Thrice Upon a Marigold Page 14

  The corridors bustled with overdressed countesses, foppish barons, fairies trailing glittering magic dust, and pageboys dashing along with urgent messages. The kitchens were in operation night and day delivering delicacies at all hours and doing their best to satisfy exotic tastes. Who would have guessed there would be such a demand for medallions of hedgehog in rhubarb-dandelion sauce?

  The castle was filled with flowers and candles and various sweetmeats, and after several days of pandemonium, the long-awaited festivities were just moments away.

  Bub and Cate, and Flopsy, Mopsy, and Topsy had retreated under the bed in Marigold and Christian’s suite, but not—this time—because they were pouting. Marigold had wanted to include them and show them off, to the point of bathing them all in perfumed shampoo and decking them out with fancy collars and ribbons. But as much as Cate loved a party, she had been stepped on one time too many by the hordes of guests. And the other dogs had been to enough parties that they didn’t care if they never got to another. The spilled food to lick up was not enough to compensate for all the times a guest wiped his hands on them, or some child pulled their tails or ears, or someone kicked them under a table. They knew Marigold would bring them a generous sampling of the goodies, which was the best part of a party, anyway, so they were happy to remain out of the way now that they knew they were part of the family again.

  It was a sparkling spring day, and all the guests had finally gathered on the terrace. Poppy, dressed in purple and yellow, with a minimum of ruffles and bows, was wheeled under the bower in her cradle, wide-eyed and alert. She’d never seen such a crowd, and once she understood that she was the main attraction, she laughed and clapped her chubby little hands. When the audience laughed and clapped back, she had her first experience of relating to her future subjects. It was quite a congenial moment, which boded well for the life of the kingdom. Poppy also loved getting all dressed up and hoped there would be lots more occasions when that would be expected, especially if they were occasions she could share with her favorite people (her papa and her mama, her two grandfathers, her dogs, her goat, and her nanny), all of whom she could see from where she sat propped against purple and yellow pillows.

  King Christian stood next to the cradle, ready to welcome the assemblage. He waited until the loud hum of conversation simmered down, and was especially grateful when the high-pitched and competitive twittering of all the fairies ceased. Their shrill voices almost always gave him a headache.

  “Queen Marigold and I thank you all for joining with us to welcome our little princess, Poppy, into the world,” he began. “We are confident that you will all be available to help us guide her to be a responsible and productive citizen, and a conscientious princess to her kingdom.” He went on with equal parts flattery and sincerity until he could no longer postpone the time he knew Marigold dreaded—the bestowal of the fairy gifts.

  The first few were traditional: silver cups, good health, ivory rattles, kindness. But then came trouble. A fairy who had had insomnia most of her life began to bestow the gift of good sleep.

  When formerly–Lazy Susan, sitting in the audience, heard that, she jumped to her feet. There had been a time in her life when uninterrupted naps were all she wanted, but that was before she had learned the pleasures of absorbing and satisfying work. Besides, through her half sister, Sleeping Beauty, she knew more than almost anybody about the opposite of insomnia.

  “Whoa,” she said. “I’m so sorry to interrupt,” she added, remembering her manners. “But perhaps you recall that my half sister is Sleeping Beauty, so maybe I’m a little oversensitive, but this one makes me nervous. Just a little too much and . . . well, eight hours of sleep is good. Twenty hours is a problem. Don’t you think? And don’t forget about Vlad’s sleeping powder. Sleep is a sensitive issue around here.” Abruptly she sat down.

  The crowd hushed in shock. They had never heard anyone object to a fairy gift before, though there were definitely times when someone should have.

  The fairy was glowering, hands on her hips, clenching a wand that could do unpredictable damage.

  Marigold stepped forward, hoping she had enough tact to handle this. “Thank you very much, Prilla, for this lovely gift,” she said. “I’m sure every new parent would wish for it, when their babies are waking up several times a night. Um . . . how hard is it to make sure the gift is exactly eight hours?”

  Poppy was surprised to hear that her nighttime waking was a problem. She had been so happy every time her mommy appeared that she naturally assumed these visits had been as pleasant for Mommy as for herself. That’s one reason she had done it so often.

  Prilla shook her wand and a few sparkles fell onto the terrace. “It is a great art,” she grumped.

  “I understand,” said Marigold, who really didn’t. “Do you mind if I have our resident wizard emeritus observe? I think he would be very interested in your technique.” She turned to where Wendell sat in the front row and said through clenched teeth, “Wouldn’t you, Wendell?”

  Wendell got the message and unfurled his own wand from under his robes. “Indeed,” he said, joining Prilla and the royal family under the arbor. He hoped he still had enough of his wizarding mojo to alter Prilla’s gift if it appeared to be excessive.

  Prilla waved her wand in a series of maneuvers that were so fast, they began to blur. But Wendell had been at this game a lot longer than she had, and he could follow the pattern enough to see that she was loading Poppy up with several hours too many. With a few minor twitches of his own wand, he was able to recalibrate the gift so that it settled in at exactly eight hours and forty-seven minutes. When all the wand action was finished, a shower of rainbow-colored spangles fell around the cradle, settled on Poppy’s blanket and pillow, and fizzled out.

  “Thank you very much for this learning opportunity,” Marigold told Prilla. “Right, Wendell?” She gave him a subtle poke in the ribs.

  “Ow! Yes, yes, of course,” he said. “Very nice opportunity.”

  Prilla gave a smug bow to the audience and flitted back to her seat.

  The rest of the gifts were problem free, though Marigold kept Wendell within reach, to ensure there were no more glitches.

  Just as the last gift had been presented, there was the sound of a great flapping of wings and a long shadow fell over the terrace. Looking up, the guests were startled by the dazzling sight of an iridescent dragon flying back and forth above them, the sunlight bouncing blindingly off her silvery scales.

  Marigold looked up and waved. At that, Winnie opened her claw and dropped a package wrapped in layers of the softest feather moss. It hit the terrace and rolled to the foot of the cradle as Winnie flapped away.

  Marigold picked up the bundle and pulled away the wrappings. Inside was a diamond as big as Poppy’s head. And it had been shaped, by claw and by fiery breath, into an image of Poppy’s face.

  “Oh, my,” Marigold said. “I knew Winnie’s lair was studded with diamonds—they gave it such a pretty light inside—but I had no idea she could do this with them. She’s a genius!”

  “I think she’s got a career in lapidary art opening up for herself,” Chris said. “If she wants it.”

  After that, the revelry, gluttony, and debauchery set in in earnest, and it was three days and three nights (in each of which Poppy slept exactly eight hours and forty-seven minutes) more before the guests began packing up to go home.

  For Phoebe and Sebastian, those three days were unlike any either of them had ever experienced. For one thing, people who had previously ignored or scorned them could now hardly resist seeking them out for praise or invitations or general sucking up. It was hard for them not to feel some satisfaction at this change of affairs, but they also knew how superficial it was, and how temporary it could be.

  From each other they had learned how a true friend behaves: steadily there in good times and bad; valuing the other, but not being afraid to offer correction and guidance when necessary; available for extensive hanging out, which
can sometimes be more fun than an elaborate planned event.

  From time to time they needed to seek out the quiet of the deserted library for a respite from all the merrymaking and fawning. On the afternoon of the second day, Sebastian asked, “How are you holding up? We’ve had a lot of changes in a short time.”

  “I don’t know if I could get through it alone. I mean, without you. I’m glad I don’t have to.”

  “Thank you. I feel the same way. And not just because we experienced similar childhoods.”

  “I know. It’s more than that.” She paused. “Did you know that all porcupines float?” Then, her anxiety momentarily relieved, she went on. “I like you better than anyone else I have ever known.” She looked down at her hands in her lap, her cheeks flushed from her daring. Sebastian knelt before her and took her hands into his.

  “I was about to say the same thing,” he said. “And, no, I didn’t know porcupines could float.”

  “Oh.” Her cheeks flushed redder. “Did you know I can cut a thousand strips of p-mail paper in half an hour with my wonderful new p-mail paper cutter?”

  “No, but I’m glad. That was my goal when I invented it.”

  “You invented it?” She looked up to see him gazing at her with the same expression King Christian had had on his face when he’d found Queen Marigold safely outside Winnie’s lair: as if no one else existed.

  He nodded.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “You’re welcome,” he whispered back, taking her into his arms and kissing her.

  When she could breathe again, Phoebe said, “Did you know yaks give pink milk?”

  “What’s a yak?” Sebastian asked.

  “I can’t believe I know a word you don’t,” she said. And he kissed her again. Sometimes words aren’t the most important things going on.

  After a while they talked about their mothers, who would be moving into the castle after the festivities were over. Anabel and Twyla had decided that they wanted a calmer atmosphere than the Welcome Party in which to get reacquainted with Phoebe and Sebastian.

  “Are you afraid you won’t like your mother?” Sebastian asked.

  “I already like her,” Phoebe said. “I like how she wanted to take me with her when she ran away, and how she stayed as close as she could, and how she wanted to wait to come back here so she wouldn’t be putting pressure on me. Why? Are you afraid you won’t like yours?”

  “I don’t think so. It’s just odd to think about having a parent I like, and can talk to, and am not afraid of.”

  “I understand that. I’ll help you. If you’ll help me.”

  He kissed her again.

  Who needs a party, even if it has jugglers and dancing bears and fireworks?

  23

  IN THE WEEKS AFTER the Welcome Party, spring came in earnest. Sunlight poured down onto the kingdom. The baffer-birds sang their hearts out. Winnie soared lazily through the azure skies, looking down on the royal family and her best pal, Hannibal. And peace settled over them all like a blanket of feather moss.

  It probably wouldn’t last. It never does. But it would come back around again. That’s how life works. And that’s why it’s important to treasure the peaceful times—so you can persevere through the other kind.

  Carpe diem ever after.

  Visit www.hmhbooks.com to find all of the books in the Marigold series.

  About the Author

  JEAN FERRIS has written more than a dozen well-received novels for young people, including the popular Marigold trilogy. She lives in San Diego, California.

  www.jeanferris.com