“They told these stories to kids?”
Reave was still smiling, but there was a coldness to his eyes, and she suspected he did not appreciate being interrupted.
“These stories were told around the fire, at night. They told people how to live right, how to see the dangers in the forest.” He sat up a little straighter and continued. “The king was rich, and the princess was beautiful, but all her suitors had been scared off by the terms of the marriage. Eventually though, a young soldier in the King’s army, known for his bravery and strength, met the princess and fell deeply in love. He declared that he was not afraid of her conditions, and they married. For a while, they were very happy. The whole kingdom was happy.”
“Well, that’s good. I don’t suppose they all lived happily ever after?”
“After a few years, the princess grew gravely ill, and after lingering a while, she died. The soldier, now a prince, remembered with horror what he had agreed to and thought of fleeing the castle, but the king put guards on every door and window, and had the soldier watched every moment of every day. When the day of the funeral came, the soldier could do nothing but be marched to the princess’s tomb, and he was sealed in there with her corpse.”
“So, the princess is a loon, clearly, but it sounds to me as if the whole family was nuts. Surely the sensible thing to do would have been for the king to say, all right, she had her funny ways, we will miss her terribly, and now let’s never speak of it again.” Heather watched his face closely, interested to see if she could provoke a reaction—a man who cut women into pieces would surely have a temper, she reasoned—but Michael Reave just nodded slightly, as if he agreed with her, and carried on.
“They had given him candles, so he lit one and waited for death, watching the body of his beloved. There were flowers entwined in her hands, dog violets they were, and they matched the color of her lips. Soon he grew hungry, and thirsty, but there was nothing he could do. Eventually, a little snake crawled out of a hole in the wall—small and green and quick. Thinking it meant to bite the dead princess, the soldier leapt up and cut the snake into three pieces, killing it dead.”
Reave paused, brushing his fingers against his lips as if remembering something.
“A little while later, another snake slithered out of the hole, and seeing its dead brother, immediately retreated. However, it soon returned carrying three leaves in its mouth. These it placed over the severed pieces of the other snake’s body, and in moments, the dead snake was alive again. They disappeared back into the wall together, leaving the snake-leaves behind. The soldier, barely hoping to believe it could be true, retrieved the leaves and placed them on the eyes and mouth of the princess, and in half a breath the blood flowed again to her blue lips, and she leapt up, full of life. Together they banged on the tomb doors until the guards came and let them out. The soldier and the king were both so happy, and the kingdom rejoiced for seven days and seven nights.”
“Does this have a point, Reave?” broke in DC Turner. “We didn’t bring this woman all the way here for creepy story time.”
“I brought myself, actually, and I want to hear the end.”
If Reave appreciated her support, he didn’t show it. Instead he carried on as if neither of them had spoken. “But the princess had come back changed. With her new blood red lips came a new power, and new appetites. She would haunt the kitchens, stealing pieces of raw meat and eating them. The castle’s dogs and cats began to go missing, and then, the beggars that waited by the back gate found their numbers lessening. There are gifts, and then there are prices that must be paid. There is a becoming, we …”
He stopped, and met her eyes again. “One day, the princess went to the armory and dressed herself for war, and she went directly to the king’s chambers, and killed him. She did not kill the soldier, but kept him obedient in her room, and ruled over the kingdom herself for the rest of her days.”
An uneasy silence seeped into the room, while DC Turner coughed and sighed behind her. Heather thought it likely that this story had been given a new ending, too, just as the story of the brother and sister had—surely even the unpleasantness of the Grimm’s stories could not end with so much implied strangeness.
“I’m not sure if that’s a happy ending or not.”
Michael Reave shrugged. “Colleen … I mean, your mum, enjoyed that one. The roles of women in these stories were interesting to her. They were witches, and people hated them, but they had power.”
“Did she talk about these stories at Fiddler’s Mill?”
He looked up at her almost admonishingly, seeing through her ploy easily enough. “Aye.”
“And is that where you met? How old were you when you were there?”
Reave lowered his chin to his chest, letting out a slow breath.
“My family lived nearby there, and I just … drifted to the place as I got older. I did odd jobs for the man who owned it—tidying the place up, mending things. It became my home. Colleen turned up there in … the spring of 1977 I think it was.”
“In 1977, my mum would have been fifteen … She was just wandering around the countryside? She was a kid. What about school?” She stopped, realizing she sounded like an outraged aunt and Michael Reave was laughing at her.
He shrugged. “Things were different then. Colleen, she was wild, she didn’t get
