Once Upon a Time: New Fairy Tales Paperback(65)

? 204 ?

? Angela Slatter ?

“Worms. Sky. Flight.” Home. Mother. Father. Emer’s short life had been determined by the whims and demands of others; therefore, she chose to keep some truths for herself this time.

“Ah.” The Black Bride seemed disappointed, and sat back on the moth-eaten damask cushions of her throne. “So. There is a castle atop a mountain of glass, almost a day’s distance. Inside is a very special crown, which you will retrieve.”

“And how do I climb slopes of glass? Will you give me wings again?”

“No, I can’t trust you not to fly away. You said yourself, in that form all your thoughts were those of birds—you’ll lose focus, grow forgetful.” She shook her head. “In the stables, there’s a horse— actually there are many, but you can’t miss this one. A suitable beast, but with a foul temper.” The Black Bride sighed. “You’re a clever girl, Emer, so listen carefully: there are no second chances for you. If you do not return here before the turning of a day and a night with the crown, I will kill your mother. Understand? I’m sick with waiting.”

“Is there a map?” Emer inquired stiffly.

“Follow the river—that’ll be map enough.”

“What’s so special about this crown?” demanded the girl, her spirit growing the longer she stood on her own two fleshy feet.

The Black Bride’s eyes slid to the animal in the cage at her feet.

“Enough questions. Go, and be quick about it.”

The bird had spent all the time since they’d left the castle pattering across the horse’s broad shoulders, up and down its neck, and making occasional forays onto saddle’s pommel. In turn, the roan had not stopped whickering in irritation and shaking itself hard enough that both bird and rider were almost dislodged. The raven—Bertók by name—also kept up an unrelenting monologue.

“And that,” he said with a meaningful look at the gingham bundle tied behind Emer, “if I’m not mistaken, is a loaf of bread and a flask of wine that will never run out. Purely magical, very valuable. The dog, I’m sure, was not meant to give you that.”

? 205 ?

? Flight ?

A tired-looking Alsatian with sad eyes, green waistcoat, fawn breeches, and mauve frock coat, had been instructed to find Emer clothes and food and send her on her way. He’d led her to a room decorated with colorful arras, furniture of pale honey wood, and brightly bleached linens. An alcove housed a tub; ancient copper plumbing rattled as the valet drew a bath. In all the past months, Emer had never suspected a room like this existed here.

She was provided with trousers and shirt, highly polished leather boots, and a worsted wool cloak, all in varying shades of black. Emer ignored the cloak, keeping instead her mother’s fur and hood. When she was washed and dressed, her guide took her to the stables and pointed out her steed.

The Black Bride had been right—so many princes had left many, many horses—but this one stood out. At least twenty hands high and with a burnished hide, he wore no shoes for his hooves were of spiked bronze. When Emer knelt before him, his golden gaze was measured. She held out the apple she’d kept back from her own quick meal and he deigned to sink his sharp teeth in its firm flesh. The dog, noting the beastie’s compliance, swiftly—and with palpable relief— saddled him, while Emer explored some of the stalls, patted the more biddable animals.

“Ahem. Excuse me, miss?” came a voice from the shadows.

At first, Emer couldn’t find the source, but when her eyes adjusted to the gloomy corners she saw a withy cage hanging from one of the rafters. Inside was a defeated-looking raven. His eyes were dull until Emer approached. Then, a flare of recognition and something else: a fire within, a swirling conflagration of green and red and gold, orange and azure and magenta.

“You!” she’d screamed, rage rushing through her, and strode forward, intent upon throttling the bird. The raven flapped wildly, shouting, “Now, don’t be hasty, I can explain!”

“This is all your fault, with your lying in wait and your pecking.

Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t wring your scrawny neck.”

“Well, strictly speaking, you need to shoulder some of the blame— ? 206 ?

? Angela Slatter ?

you were alone, wandering about outside. Well-behaved princesses—”

he broke off as Emer began to shake the cage. “I’m sorry! Don’t hurt me, I can help you.”