Braided, page 7
I couldn’t imagine her doing any of that. But my mother had always said knowing those things—along with dozens of other subjects, each more boring than the last—was absolutely necessary in order to be a good ruler.
Of course, if we wanted Rapunzel to take lessons or be a good ruler, we would have to keep her here for longer than three days.
I pulled off my kerchief, then reached under the guard’s arm and opened my door.
But Master Belgin, my geography tutor, was not in my room. Instead, Oriana pulled me inside with a squeal. It was immediately obvious why she was so excited. Nanny Cresta sat in her rocking chair, examining a dark pink gown that was draped over her lap.
Apparently getting ready for the procession was going to be a full-day job for me, too. Which was astounding; my mother never canceled my lessons. I’d once had to review the succession rules of Odensia (which involved hiding peas under mattresses) while getting an infected toenail treated.
I turned to bid farewell to Kai’s cousin, and to say I was sorry about what had happened to Kai—I had forgotten to say it earlier, and I should have—but he had already disappeared down the hall.
I stepped into my room and closed the door behind me. A pixie darted from my dresser to buzz around my head, and I swatted her away harder than was necessary. She dodged easily and hovered near the ceiling, buzzing angrily.
“Honestly, Cinna, where have you been?” Without waiting for my answer, Nanny Cresta got to her feet. “They made pancakes in the kitchen this morning. I got you some.”
I reached up to coil my hair in my fingers, then let my hand drop. Nanny Cresta pulled off the domed cover of a breakfast tray to reveal a plate piled with pancakes, along with a tub of maple syrup, a slab of butter, and a mug of tea.
Sometimes it’s nice being a princess.
I sat at my mirrored desk and attacked the pancakes. After the first few mouthfuls, my irritation with Kai’s cousin faded away. He wasn’t the right person to ask, anyhow. I needed to talk to someone who had been an adult when Rapunzel was taken.
The pixie descended to hover above my shoulder, and I let her. She could have the leftover syrup. That would make up for my bad temper.
I wondered if anyone had brought Rapunzel pancakes. I wondered if she liked pancakes.
I wondered how awful it would be to ask Nanny Cresta about Rapunzel’s kidnapping.
For as long as I could remember, Nanny Cresta had carried a sadness in her, one she never spoke about. I had learned not to mention Rapunzel to her, not to talk about my fear of being kidnapped like my sister, not to say anything that might bring that stricken look to her face.
But it was different now, wasn’t it? Rapunzel was back. There was no reason for any of us to be sad anymore.
Unless Rapunzel got taken away again.
The tea, unfortunately, was nutmeg tea. One of these days, I was going to have to just tell Nanny Cresta that I didn’t like nutmeg anymore. I took a few sips to wash down my food, then said, “I was with Rapunzel this morning.”
Oriana pressed her hand to her mouth in delight. Nanny Cresta looked at me, and in that one glance, I knew that I had been wrong. I didn’t know why, but I should have kept silent.
Well, it was too late for that. Anyhow, if Rapunzel disappeared again, wouldn’t that make Nanny Cresta even sadder? I had to find out who had taken her the first time, and I couldn’t do that without asking questions.
“What were you doing with her?” Oriana squealed. “Is it actually true what they’re saying?”
I was glad of an excuse to look away from Nanny Cresta. “What are they saying?”
“That you and Rapunzel snuck off together to the dragon roost and flew a dragon to the Realms!”
“No,” I said. “That’s not true.”
“Arina told Galisin that she saw you coming down the stairs from the dragon roost!”
“Okay, that part is true…”
“And the stable boys saw a rider flying a dragon from the roost!”
“That part is not true. Well, not entirely true.” I used my fork to trace patterns in the syrup. “I mean, the part about a dragon flying away is true. But no one was on its back. Me and Rapunzel”—saying me and Rapunzel sent a thrill through me—“were still on the roost.”
“So you did sneak up there together!”
“No,” I admitted. “We snuck up there…separately. Well, I did. Snuck, I mean. I’m not sure she snuck. She doesn’t really—”
Nanny Cresta cut me off. Her voice trembled. “Why did Fireball fly away, Cinna? What happened?”
A sick, guilty swirl spread outward from my gut. I put my fork down and pushed my plate to the side. The pixie immediately landed on it and began guzzling syrup.
Rapunzel’s cool, taut voice was clear in my mind: Don’t tell her. Please, Cinna.
I had always told Nanny Cresta everything. She was—had been—the only person in this castle who cared about me more than she cared about my role in protecting the kingdom.
Until now. Rapunzel didn’t care about protecting the kingdom at all. She had come here solely for me.
Nanny Cresta looked at me from her chair, waiting patiently. She looked…frail. Her eyes were tired, and her hands shook faintly as they gripped the armrests of the chair. It was as if she had aged drastically while I wasn’t looking.
I remembered the frantic, pleading look in Rapunzel’s eyes, the simmering restlessness in her stance. I knew that if my mother tried to restrict her, to keep her safe, she would be gone. She didn’t care about this castle, about us—about me—enough to endure it and stay anyhow.
Not yet.
If I told anyone about the dragon attack, Rapunzel would leave, and Nanny Cresta would be devastated. And I would be alone again, writing letters that no one would ever read, wishing for the sister I’d barely gotten to know.
“Nothing happened,” I said. “We just talked.”
“Well,” Nanny Cresta said, “I’m glad she’s talking to someone.”
Her voice caught. I got up, crossed the room, and sank onto the footstool next to her. (She never used the footstool; it was basically my bench.)
“She hasn’t said a single word to me,” Nanny Cresta said. “She blames me for what happened to her. As she should. If I had been more careful back when she was a child—”
“No,” I said. “It wasn’t your fault. She doesn’t blame you. Nobody does.”
Nanny Cresta looked at me as if she wasn’t really seeing me.
“I’ll explain it to her,” I said. “I’ll make her understand.” I threw my arms around Nanny Cresta, fiercely but carefully—my new understanding of her frailty was an uncomfortable weight in my chest. “It’s just that she was so small that she doesn’t remember you. In time, she’ll love you just as much as I do. I promise.”
Nanny Cresta made a sound that was sort of like a laugh. “You can’t promise something like that, Cinna.”
“I can.”
“Well, I suppose you can promise whatever you want, if you don’t care about keeping the promise.” She pushed me gently away. Her eyes glinted, but she was smiling. “Let’s get started. I want to see how that gown fits, and I have a new idea for what to do with your hair.”
* * *
In the end, it was a good thing we had so much time. The dress was too short, and we had to call in the seamstress to lengthen it by adding lace to the hem. (Though there was a bright side to that; while Nanny Cresta was distracted by the seamstress, I poured the rest of my nutmeg tea out the window.) Then Oriana declared that the style looked uneven, so the seamstress added lace to the sleeves and neckline as well. Then the neckline’s lace caught in one of the pins Nanny Cresta had used in my hair, and we had to redo my entire hairstyle.
I didn’t mind. Much. Nanny Cresta was always happy when she was fussing over me, and her hands were steady on my hair, with no sign of those earlier tremors.
When we were done, I stood in front of my mirror and wondered what Rapunzel would think of my dress. I couldn’t imagine her liking pink and lace.
What would she be wearing? She would have to borrow someone else’s dress, obviously, and she probably wouldn’t have many choices. I wondered if she would hate that, or if she wouldn’t care.
Of course she wouldn’t care! She had just been released from captivity. She wasn’t going to make a fuss over a dress. Not hers and not mine.
Still, I accidentally-on-purpose ripped one of the lacy sleeve-hangings, so Nanny Cresta had to trim them down. The dress still looked frothy, but not quite as overdone.
“Don’t worry,” Oriana said. “Your hair will grow back. Before you know it, it will look almost presentable.”
“Thank you,” I said dryly.
“Besides, no one will be looking at you.”
“There’s some truth to that,” Nanny Cresta agreed. She made some final adjustments to my hair. In the mirror, her eyes were bright blue. “Everyone is waiting to see your sister. I’m going to go down to the city and watch the procession with my niece and her family. They’re so excited. I can’t wait to see how they react when Rapunzel rides into the crowd.”
My hair turned faintly green. It was one thing for everyone else to be obsessed with my sister. But Nanny Cresta was the only person in the castle who had ever cared mostly about me.
Which was super childish, and I knew it. I forced my hair back to gold. Then, as I stepped away from the mirror, a thought occurred to me. “Hold on. Rapunzel’s been trapped in a tower her whole life. She doesn’t know how to ride a horse.”
Nanny Cresta cleared her throat, and I thought she was going to point out that I wasn’t exactly an expert at riding horses, either. (Mostly because I didn’t want to learn. Horses are really big, and they have minds of their own. Plus, I usually have to ride in a gown, which means riding sidesaddle, which definitely does not help with the whole being-high-off-the-ground-on-an-animal-that-could-do-anything situation.)
But all Nanny Cresta said was “I’m sure your mother has thought of that.”
“So maybe we’ll ride in a carriage?” That would be so much better. Someone else would have to control the horse, and I would get to sit next to Rapunzel.
“Maybe,” Nanny Cresta said, in the voice she used to humor me.
I gave the mirror one last look. Then I turned and headed off to meet the rest of my family in the courtyard.
9
DEAR RAPUNZEL,
THEY’VE ALL GIVEN UP ON YOU. THEY WON’T COME OUT AND SAY IT, BECAUSE THIS WHOLE CASTLE IS FULL OF COWARDS. COWARDS, COWARDS!
I HATE THEM. I HATE ALL OF THEM. I HATE EVERYONE IN THE WHOLE WORLD EXCEPT YOU.
LOVE,
YOUR SISTER
CINNA
WHO WILL NEVER EVER EVER GIVE UP ON YOU NO MATTER WHAT
When I got to the castle courtyard, my enthusiasm immediately dimmed. My mother, Mage Talyani, and Sir Joshan were already there, and they were all riding horses. More ominously, there was a very large white mare standing next to the mounting block with an empty sidesaddle on her back. She had a look about her like she was just biding her time before she got rid of her next rider.
(To be fair, I get that sense from all horses.)
I looked around for the cozy, cushion-filled carriage I had constructed in my imagination. There was no sign of it. There was also no sign of my sister.
Maybe she was coming in the carriage.
“Mount up,” my mother said, dispelling my last hope. She had changed her hairstyle slightly, looping her four-strand braid under so that it came only to her waist. Folded-over braids were a component of most fighting spells; I wondered who she thought she was going to have to fight during a simple procession. “We don’t want to be late.”
“Won’t we have to wait for Rapunzel anyhow?” I stalled.
She glanced toward the castle entrance, and I saw a stable boy holding the reins of another horse. My sister’s mount was black instead of white, and, if I wasn’t wrong, a little smaller than mine.
“Just get on your horse, Cinna,” my mother said.
She used her Commandingly Regal voice, so my body obeyed even before my mind had accepted the inevitable. I lifted the front of my skirt and stepped onto the mounting block. The horse swung her head around and looked at me with mild disdain.
My stirrup was already attached to the saddle, but it looked a bit too short—it had been a really long time since I’d ridden sidesaddle. I put one hand on the saddle’s top pommel.
“Can I help you, Your Highness?” Sir Joshan swung off his horse as easily as if he was getting up from a couch. He started across the courtyard toward me.
If I’d thought he could help me, I would have swallowed my pride and accepted. But I knew from experience that help only made things worse. Especially if it came from Sir Joshan, who would show off his strength by throwing me too high—which, if I wasn’t graceful enough, would end with me sprawled on the ground on the other side of the horse.
And I definitely wasn’t graceful enough.
I put one foot in the stirrup and pushed myself up, swinging my other leg all the way around the pommel, so that I would end up with both feet on the same side of the horse. I managed it in one move, but leaned over too far backward and was forced to grab frantically at the pommel with my other hand. It was too late; I could feel myself sliding over the horse’s hindquarters. I yelped.
A firm hand pushed me back up into the correct position. Sir Joshan. I righted myself, face hot, staring straight ahead.
The horse snorted and shook her mane, as if to say, Don’t get too comfortable.
“I’m glad I could help,” Sir Joshan said, a bit smugly.
I gritted my teeth. “Thank you.”
He stepped closer and handed me my riding rod. (I needed a rod to use on the other side of the horse, since I couldn’t use my foot.) When I reached for it, he held on to it and smiled up at me. In a voice so low that only I could hear it, he said, “I don’t need anything in return. This time.”
I did my best to glare at him.
“Don’t worry.” He let go of the riding rod so abruptly that I almost lost my balance again. Which had probably been his intention. “It’s still our secret. For now.”
I looked over his head. My mother was watching us disapprovingly, and in her tight frown, I could see hours of riding lessons in my future. The mage was trying not to laugh. Neither of them seemed to have noticed our quick, whispered conversation.
Rapunzel had still not arrived. I was glad she hadn’t seen that particular display of incompetence.
Not that she knew how to ride, either…but really, who was I kidding? A girl who could fly dragons could probably manage to mount a horse, even on her first try. And I somehow doubted her horse would get insolent with her.
The door to the castle opened. I turned to look, but I did it more slowly and carefully than everyone else, so I saw my mother’s hair turn briefly white a few seconds before I saw the reason for it: The person entering the courtyard was not Rapunzel. A maid hurried across the cobblestones toward us.
My mother’s hair went instantly back to gold, but I knew I hadn’t imagined that flash of fear. All at once I felt like a fool. Of course my mother was wearing a fighting spell. The fae had promised to come for Rapunzel, and my mother was prepared to fight for her daughter.
“Your Majesty,” the maid said, with a hasty curtsy. “I went to see if her Highness needed any more assistance, and I found…I found this.”
She held out a note.
My mother looked down at the maid. There was no way she could lean over and take the note without looking as ridiculous as I just had.
Well, maybe not as ridiculous. But she would definitely look more off-balance than she ever allowed herself to look.
I nudged my horse forward—somewhat to my astonishment, the mare actually obeyed—and reached for the note. But Sir Joshan dismounted, brushed past my horse, and got there first.
“Allow me,” he said, and smiled at the maid so broadly that sunlight glinted off his teeth.
“Of course, my lord!”
He bowed over her hand and kissed it. She turned bright red.
“Joshan,” my mother said impatiently.
The girl retreated, looking over her shoulder before reentering the castle. By then Sir Joshan had forgotten about her. He unfolded the note. A moment later, he drew in a sharp breath.
“What does it say?” my mother demanded.
Sir Joshan—who had fought dragons, killed centaurs, and rescued a princess from the Faerie Realms—flinched.
“It says…” He cleared his throat. “Start without me. I’ll meet you on the way.”
The pause that followed felt very much like the thick, heavy silence that precedes a thunderstorm.
Sir Joshan folded the note back up. “Perhaps we should postpone the procession.”
“No!” I said, so loudly that I startled both myself and my horse. She skittered sideways, and I clung for dear life while trying to talk at the same time. “We should trust Rapunzel. If she said she’s coming, I’m sure she’s coming.”
“Of course we trust her,” Sir Joshan assured me. Even through my distraction, I could hear how unconvincing he sounded. “But she’s been through a difficult ordeal. Perhaps we should have given her more time to recover before putting her on display.”
“She’s fine,” I said. “She doesn’t need more time. And people are really excited about this procession. If we cancel it, the whole kingdom will lose faith in her.”
The mage cleared her throat. But before she could speak, my mother said, “Cinna’s right.”
