Author's Note: A huge THANK YOU to Baroness Orc for her encouraging reviews. Have fun and please review!
Chapter 16
The next morning, Isabelle picked at her breakfast and refused to speak. She just wanted to scream and cry—too bad that that would not change anything. She would still be cursed. Isabelle was grateful that she at least had enough dignity left not to break down in front of Peabo and Friar Justin.
"Isabelle," Trestan began cautiously, "what color dress would you like? I'll be sure to get you a thousand new ones as soon as we reach Conradia."
"Red," Isabelle said curtly. She saw Trestan's face fall; he had been so roguish and carefree the day before. Now he was back to his old, careworn self.
"It will match you ring," Trestan pointed out, still trying.
Isabelle glances at where it still hung on the bootlace around her neck.
"And," Trestan continued, "Lerei, the capitol city of Conradia is famous for its shoes," Trestan continued, undaunted. "I'll have a red leather pair made for you with diamond soles and heels so high that you'll be as tall as I am."
Biting her lip, Isabelle stared at the glass slippers on her feet. They were all that was keeping her from having her whole life being ripped apart by her curse.
"Was it something that I said to you?" Trestan said sheepishly.
"Shoes. Slippers. Curses!" Isabelle spat, half as a swear.
"Isabelle," Trestan said, weary of her sulking, "you need to do something instead of dwelling on this. I swear to you that I will do my best to help you, but first, you must help yourself, cara."
"Harumph."
"Peabo," Trestan called, "do you have anything that needs mending? Isabelle needs something with which to occupy herself."
"Yes, Sir Trestan," Peabo said, as eagerly as ever. He dived into the chest near the fireplace and brought out a pile of clothing. "Most of this is too small for me now," Peabo said a little guiltily.
"I shall fix it for you," Isabelle sighed. A few of the shirts that Peabo had outgrown were still in salvageable shape, so Isabelle set to work combining them to make a whole shirt in Peabo's size. It would keep her busy for a while, better than uselessly trying to think of ways to break her curse. At least she still had the glass slippers. And Trestan.
Isabelle could sew no more. For the past three weeks, Isabelle had put needle and thread to every bit of cloth that she could lay her hands on. She was so bored that she had even resorted to embroidering the hems of Trestan's shirts. During the whole time that she sewed, Isabelle alternated between dwelling on, and trying not to think about her curse.
"The snow is pretty cleared up by now," Peabo said. He came in from the lean-to coated in mud.
"Peabo," Isabelle warned, "were you supposed to have entered with this much mud on your clothes?" As Isabelle was now well, she was responsible for keeping the hut clean and did her utmost to control the amount of dirt that was allowed to come through its door.
"No, Signorina," Peabo said, shuffling his feet. He sighed, shrugging in surrender. "I will be right back." He exited, muttering darkly about mud.
"Actually," Trestan sighed, one arm against the doorframe, "Peabo needs to use some of his extra energy—I should go and teach the lad the noble art of tracking. It will be good to get a stretch of the legs. And while he is now muddy…"
"Leaving me again?" Isabelle said dramatically.
"Yes," Trestan said, "But how about a farewell kiss."
"If you insist," Isabelle said with mock indifference. Laughing, Trestan kissed her and strode out the door, whistling and song that sounded suspiciously like "Pelan's River."
Friar Justin, who all this time had been copying a text on Saint Augustine's Confessions, looked up from his work. "Daughter Isabelle," he said thoughtfully, "how has your side been feeling lately?"
"It has been very well, father. Thank you for inquiring," Isabelle replied. Why was Friar Justin interrupting his own work to ask her about her health? He already knew that her side had healed very nicely and that it only pained her when she bent the wrong way or reached too far. Isabelle was confused—there were only two rules of Friar Justin's home: be kind to others and never interrupt the friar in his work. And Friar Justin had just broken the latter of them: very odd,
"There has been something that I have been meaning to discuss with you," Friar Justin continued.
"When did you meet Trestan?" The Friar asked, rearranging the papers on the table.
"November, I think," Isabelle said.
"And where did that meeting take place?"
Isabelle was not quite sure how to answer; why would Friar Justin want to know about these things? She wasn't sure how much Friar Justin knew about her curse, or how much Trestan had told him about his own. Nervous, Isabelle played with the ring that hung around her neck. "Near Goble hill, father. I was on a journey and met Trestan." Well, it wasn't quite untrue. "We soon became companions, of a sort."
Friar Justin gave her a piercing look.
"Within the bounds of propriety, of course, father." Isabelle felt a blush creep across her cheeks; she had forgotten how improper her and Trestan's lack of chaperone had been. "We had to leave Gobleton after a mob of villagers attacked us. We were quite fortunate to have found you."
"Yes, well, we are glad to have you here," Friar Justin said. When he turned to go back to his work, something caught his eye.
"Isabelle," the friar said sternly, "where did you come across that ring?" A strange gleam came into his eyes.
"Trestan gave it to me," Isabelle said, confused. "He's an honorable man—he did not steal it, if that is what you mean."
"No, it is not that," Friar Justin said slowly. "It is wrought in the sign of the royal family of Conradia. Did you know that to misuse this ring is to commit the basest form of treachery known to Conradians?"
"No, I did not," Isabelle said. "I have not had treachery on my mind, father."
"Yes," Friar Justin nodded. "Were you not also aware," he continued after a moment, "that the five rubies stand for each of the wounds of Christ, and the middle one for his sacred heart?"
"I did not know that either, father," Isabelle said, examining her ring again and still wondering why Friar Justin was questioning her.
"Ah yes, where was I," the friar asked himself as he turned back to his work. "'Yet when it happens that I am moved more by the song than by what is sung, I…'" Muttering to himself, Friar Justin resumed his work.
Relieved that Friar Justin had received enough answers to satisfy his curiosity, Isabelle pulled on her cloak and went outside to find Trestan. Trying to keep her glass slippers clean, Isabelle stepped around the puddles to the little pen that held Dymphna, the cow.
Named after the early martyr, Dymphna was as saintly as her namesake must have been. Her big brown eyes not only complied with her clam, pleasant nature, but also matched the brown spots that littered her cream colored hide. Isabelle was rubbing the knobby part of the cow's head when Trestan and Peabo approached.
"Isabelle," Peabo began quickly, "Trestan and I followed a rabbit part way along a trail and down into its den. Only we did not go into the den because we're too large for that. Tracking neat, I really like it. And soon, if I become skilled enough at it, Trestan says he is going to show me how to put up traps along the trail. Mmm—imagine fresh rabbit stew, and you can have the rabbit skin for a pair of slippers, Isabelle. I think that I am going to go get some lunch and then search for more tracks," Peabo said, turning toward. "I think I may be starving."
"Yes, of course you are starving," Isabelle teased. She tried to give the boy an affectionate cuff on the ear which Peabo easily dodged. "Have a delicious lunch and do not track mud onto the floor," Isabelle called after him. Trestan stood next to her, leaning on the sapling fence of Dymphna's pen.
"Think he will listen to you?" He asked with a smile.
"Probably not," Isabelle sighed, "but I tried to keep the floors clean, at least."
"Yes," Trestan laughed for a moment, but then his tone changed. "Isabelle, there has been something that I have been meaning to ask you."
"Be done with it then," Isabelle replied, stomach twisting into knots.
"Well, I have been thinking," Trestan said gravely. "Just because you broke my curse, does not mean that I will automatically break yours. I thought that our kiss would break your curse as well, but when it didn't..."
Isabelle drew up to her full height. "Conradia does not deserve a cursed queen," Isabelle said archly. "And you should not marry me because of it. Well, I am glad to have known you, my lord." Isabelle curtseyed and began to storm away, barely able to see through the hot tears that had welled in her eyes. Before she was able to take three steps, Trestan had taken a hold on her wrist.
"Isabelle, stop," Trestan said, now with a hand on each of her shoulders. "That is not what I have meant at all." He gently lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him. "I am willing to marry you, curse and all. No, willing is not the right word. Not marrying you would be worse than living with the curse; knowing that you were out there, a different man by your side…I love you, Isabelle Fernette."
Isabelle was sobbing by now; Trestan wiped away her tears with the back of his hand, much like he had on the morning when he had left the castle on Goble Hill. He wrapped Isabelle in his arms and waited for her crying to stop.
"Shh, do not cry," Trestan whispered. "We will always have problems in our life, cara. This is but one of them—nothing is ever perfect."
"I do not understand why my curse is still haunting me," Isabelle whined, pushing away from Trestan.
Trestan pulled Isabelle toward him again, his lips inches from hers. "Trust God," Trestan murmured, "trust me. I know we will understand this in time…Please stop crying," Trestan asked desperately, kissing her tears away.
"I cannot," Isabelle hiccupped. Her nose was running now and she was sure that her face was red.
"Then I will just have to make you cry harder," Trestan said, smiling wryly. "Isabelle Fernette, will you do me the honor of joining me in the holy institution of matrimony?"
"Of course," Isabelle beamed at him through her tears. "I think I can stop crying now."