Spindle Fire (Spindle Fire #1)(20)

Gasps rippled through the gathered crowd. No one had heard of a faerie casting a curse in their lifetime. Long ago, a faerie curse would have been considered very frightening indeed, but now people eyed one another and mumbled skeptically. Surely no one, not even the last living faerie queen, had the power to enact a curse of any real consequence. But the gall to even suggest it was enough to shock everyone, and Binks noticed that Queen Amélie had begun to weep in panic. For whether the curse would come true or not mattered less than the fact that their daughter’s reputation was about to be sullied.

No one would marry a princess with a curse, rumored or real.

But it was too late. Malfleur reached into the cradle and lifted the child. “Aurora will grow up to be just as beautiful, graceful, and good-natured as her parents—and the world—could possibly wish. So beautiful that all who lay eyes on her will adore her, and her sweetness and obedience will bring great joy into her parents’ lives. She will be the treasure of Deluce. That is, until she reaches the prime of her youth. On her sixteenth birthday, she will do harm to herself. No . . . no.”

Malfleur looked up from the child and turned to face the crowd of nobles and faeries watching in horror. She seemed to be thinking quickly as her eyes flashed light and dark. “Though it was many, many years ago, some of you may recall the evil of the Night Faerie, Belcoeur, from whom I saved you all. And yet here you stand now, ungrateful. Oblivious to all that I’ve done for you. Well, this curse is in the name of Belcoeur, who was ever so fond of spinning. When Aurora turns sixteen, she won’t just hurt herself—she’ll prick a finger on a beautiful, rare spindle, and she will die.”

The pronouncement lingered in the air for a few seconds, harsh as the snapped string of a vielle, and then the queen of Deluce let out a sob and clung to her husband’s robes.

Malfleur went on, directing her speech now at everyone in the room. “Aurora’s death will be a reminder to all who choose to ignore my wishes, to all those who have forgotten my greatness, forgotten what I have done for you, and the little I have asked in return.”

With that, she placed the pretty, silent baby back into her cradle and left.

Binks swallowed. He did not like the taint of bad luck in this room. There would be no foreign wines uncasked now, he was sure of it.

It took several moments of silence before Violette, who stood in a corner, stroking her vibrant red hair in a long wave over her shoulder, finally put away the small hand mirror she kept close to her heart and approached the queen, who was now weeping softly into her husband’s shoulder.

“As we all know, it is neither easy nor advisable to reverse a faerie curse,” Violette drawled. “Many dangers can befall those who attempt this challenge. But I am willing to give it a try, for the right price.”

“Please, please help us,” the queen said, dabbing at her eyes.

The king took a step closer to Violette. “Tell us what you need,” he said. “We’ll give you anything—anything you ask.”

Violette licked her lips and looked around the room. “In exchange for amending Malfleur’s curse, I ask for the light in your daughter’s eyes. I ask for her sight.”

Queen Amélie once again grasped the king’s robes, shaking her head. “We’ve already allowed too much to be taken,” she whispered.

“We don’t have any choice,” the king muttered.

The queen picked up the baby and held her to her chest. “I can’t,” she said. “It’s too much. We’ve gone too far.” Then she looked up, wild-eyed, at the crowd, and her jaw opened slightly. Binks felt himself standing straighter.

“Violette,” the queen went on slowly. “We will give you the sight of . . . of the king’s daughter.” Her voice was calculating. “But first, tell us how you will help us.”

Violette smiled narrowly. “On her sixteenth birthday, the princess Aurora will indeed prick her finger on a spindle—but.” She held up a hand before the room could break into more murmuring. “She will not die. Instead, she will enter a sleep so deep, that only . . .” She paused, frowning, evidently at a loss, and trying to invent something convincing. “Only true love may awaken her.”

The queen looked at King Henri with hope written on her face, even as Binks heard Almandine snort and caught Claudine rolling her eyes at the phrase “true love.”

“And now, for my price,” Violette said with a satisfied little purr.

The queen handed the baby to the king. Standing tall, she shouted into the crowd, “Where is Isabelle? Bring forth Isabelle.”

The crowd parted, and a small child Binks had never seen before stumbled out, as though shoved, blinking nervously at all of the adults surrounding her. The girl had a mess of tangled dark curls and was wearing some sort of raglike garment that only poorly resembled a dress. Binks couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose.

“What is this?” Violette asked.

“This,” the king said, looking first at his wife and then at the faerie, “is my other daughter. The queen promised you the sight of the king’s daughter, but . . .” He returned Violette’s narrow smile. “She did not specify which.”





10


Gilbert,


Former Groom at the Royal Stables of Deluce

and Isabelle’s Best Friend of Eighteen Years