I had no doubt galoshes and oilskins would appear if I asked for them, or even if I simply rooted around in the wardrobe for a while, but the prospect of going out into the rain was too depressing. At home, Opal and Flint, especially, would be pleased by its offering the first hint of spring, and at the softening of the ground. They wouldn't yet be planting seeds, but they might turn the earth over, helping it to thaw, while Pearl muttered curses about dirty feet and hard labor. Or perhaps they were only awaiting spring because it could offer—with the goods the Beast had sent with Father—the chance to return to the city, and begin a more luxurious life all over again.
My heart faltered at the thought. It was one thing to be captive in a castle at the heart of an enchanted forest that my family lived in, no matter the distance. Somehow it was something else entirely to not even share the forest's borders with them. Distressed and trying to shake it off, I wrapped myself in a warm cloak and went for a walk inside the palace, which was large enough to exercise horses in, never mind one young woman. I wasn't looking where I was going; escape from my own thoughts, not exploration, was my purpose.
So it took longer than it might have otherwise to realize that the parquet beneath my feet had turned to smooth road, and then that I had sometime recently stopped walking, and now rode astride a familiar charger. I patted the creature's neck, feeling callouses from a sword marring my palm, and looked ahead to see the great gates of my city rising before me. The road became cobblestones, and I rode home at the head of my army, the triumphant warrior queen returning. I had gone to war bearing my husband's standard; now I carried my own, a blazing sun, crowned and crossed behind by a sword and a needle, so that no one might mistake my symbol for a man's. Among the crowds were thousands of women waving needlework, an honor that delighted me; I raised my blade and named it the Needle, for them, and their roars of pride carried me all the way to the palace.
At its gates I could—or did, at least, whether I should or not—shed the persona of queen, and instead became the mother I had missed being for three full years. The same woman, clad in gold this time instead of green, but still with her beloved roses embroidered at the hem, came forth with her sweet, wicked smile. With her walked a little boy whose eyes were large and round with awe. I slipped from my horse and knelt, my arms open, and he did not run to me. Instead he clung to the gold woman's skirts, and a whisper of sympathy rippled behind me as my soldiers saw what happened.
I ought to have known: a good leader doesn't fight a losing battle in public, not if she can help it. But I hadn't thought it through; I had forgotten that a mother's longing over a three-year campaign would not be reflected in the heart of a child who had barely been off the breast when his mother left. Nell was my sweet boy's mother, for all that he knew or cared, and I would damage us all if I tried to change that in an instant. So I stood, still smiling, hoping that smile's cost didn't show, and embraced Nell as she came to me. The little boy in her skirts watched me, and when Nell made as if to encourage him to hug me, I shook my head just a little. One rejection in front of the troops was enough. More than enough.
Nell, who was wise, lifted him onto her hip, and stood beside me so he was between us both, and we turned to face my army, crying, "Your prince!"
The roar of approval made my son gasp, then hide his face in Nell's shoulder, and, finally, peek out and smile, to the chortling delight of the army. When the tales of that day came to me in later years, they were told the way I had hoped it would go: that the little prince had run to me, and we faced our troops together, with Nell, my strong right hand, at our side. It made a better story, but I knew it was only that, and so that night, as soon as I had a moment alone with her, I said to my Nell, "I owe you a debt that can never be repaid. He loves you," and Nell, smiling, said, "I love him too."
It wanted to be a festering wound, that my son went to Nell for comfort and laughter. I wouldn't let it: I could not hate she who had held the kingdom for me for so long, nor could I blame him for not knowing a mother who had left him behind. Nell, generous of heart, saw my struggle, and guided him toward me, little by little. "What does it cost you," I asked late one night, and she only shrugged, stroking my hair.
"I never wanted children, unless I could beget one on you. Your son is as close as I can have to that, but he's your son. I was never more than a caretaker to him." Her stroking fingers made their way down my belly and thighs, until I, Amber, came to myself shuddering with pleasure and leaning on a windowsill for support.
Night had fallen and the rain had stopped while I'd been tangled in Irindala's…dreams. I had no better word for what they were. My dreams, perhaps, and her memories, but whichever they were, they'd stolen the day away from me. Flushed, I went to wash before dinner, and to my surprise, then found the dining hall empty. I had no sense of the time at all, save that I was hungry, but the Beast had always waited for me before. I ate a little, then, remembering it, went to the observatory to see if the height of the moon might tell me if I'd lost more than the day, but also half the night as well.
I knew before I climbed the observatory's narrow stairs that the Beast was up there: the air's weight changed when he was nearby, and in daylight or at dinner I had become largely accustomed to it. It felt different at night, without the familiar trappings, and I noticed it more clearly. Nor did it fade as I entered the observatory. It was late indeed, the stars so far along in their nightly wheel that morning had to be closer than dusk. The Beast was a shadow on the floor. I barely had time to realize he was lying on his back, belly exposed to the sky like a giant dog, before he flipped himself over and rose to his feet with inhuman speed. "Amber?"
"Did I wake you?" Amusement colored my tone. I couldn't imagine him being caught in such an undignified position unless he hadn't heard or smelled me coming, and I doubted he would fail to do either of those things unless he had been asleep.
He sounded gruffly embarrassed. "Yes."
"Sorry." I sat on one of the cushioned benches, looking up at the stars. "Do you often sleep up here?"
"Often enough," he said guardedly. "I find the distance from the gardens comforting."
"The gardens," I echoed, faintly surprised. "It's the forest that seems threatening, to me."
"And yet it was the roses that imprisoned you here."
I glanced at him, an eyebrow arched. "The roses?"
"The edict that they must not be picked is not mine. I only enforce it."
"With great enthusiasm. Does this place—does it drag you into visions, too? Memories so real it's like you're living them yourself?"
The Beast bared his teeth suddenly, a brief and ferocious gesture. My gut tightened, but his gaze turned away; apparently the anger he'd shown wasn't for me. "No. Not for a long time."
"That's your answer to everything!"
"That is my experience." He sat on the bench opposite me, as well away from me as he could in the confines of the observatory. I thought he was trying not to trap me, which would have been comforting if he hadn't continued in a low growl. "This place, this palace…it rescues stories. It's trying to determine how you fit into its story. Where you belong. What role you play."