Read Online The Sword of Straw by Amanda Hemingway - Free Book Online
Authors: Amanda Hemingway
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different. You’ll go to balls and parties, wear pretty dresses, dance with young men. Your hair will be threaded with flowers and pearls. If you would go to your mother’s family—”
“I won’t go,” the princess interrupted. “We’ve been through this a hundred times. I won’t leave my father, I won’t leave Wilderslee. That’s that.”
“Think again, mommet. This is no place for a young girl. I can look after your father. I asked him, the other evening, I said how would he feel, if you went away for a bit, just for a visit, met more young people—”
“You go too far.” Nell tugged her hair free of the brush and turned to face Mrs. Prendergoose with an expression Nathan thought of as princessly. Proud, a little haughty, very grownup. Her voice was quiet and cold. “You had no business to discuss such matters with him. Whether I go or stay is not up to you.”
“But your father said it was a good idea, he said—”
“I am the princess, as you are always reminding me. I may not be princess of much, but it still counts for something. Princesses don’t abandon the kingdom when things go wrong, they don’t run away and go to balls when their people are suffering. Being a princess isn’t about brushing your hair and wearing silk dresses; it’s about duty and honor and love. I love my father, I love my subjects—those I have left. I’m
not going
. Don’t
ever
presume to bring up the matter again.”
The woman looked slightly daunted, but still tried to protest. “Who are you to talk of love? You know nothing about it. I’ve loved you from babyhood—I only want what’s best for you. Who’s turning you against me? It’s that Frimbolus Quayne, isn’t it? He’s always been jealous of me—jealous of my position here—”
“You may leave now.”
“What about the Urdemons? They appeared first when you were a child, playing with magic. If you go, maybe they’ll go.”
“Leave.”
Nell’s face had hardened with determination. Mrs. Prendergoose whisked around, dropping the hairbrush on the floor, and left on a flounce.
Alone, Nell picked up the brush, yanking in vain at her tangles. The hardness faded from her face; she looked confused, doubtful, on the verge of tears.
It’s not your fault!
Nathan wanted to tell her.
Whatever’s happening, it can’t be your fault. Listen to Frimbolus.
She was surely too young, too brave, too good to be the cause of something evil. He wanted to reassure her so badly he thought he would materialize, but the dream barrier held him back. Nell had set down the brush in frustration, murmuring a word he didn’t recognize:
“Ruuissé!”
When she shook her hair it sparkled for a moment as if powdered with glitterdust, and the snarls unraveled by themselves, and the long waves rippled down her back as if they were alive. As the magic dissipated she swept the loose tresses over her shoulder and started to twist them into a thick braid.
Suddenly, the room darkened. The wind—or something worse than wind—screeched around the walls. The darkness pressed against the window, and in it there were eyes. Huge eyes full of a yellow fury, hungry and soulless. But the princess didn’t scream or run. She jumped to her feet, knocking over the stool she had been sitting on, confronting the apparition. Her body shook with anger or fear or both. “Go!” she cried. “All I did was tidy my hair!
All I did
—Go, you foul thing!
Go!
” She thrust the hairbrush in front of her like a weapon, since that was all she had. For a second something like the muzzle of an animal was squashed against the pane, the mouth distended into an unnatural gape ragged with teeth. Then it seemed to dissolve, changing, becoming an ogre’s leer with thick lips and warty snout, before it melted back into the dark, leaving only the eyes. They shrank, slowly, until the shadow swallowed them and they vanished, and the pallor of a clouded afternoon came pouring through the glass, bright as
“I won’t go,” the princess interrupted. “We’ve been through this a hundred times. I won’t leave my father, I won’t leave Wilderslee. That’s that.”
“Think again, mommet. This is no place for a young girl. I can look after your father. I asked him, the other evening, I said how would he feel, if you went away for a bit, just for a visit, met more young people—”
“You go too far.” Nell tugged her hair free of the brush and turned to face Mrs. Prendergoose with an expression Nathan thought of as princessly. Proud, a little haughty, very grownup. Her voice was quiet and cold. “You had no business to discuss such matters with him. Whether I go or stay is not up to you.”
“But your father said it was a good idea, he said—”
“I am the princess, as you are always reminding me. I may not be princess of much, but it still counts for something. Princesses don’t abandon the kingdom when things go wrong, they don’t run away and go to balls when their people are suffering. Being a princess isn’t about brushing your hair and wearing silk dresses; it’s about duty and honor and love. I love my father, I love my subjects—those I have left. I’m
not going
. Don’t
ever
presume to bring up the matter again.”
The woman looked slightly daunted, but still tried to protest. “Who are you to talk of love? You know nothing about it. I’ve loved you from babyhood—I only want what’s best for you. Who’s turning you against me? It’s that Frimbolus Quayne, isn’t it? He’s always been jealous of me—jealous of my position here—”
“You may leave now.”
“What about the Urdemons? They appeared first when you were a child, playing with magic. If you go, maybe they’ll go.”
“Leave.”
Nell’s face had hardened with determination. Mrs. Prendergoose whisked around, dropping the hairbrush on the floor, and left on a flounce.
Alone, Nell picked up the brush, yanking in vain at her tangles. The hardness faded from her face; she looked confused, doubtful, on the verge of tears.
It’s not your fault!
Nathan wanted to tell her.
Whatever’s happening, it can’t be your fault. Listen to Frimbolus.
She was surely too young, too brave, too good to be the cause of something evil. He wanted to reassure her so badly he thought he would materialize, but the dream barrier held him back. Nell had set down the brush in frustration, murmuring a word he didn’t recognize:
“Ruuissé!”
When she shook her hair it sparkled for a moment as if powdered with glitterdust, and the snarls unraveled by themselves, and the long waves rippled down her back as if they were alive. As the magic dissipated she swept the loose tresses over her shoulder and started to twist them into a thick braid.
Suddenly, the room darkened. The wind—or something worse than wind—screeched around the walls. The darkness pressed against the window, and in it there were eyes. Huge eyes full of a yellow fury, hungry and soulless. But the princess didn’t scream or run. She jumped to her feet, knocking over the stool she had been sitting on, confronting the apparition. Her body shook with anger or fear or both. “Go!” she cried. “All I did was tidy my hair!
All I did
—Go, you foul thing!
Go!
” She thrust the hairbrush in front of her like a weapon, since that was all she had. For a second something like the muzzle of an animal was squashed against the pane, the mouth distended into an unnatural gape ragged with teeth. Then it seemed to dissolve, changing, becoming an ogre’s leer with thick lips and warty snout, before it melted back into the dark, leaving only the eyes. They shrank, slowly, until the shadow swallowed them and they vanished, and the pallor of a clouded afternoon came pouring through the glass, bright as
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