Don’t tell Mother.
Oh, Honeyrose. You know I’m being serious because I’m using your full name. Sometimes I feel like I can’t bear it. I think Calla and Astebaen will be fairly straightforward princes, but when they don’t work…that means my mother and father may try something more drastic. Please do your best to keep them from making any decisions without consulting you first. And under no circumstances are you to let them consult Gasteyer.
In the three months I’ve been here, this is the first moment I’ve felt truly…well, trapped.
I set my pen down and stare at the words I’ve just written.Trapped. Is that what I feel? So soon after the moment in the rain, when I finally felt almost free? Can one feel both trapped and free simultaneously?
The situation with Bash hasn’t improved things, or helped, in any way; I keep thinking, if I’m cursed and can’t leave, and he’s cursed and won’t leave, then perhaps…but it hardly bears thinking about; never in my wildest fancies could anything happen. Mother and Dad would never allow it. My sister would never allow it.
Oh, Honey, I wish you were here to talk to. I feel like I haven’t got anyone I can be completely honest with. To be fair, I can’t be completely honest with you, either; at the end of the day, we’re not merely friends.You’re in the employ of the palace, which means my parents. You’d never willingly divulge a confidence but you’re irritatingly honest, and if anyone ever thought to ask you something like “Is whatever nonsense going on up in Little Pepperidge merely Tandy indulging in a bit of royal self-sabotage,” I suspect you’d clam up instead of just lying, and that’d be answer enough. Certainly for my parents.
I sit back. Another letter I can’t possibly send, much less let anyone ever, ever read. Maybe the months stuck inside are finally starting to get to me. I must be going mad; that’s the only explanation. I can’t believe I wrote what I did about Bash. I’ve never admitted such a sentiment to myself before. I can’t again.
I fold up the letter, seal it, and hide it in my room with the others. Upon my return to the desk, I compose a much lighter note to Honey, along the lines ofTernis accidentally dropped a bookcase on me during his attempt; don’t worry, everything’s fine and the curse is intact; please find a sorcerer soon or else—as was suggested to me yesterday—my parents might resort to sending enchanted frogs my way, and I’m not sure I can take it.
There, that sounds lighthearted but conveys enough desperation that she’ll read between the lines and take it seriously.
Sasha strolls in later in the morning, with Driz, Yenny and two trumpeters, and Ternis—looking rather cast down—in her wake. She sets the men to work setting out the tables and carrying books to them, then hands me an axe and, with a gleam in her eye, tells me to ask Bash to chop up the bookcases. I gleam right back at her and tell her he’s not here and that I could use the exercise. Once the books are cleared away, I take to the destroyed bookcase with a will and chop it to kindling in about half anhour. It doesn’t make my aching back feel any better, but it’s remarkably satisfying. Once little more than splinters remain, I ask Ternis to help carry them into the back garden with me.
“Is that where youlive?” he says, unable to keep the horror from his voice after his first trip through my room.
“Yes,” I say, in a voice that brooks no dissent. I quite like my little room.
“Ah,” he says, and heads back out for another armload of kindling.
By noon, the passageway is cleared and Sasha’s outside with the princes, hawking books from yesterday’s incident at “half-price.” Which is, of course, full price. They’re gone in an hour. Driz takes the others to the newly named Inn of the Five Princes with offers to buy everyone a round. Sasha reappears, jams a wad of cash into the money box, and grins at me.
“When’s your friend coming?” I say, since the last thing she needs is more praise from me.
Sasha immediately blushes. “Dunno, after lunch. I guess.”
Ah.
“Do you want lunch? I can make something.”
She looks around a little vacantly. “Maybe we should tidy up a bit more. Make it look a little more…you know.” She waves a clawed hand. I suppose Idoknow, if she puts it like that. Happy though I am with the bookstore, it is still a little…well, rustic, as one of the princes put it.
“Of course; you take the lead,” I say. Within moments she’s pulling a short bookcase out from behind my desk and settling it in a nook behind the staircase, and arranging some of the more attractive of the books on it. I leave her to it, head out to the garden, and fill a cup with water and rosemary and rose hips, which are a bright autumnal red. Satisfied with my flower arranging, Ibring the cup back and set it on the desk. It’s one of Mrs. Gooch’s ugly cups, but it’ll do.
“Do you think the bluecaps might come out?” Sasha says, a little anxiously, a few minutes later. “They’re so pretty, you know.”
“Why don’t we go chat with them?” I say, though it’s never really been clear to me whether theyunderstandlanguage, or whether they just respond to need. In any event, it’s worth a try.
“Bluecaps,” Sasha says, gently, once we’re in my room. “Would you like to come out for a while today?”
“We’re meeting a new person,” I add. “It might be interesting.”
The gentle blue glow of their nest brightens, which means we have their attention. I nudge Sasha and smile.
“We’re going to talk about repainting the sign outside,” Sasha says. “And maybe copying it on bags and things, for customers. My friend is going to design the new sign. She’s really talented.”
The bluecaps begin to drift out of the nest, and Sasha and I smile at each other and lead the way back to the desk. They waft up to the chandelier above the desk and settle on it, which does, truly, make the bookstore look that much lovelier. And, it must be said, more magical. I may be a cursed princess, but it’s clearly an enchanted bookshop. Or, at least, looks a little like one now. Especially with the cat asleep on the bookcase Sasha just moved.
When the bell over the door rings, we both look up a little too fast, but Sasha sighs in disappointment; it’s only Bash. I blush, and busy myself with rearranging a pile of very, very small books that are sitting on my desk, waiting for my attention. What does one do with a pile of tiny books? In this case, one moves them about.
“What areyoudoing here?” Sasha says, sounding annoyed.
He shrugs. “Figured I’d drop by and see how things are gettingon.” He surveys the now clear and entirely safe hallway. “Apparently, well.”
