The Fairest of Them All

7

We ran down the steps together, to Mathena. We did not act like a king and soon-to-be queen, that day and all those first days to follow. We ran down the steps like children, and he pulled me into his arms and swung me around, my dress flying, my hair swirling around us, gathering grass and flowers, and even bits of horsehair as it swiped the waiting animal.

“Mathena!” I called out, and she appeared instantly, from the back of the house, her dark dress stained with mud and earth.

“We are to be married!” I said.

She looked at me and smiled. “What wonderful news.” She bowed down in front of us. “It is a great, great day for all of us.”

I unlatched myself from him, and rushed over to her, wrapping my arms around her. Brune flew out just then, landing on Mathena’s shoulder, and I somehow managed to kiss the bird, too, who looked at me with disgust as she let out a horrified squawk.

It hit me in that moment that I would really be leaving—leaving the forest and Mathena and starting a brand-new life without them.

“Let me have a few days,” I said, turning to the king. “I need a few days to prepare myself.”

“I will have your chambers prepared for you, ladies ready to serve you. Are you sure you will not disappear again?”

“I promise I will not,” I said.

“I’ll send my men to get you, and then we’ll be married.”

“Yes,” I said again. “Yes.”

He slipped his arms around me, nuzzled my neck.

“We will be so happy,” he said. “We will have many children. Among them, a king.”

A sliver of pain moved through my happiness, but I did not let him see. I vowed, right then, that he never would.

Mathena and I watched him leave, disappearing into the trees, and then we were alone, as if a storm had passed through the forest, leaving an entirely new world in its wake.

We walked silently into the house, and sat on the couch, before the low fire. She put on a pot of stew to cook and sat next to me. Brune took her place on the mantel, tucking in her head.

“I can’t believe it,” I said. “I can’t believe you knew this would happen!”

“And now you will be queen. This is what I’ve always wanted for you.”

I shook my head. “Madness,” I said. “Pure madness to think I could marry a king, and now it is happening.”

“Your life will be very different from now on.”

“I should think so!” I said, laughing from pure giddiness.

“Just remember that you will not be surrounded by friends there. Even though you will have a husband who loves you, and as his queen you will have great power. You must be careful.”

“Be careful of what?”

“Of what happened to me before, when I was at court.”

“What do you mean?”

“Things changed when I was there, Rapunzel. I’ve told you how King Louis changed, how people’s hearts changed and it seemed no one believed in magic anymore. At least, not openly. And they began calling me a witch. I’ve always told you, it’s a dangerous word. Especially to priests and those who take the church and its teachings too much to heart. They believe that witches worship the devil. If they get it in their minds and hearts, they can blame everything bad on you.”

“But,” I said, “we are witches.”

She shook her head. “We are healers. We are daughters of Artemis.”

“Mathena. You changed a man into a stag.”

Her face flared. “You must never speak of such things. Not there. Take the spell book, Rapunzel, but hide it! And do not ever say that word around them, and do not practice where they can see. Josef is young like you, and he does not remember. Others will. Even if you are their queen.”

“Even if he could remember, he would not care,” I said. “I am sure of it.”

“He is young and spoiled,” she said. “And you may be right. But others have much influence, around him.”

I nodded. “I will be careful.”

She reached up and brushed the hair out of my face, then traced the length of it as far as she could. “This hair of yours,” she said. “Look at it. What a gift you have. It gives you great beauty, and insight into everyone around you. Your beauty is your power, you know. You must watch over it carefully.”

I smiled. My hair stretched from the couch and through the open door, where it shone from the grass. Loup was curled up and sleeping in it, faint images of mice and birds streaming up to me from her warm body.

“I will miss it here,” I said. “I will miss you.”

“This is what you’ve always wanted,” she said, “to marry Josef. And what I’ve always wanted for you, to be queen. Use your power well, Rapunzel. Protect it.”

An emotion passed over her face that I couldn’t quite understand. I knew there was more, maybe much more that she was not telling. But I was used to her being full of secrets.

“I will,” I said.

“And remember, he has a daughter now, and she is his heir.”

I flinched. “I will give him more children,” I said, ignoring the familiar ache inside me. “I had a son before. I will have one again.”

The next day, we performed a ceremony at dusk, in the river, cleansing me of all my past sorrows. We were naked, the trees all around us. My hair streamed down the river like a golden raft. Mathena raised her arms and called to the four winds to ask for their protection and their power, sprinkled water onto my face and shoulders. We held hands, facing each other, and gave thanks for the earth’s bounty.

After, once we’d dried ourselves and dressed, we had our supper outside by the garden, in the warm evening. The moon was rising. Earlier Mathena had prepared a whole roast pheasant that Brune had killed just for the occasion, and we ate it alongside cakes filled with figs and mint.

The food was delicious, and I savored each bite. Brune stood on my shoulder and I fed her whole hunks of pheasant, while Mathena fed Loup, who sat on the grass next to her, her little body rumbling with pleasure. My hair blanketed the ground. We drank wine Mathena had made herself. This was all the family I had ever known, this woman, these creatures.

“I have something for you,” Mathena said. “For your new life.”

I did not know what to say. I was not used to gifts.

She went into the house for a moment. Brune, as usual, followed after her. I reached out to pet Loup, and the moon bathed us in light.

I looked up at the tower, the stones sparkling in the moonlight. From the ground, it looked endless, as if you could climb it straight to the heavens. The sky was filled with thousands of stars, and trees swayed overhead, filled with sleeping beasts.

She reappeared from the house, with a long, flat package in her arms.

Stepping back in the circle, she sat down, cross-legged, and handed it to me.

“This will help you,” she said. “It’s my wedding gift to you.”

“You will not come to my wedding and give it to me then?”

“No, Rapunzel. You know I cannot leave the garden, but my heart will be with you.”

I nodded, trying to conceal my disappointment, and took the package. I pushed back the cloth. Inside was the mirror that had been hanging from the wall in my tower. I looked up at her, confused.

“It’s a gift to protect your power and beauty, to ensure the king’s love,” she said. “It will show you things. You can ask it any question you like.”

Was she mocking me? Awkwardly, I held it up with both hands, saw my own face staring back.

“Help me how?”

“Ask it something.”

I looked into it again, and, very faintly, my own face rippled back at me. The glass was heavy in my arms. I set it flat on the earth and it swirled under us like a river.

“Like what?”

“Here,” she said. “Try this.” She seemed to think carefully about what she was about to ask, and then leaned in to it. “Mirror, mirror,” she said. “Who’s the fairest of them all?”

We stared down into the surface, both our faces reflected back to us.

It rippled then, more strongly than before, as if I’d thrown a pebble into water. And then a voice seemed to come out of it, like smoke. “Rapunzel is fairest of all,” it said, low and deep.

I gasped. My head snapped up and I looked at Mathena. “Did you do that?” I asked.

She shook her head, smiling. “There’s always been magic in this glass. It’s enchanted. Haven’t you felt it before?”

I shook my head but, as I did so, realized that there had always been something odd about the glass, that I’d always felt it was watching over me.

“You just need to ask it a question, and it will answer and show you the thing you’ve been seeking.”

“You enchanted it?” I asked.

“No. There was already magic in this ancient castle when we came here. This glass is very old, from a time when this kingdom was filled with magic. Do you remember how it was waiting in the tower for you?”

I had a memory then, of the glass propped up on the floor, the laughing girl with bright yellow hair dancing about the room, imitating everything I did.

I nodded.

“I knew right away what it could do. That’s why I brought us to this place.”

“You brought us here? You said we walked and walked and came upon the castle ruins by chance.”

She shook her head. “I knew it was here. A powerful sorcerer lived here once. Hundreds and hundreds of years ago. Back then, this kingdom was very great. Many hope that it might become that way again.”

I looked down again, at the moving silver.

“Who is the fairest of them all?” I asked again.

“Rapunzel is fairest of all,” it said, and it was as if it were whispering in my ear.

I laughed and looked up at her. She sat watching me, the doorway to the house dark and empty behind her.

My last day with Mathena, I stared out of my tower at the forest surrounding me—at the slinking river, the massive garden, the trees on all sides, everything teeming with life and sound and scent. The chirping and whirring of insects and birds, the howling of wolves, the patter of squirrels and rabbits, the soft whoosh of deer running over the grass and soil. The smell of earth and growing things, breezes carrying the scent of river and rotting animals, the fear of travelers surprised on dark pathways.

I took the cloth from my hair, let it stream down around me.

I could sense the horses and carriages as they left the inn, as they entered the forest and wound their way to us. I watched from the tower as they appeared in flashes through the trees, closing in, and then I ran down to the garden, to her.

“They’re coming!” I said.

She was bent over the cabbages, which squatted heavy and blue-green, like creatures from under the sea. She looked up at me, lifting a dirt-covered hand and wiping it across her forehead. The sun shining down on her.

And then they arrived, in a flash of horse and silver and more people than I’d ever seen all together at the same time, up close. A host of guards and servants came to get me. At my direction, they swept up the curving stairs to my tower. It was all movement and chaos but before I knew it, my life was packed up and stowed away in carriages and on horseback.

“He has not come himself?” I asked one of the ladies who seemed to be in charge of the servants.

“Oh, no,” she said. “The king is very busy. But he is waiting for you.”

I tried not to feel disappointed that he hadn’t come. Of course he had better things to do, as the king, but now I would be all alone.

I turned to Mathena, who stood by the garden watching everything, a curious look on her face.

“What is it?” I asked, walking up to her. Brune stood on her shoulder.

“I’m just remembering when I was young,” she said. “Young and full of dreams. Madly in love with a young magician.”

I winced, but knew she was thinking only of the past, when she and Marcus had been lovers and everything had been possible.

I leaned in and kissed her cheek, taking in her faint smell of spices. “You are still young, Mathena,” I said. “You can still dream.”

“I dream all the time,” she said strangely, and just as I was about to respond, one of the soldiers stepped forward.

“We are ready, my lady,” he said.

And then it seemed as if I had had no time at all to say good-bye to her.

I looked at her standing there by the garden, soil-covered yet as majestic as any member of royalty. She could change men into stags, make a garden burst with vegetables when everyone else’s crops failed. I looked at our little stone house built from ruins, the tower that reached into the sky, the garden. It was all so lovely—it had been the whole universe to me for so long, and now I was leaving. And I was aware, painfully so, that if and when I returned, it would not be the same to me. I would be a queen, accustomed to living in a palace. What would this all look like to me then?

What a strange feeling, suddenly seeing everything from the future, as if I were able to travel through time and this were a moment buried deep in my memory. Like a jewel I could pull out of my pocket at any time and hold up to the light.

“Thank you,” I said to her, “for all you’ve done for me.” I wrapped my arms around her, buried my face in her neck. I tried, one last time, to feel her through my hair, to feel her heart pulsing into my own, but it was as hidden from me as it had always been. All I wanted to know was that she’d be all right here alone, without me.

She pulled back first. I let go of her and turned to the soldier, afraid to look at her any longer.

He led me to the carriage and helped me step up into it. I was conscious, then, of the plain shift I was wearing—we’d long since used the last of Mathena’s old gowns to insulate and decorate the house—and could feel myself redden with shame. There were more people around me than I’d ever seen, and even the maidservants were better dressed than I. A few soldiers held my hair in their hands and carefully arranged it next to me, on the seat. Their thoughts flowed up to me: their wonder at the king’s choice of bride, their unease at the regal, beautiful witch who stood there, covered in dirt, and watched us go.

As the guard closed the carriage door, I was grateful to be sitting alone, out of sight, with furs to wrap myself in. And then the horses began moving through the forest, and we pushed into the trees and brambles. Quickly, I muttered a protection spell, though I knew Mathena had already done so. Soldiers moved ahead of us with swords, slashing through so that the path was clear.

I leaned back against the silk. There was a sense of unreality to everything—the way the forest looked like a place I’d never seen before, from such an extravagant seat, the way the light sifted down through the leaves and silk curtains, how it played across my face. The horses clomped on the packed forest floor. I pushed back the curtain and looked out at the trees and leaves, all soaked in summer sunlight, the patches of mushrooms scattered across the ground. I could smell the earth, the leaves overhead, and I felt like I was in a wonderful, fantastical dream as we moved through the forest, out into the kingdom, to him.

It must seem strange, that I lived for so long in the forest and did not see the world at large until I was twenty-five years old, when I became queen. After all, we were a two-day horse ride away from the palace, a seven-day walk on foot.

I would only understand later why Mathena had never taken me.

We rode for hours that first day, until day passed into night and only the moon overhead guided our path. I slipped in and out of sleep, lulled by the beating of the horses’ hooves. Occasionally we stopped to relieve ourselves, servants leading me off the path and shielding me with their voluminous skirts and then doing the same for each other. We ate bread and cheese. They dipped chalices into streams and gave them to me to drink from. We did not stop to rest, however, until the next evening, after we left the forest and rode into the world outside. Even though I had anticipated it, I could not believe how vast that world was. To my memory, I had never stood under a blank sky without branches crisscrossing overhead, and when we finally stopped at an inn at the edge of the woods I could not help but feel like I was drowning. All that night sky, scattered with stars, pulled me in until I could barely breathe.

On the one side, I could see the castle in the distance, its turrets reaching up into the sky. I looked to the other, for a glimpse of the tower, but the forest was a dark mass, and Mathena would have hidden it from outside eyes, anyway.

At first I felt more comfortable inside the inn, where the best room was reserved for me. The innkeeper greeted me, his wife standing beside him and curtsying. I was surprised to recognize her from the forest—in a flash, I remembered her tears, her story of her husband’s endless infidelities. She met my eyes and then looked away quickly, her face reddening. I did not betray her, nor she me.

They led me to my room. Again I was tended by soldiers, who walked in front of me and followed after me, carrying my hair up the stairs and arranging it in the room beside me. They were getting adept at this chore: when I turned around, I saw that they’d arranged my hair into a giant spiral.

How strange, to have left one life behind but to not yet have entered the other. Suspended between worlds. Despite the exhaustion of travel, I was restless, ready for adventure. I examined the room—the plump bed, the chest, the tapestry on the wall, the shutters that opened and looked out at scattered houses and shops. I stood in the window and imagined what it would be like to live in one of those houses, what my life might have been if Mathena had not taken me away.

There was a knock on the door and two servants brought in food and drink for me, setting up my supper on a little table, and then left me alone. Below, I could hear laughter and shouting, even stomping on the floor as music started up. For a while I listened. It was all so exciting, knowing that soon I, too, would laugh and dance.

I thought of all the joy that had flowed into me from Josef’s body, and fell asleep feeling as if—almost, but not quite—it had been my own.

It was the next day that I first saw, really saw in the daylight, the world outside the forest. Servants invaded my room early in the morning, dressing me and bringing me meat and bread and tea to dine on.

I could hear the clinking of dishes downstairs, the men readying the horses.

And then I stepped outside: in front of me was a seemingly endless landscape with houses and shops and animals, and there in the distance was the palace, which seemed more massive than I had ever imagined. Like the way my tower, when you stood under it, seemed as if it ended above the clouds. Again I felt that strange vertigo, as if I were standing at some great height or sinking in the deep water, with nothing to clutch onto. The sky massive, unending and unbroken, above me.

“Here, my lady,” one of the soldiers said, as he led me to my carriage and helped me inside.

Just as I sat down an old woman passed, glaring. She made a strange gesture and pointed two fingers. It took me a moment to realize she was pointing at me.

I blinked, surprised. “What does that mean?” I asked the soldier, just as he was arranging the last bit of my hair on the seat next to me. “Did you see what that woman did?”

“I did not, my lady,” he said. He refused to meet my eye, but I felt, through the strands of my hair, that he knew these people did not approve of me, of witches, though so many of them had left their homes in secret, rushing through the dangerous woods to seek our help.

He stepped away. I looked around and caught a servant’s eye. She, too, looked quickly away.

It was an unsettling thing, that gesture, the look the woman had given me, the reaction of the soldier and the servant. I sat back in the carriage as we moved through the kingdom, praying the rest of the journey would go quickly and without incident.

We had not ridden more than an hour when I heard a loud thump on the side of the carriage, followed by a general commotion, voices and cries as the carriage came to an abrupt halt.

“Witch!” I heard, through the ruckus.

The word sliced through everything else, the sounds of the soldiers barking out commands, cries and screams from the crowd. I peeked out, through my hair, and saw faces contorted with anger, people gathered on a road lined with small houses.

“Back!” the soldiers were yelling. I saw them push one man onto the ground. Others caught my eye and cried out, making that same sign the old woman had made before. Among the faces I recognized other women who’d come to see us, through the years.

They could come to me in the forest, I realized, in secret, but they did not want me to be their queen.

I shrank into my seat.

The door to the carriage swung open, and a soldier slipped inside, pushed past my hair, and sat across from me. He was a young man with dark hair and a face like a girl, and shining green eyes with long lashes. He was dressed in the livery of the king: a red and black uniform, a sword at his side.

“Do not worry,” he said.

“What is happening?” I asked.

“These people, they’re animals.” His voice dripped with disgust.

I looked down and realized my hands were shaking.

The soldier pulled the curtains down, and the carriage began moving again. We sat in the hushed dark.

I closed my eyes and concentrated, trying to weave a quick protection spell around us.

“How far are we from the palace?” I asked, after an hour or so.

“It will not be so long now, my lady,” he said.

I cracked open the curtain some time after that, and looked out on a row of cottages, nicer than the ones we’d seen before, where the crowds had been gathering. Faces peered out of windows, mothers with children in their arms stood in doorways as we passed.

Did my parents live here? Were they still alive? I wondered if there was still a garden filled with rapunzel somewhere, still a woman staring out at it with longing and an inexpressible hunger.

Later in the day, we passed through a great gate, and then there were crowds all around, and stalls of food and bread, and I even saw a man throwing balls in the air and catching them in the most marvelous way. I heard a song that seemed to press right into the carriage, come into the window to where I was sitting, and wrap around me like a quilt.

“It’s the new queen!” I heard, and I swear I wondered where she was, this queen. I almost peered out to look for her before I remembered that it was me.