It was not as if I hadn't suspected it from the beginning. All the names floating around like mists over a swamp, Lady Melissa, her daughters. Any fool could guess that I was in Sunelle. Why I kept my brain away from the concept I was not sure; perhaps it was just out my now-habit of thinking as little of my life as possible? I paced the kitchen, this version of my heart pounding madly against my ribs as I chewed at my lip in the most childish way imaginable. Hardly proper-looking for an angel, but then again I liked to think I would have some power in deciding those traits; I had done nothing evil. The firelight flickered shimmering shadows against the wall which mixed with my panic until I felt all at once dizzy and drunk. I finally forced myself to stop moving my bracing my hand against that little table in the middle of the kitchen. Christine continued reading as if I did not exist. Well, if she still thought me a dream, then I might as well not exist to her at all. She just sat in her spot, book propped up against her knees while I worried like the living. It was entirely embarrassing, on the still sane interpretation of my mind, and I was glad she was not watching me.
Sunelle. Of course I was in Sunelle! It was my own fault for not daring to think of it earlier. Where else could I be but Sunelle? And it had always been there at the back of my mind, chewing its way like a little worm through the thoughts I had pushed away so long ago. Sunelle was supposed to have been made meaningless, as was Tamenrook.
What had brought me here? Only the Prickling? Or did I even dare say "only" when something as mystical as the Prickling was concerned? I didn't know. Heaven still held too many mysteries and it was beyond me to try to figure them all out. Fate? Was I even sure I believed in cold-hard fate? I closed my eyes, letting the still image of Christine fade away.
Pain. Pain was the first thing I felt, a glowing red line of searing fire running straight through my soul, unexpected as the first clap of thunder. Though I suppose it should have been expected. And as that red line faded away I could see his face, Wyatt's face, like earth against a rare starlit sky.
Why was I in Sunelle? Somehow coincidence seemed too strong a word. I hated to go back to that whole ridiculous fate line.
I tried not to think about Wyatt any more than I could help, just like I tried not to think of anyone else more than necessary, at least in ways I should not think of them. I missed him terribly. I always had missed him terribly. That was the worst thing about dying, missing him. Even more so than not knowing why Gavin Gray had killed me.
"You're still here." It was Christine's voice, light and airy against the chaos in my mind. I opened my eyes to see her standing in the same place in which she had read, book now vanished to its hiding place. There was a hint of surprise in that voice, as if she had expected to fly away to whatever dream world from which I had come.
"I'm still here," I replied breathlessly. Focus, Fawn. Focus. You are here to assist Christine. You are here for Christine.
Christine smiled, the kind of smile usually reserved for jokes. "You're something of an irritation, Fawn. You stand there while I try to read."
She had been reading. I stared at her. "Do you mind?"
She shrugged. "Not really, no. But it's still kind of rude and I hope you don't think you will be hanging by my side, because I have to get up early and it's already ridiculously late. I will be sleeping and I would rather not have you in my room, so I bid thee goodnight." And with that and a whirl of that giant brown skirt she headed out the kitchen, the echoes of her feet pounding up the stairs not far behind.
As was surely obvious, I did not spend a lot of time worrying about Christine that night. The brat had already done the damage—though I admit to being the one to asking the kingdom—and I found myself thoroughly obsessed with whatever memory of Wyatt could pull. Our first meeting. A boat ride. Ballets. Picnics. Mostly just… talking… and being together. Wasn't that the most important?
As these memories flooded through me I wandered the house—never to Lady Melissa's room or the rooms of her blood daughters. But the house fascinated me. Perhaps I should have taken more opportunities to wander the homes of strangers in my time of death. It was charming, in most aspects. The kind of house that would have been romantically haunted with only one blood-drenched ghost dragging its chains through the dusky halls. Paintings lined the walls—natural scenes, the best kinds. Also portraits of people I did not recognize, though on some I found striking resemblances to Amelia and what I could remember of Lady Melissa and Lord Arnston. The intruders. One could tell by those paintings. Some of the people weren't even all that attractive. I wondered what paintings lined the hall of Wyatt's home. The royal palace of Sunelle.
It was no longer that far, the still-strange country of which I was supposed to be queen. Wow, what a time of life. I was here in Sunelle. Where was the palace?
No. Sometimes I was good at abruptly commanding myself.
Christine did not lie—she did get up early. Before I knew it my ears were met by the sound of her pounding once more down the stairs, singing her little off-key song, the same as the night before. I decided not to bother her, to let her do her thing. She would be fine. Yet I could hear her in the kitchen, preparing a breakfast that smelled delicious, singing to herself against the clatter of dishes.
Soon enough the rest of the household was awake.
Who I assumed to be Grace was the first to appear; she didn't look familiar to me, though it was clear she was Amelia's sister. The golden hair was the same, her piles into a netted knot so I could not judge the length. She was just as beautiful as Amelia, but shorter and softer, rounder of face. I remained unseen as she came down the stairs, trying to judge her. She seemed to enjoy the morning, as it was still rather early yet. "Christine?" She hung near the bookshelf, utterly ignorant of what they held.
More clatter of plates from the kitchen? "Is that you, Grace?" I tried to judge the voice, but it was nothing more than a question.
"You're up early," replied Grace.
And what else would you demand? I thought rather rudely. Grace had done nothing yet.
"To make breakfast." Christine was a little short in her answer.
"You were late last night." An accusation. It was sudden, from no where.
"Errand," came Christine's voice. "In Whiteberry. The leather and the berries. They're in the porridge this morning."
"Did Mother ask for it?"
Oh, who cared?
"She won't be complaining."
I watched as Grace's full lips pursed themselves, and her eyes stared at the light from the kitchen. For one giant moment I felt an icy chill, and then just as quickly it was gone. My curiosity piqued, and I suddenly hoped that Grace would say more, but she only turned a corner into what I had learned was the dining room.
Melissa and Amelia did nothing when they appeared about ten minutes later, only slid into the dining room by routine. Amelia looked as haughty as ever.
I followed them into the dining room.
The three women sat next to each other in a row of one side of the oak table. It was rectangular and rather ordinary, though I could sense the skill that had been placed into it. No doubt something Christine's father had purchased. He seemed more and more like a practical sort of man. But enough about that, sometimes I find myself a little too observant with furniture. Truly it was Grace, Amelia, and Melissa that fascinated me. Sadly because of all the things Christine had suggested. They spoke to each other, which for some reason I can't put to words surprised me—I guess I half-expected them to be utterly icy to one another. But it was not so. It was the same rather tedious chatter that would be expected of any women.
They seemed to like each other. Lady Melissa seemed to like her daughters.
Why had I hated her so much that first time I had seen her? I had sensed a vibration from here, something utterly distasteful, and she had made such insinuations about the subject of balls. Again, nothing I could put into words. But it was here. It was still here, even as she talked with her lovely daughters.
Then Christine appeared, pushing through a set of swinging doors holding a tray of the sweet-smelling breakfast—muffins.
Amelia gave a squeal of happiness. "Muffins! I love muffins!" Seemingly polite enough, though I had the distinct impression that all implied gratitude was for the muffins only.
"The berries you purchased yesterday?" Melissa asked. Her voice was lower. I remembered it being higher than this.
Christine nodded. "Yes, ma'am."
Melissa bit into a muffin and chewed slowly. She looked pleased; indeed, my own stomach was longing for a bite and I did not even need food. "A good choice for them. Very good indeed."
"Thank-you," Christine said softly. She had not looked directly at them ever since she had come into the kitchen.
"I have a list of things I need you to get from the market," Melissa continued as if she were doing nothing more than discussing the weather. "I have a list prepared. This is groceries only, nothing like the leather you purchased yesterday. You still have the money I gave you then, don't you?"
Christine said nothing.
Amelia pulled a baked berry from her muffin and delicately put it into her mouth.
Melissa set down her own muffin, her eyes suddenly blazing into Christine. "I gave you money yesterday. Where is it?"
"I gave it to Amelia last night." I barely heard her voice.
"Amelia," said Melissa. "Did you take the money from Christine?"
Now it was Amelia's turn to say nothing.
"Amelia, darling? Don't play this game."
"Yes," Amelia said nonchalantly. "It's in the study. I thought it would be safe there."
I wondered if I dared trust Amelia.
Melissa considered that. "Good place for it. Thank-you."
"You're welcome, Mother."
Grace just looked disgusted. "I can't believe you trust Christine with the money."
Melissa returned to enjoying her muffin. Mind you, this was all taking place with Christine just standing there like a ninny. "She is a wonderful buyer. She can haggle. She's the one that found you that excellent price on that silk you wanted."
Grace's look changed to a smile. "Oh, yes, I had forgotten about that. Christine, I have a few other things I also need you to get. I'll put it on the list."
Christine nodded demurely. "Good day." Then she turned back to the kitchen. I followed.
"The list will be on the table when you are ready!" Melissa called. "Leave whenever you would like."
Back in the kitchen, Christine was knocking dishes into the tub. Not many, just a mixing bowl, a spoon, and her muffin tin. "Angel, Fawn, are you watching me?"
I appeared, wondering how in the world she had sensed me there. "Yes."
"I shouldn't talk to you," she replied, suddenly blushing. "If they hear me they'll think I'm crazy."
"I don't think you should care about they think of you."
"I just hate their remarks." She was stepping into black slippers, pulling them around her ankles. "I want to get to the market as soon as possible, before all the good stuff is gone."
I had never wandered the market nearly enough. "So you've decided to believe in me?"
She nodded and brought her voice down to a whisper. "I thought about it last night. I'm going to think of it as an adventure. Can you give me adventure, Fawn?"
"I'm not exactly sure what that is supposed to mean."
"You're the angel." She nodded at the room around her. "Do something. Get this place clean."
She had to be joking. I had no intention of helping her by doing her chores! But she looked so pointedly that I found myself sighing. "All right. But only once. I'm not a servant."
She laughed. "It's not such a bad life."
Maybe I was just too lazy. I waved my hand at the room and in an instant it was sparkling clean.
Christine laughed again, louder. At least she was taking these events in stride. "I wish I could do that. Come, let's go. I assume you are going to be following me."
Because she was going into Sunelle. I could not avoid Sunelle. Not that… whatever… had brought me here. "Your stepsisters," I began with no idea of where I would take that opening phrase.
"They want me to go. I'm doing this for them. Hurry, we'll be late."
It was still early. Then again, I wasn't used to the usual ways of sleeping. Perhaps there was a time distortion I had missed. As it was, Christine was booking it out of that house as if there was no place on earth she would rather not be. I suppose that was true enough.
She literally ran to the city, her long legs skimming over the dust and plants like she were flying. I was behind her, amazed. I had never been much for running—fortunately running was not necessary for keeping up with Christine and I probably would have killed myself if it were and I were not already dead.
I took the time to properly examine Sunelle, at least its natural landscape. Mountains. There were a lot of mountains, green and rocky things pointing like teeth behind the capital city. And there were trees. And, unlike Tamenrook, there was sunlight, golden sunlight scattered among puffy white clouds that reminded me vaguely of sheep. Even the ground we now covered was rockier than Tamenrook, not nearly as green and weedy.
I had seen mountains before. I had seen many things in my wanderings. But these mountains were different. They seemed to envelope Sunelle, like at any moment they would tumble down and bury the city, somehow without damaging it. The city was not walled and the buildings were high, skinny, scraping things that also seemed part of the surrounding mountains. The dusty path soon turned into cobbled street of red and brown rocks, and suddenly I found myself almost suffocating in the city roads. Christine was not bothered; rather, she came alive.
So this was Sunelle.
Honestly, I had seen busier cities. Tamenrook was busier, for example. Honestly, the city, now that I was in it, was fairly generic as far as cities go. And this was the city of which I was supposed to be queen. That changed perspective just enough that I could not help but gawk at the passing people and the high-standing buildings. I was in a whirl of color and sound. Part of my mind mentioned that it had been a very long time since I had entered a large city, but it was still as if I were an infant.
Christine immediately settled into her cheerful and sometimes flirtatious greetings. I don't think she knew most of the people to whom she spoke, but that didn't matter. Oh, well. I suppose everyone admires a friendly soul and at least she was not stealing things. Yet.
And somehow despite all her friendliness she was still running, all that blonde hair whipping out behind her as she dodged, smiling, the people.
"What's the hurry?" I whispered.
She did not reply, though her nose twitched at my words. "I don't want to be late."
"Late for what?" I had never gone shopping; maybe I just did not know how these things worked.
She rounded a corner into what I assumed, by the look of things, was the market square, a bustling arena of shops and stands of all sorts of things. But rather than dashing to the nearest thing of interest (or stepfamily's interest) she fell back against a shady stone wall, finally catching her breath.
"Well," I said. "We're here." I joined her against the wall, relishing the chill of the stone.
"I'm sorry for running," she whispered. "It might not even happen. It's always just a chance but…"
Of the market existing on any given day? I stared at this phenomenon known as the market, the one that was so important to Christine. I saw nothing wonderfully interesting… good grief, but Christine was up to something.
How fascinating. At least the girl was intriguing. A list of possibilities ran through my head… one of them had to be reasonable and I had read plenty of novels during my time. "All right, who is he?"
She did not even try to defend herself. She blushed and took one small step away from the wall. Again I was reminded of how much she looked like a ghost. "The Royal Family finds it important to the morale of the city to visit several times a week," she recited. "One of them always passes through this square."
The Royal Family? "Of Sunelle?"
"No, Itia," she retorted. "Of course Sunelle. Who else?"
"They come through here?" I was sounding like an idiot, but I did not care. "How often?" She had just answered that question.
"I already told you."
"Who is in the Royal Family?"
"The King, the Queen, and the Crown Prince."
Prince Wyatt. "So this is why you really come to the market?"
She shrugged. "I find it fascinating. After all, my father did have commissions from them. They are good people."
Of course they were good people. I found my eyes joining her gaze into the square. I was sure I would recognize him if he came. I know I would. A dozen questions filled my mind, each sillier than the last, and it was only by sheer will power I didn't ask them at the risk of embarrassment. I was supposed to be the angel here. "Where does this…" I wasn't sure what to call it and I had been involved in things of the type. "Procession… begin?"
She shrugged again. "I… I've never found out. I was here on accident when I first noticed. Then I noticed the pattern. I'm not really sure."
Probably toward the palace. I stepped into the square. "Careful talking to me. People might think you're mad."
"Clearly I am, Fawn." At least she had stopped calling me angel. "Why are you so curious? How do you plan to help me here?"
I was still at a complete loss for just how I was supposed to help her and tragically she was not the first thing on my mind. "I've never been to this city." That was the truth. "I want to see interesting things about it." Also the truth.
Christine fell into step behind me. "I should probably buy some things while I'm here…"
She had run all the way to the city and now she had become a coward. Never mind her, I told myself. I knew where she lived. I would find her again.
But this was not wise. I wasn't supposed to think of Wyatt. It had been far too long.
Years.
What had become of him? Did he still think of me? What did he look like? When was he set to run the kingdom?
I floated invisible through the crowds. Christine only could see me, and she was right at my heels. I was amazed she had not yet left me as the insane. Though that probably would have been all the more odd. She no doubt found this fascinating.
"Fawn," she whispered. "Fawn, it's nothing, just a thing I like to watch because I find it exciting. We don't have to…"
"Yes, we do," I whispered.
A pause. "Does it have something to do with me?"
I did not mind half-lies. "Yes."
"I don't see why…"
I held a finger to my lip. My eyes scanned the area. We were no longer in the square, but in another street, shady and cool. I stopped for a moment, my heart giving a sudden thump…
A horse approached, crowd partially pulling to the side. A part of me was offended that they would not show respect for royalty, but then again Christine said this was fairly common. The horse trotted down the middle of the road, a brown stallion with rich black leather reins. Upon it sat Wyatt.
It was as if I had been dumped in ice and fire. All I could do was stare.
He was the same, in all reasonable aspects. The first thing I noticed was his eyes, his beautiful eyes. And his face still held that same stubborn stubble, scratchy. I wanted to feel it against my hand. And he smiled, his same quiet smile. He was older, that was to be expected.
There was a gasp behind me. Christine, I quickly realized. I had forgotten about her.
In fact, I wished she would go away.
"This is the Crown-Prince," she explained in a hushed voice.
I nodded. I knew that. Why would I not know that?
I locked my eyes with his, suddenly begging him to see me. Only he could not see me. Did I want him to see me? No, I was not crazy and neither was he. But I had to be crazy, because just the same I found myself walking toward the oncoming horse.
"Fawn!" Christine hissed. "Angel!"
I froze. No.
Wyatt smiled at the people, who seemed to think him as little more than just another person, though I'm sure they knew better. How could anyone not tell that Wyatt was a prince?
I had to stop him. I don't know why I had to stop him, but I could not let him go by. Not after so long. Not when I could finally smell him again.
I do not know what made me do it, but I did. I reached over and yanked the bag of money from Christine's hands.
"Hey!" She dove for the bag.
It slipped from my own hands and it, followed by that clumsy girl, fell right into the path of the horse.
