Page 81 of Disenchanted
It was my mother.
I picked up the small oval painting to examine it. It was so like the miniature of my mother that belonged to my father, I felt a flash of rage, wondering when and how the king had managed to steal it.
But I realized that was impossible. My father’s portrait of Mama was locked away in the bottom drawer of his desk. I had seen it only recently when I had been searching for a fresh bottle of ink.
As I studied the miniature, I perceived subtle differences between it and my father’s portrait. My mother looked younger in this one and there was a blue ribbon threaded through her hair. How did the king come to have such a thing? This cameo was the sort of token a young woman would only bestow upon someone that she cared for deeply. I could not believe that any sort of affection had ever existed between my mother and a man as selfish and cruel as King August. And yet…
I recalled King August’s strange reaction to me earlier during the reception, the way his eyes had misted as he stared at me.Your mother was the loveliest, most enchanting woman I have ever known. And you… you look so very much like her. Is that not true, Majordomo? Is not this girl Cecily’s very image?
Except for her eyes, the king’s quiet little servant had replied. I do believe she has her father’s eyes.
The king had recoiled from me as though I had transformed into a hissing snake.
I cradled the portrait in the palm of my hand and wondered. Was it possible that the king had fancied himself in love with my mother and ordered this portrait to be painted? Was that the original source of the enmity that had existed between King August and my father— the fact that my father had been the one to win my mother’s heart?
The king could never have had any serious intentions toward my mother, a mere forest warder’s daughter. August had been wed and widowed three times, once to a princess and then to two grand duchesses. These royal brides had all shared two traits; they were blonde, and they were wealthy, bringing a hefty dowry to fill the Helavalerian coffers. Any tender sentiment the king might have cherished for my mother would have been overcome by his avarice.
Of course, this was all speculation on my part. I had no way of knowing what had happened between the king and my mother and father all those years ago, just more of the mystery that surrounded my parents’ past.
All the same, I loathed the idea of the king owning this miniature of my mother. When he stole into this chamber to gloat over his treasure; did he sigh over Mama’s portrait, perhaps even fondle it with his fat, sweaty fingers? The thought sickened me. My own fingers tightened about the miniature. Ilonged to shove it into my hidden pocket and carry it away with me, but I dared not.
Of all the objects in this room, the portrait would be missed, alerting the king that an intruder had been here. Despite my undetectable aura, the theft of my mother’s portrait would be a crime that could be traced back to me. I forced myself to return the miniature to its shelf.
Having to abandon Mama’s portrait disheartened me. I continued to search for the orb, but it felt hopeless. I had no idea how much time had lapsed since I had first entered the room, but this was taking me much too long. Beads of sweat gathered on my brow, in part due to the closeness of the chamber, but mainly owing to my mounting anxiety.
Order could have been restored to the ballroom by now. Those two bored young guards might be back at their posts. How would I ever get back through the arch without drawing attention to myself? What if Horatio had noticed my absence and instituted a search?
If I was caught in the treasure room itself, there would be no plausible excuse I could offer. I would be clapped in irons and hauled off immediately to the deepest dungeon in the King’s Royal Prison. Not even Horatio would be able to save me and perhaps he would be so disgusted to discover I was a thief; he would not even try.
I hated to give up, after the risk I had already taken. But I did not see that I had much choice. I started to make my way toward the door, when the light of my candles reflected off the top of something that could have been glass.
The object was shoved to the very back of a shelf, hidden behind a plethora of beautiful figurines depicting fairies. My heart quickened with hope. I set the branch of candles down atop of stack of heavy leather-bound books that looked like a stack of ledgers.
Carefully, I shifted the figurines, clearing a path through the fairy folk. There it was at last. The orb nestled upon a blue velvet cushion set beneath a glass dome coated with a fine film of dust.
At one time, perhaps the orb had been prominently displayed, just as the footman had told Mal. As the king had acquired new treasures, the glass dome must have been relegated to the back of the shelf. Just another possession to the king, but one that meant the world to Mal, a cherished memento of his wizard grandfather.
My throat thickened with emotion as I imagined Mal’s joy when I restored the orb to him. But I could not give myself up to feelings of relief just yet, not until the orb was safely in my pocket and I had managed to sneak back into the ballroom undetected.
I drew the glass dome closer to me, my palms damp with perspiration inside my gloves. I wished I could have removed them, but even with an unregistered aura, it would be unwise to leave finger marks all over the glass.
I lifted the dome off carefully lest I drop it, shattering glass everywhere. Despite my slippery gloves, I succeeded in removing the dome from its base. Setting it aside, I delved into my pocket and produced the fake orb. Mal had pulled off an astonishing feat, producing an exact copy. I certainly could not discern any difference between them. I switched the orbs, tucking the real one into my hidden pocket. I replaced the glass dome and nudged it to the rear of the shelf. I arranged the fairy figurines in front of it, trying to put them back in the same positions I had found them.
I was dismayed to realize that I had dislodged the layers of dust, but hopefully, a new coating would settle before the king noticed anything amiss. Blowing out a deep breath, I allowed myself a moment of relief.
“There, Malcolm Hawkridge,” I murmured. “Never say I don’t keep my birthday promises.”
Snatching up the candlestick, I headed for the door. As I passed beneath the dragon head, the light glinted strangely off the creature’s glassy eyes. The back of my neck prickled and for a moment, I had the eeriest sensation the dragon was staring at me. I shook off the ridiculous notion as I snuffed out the wicks on the candelabrum and put it back where I had found it.
I groped for the door handle in the dim light of the wizard’s lantern. I started to ease it open when I drew up short, realizing I was on the verge of forgetting my shoes. That would have been a disastrous and costly mistake.
I grabbed up my dancing slippers. Inching the door open, I took a cautious peek down the corridor. It was as deserted as before. I stepped through the opening and quietly closed the door behind me. The king’s portrait settled back into place. No one looking at it would ever guess that there was a treasure room hidden behind it or that I had been in there.
Despite my tension, I felt an odd thrill course through me. I recognized it for what it was, the excitement I had experienced whenever Mal and I had succeeded in pulling off some outrageous bit of mischief. I kept insisting to him that the reckless, adventurous girl I had once been gone. Perhaps a trace of the old, daring Ella remained, I thought with a grin. I set off down the corridor with a spring in my step. All caution was forgotten as I whipped around the corner into the main hall.
And walked head on into Horatio Crushington.
sixteen
