In the end, speaking in euphemisms so they wouldn't awaken the inimical magic wrapped around Bayl, they agreed on what Merrigan would tell Belinda. Bayl couldn't recognize her, and he begged her not to reveal herself to him until they could be sure both their curses had been entirely undone. Crystal and Bib believed Belinda would be comforted by the news. Bayl only cared about not hurting her, while Merrigan thought about what a featherhead she had turned into since her prince arrived.
To her surprise, Belinda was quiet and thoughtful when she gave her the news and explained the dangerous situation. Merrigan took her for a walk to have that discussion, despite the rain that fell in a cold mist all day. The two walked close together, gray enclosing them so it felt as if they were the only ones out on the streets as afternoon turned to evening. Every sound was muted with the hissing of rain and the gurgling of water in the gutters.
"Would it be ..." Belinda stopped and tugged her hood back a little to look up and down the nearly deserted, foggy street. Most shops had already closed. The ones still open were dim blots of golden warmth through watery air. "Would it be dangerous if I wrote him a letter? Would it awaken the magic if he wrote to me?" Her mouth trembled, and for a moment Merrigan feared she would burst into tears again. Then Belinda squeaked a laugh and threw her arms around Merrigan for a brief, wet hug. "He's been looking for me—he remembers me. Oh, I don't deserve him, not after all this time, all this work and suffering and ... but I'm a horribly selfish person. I want him!"
Merrigan made a point of repeating the conversation to Bayl when the five conspirators met again the next morning, while the clatter of the kitchen crew starting breakfast preparations covered their whispering conversation. The glow in the elder prince's face created a twisting, aching, almost weepy sensation in her middle.
The first exchange of letters was carried out with all the stealth of spying in enemy territory among goblins and trolls. Bib and Crystal examined Belinda's letter for anything that might trigger the inimical, watchful spells on either side. If she wrote anything chancy, they had her rewrite it. Then they did the same for Bayl's response. That became the standard practice. Merrigan counted that necessity as another strike against the two vicious enchantresses: Belinda and her sweetheart couldn't even pour their hearts out to each other in writing. To ensure that Bayl had no chance to guess which girl among the orphans was his Belinda, Merrigan and Bryan acted as intermediaries. Belinda gave her letter to Merrigan, who passed it to Bryan several hours later. When Bayl wrote his letter, Bryan passed it to Merrigan, then kept his brother busy so he wouldn't see Merrigan give it to Belinda.
The job of intermediaries threw Bryan and Merrigan together. If she wasn't constantly watching for him, waiting for the signal that he had a letter to give her, he was watching for her signal in return. Then when the recipient was busy reading the latest letter, the sender wanted to be alone for a while. Merrigan thought it somewhat silly and melodramatic, and Bryan agreed when she mentioned it to him after three weeks of exchanging letters.
"Still, he's in a much better humor than he's been for years now."
Bryan leaned back against the support post of the pavilion where they had taken shelter from the rain-becoming-snow, on the edge of the festival grounds in the center of the city. He had offered to accompany her when she delivered a set of gowns for the christening of the twin daughters of Lady Geramia. Talking about their mutual concerns and friends was easier away from the orphanage, even if they still had to talk in euphemisms.
"To have hope ... it's painful, but it's a welcome pain. Compared to no hope whatsoever."
"Certainly a handsome young man such as you has some hope? One day soon, this whole ugly tangle will resolve and your brother and his sweetheart will be together, safe, settled—you aren't going to spend the rest of your life looking after them, are you?"
"Oh, yes, a favorite uncle, growing old by the fire." He shuddered with mock horror, and for a moment they paused, caught in each other's eyes.
Merrigan ached for something she couldn't put her finger on.
"I find it hard to believe there isn't a princess out there, pining for you," she said, and a moment later wished she had cut off her tongue before saying something so foolish.
"Once. Where she is now ... I hope she's happy and safe somewhere." He gestured out across the silvery sheen of sleet that threatened to cover the festival grounds in ice. "I am just selfish enough to hope she thinks of me, once in a while. Maybe even wonders where I am. And yes," he let out a single chuckle, "I'm selfish enough to hope that sometimes, no matter how happy she is, she wonders what would have happened if I had been brave enough to ask, and she had said yes."
"She would have been an idiot, a featherhead, to say no to you."
"It doesn't matter, does it? I didn't ask. I had nothing to offer her, even when Sylvanglade was free of enchantment. Now, who knows what her fate is? I feel as if I failed her. We were friends when we were children." He sighed. "Yes, I failed her."
"No, you didn't. She failed you." She wondered if the odd aching in her head and in her throat was what people meant when they talked about twisting a knife a little deeper.
"I wish I could fall in love with someone else,
