The Sweetest Spell (32 page)

The crowd cheered. I spat blood into the dirt. One-eyed Henry bent forward and charged me like a bull. That’s when I decided what I had to do. Enough with this stupid fight. I turned and ran straight for the railing. The merchants who sat in the front row gasped as I leaped over the railing and ran up the steps toward the thrones. Rather than try to stop me, the powder-faced people shrank back, clinging to one another in fear. “Prince,” I called as my feet hit the fourth tier. “Emmeline needs to know—”

Two soldiers grabbed my arms and twisted them behind my back, holding me in place. I didn’t struggle. I was already a dead man. All I wanted was for Emmeline to know the truth.

The prince darted in front of his mother, guarding her with outstretched arms. He wore no weapon. A pair of strange spectacles hung around his neck. We locked gazes. “What did you say about Emmeline?” he asked.

“I need to tell her something. I’m her friend. My name is Owen.” I winced as the soldiers tightened their grip. “I brought her father from the mineral fields. He’s waiting outside the gates.”

The prince took a step toward me. “Her father?”

“This boy is a madman, full of lies,” the queen said, pushing the prince aside. “He claims that your future bride is a dirt-scratcher. He asks us to concern ourselves with dirt-scratchers who have gathered outside the city wall. We care not about such matters. We will order them back to the Flatlands.”

“The Flatlands were destroyed,” I said. “The people will die. They need food.”

“Let them die,” the queen said. “We care not. Take him away.”

My gaze burned into the prince. “Tell her,” I called as the soldiers dragged me toward the golden door. “Tell her about her father. Tell her about her people.” The door opened and just before they shoved me through I cried, “Tell her that Owen Oak loves her.”

Prince Beau hurried into my room. He wore a long brown cloak. I lay curled on the bed, a ball of anger and shame. My hair had dried but the pillows were still damp. “Your mother lied to me,” I said quietly.

The chambermaids were playing a game of cards. They scrambled to their feet and bowed like trained animals. “Out,” he told them. As soon as we were alone, he slammed shut the door and tossed a second brown cloak onto the bed. “Put this on. I’m taking you outside.”

“Outside?”

“Yes. There’s something you need to see. It’s important.” He frowned at me. “I’m sorry she did that to your hair.”

“She never gave Griffin his reward,” I said as I grabbed the cloak and slid off the bed. I hadn’t felt this much anger since my days with Peddler. I nearly broke the cord as I tied the cloak around my shoulders. “She promised to give him the reward but she stuck
him in the dungeon. She said she’d kill him if I stopped making chocolate.”

“It’s worse than I ever imagined,” the prince said as he stared out the window. “My mother has gone too far this time. She has lost her humanity.”

“Where are we going?”

“Outside the walls.”

“But I’m not supposed—”

“I’ll say I ordered you to go.”

I strained to keep up with the prince’s determined pace. We took the narrow staircase that led to my churning room. No one questioned the prince as he led me through the kitchen labyrinth. The rooms and hallways were crowded with servants and cooks bustling here and there. The royal chefs shouted orders. “More salt!” “Baste the guinea hens!” “Brown the butter!” Baskets of carrots and cabbage were stacked one on top of the other. Cauldrons bubbled. A man unloaded a wagon of peacocks. Another led two pigs toward the slaughter room. “What’s going on?” I asked.

“Our wedding is tomorrow,” the prince said. “On the second day of tournament. All the ambassadors will be here. Mother decided to hold our wedding first thing in the morning, before the tournament begins.”

“Tomorrow morning?” I didn’t care if I sounded disgusted. I was. I hated the queen and wanted nothing to do with her plans. But I was as much her prisoner as Griffin.

“She will introduce you to the ambassadors and then she’ll give them each a gift.” He motioned me into the chocolate room.
Servants sat at a long table painting gold swans on the chocolate squares before setting them neatly into golden boxes. “These boxes will be given to each ambassador to take back to their kings and bishops. Once the outside world has tasted chocolate, the orders will pour in. With the profits, Mother will build a new palace. I’ve seen the design.”

“Another palace?” I asked. He nodded. “And all the while, she’ll hold Griffin hostage.”

“My parents are holding the entire realm hostage,” he said.

I followed him into a room lined with shelves of bread. His friend, the Baron of Lime, waited in the room, baskets in hand. One basket was filled with apples, the other with smoked turkey legs. The baron also wore a long brown cloak. The prince grabbed a crate and filled it with bread rolls. “Why do we need all this bread?”

“I’m taking you to see your people,” he said. “My people?”

“A group of dirt-scratchers are outside the city wall. They’re starving. We’re going to take this food to them, but we have to be sneaky.” He and the baron tied their cloaks, then pulled the hoods over their heads. Prince Beau pulled my hood over my black hair. “If Mother finds out she’ll punish me, probably by exiling the baron to the mineral fields.”

The baron grumbled. “I’d like to see her try.”

The peacock wagon lay empty, the driver carrying the last two birds toward the curing room. When the driver disappeared around a corner, the Baron of Lime set the baskets inside, then
climbed onto the wagon’s bench. Prince Beau placed the crate of bread into the wagon, then jumped in. He grabbed my hand and pulled me in beside him. The baron flicked the reins and drove the wagon through the kitchen courtyard, down an alleyway, and out onto a Londwin street.

My people were out there. They weren’t supposed to leave the Flatlands. Would they be arrested? Or worse? As if sensing my impatience, the baron urged the horse into a gallop. We flew past lifeless stone buildings, soot rising in our wake. Though the chimneys had been asleep for weeks, soot still clung to everything—a powdery reminder of days gone by. The gargoyles no longer frightened me. I felt like one of them—stuck in this city for the rest of my life, as if I too were cemented to a rooftop.

Shouting filled the air as we neared the city gate—the sound of not one, but many voices calling the king’s name.

To get the soldiers to open the gate, Prince Beau had to reveal his identity. But he pulled the hood over his head as soon as the gate opened. The gathered crowd was in an uproar, shaking fists and shouting, throwing stones at the wall. “Why are they here?” I asked, pulling my cloak tighter around my face.

“They’ve come to protest the taxes,” the prince said as the wagon rolled through the gate. The crowd parted as the horse pushed through. Not far up the road, just as the shouting was beginning to fade in the distance, the baron yanked the reins. There, beneath a cluster of trees, sat a group of tattered people. My people.

I knew some of the women and children who’d once lived in Root, but many others I didn’t know. My heart ached as I
recognized the hollow cheeks and sagging skin of starvation. As the horse came to a stop, Prince Beau and I climbed out with the baskets of food. “Eat,” the prince said. “It’s free.” But none of the Flatlanders moved, looking warily at him.

“It’s okay,” I told them. “We’ve brought food for you. You can eat.” I pushed my hood away. The Flatlanders stared at me. Even though my accent sounded like theirs, distrust clung to their faces. “Please don’t be afraid. I look different but I’m Emmeline. I’m from Root.”

“Emmeline?” a woman said. It was Missus Trog, the gravedigger’s wife. “Is that really you, Emmeline?”

“Aye.” I carried the crate toward her, my limp speaking louder than words.

“Emmeline,” they whispered, their faces relaxing. Even though I was an outcast amongst them, they trusted me over the prince and the baron. The women let go of the children, who flung themselves at the food. Prince Beau and the baron set the baskets on the ground. Every morsel was grabbed. The food wouldn’t be enough, though. They’d die if I didn’t figure out a way to help them. My gaze traveled over their faces. A boy with freckles, a young mother with her babe bundled on her back, an elderly woman with a missing tooth, a man with sharp shoulders …

Was I seeing things?

“Father?” He stood a few feet away. “Father?” I whispered.

He walked up to me, his face older than I remembered. “I thought I’d never see you again,” he said.

Was he glad to see me? Honestly I couldn’t tell. Or was it the
same as always—my presence reminding him of the burden I’d brought to our family. “I wanted to find you,” I started to explain. “I was trying …”

There was no hesitation. Before I could say another word he wrapped his arms around me. “I am happy you are safe.” He had never embraced me in this way. The other Flatlanders stopped eating for a moment and watched. I tried to pull out of his hug. Surely his mind was sick from hunger. He’d never hugged me in private and to do so in front of our people would bring him shame.

“Father,” I said, trying to remind him. “I know I look different, but I’m still Emmeline. They still think I’m unnatural.”

“I don’t care what they think.” He held tight. “You are not my shame, Emmeline. That I cast you aside is my shame. That has always been my shame.”

We stood like that for a long time, until our breathing settled and my tears stopped flowing. Until someone tugged on my skirt. Small green eyes stared up at me. “Thank you, Emmeline.” The girl couldn’t have been more than eight or nine. From her hollow features and sallow skin, it was clear that death had been hovering, waiting to snatch her.

“You’re welcome,” I said.

An older woman took the girl’s hand. To my surprise, she did not pull the girl away from me. “We’ve had no food for days,” the woman told me. “You have saved my daughter’s life.”

The others thanked me, including Missus Trog. Because exhaustion and fear had eaten away at them, maybe they no longer
had the strength to despise me. But it genuinely felt as if my unnatural status had been vanquished by the simple act of bringing bread. In their desperate eyes, I was reborn.

“We will bring more,” I said, glancing at Prince Beau. He nodded.

My father stepped away and looked down at his cracked boots. “Please forgive me, Emmeline. I haven’t been as a father should be. Losing your mother was nearly too much to bear. I haven’t felt alive since her death.”

“I understand,” I told him. “I know how it feels to lose someone you love.” I took his callused hand. “Will you tell me about her? When we have more time?” He nodded.

While the Baron of Lime waited at the wagon, Prince Beau walked up to my father. “Mister Thistle?” he said, holding out his hand. “It’s an honor to meet you. My name is Prince Beauregard.”

Father did not offer his hand. “My people are not slaves,” he said defiantly. I suddenly remembered this defiance. It had been a part of him when I was little, when he’d organized a revolt against taxes. Before Mother’s death.

“Pardon me?” Prince Beau asked.

“My people are not slaves. We are citizens. You have no right taking us from our homes and enslaving us in the mineral fields.”

“Slaves in the mineral fields?” Prince Beau frowned. “Well, I can guess who’s behind that.” He held out his chin and stared deep into my father’s eyes. “For now, I can only offer you sustenance and apologize for my mother’s actions. And promise that when I marry
your daughter, she will be protected. I have no power yet, but when I’m king there will be no slavery in the realm.” Over at the wall, the crowd’s shouting grew louder. “We should get back to the palace before you are discovered missing.”

I ran my hand over my blackened hair. “There is much I need to tell you,” I said to my father. “But I must leave. We’ll bring more food as soon as possible. And we’ll figure out a way to help everyone.” I had no idea how we’d do that, and the prince’s uneasy look didn’t give me much confidence. “In the meantime, don’t tell anyone that you’re my father,” I warned, thinking of the queen’s dungeon. She’d throw him into the same cell with Griffin. “Keep your name a secret until I can figure out how to fix things.”

Prince Beau shuffled nervously, looking toward the looming city walls. “I really think—”

“You intend to marry my daughter?” my father asked, his head held high. I smiled. The way he’d interrupted, he could have been talking to our neighbor back in Root. It didn’t seem to faze him that it was the prince of Anglund who stood before him.

“Yes,” Prince Beau said. “Tomorrow. Before the second day of tournament.”

“That is not possible.” Father folded his arms. “Emmeline must bid for you at the next husband market.”

“Husband market?” Prince Beau asked with a slight smile. “What’s that?”

“It’s our tradition,” Father said. “It has always been our tradition. I tried to explain this to the other boy.”

“What other boy?” I asked.

“The one who brought me here. The one who saved me from the mineral fields. Owen. Owen Oak.”

I forgot how to breathe. The shouting in the distance faded and all I could hear was the beating of my heart in my ears.

Where is he?”

“He went to the tournament,” my father said. “The king’s tournament. He’s going to fight.”

I pulled my skirt to my knees and ran from the clearing, my lopsided stride carrying me past the wagon where the Baron of Lime waited to drive us back to the city. Owen. Owen was alive. Owen was behind those walls. In the arena. He’d saved my father. He was here!

I tried to run faster, my boots kicking up pebbles as I reached the road. The city gate seemed so far away. But someone grabbed my arm, pulling me to a stop. “Emmeline, where are you going?” the prince asked.

“Owen’s alive,” I said.

“Emmeline. Listen to me. There’s something I must tell you.”

“Please help me get back through the gate,” I pleaded, my face twisted with happiness and panic. “I want to see him. I thought he was dead. But he’s here. He’s in the arena.”