One Horn to Rule Them All: A Purple Unicorn Anthology Read online

  But so were the others.

  “Let me see him,” Lady Penela said, reaching for him.

  Amy, not wanting yet to relinquish her new pet, turned away. Then she was facing Countess Primrose, who petted it, but tried to use the gesture as an opportunity to lift it out of Amy’s arms.

  “Oh, come, my sister. I want to hold him.”

  “No!” Amy said, batting her hand away. “Wait! Not yet!”

  “But he is so cute,” said Lady Anatolia.

  The girls began to fight over who got to hold the dragonet. Amy turned this way and that to avoid their grasp.

  “He’s mine!” Amy protested. Her round face flushed red. The other girls were relentless, circling her like alligators in a pond.

  “But we share everything!”

  “Let me hold him.”

  “See? He wants to come to me!”

  Battered and bumped in their midst, the baby dragon’s crooning turned to whimpers, then screeches of fear.

  “No,” Corema said, hands raised in warning. “He’s still a dragon! Look out!”

  Too late. In terror for its life, the little dragon belched out a tongue of flame. Silk dresses ignited. Windesa was prepared with an extinguisher spell, since they were dealing in dragons. She put out the flames, but it was too late. Princess Amy’s dress was ruined. The girl glared at the dragonet, at her friends, and at the wizardesses. She began breathing hard. Her pink face turned scarlet, and she squeezed her eyes tight shut. To Windesa’s horror, the girl began to grow. And grow. And grow. The blush turned to brick red as she increased in size, towering over the rest of the courtiers. The lacings of her fashionably tight corset broke with the sound of sprung harp strings.

  “You ruined it!” Princess Amy shrieked, her face now over a yard across. “My special new gown! It was the latest style! A dragon is not new! How dare you give me something old!”

  Lady Penela turned into a puff of green smoke, abandoning her scorched garments. The others scattered in haste, getting out of the way of their playmate’s now gigantic feet.

  Windesa feared the dragon might go off again. She hurried to retrieve the infant creature, now forgotten and sitting alone on the floor amidst the shrieking girls, looking panic-stricken. Windesa grabbed him up and held his snout closed.

  As she straightened, an enormous shadow fell over her. Fingers as thick as her leg closed around her narrow ribcage, squeezing her so tightly she squeaked. The huge hand lifted her off the ground, and brought her close to two glaring red eyes and an open maw filled with long, sharp, white teeth.

  “I don’t like it!”

  Windesa had seen Princess Amy freak, but not with so many different stimuli. Her heart pounded with fear, and dismay. They could all die. Hoping to touch the core of the girl that was still human, she held out the small dragon. Bravely, it blinked its large blue eyes at Amy and flapped its tiny crystalline wings.

  “Now, princess, he wanted to show you how much he loves you!”

  “Take him away!” the ogre that was Amy screamed. Her shrill voice, magnified a dozen times by the increased size of her windpipe, filled the room. The rest of the courtiers turned and fled, leaving the king and queen and the guards trembling. “You bring me a dragon that is four seasons old! I want something new! Right away!”

  The small dragon whimpered. It scrambled up Windesa’s arms and hid behind her neck.

  Windesa ignored the bleeding scratches and the rents in her best court gown. She smiled calmly at the girl, even while Amy shook her like a terrier with a rat.

  “Calm … yourself … high … ness,” she stammered. Amy held her high in the air and opened her mouth wide, dangling her over a two-yard-long red tongue. She was going to eat Windesa! “Now … highness … think of … your diet! Too … much … protein gives … you nightmares!”

  Amy deflated suddenly. She dropped the wizardess and dragonet.

  “Cushion!” Windesa barked. The air gathered itself into an enormous, translucent pillow that caught her before she hit the floor. The dragonet let out a startled “Peep!”

  The apprentices hurried to help Windesa to her feet, but she waved them away and went to comfort the princess. Once again, Amy had become just a teenaged girl in a torn dress. She climbed into her throne and rocked back and forth on the down-filled cushions, her arms around her knees.

  “I don’t want to have bad dreams!” she cried.

  “Now, now, princess,” Windesa soothed her, stroking the girl’s hair with a gentle hand. “You know I won’t let that happen. I must go. My apprentices will see to your wardrobe.” She shot a poisonous glance at Ingvie, who hurried up, readying a repair spell. “We will seek to amuse you better another time.”

  With a courtly dip of her head but keeping her spine stick-straight, Windesa marched out of the throne room. The presentation had been a failure. All the buildup had been for nothing, because of bad research.

  * * *

  The little dragon ate from the cats’ bowl in the corner while the wizardesses conferred until late in the evening. Ingvie didn’t say a word all afternoon. She was ashamed, and Windesa was not letting her off lightly for her failure. The apprentice’s mistake reflected poorly upon her. Windesa was lucky not to have been eaten; the girl would have paid dearly for that. As it was, she felt as if her efforts had been set back months.

  “What has been done?” she asked, at last.

  “Better to ask what hasn’t,” Corema said, opening a thick codex, the style book that dated back to the day of Princess Amy’s birth. “Our predecessors have tried everything, it looks like.”

  Windesa skimmed a few turns of the heavy white pages, then pushed it away. She frowned, trying to come up with the most obscure creature she knew.

  “Minotaurs?” she asked.

  Corema ran a finger down the illuminated index. “Six years ago, for her tenth birthday.”

  “Giants?”

  “Twice, when she was two and three. She liked them. It says so in the comments.”

  “Talking flowers?”

  “Yes.”

  “Singing flowers?”

  “Yes.”

  Windesa was beginning to feel desperate.

  “Dancing rosebushes?”

  “Yes. And lilacs and lilies and oak trees. All of them were part of spring festivals, during,” Corema peered down the list, “Princess Amy’s third, seventh, and ninth years.”

  The wizardess wrung her long hands together.

  “Very well. Let us cross-reference the mythic bestiary, the royal treasury, and the kingdom herbal together with the record. There must be something that none of our predecessors have offered as a royal gift. Something no one else has tried in history! We must do what is new and different! You cannot tell me there are no new ideas. We must find one!”

  * * *

  The princess still demanded marvels on a weekly basis. She threw increasingly unsubtle hints about the approach of her upcoming birthday, when she would turn sixteen. A marriageable age, though Windesa felt sorry for any husband who might be chosen for her. A suitable wonder was called for, and she hoped that they could discover something that would do the trick.

  While their research went forward, they were forced to produce minor amusements of varied kinds for the princess and her court. With varying degrees of success, they presented new fashions, magical gowns that changed color or texture, mirrors that flattered one with tailored compliments, sweetmeats that shifted from flavor to flavor in sequence from subtle to outrageous, even a luxurious pillow that carried one into the air like a bird. Each time, they offered only one gift, because too many choices bewildered the princess.

  Two factions erupted in the bevy of noblewomen. One, led by Countess Primrose, rejected every new gift as being tedious and stupid. The other, under the sway of Lady Anatolia, was willing to like the magical treats and toys, but only if Windesa pleaded with them to accept them with as much unctuousness and humility as she could muster. If the object was acceptable, but
the pleading was insufficient, they would reject it. Those girls! They may have been born on the right side of the noble coverlet, but they were as common gossips as any village maiden who ever sat on a ducking stool. They made snippy comments upon Windesa’s wonders, spoiling Amy’s pleasure in them. Windesa knew it was sheer jealousy. Their parents had not hired wonderworkers for their daughters.

  “These pillows, wizardess,” said Marquise Adamine, fingering the broad silken cushion on which she had just taken what by all evidence had been a ride she enjoyed enormously. “They are … somewhat interesting. But …”

  “But what, your ladyship?” Windesa asked, curtsying low. The pillows were a work of art. Everyone in the court had admired them enormously.

  “But they are purple.” Adamine patted a yawn daintily with her fingers. “That is so … ordinary.”

  “Ordinary, madame?” Windesa asked, as if she could not believe her ears. She could not voice her outrage. Ordinary? It was incredibly difficult to make royal purple. It required fairy dust from the Stone King’s realm and three kinds of precious gems, all mixed together in a cauldron in the dark of the moon.

  “Yes,” Princess Amy said, hastily echoing her friend. “Ordinary. And boring. We hate boring. They should be black.”

  The other girls smiled smugly, knowing they had had their way again.

  Windesa swallowed all the bilious words that came boiling up in her throat. She could only say, “Very well, your highness. I only wish to please you.”

  The amethyst hue had been so difficult to achieve, and so lovingly applied to the precious silk. But with a fierce wave of her hand, Windesa blotted it out. The pillows became unadorned black, which was the way she probably should have made them in the first place.

  “My birthday is next week,” Princess Amy reminded the wizardesses as they curtseyed and prepared to depart. “You had better come up with something really wonderful. You have to make something for my ladies, too. But mine must be the most special one of all.”

  Windesa retreated, chivvying her apprentices before her. She worried that she would not have a job one week from then. Amy didn’t want to stand out too much, but she wanted to be first among equals. It was a difficult balancing act, for all of them.

  * * *

  “It is so trying that they cannot see how wonderful these things are,” Saisun said, when they returned to the workroom in the tall tower.

  “They can see it,” Corema said. “But it is too easy for them. We beg them to accept our work, giving them the chance to reject it.”

  “All that tells me is that they really don’t know what they want,” Ingvie mused, “except it is whatever they do not have now. And it must be black. There are so many colors in the world!”

  “It’s not the color,” Windesa said. “It is the rigidity of peer pressure. They feel safe not having to make a decision beyond that one point, no matter what they give up by making it.”

  “Alas for that beautiful purple!” Ingvie said, her lovely face a mask of sorrow. “I stirred that cauldron for hours. And they made you blot it out in a twinkling. They don’t appreciate anything we do.”

  “But what is the answer?” Negara asked, holding her hands out, palms up. “We can’t not offer them the finest that we have at hand. We must not hold back our best. What example would it set if we did?”

  Windesa was caught off guard. She turned to regard her youngest apprentice with astonishment. “Say that again, my child.”

  The young apprentice repeated her words, looking bemused.

  Windesa favored her with a maternal smile. “You are absolutely wrong, dear. We should hold back our best. We must make them demand what they don’t have. We must turn this state of things around, so that instead of us begging her to accept our gift, she will beg us to give it to her.”

  “And how do we do that?” Negara asked.

  “By making our best idea an exclusive one. By not presenting it on a silver platter. They want to be the only ones with something. But we can do that, too. We shall make her demand that which is new and different.”

  “How will we figure out what that is?”

  Windesa looked at the bookshelf ruefully.

  “Research, my children. And this time we will make no mistakes.”

  * * *

  After another weary night in a string of long and weary nights, Negara raised her head. Her pale green eyes were rimmed with red, but she looked triumphant.

  “Unicorns,” she said.

  Windesa had been drowsing over the enormous book that contained the entire catalog of the treasures held by the kings and queens of Biggleswade over the nine centuries the kingdom had been united under that name. She blinked.

  “Unicorns? Are you sure?”

  “Yes, mistress,” Negara said. “Winged horses, water horses, fairy horses, horse-headed nymphs and goat-hoofed satyrs, miniature ponies and giant war horses, but never a unicorn.”

  “Hmm,” Windesa mused. “I wonder why?”

  * * *

  Over the course of the next few weeks, Windesa threw herself and her apprentices into research, unscrolling tome after dusty tome and gathering stories from gaffers and gammers, hedge witches and storytellers in the surrounding countryside. Of course unicorns roamed—or had roamed—Biggleswade at one time. Their present absence was undoubtedly due to the propensity of King Foghorr and his ancestors to ride out and slaughter anything that moved, whether they planned to eat it or not. The celebrated Blue Unicorn of Biggleswade was a symbol that had ceased to have any real meaning except as an oath of disbelief and the occasional sign hanging by the door of a country pub or two. Windesa shared a cup of wine or two with the local wise men and women as they speculated on whether unicorns were lucky. The general consensus seemed to be that it was, if for no other reason than one would be lucky to see a unicorn at all.

  * * *

  “Unicorns?” Princess Amy asked, as Windesa stood before her. The noble ladies leaned forward, listening eagerly. “You will bring me a unicorn for my birthday?”

  Windesa allowed her one wintry smile. She did not want to seem too eager.

  “Yes, your highness. Like the unicorns of legend, these are biddable, beautiful creatures with a single horn of pearl.”

  “I like that idea,” Amy said, sitting back in her throne with a pleased expression. “I want one.”

  “We do, too, dear princess,” said Lady Anatolia, eagerly. “We must each have one.”

  “You know about unicorns, don’t you?” Countess Primrose laughed, her dark cheeks creased with glee. “They are only attracted to … certain damsels. I didn’t think you qualified!”

  Lady Anatolia made a sour face. “If these are magic unicorns, they shouldn’t care about things like that!”

  A few girls tittered behind their hands, but Windesa knew that Princess Amy had never had relations with men, so the legend would not bother her. In any case, Lady Anatolia was correct.

  “Make it so,” Amy said. She waved her hand imperiously. “That will be a suitable birthday present for me.”

  * * *

  The tower was a buzz of activity. Corema drew the correct invoking pentacle on the scrubbed stone floor of the workroom. Saisun hummed a sweet tune as she sifted the finely ground powdered gemstones that would go into the cauldron with the potion that Ingvie was very carefully concocting on the high worktable. Windesa, erect upon her tall stool, dictated the spell to Negara. The girl scribed the first fifteen verses in silver ink onto a sheet of virgin vellum with a pen made from a feather plucked from the right wing of the castle’s most senior raven. Windesa stopped to refresh herself with a goblet of wine. The cup was enchanted to keep the pale vintage at the perfect temperature.

  “These verses will form the magical eggs from which will hatch our unicorns,” Windesa said.

  “Do they all have to be black?” Negara asked, a little sadly. “Not even one pretty roan one? Or blue? Or green?”

  “Not all,” Windesa said, with a con
spiratorial smile. “I have something much more interesting in mind. Now, listen carefully to the final clause of the spell.”

  As she unfolded the last three verses, the four girls’ faces lit up. At the end, they were all beaming.

  * * *

  One week later, the girls all crowded around the enormous basket to watch the hatching of the unicorn eggs in the tower. Pieces of shell flew outward with explosive bangs and cracks as the tiny creatures kicked themselves free. The infant unicorns, the size of miniature greyhounds, that emerged from the eggs underneath the soft feathers of Windesa’s pet phoenix were exquisite in every way. All the girls marveled over their slim, delicate legs and goatlike hooves. Their coats were glossy black, and their tiny single horns pure white and soft like a kitten’s ears.

  All but one egg. Windesa let Negara care for that one particularly. She had sprinkled it with special dust of a different color. It rocked more than the others. The shards of eggshell burst outward, and the last unicorn was born.

  It was purple. Its coat was amethyst, and its eyes were the same hue as a stormy sky. It bounded out of the nest over the backs of its brothers and sisters and danced around the room like a tiny whirlwind. In fact, it was the most beautiful of the entire herd. The girls were concerned for Windesa’s sanity.

  “Are you certain about this, mistress?” Ingvie asked. “Princess Amy will have a terrible fit when she sees that!”

  “She will not,” Windesa assured her.

  “Why not?”

  “Because we are not giving it to her. She has no reason to fuss.”

  “Why create it, then?”

  The enchantress smiled enigmatically.

  “You’ll see.”

  * * *

  One week later, Princess Amy’s birthday dawned. The castle was in a tizzy of preparation. Guests streamed into the capital city from all over the known world. The aristocrats whose daughters were Amy’s companions arrived with vast entourages, filling every available sleeping room, stable, storeroom, and side chamber for miles around.

  The apprentices stayed out of the way in the tower. In any case, they had plenty to do caring for the unicorn herd. The heraldic beasts grew with remarkable speed. They required ten meals a day, and were so eager to explore their surroundings that Windesa had to erect a magical barrier across the stairwell and over every window lest they bound through them and spoil the surprise by falling into the courtyard. They weren’t pegasi, after all.