Braided, page 1
Also in the Sisters Ever After series
Thornwood
Glass Slippers
The Piper’s Promise
The Last Rose
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2024 by Leah Cypess
Cover art copyright © 2024 by Kelsey Eng
The Last Rose excerpt text copyright © 2023 by Leah Cypess. Cover copyright © 2023 by Maxine Vee.
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Delacorte Press, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.
Delacorte Press is a registered trademark and the colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
Hardcover ISBN 9780593481370
Hardcover Library Binding ISBN 9780593481387
Ebook ISBN 9780593481394
Interior design by Megan Shortt, adapted for ebook
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Contents
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Excerpt from The Last Rose
About the Author
_147032511_
To Hadassah, who said, “Please write one about Rapunzel.”
PROLOGUE
On the day my long-lost sister came home, I cut off my hair.
I had always wanted to cut my hair. Strands of it were constantly tickling my face, blocking my view, and getting into my soup. It was so silky that it wouldn’t stay securely in any hairstyle. It was so long that it took two maids at least an hour to braid it, and sometimes much longer, depending on how elaborate and powerful a hairstyle they were working on. The magic in it could be uncomfortable at times, especially when the mage insisted that we try one of her new spell combinations. And it was a constant reminder of my grand and noble destiny as the future queen of the Borderland.
A destiny that should have belonged to my sister.
I had suggested cutting it only once before, when I was too young to really understand why my hair was so important. I had never before seen my mother that angry.
“You have a destiny and a responsibility,” she had told me, watching with her arms folded while maids washed caramel out of my hair. One minute with a pair of scissors would have solved that problem, so I wasn’t happy about the two-hour-long washing and detangling ordeal I was being subjected to instead. “Your hair does not belong just to you. It is the source of the magic that keeps our country safe. It is important to our people.”
Her own hair flamed red as she spoke, just in case I’d had any doubt about how furious she was. (Both embarrassment and anger could turn our hair red, but my mother was never embarrassed.) She had been interrupted while getting ready for bed, so her hair hung in loose, thick waves to the floor, instead of being coiled in the tight, intricate braid-spells she normally wore.
“Why can’t it be important to our people while also being short?” I asked.
Just then, one of the maids working on the caramel hit a particularly tough tangle, and I yelped in pain. My mother’s face softened, and so did her hair, fading to pale pink.
“I’m sorry, Cinna,” she said. “I remember when I was about your age, my maid arranged my braids into a spell to make me a graceful dancer. It was so elaborate that by the end of the night’s dance, my hair was in thousands of knots. We had to soak it in oil for an hour before we could untangle it.”
Which didn’t seem to me like the same thing at all. My mother could have said no to the hairstyle—or so I assumed. It was hard to imagine anyone making my mother do anything she didn’t want to do.
But my mother’s hair had gone almost back to blond, so I said, “If you could do it, so can I.”
Her hair turned violet with pride. She beamed at me, and I looked away, barely able to breathe under the weight of her expectations. A very familiar feeling.
But no longer. Now my older sister, Rapunzel, was back: The firstborn daughter, the true princess, the kidnapped heir. She would take the throne, control the dragons, and keep the kingdom safe from the fae. All the power and all the responsibility would be hers, just like they always should have been.
I couldn’t wait.
I’d had only one glimpse of Rapunzel from my window that morning, as Sir Joshan helped her out of the coach in the courtyard. I’d focused on the fact that her long, silky hair, unbraided and loose, looked so similar to mine. Her hair had been the golden yellow of happiness, so at that moment it had matched mine in color, too.
But now, as I examined myself in the mirror, I realized that it wasn’t just our hair. Our faces were also similar. I didn’t resemble my mother—except for my hair, of course—and though people said I looked like my father, I had never been able to see that resemblance in any of the portraits we had of him.
But I did look like my sister.
That morning, Rapunzel had glanced up at the window as if sensing my gaze, and I’d drawn back.
Only later had I figured out why I was afraid to meet her eyes. After all, I had spent my whole life wishing for my sister. But Rapunzel had never known she had a sister. And now, after all those years cut off from her family, she’d come back to discover that she was no longer the sole princess of the Borderland, that she had an eleven-year-old sister who had been raised to be queen.
What if she felt like she had been replaced? What if she hated me? What if, after all I’d done to get my sister back, she saw me as nothing but a rival?
I smiled at my image in the mirror, imagining that I was smiling at her, that she was smiling back. I kept smiling until my hair turned from anxious orange-brown to hopeful blue.
I couldn’t wait to meet her. And I knew how to show her, without any room for doubt, that I didn’t want anything that was rightfully hers.
I lifted the scissors and began to cut.
1
DEAR RAPUNSEL
MY NANNY TAUT ME TO SPELL YOUR NAME.
I AM YOUR SISTER. YOU DU NOT NO ME BECUZ YOU WERE KIDNAPED BEFOUR I WAS BORN.
I HOPE THAY FIND YOU SUNE
LUVV,
YUR SIZTER
CINNA
“I give up,” Nanny Cresta said. “There is absolutely nothing I can do with this disaster. Honestly, Cinna. If you were going to do something as foolish as chop off your hair, couldn’t you at least have chopped it off evenly?”
I pulled at the too-tight collar of my gown. The edges of my short, uneven hair tickled the back of my neck. My hair had turned pink with irritation, so it matched my face. “I’m sure it will be fine. Nobody will care what I look like, not with Rapunzel in the room.”
I could feel Nanny Cresta’s gaze on the back of my head. That’s how intense it was.
I kept my eyes on the mirror instead of turning around to see her expression. I knew perfectly well that I sounded like a sulky child. In my defense, I was both sulking and a child.
“Cinnariosia.” Nanny Cresta had been my nursemaid since I was born, so she could get away with speaking plainly to me. The fact that she was using my full name meant she was about to do exactly that. “Everyone’s had eleven years to look at you. Your sister has been back for only one day. The last thing we want to do is draw attention away from her.” She straightened, putting one hand on the small of her back. “Not that we could, even if we wanted to.”
“Her return is so miraculous!” Oriana added. “Of course everyone wants to see her. Her rescue was thrilling! I can’t believe Sir Joshan actually
I gave Nanny Cresta a pleading look. Oriana was technically my maid, but her only real task was helping with my hair, which had—until this afternoon—been too heavy for Nanny Cresta’s arthritic hands to manage alone. Oriana, who was sixteen, was great at braids. Nevertheless, it seemed to me that we could do without her help today.
But one look at Nanny Cresta’s face told me there was no point in my asking. Not for that, or for anything else.
“Of course everyone wants to see Rapunzel,” Nanny Cresta said. “But it seems Cinnariosia has arranged things so that everyone will look at her instead.”
I winced and ran my fingers through my hair. It spread out around my face in frizzy waves. When it was long, it had been straight as silk. My face looked so different.
“I didn’t think this through,” I admitted.
Nanny Cresta sniffed. “That’s an understatement.”
“But maybe we still have time to fix it before the banquet?” I said hopefully. The banquet to welcome my sister was going to begin in about two hours, and I couldn’t wait. Mage Talyani had already prepared a ballad to relate “the truth about her rescue.” Rumors were flying around the castle: She had been locked in a tower deep in the Faerie Realms, she had been tied up with her own hair, she had wept magical tears. I was as curious as everyone else about what the real story was. “Do you think if we trim it to be more even, and get a headdress…?”
Oriana clapped her hands together. She glanced at Nanny Cresta for approval, then dashed to one of the chests under the window with such speed that her own hairstyle—black braids piled in an elaborate tower atop her head—tilted precariously. She began riffling through the chest, swatting a hovering pixie out of the way, and pulled out a headdress that gleamed with gold thread.
Nanny Cresta had already picked up a pair of scissors. I could see by her faint smile that she had just been waiting for me to get over myself and do what had to be done.
(Which, I have to admit, is a large part of her job.)
By the time Nanny Cresta was done evening it out, my hair had turned a deep, joyous gold, with blue highlights that revealed my excitement. I took regular, even breaths, aiming for the blue to spread. Which would not only show how hopeful and eager I was to see my sister, but would bring out the color of my eyes.
By the time Nanny Cresta had finished combing, though, my hair was still mostly yellow. It would have to do. I got to my feet and headed to the door.
“Where are you going?” Nanny Cresta asked. “There’s still nearly an hour before the banquet.”
“I know,” I said. “I thought Rapunzel might want some help.”
Oriana made a little squealing sound.
Nanny Cresta cleared her throat. “Are you sure you’re ready to see her?”
Her voice caught on the question, and I hesitated. Nanny Cresta had been Rapunzel’s nursemaid back when Rapunzel had been stolen. Nanny Cresta had never talked about it, but from what I’d heard, she had been every bit as distraught as my parents. Now her face was carefully blank, but she was wringing her hands.
“Well,” I said, “I can either meet her now, or we can meet at a formal banquet with Mother and all the court watching. Which do you think would be better?”
“I think”—Nanny Cresta bit her lip—“you might be rushing things, Cinna. Rapunzel had been a prisoner for years. She’s probably feeling overwhelmed, and she might not want to meet you as much as you want to see her.”
My breath fluttered in my chest. That was exactly what I was afraid of.
“Well,” I said, “there’s only one way to find out.”
“Just…be careful, Cinna.”
Of what? I almost said. Instead, I turned, opened the door, and let myself out into the hall.
I knew exactly which room my sister was in. It was one of our biggest suites, and had been prepared in a flurry of excitement as soon as we received Sir Joshan’s message. It was a little farther from my own room than I would have preferred, but I took a shortcut through the servants’ stairway and got there in less than five minutes.
A knot of pixies was buzzing outside Rapunzel’s door—which told me it was her room, even if I hadn’t already known. I brushed the pixies out of the way and took a deep breath before knocking. With my hair so short, I couldn’t see any of it, so I couldn’t tell what I was feeling.
Something tickled the side of my neck. A frizzy strand had escaped from the braid wrapped around the edges of my hair. It was a fishtail braid, which was the basic spell for grace, diplomacy, and patience. Nanny Cresta had tried to adjust it for short hair by weaving it thin and tiny, but clearly that hadn’t worked. I tried to tuck the stray strand back in, and was still trying when the door opened.
I jumped and dropped my hand.
Rapunzel stood in the doorway. She was tall and beautiful, her eyes dark and direct. Her hair fell over her shoulder in a golden wave, rippling along one side of her body, as if it was part of the design of her pale blue gown.
I opened my mouth, then closed it. I knew I looked ridiculous, but even if the fishtail braid had been intact, it probably wouldn’t have been powerful enough to help me form an appropriate sentence.
My sister blinked down at me, her hair brightening.
“Cinna?” she said. “Is it you?”
There was nothing in her voice but delight, and all at once I could breathe again. I nodded.
“I was hoping I would get to see you before the banquet!” She smiled widely. Her teeth were a tiny bit crooked. “I’m so happy to finally meet you.”
Up close, my sister didn’t look quite as much like me as I’d thought. I had my father’s pale blue eyes—the only feature I had gotten from him—and I was short and solidly built. Rapunzel was tall and slim like our mother, with dark brown eyes.
But the shapes of our faces were remarkably similar. We had the same wide noses, the same pointed chins, the same broad foreheads. And we’d had, until about an hour ago, the same hair. Rapunzel’s hair was golden through and through, which made sense—she must be overjoyed to be home at last.
“Me too,” I said. “I can’t believe you’re really here. Until today, we all thought you were dead.”
She blinked. “You did? But Mother said she never gave up hope.”
“She didn’t.” Not officially. “But almost everyone else did.”
Rapunzel nodded as if I had given her very significant information. “I know you never gave up on me. But are you”—her voice caught—“are you happy I’ve come back?”
All right, then. Straight to the point.
To be fair, she had been alone in a tower for over a decade. No surprise that she hadn’t developed the most subtle social skills.
“I’m incredibly happy you’re back,” I said. “We all are.”
“All?” Rapunzel raised an eyebrow. “The court magician didn’t seem particularly pleased.”
“Mage Talyani is just jealous of Sir Joshan,” I said. “The two of them are always competing to be the foremost defender of the realm. Now that Sir Joshan rescued you, he’s in first place.” Rapunzel frowned, and I added hastily, “Not that he cares about that.”
(He definitely cared about that.)
But according to Oriana, Sir Joshan’s coachman had told a kitchen maid that Sir Joshan and my sister had fallen in love during the rescue. Now the whole castle was buzzing about having a wedding to look forward to. Which I hoped wasn’t true. But if it was, I would hardly get off on the right foot with Rapunzel by saying anything negative about her heroic rescuer.
Rapunzel nodded gravely. She looked me over, from head to toe, without the slightest attempt at subtlety. “I like your hair. Am I supposed to cut mine, too?”
