Jessica Day George

Comme il avait déjà été humain, le roi Sous Pierre se
trouvait parfois assailli par des émotions humaines. Il
en vivait une en ce moment tandis qu’il faisait face à la
femme mortelle devant lui, mais il lui fallut un moment
pour la nommer. Après une pause, il qualifia cette émotion
de « triomphe ».
— Comprenez-vous notre marché ?
La voix du roi évoquait une lame en acier se brisant sur
la pierre.
— Oui.
La voix humaine de la reine était ferme.
— Je danserai pour vous ici-bas pendant douze ans, et
en échange, la Westfalin sera victorieuse.
— N’oublions pas les années que vous me devez encore,
dit le roi. Notre premier marché n’est pas encore terminé.
— Je le sais.
Elle inclina la tête en signe de lassitude. Bien qu’elle soit
encore une jeune femme, il y avait des cernes noirs sous ses
yeux et du gris dans ses cheveux.
2
Le roi Sous Pierre tendit sa longue main blanche et
haussa le menton de la reine.
— Quel dommage que vos filles ne vous accompagnent
pas lors de nos petites fêtes, dit-il. Des filles charmantes, j’en
suis sûr. Et mes douze garçons aimeraient beaucoup avoir
de la compagnie.
Encore ce sentiment de triomphe : l’idée de ces jeunes
filles mortelles dansant avec ses fils. Il y avait toujours eu ce
petit problème, au fur et à mesure que ses fils grandissaient,
de leur trouver des épouses.
De belles épouses qui pouvaient marcher au soleil.
Puis, cette reine mortelle était venue à lui, lui implorant
son aide pour qu’elle ait des enfants avec son gros et stupide
mari. Elle avait eu sept filles, jusqu’à maintenant, et quand
elle en aurait eu douze, Sous Pierre avait décidé qu’il trouverait
un moyen d’emmener les filles ici-bas pour qu’elles
rencontrent leurs futurs maris.
Une expression d’horreur envahit le visage de la reine
devant sa suggestion.
— Mes f-filles sont des jeunes filles g-gentilles et honorables,
bégaya-t-elle. Et jeunes. Trop jeunes pour se marier.
— Ah, mais mes fils sont jeunes, et leurs chères mères
étaient toutes des femmes gentilles et honorables, tout
comme vous et vos petites filles ! Et mes princes manquent
de compagnie d’enfants de leur âge.
Chacun des fils de Sous Pierre était né d’une femme
mortelle et il voulait que leurs femmes soient mortelles
aussi. Le roi Sous Pierre repoussa une mèche de cheveux
rebelles de la reine. Elle recula.
— Avons-nous fini ? Je dois partir… Les enfants… Mon
mari…

Tenant le foulard dans les faibles rayons du soleil, la
vieille dame admira le vêtement tricoté serré.
— Tu l’as fait toi-même ?
— Oui. Il y a assez de temps entre les batailles pour tricoter
une douzaine de foulards et une centaine de chaussettes,
pour autant que je sache.
Il laissa échapper un petit rire.
— Je pensais que les soldats passaient leur temps libre à
jouer aux dés et à courir les filles.
Elle émit un petit rire étonnamment jeune.
— Jouer aux dés et courir les filles est très bien, mais
cela n’aide pas du tout quand on a des trous dans ses chaussettes
et que la neige passe par les trous dans la tente, dit-il
d’un ton grave.
Il chassa ces souvenirs.
— Que ce foulard vous garde en santé.
Galen aurait aimé avoir un châle à lui donner, car celui
qu’elle portait avait de grands accrocs. Mais le seul châle
qu’il eût tricoté, il l’avait donné à la fille d’un général aux
doux yeux bruns.
— Tu t’es montré très gentil avec une vieille femme, ditelle,
très gentil.
Elle passa le foulard autour de son cou en laissant
pendre les extrémités pour protéger sa maigre poitrine.
— Il n’est que justice que je te rende ta gentillesse.
Il secoua la tête, déconcerté. Que pouvait-elle bien lui
donner ?
— Ce n’est pas nécessaire, goodfrau, lui assura-t-il tandis
que ses doigts noueux fouillaient sous son châle.

“This all began because of their shoes being worn out night after night,” he said. He had fallen into an easy quick-march pace. He put an arm around his cousin’s waist to help her along. “If someone could just figure out what they do every night.” He shook his head in frustration. “I’ve tried, but I haven’t seen a thing.”
Ulrike looked at him in shock. “You have? How?”
Galen glanced down at her. “I have permission from the king to roam the gardens at night. I’ve been sneaking around for days now, but as far as I can tell the princesses aren’t leaving the palace.” He cleared his throat, uncomfortable. “I’ve even tried setting traps for them.”
“Traps? What kind of traps?”
“Hanging bells in the ivy on the palace walls in case they’re using it to climb down, sprinkling flour outside the doors and windows, so that they’ll leave tracks. They’d have to fly off the roof like owls to get out of the palace at night without me knowing.”
“But think of how many others have tried to find out their secret,” Ulrike huffed. “Tried and died. You should be more careful.”
“Don’t worry—I have an advantage,” Galen said, as they arrived on the Orm doorstep.
“What?” Ulrike pressed a hand to her side, panting.
Galen smiled at her and laid a finger to his lips. “It’s a secret.”

Source : difunkychronicles.com

Quelques pas derrière Rose, Galen pensa à ce qu’il dirait au roi Gregor. Comment expliquer où les princesses allaient chaque nuit ? Comment dire au roi que sa défunte femme qu’il pleurait encore avait passé un genre de marché avec le roi étrange et froid de ce royaume souterrain ? Les princesses ne pourraient pas parler pour appuyer son histoire et il était très probable que le roi ne le croie pas.

“Black, purple, blue, silver, black, purple, blue, silver. An entire palace of bruises and darkness and nothingness, night after night, always the same.”
Kestilan looked at her, one eyebrow just slightly arched. “Why would my father have wanted to be reminded of what he had lost?”
“What he had lost?” She gave him a baffled look. “What had he lost?”
“The sun,” Kestilan said.
There was silence for a moment.
Then Kestilan went on, “Even I, who have never seen it, feel diminished when you come to us, reeking of upper world as you do, clad in colors that hurt our eyes with envy.”
Rose blinked. Petunia had once accused the princes of being fools, but they weren’t, she had later said. They had played at being dull because their father had wanted no rivals, and he saw his sons as easily replaced as well. What Kestilan had said made terrible sense. Gold, brocade, bright colors all belonged to the sun, to flowers and things that could not be replicated here below, where even the trees were made of silver and bore no fruit.

Source : difunkychronicles.com

“And I’m very privileged to be able to assist you, Your Highness,” Galen said with a smile.
Poppy laughed. “Rose will be jealous, if she sees us,” Poppy said, looking up at Galen from under her eyelashes. “She thinks you’re handsome.”
Galen stopped in his tracks. Now his cheeks really were red under his tan. “But we’ve never … I only … by the fountain.”
“She sits by the window in the afternoons, to try to get some sun. She watches you working,” Poppy told him. “And she said you looked so strong and brave, standing in the moonlight with your switch that night.” She giggled at Galen’s discomfiture.
He gave a wary look. She was teasing him, he knew, but teasing him with the truth? Did Princess Rose watch him? He glanced up at the windows of the palace, but the angle of the weak wintry sun made it hard to tell if anyone was beyond the glass.
“Of course, she’ll kill me for telling you that,” Poppy said cheerfully.
“I certainly won’t tell her,” Galen said fervently.
“I didn’t think you would.” She laughed again.

Source : difunkychronicles.com

She lifted the pitcher and poured water into the basin. As it ran into the white porcelain, the water turned green. Ellen nearly dropped the heavy pitcher, only just managing to put it back on the table in time. From the glowing green water, she heard a kindly voice speaking.
“Poor dear! All alone in the world, aren’t you?”
Ellen whirled around, but the door was still closed and there wasn’t another soul in the room. “Who said that?” Her voice came out thin and shaky.
“They call me the Corley,” the voice said. “But I am also your godmother, my dear. Pour more water into the pitcher, that I may see you.”
“What?”
“When you pour water, I can see you,” the voice said, still patient and soft. It was a plump voice, a gentle voice, the voice of a grandmother in a lace cap and woolen shawl. “Pour the water, dear Eleanora, and let us talk.”
Still shaking, Ellen picked up the pitcher again.

Source : difunkychronicles.com

“I’m not even sure that I was invited,” Poppy said, looking for an excuse to get out of the royal celebrations once and for all. “If it was for the Seadown family… Invitations have come specifically for me in the past.” She smiled inwardly, thinking that she had hit on the perfect answer.
“Actually, what it said was that ‘every eligible young lady was invited along with her guardians,’” Lady Margaret gave Poppy a triumphant smile. “You happen to be an eligible young lady.”
“And so am I,” Ellen said.
They turned to look at her.
“I’m an eligible young lady,” she said louder. She thrust her chin out. “And you know that I wasn’t born a maid.”
Poppy gave a low whistle. She had to admire Ellen’s bravery. Sullenness was one thing, but coming right out with her grievance in front of her employer was quite another.

Source : difunkychronicles.com

“And then you taught the other princesses to shoot afterward?” Oliver dragged the branch he had cut back to the path.
“Yes, after what happened the king was quite adamant that they all learn,” Galen said. “That’s why I’m surprised that you, er, abducted Poppy. Wasn’t she armed?”
“Yes, she was,” Oliver said, smiling to himself. “The first time I saw her, she had a pistol aimed directly at my face. But I jumped down out of a tree later and caught her off guard,” he explained.
The others laughed at that, which reassured Oliver. If they could laugh, if Walter Vogel could hum as he gathered up the twigs, then Oliver felt that this might all turn out all right.

Source : difunkychronicles.com

“Cinders, cinders, smoke and water, take me to visit my dear godmother!”
The fireplace expanded, stretching like a waking cat until it was a tall doorway. Ellen scrambled to her feet and hiked her skirts high to step over the fender, into the mucky remains of her fire, and then on into the dark corridor beyond.
Her heart was hammering loudly in her throat, but more with excitement than fear. At the end of the corridor was a bright light, and she could hear music.
After eight years of neglect, she had finally found someone who wanted her.

Source : difunkychronicles.com