“Ask it something.”
I looked into it again, and, very faintly, my own face rippled back at me. The glass was heavy in my arms. I set it flat on the earth and it swirled under us like a river.
“Like what?”
“Here,” she said. “Try this.” She seemed to think carefully about what she was about to ask, and then leaned in to it. “Mirror, mirror,” she said. “Who’s the fairest of them all?”
We stared down into the surface, both our faces reflected back to us.
It rippled then, more strongly than before, as if I’d thrown a pebble into water. And then a voice seemed to come out of it, like smoke. “Rapunzel is fairest of all,” it said, low and deep.
I gasped. My head snapped up and I looked at Mathena. “Did you do that?” I asked.
She shook her head, smiling. “There’s always been magic in this glass. It’s enchanted. Haven’t you felt it before?”
I shook my head but, as I did so, realized that there had always been something odd about the glass, that I’d always felt it was watching over me.
“You just need to ask it a question, and it will answer and show you the thing you’ve been seeking.”
“You enchanted it?” I asked.
“No. There was already magic in this ancient castle when we came here. This glass is very old, from a time when this kingdom was filled with magic. Do you remember how it was waiting in the tower for you?”
I had a memory then, of the glass propped up on the floor, the laughing girl with bright yellow hair dancing about the room, imitating everything I did.
I nodded.
“I knew right away what it could do. That’s why I brought us to this place.”
“You brought us here? You said we walked and walked and came upon the castle ruins by chance.”
She shook her head. “I knew it was here. A powerful sorcerer lived here once. Hundreds and hundreds of years ago. Back then, this kingdom was very great. Many hope that it might become that way again.”
I looked down again, at the moving silver.
“Who is the fairest of them all?” I asked again.
“Rapunzel is fairest of all,” it said, and it was as if it were whispering in my ear.
I laughed and looked up at her. She sat watching me, the doorway to the house dark and empty behind her.
My last day with Mathena, I stared out of my tower at the forest surrounding me—at the slinking river, the massive garden, the trees on all sides, everything teeming with life and sound and scent. The chirping and whirring of insects and birds, the howling of wolves, the patter of squirrels and rabbits, the soft whoosh of deer running over the grass and soil. The smell of earth and growing things, breezes carrying the scent of river and rotting animals, the fear of travelers surprised on dark pathways.
I took the cloth from my hair, let it stream down around me.
I could sense the horses and carriages as they left the inn, as they entered the forest and wound their way to us. I watched from the tower as they appeared in flashes through the trees, closing in, and then I ran down to the garden, to her.
“They’re coming!” I said.
She was bent over the cabbages, which squatted heavy and blue-green, like creatures from under the sea. She looked up at me, lifting a dirt-covered hand and wiping it across her forehead. The sun shining down on her.
And then they arrived, in a flash of horse and silver and more people than I’d ever seen all together at the same time, up close. A host of guards and servants came to get me. At my direction, they swept up the curving stairs to my tower. It was all movement and chaos but before I knew it, my life was packed up and stowed away in carriages and on horseback.
“He has not come himself?” I asked one of the ladies who seemed to be in charge of the servants.
“Oh, no,” she said. “The king is very busy. But he is waiting for you.”
I tried not to feel disappointed that he hadn’t come. Of course he had better things to do, as the king, but now I would be all alone.
I turned to Mathena, who stood by the garden watching everything, a curious look on her face.
“What is it?” I asked, walking up to her. Brune stood on her shoulder.
“I’m just remembering when I was young,” she said. “Young and full of dreams. Madly in love with a young magician.”
I winced, but knew she was thinking only of the past, when she and Marcus had been lovers and everything had been possible.
I leaned in and kissed her cheek, taking in her faint smell of spices. “You are still young, Mathena,” I said. “You can still dream.”
“I dream all the time,” she said strangely, and just as I was about to respond, one of the soldiers stepped forward.
“We are ready, my lady,” he said.
And then it seemed as if I had had no time at all to say good-bye to her.
I looked at her standing there by the garden, soil-covered yet as majestic as any member of royalty. She could change men into stags, make a garden burst with vegetables when everyone else’s crops failed. I looked at our little stone house built from ruins, the tower that reached into the sky, the garden. It was all so lovely—it had been the whole universe to me for so long, and now I was leaving. And I was aware, painfully so, that if and when I returned, it would not be the same to me. I would be a queen, accustomed to living in a palace. What would this all look like to me then?
What a strange feeling, suddenly seeing everything from the future, as if I were able to travel through time and this were a moment buried deep in my memory. Like a jewel I could pull out of my pocket at any time and hold up to the light.
“Thank you,” I said to her, “for all you’ve done for me.” I wrapped my arms around her, buried my face in her neck. I tried, one last time, to feel her through my hair, to feel her heart pulsing into my own, but it was as hidden from me as it had always been. All I wanted to know was that she’d be all right here alone, without me.
She pulled back first. I let go of her and turned to the soldier, afraid to look at her any longer.
He led me to the carriage and helped me step up into it. I was conscious, then, of the plain shift I was wearing—we’d long since used the last of Mathena’s old gowns to insulate and decorate the house—and could feel myself redden with shame. There were more people around me than I’d ever seen, and even the maidservants were better dressed than I. A few soldiers held my hair in their hands and carefully arranged it next to me, on the seat. Their thoughts flowed up to me: their wonder at the king’s choice of bride, their unease at the regal, beautiful witch who stood there, covered in dirt, and watched us go.
As the guard closed the carriage door, I was grateful to be sitting alone, out of sight, with furs to wrap myself in. And then the horses began moving through the forest, and we pushed into the trees and brambles. Quickly, I muttered a protection spell, though I knew Mathena had already done so. Soldiers moved ahead of us with swords, slashing through so that the path was clear.
I leaned back against the silk. There was a sense of unreality to everything—the way the forest looked like a place I’d never seen before, from such an extravagant seat, the way the light sifted down through the leaves and silk curtains, how it played across my face. The horses clomped on the packed forest floor. I pushed back the curtain and looked out at the trees and leaves, all soaked in summer sunlight, the patches of mushrooms scattered across the ground. I could smell the earth, the leaves overhead, and I felt like I was in a wonderful, fantastical dream as we moved through the forest, out into the kingdom, to him.
It must seem strange, that I lived for so long in the forest and did not see the world at large until I was twenty-five years old, when I became queen. After all, we were a two-day horse ride away from the palace, a seven-day walk on foot.
