Dream Trysts: A Sleeping Beauty Story (Passion-Filled FairyTales Book 4) (2 page)

The gathered crowd gasped as Maurelle raised her arms and disappeared in a puff of smoke. As the gray wisps thinned out, Blissa stared at the spot where her cousin had stood, then she looked down at her babe.

A hundred years of sleep.

One hundred years of sleep.

“One hundred years of sleep,” Blissa finally whispered aloud, and all the smoke seemed to disappear in that moment, as if to confirm that Maurelle had done this to her daughter. Blissa shook her head and then stared into the bassinet at the babe, who smiled contentedly and cooed. She would be seventeen, and then she would wake up one hundred years later. Everyone she’d ever known or remembered would be dead. She’d wake up in a body that didn’t look like her own, in a body that was aged and withered. Perhaps she’d die right then, of fright and agony at her predicament.

Blissa had never felt so desolate in her life. She wanted to cry. But she couldn’t. Not with her people looking upon her. Her father had always told her that the citizens looked to their leaders for strength in times of trouble. That they wanted a person who could remain calm and determine a solution.

But there was no solution. She swallowed, and tried to summon strength from somewhere deep within. But she didn’t feel strong. She’d not been able to save her own child. Even worse, it was her fault her child was in peril. She’d not been able to end things well with her cousin, and now this.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and heard Edmund speak. “Surely we can fix this,” he said, squeezing her tight. She wanted to scream at him. Fix this. He had caused this. The best way to fix this would have been to do as his wife had asked when he sent the invitations, to do as he had told her he would do. She felt anger rising in her and had parted her lips to speak, to tell him it couldn’t be fixed. But then he turned away from her.

“You there,” Edmund said. Blissa followed his line of sight to see who he was addressing. “Mistress Hilly. You haven’t given Briar Rose her gift. Surely you can fix this. Surely you can undo the queen’s sorcery.”

Hilly cringed at Edmund’s word, as did Blissa. Her instincts as a fairy were still intact, if not her powers. Sorcery was something humans spoke of, as if some magic were inherently evil. But magic was neither evil nor good. Practitioners were good and kind, or they were misguided, or sometimes evil. She’d always thought Maurelle fell under the category of misguided, but today, she had come to revise her opinion.

Hilly stepped forward and took Blissa’s hand. “Queen Blissa of the Kingdom of Men, you know as a former princess of the realm of fairies that a lowly fairy as myself doesn’t have the magic to overturn that of a queen of fairies. Not just any queen, but a queen of your own blood, whom has forsaken you.”

Blissa nodded and managed to hold back the tears. Hilly was right. Kind as she was, Hilly would be a fool to cross Maurelle. And even if she were a fool, her magic wouldn’t work. Only the magic of a royal could combat Maurelle. And Blissa had given up magic when she’d married into the human world. 

“However,” Hilly said. “I believe I may be able to offer a gift that improves Briar Rose’s situation.”

Blissa stared at Hilly. Was that possible? Was there anything that could improve her daughter’s “situation,” as Hilly had so delicately described it?

Blissa nodded, so Hilly released her hand and took a few steps over to the bassinet. “Briar Rose, daughter of the former Princess Blissa of the Fairy Realm and current Queen Blissa of the Kingdom of Men, heiress to the throne of the realm, I bestow upon you the gift an ageless sleep. Throughout the hundred years of slumber, your features will remain as they are; your age, youth and spirit will be preserved.”

Blissa breathed out slowly. She forced a smile. Hilly’s gift was the best she could hope for at the moment. Blissa stepped forward and hugged Hilaria. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

Edmund, who was frowning, asked. “That’s all?” His displeasure was obvious. “That’s all you can do for her? Is there nothing more?”

Blissa put a hand on Edmund’s shoulder to shush him. “We must talk privately,” she whispered. “Send the people home. They will understand, given the circumstances. Then we will talk with Dwennon of anything that can be done.”

Edmund scowled and paced the room. He was in a fine temper at the moment. Blissa understood why. She understood his animus toward her cousin. But being angry would do nothing for them at the moment. Anger could be a useful emotion. Sometimes it was a motivator. Sometimes it caused people to think calculatingly about how to improve their situation. But more often, it caused people to calculate revenge. It caused people to act rashly and not see reason.  When she had been in the fairy realm, one of her greatest joys was calming people who were angry.

Her gift — the ability to regulate people’s emotions, to inspire bliss or calmness in most people — was something of value when used wisely and judiciously. When she was younger, she hadn’t quite understood how valuable her gift was. She hadn’t focused on the harms of overused bliss, on the feelings of emptiness that could occur when it was employed too often. Though even with its downsides, part of her he wished she had it now.

She sighed. She had long ago resigned herself to life without the ability to alter the moods of others. Even without the power of bliss, she still had a gift with calming words.

“Edmund, I can see you’re upset,” she said.

“Of course you can. Aren’t you upset, too?”

She nodded. Of course she was upset. She could yell that at him, but it wouldn’t help. Only patience and calmness would get him to see reason at this juncture. “I am as upset as you are Edmund. But being upset does not help our daughter. The first thing you said after this happened was that you wanted to fix this. Well, this might fix it.”

Edmund ran his fingers through his chestnut brown hair. “Sending our daughter to live in the woods with strangers doesn’t seem like a good fix.”

Blissa took a deep breath and tried to sound confident when she spoke. “It is not a good fix for our feelings, for our desires to raise our child. But it is a good fix to her being alive and healthy and us enjoying years of happiness with her after her seventeenth birthday, rather than us watching her sleep for a hundred years.”

Edmund grunted and sat down on the wing-backed chair near the window. He peeked out, and Blissa followed his gaze, looking out upon the lands, and the faraway forest where Dwennon had proposed taking their daughter. Edmund turned back to his wife. “How good is he?”

“My father said Dwennon was the best oracle he’s ever known,” Blissa said. “He believes that taking Briar Rose away and hiding her from all spindles has a forty percent chance of stopping Maurelle’s spell.”

Edmund shook his head bitterly. “We would be giving up our life with our daughter for a forty percent chance she would be well. I don’t like it.”

“If we do nothing, her future is certain. Dwennon was one hundred percent sure of that. Our daughter will sleep for a hundred years. If we give her over to him and Hilaria, he said we could be a happy family yet again.”

“I don’t like it, Blissa. Not at all.”

She pursed her lips and stared at him, debating whether to speak her thoughts. Finally, she said, “I told you not to put that on the invitation.”

He looked up at her, and his mouth twisted into a grimace. “I told you I’m sorry, Blissa. I knew that you said it shouldn’t be sent to the fairies because it was against your tradition. That is why I had two invitations made. One that respected your fairy traditions that was sent to the fairies, and one that respected our traditions, and it was sent to the rest of the kingdom. I thought it mattered only that the invitation sent to fairies be to your specifications, not all of them. I thought we’d each send invitations that met our own customs.”

Blissa nodded. She hadn’t explained it well enough. She’d been tired from caring for the baby. The nurse had of course been willing to do all, but Blissa hadn’t wanted that. She’d wanted to bond with constant contact for the first month, as was the custom in the fairy realm. She’d left much of the planning of the Nomorray to Edmund and the servants. Too much. It had cost them all dearly.

“I say this not to blame you, Edmund,” she said. “Neither of us intended for this, but we must both bear the burden of the consequences. Our daughter has a chance at safety with Dwennon and Hilaria. They are kind and gentle and full of good cheer. We cannot ask for better caretakers of our princess. Under their stead, we may get her back at seventeen. Without them, she will be lost to us.”

Edmund sighed and then looked out the window. Finally, his voice a whisper, his eyes focused on nothing but the distance, he said, “Very well. She will go.”

Blissa nodded. “And we should destroy all the wheels,” she said.

Edmund’s head whipped around and he stared at her. “You said sending her away was the thing to do. Surely, you don’t want to do this, too, Blissa. You love to spin. You are the fairy of spun fabrics as well as a fairy of peace.”

She shook her head. “I
was
such a fairy. I am no longer. Maurelle wanted to cut me to the core, and she has. But it will all be fine, so long as Briar Rose is safe. She is too young to go now, but in one year, we shall send her to a secret place with Hilly and Dwennon.”

(Five years later)

Briar Rose was on the swing in the forest. The swing’s seat was made of spongy vines woven together, and it was held aloft by the tree. Behind her stood her mother, pushing her higher and higher.

Briar Rose loved to go high in the air, so very, very high, and then she would jump off and float to the ground, the wind cradling her as she fell so she didn’t drop too fast. Then she’d land on her tippy toes and pirouette.

She turned to see her mother, a petite woman with kind blue eyes, hair that was the same shade of red as the fall leaves, and freckles spread upon her face. Her mother was kindness and joy all rolled into one, and Briar Rose loved her more than anything, especially her mother’s smile. The girl looked at the horizon, watching the orangeish purple sky at sunset, and frowned. She ran to her mother, threw her arms around her waist and buried her face in her mother’s skirt. “Mother, why do you always have to go?” she cried.

Blissa patted her daughter’s back, then pulled away enough so that she could kneel and look her daughter in the eye. “My love,” she said. “I tell you each time I see you that we can only see each other in dream sight, not in real life. And I know Dwennon has told you this, too.”

Briar Rose cried harder. “I don’t want only dream sight visits. I want you to come to me. I want to have a real mother, not just a dream one.”

Blissa sucked in a breath, hoping it would bury the anguish of her heart for the moment. “Rose,” she said softly. “I want nothing more than to be with you every day, as we are in our dreams, but I cannot. There is great danger in you living with your father and me. Do Dwennon and Hilly not treat you well?”

Briar Rose dried her sniffles with the backs of her hands and nodded. “They are very kind,” she said. “But I know that they’re not who I belong with. I want my mother and my father.”

Blissa wanted her to have them, too. Each of these departures made her second guess if she had been right to listen to Dwennon. Was their daughter really better off? She’d thought contacting Rose in dreams would be useful, but it seemed to be making things harder for her daughter. “Rose, I want that, too, but it’s not possible. Please, let’s enjoy this time we have.”

Briar Rose took a deep breath, and nodded.

“Why don’t you fly tonight?” Blissa said, knowing it would put a smile on her daughter’s face and lighten her heart.

“Really, Momma?”

“Really,” Blissa declared. 

Rose closed her eyes, and Blissa concentrated. Here in dreams, she could still summon certain fairy attributes, and levitation was one of them. Not all fairies could levitate things, but Blissa had been able to. She concentrated on her daughter, on making her happy, on making her light, and then the girl lifted off the ground. Blissa, assured her concentration wouldn’t wane, opened her eyes to see the delight on Rose’s face. The small child, with delicate features, a cherub-like nose and rosy cheeks, and blond hair that fell in ringlets to her shoulder, was four feet off the ground, grinning so wide it threatened to expand beyond the width of her face.

Blissa floated her daughter around the glade of the dreamscape. It was a replica of a real glade in the fairy realm that her own parents had taken her to. Blissa continued “flying” Briar Rose around until the last licks of the sun were leaving the sky. That meant it was time to go. When the sun set here, it was time for Rose to awaken. Blissa set the girl down on the ground and walked over and hugged her. “Be safe, Rose. ‘Til tomorrow.”

* * *

Briar Rose awakened with a start, rising in bed to see the sun rising. Such an odd juxtaposition as only moments ago, it the sun had been almost completely set.

She sighed as she stared out the window next to her bed, looking at the trees that surrounded the tiny cabin she lived in. A moment later, the door to her modest bedroom opened and Hilly poked her head in. “Did you sleep well?”

Briar Rose nodded. “As well as one can expect,” she said, a frown emerging. “I saw her again.”

Hilly opened the door further and entered, stepping on the knitted rug in the middle of the wooden floor and walking over to the single bed pushed against the south wall of the house. Hilly sat on the bed and put an arm around Briar Rose. “Don’t be sad.”

“But she never stays, and she’s my mother. I want her to stay.”

“You know why she can’t,” Hilly said.

Briar Rose pulled away from Hilly and frowned. “I know,” she said. “It matters not. I have you and Dwennon.”

“Yes, you do,” she said. “Always.”

Briar Rose peeked out the window again. There was no one around, except for the birds and the bunnies. “I do sometimes wish I had a friend to play with,” she said.

Hilly pulled her closer. “I know it’s tough, my dear, but we must stay hidden. When you’re older, you’ll have all those things. All those things you dream of now: many friends, a mother and father. It will all come to pass. Dwennon has seen it. You simply must believe it.”