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Mendenbar could tell something was on Cimorene’s mind. She was seated at her desk, offering the occasional exasperated sigh as she worked on writing what appeared to be a letter.
“What are you up to, my dear?” Menenbar asked her.
She shook her head, irritated. “It’s this letter from my sister Arlianna. You would not believe the nonsense she’s writing me.”
“Worse than her usual nonsense?” Mendenbar asked, sympathetically. Whenever Cimorene spoke about her family, he was always extremely grateful that he was an only child.
“If you can believe it,” Cimorene said. “Listen to this bit.” She took a moment to find the right part of the letter. “Let’s see…redecorating the palace ballroom …unseasonably warm weather….new dancing instructor…ah, here it is: After Osmond brought home yet another supposed princess who turned out to have absolutely no royal pedigree to speak of, his father and I have decided to step in to help him find a suitable bride. It was actually Florin who had the idea of setting up some kind of test to determine whether the next young lady who attempts to ensnare Osmond is truly a princess. ”
“Setting aside the amusing fact that young women are lining up to trick their way into marriage with Osmond, of all people,” Mendenbar laughed, “I cannot wait to hear what absurd plan Florin has come up with. I hope it is truly ridiculous.”
“Oh, Florin does not disappoint,” Cimorene assured him drily. “Arlianna writes: Florin has decided to create a special bed, with more than a dozen mattresses piled high. Underneath the very lowest, he will be hiding a single pea. He reasons that only the delicate skin of a true princess would be sensitive enough to feel the pea under the mattress. The first girl to complain of it shall be Osmond’s bride. Is that not the most wonderful plan you have ever heard? ”
Mendenbar laughed, equally amused by the plan and by the offended expression on his wife’s face. “And what did you have to say in response?”
“I wrote back to her in no uncertain terms,” Cimorene said briskly. “I informed her that the plan is both pointless and ineffective. I pointed out that I myself spent most of yesterday with a sizable pebble in my shoe that I did not notice until I removed the shoe, and that I do not doubt that you could place a cantaloupe under my bed without attracting my notice.”
“I rather imagine you would notice a cantaloupe,” Mendenbar said fondly, “but I can’t deny it’s a clever argument to make with Arlianna. After all, she wouldn’t want to pursue anything that might cast doubts on your own pedigree –”
“As it identical to her own,” Cimorene finished for him in agreement. “Just so. I’m also pointing out that any well-bred girl with good manners would be unlikely to say anything, no matter how uncomfortable she found the bed. It seems they are more likely to end up with a rude girl than a royal one. And though I place very little stock on royal background, I cannot stand the thought of a queen with poor manners.”
“A very reasonable point, my dear,” Mendenbar assured her. “If only your sister had studied logic instead of dance, she might be able to see the flaws in Florin’s reasoning.”
“As it is, only I have the background to see the flaws in my husband’s plans. How lucky for you!”
“I count myself very lucky indeed,” Mendenbar told her with a kiss.
***
Daystar always knew when his mother was writing a letter to one of her sisters. She tended to take out her frustration on her braids, which were otherwise always pinned quite neatly out of the way. Today one braid was nearly tugged free of its pins, so he knew someone was frustrating her with their stories.
“Daystar!” his mother greeted him. “You’re a prince.”
“Yes, Mother,” he agreed.
“Although you weren’t raised as one,” Cimorene mused, studying him as if he were a puzzle she couldn’t quite make out. “Perhaps that accounts for it.”
“Accounts for what, Mother?” he asked tolerantly.
“Why you are so much less silly than the rest of them,” she said, waving a hand vaguely to encompass, perhaps, the entirety of all princes everywhere.
“Thank you,” he said, polite as always. “Although I think that had more to do with who raised me than where. I don’t think you would have stood for any silliness, even if I’d grown up here in the palace.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” Cimorene said, returning to her letter with a sigh. “And perhaps Sabridelle’s children were destined to inherit her silliness no matter what.”
“What are my cousins up to now?” Daystar asked. Although he had only known his extended family for a few years, he was already well acquainted with the foolishness of the vast majority of his relations. He was primarily informed of their lives through the letters his mother received. Daystar thought she rather enjoyed sharing her family’s antics and offering her own tart commentary in response.
Sure enough, Cimorene quickly picked up the letter she’d been reading. “Sabridelle writes that Landis decided to marry the most beautiful girl in the kingdom.”
“I’m sure many have thought the same of their wives,” Daystar said charitably.
“No, no you misunderstand; he decided to choose for his bride whatever girl he determined to be the most beautiful in the kingdom.”
“Ah,” Daystar said. “Well, it seems a rather shallow and also fairly ambitious decision, but if it’s what he wants, and the girl agrees…”
“Well, my sister and her husband decided to throw a ball, to make it easier for him to find her. A masked ball, to which every young woman in the kingdom was invited.”
“Wait,” Daystar interrupted, “setting aside the impracticalities of an event that size, why would you throw a masked ball if the goal was to find the most beautiful girl there?”
“What an excellent question, Daystar!” Cimorene exclaimed. “One it appears nobody thought to ask before they had this ill-advised ball. So now Sabridelle writes: Landis met a lovely girl and danced the night away. He fell madly in love with her – but alas! He failed to obtain her name and, as she never removed her mask, he remains uncertain to her identity. But all is not lost – it seems the maiden, who departed in somewhat of a hurry, left behind one of her shoes. Landis has vowed to search the land for the maiden whose foot fits that shoe and will set out tomorrow. We hope he shall return soon with his bride. ”
“Huh,” Daystar said neutrally. “That’s an interesting plan.”
“Interesting is too generous,” Cimorene retorted. “I told Sabridelle in no uncertain terms that I found the plan to be idiotic on every level. I asked what possible connection Landis could possibly have made with this girl over the course of one evening where their interactions were so limited that he learned neither her name nor anything about her identity. I also point out that hundreds of girls were likely to share the same shoe size, rendering the plan to identify the mystery maiden completely impractical. I didn’t even bother to point out that Landis had no way of knowing if he’d managed to find a girl of even average attractiveness. I did, however, mention that given that the girl had left in a hurry, it was a distinct possibly she was uninterested in marrying Landis. Which, given the way he managed this entire endeavor, may not be such a poor decision on the part of the girl.”
“Well, Sabridelle knew who she was writing to,” Daystar laughed.
“Just promise me that you won’t allow your son to grow up to be such an idiot,” Cimorene sighed.
Daystar smiled fondly at the thought of his son, currently napping in the royal nursery down the hall. At eight months the boy hadn’t shown many signs of intelligence or idiocy, but Daystar spoke with confidence when he said, “With Shiara for a mother and you for a grandmother, I think Zamir is quite safe.”
***
Morwen knew from the gleam in Cimorene’s eye that they had Matters To Discuss.
“It’s good to see you, Cimoene,” she said, placing a mug of hot cider down on the table between them. “How’s life as a grandmother?”
“Fine, fine,” Cimorene said absently. Morwen refrained from laughing. Usually all Cimorene wanted to talk about these days was Zamir, but it was impossible to distract Cimorene when she had something on her mind.
“What’s troubling you?” Morwen asked. It was generally wiser to go along with Cimorene unless one really needed to resist her.
“Witches!” Cimorene said in exasperation. “I talk a lot about how silly and air-headed princess and princess can be, but your lot isn’t much better!” Cimorene brandished a letter, and Morwen recognized the elegant cursive as the handwriting of a well-taught royal. Probably one of her sisters, then.
“Why don’t you tell me what’s happened,” she said tartly, “rather than carrying on with abstract generalizations.”
Cimorene shook her head. “Isobella wrote to me. It’s her youngest, Tillota. You remember she married a well-to-do farmer a few years ago? It was quite the scandal, but they fell in love and Tillota was quite determined about it. I was rather impressed, I didn’t think any of my nieces had any sense in them at all, but she managed to convince Isobella that they’d already had enough royal marriages in the family. I honestly think Isobella gave in just to get some piece.”
“A girl after your own heart,” Morwen observed. “What seems to be the trouble now?”
“Apparently the farm borders on the land of a witch, and they managed to offend her.”
“Oh dear,” Morwen said, sensing she knew where this was going. “And so she cursed their firstborn child?”
“Oh no,” Cimorene said, “you might expect that, but no. This witch – well, let me read you what Isobella wrote: Tillota informs me that the witch showed up at the house one night, claiming her right to the child as repayment for the wrongs of her parents. The witch actually seized baby Zella and carried her off, declaring her intention to raise her as her own. She even said she’s going lock Zella in a remote tower with no windows or doors, to ensure we have no chance of finding or rescuing her. Hiram and I are rather relieved, truth be told, because such a set up absolutely ensures the girl a good match when she’s of age. It’s such a neat resolution to the entire farmer debacle, I rather wonder we didn’t think to arrange something of the sort ourselves.”
“Well, I’m glad they’re happy with it?” Morwen offered.
“Because Isobella and Hiram would barely know which royal shoe goes on each foot in the morning if they didn’t have servants to attend to such matters,” Cimorene said, dismissively. “No, they’re no use in this situation. Which is why I want you to write to the witch in question.”
“What do you want me to say?” Morwen asked, amused.
“Let’s start with: don’t lock children in towers!” Cimorene cried. “Without doors or windows? How is the child going to get food? Sunlight? Companionship? Kidnapping is one thing, happens every day, but this is absurd! Someone needs to give her a talking to.”
“It sounds like you should write to her,” Morwen said.
“Maybe I will,” Cimorene said. “She’s obviously in need of a few parenting pointers.”
***
Kazul assumed Cimorene was preoccupied with something important, as she was not usually late to welcome her guests.
“Her majesty is in her parlor, your majesty,” Willin said apologetically, with a deep bow. “I’m sure she’ll be down soon, if you’re able to wait. That is, I can send someone to fetch her…”
“No need,” Kazul said firmly, interrupting Willin before he became too concerned with the protocol question of which of the royals in question took precedence in this situation. “Her parlor, you said?”
At Willin’s nod, Kazul raised her head to the third-floor window she knew looked into Cimorene’s parlor. Sure enough, the queen was seated at a desk, frowning as she added a few lines to a letter she was writing.
Kazul rapped on the window, and Cimorene looked up. “Kazul, I’m so sorry,” she exclaimed, crossing over to open the window. “I was writing a letter to my sister and completely lost track of the time. I do apologize for keeping you waiting.”
“It’s quite all right,” Kazul assured her. “Did you receive bad news?”
“I’m honestly quite worried about Rathmora,” Cimorene told her, glancing back at the letter open on the table in front of her. “Do you remember her husband died? Tragic hunting accident a few months ago, very sad. And poor Rathmora is not at all suited for running the kingdom.”
“Your second-to-youngest sister? No, I should say she is not.” Kazul said, recalling some of the stories she’d heard over the years. “It’s too bad humans don’t have some sort trial to pick the next ruler like sensible people, instead of all this hereditary nonsense.”
“Yes, that would be better, but that’s no help to Rathmora,” Cimorene said. “I think the stress of running the kingdom is really getting to her. She’s becoming absolutely obsessed with her step-daughter, and not in a loving way.” She crossed back to the desk and picked up the letter in question. “Listen to what she writes: Every morning since becoming queen l have asked my magic mirror who is the most beautiful in all the kingdom. Until now it has always assured me that I was the fairest in the land, but today it named my stepdaughter! Perhaps my looks have been slightly marred by my recent grief and the burden of running the kingdom, but it is beyond cruel that I should have to lose this on top of everything else. What if her beauty turns the hearts of my people against me? What if they no longer want me as their queen when another has surpassed me? She’s only a girl now, but what will happen as she grows older and more lovely?”
Kazul rolled her eyes. “You’re right,” she told her former princess. “Her grief has addled what little sense Rathmora had.”
“And we both know that wasn’t much to begin with,” Cimorene said. “I’m writing back at once to reassure her that her position in her people’s hearts is based far less on her appearance and more on her actions as their ruler. Perhaps she will be persuaded by that - I can, after all, cite nearly two decades of experience as queen of the Enchanted Forest, and I don’t think anyone has ever thought to call me the fairest in any land.”
“Mendenbar might,” Kazul offered. “But I doubt Rathmora places much stock in his opinions.”
“Very little,” Cimorene agreed. “I’m also going to suggest that kindness and love does far more for one’s looks than cruelty and jealousy, so she might try spending a little quality time with step-daughter, rather than obsessing over her looks from a distance.”
“And advise her to get rid of that magic mirror,” Kazul added. “It’s clearly not doing her any good. Perhaps you can get her to send it here, under pretenses that it might be broken? You can tell her you’ll have Telemain take a look at it.”
“An excellent suggestion,” Cimorene said briskly, adding a post-script to the letter.
***
“What are you doing, Grandma Cimorene?” Shiara asked, entering the room with Zamir asleep in her arms.
“Finishing up a letter to my sister Kandyl,” Cimorene said, holding her arms out for her grandson. “But I’d much rather hold Zamir.”
“I don’t believe I know her,” Shiara said, transferring the sleeping infant to Cimorene. “Was she at our wedding?”
“No, she didn’t want to leave her children,” Cimorene said. “She has twelve of them, you see, twelve girls all unmarried and under the age of twenty.”
“Sounds exhausting,” Shiara said, “I can barely keep up with one child most days.”
“Yes, Kandyl and her husband have managed by rather over-doing it on the rules and punishments. In her most recent letter, she wrote that the girls have been sneaking away from their lessons so regularly to practice their dancing that they have decided to forbid all dancing lessons and dismiss the royal dance master. However, Kandyl says that doesn’t seem to have solved the problem.” She adjusted Zamir so she could pick up a letter from a nearby table, and began reading out loud. “We keep a close eye on them during the day, but they’ve taken to dancing at night when we’re asleep. We’ve tried everything – threats, bribes, punishments, begging – but nothing works. So we’ve had to start locking them in their room every night to stop them from dancing.”
“I’m new to this whole motherhood thing, but even I can tell that is not the right way to go about it,” Shiara said, eyes flashing. It was obvious that, if it weren’t for the sleeping Zamir, she might have continued in that vein, but she chose to content herself with a scowl.
“Of course not,” Cimorene said, her exasperation plain. “And sure enough, she writes, Somehow the dancing has continued. Every night, we lock the girls in, and every morning their dancing shoes have been worn down to their soles. We cannot understand it. Blavier is considering putting out word that anyone who wishes to spend the night and solve the mystery can win half the kingdom, and the hand of one of our daughters in marriage.”
Shiara’s hair was starting to smoke, a sign of her growing agitation. “Is she serious?”
“Oh, quite,” Cimorene said, “but don’t worry, I’ve written to point out what a terrible idea this would be. I said the extreme absurdity of allowing any and every stranger who asks to spend the night unsupervised in the girls’ room. I told her that if she and my brother-in-law are so eager to know what is going on they could try staying the night themselves. I also suggested that if her daughters are so desperate to dance, she should let them! It’s quite a proper occupation for a princess and likely be a help in finding them husbands. Indeed, my parents would have been thrilled if I’d been more interested in my dancing lessons, rather than sneaking out of them to learn fencing and magic and Latin.”
“Fencing and magic sound like a better use of time than dancing,” Shiara said.
“Yes,” Cimorene said, sighing, “but you see, it’s simply not done.”
“No, I don’t see,” said Shiara sharply, and Cimorene smiled.
“And that is why I am very glad that you are my daughter-in-law, and not some silly air-headed princess.”
***
“And so Arlianna got rid of the mattresses, Isobella’s witch is moving Zella into a nice place they can live together, and Rathmora writes that she is spending less time in front of her magic mirror and more getting to know her step-daughter.” Cimorene concluded with satisfaction. “Kandyl found that her daughters are sleeping through the night now that they’re allowed a reasonable amount of dancing during the day, and Landis gave up on finding the mystery girl who matched the shoe. He even admitted to his mother that he’d been dating one of the stable boys for years, and they’re quite happy together now it’s all out in the open.”
“Seems like everyone benefited from your involvement,” Mendenbar said.
“Including Cimorene,” Morwen murmured. It was clear to everyone that she’d quite enjoyed telling her sisters how to sort out their problems.
“Mother, have you ever considered doing something like this more formally?” Daystar asked her. “Advice for people outside the family?”
“Giving advice to general populace?” Cimorene considered it. “In what sort of format?”
“Put it in the new newspaper,” Telemain said, without looking up from where he was reading it.
“The Enchanted Forest Chronicle?” Cimorene said, surprised. “Why would they print this sort of thing? It’s hardly news.”
“Indeed, I agree completely,” he replied drily. “And yet they have advice formats very similar to the general concept you’re contemplating. And I can assure you that the caliber of your contribution would far outstrip those of their typical fare.”
“An advice column,” Shiara said enthusiastically. “Oh Cimorene, I think you’d be great at it!”
“You could call it ‘Cimorene Says!’” Daystar suggested. “Alliteration is good for this sort of thing?”
“How about, ‘Query the Queen’?’” Mendenbar offered.
“Dealing with Dragons,” was Kazul’s suggestion.
“That seems a bit off topic,” Cimorene pointed out, “Unless I’m planning to narrow my scope considerably.”
“What about, ‘Royal Counsel?’” Morwen put in.
“Royal Counsel,” Cimorene said slowly, trying it out. “I rather like the sound of that.”
“Da da do!” Zamir babbled enthusiastically, from his place on Cimorene’s knee.
“See, even Zamir thinks you should do it,” Shiara said, smiling.
“Well in that case,” Cimorene said, bouncing her grandson gently, “perhaps I shall give it a try.”