hurrying to escort his sisters as the door opened wide.

Percy drifted up the stairs and through the doorway. They stood at the front of a long, high-ceilinged hall lined with winding marble pillars and blue-and-gold checked marble floors. The hands floated away through a door to the right, swinging as though attached to the arms of walking persons. The three siblings were left alone with Mortimer, who now proceeded forward, his gait slower and more reserved.

There were two people standing at the opposite end of the hall, both dressed entirely in mourning. It was a tall, broad-shouldered man, and a woman so small that she could have passed for a girl, were it not for her shape. As Percy advanced, he observed their clothing: the man wore a simple suit of breeches, shirt and jacket; the woman, a simple, floor-length, high-collared gown. Both were in black from head to toe, and even their hands were concealed in black gloves. The woman wore a nondescript hat, whose dark veil fell over her face. The oddest thing of all was that, likewise, the man's face was also covered.

Mortimer came to a halt before the two mysterious figures, and then withdrew to the side, so that Percy and his sisters now faced the strangers alone. After a lengthy silence, ending with the man and the woman exchanging glances through the veils, the man took a step closer, and cleared his throat.

“Welcome, Prince Percival, Princess Musetta, and Princess Soleil. Welcome to Minnowway. I - I am Hamlin Beaulieu, and this is my sister, Genevieve,” the man said in a deep, husky voice. He gestured to the tiny woman who stood beside him. Percy noticed that the black-gloved hand was trembling. He wondered how old the man was – his voice seemed youthful enough.

The man named Hamlin folded his hands tightly in front of his stomach. One hand faltered up to the veil in front of his face, and then back down. “Um,” he said awkwardly. His sister reached up to gently squeeze his arm. A few more awkward moments passed. And then, almost in unison, both black figures reached up and lifted their veils.

Percy was struck, first and foremost, by the beauty. Two pairs of large, piercing, blue eyes gazed out at him from white faces. But then he took in shape, and placement, and texture, and it registered in his mind.

They were cats.

Copyright © 2012 by Olivia Meldrum

Sunstroke: Chapter 4

Genevieve woke from a normal night of sleep: heavy and dreamless. She slipped out of bed and allowed herself to be dressed.

“Today,” she whispered to her white-and-black reflection.

She made her way to the dining room downstairs, where Hamlin was already eating breakfast.

“Morning, dear,” she said, rubbing the broad, hunched shoulders.

“Morning,” he mumbled without raising his head.

“Are you ready?” She asked cheerily. Hamlin lifted an inscrutable blue gaze, and dropped it again in silence.

“Oh, come. It's going to be fine,” Genevieve soothed, seating herself at the table. She wasn't going to let him see how her hands trembled against everything they touched. Actually, she wasn't going to let herself see that, either.

“I mentioned that background information that Papa gave me yesterday?”

“I don't want to see it,” Hamlin rumbled. “I want to go to my room and stay there...” he stopped chewing. “Forever.”

“Stop it. Let me read it to you. This is good, it will help us be prepared. We'll know what to expect.”

Genevieve set the brown paper packet down upon the linen tablecloth. It was wrapped up with twine, and had been labeled The Simon siblings in black ink. She bit her lips and stared at it for a second. Then she made herself tug off the twine and remove the contents.

Three small, cream-colored cards lay within.

She picked up the first one, and read it out loud.

“'Percival Simon. Twenty-one years of age. Soft-hearted, deeply protective of loved ones. Very concerned about fulfilling responsibility. Carefree and playful, when he gets the chance, but lately rarely does. Full of longing, full of sorrow. Doubts himself easily. Tends to be scatterbrained.'”

Genevieve looked long at the card in silence. Hamlin's fork scraped against his china plate. She carefully set the card down and picked up the next one.

“'Musetta Simon. Nineteen years of age. Poet. Veritable master with words, both written and spoken. Opinionated, impulsive, outgoing, flirtatious. Wildly imaginative. Occasionally tactless. Has only the best of intentions, but is often more talk than action. Will make a good leader, once she gains self-control and grows into her personality.'

“Hm,” Genevieve murmured with a frown.

At length, she took up the last card.

“'Soleil Simon. Eighteen years of age. Shy, introverted to the extreme. Tends to be serious. Is more of a reader than a writer. Perennially soft and sweet, but has a temper like fire if provoked. Lacks her siblings' artistic capacities, but has enough common sense for the three of them put together.'”

Silence reigned. Genevieve stacked the cards into a neat pile on the table. Hamlin was using his eyes to bore a hole into his breakfast.

“Well, I think they sound lovely,” Genevieve said briskly. Her knife chittered against the butter dish as she attempted to spread butter onto her muffins.

“Genevieve,” Hamlin said slowly, “what if they laugh at us? What if they refuse to take us seriously? We have no way of knowing how Slumberers would react to this.”

“But they're not Slumberers. Not anymore,” Genevieve said, smiling. “They've already met Mort, and they're on their way here. Besides – they're Viviana's children, for goodness' sake! If they're anything like her, we'll be fine. And the King wouldn't have summoned them here if they weren't,” she added matter-of-factly.

Hamlin stared down into his teacup. “I wonder how they took it, the waking up.”

“Very well, I should imagine,” Genevieve replied. “Probably didn't come as too much of a shock. They'd been prepared their entire lives, after all.”

“When did Mort find them?”

“Just around midnight. They should be here any minute.”

“Gen,” Hamlin rasped, lifting his gaze helplessly, “I'm not ready for this. It's been too long. Three years is too long. What if -”

“That's why it's happening now,” Gen interrupted gently. “You won't be better prepared by waiting another moment. The only thing you'll be tomorrow is one day older. Did you think we could stay hidden away in this castle forever, brother?” She reached across the table to take his hand.

There was a great whirring from the courtyard, followed by the clattering of hooves.

“Look alive, Prince Hamlin,” Gen whispered. “There are guests at your gate.”

Hamlin stood to his feet and grimly made his way towards the door. Genevieve followed, pulling her hat's black netting forward over her face. Her fingers brushed the locket: it rested against her breastbone, shivering with each pulse.

Copyright © 2012 by Olivia Meldrum

***

Thanks for reading, and stay tuned!

ah! bright wings

Looking for a poet to put a spring in your summer step?  Try Gerard Manley Hopkins.

It really doesn't get much more lush than Hopkins.

Go here to hear about the dearest freshness deep down things,

here to visit the dapple-dawn-drawn falcon,

here for things swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;

and I'm just getting you started.

now go out into a field somewhere and enjoy yourself some Victorian-era experimental pastoral verse.

pace e bene,
Olivia


image: thewords.com
a page from Hopkin's journal

Love and the soul

image source: wikipedia.org

I came across this image in a little booklet of angel-themed postcards: J. F. Picot's L'Amour et Psyché.


The general English translation is "Cupid and Psyche", which brings to mind all sorts of things - the original Greek tale, certainly, but also C. S. Lewis' masterpiece, Till We Have Faces.  But as I look at that French title, it is the radical that strikes me (as the radical sometimes does).

What is the direct translation of 'L'Amour et Psyché'?


Love and the soul.


That's You and me, I thought.

That's each of us and Him.

That story was reality before the ancient Greeks ever dreamed of it.  And, in reality, Love is much more than merely a mischievous, winged boy.  He descended to earth and became man for us, and then he sacrificed himself for us, "his heart an open wound with love."  He gave his body for us, and made it so that, while we wait for him to return, we may eat of his body and drink of his blood every day, and draw strength and sanctity from it: that, by taking him into ourselves, he may take us up into him, transforming us, making us into true lovers, worthy of having been made in his image and likeness.

How good it is, to have been given a reality sweeter than the wildest dream, more wondrous than the most fantastic of fairytales.

O that you would kiss me with the kisses of your mouth!  For your love is better than wine...
(Songs 1:2)

Sunstroke: Chapter 3

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

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