The Fairest of Them All

  As we walked, my hair dragged across marble and stone and grass, dipped into the pond, brushed against these ladies who’d attached themselves to me. Amid my wonder at my surroundings, I was able to feel the women’s distrust, feel the general sense that the king was doing something wrong, betraying the beloved, newly deceased queen by marrying a strange woman from the forest.

  I let myself absorb everything—it was only natural, wasn’t it, that they would feel that way?—as we stepped back inside, and as Yolande led me up a set of stairs and down a hallway. I stopped short in front of a large portrait on the wall, the last in a line of portraits, all of stern-faced women in queens’ clothing.

  It was a woman in an extravagant gown. Her hair was long and black, her eyes bright blue, her lips red as fresh blood. Her expression was warm and lovely and strange, and I felt mesmerized, suddenly, by her beauty. Around her neck hung a gold, gem-studded cross.

  “Is that . . . ?” I turned to Yolande. “Was that her?”

  “Yes, that was our queen,” she said, stepping quickly forward and leading me through a large set of doors and into a series of rooms.

  I shivered, convinced that my predecessor was still there, watching me. Knowing what I’d done.

  “And these are the queen’s chambers,” she said.

  The room that greeted us was lavish, with tapestries covering the walls and silk curtains hanging in the windows. Had these been her rooms, too? I wondered. They must have been. Suddenly I did not feel at all well.

  “Here is your bedroom,” she said, pushing open another set of doors, into a sweeping room. There was a massive soft bed, high off the floor, with sheer fabrics hanging down all around it, rugs covering the stone floor, and an immense hearth, and a window, with wide wooden doors I could press open.

  “This is my . . . room?” I asked.

  I noticed that my things were already scattered about, that the soldiers carrying them had arrived earlier. The sight of my few items of clothing reassured me.

  “Yes. And I sleep nearby, as do most of us. We are your ladies-in-waiting.”

  I turned around and faced the five ladies who’d been following us. All of them were prettily outfitted, with swept-up hair and graceful smiles on their faces—except for one, a plain woman dressed in yellow, staring at the floor, who seemed vaguely familiar.

  “When will I see the king?” I asked.

  “You are to be married in the morning,” Yolande said. “We will wash you and prepare you for the wedding.”

  “Wedding?”

  “Have you not come to be queen, my lady?” she said, amused. “You must not have expected it to happen so quickly . . . ?”

  “No, I did not,” I said. “I thought surely I would see him first.”

  “We are following his wishes. It seems he is anxious to make you his queen. We will serve you dinner here, and bring you whatever you may need.”

  “I would like something to drink,” I said, “and to rest for a while.”

  She nodded, and they left me alone in the vast room.

  I wandered through it, mesmerized by all that space, gloomy and beautiful and strange. Everything was so quiet, without the sounds of the forest. I walked to the window, which looked out onto the palace gardens; they were so much larger and more manicured than our garden in the forest, but just as lush.

  I had a sudden, intense wave of longing to see Mathena, to be with her right now, in the forest, where I was loved. No one here wanted me, it seemed, other than the king himself.

  The mirror she’d given me was hanging on the wall between the window and a large bureau. I caught a flash of my face, and walked over to it.

  My hair glowed in the mirror, my face looked flushed, my eyes ablaze.

  “Who is the fairest of them all?” I asked it, repeating Mathena’s question.

  “Rapunzel is the fairest,” it said, without hesitation, as the glass rippled.

  I clapped with delight. It was almost as if Mathena were right there with me, sitting by my side on the forest floor. There was a movement in the mirror. I whirled around, thinking a maidservant had sneaked in behind me, but I was alone. I peered back into the mirror. My own face stared back.

  “Hmm,” I said. “Mirror, mirror, on the wall. What else should I ask of you?”

  The glass rippled again, as if I’d thrown a pebble into it.

  “Will I have a magnificent wedding?” I asked.

  “You will have a wedding fit for one so fair,” the mirror said.

  “And . . . will my ladies, the court, come to love me?” I asked.

  I stood waiting for my answer, but the mirror remained still. I let a full minute pass.

  “Do you weary of speaking with me?” I asked leaning in, watching my own face looming in the glass.

  I decided to try something else. “Is Mathena all right without me?”

  I expected the mirror to stay silent, suspecting there was a limit to what it would say at a given moment, but to my surprise it began to swirl about. My face disappeared, and an image of Mathena appeared. She was bent over the garden, dirt smudging her face.

  “Oh! Is that you right now?” I whispered.

  She raised her head sharply and peered into the sky. Then she looked all around, until her eyes fell on mine. I gasped. The image vanished and again there was a normal mirror in front of me. My own face staring back.

  I exhaled.

  It was a very charming gift, I told myself. That’s all. Still, I felt a vague anxiety that I tried to ignore as I continued exploring.

  I opened a carved door, stepped into a small chamber, a closet. Perfect for a workroom. I would miss having the garden, the root cellar, and Mathena there to guide me, but I had Mathena’s book and could have my own little space for working spells as long as I was not too obvious about it.

  I walked to the bed and sat down, marveling at the soft mattress, the fur strewn across it. I lay on my back and stared up at the ceiling and closed my eyes.

  I will make this my home, I thought as I drifted to sleep, and be happy here.

  I’m not sure how long I was resting before someone knocked on my door and woke me.

  “Come in,” I said, quickly sitting up as if I’d been caught doing something wrong. For a moment I was disoriented and wondered if I was still in the tower.

  The door opened and one of the ladies walked in, the plain one in the yellow dress I’d noticed before. There was an air of tiredness and melancholy to her. She seemed older than the others, as if she’d suffered a great hardship.

  “I have brought you some wine, my lady.” She stepped slowly toward me, holding a goblet in her hand. She watched me carefully, as if I might lunge at her at any moment. I thought of the stag, its quiet, stricken face as I stood there and loaded the arrow into my bow. “Do you recognize me?”

  “Should I?”

  “I am . . . my name is Clareta. I visited you. In the winter.”

  At first I just stared at her, uncomprehending, and then I slowly realized who she was. The mark on her face was the same, but all the beauty that had been there before had vanished.

  I blushed deeply, felt a stab of guilt as I understood that I had done this to her.

  “Of course,” I said, standing from the bed, keeping my back straight. “I did not recognize you in . . . ” I tried to choose my words carefully.

  “I am much changed,” she said. “I know. God has punished me for my unfaithfulness.”

  She handed me the goblet. I saw then that her hands were trembling. Of course she was terrified, I realized—I knew her darkest secret. I wondered if she suspected my own.

  I took the wine gently from her hands. “Please sit,” I said, gesturing to one of the chairs before the fire. She obeyed, and I sat next to her.

  “It is you,” she said. “Isn’t it? I’ve been wondering if I was dreaming.” She was quick to check herself. “Of course you will be a great queen.”

  “Do not worry,” I said. “I did not expect the kin
g to come make me his wife, either. You must have been surprised to hear the news?”

  “Well, I . . . ” Her face was scarlet, and she seemed uncertain where to look. “I am so ashamed. What I admitted to you . . . ”

  There was nothing accusing in her voice. Even without magic, I understood that she thought I would send her back to her family, knowing she had slept with the king and betrayed her mistress. I could use her fear, I realized, and her guilt. It was better than facing my own guilt, over what I’d done to get here.

  “Do not worry, Clareta,” I said gently. “That was another time.”

  “Will you . . . keep me? You will not send me from court?”

  “I will keep you,” I said. “I understand that not everyone here is a believer in magic. It will be nice to know someone close to me is.”

  I’d meant this as a compliment, something to draw her closer to me. Instead, she breathed in sharply, as if I’d slapped her across her red cheeks.

  “I do not . . . ” she began, clearly confused about what to say.

  “Shh,” I said, placing my hand on her shoulder. “It will be our secret.”

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  She looked up at me and for a moment I held her gaze, studying her. Surely she must have had some suspicion about what we’d given her to offer the queen, and about the queen’s sudden death, but if she did, she was too concerned with her own position to betray it.

  She nodded, and then stood with some formality to leave the room. I watched her go, then drank down the glass of wine to calm my nerves, letting it burn in my throat.

  The next morning was my wedding day. I was still half asleep when my room filled with servants and ladies who roused me from the bed and began preparing me for the occasion. Such attention was foreign to me and I sat, stunned, quietly following their directions as they led me into another room where a bath had been brought in. They removed my clothing and held my arms, led me into a deep tub full of warm water with flowers and leaves floating on the surface. It was disconcerting, all those hands on my body, my hair being unloosed and falling all around me in waves, swirling in the water.

  All those hands, in my hair . . . I could feel the women’s jealousy and curiosity, anger and love and fear, all of it emanating from their bodies, into me. I could feel the rumors swirling in their minds—that I was a witch, that I had bewitched the king, that I would lead the kingdom to ruins. I closed my eyes, steeled myself. There were too many of them and they were all strangers to me still, and so I could not separate out the feelings running through me. All I could do was bear it, wait for this to pass. I would prove them all wrong, I thought. I would force them to love me. But from now on, for my own peace of mind, I would request that Clareta wash and style my hair.

  I left the bath and they dried me with soft towels, then covered my body with ointments and powders until I smelled like a garden at the height of summer. Lavender calmed me, lemon freshened and enlivened. They laced me into a long pale dress. They dried my hair and brushed it and wove flowers and jewels through it, and then wrapped it around my head and draped it down my back.

  The whole time, their thoughts needled into me: wondering how I’d managed to attract a king from the middle of the forest, and so quickly; comparing me unfavorably to the queen they’d lost so recently, who’d been so much more pious and refined.

  Finally, they led me to the glass hanging on my wall, which rippled like a storm-ridden river with anticipation.

  I was astonished at what I saw. Even though I was no stranger to my own beauty and the effect it could have on others, I had never seen myself like this. My hair surrounded me, in golden avalanches. My lips were more red than they’d ever been, my hair shone and shimmered, my eyes were wide and bright and lined by long dark lashes. I was wearing a radiant ivory dress that made my skin look like cream.

  Was this me?

  Flickering behind my reflection, I saw myself with my hair dragging on the ground, full of leaves and twigs and blood, before the regal queen I was about to become came back into focus.

  The wedding took place in the palace gardens. Flowers of every kind, every color, burst from the ground, and trees coated in white blossoms swayed above us. There were armed soldiers everywhere, standing at attention.

  When it was time for me to walk down the aisle, my ladies followed me, carrying my train. I clutched a bouquet of orange blossoms, wildflowers, and myrtle, grateful that no one would see my hands trembling. The moment I saw Josef standing at the end of the aisle, dressed in elaborate robes and waiting for me, I relaxed. He wanted me here. He wanted me to be his queen, even if others in the court were not as sure.

  He smiled as he saw me. I could feel that smile like a hand sweeping down my back.

  And then, as I approached, I saw her for the first time, the same woman from the portrait . . . but she was a child, swathed in lavender silk. Standing near Josef at the altar, her hands filled with flowers. My heart stopped for a moment, and I faltered. It was as if I’d seen a ghost, haunting me. The queen come back to punish me for what I’d done. For what Mathena had done, wasn’t it? What Clareta had done.

  Her hair was as black as ebony, her skin pale and smooth, like a first snow covering the forest floor. And her lips were a brilliant red, like cherries full and hanging from their stems.

  But she was just a child, seven years old, a little girl. Snow White. Not a ghost come to haunt me.

  She was the same age my own child should have been, had he lived. The same age I’d been when Mathena took me to the forest. She was standing stiff and straight, and did not seem to carry herself like a child. As I neared her, she stared at me with her huge round eyes, expressionless. A sick feeling came over me as I looked at her, and then a terrible longing. I nearly stopped in place and crumpled to the floor. It was as if my own son had appeared, grown into this exquisite creature.

  I breathed in and focused again on Josef, his warm face always ready to break into a smile.

  And then I reached him, and it was as if I were opening the cottage door and seeing him for the first time, dazzling, right in front of me, the first man I’d ever seen up close.

  He loved me, had searched for me.

  “You’re here,” he whispered, the way he had before, as if I were an apparition and might float away. I took his hand and squeezed it, to reassure him.

  Later I would hear reports of the commoners protesting outside the castle gates. The number of subjects arrested for going against the king. I would hear, too, about how much larger the previous wedding had been, how it had gone on for days and days. But his wife had just died, and now he was marrying a woman rumored to be a witch. Small wonder this one was more intimate.

  But I did not know those things then, and I was happy. The priest stood before us and spoke of God and heaven and country and I promised to honor the kingdom and my king, my husband, until I died, and then I was married to him, and I became his queen, and a ring was placed on my finger, and a crown on my head.

  After, there was a great feast, and he took me in his arms and danced with me. I, who had never danced before and did not know all the intricate dances they did at court, just held on to him, laughing, as he swept me over the floor, and as my dress whirled around my ankles and I tripped over my own feet, trying to keep up with him. The music was wonderful. I felt every note vibrate over my body as, around us, the most beautiful dancers glided across the floor.

  He led me back to the great high table. Snow White and her nurse were seated next to us. Just below sat my ladies-in-waiting and all kinds of splendid nobles who stood and bowed as we approached. The king introduced several of them to me, including the head of his army, Lord Aubert, who kissed my hand and bowed. They all seemed friendly enough, but by now I did not need my hair, or my magic mirror, or any manner of tea leaves or tarot to know that these people did not trust or welcome me into this court, despite their deep bows, the smiles on their faces, and their kind, empty words. I tightened my grip on J
osef’s hand and he slipped an arm around my waist.

  “This is the Princess Snow White,” he said, as a servant rushed to pull my chair back for me. “And this is your new queen, Rapunzel.”

  Snow White stood and curtsied while staring up at me, her expression serious, almost worried.

  “I am so pleased and honored to meet you,” I said.

  A small, shy smile took over her face. I was utterly charmed, despite myself.

  I sat down. Courtiers came up to offer the king and me their love and fidelity. Musicians wandered through the hall, singing songs about love. There was more food on the tables than I’d ever seen, and Josef wanted me to try everything. He lifted his arms and swept them through the air. “That is what life is for. To try everything. You will never miss the forest, now that you’re here.”

  The revelries lasted until very late in the night, until I could barely keep my eyes open for exhaustion.

  Finally, the king announced we would retire. He stood, extending his hand to me, and I took it and stood next to him. I was woozy with wine and food, all the twirling over the dance floor, the cut flowers scattered across the tables, the feeling of being madly, madly in love—not only with Josef but with this palace, this life—but also the subject of so much ill will, which Josef himself seemed not to notice but I could feel in the air like cold rain. Instead, he was happy, he was drunk, and he lifted me into his arms and carried me out the door, down the hall, and to his chambers.

  A group of guards stood waiting and opened the great gold doors to let us pass. Inside, there were candles and torches, and the bed was covered with furs and flowers.

  He set me down on the bed and I tumbled out of his arms, lay on my belly with my arms stretched out on either side of me. He unlaced my dress, and I was like an oyster being removed from its shell, especially with my hair piled on my head and not hanging down to protect me. Suddenly I felt naked and raw there, in front of him. I was sober, and everything became less like a dream.

  He removed his robes, his shirt and pants, watching me, and then he climbed in bed and pulled me into his arms.