Page 9 of The Beauty and the Griffin

Pukai’s lips twitched. “Which is . . .?”

“I’ve been considering your suggestion of connecting Beatrice with a family that frequents the resort, but I see no way of doing so until she reaches adolescence.” I paced the length of a subterranean tidepool and back, frowning in thought. “Beatrice is versatile in her pursuits and quite intelligent, but I have yet to discover any spark of genius in the child. Her magic is merelyhembezlevel.”

“It allows her to converse with the Gamekeeper,” Pukai observed, “which offers some hope.”

“She makes friends easily yet somehow holds herself aloof.”

“Again, reminding me of—”

“Yes, yes,” I waved a dismissive hand. “I was never popular in school or anywhere else and never cared to be.”

“Surprise me.”

That comment deserved to be ignored. “Returning to your idea of connecting her with a family that frequents the resort, perhaps she might become a companion to an elderly peer, or a nanny to small children.”

“Not too small, or she’ll have no time to herself.”

“Good point,” I admitted.

“Since you refused to use your magic for travel—”

“The last thing I need is for her father to find out I’m a sahira.”

“—you have a long drive ahead of you tomorrow, and we’ve already established that the child won’t be returning here anytime soon. Therefore, I intend to retire for the night. If you wish to remain here, pacing and pitying yourself, I ask only that you don’t disturb the bats and nightbirds. Keep in touch, darling.”

With that, she vanished. Since the bioluminescence of the tidepools and cave walls offered no welcoming cheer whatsoever, I retired to the castle for a good night’s sleep.

And if I never again in this lifetime crochet lace or play another game of Hearts or gossip about somebody’s ex-husband’s new wife, I might eventually recover from this ghastly holiday.

Magical matchmaking isn’t for cowards.

4

BEATRICE

I waited years formy next taste of magic, but in our derelict castle, time was never wasted. I attended a local grade school, and after much begging, Papa allowed me piano and singing lessons. He personally took me to church each week, and both modeled and taught me responsible property management, masonry and carpentry, kindness, patience, and genuine faith. Auntie taught me how to keep house, cook, sew, appreciate the humor in life, and persevere. I never saw her use magic, and we never spoke of it since Papa objected, but it fairly hovered in the air when she was near. Her presence constantly assured me that my memories of Faraway Castle were not imaginary.

I spent a few years at a boarding school in Auvers and seldom saw my grandaunt during that time, but Papa frequently came to visit me. As soon as possible I added job training to my accelerated academic program and acquired both a teaching accreditation and a childcare license at age fifteen. I was tall and serious-minded even then, and most people mistook me for eighteen or older. My goal in life was to help people in practical ways.

But then the King of Bilbao, a neighboring country, selected me out of all applicants to be the nanny and live-in companion to his motherless only child. Papa and Auntie Bella nearly burst with pride.

I nearly hyperventilated.

Me, nanny to a nine-year-old princess? I worried that she might not respect an inexperienced nanny only six years older than she was, but everyone else seemed to believe I could handle the challenge, so I ignored my sense of inadequacy and accepted the position.

Well, my instinct proved correct. A few weeks after taking charge of that angelically beautiful, spoiled-rotten, broken-hearted, and downrightevilprincess, I was ready to scream like a toddler and rip out hair by the roots. Hers or mine—either would do. The one ray of hope on my horizon was that “Eddi”—aka Her Royal Highness, the Crown Princess Edurne Zuri, spent four weeks every summer at Faraway Castle Resort.

That first time, King Koldo accompanied us to the resort—we flew to Adelboden on his private jet and transferred to one of several waiting limousines—and he stayed over the first night to make sure his angel princess would be safe under the supervision of this questionable new nanny. Eddi clung to him and wept piteously when he and his royal retinue prepared to leave the next morning—the child was impossibly beautiful even with red, puffy eyes and features contorted with self-pity and woe.

But as soon as the cart carrying His Majesty back to the car park vanished around a curve, she turned to fix her dark eyes on me and let a malicious smile creep over her features. I was doomed.

Two days later, I ran from the stables up the path between a horse pasture and the football pitch at the base of Faraway Castle’s hillside gardens, and through the nearest garden gate. Once it slammed shut behind me, I propped my hands on my knees, huffed out my frustration, and sucked in long draughts of free air. My liberty would last all of—I checked my wind-up wristwatch—fifty-five minutes. Then I must escort the tiny tyrant to her next activity. As if she didn’t know the way better than I did.

On the bright side, nearly an hour stretched before me with no insults to shrug off or machinations to thwart. Today was the first of Princess Eddi’s daily private riding lessons. Her instructor, a cute dwarf who looked younger than me (I never told any of the dwarves that I could see through the glamours they wore to appear human, but I think they knew) had kindly informed me that I didnotneed to stick around, and that he would gladly escort Her Royal Highness to her first group activity of the day. I dared to follow his advice about taking the hour off, but I didn’t dare let him take over my escort job. Eddi would be sure to inform her father of my dereliction of duty.

I lost track of how many gardens I passed through while climbing staircases. There may have been more gardens than should fit . . . Never mind. They were beautiful. The colors and perfumes of trees and flowers, the music of birds, insects, and running water, and the delicious fresh air blended to soothe my soul. Everything was exactly how I remembered it from that long-ago visit with Auntie Bella, back in the good old days . . .

Eddi and I had a lot in common, really. We’d both lost our mothers, and we both had loving yet largely absent fathers. Unlike the princess, I’d been a happy child. But then, Eddi remembered her mother and missed her terribly. Which was worse, I wondered, to have a mother and suffer the pain of her loss, or to have no memory of a mother’s love at all? Papa did his best as a father, and Auntie Bella tried to fill in my mother-love gaps when she was around, but it could never be the same.

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