Thrice Upon a Marigold (16 page)

The dragon puffed out another question mark.

“Huh?” Boris said. “I don't get it.”

“What you don't get”—Phoebe raised her voice— “is that Vlad's
bluffing
. And Sebastian and I know it.”

Vlad and Boris spun around.

Phoebe twiddled her fingers at them. “Hi.” She looked up at the dragon. “They're bluffing,” she said. “They can't do anything to Hannibal. You don't have to do what they want.”

“She's right.” Sebastian had appeared at her side.

“What are you doing here?” Boris asked. “And who asked you, anyway?”

Vlad didn't bother with questions. He just pulled a handful of his sleeping powder from his pocket and blew it at Phoebe and Sebastian.

Sebastian, who had grown up observing all of Vlad's tricks and had recently been the victim of that very powder, knew what was coming. He yanked Phoebe onto the ground with him before the powder reached them, allowing it to sail harmlessly over their heads—though the spiffle trees it hit keeled right over.

Vlad and Boris ran toward them, fists clenched, ready to do something unspeakable to their very own children. Sebastian rolled over Phoebe, thinking that if he could do nothing else, at least he could protect her.

The dragon's roar filled the forest, and the jet of flame she sent into the night air caused the Terrible Twos to pause in their vicious rush, watching the fire ignite the treetops. Sebastian scrambled to his feet, pulling Phoebe up with him, as the dragon leaped from the mouth of her lair into the clearing. Vlad and Boris turned back to the dragon, who took a few purposeful steps toward them as Phoebe and Sebastian backed away.

With one powerful breath, the dragon aimed a blast of flame at the Terrible Twos.

P
HOEBE AND
S
EBASTIAN WERE
knocked back onto the ground by the gust of fire, their clothes singed by the flames. They helped each other up, rubbing their stinging eyes, coughing, and dusting each other off. As the smoke cleared, they looked around for Vlad and Boris, but all they saw was a big pile of ash in the middle of the clearing.

A gratified-looking dragon was dusting off her front paws.

“Did you . . .?” Sebastian pointed to the ashes.

The dragon nodded with satisfaction.

“Both of them?” Phoebe asked.

Again the dragon nodded.

Phoebe and Sebastian looked at each other. “How do you feel about that?” Sebastian asked.

Phoebe thought for a moment. “I should probably feel worse than I do—after all, Boris was my father—but I'm glad they're gone. Nothing good was ever going to come from them.” She looked at Sebastian. “How do
you
feel about it?”

“More complicated than you. Of course I'm glad they can't do any more harm. But I guess I always hoped that in time they would change their ways. That they would become better people.” He paused. “And better fathers. Now that possibility is gone forever.”

She put her hand on Sebastian's arm. “Did you really think it was a possibility?”

He took a deep breath. “I guess not. I just wanted it.”

The dragon had been pacing tentatively back and forth across the clearing, eyeing them uneasily. Phoebe went over and stroked her iridescent neck, telling her, “Okay, so maybe that's not the way we would have planned this. But, to tell you the truth, we didn't have a plan. All we knew is that we had to stop them, but you're the one who did. You also saved people we don't even know from suffering at the hands of the Terrible Twos. They're all very grateful. And so are we.”

A tear formed in each of the dragon's eyes, then instantly evaporated into a puff of steam.

As she was comforting the dragon, Phoebe had the odd feeling that she was being watched. Standing on her tiptoes and peering past the dragon's folded shoulder wing, she saw the two women who had been roasting weenies with Marigold standing in the lair's opening. It was hard to tell in the shadows, but they seemed to have tears in their eyes, too.

“Hi,” Phoebe said over the dragon. “Sorry you had to see that.”

“We're not,” the taller one said. “We've waited a long time for it.”

“Oh,” Phoebe said. “Well, I suppose there are a lot of other people who'd agree with you.”

“Our reasons are more personal,” the shorter one said.

The other said, “My name is Twyla.” She turned to Sebastian. “Did I understand you to say one of those men was your father?”

Not again,
Sebastian thought. When would Vlad's reputation quit following him around? “I'm afraid so,” he said.

“Was it Vlad?”

“Yes. And Boris is her father,” he said, indicating Phoebe. Maybe he should have let her be the one to reveal her connection to the Terrible Twos if she decided to, but he wanted some company in his predicament.

The shorter woman gasped. “I was afraid to believe my suspicions,” she said. “And your name is Phoebe, isn't it?”

Phoebe frowned, puzzled. “How did you know? Did Queen Marigold tell you about me?”

“I know because I'm the one who gave you that name. I'm . . . I'm Anabel. Your mother.” Her chin trembled.

“You must be mistaken,” Phoebe said. “My mother disappeared long ago. I'm positive she's no longer living or I'm sure she would have been in touch with me.” Her own chin trembled. “My mother would never have left me alone with Boris unless something had happened to her. At least I hope she wouldn't.”

“Oh, no,” Anabel said, twisting her hands together. “That's not how it happened at all. We'd been so young and unformed when we first married that Boris hadn't yet turned into the monster he would later become. When he did, I was getting ready to run and to take you with me. But he caught me. He said if I wanted to leave so badly, I had to go, but I couldn't take you with me. He'd been a disinterested, neglectful father, so I knew he wanted to keep you only to punish me. And he probably had hopes of influencing you to be like him. And he said if I remained in the kingdom, or ever tried to contact you, he would . . .” She pressed her hand to her mouth. “He would . . . practice his . . . his devices on you. Then I told him I would stay, but he said it was too late, that I'd made my wishes clear and I had to go.”

Phoebe gaped at her.

“I see you don't believe me,” Anabel said. “What if I told you that I know you have a scar on your elbow from one time when you were playing with one of Boris's forbidden . . . devices . . . and you cut yourself on it? You were just a baby. That was the final straw that convinced me we had to leave.”

Phoebe touched her elbow. “Really?”

Anabel nodded. “And Twyla and little Sebastian were going to come with us. Vlad caught them, too. And made the same threat.”

“What?” Sebastian said, startled. “You're
my
mother?”

“Yes,” Twyla said, nodding at him. “I had to go in a hurry, but I left a book about King Arthur so you would have something from me. And to show you an example of a man unlike your father. Did you find it? Or did Vlad get rid of it? He probably did. There wouldn't be a single thing about King Arthur that he could identify with.”

“I found it,” Sebastian said faintly. “I always wondered where it came from since, you're right, it certainly wasn't something Vlad would have given me. I must have read it a million times.”

“Anabel and I knew we were supposed to leave the kingdom after that, but we just couldn't go that far away from our children. For a while we camped in the forest, picking up scraps of information about you and your fathers from various travelers and hunters passing through. And then we found Winnie.” Twyla pointed to the dragon, who lowered her lashes modestly. “She took us in. She was lonely. And she understood about being
mis
understood. What seems to the kingdom to be wanton incineration of acres of the forest happens only in the spring, when all the blooming flowers and grasses cause her allergies to act up. She's actually in very good control of her fire-breathing—I think you just witnessed some of that precision—except when she sneezes. Then flames just come shooting out of her nostrils. She can't help it. And she's always been ashamed and embarrassed about it.”

“She's protected and cared for us for years,” Anabel said. “That allowed us to stay near you, even if we couldn't be close enough to see you. We worried all the time that your fathers were either hurting you or turning you into dangerous people, like themselves. From what we've seen just now, though, we think you've both turned out remarkably well. We're very proud of you.”

Phoebe and Sebastian were speechless with astonishment.

“I know this is a lot to digest,” Twyla said. “Maybe you should sleep on it. Think about what you want to do.”

Phoebe and Sebastian nodded in unison. Their heads were too full to fit even one more thought. In the past three days, they had been involved in a kidnapping plot, gone without sleep, walked for miles, learned even more terrible things about their fathers, lost their fathers, found their mothers, and probably begun to fall into hopeless love. They needed a breather.

“You could come back to the castle with us,” Phoebe said. “It's safe to do that now.”

Anabel and Twyla looked at each other, then at Winnie, and then back to each other.

“Oh,” Phoebe said. “Of course. Well, what the heck. Bring her, too. I think Hannibal would like that. And maybe the court physician can do something about the allergies. Or Wendell can.”

“Excuse us for a minute,” Twyla said. The women drew away and spent a few minutes in furious whispering before they returned and Anabel said, “I think we'll wait here. You two need time to absorb all this. And so do we. Let's not make any hasty decisions. Come back once you've had a chance to weigh everything.”

After saying their goodbyes, an exhausted Phoebe and Sebastian headed back through the dark forest to the castle.

“I'm relieved we have time to think,” Phoebe said. “Aren't you?”

“I'm too tired to even think about thinking,” he said. “And too . . . For once I don't know what the right word is.
Surprised
isn't enough.
Overwhelmed
is too mild.
Gobsmacked
may be the right one.”

Gobsmacked,
Phoebe thought.
Perfect.

 

As they approached the Zandelphia-Beaurivage Bridge and saw the castle on the other side, they noticed a lot of torchlight and clamorous noise.

“I guess they've noticed the Terrible Twos are gone,” Phoebe said.

“Goner than they know,” Sebastian said.

The closer they came to the castle, the louder the noise grew and the more people they saw running back and forth on the terrace and among the battlements.

“We're going to have a lot of explaining to do,” Sebastian said. “Are you up for it?”

“As long as you're with me while we do it.”

He smiled and took her hand. As long as he was too tired to think, he relied on his feelings. And they said,
Take her hand and don't let go.
“I will be.”

B
Y THE TIME THEY
were finished explaining what had happened since Sebastian witnessed the Terrible Twos escaping from the dungeon, they were just about incoherent with fatigue. Phoebe had slumped over onto the large round table in the throne room, her head on her arms, her eyes closed. Every time Rollo or Chris or Marigold asked her a question, Sebastian had to shake her to wake her up.

“We've got the whole story by now,” Chris said. “Let's all go get some sleep.”

Phoebe lifted her head. “I forgot to ask. About Poppy.” Her voice wavered.

“We can wake her up now—though she just falls back to sleep,” Marigold said. “The doctor says the sleeping potion will wear off soon. Mrs. Sunday's keeping a close eye on her. Our princess will be fine.”

Phoebe wobbled as she stood up. “I'm so glad.”

“Go,” Marigold said. “Get some sleep. And you know we'll never be able to thank you.”

“We can talk about bringing the dragon in later,” Sebastian said as he and Phoebe headed for the door.

“About what?” Chris asked.

“Good night,” Sebastian said, then closed the door.

 

A whole day passed before Phoebe and Sebastian were awake again. Sebastian came to the library, where Phoebe was sitting at her desk, doing nothing.

“How are you?” he asked tentatively.

“All right. Sleep helps. How about you?” He looked so good to her, all washed and brushed and dressed in clean clothes. The last time she'd seen him, he'd been dirty and red-eyed and disheveled. And he'd looked good to her even then.

“All right. I went to the blacksmith shop to see if I still had a job, but Maurice told me the king had said I could have all the days off I wanted. And Maurice was nicer to me than he's ever been. I guess being associated with the royal family instead of the Terrible Twos makes a difference.” His voice had a trace of bitterness.

“I know what you mean. It's happening to me, too. Already today I've had more people come in to get books and have a look at me than normally come into the library in a week.” She shrugged. “Of course, they should always have been judging us on our own qualities. But they weren't.”

“And they're
still
not!” Sebastian said.

“But isn't it better like that? This way they'll spend more time with us and that will let them see who we are.”

“But it's not fair. It's wrong.” Sebastian slumped onto a stool and ran his fingers through his hair. “We're still just a curiosity to everyone in the kingdom.”

Phoebe came over and stood behind his stool, then put her arms around him. The strange happenings—the chase through the forest, Winnie's intervention, the discovery of lost mothers—had somehow freed her. If she'd learned nothing else, it was that life was unpredictable, to put it mildly. Hanging on to whatever might help one survive the bombshells seemed the sanest thing to do. Besides, she thought Sebastian was wonderful—brave and smart and gallant in the face of his personal trials and disappointments.