“Did you have a good journey?”
He spoke as if he did not know who I was. But I looked the same. Had he never seen me? Or was he pretending not to know me?
“I imagine the rain must have slowed your pace.”
A servant set down a giant pig with an apple in its mouth. Its eyes met mine and rolled heavenward. Then it spit the apple right out. The fruit banked off the king’s chair and into Agathe, knocking her over. The animal stood, squatted down, and sprang onto Karl’s head. It began to urinate.
Karl said, “Was your journey a slow one?”
I blinked at the platter. The pig was still upon it, setting on a bed of greens, the apple still in its mouth.
“Do you not know me, Karl?” My voice was a whisper. I no longer knew what was true or false.
I did. This child in my belly was true.
Karl laughed. “Know you? Of course. You are my dear Agathe’s friend, Sophie.”
I reached out my hand and grabbed his chin. Beside me, I heard Agathe gasp.
I said, “Look at me, Karl. Look at me.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw one of the servants—or perhaps a guard—advancing upon me. I needed to speak, and quickly.
I stood. “Karl, I am more to you than Agathe’s friend.” My voice quavered, but it was loud. “You know I am Cornelia from the market. We have been . . . lovers.”
“Oh!” A gasp rose from the assembled guests, and a moan from Agathe. I faced the king, a corpulent man with a long, curled beard. This was my one chance.
“You must believe me, Your Majesty.”
“I do not know this woman, Father. I swear it.”
“He knows me well, and I know him. I know that his favorite story as a child was about the animal musicians who scared the robbers. I know that he hates turnips but loves strudel, especially when I make it. I know he has a birthmark like port wine on his stomach. I have seen it, touched it, when we—”
“No! Sophie!” Agathe yelled, and the king buried his face in his hand.
“You must help me. I am going to have a baby.”
The king stared at me. Around the table, all was silent except for Agathe’s soft whimpers and Karl’s whispered “No, no . . .”
The king rose. He was a tall man, and he walked around the table to meet my eyes.
“What did you say?”
My throat felt closed from the inside as if I could neither swallow, breathe, nor cough.
I finally managed the latter. Then I whispered, “I am having a baby. Your grandchild.”
The king nodded, but not at me.
A pair of strong hands grabbed me from behind. The guard. He must have moved in when the king rose from his chair, and now he was lifting me, pulling me toward the door. This could not be happening. Kendra’s magic could not have failed me so spectacularly.
Failed.
“Wait!” I yelled. “Wait! You must listen to me!”
“I must listen to nothing!” bellowed the king. “You are a fortune hunter out to trap my son.”
I remembered the bookseller’s instructions and straightened my shoulders. The guard pulled me back, but I yelled for all to hear.
“I have no need of fortune-hunting. I can spin straw into gold!”
6
Why had I said it? In years to come, when people hear this story (and I have little doubt that they will), they will marvel at my stupidity. I suppose it was the lack of other choices.
And now I am in a barn. A lovely, large barn one would expect from a castle, but still a barn, surrounded by straw, straw, straw! The animals, which could have been a comfort to me, have been removed from the barn to make room for more straw and, presumably, because it would not do to have them eat the straw. Still, I can tell from the stink that there were once goats here. In the dim light from the moon coming through a high window, I can make out the shape of chickens, asleep in their coops. Chickens, of course, do not eat straw. Perhaps I can get an egg from them in the morning. I do not know if my captors intend to feed me. I do not know what will happen when they realize my lie. I do not know what I was supposed to do after I told them I could spin straw into gold. Kendra did not tell me.
I must speak to Kendra. But how?
I stand, feeling the straw crackling under my feet. I am mentioning straw quite a bit, but really, it is my entire life. I need the mirror. I begin to pace back and forth. In the darkness, the straw feels unstable, slippery beneath my worthless dressy slippers. I steady myself on an object, then realize it is a spinning wheel. They have left me a spinning wheel with which to spin my lies. No, to spin my straw.
Because my life was not hideous enough before now.
I hear a rustling. Then the door creaks open. Have they sent someone to check on me? What will I tell them?
“Darling!”
“What?”
“Cornelia? Are you here? It is so dark. They must bring you a light.”