12 Years Ago
Everyone around her spoke as if she had already died. She was awake, but so tired she could not open her eyes, and she supposed that did not help.
"Alphonse, please, do something," Genevieve pleaded for the hundredth time.
He laid his hands on Anneliese's forehead for the thousandth time and said, "I'm trying. It's not working, I don't understand—"
"You're not trying hard enough!" Genevieve screamed, her hands balling into fists, and then she was pacing furiously around the room. Even in her feverish haze, Anneliese was quite sure she heard the queen swearing in ways that she should never have been allowed to hear.
Alphonse put his own head in his hands.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly, and then he was crying.
Anneliese had never heard her father cry before. She wanted to tell him she would be alright, but she couldn't summon the energy to speak. Maybe she wouldn't be alright after all.
After a moment, he composed himself, wiping his face on his sleeve. "I don't understand," he said again, staring at Anneliese without seeing her. He caught Genevieve's wrist as she passed, and she fell silent, her expression smoothing. "It still works on you, doesn't it?"
"Yes," she said placidly, and he released her. Her eyes fell on her daughter and she frowned again. "I wish you wouldn't do that. Worrying is the only thing I can do right now."
"I'm sorry," he said absently, taking one of Anneliese's small hands in both of his. "Why isn't it working? What am I doing wrong? It's almost as if..."
Alphonse froze, and Anneliese was almost sure his hands were suddenly cold. Or had her fever simply spiked?
He laid her hand on the mattress and ran a hand over his stubbled jaw. "It's time for tea, I think," he said with forced lightness. His expression was stony, and would have frightened Anneliese if she'd seen it.
Genevieve did not protest, but kissed her daughter's forehead before leaving the room. Alphonse did not look back at her.
The room was still and quiet, and Anneliese was so tired. Her parents' conversation had seemed to make sense as it happened, but now she could not replay it in her mind; the words jumbled in her fevered brain and she gave up trying to make sense of it.
She lay for several long minutes with only her own shallow breaths for company, and then someone entered the room.
Anneliese struggled to open her eyes. She hadn't heard the door open, but she felt a slight stir in the air, or perhaps she was imagining it. She had to see to be sure, but she was so tired—
Someone stood over her and her skin tingled. This must be another fever dream, she thought, but then why was it easier to breathe? She didn't feel quite so tired, either, and managed to open her eyes for the first time in days.
A man stood over her, but he didn't look like any man she'd ever seen before: His face was obscured by a bright white light, brighter than the sun; or perhaps it only seemed that way after so long in the dark. She blinked several times, trying to adjust her eyes, but if anything the glow seemed to grow brighter.
He held one hand a foot above her body and repeatedly clawed the air, as though trying to grasp something invisible. She almost thought she saw specks, rather like dust, collecting in the palm of his hand, but that was absurd. Dust didn't fly upward.
She wanted to ask who he was, and what he was doing, and why his face glowed, but she was suddenly very thirsty, and looked around for a pitcher of water instead.
With the air of someone who would rather do anything else, he poured her a glass with his left hand, his right still clawing the air and collecting specks.
She tried to nod in thanks, but her head still felt very heavy, so she concentrated on bringing the glass to her lips without spilling it. She took a sip, and then opened her mouth to speak, but he held up his left hand and shook his head once.
What a strange dream, Anneliese thought. It was not like any dream she had had before.
The man stopped clawing the air and suddenly closed his hand; when he opened it, the upside-down heap of colorless specks had vanished.
He looked at her—or at least turned his face toward her—and said, as though deeply regretting it, "Be good."
Of course I'll be good, Anneliese thought sleepily. I'm the princess; what else am I supposed to do?
When she thought to look at him again, he was gone.
She did not remember falling asleep, and when she woke up she did not remember the man at all. She could hardly remember anything but feeling hot and uncomfortable for several days, but she thought that must be for the best.
Anneliese sat up, and her parents jumped. "Have I missed many lessons?" she asked, rubbing her eyes, and they laughed and kissed her cheeks and petted her hair.
On Genevieve's insistence, she spent another day in bed, to be sure she was truly recovered, and Alphonse stayed at her side, reading to her from her favorite books. His expression was troubled, and he kept forgetting to do the different voices that she liked, but she didn't say anything. She was just happy not to be sick anymore, and to have her father there.
At the end of the day, as the sun set, he asked if she wanted anything.
"What do you mean, papa?" she asked, almost suspicious.
"If you could have anything in the world, what would you want?"
Her first thought was a library filled with every book ever written, but she decided that was impractical; most of them would be boring, and even more in languages she couldn't read, although she supposed there would also be books for learning those languages... But still, such a thing would be impossibly big, and she was quite sure that was not what her papa had meant.
"I wish I had a friend," Anneliese said finally, settling on something reasonable. "Someone to play with, sometimes."
"I'll see what I can do," said Alphonse, and he kissed her forehead. "Now, bedtime. You're back to lessons tomorrow, queen's orders."
She huffed and he tucked her in, chuckling.
"Papa—" she began timidly as he blew out the last candle.
"Yes, dear?"
"It—It isn't your fault I got sick."
There was a beat of silence.
"That isn't the part I'm worried about," he said finally.
Before she could ask what he meant, he left, and she was left alone in the dark.
Now
The horse had belonged to Preminger, and she'd taken it to escape from his cabin. The same horse had helped to rescue her from the mine, and had even pulled the carriage after her wedding.
Sometimes, when she caught sight of this particular horse out of the corner of her eye, he did not look like a horse.
She told herself she was imagining things. People often saw odd things out of the corner of their eye, especially in dim light and under stress.
She wondered, then, why she'd seen the same thing in calm daylight.
At the time, she'd put it down to wedding nerves and associating the horse with Preminger, but after seeing Preminger shimmer in his cell she wasn't so sure.
Anneliese wondered if her eyes might be right.
Perhaps the horse wasn't really a horse. Perhaps he was really the man with a face that glowed brighter than sunlight, the one she'd seen crouched on all fours out of the corner of her eye more times than she cared to count.
After all, if Preminger could disappear from a heavily-guarded cell and replace himself with a double, why could a man not turn into a horse?
But why would a man want to turn into a horse?
And why did she suddenly believe it was possible?
Anneliese shook her head and snuggled closer to Julian. She was being silly. Magic wasn't real. Preminger had been a trick of the light, combined with her own anxiety from seeing him sit just a foot away. The horse was just a stupid animal that she should not waste her thoughts on. It had just been in the right place at the right time; there was no reason to think of it beyond that.
Telling herself these things did not make it feel real.
"Anneliese?"
She let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "I didn't mean to wake you."
"You didn't. " Julian stifled a yawn. "I'm always up at this hour."
She forced herself to laugh once.
"What's wrong?"
"I need to tell you something," she said slowly.
"Go on," he said after a moment, when she didn't continue.
"But I can't tell you," Anneliese said miserably, sitting up and burying her face in her hands. "You'll think I'm lying, or mad!"
He sat up, running a hand through his hair. "Whatever it is, I'm sure we can get through it. Together," he added, taking her hand and kissing it.
She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "Please promise me that you won't laugh, no matter how I sound."
"I promise," he said promptly, squeezing her hand gently.
All in a rush, she said, "I think Preminger has escaped. The man sitting in his cell is a double. I saw him shimmering, Julian, and his eyes... I know he isn't Preminger, but I don't know how he could have done it, unless—unless he used magic, somehow, and if he did I don't know how we're ever going to catch him. No one will even believe that he's gone! You don't even believe—"
"How do you know he's gone?" Julian interrupted, frowning.
"I went to see him last night. I—I had a feeling."
He stared at her for a long moment, unseeing.
"I'd like to go see Preminger, or whoever is in the cell. I want to see if I notice anything," he said finally.
"The guards didn't see him, Julian. I don't think you'll be able to, either."
He shrugged and got out of bed, stretching. "Do you want to come?"
"Do you believe me?" she asked cautiously, putting one foot on the floor.
"I do."
She searched his face for any trace of mocking.
"I promise."
She slid all the way out of bed and put on her dressing gown. She tied the sash too tight around her waist but did not bother loosening it.
Julian held out his hand and she took it, lacing her fingers through his.
"It's going to be alright, Anneliese. Whoever that is, they're still in a cell, surrounded by fifteen men. He can't hurt you."
"I don't want to be right," she whispered. "I don't want Preminger to be out, where he's dangerous."
"Of course you don't," he said as they entered the corridor.
Julian fell silent beside her, breathing evenly even as her breaths sped and shortened, her panic mounting with each step toward the dungeon.
The cell came into view, and her blood ran cold. Her hand was a vise around Julian's, and he wondered what she saw.
"Hello," Julian said pleasantly as they reached the corner cell. "Could you give us a moment with him? If you'll just stand in the corridor there, a ways back, we'll only be a moment."
The guards looked at each other, but shuffled into place without grumbling.
"What do you see?" Julian asked quietly.
"He's not shimmering," said Anneliese, barely moving her lips. "I see Preminger, but also another man, underneath. It's like... looking into a river and seeing the stones at the bottom, through the water."
Julian nodded, and squinted at the man: He sat against the back wall, staring vacantly at the tiny window. He didn't look just as Julian remembered—he'd grown a beard, his hair was unkempt, he wore a ragged shirt with patched trousers—but he still looked like Preminger.
"I don't see anyone else," Julian said finally, disappointed.
"I don't think that man is quite right," Anneliese said uncomfortably. Not-Preminger had not blinked all this time.
"How long do you think he's been here?"
"Just two nights." Julian looked surprised, but she shrugged. "I didn't feel anything was wrong until then." She raised her voice, calling to the guards: "You can come back now! I told Julian how I came down here last night, and he got so worried, I had to show him how safe it is down here." She smiled, and a few of the men got rather red and muttered thanks. "Good night."
Anneliese was quiet as they walked back to their bedroom. Julian shut the door behind them and went to light a candle.
"I think this has to do with my mother," Anneliese said suddenly, and he nearly dropped his match. She pulled off her dressing gown and lay on their bed, staring at the ceiling. "She felt something was wrong, too, she went to see him as soon as we got back. But it can't be as... developed, because she didn't notice that he was different. Or maybe she saw something, but didn't say anything."
Julian nodded, sitting at her desk and putting his head in his hands.
"Preminger is out there, and he's got magic, somehow—"
Magic was real. Julian believed her. Julian believed in magic, too.
"You're not in danger," he said tiredly.
She sat up to stare at him. "What do you mean? This is Preminger, Julian. He's insane—"
"Well, not immediate danger. He just escaped from prison, and since he wasn't waiting to ambush you when you got home, I think he's trying to get as far away as he can. If he's smart, he won't come back."
Anneliese rolled her eyes. "If he was smart, he would have planned a better coup."
"We have no proof," Julian reminded her gently. "As far as anyone else knows, he's still there."
She worried about the strange horse, but it had not been stolen, so she supposed that Preminger had not taken it—unless he'd left another double, but why bother for a horse? Perhaps they ought to check the palace stables...
"You believe me, don't you?" she asked anxiously, suddenly unsure.
"Yes, I do." He raised his head and ran a hand along his jaw. "I... I've been thinking about magic ever since Erika's coronation, when I saw her crown, and that scepter—I've never seen amethysts like that before. I tried to do some research, to see where they came from, but there was nothing in Dominick's library, not even a legend."
"They were opals," Anneliese corrected. "I thought they were amethysts at first, too, but there were too many colors. They had to be opals."
Julian raised his eyebrows. "I didn't notice any other colors."
Her face fell.
"How... How long has this been happening to me, Julian? How long have I been seeing things no one else can?"
"I don't know." He put his head in his hands again, pressing his palms to his cheekbones as though hoping to squeeze an answer out.
Anneliese fell back against her pillows. "Why is this happening to me?"
"I don't know," he repeated helplessly.
She swallowed against the lump in her throat. "Preminger is out, and we have no proof except my word, and no one is going to listen to me. What are we going to do, Julian? We have to be prepared, just in case, but we can't tell anyone that might be able to help."
Julian was quiet for a moment. "There was a scholar in the village, Josué... Maybe he knows something."
"Why would he know anything? Could we trust him?"
"They said he was very wise... He gave me that flower book I was reading when your father found me. He was very fond of me, once. I don't know if he's still alive, he was quite old... I'll go to the village in the morning and check his cottage. But for now, we need to sleep. I am very confident we won't be attacked." Julian raised his head and tried to smile.
"Come to bed then, you're the one sitting all the way over there."
Julian blew out the candle and climbed into their bed.
"I'm sorry," Anneliese whispered.
"Don't say that," Julian murmured, pulling her into his arms. "There is nowhere in the world I would rather be than here with you. Magic and all."
She sniffed, burying her face in his chest. "Do you mean that?"
"Of course I do." He kissed her hair. "We're going to figure this out, Anneliese. I promise."
They didn't speak again, and eventually each fell into a restless sleep.
Arsenio hobbled up the palace steps wearing Josué's face and leaning heavily on a walking stick and Julian's arm. This was not a part of the plan.
"Are you sure you can't tell me what this is about?" he asked in a high, thin voice.
"We mustn't be overheard," Julian said nervously, looking around. The corridor was empty, but his shoulders remained tense and hunched.
"I don't understand," Arsenio said for the fifth time, taking the smallest possible shuffling steps. He felt futures spiral and shatter so fast he could not begin to comprehend them. This was not a part of the plan.
"You're the wisest man I know," Julian said for the second time, and Arsenio felt a twinge of guilt. He had never felt so caught in his lies—they were not so fragile as a web; they were a nest, carefully constructed and entirely dependent on each other to retain their shape.
The future broke into a thousand blurry pieces; he couldn't make sense of any of them. This was not a part of the plan.
"Just through here," Julian said, opening a parlor door and guiding his wizened mentor into the room. "Josué, this is my wife, Princess Anneliese."
"Your Highness," Arsenio wheezed, bowing as clumsily as he could.
She stared at him coldly and his blood felt like ice. This was not a part of the plan.
"This is Josué?"
"It... certainly looks like him," Julian said lightly, though he frowned. Arsenio twitched uncomfortably.
"It's good that you're sure, because I can't see him."
Anneliese turned away from both of them and sat down, putting her head in her hands.
"You can't—? What do you mean you can't see him? He's right here beside me." Julian clapped a hand on his shoulder.
"I can't see his face," Anneliese said tiredly, kneading her forehead. "It's too bright."
Arsenio's heart stopped and he stepped backward, forgetting to shuffle. "I—I think I'd better go, the princess is obviously quite ill—"
Julian stepped in front of the door and Anneliese raised her head in time to see him scowl for the first time in her life.
"Anneliese? What do you see?" he asked over Josué's head.
"It's just a bright white light, covering his face. Brighter than the sun."
"I don't know what she means," Arsenio lied feebly, looking between each of them. Julian was glaring so fiercely he feared he was about to be attacked; Anneliese was squinting and turning her head this way and that, trying to get a look at him.
This was not a part of the plan.
"Explain," Julian said shortly.
"I can't explain!" Arsenio burst out, forgetting to use his Josué voice. "This is impossible, I'm cloaked, and she shouldn't be able to tell anything beside—"
"I've seen you before," Anneliese said thoughtfully. "Not just when you were a horse, but another time. I think I was ill, I don't quite remember."
The silence hung for a moment, futures splintering with each second, and Arsenio gave up.
"I couldn't let you die," he said quietly. "It wasn't a part of the plan."
He straightened up, leaning the useless walking stick against one wall, and slowly let Josué's face fade away. Julian's eyes widened, but Anneliese couldn't see it anyway.
"Who are you?" Julian asked, just as Anneliese said, "What are you?"
He took a deep breath, but his voice still shook: "My name is Arsenio, and I am a watch."
