Chapter 12

aybe, at any other time, she might have laughed at Chancellor/Vizier Irial’s description of her. But she was truly horrified. So much for thinking that her own wish was unimportant. She looked at her coin, hovering over the heads of the crowd, with dislike and trepidation. If she’d known that anything like this was going to happen, she’d have told Tully what to do with his Wishing Well. It wasn’t exactly scrupulous or honourable either, in her opinion, to put a net in a wishing well to catch the coins and then make the wishes public. Very, very public. Perhaps one day she might even know him well enough to tell him off for doing it. Although that didn’t look likely, admittedly. She couldn't see Donla being compla-cent about her friendship with the Prince and certainly couldn't see her allowing it to grow. Then she heard the Prince’s muttered curse and felt his

grip tighten on her hand. Her own dismay and indignation was replaced by pity for him. All of these delays must be driving him mad. Really, the Chan-cellor’s sense of drama was reprehensible. Al-though she would still have liked to get that Wishing Well and a sledge-hammer together. Just thinking of the Well brought all of her visit to it back to mind. Suddenly remembering what her own wish had been, she was able to breathe reassurance, ‘It’s al-right, Tully.’ His sigh was almost drowned out by the rustle of whis-pers that was running excitedly around the crowd. It was a sigh that could mean anything, anyway. Relief, impatience, exasperation, longing. And she shouldn’t have been talking anyway, so she couldn't ask him about it. Anyway, it was almost over, for both of them. Get this over with and he could get on with living happily ever after with his Princess and she could get on with her life. Thinking about what the future held for her made her feel desolate. For a moment, she longed only to be home again, or at least decidedly elsewhere. But she knew that this was only cowardice so she lifted her chin. And when her heart was mended, Faeryland would have so much to offer. She had to keep telling herself that.

Think of all the wonder-ful things she’d seen and done here. And she had hundreds of years to see more.

Of course, there was plenty of bad, or just plain creepy, stuff about this world. And she would no doubt en-counter more of it in the long life that was to come.

That wasn’t so very important. What she’d met so far could probably be managed, or avoided, in the future. Hopefully, once Tully was married, she would no longer have so much hassle from the Golden Wasps. They had already mostly warmed to her anyway, after her draw-ings and the Wing Tourney. And surely Donla would have no cause to continue being quite so unpleasant once she was Tully’s consort? As for those sinister druids, they could surely be avoided. They apparently appeared pretty rarely. And the Night People would be easy enough to keep away from. She’d just have to remember to be home by dark, after all. And it wasn’t as if her own world didn’t have ample un-pleasantness. Her ruminations were interrupted by a sudden recall to the present. Right, time to get this over with. Peering sternly around at the still murmuring crowd, the Chancellor was calling for silence. As the crowd stilled, the voice of Liz’s coin sounded abnormally loud in the sudden silence.

Her voice rang out calmly. ‘I just want the Prince to be happy with whoever will make him happiest,’ For a moment, she felt the Prince’s grip on her hand tighten again, she thought probably from gratitude and relief. She was so attuned to his mood that she could al-most feel excitement, joy and wonder begin to tremble through him. Surely nothing stood between him and his Princess now? The crowd’s murmur of appreciation almost drowned out the ‘Wish granted’ greeted to Liz’s wish. Never had anyone felt less pleasure in having a heartfelt wish granted. Although, of course, she wanted him to be happy – wanted it almost more than she’d ever wanted anything – Liz knew that this was the beginning of a whole world of misery for herself. She had her youth and beauty restored, she was, finally, in the place where she belonged and it was a place of wonder and enchantment, of mystery and of new and exciting things, things which would have thrilled and exhilarated her at any other time. At a time when she had thought her life all but over, she’d had the tremen-dous gift of a total rebirth. And, right now, it all meant … nothing.

Instead, she would have to watch this wonderful man, this Prince in all senses of the word, disappear into blissful oblivion with the woman of his choice. Donla would just miraculously become a much nicer person. It could happen - happiness can transform even

the most unpleasant and miserable of people. Secure in her Prince’s love, established as the Princess of his dreams and of his people, she would, must, turn out to be everything he’d ever dreamed of having and hold-ing. And she, Liz, would, once again, as always, world without end, second verse same as the first, be alone. She shrugged off her despair. Heaven knew, she was going to have ample time to indulge her misery. Decades, centuries even, it appeared. Hopefully, she could get over it, as she’d gotten over so much unhappiness in her life. However impossible that appeared right now, grief and loss and misery all passed. But this wasn’t the time for thinking about that. However painful – however ago-nising – it was time now to witness the Prince’s ‘Happy Ever After.’ And so Donla alone was left. Liz looked across at her, and felt any few wisps of painful pleasure from her own self-sacrifice evaporate. One look at the Wasp Queen and she had begun to doubt her Prince’s happy ending all over again. Could this woman possibly be the woman of the Prince’s dreams? Could Donla really want to live happily ever after with the Prince, sharing his dreams and his interests? Really? For there was none of his trembling joy or wonder or anticipation in the Sidhe-princess’ stance. She stood there, ice-cold, rigid, proud

and defiant. Liz began to wonder uneasily how cast-iron the guaran-tees were on this ‘wish granted’ business. Surely Donla must have wished for her Prince or what was her own wish worth? He had to live happily ever after with the woman of his dreams, he just had to. ‘Princess Donla of …’ The final coin arose from its hiding place at the bottom of the net. Liz noticed with wry amusement that it was bigger than the rest had been – Donla had obviously taken some pains to ensure that her wish came true. Trying very hard to do the faery princess justice, Liz ac-knowledged that perhaps the larger coin was just an in-dication of how important it was to Donla - rather than a measure of her pride and arrogance, as it, rather horri-bly, looked. Perhaps – oh, please let it be so – she was just a woman desper-ately in love who was fighting by any means possible to get the man she longed for. And, if that meant being a bitch, so be it. There must be a whole, de-lightful, side to the Wasp Queen which she just hadn’t seen. There just must be, as Liz was quite certain that the

Prince wasn’t the sort of man who’d fall for, well, a bitch of the first water. After all, impossibly, it had only been three days since she herself had first come to Faeryland. She hadn’t known the Wasp Queen that long, therefore. And any-one can be in a bad mood for three days. Happiness, surely, oh surely, would transform this woman? The crowd had fallen silent again. The coolness of Donla’s voice was almost a shock after the desperation of so many of the other faery maedens. It pierced the hushed square like an ice shard. Liz held her breath. ‘I just want to be known throughout the faeryworld. I want EVERYONE to know my name and to remember who and what I am for always.’ There was a moment of silence. But then, almost imme-diately, before Liz could even begin to comprehend what this might mean, voices began to ring out around the square, apparently coming out of nowhere. ‘What she is? She’s a cold little bitch!’ ‘Proud!’ ‘Arrogant!’ ‘Shallow!’ ‘Malicious shrew!’

‘Termagant!’ ‘Wasp Queen!’ Liz’s own voice rang out, although she hadn’t opened her mouth. She realised that these words were what peo-ple really thought about Donla. She was totally con-fused. This was the happy ending she’d wanted for the Prince? An approving chuckle from the King was echoed by the crowd. It was plain that the faery princess had made herself decidedly unpopular with everybody. The insults continued, without a dissenting voice among them, and Liz struggled with her bewilderment. She couldn’t help thinking, again, that there really was an element of cruelty to Faeryland, just as so many of the stories suggested, and as she herself had discovered. The whole public humiliation thing, even the enforced mut-ing of the faery maedens, was more like a cattle mart than a romantic betrothal ceremony in her eyes. But she could find it in herself to feel sorry for Donla. However unpleasant the woman was, this was a very nasty form of comeuppance. She glanced across at the faery princess. Donla, however, was unbowed. Indeed, she had magi-cally changed her garment to a clinging tracery of dark red gauze and was holding out some of the lustrous au-burn hair that fell beneath it in one hand. It was sur-prisingly close in shade to Liz’s hair. Coincidence, or was it deliberate? In addition, she had changed her skin tone back to something like Liz’s and Tully’s.

In her other hand, she was angling a small, silver hand mirror to admire herself, as if oblivious to the scornful words flying around her. Her studied indifference, how-ever, was betrayed by the two tiny patches of red now marring her amber skin. And there was something pinched and weasel-like about her face now, as if some sort of glamour had worn off and the real Donla was showing through. Why, the woman looked almost ugly! Feeling thoroughly sorry for the faerywoman, however unpleasant she might be, Liz eyed her closely. What she

saw reassured her a little, although she was still bewil-dered. It wasn’t, she thought, distress or humiliation that had tightened the Wasp Queen’s lips or made her eyes glitter. There was no remorse there, either. Frankly,it looked a lot more like fury. Donla stood there in frozen isolation but was, essen-tially, untouched by what was happening to her. There was no remorse or hurt there. An icemaiden to the last, Liz thought with a tinge of admiration. She herself would have been in BITS in the other woman’s shoes. ‘I’d rather marry a rattlesnake. Or a shark!’ came the Prince’s voice, finally. ‘Although she’s already what you’d probably get if a rattlesnake and a shark could mate.’ His words, and the crowd’s roar of approval, made the furious princess finally turn her back and stalk off. Her fists were clenched and so, by the look of it, were her teeth. The Chancellor’s ringing voice fol-lowed her. ‘Wish granted!’ The expression of enjoyment on most people’s faces showed this to be an occasion that they would indeed talk about for a very long time indeed. Donla had got what she asked for - everyone would know her name. As the crowd relaxed, Liz turned her troubled gaze to the Prince. In spite of his words, was he really writhing in despair at the perfidy of his choice of soul-mate? Or

was there more to come? Perhaps his soul-mate hadn’t wished? Perhaps she was some old childhood friend who wasn’t an official candi-date? What on earth was happening? He had to be happy – she’d wished it for him and her wish had been granted. Hadn’t it? ‘The Trial by Well-Net is complete. Is the Prince ready to declare his choice of bride?’ The King looked knowingly across at the Prince. ‘Well, my son? Are you ready to choose your bride?’ ‘I am, Sire. If she’ll have me.’ The Chancellor came bustling over and handed Tully something small. The little man was beaming all over his face. Still uncompre-hending, Liz stared at the Prince. Startled, she watched him sink to one knee in front of her. The look in his eyes as he gazed up at her dis-solved all of her pain instantly. So much love, so much longing,

all of the need she’d ever dreamed of, was reflected back from her heart to his. Everything she felt for him was given back to her for all of the faeryworld to see. Could this really be happening? ‘Well, Liz? Will you have me? No other woman will do – I have at last found my anam cara.’ Liz trembled on the brink. ‘Are you sure?’ she said, then kicked herself mentally as the crowd chuckled kindly . What would she do if he laughed now and said, ‘only kidding’? She still couldn’t quite believe that this was real, was half waiting for him to deliver another piece of faery cruelty. He didn’t. Instead he lifted his outstretched hand even further towards her and she realised that he was holding out a ring. It was, she noticed as she reluctantly took her eyes off his to glance at it, a beautiful and unusual Celtic design of silver and coloured enamel, set with a rainbow of stones ,

‘You are every-thing I ever wanted in a bride’, he reas-sured her. ‘A soul mate with whom I can talk and laugh and share my princedom. Someone who has shown

that she understands, and encourages, my feelings about the world. Someone bright, and wise, and witty. And someone who loves me as much as I love her.’ Liz didn’t recognise herself in this description. Loving him back, no problem. But bright, and wise, and witty? ‘And that someone is me?’ she said, and the hushed crowd, still shamelessly eavesdropping, chuckled again. ‘That someone is you,’ he confirmed. ‘Look at the back of the ring if you don’t believe me’. Tentatively, she took it from him and turned it over in her hand. It really was gorgeous. Behind the beautiful enameled face, something was intricately carved into the silver. She peered even closer. Could those initals, so lovingly and delicately intertwined, possibly be ‘T’ and ‘L’?

‘I hope that you don’t feel that I’ve been presumptuous, getting that engraved on there, but I wanted you to know that I was in earnest.’ He looked up at her and there was an uncertainty in his gaze that she’d never seen before. ‘Do you feel that you can love me back?’ He saw the doubt, still struggling with hope on her face, and added, ‘I really mean it.’ Liz longed to believe him, but had to fight to do so. Everything she’d ever wanted, here at her feet. When all hope was lost, when she had resigned herself to a quiet winding down of her life, when her life had in fact ap-peared to be almost over, he had come into it. And here he was, offering her utter happiness. And a total rebirth, a fresh start. With the man of her dreams.

Joy suffused her be-ing, and suddenly she was surrounded again by myriads of the tiny faeries who had accompanied Tully and herself on most of their out-ings. They

danced and cart-wheeled around her as the crowd laughed again.

Liz couldn’t help glancing across at the Faery King and Queen, in case they were looking displeased . This was all too good to be true. Total wish fulfillment for an eld-erly woman. But, even if she was now looking young again – and was actually a lot younger than her Prince – even if she was indeed one of the Sidhe and not a mor-tal, she was still ordinary. And, in her view, nothing special. Years of being the invisible, aging woman had left their mark. She had so little confidence left in herself that she was having trouble understanding that this might be happening. Surely, oh surely, something was going to stand in the way of this impossibly wonderful fate for her?

But the King was look-ing on with a broad beam on his face. And the

Queen, catching her eye, gave her a little, reassuring nod and smile. She was looking a little wistful and nostalgic. The fond look she exchanged with the King suggested that they were both remember-ing their own betrothal day. Then Liz glanced around the crowd, half-expecting that

there would be expressions of thinly-veiled glee on some of their faces. That they were only waiting for her to be made to look stupid again. But they were just standing, or sitting, or even lying around, looking from her to Tully with expecta-tion and bated breath.

Finally truly beginning to believe that this might all be real, Liz looked down at her Prince again. He was looking up at her with an expression that went the rest of the way to convincing her. Love, longing, anxiety, hope - she could see them all in his eyes. And she was finding that she could begin to believe it. Truly,’ he told her, ‘I wish only for you to be my bride.’ She struggled for the right reply. There was no doubt about what she wanted to say to him, but how to say it? How perverse, and how typical of a writer, she thought wryly, that – faced with an offer of everything she could ever have wanted from life – what she searched for now were the right words.

And, of course, all she could find to say was, ‘Wish granted.’ He sprang to his feet and, there and then, in front of all of those people, he finally, properly took her in his arms. She could only gaze in wonderment at the love she saw in his eyes. Smiling down at her, his face so very loving, so thank-ful, so joyful, he bent to her lips. Waves of longing, of warring disbelief – still – and of utter, utter joy so threatened to overwhelm her that she closed her eyes. And then, unbelievably, his lips were touching hers and she surrendered to her happy ever after. It was a kiss that should be written down for history. It was the kiss for which she had been waiting for days – no, not for days, what was she thinking? - for her whole life. And, as it deepened, her doubts, her lack of trust, her unhappiness, all dissolved. Hardly aware, now, of the crowd – which was now applauding and cheering as if they’d never stop - she clung to him. Clung, too, to the rising passion between them and to the complete and soul-fulfilling rapture that was flood-ing into her, suffusing her whole being. Around them, out of nowhere, fireworks began to go off. The crowd’s applause got, impossibly, louder and more enthusiastic as sparks and wheels and darts of multi-coloured light filled the sky. But Liz and her Prince were oblivious. The fireworks within were all they could ever have hoped for. And so it’s finally time for the happily ever after …