Tales Of Arilland Part 9

The next day started so much like the one before it that it took Sunday a while to realize the previous night hadn't been a dream. She awoke to her mother yanking the book out from beneath her head and scolding her for letting the candle burn down. Sunday yawned and rose to get started on her ch.o.r.es...and then noticed the silver dress in the corner. She clasped her pillow to her breast and allowed herself two gluttonous minutes of dancing around the room before she sobered and took the dress downstairs for Friday to alter for the night's festivities.

Sat.u.r.day "injured" herself in the Wood that day, and she limped around the house quite convincingly until Mama caved and told her she did not have to go to the ball. The hired carriage was a little less cramped that night, and Sunday thought Papa seemed happier to have one of his girls stay behind to keep him company. He still looked at Sunday wistfully as she mounted the carriage steps, and she wondered if it was her resemblance to Tuesday that made him sad, or if he could see through her skin to her traitorous heart.

Friday had done wonders retr.i.m.m.i.n.g Sunday's dress with gold, Wednesday's with blue, and hers and Mamas with pieces of silver from Sunday's the night before. But this night was different, and there were so many people at the palace that the Woodcutter women were instantly swept up in the crowd and separated from each other as soon as they alighted from the carriage. Sunday called out to her mother and sisters, but she could not hear them above the din of the voices that surrounded her. Her heart began to race again, and gooseb.u.mps rose up on her skin. She looked around frantically.

The two girls next to her turned...and snarled.

Sunday didn't see who landed the first punch, the one that connected with her stomach and made her double over as she struggled to regain her wind. She could not tell how many hands tore at her ribbons and ripped her dress to shreds, she only heard their shrieks like wild animals above the rending of fabric. Someone's pointed slipper connected with her ribs, and she knew that if she did not stand, she would surely be killed. Her cheek was scratched, and soot was rubbed into her hair and pushed into her mouth. Somehow she blindly made her way to a wall of the castle, found a door, and fell inside the kitchen to safety.

One scullery maid bolted the door, while another sat Sunday down by the fire and held a damp cloth to her wounds. Sunday begged a third not to tell the prince. Which she could only a.s.sume is exactly what the girl did once she pa.s.sed out.

Words and small images came and went through Sunday's consciousness. She was lifted up into strong arms, and a fresh dress was ordered for her. She was changed and tidied and her wounds were tended to by women with soft hands who sounded like silk and smelled of lilacs. She was taken to a place where nightingales sang in the trees above and the sounds of a party could be heard floating in the distance on the cool night air.

Sunday awoke with her head on soft velvet, her hand covering a royal gold medal.

"They will only hate me more for making you miss your own ball," she said to the prince from his shoulder.

"The h.e.l.lions should be grateful I did not call off the evening altogether. I have never seen such savagery."

"The female of the species..." Sunday chuckled, and her ribs suddenly regretted it.

"It is my fault for singling you out."

"It is my fault for wanting to be singled out," Sunday fought back, "and the curse of an interesting life. There are very good times and very bad times. Black and white. Things aren't usually nice shades of grey. Tonight was the price I paid for having such a wonderful time yesterday."

"Do not attempt to justify their actions," said the prince. "You deserve better. From all of us." He smoothed her hair with his hand, and she was too weary and too selfish to tell him to stop. "This will not happen again tomorrow."

Sunday lifted her head from the prince's shoulder and looked him in the eyes. "There can be no tomorrow, surely you realize that."

"There will be. I will send a carriage at sundown, and my guardsmen will accompany you and your family to the Entrance. You have my word; no harm will come to you."

But that's not it at all, she wanted to tell him. Don't you see how far I am beneath you? Don't you see that my family doesn't have enough money to afford three dresses for each of their daughters for a ball every night? Don't you remember that I'm a Woodcutter, and that your evil fairy G.o.dmother turned my brother into a dog and my father will never give me permission to...to...

She let the manic words winnow away to nothing. Her heart was gone; she had betrayed her friend and her family, and whatever happened, happened.

"Thank you."

"And now," said the prince as he lifted her into his arms, "I will send you home to rest. I will go back to the party and tell your mother that you have fallen ill with fatigue as a result of the crowd."

He was good; that wasn't entirely a lie. "I can walk, you know."

He ignored Sunday's protests. "And then I will woo your mother and dance with your sisters all night until every other woman in the room is green with envy."

She swatted his shoulder. "Beast."

He sat her down gently in the carriage and kissed her hand.

"Good night, my Sunday."

"Good night, my prince."

The house was dark when Sunday arrived home, and she was grateful. She quietly and carefully climbed the stairs to her tower room and eased the new dress over her bruised body. She threw back the covers of her bed and saw her book, small and lonely on the pillow.

But Sunday could not bring herself to write the words.

She turned her face into the pillow and cried herself to sleep.

When Mama poked Sunday awake the next morning, she screamed.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly. "You startled me."

"You have more to be sorry for than that. You started quite the scandal, disappearing off with the prince last night."

"I was...ill."

"So ill you ruined your dress?" Mama scoffed. "Don't lie to me, Sunday. It isn't you." Sunday opened her mouth, but Mama held up a hand. "Don't tell me the truth either, because I don't want to lie to your father. Just tell me this. Are you in love with him?"

"Yes." All Sunday's torment filled up that one word and spilled over the sides.

"That's what I was afraid of."

And then the strangest thing happened.

Mama softened.

"Come with me, child."

Sunday followed her mother down the tower steps to her parents' room in the main house. Mama led her to the trunk at the end of her bed, a fixture for so long Sunday had forgotten it was there. She pulled off the quilts and pillows that were stacked on top of it, and the lid creaked as she pried open the long-neglected hinges.

Inside the trunk was a box, and inside the box was a dress of silver and gold, the most beautiful dress Sunday had ever seen.

"It was Tuesday's gift from Fairy Joy," Mama said after a prolonged and reverent silence, "for when she danced at her wedding." There was a hitch in her voice. "She never got to wear it." She looked up at me with damp eyes. "I think she would want you to have it."

The world around her clicked, and Sunday saw what was really going on, what Mama was really saying.

Seven for a secret never to be told.

Just as the things Sunday wrote came true, things Mama said came true. She had stopped having children after seven daughters. She had called Trix a member of the family and he was, and it never occurred to anyone to think differently. She had called Sunday ungrateful...and everyone knew how successfully that had developed. It was Mama who had said the shoes would never wear out, and in doing so she had cursed her own daughter to death. Mama who had said that one of her daughters would be engaged by the end of the week, and so cursed Sunday as well.

It wasn't Tuesday who wanted Sunday to have the dress; it was Mama.

Sunday hugged her mother tightly. "It's beautiful, Mama."

Seven Woodcutter put her awkward arms around her youngest daughter. "I love you, Sunday. No matter what happens."

For once, Mama didn't have to say it for Sunday to know it was true.

Mama, Wednesday, Friday and Sunday were all ready when the prince's carriage arrived at sunset.

This time, her father was not at the door to watch them leave.

When they arrived at the palace, there was no need for an escort, as guards lined the path from the stairs to the Grand Entrance. They walked through the doors that opened before them, and when they were announced, the a.s.sembly bowed as one.

Sunday had to restrain herself from running down the red-carpeted stairs to take the hand of her prince.

"Don't you think this is a bit much?" she whispered.

"No. You look beautiful."

"Thank you."

"Shall we dance?"

The music started up at once, as if the musicians had been waiting the whole time for Sunday's arrival. She could almost feel the collected relief as other dancers began to fill the floor. Sunday and her prince danced countless dances straight before stopping for a breath of fresh air on the prince's private balcony. He immediately sent his servant for wine and refreshment.

"I hated letting you go last night," he said as soon as they were alone. "The party wasn't the same without you."

"I missed you too." The truth hurt just as badly when spoken aloud. This was all too painful, and she had to put a stop to it. She wondered, after so long, if Grumble even remembered her, but she had betrayed her father long enough.

"Your Highness-"

"My friends call me Rumbold."

Sunday could not let herself sink deeper into the mire by addressing him so familiar.

"Sunday," he asked softly, "will you be my friend?"

He was killing her. "Your Highness, we can't be anything. This can't go on any longer. Surely you know who I am, who my family is."

"The past is past," he said. "Can't we put it behind us?"

How could he shrug off such a tragedy so lightly? He didn't know the impact her brother's fate had had on her family. He couldn't have. For all his princely life, locked up in his ivory tower, Sunday could see that he was blissfully unaware of the exact situation. She was determined to clear the air between them.

She held up a hand to his mouth. "Please, let me finish." He said nothing, only began to kiss her fingers and she was forced to concentrate. "I am a Woodcutter," she said, determined to make him understand. "Sunday Woodcutter."

"And you're ungrateful," he finished. "I already know that part."

Sunday blinked, and all the familiar words finally hit home. The world spun around her, and for the second time that night it clicked slammed horribly into focus.

Grumble.

Rumbold.

The prince hadn't been off on holiday, he had been enchanted.

That last kiss had broken the spell.

The trading of the golden bauble for royal tokens; him picking her out of the crowd only seconds after her arrival at the ball on the first night.

He had been in love with her the whole time.

Prince Rumbold's eyes twinkled and he kissed her fingers again.

Oh, she was such a fool.