"Don't be. A delay is far preferable to eternal separation."
In the end, the adults decided to accept the princes' help, on a trial basis. They agreed none of the children would be told the two men were princes, only that they were friends of their beloved Aubrey. Later, after the brothers were taken off to settle them, Merrigan had another thought.
Bryan of Sylvanglade had looked her in the eye. He had complimented her on handling those scoundrel princes so well.
He hadn't recognized her.
Well, how could he? Everyone but Bib and Belinda knew her as Mara, and despite the flattery of her friends, Merrigan knew she looked nothing like the young woman she had been. She had seen her face in the mirror. Bryan would never recognize her.
The years had been very kind to Bryan. Generous, in fact. She had admired the boy he had been, athletic, rugged, cheerful and kind, always smiling. No threat of overwhelming handsomeness. He showed the wear and weathering that was only natural for a prince whose kingdom had been swallowed up by a curse. Merrigan wished she had met the princess Bryan's oldest brother had brought home, in an attempt to sidestep the curse. She would like to take the selfish featherhead and slap her until she finally woke up and thought about others for a change, instead of herself.
Then she would like to find the twit's royal parents and give them a good scolding that would scorch not just their ears but their clothes. How dare they foist their curse off on some innocent king's family, putting his kingdom under the curse they should have been dealing with? Didn't they have any sense of responsibility? Magic was chancy, nasty, and a stickler for the rules. Anyone who tried to get around it got in even more trouble than if they had simply stood up straight and taken their lumps and faced the requirements of breaking the spell.
Oh, but Bryan did look good. He looked like a prince, no matter how plain his clothes, no matter the wrinkles around his eyes, the signs of a life lived on the road, fending for himself. Merrigan imagined he was a great comfort to Bayl, supporting him as he searched for Belinda.
Consider it a fresh start, Bib said in the quiet of the night, after Merrigan was finally able to climb into her bed and let her achy-weary limbs relax. Sleep threatened on dizzy waves that she welcomed with pleasure.
Fresh start in what? Merrigan closed her eyes and wished he wasn't quite such a talkative talking book.
Your friendship with your prince.
He was never mine.
He could be now.
Focus on making everything safe for Belinda and Bayl. They've both suffered enough to deserve some happiness, don't you think?
What about you? Haven't you suffered enough?
Ask Clara. Merrigan rolled over and pulled her pillow over her head. Not that it would really help. But he did take the hint.
THE SEAMSTRESSES SETTLED down to get to work on holiday clothes for everyone in the orphanage. Although the first snows weren't due for several more weeks, they had to get to work now, because there were quite a lot of children to clothe. Merrigan looked forward to the enormous project, with such a wide variety of cloth and colors and all the supplies she would need. The children would be so excited, she knew. They were intelligent and aware enough to know the difference between the abundance of clothes that had been showered on them when Aubrey was restored to his position as prince, and the new clothes they would receive at the winter festivities. The difference between something adjusted and adapted for them, and something made for them. The donations showered on the orphanage warehouse continued, though slowed down to a more manageable flow. They had a nice stockpile of shoes and boots and coats. All the children had a change of nightshirts, so laundry day wasn't a mad scramble to get everything washed and dried by nighttime. They each had an outfit for chores and everyday wear, and an outfit for special occasions, such as when the king and other high-ranking or wealthy friends came to visit.
"What are you smiling about?" Belinda said, her voice threatening to grow loud enough to be a wail.
"I'm sorry—I was just gloating over all the goodies we have to work with," Merrigan said, patting the other princess's hand. "It's funny, but I've never been proud of anything but myself before. I like being proud of our home, of the children, all that we managed to do before we gained wealthy patrons."
"Hmm, I suppose so." She blotted her eyes with a visibly wet handkerchief. "He hates me," she whispered.
"Who hates you?"
"Bayl." Her voice dropped to a squeaky whisper.
"How can he hate you when he doesn't recognize you? You're wearing an illusion spell, remember?"
"But—but—he avoids looking at me. Every time I try to talk to him, he excuses himself and gets away as fast as he can. He won't look me in the eye, even when he's standing right there in front of me." Belinda looked around at the other girls. Her desperate whispers had been covered by the crunching of scissors going through cloth and the excited chatter as the sewing teams matched trimmings and buttons to cloth.
"Don't be a goose." Merrigan gestured with her chin at the girls on the other side of the table, since her hands were full pinning a skirt together for basting. "If you weren't so busy avoiding him half the time, and the other time pushing yourself into his face, desperate for him to recognize you despite that very good illusion spell, you'd notice that all the girls over the age of thirteen are nigh on drooling over him."
"Oh, I noticed." The whine slid
