“What’s your name?” I asked. “Your real name.”
“Andre Wolf.”
I’d thought it might be, and yet it was still jarring to hear.
“Sneaky wee beastie.” No wonder he’d stared at me with such tenderness whenever I called him Andre. “I’m afraid I’m not truly Orla.”
“I like Beauty just fine.”
And I believed him.
The fairy fluttered around Astra, blue glitter falling with her every move. “Should you ever desire to find completion, you must be drawn to ugliness. But I do hope you’ll be satisfied with your wish. It makes the watching so much more enjoyable. Come! I will take you to a place full of wealthy men.”
The fairy disappeared, and so did Astra.
I reached for her but grasped only empty air.
My eyes stung. With all our history, with everything she’d attempted that morning alone, it was surely stupid of me to cry for my selfish sister.
But Andre held me, and he said nothing of the sort.
“I’m sorry,” he said, as if it were somehow his fault. “She’ll regret her wish soon enough. She’ll come home.”
It was kind of him. I wasn’t sure he was right, but either way, I couldn’t be responsible for Astra’s actions and choices. My own were hard enough to bear.
I took a steadying breath and wiped my eyes. When I looked up, Andre was staring at me. “What is it?”
“I’m only ...” He shook his head. “I’m only the son of a fisherman.”
I smiled. “And I’m only the daughter of a bankrupt merchant. There are still books in the world and plenty of whimsy. I imagine we’ll get along just fine.”
He kissed me again, even more tender this time and lingering. I waited for myself to regret my decision, but I only became more certain it was right.
When we finally broke for air, I said, “It’s winter in the world.”
“Is it?” His eyes lit up. “I’ve longed to see the snow.”
I took his hand, and we left the castle together. When we looked back, it was gone, not even foundations remaining to show where it had once stood, only another garden of blooming flowers. I would miss the library and my armchair, the stubborn wardrobe and my sleek violin. But I had the memories.
And above all else, I had Andre.
Honey waited at the gate, and I hoped that meant the gifts remained—that Father still had his scriptures, Callista her candle. The castle’s enchantments were not so stingy as to retract the magic that had passed its gates. Perhaps somewhere out there in the woods, there was even a shining sword of fairy steel. Perhaps the next time a girl went running out at night, crying and hoping to be eaten, she would instead find a sword to lift.
Andre helped me into the saddle and then climbed up behind me, his arms around me warm and secure.
“Well, Orla,” he whispered in my ear, “where shall we sail to?”
I shivered and leaned into him. “There’s a small cottage beyond the forest, belonging to the Acton family. It’s said to contain the map to the fountain of youth, and as you know, this year marks my quest for it.”
“Then to the cottage it is.”
The golden gate opened before us, and as we galloped out, the fence and the gardens melted into pristine, unbroken snow.
It was a whimsical idea to think they’d been there at all.
Epilogue
It’s not true what the folktale says. We did not live happily ever after.
