Chapter Text
They reached the Marchen at dawn. She had half expected to find nothing left of the Marchen, but it still stood, dark and seemingly abandoned. The windows had been nailed up with old planks, the entrance was barred with a makeshift door made from more wood.
Lucette hesitated in front of it and flinched when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Varg stepped next to her.
“If they had time to build this they most likely weren't attacked. They must have found a safe place to hide.”
“But where?”
Both jumped when something bumped against the door from the inside.
Varg hastily checked the area for something that could be used as a weapon but Lucette grabbed his wrist.
“Wait. Listen.”
There was a sweeping sound.
“Mr. Broom?”
Two more knocks.
It really was him, carrying a small note with an address around his handle, right beneath his ribbon. Lucette read it and handed it over to Varg. She watched as Mr. Broom hopped back to his place in a corner.
“Will we come back?”
“Of course. I am sorely missing my broom chamber.”
He gave her a lopsided grin, took the note from her and tore it into tiny pieces. “We better destroy all evidence. Let's go.”
The house belonged to a woman who had, with Parfait's help, broken her curse a few years ago. They were allowed to stay in the cellar with stairs that led to a fenced-in backyard.
Including Varg and Lucette they were eight people in a tiny room. Annice and Rumpel had used several blankets and a clothesline to create a small separated space for Garlan and Parfait.
They would have been nine with Waltz. Lucette couldn't even remember who had told the others, Varg or her. She only remembered that Delora had quickly turned away and Jurien had asked “How?”, immediately apologized afterwards and said that she didn't need an answer.
The first day she spent nodding off on her makeshift bed. She was dead tired from the recent nights without any sleep; nevertheless she jolted awake just as often after dreaming of the man she had killed. After the third or fourth time her gaze fell on Varg who had huddled up next to her.
His right arm had been bandaged and rested on his lap. He looked so innocent when he slept. She could not tear her gaze away.
“The sleep of the just,” Delora whispered behind her. Lucette sat up and leaned her back against the wall.
“Strange to call him just. He killed people. Both of us have.”
Delora put her arm around Lucette's shoulder. “You wanted to protect your friends and Angielle. Don't blame yourself, Lucette.”
“Did you ever kill someone, Delora?” She had to ask.
Delora didn't answer immediately. “If I had been in your situation I would have.”
But she had not been in her situation.
“I noticed that I didn't even thank Waltz.”
“What do you mean?”
“He said he would stay back to give us more time. I didn't even consider that it might be dangerous for him.”
“You are alive,” Delora retorted. “I knew him well. To know that you are all right would have been enough.”
Her words could not change that he was gone. Lucette watched Varg who shifted in his dreams. His blanket had slipped off. She stretched out her hand to cover him with it. She froze as tears burned in her eyes.
“It's okay.” Delora softly pulled her into her arms and stroked over her hair. “It's okay.”
The following days blurred into each other. The cellar was cramped but no one dared to leave. Their host had pleaded with them to stay inside out of fear that the soldiers would find them. Everyone looked forward to the food she brought twice a day, less because of the food itself that rarely sufficed for seven people, more because it was their only chance to get news of the outside world.
Alcaster's death had caused arguments about the next leader of the Order. At least two men wanted the title. The commoners were not happy with the change in leadership of the country within two weeks, and while Alcaster had at least been held with some esteem none of his successors could proclaim the same. More and more people wanted Genaro back.
“We sent word to Brugantia,” Delora said. “Maybe Genaro is already on his way back if he heard of this before he got our letter.”
“He is the only one who can restore order,” Garlan mumbled. He sat up with the help of Jurien.
Delora nodded. “We can only hope that he will arrive soon.”
Lucette pressed her lips together. “As long as there is no civil war.”
“Don't be foolish. It won't come to that,” Varg said. “Your father will be back soon, so don't think about this. If you continue frowning you might get wrinkles. Besides, moping doesn't fit you.”
She breathed and touched his hand. He responded by brushing his thumb across hers. She blushed while the others averted their eyes. There was no room for intimacy. Everything beyond this would have been too much. Perhaps irreverent, too.
Parfait slept most of the week away and stayed quiet even when awake. So far Lucette had not dared to ask whether her condition had only recently taken a turn for the worse.
She had not seen Parfait for at least two weeks. Now she rested in the furthest corner, covered by two blankets that seemed to swallow her whole. Her face was sunken in and paler than ever before, her hair was tousled and dull.
Lucette's first look in the morning went to her, making sure that she was still there. Her second went to Varg who always curled up next to her, turning out to be a late riser. At least he appeared to be healing well.
Garlan's wound to the head had not just caused a concussion but also upset his sense of balance. He was bedridden for now and shot unhappy glances at Jurien who simply shook her head every time. One morning Lucette used her chance while she was seated next to Rumpel and Garlan snored in his corner. She lowered her voice to a whisper.
“Will his condition improve?” The answer was written on his face.
“Maybe I can help with magic.”
The corners of his mouth turned into a small smile. “We can try. Delora told me that very few can use magic to heal others, but by now I am convinced that you can do almost everything.”
“I will try.”
She had to prove that magic could do more than just destroy. Since the day Waltz had died she had not set anything on fire. She practiced conjuring barriers with some help from Varg, who leaned against the outside of the backyard door and tried to push it open while she kept the barrier upright.
Some nights she dreamed of fire.
It was the eighth day they spent in the cellar. Lucette and Varg were busy preparing the supper. Lucette studied him as he cut the bread. The time when she would have been prying the knife from his hand felt like a lifetime ago. His eyes shot up and she felt her face grow hot. Yet again he had caught her staring. At least he showed her mercy and did not comment on it, though his eyes could not hide the amusement. If he was trying to hide it.
“I wonder how the situation up there is unfolding,” he said.
“I am surprised you haven't left yet to find out for yourself.” Or simply leave.
Varg sighed. “About the only thing that would make me leave is you trying to put a leash on me again. Fly with the crows, get shot with the crows. Also, do you still believe that I would betray you?”
She shook her head.
“You love these people. And I happen to love you. Loyalty is a strange concept, but quite nice once you get used to it.”
She smiled. He let the knife clatter to the ground and pointed his finger at her.
“There! You smiled!”
“I did not.”
“Really now? I saw it with my own eyes-”
“Lucette?”
They fell silent. Annice bent down and picked up the knife, regarding it as if it was more interesting than anything else she had ever seen. Her eyes seemed glassy.
“I'm sorry. Parfait wants to talk to you.”
She exchanged glances with Varg. “Thank you,” she murmured and took the few steps toward the separated section. The blankets hanging from the ceiling really did make it seem like entering another place. Garlan lay on his side, snoring almost inaudibly. Parfait was leaning on her pillows, doing her best to sit, resting her arms on top of the blanket. Every bone of her hand was visible.
“Lucette.” Parfait gave her a weak but genuine smile. “I am glad you came.”
“Of course I did.” Lucette knelt down on the floor next to her. “How are you?”
“I fear about as well as I look. There is something you should know before I die, Lucette. Hush, don't interrupt me. Simply listen.”
Lucette swallowed and nodded.
“Perhaps you already know that your mother and I used to be friends. Very close ones, in fact. Still I couldn't prevent her from slipping into the darkness. I should have seen what the Tenebrarum did to her. I apologize, Lucette. Her death is my fault.”
“No,” Lucette objected. “I am sure you tried everything to prevent this. You are not at fault.”
Parfait softly shook her head. “I killed her.”
“Alcaster killed her.”
“Alcaster...” Parfait broke off as a cough shook her. Her next words came out faster and faster, as if she feared that her voice would fail at any moment.
“I knew that Alcaster wanted to kill her. But Hildyr's defensive magic was too strong and he had no magic, so I offered him my help. A spell cast onto his sword, allowing him to cut through Hildyr's shield. He accepted. I knew he would usurp the throne afterwards, and I wanted to avert it. The sword was enchanted so that it would turn on him the moment Hildyr died. I was too weak, however, so he didn't die, and I did not have enough strength left for another attack.”
Lucette stared at her.
“I am sorry,” Parfait whispered.
She knew she was supposed to say something but her mouth was dry. “No.” She grasped for words. “Someone had to stop Mother. Alcaster is gone. Angielle is free. It's alright, Parfait.”
Parfait's lips twitched. Her eyes fell shut.
“Parfait?”
She did not react when Lucette touched her hand.
“You can't go like that! Someone, help!”
Steps neared from behind, the blankets rustled. Someone grabbed Lucette's shoulder, pulled her to her legs and hugged her.
“I'm here,” Varg said. “It's okay. Everything's okay.”
Lucette could hear the rustling of bed sheets. The silence afterwards was deafening.
“She is alive,” Rumpel announced. “But she needs to rest.”
“We should go,” Varg said quietly. He put his arm around her shoulder and led her away.
Lucette couldn't stop the sobs from escaping her. She dug her nails into his jacket, wishing she could say something, anything, but nothing came out.
“Ssh,” Varg hushed her, apparently just as lost for words as her.
It took a few moments to collect herself. “Will she be okay?”
Fritz would have said Yes. Varg just looked at her and pulled her close so no one would see her cry.
Parfait died in the early hours of the following day without having regained consciousness. Two hours later their host came down the stairs, louder than usual. The king was back and would arrive with a procession in the afternoon.
No one said a word. Somehow Lucette's hand found its way to Varg's knee; he put it between his hands. They almost jumped when Delora clapped her hands.
“What's with these faces? Parfait would say that we better got out of here and watch the parade. The king is back.”
They decided to depart after lunch. To mark the occasion their hostess gave them a few more potatoes than usual. She could not hide the fact that she was glad to see them go. No one held it against her.
Garlan still felt too weak to join them, but he was able to convince Jurien to greet the king so that at least one of them would remember this day.
Lucette looked to her right. Delora had changed her usual gold and purple outfit into that of a simple commoner, albeit only reluctantly.
The streets were more colorful than usual, decorated with garlands, people had hung Angielle's flags from their windows. It felt a bit like drowning in a sea of people wearing their finest Sunday dresses. There was no room for stopping, the crowd pushed them forward towards the main road. She gasped as someone bumped into her and pressed herself to the nearest wall. She didn't want to lose the others. In her haste she missed a shallow step and stumbled. Varg caught her before she fell, an irritated expression on his face.
“What are you doing?”
Lucette shook her head. “For some reason I believed that the town had changed after all that happened.”
“I wonder how much they even noticed.” He held her around her waist now, leading her along.
Delora, Jurien, Rumpel and Annice were a a few steps ahead of them. A juggler stood in front of a fountain, surrounded by children. Annice giggled and pointed at him.
Varg leaned closer. “You feel like you don't belong here, am I correct?”
She wanted to answer neither yes nor no. As usual he seemed to read her mind.
“Look, princess. You haven't changed. At least not for the worse. You might not believe it now, but trust me for once.”
“Things have changed,” she replied. “Waltz is dead. Fritz is... gone.”
“I don't want to deny that things have changed, Lucette. I was talking about you. You are still you.”
He nodded towards the street, the women eagerly wrapping colorful strips of paper around a tree. The juggler let one of the balls fall to the ground and several children fought over it. Annice tried to pull Rumpel away who was engrossed in a conversation with what seemed to be a former patient of his.
“Whether you believe me or not right now – you belong here.”
“What makes you so sure?”
He grinned. “Not long ago I was the same. I despised people having fun and friends and all of that nonsense. At some point I noticed it was envy. Stalking around at night when people slept or hid from the bad wolf who in the end was nothing more than a chained dog obeying orders from others. I believed there was no alternative. That this world wasn't mine.”
He tugged at his blue shirt that he must have borrowed from someone.
“But that's enough sentimentalism for today.”
Delora called out to them, though her words got drowned by the noise around them. He shot her a small smile and followed Delora.
“Varg,” Lucette said. “When did you start belonging here?”
His answer was immediate. “When I wanted to.”
Fences had been positioned along the main road. There were already so many onlookers that they had no chance to find a good spot. They ended up close to a house wall and it fell to Rumpel as the tallest one to peer over the crowd.
“They are coming!” he announced, balancing on his toes. “Three soldiers from the Order of Caldira are riding in front, one of them has...”
The bare of a trumpet caused Lucette and Annice to flinch.
“A trumpet. And behind him is the king!”
“Is the rest of the family with him?” Delora asked.
“I assume they are in the carriage behind him. There are a lot of soldiers.”
“Probably the royalist wing of the Order,” Jurien murmured. “Not loyal enough to act against Alcaster. Though it seems to have been enough to seize the opportunity and pledge themselves to His Majesty.”
Delora laughed. “Not everyone can be starry-eyed idealists like you and Garlan. We should be glad it turned out like this.”
Out of nowhere she held a bouquet of flowers in her hands and handed a few to Lucette. “If you want to throw something at your father.”
Right now all Lucette would hit were the people in front of her. She made a face.
“I can lift you up,” Varg said and tilted his head.
“You cannot.”
He scoffed and crouched down demonstratively. “Distrustful as ever. I certainly won't stand in your way should you want to throw objects.”
Lucette hesitated. Delora smirked while Jurien inspected the flowers in her hand, slightly at a loss. No one really paid attention to her. Lucette pursed her lips and stuffed the flowers into the neckline of her dress. The next moment she gasped as she found herself being lifted and clung to Varg's shoulders for support. From up here she could view the sea of cheering people. Maybe she could throw the flowers from here. Genaro was only a few feet away. He waved to the crowd with a smile on his face. When he spotted Lucette his eyes went wide.
“Lucette!”
Heads turned towards her. Her cheeks burned.
“You should ride with us,” Genaro called and steadied his horse. “Or ride in the carriage. I heard what you have done for Angielle.”
He had never looked with so much pride at her. Did he know that she had killed at least one of his subjects? Her hand holding the flowers sweated. The people around her started to whisper.
Ice Princess. The werewolf. Fights in the palace.
“Thank you, father. Maybe another time.”
His smile wavered. The riders behind him pushed him forward, so he urged his horse on and rode off. He raised his hand and waved again and Lucette knew it was for her. People were talking. A few might have changed their views regarding the ice princess, but their distrust of witches certainly didn't soften after the incidents with the wolf.
“I would have done the same,” Varg interrupted her thoughts. “It must be tiresome to wave for hours.”
“Yes,” she answered. Angielle did not need a king who dealt with witches and other shady lowlifes, at least not before feelings had calmed down.
Angielle needed a king one could worship wholeheartedly.
They were about to head back when Karma arrived, along with a message from the king. He would be expecting her at the palace once she was ready. She was glad that he didn't rush her.
Annice suggested to stop at the Marchen.
The guest room and the street in front of it were still covered with shards of glass. Tables and chairs were upturned and deep scratches showed where the furniture had been moved. The boards near the windows had a huge black burn mark. Someone must have entered the Marchen as both pantry and the bar counter had been raided. As soon as Annice had calmed down a little she called everyone to help her cleanup-campaign.
Rumpel and Karma argued about the medical and cosmetic functions of honey and ended up contributing little until Delora threatened to turn them into toads. When Varg suggested that in order to turn back into humans they would have to kiss each other they almost stumbled over each other in order to help. That probably earned him some points with Delora. Lucette was glad that at least some things never changed, and it was good to be distracted. Varg surprised all of them when he entered the broom closet and returned with his old cane in his hand. He refused to answer how long it had been there.
Within two hours the Marchen was in a much better state than before. Annice, Rumpel and Karma were taking a break, for once in complete silence. Varg was nowhere to be seen. Lucette stood at the end of the stairs, looking up. She had to go there, sooner or later.
Someone had opened all the doors and windows. Whoever had taken the food had not touched anything on the upper floor. Even though the weather was warm she shivered when a soft wind blew through the hallway. Neither Waltz nor Parfait would come here again.
She hesitated before she entered Waltz's room. It was just like she remembered it. On a cupboard sat his dolls, their lifeless eyes directed at nothing in particular. Lucette stepped over to them, taking each one in her hands. A crocodile, a bandit, an old man, a child, another crocodile, a king, a princess. The princess had a carefully done side braid and a wide smile on her face. Lucette blinked away her tears and put the princess into her bag.
“Here you are.”
Delora leaned against the door frame, her lips curled into a smile.
“What happens to the puppets?” Lucette asked.
“We will give them away. Waltz used to say they only live if someone plays with them. But you can keep the princess if you want.”
Lucette nodded, letting her gaze wander through the room.
“Do you know what will happen to the Marchen, Delora?”
“Well, it was a venue for those who were cursed. I hope that some of our patrons will return once witches aren't persecuted any longer. I will see to it that it will stay open until there are no people with curses left.”
“I will help,” Lucette said. “Somehow.”
Delora's voice sounded warm when she spoke. “Together we will make it.”
Lucette shifted her weight, eager to change the topic. “Who is the bearer of the Lucis now?”
“Parfait's niece will take care of it. She sent a letter before she passed. I assume she already is on her way.”
“Do you know her?”
“No. Parfait was sure you would get along, however. Just like her and your mother had.”
She had not thought of her mother for a long time. “I hope we can work together. But I am not like Hildyr.”
“No,” Delora answered. “If I ever had any doubts, you removed all of them.”
In the evening Jurien finally returned with Garlan in tow. It was obvious he would have to stay in Rumpel's care for quite some time. Talks about what Jurien would do in the meantime ended up in a minor squabble, as Jurien refused to leave the town for a guard position. She did not say it, but it was clear she didn't want to leave Garlan behind. No one mentioned the Order of Caldira. Lucette would wait before she offered her – and hopefully Garlan, too – to rejoin.
Karma declined his invitation back to the palace, stating that he had spent enough time with the royal family for now.
In the end it was just her and Varg who arrived at the castle. The mood was as strange as she had feared. The guards at the gate saluted when they saw her, all servants stopped in their tracks to bow. No one smiled. As soon as Lucette entered the entrance hall all conversations around her faded and the maids scrubbed the floor in awkward silence.
The only one who seemed overjoyed to see her was Genaro.
“Lucette!” he beamed. “You are home.”
She wanted to tell him what had occurred in this place the night that Fritz and Waltz died. Nothing here indicated the blood and the noise from back then, however, and she could not bring herself to destroy Genaro's smile.
Life at the palace had returned to normal much faster than Lucette had anticipated. Varg had taken the role of her personal guard, which had been met with surprise and irritation among the palace guards. Varg did not seem to care. Genaro had eyed him with a hint of suspicion as well, though so far he had not mentioned anything to her. Part of her hoped he didn't remember.
She still avoided the entrance hall when possible, taking other routes through the palace. The upside was that she started to know more about her home – and one day she came across Varg and the new head guard deeply engrossed in a discussion about magical potions, curses and how to spot and avoid them. Both only nodded to her before resuming their conversation. It made sense that Varg would be their adviser in these matters. She wondered if they could find a way to prevent people from being cursed.
The only thing that had been changed in her bedroom was her cupboard. Lucette had decided to place Waltz's princess next to her dolls. She was doing well up there, as if she had always belonged there.
A week after Genaro's return he invited numerous dignitaries to a festive banquet, including the whole former court that had split after his disappearance. It was important to reestablish alliances, according to him.
Lucette wore one of her formal dresses, one she had not worn much in the days before everyone had forgotten her. The maid who had helped her into it was gone to search for the fitting jewelry.
She sat in front of her vanity mirror and undid her braid for the third time. Neither her hair nor her fingers wanted to obey her. She had never liked to converse with the lords and ladies at the banquet. She almost wished she had paid more attention to the guests in the past. There was no way to know what would happen once these people met her.
“Shouldn't you have learned to braid your own hair by now?” Varg asked from behind her. He was leaning on the wall, twirling his cane.
Lucette shot him a sullen glare through the mirror. “Usually I don't care if a few strands sticking out, but today is an important gathering.”
He pushed himself off the wall and threw his cane onto the bed. “Care to let me see?”
“You can braid?”
“Certainly can't hurt to try, no?”
She raised an eyebrow but let her hands sink. Varg removed a hair clip and smoothed down her hair.
“Back to being a real princess from now on, huh?”
Lucette sighed. “Yes. I have to look presentable. I need to know the guests' names. I never had a good memory for names.”
“I do. Let me assist you.”
“Really? Who is the bearer of the order of merit Father invited as a honorary guest for today?”
“Lord Bonwick,” Varg answered. “Though I heard the ladies like to call him Lord Longwick.”
“What?”
He met her gaze and his smile widened ever so slightly. She bit her lip.
“Don't tell me this nonsense. I already confuse their names as it is. If I accidentally call him that tonight it will turn into a scandal.”
“Disastrous. Lady Smallhill and Miss Tanglewood would never forgive you. Lord Longwick might even put an end to the dispute with Lord Shortaxe. You should know that there was a lengthy rift between them.” Varg sneered and leaned forward. She could feel his warmth at her back. “I would love you just for that alone.”
She tried her best to be angry. “My reputation has suffered enough. I was called the ice princess. Now I probably am the chaos princess with the big bad wolf.”
Varg softly brushed the hair away from her neck. A shiver ran down her spine.
“Don't stew over it too much.” It seemed like he wasn't very concentrated, as he parted her hair into three strands and positioned them randomly over each other. “After all I have heard most of the guests are keen on leaving the Alcaster incident behind them. They are still competing for Genaro's favor, and he made his stance towards you well known. Well, they do pity that you are still incapable of smiling, but-”
“Varg,” Lucette interrupted him. “What are you doing?”
He pressed something that resembled a torn sausage to the side of her head. “Pleasure to help.”
Lucette snatched the braid from his hand and untangled it. “Let me do that.”
“Hey, you would have been the eye catcher of the banquet. I call it the plucked chicken.”
“You are not helping.” With practiced movements she started again.
“At least you know what you could be looking like and are content with less.”
“I told you that I need to be presentable.”
“You always are,” Varg retorted, watching her with a raised brow. “And with your unrivaled charm and politeness you will twist them around your little finger.”
“Provided I don't meet Lord Longwick.”
“But he his nothing compared to Earl Slammingham.”
“Varg!”
“Pardon? He is the one who never dares to speak his mind in meetings and then continues to gorge down as much ham as loudly as he can once the banquet begins. What were you thinking?”
She did not answer, proceeding to brush her hair on the other side and ding her best to get her twitching lips under control. Varg leaned over her shoulder.
“Are you laughing, princess?”
“No.”
“Too bad. I'm sure Earl Slammingham would approve.”
Lucette burst into laughter, letting the brush fall to the floor. Varg picked it up and grinned at her.
“You laughed. This time you can't feign an excuse.”
She touched her cheek. “Varg, there is something strange on my face. I believe I need a doctor.”
“I am a doctor and have to tell you it's incurable.”
She turned around and intertwined her fingers with his. “I am glad you are here.”
“And I will stay,” Varg said. “As long as you want me to.”