“He wouldn’t be very good at running a bookshop anyway,” Sasha whispers.
“It’s just a lark,” Mother says. “You’re tired, you need a break. We can give you a few months to yourself, and then you can reconsider.”
“I am tired,” I say. “But a few more months won’t change my mind. This”—I wave a hand at the room—“this is the first real home I’ve ever had. I wear my own clothes, I go to sleep and wake up when I want.” I smile, a little sadly. “I kissed someone because I wanted to.”
“But this is our life,” Mother says.
“I know, Mama,” I say, softly. “I’m sorry.”
Chapter 50
The ground didn’t swallow me up when I told my parents I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t burst into flame when I admitted I was in love with Bash—in front of a room full of people, no less—and I didn’t lose respect for him when I found out he’d been cursed because he’d stolen a sea witch’s magical scallop. Truly, I would have been disappointed had it been something more stereotypically piratical; only Bash could get himself tangled up in a curse even more complicated than mine because of a shellfish. Honey didn’t vanish in a puff of smoke for quitting out of nowhere. And Bash didn’t burst into flame when he admitted he was in love with me, although I haven’t had a chance to think about that very much, because my parents are deep in discussion with each other about what to do next. Honey, in her new capacity of free citizen, is cheerfully eating a cinnamon roll and telling Sasha and Amaritha tales about her visit to the Dark Wizard’s castle, famously tall and crumbling and inaccessible, and thegleaming palace of the Wizard of Light. Bash is watching my mother pace back and forth, and avoiding my eye. The sorcerer seems to have fallen asleep again. My parents, deep in their discussion, toss phrases like “constitutional amendment” and “succession issues” back and forth.
Just when I’ve about given up hope that we’ll ever leave this room again, my mother drops heavily into her chair, sighs, and takes my hand.
“Perhaps six more months,” she suggests. “Stay here in seclusion for six more months, and then return to the palace. I’m sure you’ll find you come to miss it.”
“I’m sorry, Mother,” I say. “My mind is made up.”
“Tandy,” she says, gently. “We have a lot to work out. Your behavior is…”
I suck in a breath, ready to defend myself, and she pauses.
She closes her eyes and opens them again. “What I mean to say,” she begins again, “is that we find ourselves now in a rather unprecedented situation. We have a lot to determine, and one of our most trusted advisers”—she slants a look at Honey, who smiles blandly in response—“has chosen a rather inopportune moment to hand in her resignation.”
My mother always had a gift for ironic understatement. It’s how she keeps troublesome ministers in line.
“We want you to know,” my father says gently, his hand on my shoulder, “here, in the presence of your friends, that we don’t fully understand why you’ve made your decision, but we respect it. I suppose, unlike Honeyrose, you can’t simply hand over a letter; the work you do istrulywork, but it’s as much familial necessity and royal obligation as it is…well, a job.”
“If you don’t wish to do it anymore,” Mother continues, “we will do our best to…to understand and respect that. We canmake arrangements to cover your duties—Roth has never minded the baby-kissing and the unicorn inspections.”
No, my father has a soft heart, and loves babies and unicorns.
“And perhaps we can effect some minor changes to our public-facing duties; perhaps we were being too generous with our schedules.”
Honey coughs.
“Withyourschedule, really,” Mother amends, “and some of these duties of yours need not be carried out by a royal personage.”
“We may, perhaps, have been a little too cavalier with your time, my dear,” my father says. “You were always so agreeable.”
“Such a nice change from your sister,” Mother adds.
“I suppose, what we’re trying to say…”
They both look deeply uncomfortable, but something a little like hope blooms in my chest.
“If this is truly your decision…”
I swallow. “It is.”
“Then we leave it with you,” Mother says. “We shall announce to the ministers that you have retired from public life at the Yuletide blessing, in a month’s time.” She glances up at Bash and then back at me. “If you should marry and have children…Well, that is a bit of a complication, in terms of the succession.”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” my father says.
I put my head down in my arms and burst into tears again.
Chapter 51
