Chapter 4: Contrasts
Chapter 4: Contrasts
That night when he followed the princesses into their magical land, he stayed to watch the party. The building he’d seen before was like an open-air temple; the roof was supported along each side by large columns, but there were no walls. It was accessed via boat, as it perched on an island in the center of a vast, inky lake. The water lapped the shore gently, serenely, but as Aaron hopped into the last boat, it lurched and bobbed. The youngest and her oarsman gasped, clinging to the vessel’s sides, and Aaron held his breath in momentary fear.
Once they reached the temple, the sisters scattered. Each woman had a gentleman she danced with; the princesses’ faces were glowing, transformed by happiness. He’d never seen Emily look so…free.
He nearly snorted aloud at the absurdity of that thought; he’d known her for one day. He had no idea what she truly looked like.
But something about the expression on her face as she danced with the stranger made his hardened, cynical soldier’s heart twist.
On the way back to the princesses’ bedroom near dawn, he plucked a golden apple from one of the trees. The youngest glanced back over her shoulder at the noise, but this time she didn’t call out to her sisters.
He wondered at the knowing look in her dark blue eyes.
Back in his own room he gave the bed a long, wary glare. He knew he should take advantage of its comfort while he could; he only had one more night here. But sleep…sleep was not his friend, hadn’t been in nearly a decade. He’d told the princesses that, on a battlefield, one’s dreams echo with fear.
He’d not exaggerated. On the contrary, he’d only told them half the story. The memories daylight could often obscure came rushing back in stark, bold relief once night fell. Time slowed; stopped. It seemed to him, sometimes, that the only thing left was darkness.
The next day, after a restless, interminable night, Jennifer invited him for a stroll in the palace’s butterfly garden. It was tucked into a quiet corner of the palace’s main grounds, nestled against the palace walls and far from prying outside eyes. “This is my personal project,” she explained as they stepped beneath an arbor and into a wonderland of flowers and fluttering wings. “I love butterflies.”
He studied one with brilliant blue markings as it perched on a rose. “They’re carrion eaters, you know.”
She shrugged, her face not losing the angelic glow that graced it. “Someone has to clean up the world’s messes. It might as well be wrapped in a pretty package.”
His face creased in a smile. “Excellent point, your grace. I suppose that’s what you would do if you were queen, hm? Clean up the messes and look beautiful doing it?”
She gave him a shrewd look. Flattery was not his usual currency. “Am I who would you choose? If you solve the mystery, I mean.”
“Ah, Princess Jennifer…” He felt…dumbfounded. How to respond to her seemingly innocuous question? And why would someone so young and innocent want to be saddled with someone as scarred and damaged as he?
“Never mind,” she said, waving a small hand to brush it aside. “You should know that Emily isn’t as hard as she pretends to be.”
He blinked at her in silent astonishment. This woman was full of surprises, and he realized he had probably misjudged her. “Emily?” he echoed blankly.
“She finds you…intriguing. Do you know, of all the men who’ve come here to figure out where we dance, you’re the first one to ever beat her at chess?”
“Hhmm,” he replied mildly. He watched her as she reached out to stroke a flower’s vivid, velvety petals. Her face was soft, warm, but as lovely as she was, he knew she wouldn’t be his choice. “What is it your sister fears so much?” he asked at last.
“Interesting question,” she replied quietly. “I think that’s something you’ll have to figure out for yourself.” She hesitated, wondering how much more she should say. Finally, “I can tell you what she wants, though.”
“Oh? And what’s that?”
“Freedom,” she answered instantly, an undercurrent of steel running through her gentle voice. “We’re prisoners here. Mother locks us into our room at night. We’re shut off from the outside world. We haven’t been out of this palace since Father died.”
“Is that why you dance?” he asked quietly, his dark eyes intense, penetrating.
Her lips curved. “When we dance, we’re free. But you know that already.” She met his gaze squarely, an amused glint lighting her blue eyes. “I know it was you I heard last night. You took something.”
His face creased. He made an intense study of a nearby butterfly house. “An apple,” he admitted. “How did you know? You couldn’t see me, could you?”
“No,” she said, shaking her golden head, “you must have powerful friends to create such an enchantment. I couldn’t see you, but I could smell you.”
“Smell me? Do I stink?” That would be unfortunate.
She laughed like a tinkling of bells. “Not at all. But you definitely smell different than my sisters.”
“Ah, well.” He cleared his throat, looking awkward for the first time since she’d met him. “Do the others know?”
“No; I haven’t told them. I want you to win, Aaron. I want you to change this place, make it better.”
He studied her carefully; he felt slightly overwhelmed by the faith she seemed to have in him after so short an acquaintance. “I’ll do what I can, lady.”
“Do,” she urged him. “Please do.”
“Pssst!”
Aaron paused, wondering if he’d heard correctly. He was on his way from Jennifer’s butterfly garden to his own chamber to take some rest - chasing after four wayward princesses was extremely tiring work - when the whisper came from…well, it seemed as though the sound emanated from a nearby tapestry. Considering all that he’d seen since arriving at the palace, he supposed he shouldn’t be terribly surprised that the tapestries could talk. He checked the length of the corridor to make sure it was empty before stepping closer to the woven panel. “Did you just ‘pssst’ me?” he whispered.
The tapestry giggled. “No, silly, I did!” The pastoral scene was pushed aside to reveal Penelope, blindingly attired as usual, with an impish grin on her face. She was standing in some sort of hidden doorway; this palace seemed to be chock full of them.
“What are you doing behind the tapestry?” he asked her, frowning in consternation.
“Come on,” she invited, “I’ll show you.” She beckoned, and after another moment’s hesitation, he followed her.
The doorway opened into an untidy sort of study. There were books, papers, maps, and scrolls littered everywhere. On one wall she’d tacked a huge map of the world with tick marks indicating…he stepped closer, squinted. It seemed as though each tick corresponded to a major battle of the war. “What is this place?” he asked at last, turning to take in the princess surrounded by her overload of information.
“It’s my cubby,” she told him. “All of this stuff used to be in Father’s office; I smuggled it out before Mother could have it destroyed.”
His face creased in a deep frown. “Why would your mother destroy your father’s papers? How could she rule without knowing what he knew?”
A pale brow rose. “There’s the rub, aye?”
He selected a page at random and skimmed it, his eyes growing wider as he read. “Annual rainfall reports. One can see the approaching drought in this.” He chose another; scowled. “From one of our spies posted abroad…I don’t understand.”
Penelope gently took the papers from him, her face reflecting his distress in furrowed lines. “Father was sending a peace delegation, did you know? He saw the trouble brewing…he was going to offer one of us to their prince in hopes it would smooth things over. He died two months before they were to leave.”
“Did your mother know of his plans?”
She looked away; made a show of tidying a stack of letters. “Perhaps. I don’t know for certain either way. Surely he would have discussed with her the impending marriage of one of their daughters.”
“Surely,” he agreed grimly. “What would your mother have stood to gain by starting a war?”
She shrugged. “Nothing. I don’t know. I don’t pretend to understand our mother.”
“Why have you collected all of this?” he wanted to know.
“It’s important. If you’re to be king you need to know it. We have peace now, so they say, but it’s fragile. We need someone who can make it strong, lasting. You’re a soldier; you told us the truth about the war; now I’m telling you what truths I know.”
“I told you yesterday, Penelope; I don’t have much interest in being king.”
“This isn’t about what interests you!” she cried. She paused; took a deep breath to gather herself. “You can’t come here and give us hope only to desert us when it matters most. That isn’t fair. If you’ve no intention of claiming your prize, you should leave now.”
He frowned; turned again to study the large world map marking moments in history that echoed so darkly in his own memories. “Tell me, lady: why did your mother conceive of this strange little contest?”
“Too many daughters and too little dowry, perhaps?”
“It was a serious question.”
He heard her pull another long breath; let it out slowly. “Our mother likes to be in control. She hates not knowing. At the same time, she’s…afraid. Since father’s death, she’s let her fear rule her. I think that’s why she’s turned her back on the outside world, and why she keeps us as virtual prisoners here. This contest is her way of seeking the truth without really seeking it at all.”
“She thinks we’re doomed to fail.”
“Precisely. And so far, she’s been right.”
“Hhmm,” he commented mildly. He turned to her, his head cocked thoughtfully. “I’ve a question for you, princess.” He pointed to a spot on the map. “Why is this country outlined in red? I’ve never even heard of it.”
Her cheeks flamed, and she looked away, fidgeting nervously. “I, um. It has a nice name. And they’re the world’s largest producer of dye.”
“Dye?” he questioned, brows drawing together.
“I like colorful things. They cheer me up. I know that sounds childish and ridiculous-”
“No,” he interrupted gently, “not at all. Your outsides reflect your insides; it’s rare to meet a person one can trust on sight.”
A smile dawned on her face. “Jennifer and I trusted you on sight,” she admitted.
“And your other sisters?”
“They don’t trust anyone, ever. It’s just policy.”
“A shame,” mused the man who saw so much. “You know, your grace, you’ve got it wrong.”
“Have I?” she asked, befuddlement darkening her eyes. “How so?”
“Our enemy is the largest producer of dyes. This country,” he pointed to the one outlined in red, “has little more to its name than…well, its name.” Her cheeks reddened again, and he wondered what in this far away little land held her so enthralled.