I would only understand later why Mathena had never taken me.
We rode for hours that first day, until day passed into night and only the moon overhead guided our path. I slipped in and out of sleep, lulled by the beating of the horses’ hooves. Occasionally we stopped to relieve ourselves, servants leading me off the path and shielding me with their voluminous skirts and then doing the same for each other. We ate bread and cheese. They dipped chalices into streams and gave them to me to drink from. We did not stop to rest, however, until the next evening, after we left the forest and rode into the world outside. Even though I had anticipated it, I could not believe how vast that world was. To my memory, I had never stood under a blank sky without branches crisscrossing overhead, and when we finally stopped at an inn at the edge of the woods I could not help but feel like I was drowning. All that night sky, scattered with stars, pulled me in until I could barely breathe.
On the one side, I could see the castle in the distance, its turrets reaching up into the sky. I looked to the other, for a glimpse of the tower, but the forest was a dark mass, and Mathena would have hidden it from outside eyes, anyway.
At first I felt more comfortable inside the inn, where the best room was reserved for me. The innkeeper greeted me, his wife standing beside him and curtsying. I was surprised to recognize her from the forest—in a flash, I remembered her tears, her story of her husband’s endless infidelities. She met my eyes and then looked away quickly, her face reddening. I did not betray her, nor she me.
They led me to my room. Again I was tended by soldiers, who walked in front of me and followed after me, carrying my hair up the stairs and arranging it in the room beside me. They were getting adept at this chore: when I turned around, I saw that they’d arranged my hair into a giant spiral.
How strange, to have left one life behind but to not yet have entered the other. Suspended between worlds. Despite the exhaustion of travel, I was restless, ready for adventure. I examined the room—the plump bed, the chest, the tapestry on the wall, the shutters that opened and looked out at scattered houses and shops. I stood in the window and imagined what it would be like to live in one of those houses, what my life might have been if Mathena had not taken me away.
There was a knock on the door and two servants brought in food and drink for me, setting up my supper on a little table, and then left me alone. Below, I could hear laughter and shouting, even stomping on the floor as music started up. For a while I listened. It was all so exciting, knowing that soon I, too, would laugh and dance.
I thought of all the joy that had flowed into me from Josef’s body, and fell asleep feeling as if—almost, but not quite—it had been my own.
It was the next day that I first saw, really saw in the daylight, the world outside the forest. Servants invaded my room early in the morning, dressing me and bringing me meat and bread and tea to dine on.
I could hear the clinking of dishes downstairs, the men readying the horses.
And then I stepped outside: in front of me was a seemingly endless landscape with houses and shops and animals, and there in the distance was the palace, which seemed more massive than I had ever imagined. Like the way my tower, when you stood under it, seemed as if it ended above the clouds. Again I felt that strange vertigo, as if I were standing at some great height or sinking in the deep water, with nothing to clutch onto. The sky massive, unending and unbroken, above me.
“Here, my lady,” one of the soldiers said, as he led me to my carriage and helped me inside.
Just as I sat down an old woman passed, glaring. She made a strange gesture and pointed two fingers. It took me a moment to realize she was pointing at me.
I blinked, surprised. “What does that mean?” I asked the soldier, just as he was arranging the last bit of my hair on the seat next to me. “Did you see what that woman did?”
“I did not, my lady,” he said. He refused to meet my eye, but I felt, through the strands of my hair, that he knew these people did not approve of me, of witches, though so many of them had left their homes in secret, rushing through the dangerous woods to seek our help.
He stepped away. I looked around and caught a servant’s eye. She, too, looked quickly away.
It was an unsettling thing, that gesture, the look the woman had given me, the reaction of the soldier and the servant. I sat back in the carriage as we moved through the kingdom, praying the rest of the journey would go quickly and without incident.
We had not ridden more than an hour when I heard a loud thump on the side of the carriage, followed by a general commotion, voices and cries as the carriage came to an abrupt halt.
“Witch!” I heard, through the ruckus.
The word sliced through everything else, the sounds of the soldiers barking out commands, cries and screams from the crowd. I peeked out, through my hair, and saw faces contorted with anger, people gathered on a road lined with small houses.
“Back!” the soldiers were yelling. I saw them push one man onto the ground. Others caught my eye and cried out, making that same sign the old woman had made before. Among the faces I recognized other women who’d come to see us, through the years.
They could come to me in the forest, I realized, in secret, but they did not want me to be their queen.
I shrank into my seat.
The door to the carriage swung open, and a soldier slipped inside, pushed past my hair, and sat across from me. He was a young man with dark hair and a face like a girl, and shining green eyes with long lashes. He was dressed in the livery of the king: a red and black uniform, a sword at his side.
“Do not worry,” he said.
“What is happening?” I asked.
“These people, they’re animals.” His voice dripped with disgust.
I looked down and realized my hands were shaking.
The soldier pulled the curtains down, and the carriage began moving again. We sat in the hushed dark.
I closed my eyes and concentrated, trying to weave a quick protection spell around us.
“How far are we from the palace?” I asked, after an hour or so.
“It will not be so long now, my lady,” he said.
I cracked open the curtain some time after that, and looked out on a row of cottages, nicer than the ones we’d seen before, where the crowds had been gathering. Faces peered out of windows, mothers with children in their arms stood in doorways as we passed.
Did my parents live here? Were they still alive? I wondered if there was still a garden filled with rapunzel somewhere, still a woman staring out at it with longing and an inexpressible hunger.
Later in the day, we passed through a great gate, and then there were crowds all around, and stalls of food and bread, and I even saw a man throwing balls in the air and catching them in the most marvelous way. I heard a song that seemed to press right into the carriage, come into the window to where I was sitting, and wrap around me like a quilt.
“It’s the new queen!” I heard, and I swear I wondered where she was, this queen. I almost peered out to look for her before I remembered that it was me.
8
The castle loomed in front of us. The spires reached up into the sky, thinner and taller than they’d seemed from the forest, and I craned my neck to see the way they shone in the sunlight.
Everywhere people stood watching as we made our way to the lowering drawbridge. Merchants, entertainers, beggars. It was suffocating, having them all right there, so close I could have reached out and touched their faces.
“Stay back,” the soldier across from me said, when I stuck my head out of the window and prompted a frenzied cheer from the crowd. “You must be careful.”
“I don’t understand,” I said, as he pulled the curtain back to hide me. “What are you afraid will happen? Do you think they will try to attack us again?”
