Lily felt her forehead. “Are you feeling worse? Should you be in bed?”
“No, I’ll be fine.” She summoned a smile. “Really, I just want to sit here and rest, thank you.”
Rose must have fallen asleep, because the next thing she knew, Jonquil was shaking her awake. The younger girl was already dressed in a gown of pink satin, her hair done up in ribbons.
“It’s half past eleven,” Jonquil said, resignation in her voice. “Let’s get you ready.”
As they had since the first day of her illness, Lily and Jonquil helped Rose into a ball gown. They rouged her cheeks and arranged her hair, then laced on the new dancing slippers that had been delivered that day.
She was strong enough to dress herself, at this point, but holding her arms over her head to fix her hair still made her breathless. She toyed with the idea of going to the Midnight Ball in a nightgown and bedroom slippers, to emphasize the fact that she was not well and should not be forced to attend, but made the mistake of sharing the idea with Lily.
Lily was horrified, fearing that if any one of them was not looking her best, they would all be punished. Things had been even more strained since they had missed a night, so Rose permitted them to dress her in satin and drape her with jewels. Then she looked on while the rest of her sisters, down to weeping, cough-racked Pansy, were similarly attired.
Kind-hearted Iris tucked pillows under the heads of their snoring maids and put blankets over them. Shortly after entering the princesses’ apartments following dinner, they had been stricken by the sleeping charm, as always, and sank down on the floor in a deep sleep. They would awaken in the morning, stiff and groggy, to find their charges safely in bed, the brand-new dancing shoes full of holes.
“Are we ready?” Lily looked at her eleven sisters. It had always been Rose who had asked, who had checked lacings and tucked up loose curls. But since her illness, Rose had had neither the strength nor the inclination, so Lily had taken on this task as well.
They all nodded in agreement, Rose sagging between Poppy and Violet, Pansy supported by Orchid and Daisy, and Jonquil propping up Iris. Petunia, Hyacinth, and Lilac all held hands, Petunia actually smiling, for she still loved to dance. Lily knelt in the middle of the Araby rug that covered the sitting room floor. With one long finger, she traced the maze pattern at the center of the rug.
The maze shimmered. What had been gold-colored silk became gold in truth, and it spiraled down through the floor, the gleaming stripes widening into angular stairs that led into darkness. Lily took a lamp from the table and stepped delicately onto the first step, her free hand holding her skirts out of the way. One by one the sisters descended, with Rose bringing up the rear.
At the bottom of the stairs the darkness swallowed them. Once Rose had stepped onto level ground, the golden spiral ascended again, leaving them with no means of escape until the first light of dawn touched the eastern hills of Westfalin. How Rionin and his brothers had reached the king’s garden, how their mother had first made contact with such creatures, they had never dared ask.
Lily’s lamp was little more than a spark, and they followed it with eyes hungry for its light. Through the gate, through forest, to the shores of the lake, over the water to the Midnight Ball.
Spy
When Galen had rushed off to speak to King Gregor more than a month ago, he ran afoul of the palace’s butler, Herr Fischer. Herr Fischer did not allow under-gardeners wearing muddy smocks to speak to the king. Herr Fischer did not allow under-gardeners into the palace at all.
But as Galen was turning away, dejected, he had passed Dr. Kelling arriving at the palace to check on the princesses. Dr. Kelling hailed Galen, curious about the young man’s forlorn expression as he trudged away from the front doors.
“Hello there! May I be of assistance?”
Galen had seen the doctor coming and going in the past, and knew that he was a close friend of the royal family. The physician had an unruly mop of gray hair and impressive eyebrows over twinkling blue eyes.
“Yes, Herr Doctor,” Galen said. “I had hoped … well, I had hoped to speak to the king.” Galen gritted his teeth, realizing how foolish he sounded. What right had he to speak to the king?
“Concerning what? Is there a problem with the Queen’s Garden?”
“Oh, no, sir,” Galen assured him. “It’s was about … about the princesses. I thought that I might be able to … help.” Galen squared his shoulders and looked Dr. Kelling in the eyes. Perhaps he was getting above himself, but he couldn’t bear to see Rose so exhausted and bitter. “I want to help them, sir,” Galen said firmly.
“What makes you think the princesses need help?” One of the impressive eyebrows was raised.
Galen looked at him. Looked down at him, actually. Dr. Kelling was of average height, which meant that Galen topped him by nearly a head.
“Sir, everyone knows about the worn-out dancing slippers and the princesses being so exhausted all the time. They’ve been sick. It can’t help that they go … wherever it is they go every night.” He grimaced. “And I saw the people or whatever they were, that came into the garden the night after they didn’t dance.”
Dr. Kelling gave Galen an appraising look. “What is it you think you can do?”
Galen stopped walking. He had already decided that telling people he had a cloak that rendered him invisible was dangerous. He could be accused of witchcraft, or simply of being mad if no one believed him. He’d come up with a plausible lie, and he would ask God for forgiveness later.
“I learned things in the army, sir,” Galen said. “Scouting, spying, that sort of thing. I am sure that I can observe the princesses without them knowing.”
Kelling nodded slowly, and started walking back to the palace. “You were a soldier?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You barely look old enough to have seen the last battle.”
“My father was a career army man, sir. I was there at the first engagement with Analousia, and took up my father’s rifle when I was barely fifteen.”
“Saints preserve us,” Dr. Kelling said, and squeezed Galen’s shoulder. “What have we done to our youth?” His bright eyes studied Galen’s tanned face and he shook his head. “What’s your name, lad?”
“Galen Werner, sir.”
“Well, Galen Werner, perhaps a talented spy is what we need, instead of these princes stumbling about in the dark. First, I must see to my patients, but after that I will be taking lunch with His Majesty and I shall speak to him about your idea. In the meantime you’d better continue with your work. I know Reiner Orm, and he will not be pleased if he catches you hanging about the front drive.”
“No, sir,” Galen said with a smile.
He loped off, hope rising in his chest. Dr. Kelling would speak to the king and Galen would get permission to snoop around at night. With his cloak he would be able to follow Rose and her sisters and discover what madness had caught them up in its web. Soon the princesses would be able to rest, and they would get well. Smiling, he imagined the flush of health on Princess Rose’s cheek. He would not be offered her hand in marriage, of course. But perhaps he might ask to dance with her at a ball, or sit with her at dinner, just once.
Whistling, he took up his rake.
He was still in good spirits when a message from the doctor was delivered by one of the footmen. Galen would not be allowed inside the palace, but he would be permitted to roam the gardens all night. If he had anything to report, Galen was to leave a message with one of the indoor staff, addressed to either King Gregor or Dr. Kelling. There was a letter with the king’s seal included, giving him the freedom of the palace grounds after the other gardeners had gone home and the gates had been locked.
Now singing under his breath, Galen continued his work until sunset and walked home with Uncle Reiner as usual. They had a fine dinner, and Galen went up to his room afterward as though nothing were out of the ordinary. Reiner Orm had a strict sense of class and propriety, and Galen knew i
t would be useless to tell his relations what he was about. After ten, when he was sure everyone else was asleep, Galen stuffed the dull purple cape into his satchel and slipped out of the house.
It was strange to walk the streets of Bruch at night. During the day they were all a-bustle: carts and horses, people on foot, neighbors calling out to one another. But now they were silent. A cold rain had fallen and the streets gleamed, slick and wet, in the moonlight.
Stranger still was approaching the guards at the palace gate and showing them the king’s letter. Once he was well away from the gatehouse, in the shadows of a dripping oak tree, Galen pulled the cloak out of his satchel and put it on. As soon as the gold clasp was fastened, he disappeared. He hurried down the gravel paths to the south side of the palace and took up his position just below the princesses’ windows.
There were some large ornamental boulders where he and Walter often sat to eat their lunch. They were cold now, and wet, so Galen didn’t sit, but paced around them to keep warm while he watched the windows.
A slim form appeared, drawing aside one of the curtains to look out, and Galen’s heart began to pound. Then she turned her head, and Galen realized that the profile did not belong to Rose, but Jonquil, and he laughed at himself. He should have known, seeing the towering confection of ribbons and curls on her head, that it was not Rose. Jonquil closed the curtains and moved away, and Galen continued to pace, berating himself silently.
Surely he wasn’t foolish enough to fall in love with a princess. …
He shook his head and turned his mind instead to Jonquil’s appearance. Her hair clearly had been done for a formal occasion, and it looked as if she had been wearing a ball gown and jewels. So then, they were going somewhere to dance. She would not be so elaborately dressed merely to dance in her room with her sisters.
He waited all night on the south side of the palace. The lights never dimmed in the princesses’ rooms, and though Galen stared at the filmy curtains, willing them to part so that he could see inside, no one came to the window again. Only when dawn came were the lights within snuffed out one by one.
Galen did not give up hope. According to the king’s letter, he could return to the palace after hours as often as it took to uncover the secret, and he would. He would check every door and window that the princesses might possibly use, might even climb the ivy that Rionin had attempted to climb and peek in their windows, though the idea made him flush.
He also decided to confide in Walter. The aged gardener had a keen eye. Galen would set him to looking for any sign of footprints in the soft earth of the flower beds. Surely twelve pairs of feet could not pass through the garden without leaving a mark.
Breton
Do you care for roses, Princess Rose?” Prince Alfred of Breton smiled at Rose in what he probably thought was a flirtatious manner. It revealed a great many long teeth, however, and made him look even more like a horse. Rose said a silent prayer of thanks that she didn’t have teeth like that. Alfred was her second cousin on her mother’s side and the possessor of a host of traits that Rose felt lucky not to have inherited.
“Yes, yes I do,” Rose said, keeping her voice level. She did not find the pun on her name amusing, and refused to show any emotion that might be construed as amusement by the clueless Alfred.
They were standing in the rose hothouse, admiring the flowers that bloomed there all year long. This was Head Gardener Orm’s pet project: he was breeding new colors and types of roses, something that keenly interested King Gregor as well. The bush that Rose and Prince Alfred stood before bore pink roses with scarlet centers. Each bloom was the size of a saucer.
“Then I shall pluck a rose for your hair,” Prince Alfred brayed, lunging forward and snatching at one of the flowers. “Even as I shall pluck out the secret that haunts you every night!” His horsy laugh was cut short by a cry of pain as a thorn pricked him.
“Serves him right,” Rose thought. The princesses all knew that these roses were not for picking, and Rose had warned Prince Alfred when they entered the hothouse. Once the blooms were almost blown, the head gardener carefully cut them and brought them to the palace to be displayed for a brief time, but otherwise they were purely for “floral experimentation,” as her father called it.
Besides which, this Bretoner prince was getting on Rose’s nerves. His obnoxious laughter and alarming teeth were only the half of it. He peppered his conversation with clumsily suggestive remarks, and clearly thought himself quite the gallant. Rose’s sisters had all managed to flee after only a few minutes in his presence, leaving Rose to entertain Alfred on her own.
She gritted her teeth as she offered him a handkerchief, plotting the revenge she would take on her sisters for abandoning her with Prince Horseface. She told herself that the week would go by quickly enough, and then he would be sent away in disgrace like all the others. But as he bled into her clean handkerchief and complimented her tender touch, she remembered that once he was sent away, his life would likely be cut short in some mysterious accident. She should want him to succeed, but he was not remotely the dashing figure she had imagined saving her from the Midnight Balls.
“I’m an evil person,” she mumbled under her breath.
“What was that, dear, dear Rose?” Alfred wrinkled his nose at her in what she supposed was meant to be an alluring way.
“I—I—” She couldn’t think of anything. She was staring at his large, slightly bulging eyes and couldn’t seem to look away.
“I beg your pardon, Your Highnesses.” Galen Werner stepped around some potted roses and gave them a brief bow. “Prince Alfred is wanted back at the palace.”
“I am? Why?” Prince Alfred looked mystified, and Rose agreed silently: why would anyone want him?
“I couldn’t say, Your Highness,” Galen said. “I’m only an under-gardener.”
Alfred struck a dramatic pose, somewhat ruined by the bloody scrap of linen clutched in one hand. “I shall be but a moment, fair princess,” he whinnied.
“Very well,” was all Rose could say.
After Prince Alfred had gone, Rose sank down on a small bench with a sigh. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back. Galen was still hovering nearby, looking at her with concern.
“Do you need anything, Your Highness?”
She opened her eyes and looked at him. “Why was Prince Alfred needed at the palace?”
Galen flushed. “He, well, I couldn’t say. … ”
Rose burst out laughing. “Did you just say that to get rid of him?”
“Er, yes.” Galen looked around sheepishly. “He seemed to be bothering Your Highness.”
“Oh, he was,” she agreed, giving him a grateful smile. “And my traitorous sisters abandoned me!”
“Very cruel of them.”
“Very.” She gave a little shudder. “Did you see his teeth?”
“He does have … very large teeth,” Galen said. “I’m sure that he has other fine features, however,” Galen added, not very convincingly.
“His teeth are probably his best feature, I’m afraid,” Rose said, still laughing. “I feel cruel saying such things, especially since we are related … but he’s so vain!”
Galen looked thoughtful. “He does remind me of a very handsome cart horse I once knew,” he said. “They had the same color hair.”
Rose laughed aloud again. It felt good to be able to laugh without coughing, but more than that, it felt good just to find something to laugh about. That morning her father had taken her aside after breakfast and begged her to let Alfred uncover their secret.
“My dear,” King Gregor had said, tears in his eyes. “I am pleading with you: let this young fool succeed. I do not know what secret you keep, or why, but it must end. Please, Rosie.” He cleared his throat. “Not the man I would have picked for you, for any of you, but rumors are racing through the Ionian courts. They’re saying that you poor girls must have had a hand in these unfortunate deaths. I don’t know if offering my kingdom is incentive en
ough to draw another suitor.”
Rose grieved that their curse had brought her father to this state—begging with bloodshot eyes for a foolish, horse-faced prince to win her hand—but there was nothing she could do. She could no more speak of the curse than she could prevent the enchanted sleep from overtaking Alfred that night and the nights after.
“Now, what’s made you look sad?” Galen stared down at her, anxious.
She blinked away her memories of this morning. “Nothing.” She shrugged. “Just the thought that if horrible Prince Alfred doesn’t—” She realized that she was confiding her family’s problems to one of the gardeners and stopped herself short. “It’s nothing.”
“You’re worried that Prince Alfred, horrible as he is, will come to harm, and you’ll be blamed?” Galen’s voice was gentle.
Tears pricked Rose’s eyes, her laughter gone. She nodded. “Father’s at his wit’s end.”
“You can’t tell anyone what’s going on, can you?”
She shook her head.
“Not even me? I’m not a prince,” he wheedled.
“No one,” she said with a little hiccup.
Galen took out a pair of gardening shears and went to the bush with the pink-and-scarlet roses. He neatly cut the stem of the bloom Alfred had tried to pick and peeled off the thorns before offering it to Rose.
“I shouldn’t,” she protested.
“It’s already done,” he told her. “Don’t let it go to waste.” Their fingers touched when she took it from him, and they stayed that way for a moment, hands together, the rose cradled between them.
Rose was just thinking of something she could say, something to break the comfortable silence that she was enjoying far too much, when she heard the hothouse door open and close. She and Galen stepped apart; he gave her a little bow and slipped away.
Prince Alfred came huffing down the path, red in the face and irritable. “No one in the palace seems to have the faintest idea what that half-witted gardener was talking about,” he complained.