Grassina was still in bed the next morning when a buzzard smelling of its recent meal of rotting muskrat flew in through her window and dropped a note on her. “She was right,” said the bird as it landed on the sill. “Although why anyone would be in bed this late in the day is beyond me.”
Rolling over, Grassina blinked, then sat up with a start when she saw the filthy bird. The buzzard snickered at the frightened look in her eyes, clacking its beak in irritation when the note fluttered off Grassina and onto the floor.
“Don’t just sit there,” said the buzzard. “Pick it up and read it! Why do you think I’m here? She said you were slow as well as lazy and that I should lend you a wing if you needed it.” Extending a wing covered with dried blood and reeking bits of offal, the bird snickered again when Grassina retreated to the far side of the bed. “She said you’d be prissy. You might as well get the note though. I’m not leaving until you do.”
Keeping her distance from the bird, Grassina slipped out from under her covers and knelt on the floor, reaching under the bed for the wayward note. “Good,” said the buzzard. “It’s officially delivered, so I’m off. I’d read it right away if I were you. You don’t have much time since you’ve already slept away most of the morning.”
Grassina glanced out the window as one of the castle’s roosters crowed. The sun was just rising over the tops of the trees in the distance, and the first rays had yet to reach the cold stone walls. The buzzard flapped its wings and flew away, shedding a loose feather that drifted onto Grassina’s bed. She didn’t notice, however, because she was already trying to decipher her mother’s handwriting.
Grassina,
Get your lazy rump out of bed and go to your precious swamp. Find enough eggshells from just-hatched blackbirds to fill a washtub and bring them back to me before midnight tonight. If you fail to do this, go straight to the moat and make yourself comfortable, because I’ll be turning you into a slimy, loathsome snail.
Signed,
Queen Olivene (your mother)
P.S. Have Cook bring me some rotten grapes, stale bread, and a flagon of brackish water. Yesterday’s breakfast was so good I can’t wait to taste it again.
“How am I supposed to do that?” Grassina muttered, thinking about the size of the washtubs she’d seen in the kitchen. The task was so daunting that she was tempted to give up before she’d even begun, but she couldn’t—not if she didn’t want to become a snail for who knew how long.
This time when Grassina sought out a scullery maid, she asked for the smallest washtub. Unfortunately, even the smallest tub was unwieldy when the princess tried to carry it herself. Grassina staggered under its weight as she lifted it with both arms and lugged it out of the castle and across the drawbridge. She had to set it down twice so she could rest before reaching the tree house, groaning each time she picked it up.
Grassina was setting the washtub down once again when she thought about Pippa. It had been days since she had last visited the little snake, but she’d been so busy, she hadn’t had a chance. Grassina bit her lip. She hadn’t taken Pippa any food in all that time either, and with the queen’s magic keeping the snake inside . . .
Something crunched under her feet as Grassina approached the ladder. Broken glass sparkled on the ground, some of it still in the shape of feathers. Worried, Grassina hurried to the ladder and began to climb, almost falling when a rung snapped beneath her foot. She gripped the ladder with white-knuckled hands, her heart racing. After that she tested each rung before putting her weight on it and was relieved when she reached the platform. Her relief gave way to dismay when she saw the cottage. Wasps buzzed through the open window. Branches from the supporting tree had broken, smashing through the roof and some of the platform boards.
“It’s like the castle,” murmured Grassina. “When Mother changed, she stopped caring about a lot of things. She must have let the maintenance spells lapse.” Stepping over the larger debris, she set her hand on the door, which was sagging so badly that she had to give it a hard shove to move it out of her way.
More shards of glass littered the floor inside, and the copper birds were gone. The fire was out in the fireplace, where even the ashes were cold.
“Pippa!” called Grassina. “Are you here?”
At first there was no reply, but then over the creaking of the tree’s branches and the angry complaint of the wasps, Grassina heard a faint, almost tentative tapping coming from the wooden trunk in the corner. Skirting a branch that protruded through the ceiling, she reached the trunk and lifted the lid. Hector’s eyes were wild when he whinnied to her, but Marniekins looked even worse. Her dress was disheveled, her wool hair a stiff corona around her head. The poor doll was so upset that she couldn’t stop wringing her hands.
“Oh, Princess, I’m glad you came!” exclaimed the doll. “There was a big storm and the wind shook our tree and there was crashing and banging and it was just awful!”
“Are you all right?” asked Grassina.
Marniekins nodded until Grassina feared that her head would come off. “We’re fine. We stayed in the trunk while your friend told us what was happening. Pippa was so nice! She talked to me after you left and told me about monkeys and bright-colored birds and scary lizards and all sorts of things. But then the storm came and everything changed and she left to get something to eat and never came back.”
Grassina frowned, wishing she had come sooner. “I hope she wasn’t hurt. She already had an injured tail.”
“She told us about that,” said Marniekins. “She told us about how she met you, too. Were you really a rabbit?”
“Yes,” said Grassina, scooping up the doll and tucking her in her sack. “And I’ll be something else if I don’t find the eggshells my mother wants. I’m taking you and Hector with me. You can’t stay here any longer.”
“Where are we going?”
“After I do something for my mother, I’ll have to hide you in the castle. Rag dolls and wooden horses don’t last long outside in bad weather.”
“But didn’t you take Pippa out of the castle because it wasn’t safe?”
Grassina nodded. “That’s true. But this time I don’t have any choice.”
As the swamp wasn’t far from the tree house, Grassina forced herself to carry the washtub without stopping once. She sighed when she finally set it down by a pond.
“This is a beautiful place,” Marniekins said, peeking out of Grassina’s leather sack. “But what kind of errand would your mother send you on that would bring you here?”
“I have to collect enough blackbird eggshells to fill this tub. If I don’t, she’ll turn me into a snail and I’ll have to live in the moat.”
“That’s so mean! I saw your mother only a few times, but she didn’t seem mean to me.”
“Mother wasn’t horrid until recently. A curse turned her nasty. Now she orders us around and makes us get her all sorts of strange things.”
“And if you don’t get them, she turns you into a snail?”
“Not always. She turned me into a turtle yesterday. And when I met Pippa, I was a rabbit, remember?” Grassina sighed. “I don’t know how I’ll ever find the eggshells, let alone enough to fill this tub, so I’ll probably be a snail before the day is out.”
A sound like muffled thunder made Grassina look up. An angry-looking cloud was forming over the trees to the north. As it grew, it seemed to writhe and churn, becoming darker and more ominous each moment. With a muffled shriek, Marniekins pulled her head into the sack and tugged it closed behind her.
When Grassina finally realized that the cloud was coming her way, there wasn’t time to reach shelter. She was looking up into the heart of the cloud when it started to break apart, raining bits of itself down on her. Crouching low to the ground, she covered her head with her arms, squeezed her eyes shut, and waited for whatever it was to strike. A roaring wind nearly knocked her over, carrying with it a pungent odor. The sound grew so loud, it was deafening, yet Grassina remained untouched. Warily opening her eyes, she was surprised to see blackbirds hurtling past, one after another, slowing long enough to drop something from their beaks into the washtub. Having decided that the birds weren’t coming after her, Grassina sat back on her heels to watch the cloud lessen and finally disperse. When the sky was clear once again, she peered into the washtub and was surprised to see that it was filled with bits of broken eggshells.
“The blackbirds brought me the eggshells I needed!” Grassina exclaimed. “I wonder who did this.” Turning her head from side to side, she tried to spot her mysterious benefactor. “Those birds wouldn’t have done it on their own. It’s just like when the toad jumped in the basket. Someone with magic must be doing this. A fairy perhaps . . . Maybe even the swamp fairy. Hello! Whoever you are—thank you for your help!”
When no one appeared, Grassina picked up the tub, staggering under its even greater weight. The way back seemed longer than the trip out had been, and she had to set the tub down five or six times before she had the castle in sight. Whatever magic had made the birds bring her their shells hadn’t made the tub or its contents any lighter.
Grassina had passed the practice field and could smell the fetid water of the moat when she heard a woman screaming. An anguished, wavering cry of loss and despair, the sound would have made her turn and run if it hadn’t been coming from the castle. Dropping the washtub with a loud thump, she ran toward the drawbridge. Her first thought was that the werewolves had somehow gotten past the defenses, but she couldn’t understand how it could have happened. The moat completely encircled the castle, and the drawbridge was always well guarded. Only something with wings could have gotten over the castle walls, and even then . . .
A piercing shriek made Grassina stumble and nearly fall. The sound dissolved into a wordless wail that clutched at her heart and brought involuntary tears to her eyes. She looked up when a woman wearing a long, white gown drifted through a tower window, wailing and tearing at her streaming white hair. The woman swooped low enough that Grassina could see her bloodred eyes and gaunt features. “Woe is me!” the woman wailed. “Death and destruction shall visit this castle before the day is out!”
As the woman flew off, heading north toward the enchanted forest, a feeling of absolute desolation swept over Grassina, leaving her feeling lonely and bereft. The guards on the battlements, the farmers delivering chickens, and the pages chucking stones into the moat were frozen in place as if the wail had the same power to render them as immobile as the frigid north wind.
When the cries of the woman had faded away, Grassina was once again able to move, although with a dragging step and a heart that ached with unnamed sorrow. The faces of the guards stationed by the drawbridge were pale, their expressions stricken. Grassina tried not to look at them too long, knowing that their faces mirrored her own and only made her sorrow harder to bear.
Her feet seemed to move of their own volition, carrying her across the open courtyard into the castle, where the sound of crying seemed natural after the heartrending wail. She found Chartreuse huddled on a bench in the Great Hall, sobbing. Prince Limelyn was sitting beside her holding her hand while Torrance sat on the other side with his arm around her shoulder. The other princes stood at the far end of the table, looking uncomfortable.
Prince Limelyn jumped to his feet when he saw Grassina, relinquishing his seat for her. “What happened?” she asked, putting her arms around her sister.
“The banshee . . . ,” Chartreuse cried. “She flew through the castle, screaming and tearing out her hair and frightening everyone and saying that . . . that . . . Oh, Grassina, it’s too awful! Father is going to die today!”
“I don’t believe it, unless . . .” Grassina narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “Did the banshee do something to Father?”
Chartreuse shook her head, making her honey gold curls fly. “I don’t think she went near him, but then, she wouldn’t have to. She’s a banshee! They always know when someone is going to die.”
“Have you gone to see Father? I hope he didn’t hear this nonsense. Nobody in this castle is going to die today!”
“I told you . . . banshees know these things.”
“Well, this time she’s wrong,” said Grassina, helping her sister to her feet. “Now stop crying. We’ll go visit Father and you’ll see that he’s all right.”
Nearly a dozen people stopped them in the hall as they headed to the door at the top of the dungeon stairs, and they all wanted to offer their condolences. “We’re so sorry to hear about your father,” some said.
“He was the best king we’ve ever had,” said others.
“Our father is fine,” Grassina said each time while Chartreuse cried harder.
Chartreuse was sobbing loudly again when they closed the dungeon door behind them and started down the stairs, but even she noticed that the shadows seemed to draw closer the louder she cried. It frightened her enough that she straightened her shoulders, gave a few last shuddering sobs, and wiped her eyes with the tips of her fingers.
The sisters had almost reached their father’s room when Olivene popped through the doorway and glared at them. “Where do you think you’re going?” snapped the queen.
“To see Father,” said Grassina. “We wanted to make sure he was all right.”
“Well, he’s not,” Olivene said, so angry that her voice shook. “Fine daughters you are, coming to see him only after he’s dead.”
Grassina shook her head. “No, you’re wrong. Father can’t be dead. I saw him yesterday. He said he had a cold.”
“He’s deader than a doornail and there’s nothing you can do about it, so go away and leave us alone.”
“Father is dead!” wailed Chartreuse. “The banshee was right! I told you, Grassina, but you wouldn’t listen!”
Grassina was too stunned to reply. She felt as if the floor of the dungeon had dropped out from under her and she was falling into an abyss. Her father was gone. The only person who understood her, the only person who she knew really loved her, was gone. “Can we see him?” she whispered, her throat feeling tight and prickly.
“No, you can’t see him. I was saying my good-byes, so go away! I wasn’t finished.”
While the girls watched, stunned, Olivene scuttled back into the room and slammed the door. Tears trickled down Grassina’s cheeks as she took her older sister’s hand in hers. “We’ll come back later, after she’s finished saying good-bye.”
Something made of glass hit the door on the other side, shattering. “You’re a no-good, rotten liar!” screamed the queen.
Chartreuse nodded. “Maybe she’ll go upstairs soon.”
There was a thud, and the door shook. “How dare you leave me?” screamed Olivene. “I was supposed to go first! It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
Chartreuse glanced back at the door as her sister led her away. “Mother doesn’t grieve like everyone else,” said Grassina.
“I know,” said Chartreuse. “But then, Mother doesn’t do anything like anyone else.”
Once upstairs, Chartreuse left Grassina, saying that she wanted to be alone. Grassina felt numb and empty as she slipped away to her chamber. The loss of her mother to the family curse had been a blow, but nothing like this. At least then the girls had still had one normal parent who cared about them. Now all they had was their mother, a horrible person who cared only for herself.
Grassina stayed in her room until late afternoon, when she heard a commotion outside. Wiping the tears from her eyes, she took a shuddering breath and went to her window. Chartreuse and Prince Pietro were walking toward a crowd gathered around a man who was waving his arms and gesturing. When he turned his head to look at the castle, Grassina saw that it was her father’s gamekeeper, Milo Blum, a normally quiet and sedate man.
After splashing cold water on her face, Grassina hurried down the stairs. Chartreuse was already there talking to Milo when she arrived. Prince Pietro was lingering only a short distance away, looking irritated.
“I went to see for myself,” said Milo. “The stream is poisoned. A Vila probably did it, just like the one in Upper Montevista three years ago.”
“Isn’t there anything you can do about it?” asked Chartreuse.
Milo Blum shook his head. “I don’t know. We’ve never had a Vila in Greater Greensward before. I don’t even know what to look for or how to track her.”
“What is a Vila?” asked Grassina, stepping through the crowd.
“I’ve heard she looks like an incredibly beautiful young woman dressed in white. She lives in the woods and protects the animals. They say that Vili don’t like hunters and poison the streams they drink from to keep them from coming back. What with the werewolves . . . and now the Vila . . . no one wants to go into the forest anymore. I told Cook that’s why I won’t be bringing her fresh meat for tonight’s supper.”
Chartreuse silenced him with another wave of her hand. “Thank you for telling us. Please keep us informed of anything else you hear. That will be all for now.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Milo said, bowing to her as if she were the queen. It struck Grassina that Chartreuse was more of a queen than their mother, at least the way their mother was now.
“So what should we do?” Grassina asked her sister as they crossed the courtyard together. “Do you think we should assemble the knights and ask for volunteers to find the Vila?”
“No,” said Chartreuse. “The Green Witch has protected this kingdom for hundreds of years, but Mother doesn’t care what happens to Greater Greensward now. I’m sure Father could have handled it, if he were still . . .” When her eyes started to well with tears, Chartreuse took a deep breath and blinked furiously for a moment. After clearing her throat, she added, “I may not be the Green Witch yet, but I will be someday, so I guess this is going to be up to me.”
“What can you do?” asked Grassina. “You’re only fifteen and don’t have a speck of magic.”
Chartreuse lifted her chin. “I’m going to have magic,” she said, sounding defiant. “It just hasn’t shown itself yet. Maybe this is what it will take to get it started. I’ll go down to Mother’s workroom and look through her books. I’m sure she’ll have some kind of spell I can use.”
“Do you really think she’ll let you look at them?”
“I wasn’t going to ask her! I’ll just slip in when she comes up from the dungeon. Leave it to me,” said Chartreuse. “I know what I’m doing.”
“Then I’m going with you,” said Grassina. “Two pairs of eyes are better than one.”
Hiding in the shelter of a nearby alcove, the girls watched the door to the dungeon stairs until their mother came into view. When she disappeared down the corridor, they slipped through the door and headed to her workroom.
“I want to see Father first,” said Grassina, continuing down the hall past their mother’s room.
Chartreuse stopped. “We may not have much time.”
“We have time for this,” Grassina said, placing her hand on their father’s door. Although it felt like roughhewn wood, the door was as unyielding as the stone around it. “It won’t open,” she said, pushing against it with both hands.
“Mother probably put a spell on it,” said Chartreuse. “I hope she hasn’t locked her workroom, too.”
When their mother’s workroom door opened easily, Chartreuse and Grassina slipped inside. A pallid pair of witches’ lights glowed in the corner, bobbing against the ceiling like corks on a fishing line. They gave off a bluish light that made everything stand out in sharp relief, showing every line and freckle on the girls’ faces.
While Chartreuse looked for the books, Grassina circled the room, examining everything that she hadn’t dared approach when her mother was present. Dust-choked spiderwebs hung like lacework from the ceiling, swaying in a faint current of air. The skull of a griffin was mounted on the wall, its eyes still intact. When Grassina walked past it, she could have sworn the skull’s gaze moved with her.
She had just found the basket containing the lightning bugs when something brushed against her ankles. Startled, Grassina looked down. Chartreuse’s kitten was rubbing against her leg, purring so hard that its little body vibrated. “What’s he doing here?” Grassina asked. “Did he follow us down the stairs?”
Chartreuse glanced at the kitten, then turned away. “I gave him to Mother. He wasn’t nearly as sweet when I got to know him. I thought he and Mother would suit each other very well. They’re both mean and self-centered. She’s already named him Herald. Oh, good. Here they are!” said Chartreuse, standing in front of the only table in the room. A small stack of books was lying on it beside a tankard filled with a thick green liquid smelling strongly of week-old fish. “There aren’t very many. I always thought she had more than this. That’s good, I guess. It won’t take long to look through them. Listen, this spell is for . . .” Chartreuse had flipped to the front page and was reading the very first words when the book flew up into the air, closed itself, slapped her hands, and landed on the table. “Did you see that?” she asked with a squeak in her voice.
“Maybe you did something wrong,” said Grassina. “Try another book.”
Chartreuse gingerly opened the next book. “This one seems all right. It says . . .” This time when she began reading, the book flew up, fanned its pages in her face, pinched her nose, and fell back to the table, closed once again.
“I don’t think they want you to read them,” said Grassina.
“I don’t believe this!” said Chartreuse, rubbing her nose. “No stupid book is going to do that to me!” This time the book struggled when she picked it up, but she held on tight with both hands and forced the book open. With an angry shriek, the book shouted, “Robber! Scoundrel! Set me down, you no-good book thief!” and wiggled out of her grasp. Once free, the book began to hit her until she backed away, waving her hands to fend it off.
“What’s going on in here?” demanded a voice by the door. Both girls turned to face their mother, their eyes wide in dismay. Chartreuse flinched when the book gave her another solid whack.
“Were you fiddling around with my books?” demanded Queen Olivene.
“Me? No, of course not!” protested Chartreuse. “I wouldn’t touch anything of yours.”
“Liar!” shouted the book.
“Liar! Liar!” echoed the rest of the books on the table.
“You lied! You know what I do to liars, don’t you?” Olivene asked with a malicious gleam in her eyes.
Chartreuse backed away from the table. “I wouldn’t touch your crummy books! They probably wouldn’t have what I need anyway.”
“Hypocrite!” screamed all the books at once as they rose up and began to flap their pages at her.
Olivene chortled gleefully, rubbing her hands as her older daughter tried to dodge the books. Horrified, Grassina looked around for something she could use to stop their assault. Her eyes settled on the basket of lightning bugs, agitated now by all the noise. Although the sound coming from the basket had been little more than a soft hum when the girls first entered the room, it had risen in volume until it was almost as loud as the books, and sparks were shooting out of the holes in the weave.
“Mother, make them stop!” screamed Chartreuse as the books continued to assail her.
“It’s your own fault,” Olivene shouted over the din. “You’re getting exactly what you deserve!”
“Then I’ll stop it,” Grassina said under her breath as she kicked the lightning-bug basket as hard as she could. The basket careened into the wall, splintering the brittle wicker and freeing all the bugs. Suddenly, they were everywhere—crawling, flying, skittering, hopping, and inching their way across the room. Although Grassina ducked away from the flying insects, they flew past her in a swarm that twinkled like stars, knocking over bottles, books, and anything else that stood between them and the queen.
Olivene screamed when the first wave hit, shocking her with their wings, their legs, their bodies. She started hopping around on one foot, then the other as the crawling bugs reached her. Grabbing her sister’s hand, Grassina pulled her out of the room and into the corridor where the girls threw their arms around each other, laughing.