As soon as the young gentleman
had disappeared amid the swirl of dancers’ skirts and colorful cravats,
Wednesday dived out from behind the piano to crash into Willow, who stumbled
back with a surprised yelp. Wednesday
pinned her against the wall.
“Willow!” Wednesday
shrilled. “What were you doing? Harassing that poor man? I saw you, I was here the whole time, don’t
deny it! What were you doing?”
Willow folded her arms over
her chest crossly, pushing Wednesday back.
She didn’t seem at all surprised that Wednesday had been spying on
her. “Doing what? I love
him, Wednesday. Ever since last year! Cassius…he
never noticed me…so I seized the chance to attract him! Oh, he’s so strong…and sweet…and ultimately dashing.
I can’t help it, and I do hope that you’re not sorry, because I love
him, and there’s nothing that you can do about it. Can’t you see, Wednesday? It’s true
love! For me!”
“I do see,” Wednesday said,
and she truly did. At least the dashing
part. She felt the need to add in what
mischief Willow was up to. “I see what
you did. You call that attracting a man?
You were on the brink of seducing him! A
lady should never act that way,
that’s what Father taught us. Be a
proper lady, Willow.” Wednesday’s legs
were trembling with the exertion of standing up to her sister, something she
rarely did, but this case was far too extreme for her to stand idly by and
ignore. “Be proper, and attract him
with…you. He should love you because
you’re you.” She grasped Willow wrist
and started lightly pulling her over to a better, quieter area. Willow
grudgingly went with her. Skirts of lace
and silk brushed their arms as they walked. Wednesday stopped breathlessly by
the refreshment table.
“Being a proper lady,”
Willow began strongly as Wednesday tried to catch her breath, “Depends on how
you see it. A lady in our country is supposed
to be sweet, introverted, unable to do anything at all. I want to prove I am hard-core, strong,
proud. If you simply do what Father
taught us,” –and here she spat the word Father,
“You won’t get honking nowhere!” She
yanked her arm from Wednesday’s hand.
“Let go of me, you could never understand. You’re just like a traditional lady. You follow orders. Like a servant. A princess should have free reign, do what
she likes. That’s what I’m just
doing.” She strode off, wispy trails of
gold fluttering after. “Oh, and go and
eat before you starve,” Willow called over her shoulder.
Surprised, Wednesday
glanced down at the table, suddenly aware of the prickling pain in her
stomach. She’d been too absorbed in the
love scene to realize how hungry she was.
She raised her head to call a thank-you to Willow, but she’d
vanished.
“Thank you,” Wednesday
breathed softly.
She filled a plate with
delicate pieces of salmon, puddings and rolls, slices of cucumber and pork
drenched in sauces. While she sat by and
ate, the dances passed by. Waltzes,
varsoviennes, schottisches, jigs, mazurkas, quadrilles. They all passed so quickly. She watched Winter dancing with gentleman
after gentleman, presumably trying to find one that she fancied, but possible unable.
In dancing, she gave gracious smiles and compliments, but every time she took a
break, Wednesday saw an unhappy, almost puzzled expression on her face. She was clearly disappointed by the lack of
love in the air.
Well, except for Willow,
that is. Wednesday scowled, remembering
Willow rubbing her cheek against Cassius like a cat.
Not
that she loved Cassius at all, Wednesday reminded herself. Sure, he was sweet, and definitely handsome,
but she wouldn’t like him. Especially because of his name. She shivered at the name ‘Cassius’. Everyone knew the legend of the original
Cassius, the greatest traitor of all time.
Wednesday wasn’t sure what the real story was, but in ____________ , the
legend said Cassius had been a Roman, who tried to overthrow the
government. He won two triumphs and
suffered losses, and in the end, he and a man named Brutus had killed Julius
Caesar, and Cassius was beheaded by angry villagers, who wanted nothing more
than to avenge Caesar’s death.
Wednesday’s skin crawled. And
Wickerworth. It reminded her of a
spidery web of flaxen cords somehow, something that could entangle her and tie
her up in knots. Her heart gave a
twinge. Pity. He was such a nice gentleman, and very young,
too, by the looks of it, almost Willow’s age—but, alas, he had an unfortunate
name. Wednesday wondered what he had
done to deserve that name. Certainly he
couldn’t have done anything wrong! She
could tell by the gentle, honey timbre of his voice. A sweet young man like him…ah…
No, Wednesday told herself firmly. To distract herself from more thoughts of
Cassius and his striking green eyes, his gorgeous hair, she picked up a cream
bun and buried herself in the chocolatey flavor.
By the time the tower
chimed ten, Wednesday was almost asleep in her seat. She had probably eaten enough food to feed
Willow and Winter put together. Guests
were starting to trickle away, ladies waving good-bye, men bowing and laughing
jovially, thanking the king. He nodded
solemnly in return, and quickly ushered them out. It was nearly eleven o’clock before every
guest was practically shooed out by the king and the musicians stopped playing
background music. Yet Wednesday noticed,
through a sleepy haze, that they did not pack up their instruments, but instead
began busily arranging for more music.
Winter fluttered over on
her silky white dress, as if gliding on the breeze. “Having fun, Wednesday?” she asked with a long
yawn. She grabbed a jelly roll from an
embroidered porcelain plate next to her without even bothering to use a napkin
and shoved half of it into her mouth, savoring the bite. “This is good. Who made it?”
She popped the rest in.
“The cook,” Wednesday said
sleepily as Willow joined them, her cheeks flushed pinkish.
“Willow, why are you
blushing so?” Winter asked, raising her eyebrow’s at the pleasant expression on
Willow’s face. “Mm, I am so tired. My slippers must be dying.” She collapsed in a chair next to Wednesday
and nodded at Willow. “Well? Spill.”
“I met such a dashing young man today,” Willow told
Winter cheerfully. Wednesday groaned to
herself. She did not need a reminder of
Cassius, with his sweet voice and fine looks.
“Did you?” said Winter,
taking another roll and eating it.
Wednesday hurriedly took one, worried that Winter might eat them
all. Crumbs already flecked her lacy
gloves.
“Well,” Willow said,
beaming, “I think he likes me, too. And
that’s good. If he fancies me…” She hugged herself, eyes closed in bliss, “As
soon as I’m of age, I can go and marry him…”
“Oh, do stop,” Wednesday moaned, holding her head. Willow looked at her in mock surprise,
eyebrows almost at her hairline. “Excuse
me?” she said, hand at her collar.
“Wednesday…are you…”
“No,” Wednesday said
firmly. She stood and strode off. Willow stared after her, then quickly resumed
conversation with Winter. Wednesday closed
her eyes, slowing to a stop a good twenty yards away from her sisters.
Why was she so irritable whenever it came to talking about—or even thinking about, actually—Cassius? There wasn’t a single reason in the world why
she should care about him. And yet she
was so sensitive about Willow’s affection towards him. Wednesday clenched her hands in her skirts,
feeling silk crumple into waves under her fingers.
“Wednesday?”
Her eyes snapped open at
the deep, strong voice, to see none other than Father standing in front of
her. He looked slightly weary, liked he
always did, his crimson waistcoat spotless nonetheless. The cook, carrying yet another plate of
food—even though the ball was over—and Wednesday’s brow creased yet again at
this—waddled up behind the king, a tower of sandwiches rising over his head,
and almost bumped into him. “So sorry,”
the cook muttered, and bumbled off.
Wednesday frowned after him, letting go of her skirts, the silk sliding
fast out of her grip.
“Why are the cooks still cooking
and taking out food?” she asked Father, giving his somewhat mussed auburn hair
a quick brush over with her hand to make him more presentable. “Is the ball not over? And—” She stared at
him accusingly. “Why did you urge the
guests out? Isn’t that…” She didn’t like to and wasn’t accustomed to
saying bad things about Father, but she couldn’t help it. My, she was feeling brave tonight. “Isn’t that...well, rude? They should be able to stay as long as they
like, right?”
Father sighed. He pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed his
forehead. Wednesday grasped his arm and
led him over to a chair, where he sank down gratefully. “You see, Wednesday,” he began, “I had to
quickly get them out. Might have made
them too ecstatic if they saw the thirteen legendary fae coming over.”
“The Thirteen Goddesses?”
Wednesday gasped, her mouth agape. “They
are coming? Are they even allowed
to?”
Father shrugged. He picked up a salmon-and-cheese cracker from
a platter and finished it in two bites, brushing the crumbs off of his
suitcoat. “Lady Aurelia wrote me,
telling me that the Shadow King told them that they should come to our
ball. I arranged so they could come at
midnight.” He glanced at the clock. “It is past eleven. We must hurry if we want to completely
prepare for their appearance.”
Wednesday’s heart pulsed
with a fluttery kind of anticipation.
The Thirteen Goddesses! And for the
Shadow King…
The Thirteen Goddesses were
not actually goddesses. They were
fairies, each gifted with the power to bestow a trait upon someone. If they appeared, usually at an important
person’s birth, each ‘goddess’, starting with the first, Lady Aurelia, and
ending with twelfth, Lady Larissa, the gifts were normally of beauty, kindness,
integrity, knowledge, quick wit, and so on.
The thirteenth fairy, however, was Lady Mirabel, and she usually came at
a girl’s coming-of, and only a girl’s, and gave them the power of vanity. This was why, after a girl was of age, she
would typically spend most of her time at a mirror, staring at herself and
trying to become perfect. Everyone
Wednesday knew agreed that a little bit of vanity was maybe needed—a little, to
keep some awareness of appearance—but many did not think highly of Lady
Mirabel. Of course, they didn’t voice
it—who knew if she could be right around the corner—but Wednesday could always
see it written on their faces. For the
reason that Lady Mirabel always gave the power of vanity, she was also commonly
known as the Goddess of Vanity.
The Thirteen Goddesses,
however, never appeared
together. Wednesday didn’t think that it
had ever happened in history. Legend
said that if the Thirteen Goddesses were together and united, they could change
a person’s heart and soul. Wednesday
wasn’t sure if that were true, but it sounded realistic enough, seeing how
powerful the Goddesses were.
Once, Wednesday had read
about them in a book, with pictures of each one. She had tried to memorize all their names,
and the color of their dresses, and what power they commonly gave, but it was
hard to remember. Now, though, she could
keep them straight, thanks to the organized soul that had put the Goddesses in
alphabetical order.
Lady Aurelia was the first
and older-sister-type of the Goddesses—starting with the letter A. Next was Lady Bliss—B—then Lady Chalize, Lady
Daelynn, Lady Esme, Lady Fylecia, Lady Gyelle, Lady Haleyana, Lady Isterielle,
Lady Jewel, Lady Keilani, Lady Larissa, and Lady Mirabel. And not only were they in alphabetical order,
but color-coordinated, too. Starting
with white-dressed Lady Aurelia, to pink-dressed Lady Bliss, red Lady Chalize,
and on and on past orange, yellow, light
green, dark green, light blue, dark blue, indigo, violet, and brown, and, for
Lady Mirabel, black.
Wednesday could still only
just barely keep them apart in her mind.
Sometimes she thought Lady Esme was the one wearing light green, or Lady
Jewel wearing pink, but she had to remind herself that way. It wasn’t easy, Wednesday knew, but it sure
made you sound smart if you had the Thirteen Goddesses in order, colors, names,
and all.
But as powerful and
unearthly as the Goddesses were, even they quailed to a higher power.
The Shadow King.
Wednesday didn’t know much
about him. Tales of him were told in whispers, in hushed tones. No one was sure who he was. Most people believed, and rightfully so, that
he was the ruler of the Shadow Kingdom, a place of eternal nothingness and
slumber, where ethereal beings like the Goddesses lived. But he never came out of the Shadow Kingdom
to see anything. Nobody knew what he
looked like. In the book Wednesday had
read on the Goddesses, it had depicted him as a hideous old man with scabby
grey spots and an oily, hairless scalp; colorless, deadened black eyes; an
ugly, shriveled body. Wednesday thought
the book a tad exaggerative, but she wasn’t one to judge. She had always pictured him as a quiet young
man dressed in dark colors, with striking eyes and a smooth figure. The ultimate picture of mystery, covering a
most mysterious man. He would be a
person that Wednesday would like, and he would possibly like her. As a friend, of course, not as in…
Wednesday
cut herself off.
In Willow’s opinion—the
three sisters had once exchanged thoughts on the Shadow King one late night
when they were much younger and quite friendly to one another—in Willow’s
opinion, he was a pale, pale gentleman covered in a long black cloak with a
large hood, so you couldn’t see his face or his body. Winter had disagreed, saying he was most
likely a fairly regular-looking fellow, just very dark and mysterious. Willow had been irritated with Winter’s
opinion, and the two of them argued the whole night like a pair of savage
wolves. Completely pointless.
At any rate, it was a
blessing that the Goddesses were coming.
“Will Lady Mirabel be
coming, too?” Wednesday asked, dread seeping through her blood.
“I do not believe so,”
Father said crisply. “I did send her an
invitation, but since today is nobody’s coming-of, I doubt she will make an appearance. You should not dwell on these things. The Thirteen Goddesses and the Shadow King
should be none of your concern.” He rose
slowly from his chair and headed towards a servant, who was carrying an
enormous basted chicken decorated with garnish on a silver aluminum plate, and
directed him to put it on one of the tables.
Wednesday watched them, not really focusing, but her mind instead ran to
other things.
It was a good thing that
Father had invited Lady Mirabel, of course.
Being as vain and self-centered as the trait she gave, if Lady Mirabel
was not invited to any event her sisters were, even if she hadn’t planned on
going, she became irritated, cranky, and turned many townspeople into crows in
her anger. Obviously, when she came to a
coming-of, where neither her sisters nor she had been invited, she apparently
chattered and bragged about being special for the rest of the day. But Father was right; Lady Mirabel probably
wouldn’t show up.
Wednesday had seen Lady
Mirabel. Once. At Winter’s coming-of. A beautiful young lady, dressed in black
skirts so dark and deep they would’ve made an eclipse look grey, with tendrils
of flowing rowan hair and a porcelain face.
She had swept over to Winter and planted a kiss on her forehead, causing
a glow to emanate from their point of contact for a second, and then she’d
fluttered away. Quick as that. For the rest of the day Winter had sat in
front of her mirror, brushing out her hair and looking at herself in the
glass. She hadn’t even come down for supper. But during the time when Lady Mirabel had
given her gift, she’d met eyes with Wednesday, and the expression on her face
was almost…pitiful. Sympathetic. She’d stuck out her tongue slightly and shook
her head. Wednesday had almost
cried. It was a definite sign. Lady Mirabel didn’t think her worthy of being
gifted with vanity.
Of course, that wasn’t
completely true, Wednesday thought stoically.
She needed to stop wallowing in self-pity and actually do
something. She squared her shoulders. All right.
She would help with the midnight festival setup.
Tables were set, draped in
cloths—white, to honor Lady Aurelia, Wednesday assumed—and set with food. There was one huge, circular table in the
center, flanked by smaller circular ones.
Chairs were set out, tables adorned with candles, matching silver
cutlery and satin napkins placed at every spot.
Someone came through with a broom and mop and cleaned the floor until it
shined. More food was brought out. The musicians finished tuning from their
place on the ballroom stage and started up some soft background music. The lights were dimmed, making the flickering
of the candles more obvious. Two
servants brought in boxes of gifts to honor the Goddesses and piled them neatly
in the corner, satin gleaming in the candlelight.
The tower had just declared
midnight with loud peals, sending a slight tremble through the floor, when a
servant outside called a loud greeting to the Goddesses. Father stepped into place to form a line. Winter, being the eldest, lined up next to
him, then Willow, and, in a hurry, Wednesday.
The servants also lined up for good measure.
The double doors of the
ballroom opened. Wednesday could not
suppress a gasp. She had never seen so
many of the fairies together before.
Lady Aurelia came in first, magnificent and dressed in her white,
shining black curls trailing after. Her
eyes met Wednesday’s, and the Goddess gave her a smile. Wednesday blushed, as she had when Cassius
had spotted her, and ducked her head.
After Lady Aurelia came
Lady Bliss. Lady Bliss was much like
Willow in a variety of ways, the most being for her luscious, floaty silken
dark hair. She was dressed in a blush
pink dress, which complemented her hair fantastically.
Lady Chalize, dressed in
striking scarlet, was one of Wednesday’s favorites—primarily because the
Goddess had come to see her one year when she was sick. Chalize had given Wednesday special
permission to omit the ‘Lady’ part of her name, and had said Wednesday could contact
her if she was ever feeling unwell. Now,
Chalize brushed aside her dark hair, peeking at Wednesday, and grinned.
Lady Daelynn, in orange
froth, walked delicately, as if on butterflies.
Wednesday had never seen her in person before, and she memorized every
detail; waves of black hair, green eyes, a pointed chin.
Next was Lady Esme, in
yellow. Wednesday noted her sunny smile
and silky dark hair, so soft-looking that Wednesday wanted to reach out and
stroke it. Trotting close behind Lady
Esme was Lady Fylecia, in a close-trimmed light green gown that complemented
her also black hair. Lady Gyelle
followed, fingers brushing her darker green skirts. Her strangely unpinned hair cascaded to her
waist.
Lady Haleyana, in sky blue,
and Lady Isterielle, in a darker shade, reminded Wednesday of a pair of
mirrors. Except for the dress colors,
they were exactly alike—identical twins, down to the dark hair, fair skin, and
tiny beauty mark on the left jaw.
Lady Jewel was a beauty
like Wednesday had never seen—a fairy worthy of being called a goddess. Waves of layered, curling wisps of black hair
trailed down from her pinned-up hair.
Her soft, layered indigo skirts floated over one another, making
Wednesday think of stormy sea waves. But
when she looked Wednesday over, she gave a smile sweet as honey.
Lady Keilani, the most
exotic and unique of the bunch, was dressed in vibrant shades of violet. Wednesday liked to think of her as the daring
one. She had colored her dark hair with
streaks of brown-red, caramel, and blonde, which looked quite beautiful, and
her skirts faded from almost-white at the top to almost-black violet at the
bottom.
The twelfth fairy was Lady
Larissa. Known as a bit of a quiet
homebody, she wore a plain, inconspicuous tawny-brown dress, in stark contrast
to Lady Keilani’s vivid coloring. She
had black hair, like all of her sisters, and unassuming facial features and bluish
eyes. But underneath her neutral
expression, Wednesday glimpsed excitement.
As Father had predicted,
Lady Mirabel wasn’t here. Wednesday
wasn’t sure whether to be disappointed or relieved. Probably relieved. She bit her lip and stared as the Goddesses
looked them over. Lady Aurelia, in
front, was known for her orderly, motherly ways, and she graciously
smiled. “Well?” she said. “Don’t just stand there, it’s lovely to see
you all.” She swept over to the king,
who stood ramrod straight and looked uncomfortable. “Sir George Concord Oliver! It has been quite a while since I last saw
you. And don’t you call me ‘Lady’
Aurelia, I can’t stand the pressure of being so formal,” she added as Father
opened his mouth.
“Well, Aurelia,” he said
calmly, correcting himself, “I have never seen all of your sisters together in
one place at the same time! Thank you
for coming.”
Aurelia smiled, smoothing
her pure-white skirts, which would have shamed Winter’s dress to tears. “Well, it’s absolutely corking to be here, I
must say. We had to leave on short
notice, though, and I’m sorry that you must have had to hurriedly prepare—I do know it’s a busy night, with the New
Year’s festival and all, but...well…you know.”
Father looked a little
confused. “Know what?” he asked
conversationally.
Aurelia shrugged.
“All right.” The king exhaled. “I suppose I will have to go without
knowing—”
“Oh, but that’s not true!”
Esme piped up from her spot in line. A
young-looking girl from what Wednesday could see, looking not even of age yet,
but looks, especially with magical beings, could be deceiving. “It’s just that—that—well, the Shadow
King…he…” She trailed off, lowering her
eyes to the ground. All the other girls’
smiles dropped, and they looked downwards, too.
“Oh, Esme,” Aurelia
admonished, tapping the girl’s toe with her slipper.
“Sorry,” Esme muttered. She raised her head to look at Father. “We promised to not divulge any information
about the King…”
Aurelia shook her
head. “Esmeralda, please,” she said,
addressing Esme by her full name. “Do
stop making a scene.” This was true. The musicians had ground to a stop, but, now
that they realized they ought to start up again, they hurriedly whipped up a
gorlitza.
There were not nearly
enough gentlemen in the room to escort all the ladies, so, with Chalize’s
pleading, some girls danced with gentlemen that night…and some girls danced
with other girls.
Chalize grabbed Wednesday’s
hand and led her onto the dance floor.
“How have you been?” she
whispered. Or so it seemed. Chalize’s voice was always softer than the
wind, and Wednesday barely caught the words over the sound of shoes tapping on
the floor.
“Oh, well, you know,
sisters.” Wednesday let out a
breath. She didn’t add in the part about
Willow’s unnatural scorn earlier that night.
“How about you?”
Chalize said something, but
her voice was too soft.
“Sorry?” Wednesday asked,
stepping in time to the rhythm.
“King” was all Chalize
repeated. She didn’t say anything else
after that.
Halfway
through the next dance, where Wednesday was dancing with Keilani and they
discussed unique qualities, like Keilani herself, they heard a voice singing
loudly along with the music. Everyone
turned to see Gyelle standing on the stage with the musicians, her glorious
voice filling the room. Wednesday clung
to the ringing, sugar timbre of her voice, though a little unsure of why Gyelle
was suddenly warbling was though her life depended on it. Gyelle motioned for them to keep dancing, not
breaking the tone of her crystalline, wordless song.
Wednesday
turned to Keilani. “Should I ask?”
Keilani shrugged. “Gyelle is notorious for singing. She sings everywhere. In the Shadow Kingdom. In the bathtub. In her sleep.
It’s pretty—I mean, thank goodness she doesn’t sing out of tune—but it
can still jolt you awake on a hazy, hot afternoon.” She sighed.
Wednesday laughed in
surprise at Keilani’s funning. “Do you
have afternoon in the Shadow Kingdom?” she asked curiously. “I thought it would just be all black.”
“Well, we don’t spend all
of our time in the Shadow Kingdom, you know.”
Keilani fingered her streaked hair.
“The Shadow King would never have let me do this willingly. I found myself distinguishable only if I’m
not in the Shadows. Everyone knows who I
am now. They could never get me confused
with Jewel or Haleyana. After all, do
you see Jewel or Haleyana messing with their hair?”
“Well, it seems to me that
Jewel’s been working with hair,” Wednesday commented, remembering the delicate
silky layers of Jewel’s dark locks.
“True enough,” Keilani
agreed, nodding.
After the dance, Wednesday
took a break, trying to memorize everything about the Goddesses, the way she
had years and years ago. So. At least she knew Aurelia as the older-sister
type. Chalize was quiet, as Wednesday
had known for some time now. Esme was
young and childish, and Gyelle was a great but sometimes annoying singer. Of course, there were the twins, Isterielle
and Haleyana, and then there was Jewel the beauty. Keilani—well, no trouble there.
As the hours passed and
Wednesday found herself not dancing, but just conversing with the Goddesses,
she came to realize that they weren’t all high and mighty and prim. A very casual group, minus Mirabel, who was
missing out on all the fun. After all,
Keilani was definitely not very formal. And
Esme, who chattered nonstop with Wednesday, could not seem to fit the picture
of a strictly in-line Goddess.
As for some of the others,
like Bliss or Fylecia, or even the twins, she couldn’t be quite sure. But they were cool and polite, and, well,
Fylecia even referred to someone as a ‘rotten nuffermonk’, something Wednesday
would never do. She supposed Fylecia and
the twins could be classified as casual.
Bliss, on the other hand, was very, very formal. The only real lady in the group. Wednesday sighed softly.
The ballroom suddenly
seemed too stuffy, with all the dancers and gentlemen and the musicians and
even Gyelle singing onstage in her crystalline voice. It was too much. Wednesday stood up and weaved her way around
dancers, heading for the doors. She
pushed them open with difficulty—they were heavy—and ran down the hall, her
bloodstream pounding along with the music still hearable from behind the big
ballroom doors, her slipper-clad feet still stepping in time to the rhythm on
the hallway’s flooring.
She took a right turn,
skipped the next, then took another right, a left, and went straight. At the end of the corridor lined with doors
that led to who-knows-where—and Wednesday didn’t really want to find out—was a
glass door, the panes letting in the moonlight from outside. Gratefully, she pushed it open and ran out
into the gardens, the fresh air filling her lungs, so clean it stung her
throat, much preferable to the suffocating perfumed smell of the indoor
ballroom. Her breath made small white
clouds in the still-hiemal air. She took
a quick turn through the rosebush hedges and past a gurgling fountain,
breathing in and out, inhale…exhale…
The gardens looked so
different at night. The night sky was
brilliant, a night dark blue dotted with trillions of tiny bulbs of light. It must have been a harvest moon, because it
hung a fiery orange bulb in the air, spotted with greyish craters and
mountains…and men…and cheese…and whatever whatnots lived up there. Wednesday laughed to herself under her
breath. Nothing lived on the moon as far
as she knew, but with magic in the air, you could never tell.
She wandered about, staring
skywards for a few minutes, then sometimes stopping to stroke an iris or a lily
on the surface of a pool. Cheerfully
enjoying herself, she plucked a rose from an arbor, pricking herself yet again,
and fixed it next to the other one in her hair.
A bubble of blood squeezed out from the puncture the rose thorn had made
in her finger, and she absently pulled out her handkerchief and pressed it
against the cut. She gazed around.
The gardens were organized
in an orderly way. An ingenious way, but
orderly nonetheless. There was a
circular flower maze in the center, which Wednesday always took great care to
avoid, and the rest of the gardens were split into four quarter sections around
it. Each section had its own special
flowers. A row of fruit trees, which
Wednesday and her sisters picked from every spring, lined each quarter. Each quarter also had a pyramid-like landing
structure at the corner, from which a rope bridge stretched to the center,
meeting in the middle. The bridge had
been Willow’s idea. Wednesday had never
dared to go on that flimsy bridge. It
was up high, taller than the mature fruit trees, and didn’t look like it would
support anyone’s weight. But Willow
tromped around on it all the time, so maybe it was okay. Wednesday wasn’t sure.
The edge of one branch of
the rope bridge stretched like a canopy above her, and the temple-like landing
was only a few twenty yards away.
Rosebushes curved here and there, and, just barely visible on the far
side, were rows of leaf-sprouting trees, the trunks small brown blebs
silhouetted against the midnight sky. A
hedge of lone daffodils ringed her area.
So she must be in the northwest section, near the end of the garden
property. So that meant if she wanted to
get to the exit, she had to travel east, turn north where the northwest and
northeast gardens met, follow the circumference of the hedged circular maze,
and she would exit the gardens and reenter the palace through the southeast
wing.
Wednesday smiled. She might not be physically able, but she
made up for that by being smart. IF
Willow came here at night she would probably get lost. Or, Wednesday realized, her smile fading,
Willow would probably bravely scale the rope bridge and scout her position.
Whatever. As long as she herself could get out.
Past the daffodils, past
the landing, following the course of the rope bridge swooping above her,
Wednesday hurried back. The moon was
creeping towards the horizon. It was
almost dawn, perhaps four in the morning.
She’d spent a good deal of time in the garden, and Wednesday felt a
little guilty about not staying with the special guests. After all, she probably would never be with
them so intimately again. But she pushed
the thought back. She did have
Chalize.
Wednesday had just starting
walking alongside the tall maze hedges when she heard voices.
“…not going to be happy,
sir.” The voice was Aurelia’s. “May I ask why you took it out from her
without her knowing? She will think she
was not asked to come.”
“My point exactly,” said
another voice. It was smooth, soft,
sweet, a gentleman’s tone. Everything
about his voice was slightly mysterious.
Wednesday dared to draw closer, trying to find where the couple was
talking. Was Aurelia secretly being
courted? If that were true…such things
as forbidden love were not to be taken lightly. After all, Wednesday thought to
herself, the Goddesses had to be virgin, right? “I hope that she will just take
her wrath upon the right person, seeing as I will be there. That lady is undoubtedly lovely.”
“You saw her today?”
Aurelia exclaimed, plainly astonished.
“Sir, you know the oath is not something to be taken lightly—”
“Silence, Lady Aurelia, I
won’t have you blathering about this to any of your sisters, you do know that,
correct?”
“Yes, sir,” Aurelia
murmured. Wednesday had pinpointed their
location and was sneaking towards the right or her hands and knees, staying
under the cover of flower arbors and bushes.
She stopped as the voices started up again, bits of color visible
through the tightly woven flower branches, moving slightly. She spotted the gleaming white silk of
Aurelia’s dress, but nothing else. Was
Aurelia conversing with a spirit?
“I do hope Mirabel will not
be too disgruntled when I reveal this to her,” the gentleman said, laughing a
little. Wednesday’s eyes widened. Mirabel?
“She will like the idea of
banishing the lady to the Shadow Kingdom, will she not? It would be most unfortunate if she ended up
somewhere I could not reach her. Like Brazil.”
“I wouldn’t worry,” Aurelia
said dryly. Skirts rustled as she
shifted from foot to foot. “So you
actually want to possibly harm this woman just so she can be with you? That is
not right. If you keep her in the Shadow
Kingdom with you, you might as well imprison her.”
“I believe she will
understand,” the man said solemnly. “She
is known for her bravery, no? If she becomes
too wilted in the Shadow Kingdom, I can release her.”
“You said ‘release’,”
Aurelia noted. “Not ‘return to the human
world.’”
The man laughed. “My, Aurelia, you wouldn’t actually think I
would let her go like that, would you?
She is mortal, and therefore not bound to the oath of secrets.”
“You could make her swear,”
Aurelia protested, sounding agitated.
“You know very well that no
mortal can meet the covenants of the oath of secrets.”
“Very well.” Aurelia sounded weary, like she’d given
up. “Well? If you won’t keep her, and if you won’t take
her back to the human world, how else can you release her?”
“Simple enough of an
answer,” the gentleman said. “There is
only one option left to choose from. Not
very difficult, and she’ll find it painless.”
“And?” Lady Aurelia
pressed.
There was a smile in his
voice as the gentleman replied.
“I’ll kill her.”
