GT Chapter Twenty-two

In the five years I’d been away, my father seemed to have aged ten. I wondered if he had always been so small.

-Lady Chatterwick’s Journey

Cat feet nearly silent on the smooth stone tiles of the balcony, Maria padded toward the door that led into her mother’s chambers. The door was nearly always open when it was warm and pleasant outside, and she was surprised to find it firmly closed today. She nosed at it, hoping the wind had merely blown it shut, but it remained stubbornly shut.

“Tia,” she meowed softly, “I need you.”

Tia jumped down beside her, and Maria looked away as her friend changed into her human shape and tried the handle. With a soft click, the door opened into a dark space that smelled of salt and lavender, rather than the expected effervescent jasmine.

“I’ll go back-” Tia said. She had changed back to Felis-form and was poised to jump up onto the balcony railing.

“No!” Maria’s voice cracked, and she had to clear her throat before continuing. “Please. Please come, Tia.”

Slowly, Tia nodded, and crossed back to lean her shoulder against Maria’s. Her nose wrinkled at the smell. “That’s strange.”

Maria nodded. Tia had been in her mother’s chambers at least once before, when she overheard the queen talking to her maids about Maria herself, so the kitten knew what it should smell like. “Mother hates lavender,” she murmured. “She says it just makes her think of soap.”

Tia tilted her head toward the dark room. “Do you want me to go first?”

Shaking her head, Maria moved forward. “I can do it.” She stepped into the room, past the hanging curtains. They should have been light, diaphanous, and pink, with golden embroidery, but these were heavy brocade, like the ones in the formal dining room.

The room in which they stood was the main area. Here, her mother met friends and family for private meals and tea. Four doors led away, two on the right, one to the left, and one straight ahead. The left door led to the queen’s bedchamber, while the one on the far wall was a small room where guests waited until her Majesty was ready to receive them. The doors on the right led to the bathroom and the dressing room, where the mirror should sit, waiting for them.

Maria knew she should head straight for the changing room door, but something kept pulling her gaze back to the bedroom door, instead. She wound her way through the musty room, looking up at the door. “Can you open it, Tia?”

Tia was pacing in front of the door to the dressing room, which was open just enough to allow a kitten easy entry. “She’ll be at lunch, or brunch, or tea, or something right now. Come on! Let’s just get you back to normal, and then you can go find her!”

Maria shook her head stubbornly. “I need to go in there. Please.”

Tia grumbled, but crossed the room to stand beside her. “You know, we’re getting cat fur in here. She’ll be sneezing for days.” Nonetheless, she shifted to human long enough to gently open the door, then turned back into her more familiar shape.

Ignoring her friend, Maria pressed her shoulder against the door, which swung open. She had half expected it to creak menacingly, given the newly gloomy ambiance of the room, but it was as well-oiled and silent as ever.

Heart in her throat, Maria took five long, half-running steps, and then leapt onto the bottom of her mother’s huge, soft bed. All eleven members of the royal family couldn’t quite fit on it, but her father liked to joke that if Michel and Malcolm had stopped growing when they were ten, they could have had a sleepover.

Now, the thick, gold satin blanket dimpled beneath her paws, and she left telltale indentations as she walked up toward the pillows. At this time of day, the bed should have been made, with huge, decorative pillows covering the top, and the cover neatly pulled to the top. Instead, the blanket was turned down, and a slender hand rested on the soft, puffy fabric.

Maria’s mother lay there. Her golden hair was in a loose braid, coiled on the pillow behind her and trailing down, beneath the blanket. Her eyes were closed, and even in the darkness, Maria’s cat eyes could see dark circles beneath them. Her face was puffy, and she wore no makeup. A dark fabric square lay near her head, and Maria edged closer, until the almost overpowering scent of lavender told her this was some kind of herbal sachet.

She had only seen the queen like this once before. Eva and Jonas’ birth had been hard on her, and it had taken nearly two weeks before she left her bed. Doctors had been called, and the king had been nearly frantic. It was then that the king and queen had declared that there would be no more children.

The atmosphere in the castle had been quiet and worried then, too. Maria had only been nine, and her older siblings and teachers had kept her distracted, but she knew she had recognized the pall hanging over the occupants of the castle as she and Tia had passed through.

Her mother murmured, and her hand clenched and then relaxed on the blanket. A glittering chain drooped between her fingers, and Maria edged forward. A circle of gold hung from a chain that must have been clutched in her mother’s hand as she fell asleep. Gazing back at her from the locket was a miniature version of her own face, complete with square, stubborn jaw, and dark, level brows.

Maria drew back sharply as a stab of guilt cut deeply into her. This was the result of her own selfish choices. If she had simply gone to the tea party, none of this would have happened. If she had hurried, instead of being carried away by her adventures, her mother wouldn’t have had time to become so worried.

Whirling, she jumped back down from the bed, running toward the door. She had to get to the mirror as quickly as possible. She had to let her mother know she was safe!

In her haste, she didn’t notice the queen’s emerald eyes open.

Tia was waiting for her in the changing room, sitting in front of the dark mirror the Grimalkin had told them about. The mirror was just as Maria remembered, covered in carved animals that played, slept, hunted, and fought. The frame was made of what looked like a single piece of gleaming, black wood, but the creatures themselves were in layers so complex that the ones below seemed as if they might emerge from cracks and crevices at any moment.

The mirror itself was one of the clearest Maria had ever seen, which she had always assumed was the reason her mother kept it, even though it looked so out of place among her delicate, graceful decor. Most mirrors were made of polished metal, though the nobility often had ones made with silvered glass instead. Even those tended to have subtle distortions and ripples in them, however, while this one was as perfectly smooth as water on a day with no wind.

Maria ran over and stopped in front of the mirror, staring. There were no windows in this room, so the only light trickled in through the door from where they had moved the curtains aside when they entered from the balcony. If she had thought about it, she might have realized that even her cat eyes might need more light to see clearly, but she just stood, panting and staring at two dark, vague shapes reflected back at her from the glass.

Tia’s voice was tense as she said, “Well?”

Maria shook her head. “You can see as well as I can. Nothing. Do we need more light?”

Tia growled. “How are we supposed to get more light in here?”

“There should be candles.” Maria looked around, seeing the outline of candelabras containing the jasmine-scented beeswax candles her mother preferred sitting on a table nearby. They had always been lit before she and her mother entered, of course, so she had no idea where the servants kept the phosphorus-tipped fire sticks.

“What good will that do us?” Tia muttered, but she jumped up to sniff around the candelabra. After a moment, she leapt back down. “Nothing. All I can smell is flowers.” She sounded a little disgusted, and even Maria had to admit that to a feline nose, the delicate scent of her mother’s favorite blossom was a little overwhelming.

“We have to open the door and the curtains. You’ll have to turn human again. The longer we’re here, the more likely we are to be caught. Maybe you can even move the mirror so it catches more light?” Maria raced from the room, going to the brocade curtains that blocked the balcony window and tugging desperately at them with her teeth. She immediately discovered that they had only been tucked into the curtain rod at the top, and when she disturbed them, they fell on and around her with a heavy rustle of fabric. She was pinned beneath the weight, and thrashed desperately, abruptly reminded of the way the wet burlap sack had clung to her when she was drowning.

Hands pulled the fabric away, and Tia wrapped the fallen curtain around herself, using the hanging cord meant to tie them back to create a sort of belt and sash to hold the whole thing up. “Here,” the girl muttered, casting fearful glances from the queen’s bedroom to the door of the small reception room. “You’re too loud.” She flung back the gauzy curtains revealed once the heavy ones were gone, and light flooded the room, making it look the way Maria remembered.

Crossing the room, Tia opened the door to the changing room, as well, allowing sunshine to enter in a narrow beam. Finally, Tia entered the dressing room and pushed at the heavy mirror, nearly toppling it before she finally managed to turn it just enough to catch the light.

At last, she motioned to Maria, her face a mask of concern as her eyes flicked around. Maria was sure that if her friend had still been a cat, her ears would have been twitching, trying to catch any hint that someone might be coming.

Maria found herself oddly reluctant as she eyed the gleaming surface of the mirror. This was their last chance. Their only chance, really. If this failed, all she could do was return to the Grimalkin, and the queen of Felis had made it clear that Tia would have to come in her human shape, if she came at all, so that would require a whole other set of trials. Besides, if Maria’s mother was ill, there was no time to waste.

This has to work!

Slowly, she put one trembling paw in front of the other, until she stood before the mirror. Her eyes were locked on her soft, cocoa toes. She had never seen herself as a cat, and she was terrified that when she looked, that was what she would see. Not Maria, the human, but Maria, the cat.

Reluctantly, deliberately, she lifted her gaze.