Enchanted (26 page)

Peter was quickest with the math. “Several months? Why aren’t you still a frog?”

Rumbold showed them the slightly crumpled shoe he’d been concealing behind his back. He ran his fingers lovingly along the silver and gold embroidery and over the shining glass beads. “A girl found my well while wandering the Wood one day, not long ago. We became friends. She came back every afternoon and told me stories of her amazing, magical family: from Tuesday’s death and Monday’s marriage to Thursday’s trunk and Friday’s needle. I fell in love with her, and I fell in love with all of you as well, for I did not remember my life before. You were the only family I knew.”

“The golden ball,” said Seven Woodcutter. “That was you.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Rumbold made a small bow. “I felt responsible for what happened, and I wanted to help. Sunday kissed me in gratitude that day and ran back to the house, so she did not see...” He stared at the shoe, afraid to meet anyone’s eye. “She did not see that it was me.”

“Oh, this is ridiculous. Why didn’t you just tell her?” Saturday asked from her chair.

“That was my question,” said Erik. Saturday seemed beyond grateful to have a champion at her side.

“Come now,” Jack Woodcutter said to his almost-youngest daughter, “would you have welcomed the love of a man you thought your father despised?”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation in Saturday’s answer.

“Sunday is not you,” said Friday.

“No, my warrior girl,” said Woodcutter. “She does not wield an ax quite so well.” The siblings chuckled at their father’s ribbing, Saturday included. Rumbold envied Woodcutter his ability to sway the emotions of a room so well. But there was one person he could still not control.

“A year,” Seven Woodcutter said to her husband. “My son did not die, and you did not tell me. How could you?”

“With respect, ma’am,” said Rumbold. “When Joy cast the counterspell, she forbade us all from telling anyone. As time went on, I realized it was for both my own protection as well as the safety of the kingdom. I forbade your husband, in turn, for had he revealed the truth of Jack’s tale, he would have revealed my fate as well.”

“If it was known throughout the land that the heir to the throne of Arilland was about to be magicked into a frog, what uprisings there would have been,” said Velius. “The kingdom might have fallen just to teach one young boy a lesson.”

“You did not tell me,” Seven repeated to her husband.

“You thought he was dead,” Woodcutter told her. “Would you rather have known that he was alive and well, with no intention of ever returning home?”

“It would have made no difference,” said Seven. “I thought that anyway, deep in my heart. Somewhere, I still do.” Woodcutter stood and crossed the room to embrace his wife, who did not cry. Friday quietly shed her mother’s tears for her.

“I found only the medallion in the wolf’s belly,” Rumbold pointed out, “nothing else. It is entirely possible that Jack might still be alive.”

“He’s a fighter, that one,” said Erik.

“Don’t go spreading false hope,” Woodcutter warned.

“I met a girl like sunshine and lightning. Suddenly I’m optimistic about everything.” Rumbold’s cheeriness faded. “Except the fact that I will never see her again.” He held the shoe out before him, offering it to anyone who would take it. “I would appreciate it if you would return this to her, with my sincerest ... apologies.”

“Do you love her?” It was Woodcutter who asked the question, but they all waited for his answer.

“Yes,” he said immediately. Yes, he loved her. Yes, he yearned for her.
YES,
his heart screamed.

“Then you should return it to her yourself,” he said. “With our blessing.”

“But I can’t.” Sunday had made it perfectly clear she wanted nothing more to do with him.

“We were just leaving,” said Seven. “Will you be joining us?”

“She needs her family right now,” Rumbold said. “She doesn’t need ... She doesn’t want...” Words once again felt stupid and inadequate. “You should go.”

“When you’re ready, then,” said Woodcutter.

“Please convey our best wishes to your father and his new queen,” said Seven, “as well as apologies for our hasty departure.”

Rumbold bowed. Seven curtseyed. Her children all stood and dutifully followed suit. Velius showed them the way out of the library and back to the main hall. Saturday, languishing in her chair, was allowed the luxury of staring down Rumbold until Erik pushed her along. As Friday passed, she whispered, “Come soon!”

Rumbold watched them walk away. This family had been his once, in a dream. Gods willing, they would be his again. With the rest of his strength, he clutched that silly silver and gold shoe, the same size as the hole in his heart. Apart from Sunday, there was only one thing left missing: himself.

“I need my memories back,” he said to the empty room. “Please.”

“The question is: do you
want
them back?” Sorrow sat beside him on the sofa and sipped a cup of tea. But it was not Sorrow; this was her twin sister.

“Do you want to remember all the tragedy, the terror, the mess, the heartbreak?” A bubble lifted off the foam on the surface of the tea and burst before him into birdsong on a sunny day in the summer of his tenth year.

“So much death and destruction. That’s an awfully big burden for anyone to carry. I want to make one thing perfectly clear: my ‘curse’ of change and rebirth included everything. Your past is past. Gone forever. You are a clean slate, my boy.” Joy popped two bubbles stuck in tandem; his horse slipped in the rain and broke its leg, and there was the smell of Cook’s freshly baked cherry pie. “But only if you want to be.”

She crossed her ankles, calmly sipping her tea as though they were not surrounded by a fog two feet deep. Bubbles rose out of it everywhere, as far as his eye could see. The books of the library had disappeared, and with them the walls of the castle. It was just the two of them and the fog, the couch and the tea. A bubble floated by with a cannonball inside it; another held the lush red lips of a very beautiful, very naked woman. He did not touch them.

“Do you think I should? Do you think I’m ready?”

Joy laughed, a sound just like one he had often heard right before the world turned black. Amazing how two sisters in bodies so alike as Joy and Sorrow could be so different down to the core. This laugh was playful, not scheming; mischievous, not vengeful;
for
you, not
at
you.

“Child, no one is ever ready for anything. I would never doom you to that. What sort of adventureless life would that be?”

Rumbold thought perhaps he’d be perfectly content with a nice, boring, uneventful old age.
Blithe and bonny and good and gay.

Joy popped the bubble that swam right before his eyes. Inside it was a frog and a freckle-nosed girl in the dappled sunshine of the Wood and a different kind of laughter. This wasn’t something he’d forgotten; he remembered every detail of that moment, every color and sound and smell. This particular memory was simply one he was trying to hide from himself, and he was ashamed.

The scene faded and left him staring into Joy’s eyes, deep violet like the last moment of dusk before the dark and endless night. He lost himself a moment there, and did not miss his aching soul.

“Did you never wonder how you ended up at that particular well?”

Another bubble popped of its own accord: Rollins handed him his mother’s golden bauble after the funeral. He pushed it away.
That and a hundred more like it wouldn’t get me what I want most in the world,
the young prince said to his manservant.

“You put me there on purpose. Why?” Why would she set him up to meet the love of his life and then break his heart so cruelly?

“I cannot heal all the wounds of this world,” she said.

“Can we save Wednesday?” he asked.

“We can try,” she said. “I can sometimes nudge the scales away from chaos.” She threw her hands out to her sides. The tea was gone, the couch was gone, and her neat black boots hovered just above the strange bubbling fog. The rich colors of her power blinded him. The cameo at her throat smiled and winked. “But first, you must tell me. Do you want them back?”

His mind was still too fragile to hold all his old memories, his body even more so. There were bubbles everywhere now—a lifetime’s worth—so thick he almost lost sight of Joy in them. It would be so easy to let them float off and leave his poor tortured soul alone. But—“I need them,” he told her. “I am not whole without them.”

Just like Sunday.

“Good answer,” she said, right before the world exploded.

***

When you wake up, stay still. Don’t try to stand up. You don’t want to be standing up when your mind comes back.

Rumbold rolled to the edge of the couch and emptied the contents of his stomach into the nearest potted plant.

“You be sure to send a thank-you note to Sir Jon Stafford,” said Velius. “That was a wedding gift.”

Rollins produced a handkerchief and a small glass of water. Rumbold rinsed out his mouth and spat again into the plant. “Take that to the back garden,” he ordered the guard at the library door.

“Shouldn’t have let you drink that last glass of wine,” said Erik.

“It wasn’t the wine,” said Rumbold, swallowing again to keep his stomach silent. “How long was I out?”

“Long enough for me to see your family safely home,” Velius said kindly.

“Long enough for the festivities to have degraded into ... well, degraded,” said Erik.

The prince nodded. “I got the memories back,” he said incredulously. And then, with more disgust, “I got them all back.” He washed down the lingering bitter taste with more water. For once, neither of his witty companions had anything to say.
They
had not forgotten anything. They had always known what he was and who he had been. They had not abandoned him, as so many others had. When the time had come for Rumbold to ask for their help, they had given it. And still they stood by him. Rumbold tried to stand as well. “I need to go after her.”

With one hand, Velius pushed him back down before he fell down. “You need to go to your bed,” he said. “Or be carried there.”

“I can put my hands on just the conveyance,” Erik said. “But I’ll be damned if I’m pushing you around the castle. You’re not pretty enough.”

Rumbold grasped Velius’s elbow. “I
need
her.”

“When she sees how pathetic you are, how miserable you look, and”—his nostrils flared—“how bad you smell, I’m sure she’ll jump right into your arms and wonder why she ever ran away.”

Rumbold should have known better than to turn to family for help. Surely Erik would be more understanding.

“You have vomit on your sash,” said the guard.

Rumbold tore the offending sash from his breast. It tangled ungracefully around his ears, and one of the medals scratched his cheek as he removed it. The effort exhausted him. Rollins calmly took the sash away.

“All right,” Rumbold said. “I’ll bathe, at least. Will you be staying?”

“Your father and his bride departed several hours ago,” said Velius. “It’s only the dregs left.” He pulled Rumbold off the couch and helped him find his footing, keeping pace beside the prince on the way to his chambers. Erik and Rollins followed dutifully behind.

The sounds from the ballroom fell away quickly. The halls were as empty as they might have been at any other time during the wee hours of the morning. The silence and the exercise cleared Rumbold’s mind enough for what Velius had said to sink in. If Wednesday and his father had gone, it might already be too late. “Wait! We have to—” Rumbold started, when, two by two, the sconces winked out down the hallway. Whatever he was about to do, the shadows agreed with him. He only wished they could find a way to lend him the energy he was sorely lacking.

Rollins, Erik, and Velius all turned with their backs to the prince, surrounding him in a protective triangle. Erik unsheathed a wicked dagger. Rollins wrapped Rumbold’s sash around one fist, the medals splayed across his knuckles.

Rumbold slipped his hand inside Velius’s and clasped it tightly. His cousin took the silent hint and hurriedly pushed some of his own health and vigor through their magical link. The prince’s palm burned as he took in the energy Velius passed to him. Rumbold knew it wasn’t enough and that he’d pay for it come the morning, but he found himself considerably less exhausted than he had been a moment before. Velius’s skin burned like a firebrand, and Rumbold caught the smell of singed flesh. All his senses instantly became more alert. The air felt electrified. He could hear the flames in the remaining lamps hungrily consuming their oil. He breathed deeper and stood taller. After the brimstone faded, he could even make out the faint undertone of lilacs and lavender.

“Does anyone else smell that?” asked Rollins.

“Spring,” Erik whispered. If the others smelled it, too, perhaps Rumbold wasn’t as insane as he’d originally thought.

“Madelyn,” breathed Velius.

“You recognize my mother’s scent?” Rumbold asked.

“No,” said Velius. “I recognize
her.”
He pointed to where their shadows fell in a cluster on the wall. Among them was a fifth shade, shorter and wraith-thin, with long, loose hair and a flowing robe or gown. Velius and Rumbold stepped aside to make room for the woman, though she did not physically stand among them. On the wall, they saw her unfurl remarkable wings and encompass them all. “She didn’t have those before,” Velius said.

“She’s had them since I started seeing her ghost,” said Rumbold. “Since I returned from the well.”

“The nights I woke you up on the hearth,” said Rollins.

“Yes.”

“Any other brushes with insanity you haven’t thought to mention?” Erik asked. It didn’t matter if the ghost was friendly or not; he made no move to let down his guard.

“This happened last night,” Rumbold said. “The lights led me up to the tower.” To his father and Sorrow and their secret plotting behind closed doors. And ... Wednesday! His mother was leading him to Wednesday!

“The sky tower?” asked Erik, and Rumbold nodded. The commoners called it that, for it hid among the clouds most days. It was said one could venture to the top and seek communion with the Lords of the Wind.