Amaranth Enchantment Read online

  "Fiddle-faddle," the queen interrupted.

  "Dear," King Hubert said severely, putting an end to the discussion. Bless his bald head. I could almost forgive him for sending me to the gallows only the day before.

  "Tell me, young man," the king said, addressing Peter, "who are your people?" "Merchants," Peter said quickly, "from northern Italy. Trading in diamonds and exotic gems from Africa and the Orient."

  Peter could lie more naturally than most people spoke truth. More power to him, so long as he kept the others' attention off me.

  "How fascinating!" Queen Rosamond sat up straighter in her chair. "You don't look Italian," King Hubert said, frowning.

  Queen Rosamond swatted at him. "'Course he does. He said Northern Italy! Now tell me, young man," she said, gesturing him nearer, "since you're an expert, what do you

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  think of our delightful Beatrix's pearls there? Have you ever in your life seen such a set?"

  Peter turned and studied her. She blushed obligingly.

  "May I?" Peter said, reaching out a hand. Beatrix leaned over to give Peter the best view of her pearls. Among other things.

  Queen Rosamond's eyes were riveted upon Peter.

  He rolled a pearl between his thumb and forefinger, then turned back to the queen. "She wears them well, Your Highness," Peter said, "but they're fake." Princess Beatrix stood straight and squealed. "Never!"

  "I say!" King Hubert cried.

  Queen Rosamond, her mouth agape, rose trembling from her throne. Apparently fake pearls were something she took deeply to heart. Had she given them as a gift? This royal family had unfortunate luck in its jewel purchases. She leveled a quavering arm in Peter's direction. "Young man," she said, her voice sounding choked, "you are not who you say you are."

  Oh no.

  Peter stepped back, his eyes darting about for an exit. He had guilt written all over him.

  What had he said, about sleeping at the king's summer house? Curse you, Peter! What'd you do, steal the queen's crown last June?

  "Hubert," the queen said urgently. "His face. Do you see it? Do you remember?" 241

  The king squinted at Peter from under his bushy eyebrows. "It can't be!" He peered closer. "Can it?"

  Peter and I exchanged a look of alarm.

  "What's going on here?" Gregor demanded.

  Peter took that as his chance to turn heel and dash away through the crowd. He crashed into my arm and shattered the fragile spindle that held my mask. It fell to the ground, along with my amaranth blossom.

  Gregor's eyes met mine. His held no surprise. Only pain. For a moment time stopped. Then the spell was severed.

  Queen Rosamond swooned, slumping heavily back into her throne. Princess Beatrix shrieked. King Hubert shot out of his chair to attend the queen, shouting over his shoulder, "Stop him! Guards! Don't let him get away!" A whistle blew. Constables and palace guards began streaming in through the doors.

  Peter cut a streak of chaos through the dancers. "Salts," Gregor called to a servant. "And wine. Quickly. The queen is ill."

  I started to sidle away.

  "She doesn't have scars on her face," Princess Beatrix said indignantly, pointing at me.

  "Who the devil cares about her face?" King Hubert roared, fanning the air under Queen Rosamund's nose. "My wife's fainted! Call a doctor!" It was the last I heard from the royals on the dais.

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  Guards flew one way and servants another, and amid the commotion, I turned around, looking for a way to disappear into the crowd. My scanning eyes caught sight of a tall figure in uniform striding in behind an advance guard of police sergeants.

  Coxley. Heading straight for the royal dais.

  I hitched up my skirts and ran.

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  Chapter 27

  I pushed and elbowed my way through the crowd of sweaty, powdered ladies and tobacco-smelling men, all together agog at what had happened to the queen. Shouting voices rose behind me, and for one panicked moment I relived my arrest at the Winter Festival. But the voices were saying to stop him, not her, so no one paid me much heed as I made for the doors.

  Had Coxley seen me?

  Peter was the focus of attention, and I was glad of it. Knowing him he'd find a way out. I couldn't afford to get caught up in his trouble. Not with Coxley in the room.

  But I wasn't altogether sure whether I was running from Coxley or from Gregor's eyes.

  I slipped out through a side door. The foyer was nearly empty. People must have poured into the ballroom to see

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  what was happening. I abandoned my fur wrap and shot out the door into the cold night.

  My flimsy slippers threatened to fall off with each step down the stairs. Once one did, and I considered leaving it there, but one footfall in my stocking feet on the cold granite changed my mind. I shoved my foot back into the shoe and hurried on. At the bottom I ran through the dark along the curving drive until I smelled, then saw, the stables. Drivers and horsemen lounged in the doorway, smoking pipes. At the sound of my feet on the gravel, they straightened up.

  "My carriage," I called. "I need to get home." My driver detached himself from the bunch and hurried back into the stables while I gathered my breath. I felt self-conscious, alone with so many men. No less did they. I strained my ears for sounds of pursuit, for the galloping crunch of black hooves on stones.

  "Do any of you know what time it is?" I asked.

  One driver consulted a watch on a chain. "It lacks a quarter until ten." Nowhere near midnight. But it couldn't be helped. Whatever purpose she'd had in sending me to the ball was foiled now by Peter, and Queen Rosamond's hysterical reaction to him. What could all that have meant?

  The white horses appeared, hitched to the fairy carriage. "Where's your young man, miss?" the driver asked. "We're not waiting for him," I said. 245

  An anxious look crossed his face. "I'm charged to bring you both here and back."

  I understood. "He's met up with some old friends. He's staying longer. They'll see him home." At this rate I'd soon be as good a liar as Peter. The driver held the door for me, and I climbed in. The horses took off. Carriage wheels squeaked. The streets were empty at this hour, with half the city at the palace and the other half huddled in bed, so we fairly flew along. I leaned back against the upholstery and closed my eyes. Gregor's grave and troubled face watched me all the way home.

  In no time we were there. I thanked the driver, wishing I had a coin to give him. Before he drove away, I called out to him.

  "Driver! Did you see or hear any sign of someone following us?" He shook his head. His honest face suggested no deception.

  I thanked him again, and hurried toward the door.

  Something made me stop. I looked up at the house, which sat like a crouching giant on top of its rise of ground, a waning moon shining down on its towers and gables. The tall windows over the terrace--that had been the ballroom. On a night like tonight, if it weren't for Coxley's treachery all those years ago, those windows would gleam with candlelight reflecting off brass instruments, and

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  swirling dancers, platters of meats, and vats of flaming punch. All the windows, all the rooms, the places my parents slept and ate and cared for me. There they were. I had earned them back, and for what? I would never enjoy the house now. It felt like a cage, a trap. If I went into that box, Coxley might imprison me in it.

  The thought of all I'd lost in these last days overwhelmed me.

  Soon I would look for Beryl, but first I wanted a moment alone. I turned from the house toward the gardens. Small gardens surrounded the house and dotted the lawns, but the real garden, my mother's favorite, stood some distance from the house, on a rise of ground, surrounded by trees. Too far away for Coxley to see me if he came looking, but open enough that I could watch for him and hide if he came.

  Frozen grass snapped under my feet. My path was striped by the long shadows of trees. Night creatures scattered at my approach.

&
nbsp; The garden sat like a Greek temple overlooking the house, with the moon as its chandelier. A yew hedge surrounded the hilltop. At the apex was a fountain with rows of plantings and walkways radiating outward. Marble columns reached to the heavens, and a statue of milk white lovers in the fountain sat entwined in an eternal

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  embrace. My eyes lingered on Cupid's ardent form. Begone, thoughts of Gregor! I looked away.

  Beryl's occasional helpers must have done some tending here. Even the withered stalks of summer's flowers and the thorny stems of last year's roses stood in frost-covered dignity. This had once been the masterpiece of the gardens, back when there was a staff to tend it. Mama used to spend hours here in the summertime, picking flowers and painting watercolors. My heart ached, thinking that this spring I would have dug and planted here myself.

  "You still can," Beryl's voice said.

  I jumped and turned around. There she was, sitting on a garden bench. "Forgive me." She smiled. "I heard the carriage, and when you didn't come into the house, I came looking for you. So I snuck up on you and eavesdropped. Two unforgivable sins."

  "That's all right." I sat beside her on the bench. "How'd you know what I was thinking?"

  Beryl tapped the stone that hung at her breastbone. I saw that she'd woven herself a little pouch to carry it around her neck.

  Instinctively, I reached out and touched the stone. One brush with my finger warmed my whole body. The gem glowed white, illuminating Beryl's face. "Does the stone tell you what everyone is thinking?"

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  She shook her head. "No. Well, yes, in a way. You could say that with it, I'm more perceptive of the feelings of those around me. But it is only the people who are open to me, whose thoughts I can know well."

  I rested my head upon her shoulder, looking around at Mama's garden. "I wish you could have known my parents."

  Beryl leaned her head on mine. "I would like to have known them." We sat.

  Over the treetops the wind howled, but here in the garden the air was still. Warm, even. I suspected that had something to do with Beryl.

  "How was the ball?"

  I groaned.

  "That bad?"

  "Worse."

  "What happened?"

  "What didn't happen, you mean," I said. "Peter made the queen faint and the king yell for the guards to capture him. Gregor recognized me. He was not happy. Princess Beatrix gloated over me. And, just as I was trying to leave, Coxley showed up."

  Beryl stiffened. "He did? Are you sure?"

  I nodded. "Just before I left."

  Beryl groaned and stretched her arms toward the sky. "What's the matter?" I cried, alarmed for her.

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  She said nothing but shook her head miserably.

  "What was the invitation you issued him?" I ventured.

  Beryl was silent for a while, plucking at a hollow stalk of dried bamboo. "I lured him to the seashore," she said at last. "I told him I would be there, alone, with my stone."

  I shook my head, disbelieving. "You challenged him to a duel? Coxley? Beryl, what were you thinking? He's a murderer!"

  Beryl's face was grim. Immediately I regretted my choice of words. "Lucinda, with my stone he couldn't hurt me," she said. "Not unless he took it from me. That's what he wants, don't you see? He's not after my stone for money, the way Peter was. Coxley had his own stone once. He knows what mine would give him. No secret would be safe from him, no plot against him could hope to succeed. With a stone he can deceive, and bind, and rule the entire kingdom of Laurenz. Perhaps the world."

  Gregor. I saw him as he was tonight, standing in uniform in the throne room of the palace, with Coxley bursting through the door.

  Beryl went on. "Without a stone, Coxley is a strong and evil man who'll never die. With a stone, he'd be worse than a devil. A... She searched for a word. "A malevolent god."

  I reached out again and touched Beryl's stone. "But he didn't get it from you."

  She blew out her breath. "No, he didn't."

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  "Then, what happened?"

  She stroked her stone. "I summoned him, thinking I could drive him out of the kingdom. Scare him away, if you will, like a fox driving another fox from its lair. For your sake. For my penance."

  "Your penance?" I asked.

  "My kind shouldn't be here with these stones, Lucinda. I brought this temptation here."

  I tried to suppress my impatience. "So, what happened?"

  She laughed faintly. "The women of Saint Sebastien would be aghast if they saw it. We fought. I ordered him to leave, with all the force my stone gives me, but he wouldn't go. So we fought. He was no match for me then, and he ran away. I chased him to the northernmost borders of Hilarion, then turned back here."

  "But that's several weeks' journey!"

  She smiled weakly. "Not for us. I thought I could show him there wasn't room for both of us in Laurenz. But I was wrong to hope it would work. He came back. And now I'll have to think of something else."

  She was so disappointed, I wished I could comfort her. I had never expected her to rid me of Coxley.

  "It's all right, Beryl," I said, looking out over my parents' garden. "There's nothing holding us here. We'll go away, far away from here, where Coxley can never find us."

  Beryl didn't look convinced.

  We sat and listened to the cold. Slowly, the tension and

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  fear I'd carried since I arrived at the ball began to slide off me. Gardens can do that, even at night, even in the wintertime. But Beryl sat morose and unaffected by the calm night.

  "This is the longest night of the year," I said, thinking aloud. "The winter solstice. Christmas is in only a few days."

  Beryl said nothing.

  "At least you have your stone back in time for Christmas," I said. It was a feeble attempt to cheer her, and I knew it. But I hated to see her so low. I reached for her hand.

  "Thank you for everything, Beryl," I said. "You've given me so much." She made a sound of protest. "I've given you nothing but sorrow!" she cried. Her eyes filled with tears. "It's you that has given to me."

  I put my arms around her. "I had sorrows to begin with," I whispered in her ear. "You've given me things I would never have known. To dance with Gregor... that night will always be with me. And you let me come home. Being here in this place one more time is enough for me. I thought my memories of my parents had died long ago, but now I'll always carry them."

  I left damp spots on her shoulder when I pulled myself away, a little embarrassed. When I looked back at Beryl, her violet eyes shone. 252

  "Memories," she repeated eagerly. "That is one thing I can give you. May it ease some of the pain my errors have caused." She reached into the yarn pouch she'd fashioned and pulled out her stone. She placed it in my palm. "Lucinda, show me this garden as you remember it."

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  Chapter 28

  I took the stone reluctantly from her hand. It shone butter yellow and felt warm and moist in my hand, like a new apple.

  "How?" I asked.

  "Don't worry," she said. She wiped her eyes and laughed. The chimes of her voice rippled through the yew trees. "It will be easy. Light the stone, and enter it."

  Enter it? I wanted to protest but something stopped me. Pleading weakness as an excuse no longer seemed like an option. The stone demanded more from me than that.

  Light the stone. I held it before my face. Only moments ago it had lit while Beryl held it. Now it lay, cold and dark, in my palm.

  Light it.

  I squeezed it. Light, please!

  The faintest gleam appeared. It gave me hope.

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  Like a sun, like a star, shine. Give us heat and light, in this longest night of the year.

  The inner depths of the stone began to move and glow. It was as if the inside was melting, becoming liquid, a sea of glass filled with fire. That flaming nucleus grew and swelled until the stone was a soft, pulsing membrane in my hand,
filled with swirling light. It flooded the garden with light, like an August noon, yet the brilliance of what I carried did not blind me. I held it high over my head, and it baked down on the barren twigs and stalks of the garden.

  "That's right," Beryl said. "Now, enter."

  Now was no time for doubt. I pulled the stone down and stared into it, willing it to let me enter it. I pressed it against my forehead, feeling it bend but not yield.

  Did she mean "enter," literally?

  I closed my eyes. I thought about the light, the liquid fire, swirling around inside the stone. I imagined that same purifying heat spreading over me, burning me without consuming.

  I felt a hot bright flash of pain, followed by the most soothing sweetness, like twilight in the spring.

  And, even though the stone still lay in my hand, I knew I was inside. I opened my eyes and saw that we were still in the garden, surrounded by light, but otherwise nothing was different.

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  Except I was different. I felt light, weightless, as though I could lift up my arms and fly away like a bird, and yet, at the same time, compact, powerful, my limbs lithe and supple.

  "Show me this garden on its most glorious day," Beryl said. "Nothing less than its best."

  I gazed around at the lifeless scene.

  "Well," I began, "the fountain used to work, and there were goldfish swimming in it."

  A burst of china-blue water erupted from the fountains and leapt over the marble lovers. Splashing filled the garden theater with its soothing sound. I ran to the edge and saw a family of fat red and white carp flicking their tails through the rising water.

  "And water lilies," I added. They bobbed to the surface as if they'd been waiting at the bottom for me.

  My pulse quickened. I turned to look at Beryl. She nodded encouragingly. I looked around. The garden existed in my memory, but where were its details? I felt blind, groping through the fog of my memory. "The yew trees were a bit more trimmed, I think." Each tree shook itself and dropped its dead excess until they all stood, stately and thick. I began to feel giddy. "There were red roses along here, and pink and white ones there. Big as saucers, and oh! their scent." Each bush sprang to life as I spoke it into being, blossoms buxom,