Crisanta Knight: Protagonist Bound

CHAPTER 2 WE Meet Again-3

Blue snorted, trying to hold back a laugh.

Girtha’s dense forehead creased beneath her crooked, mud-colored bangs. She took a step toward me, but Mauvrey held up her hand and the lackey restrained herself obediently.

“Bold move insulting my friends considering the company you keep,” Mauvrey replied. “Really, Crisa. Even you could do better than the she-man with knife-throwing action”—she nodded toward Blue, then angled on SJ—“and the daughter of the most gullible princess in fairytale history. I mean honestly, SJ, I have always wanted to ask, did no one ever warn your mother not to take food from strangers? Any fool with half a brain knows that. It is practically rule one.”

“Oh, and I guess only a genius would willingly stab her finger on a clearly poisoned spinning wheel spindle?” Blue snapped in SJ’s defense.

“Blue,” SJ said calmly, putting her hand on Blue’s shoulder. “Calm down.”

Blue was clearly annoyed that SJ was taking such an insult in stride, as was I. Mauvrey was such a . . . witch. (More than that really. But no one ever taught us any curse words around here so witch was about all we had to work with.)

I didn’t care what Mauvrey said about me, but harassing my friends was crossing the line. SJ was too nice a person to deserve insults like that, and Blue was still on probation for punching a classmate last semester. If Mauvrey pushed her too far, Blue would surely knock the princess’s pearly teeth in and might well be expelled for doing so. I had to direct Mauvrey’s venom back in my direction to protect them both.

“Leave SJ and Blue alone, Mauvrey. What’s the matter, run out of insults about me all of a sudden?”

“Never,” Mauvrey scoffed, easily taking the bait. “How could I when you provide so much material?” My nemesis gave me one of her signature golden-blonde hair tosses, and she and her entourage pushed their way past us into the banquet hall.

Ah, nothing says, “Welcome back to school” like a toxic exchange with an archenemy, am I right?

“You did not have to do that, Crisa,” SJ said when the prissy posse was out of earshot. “I appreciate the sentiment behind it, but Mauvrey already has it out for you. I can handle myself.”

“Really?” Blue countered. “Well, if you can handle yourself then why don’t you ever get upset when Mauvrey insults you?”

“Mauvrey is an unkind girl; it is true. But the best way to deal with such a person is to remain even-tempered and be the bigger person by still showing kindness. After all, you catch more flies with honey.”

Blue rolled her eyes. “That’s a horrible saying. People don’t want to catch flies; they want to swat them down dead.”

“I agree with Blue,” I added. “You really should react more to stuff like that, SJ.”

“And you, my friends, need to react less,” SJ chided. “You cannot allow your tempers to control you like this. You have to evaluate the situation carefully so as not to cause further damage or escalate a situation unnecessarily.”

The princess part of my subconscious knew she was right, but that didn’t make Mauvrey or the advice any less irritating.

Maybe I really should listen to SJ and learn to—

The scent of turkey wafted up my nostrils. I started walking in the direction of the banquet hall, my friends in tow. Most of the students had already taken their seats, so we scuttled to a few available chairs in the back. A couple more girls who’d arrived even later than us trailed behind.

“Hi!” Princess Marie Sinclaire said as she approached an empty seat across from SJ.

“Hi, Marie,” we all responded in unison.

Our friend Marie tucked a strand of long, platinum hair behind her ear before thoroughly brushing a hand over her chair and checking the seat before sitting down. Watching her, I concealed a small smile. This tendency of hers was funny to observe. But it was a natural habit, I supposed, when your grandmother’s fairytale was about the intense injuries received from lying down on a bed with a magic pea hidden underneath a hundred mattresses.

The enormous doors to the banquet hall closed then, signaling that dinner was about to begin. A tiny glass bell on the stage rang and we immediately quieted down like well-trained show dogs.

From behind her tall-backed chair at the teacher’s table, Lady Agnue rose. She was wearing a fuchsia dress with a high collar. Her brown hair was pulled back tightly in a regal bun. Her copper eyes shone like the ring around a solar eclipse and the sequined pretense around our place settings.

“Welcome back, ladies,” our headmistress cooed in a honey-coated voice. “I hope you are all as excited about this new school year as I am. Just a few reminders before we begin dinner this evening. The In and Out Spell will go up around the school tonight at ten o’clock sharp. From then on, the campus will once again be concealed within its wonderful, protective barrier that shall only be lowered for field trips and preapproved events with the boys from Lord Channing’s. On that note, this month’s ball will be on Saturday night. But, as a special treat, the In and Out Spell will be lowered during the afternoon so you can socialize with the boys for a majority of the day beforehand. I trust you will all behave accordingly.”

This announcement sent up a flare of animated whispers among my classmates. Usually we only socialized with the boys from our sister school, or rather, our brother school, Lord Channing’s School for Princes and Other Young Heroes, at our monthly balls or occasional tournaments. A fact, by the way, I was totally okay with. Most princes and assumed heroes tended to act like invincible idiots, so the less time I spent having to make uncomfortable small talk with them the better.

There were of course some boys who were semi-interesting to talk to. Like our friend Jason and his roommate Mark, for example. Jason was a Half-Legacy—the younger brother of the famous Jack who once climbed that overgrown beanstalk. Mark, on the other hand, was the prince of Dolohaunty and a full Legacy like me and SJ. They were both good guys—two of the few good guys out there—and I didn’t mind considering them my friends.

Thus, I conceded that this Saturday might actually be fun. Blue, Jason, and I would spend the day battle-royaling in the practice fields, and SJ and Mark would probably sit and watch us while discussing boring prince/princess stuff like the economy or trade routes.

I drifted out of my mental tangent then to discover Lady Agnue was still talking. She addressed each table in turn. When she glanced over at our table, I thought she shot me a slight glare. It might’ve just been my eyes playing tricks on me, but I wouldn’t have been surprised if she did.

To put it simply, Lady Agnue did not like me. It was no mystery why. After all, she was traditional, proper, and all about the rules, while I was a bold smart-mouth who enjoyed breaking said rules. Her loathing of me was no skin off my nose though, given that the feelings of animosity between us were fairly mutual.

Eventually, and not a moment too soon, our headmistress finished her speech and the much-awaited food was finally served.

Speaking candidly, it was probably for my own good that proper dinner etiquette kept me from eating as much or as fast as I would’ve liked to. Because I seriously love food. And tonight’s meal was definitely something to write home about. The main course was turkey, and the aroma of the roast and all its side dishes could’ve turned a vegetarian into a carnivore on the spot.

Needless to say that while catching up with the other girls around the table throughout dinner was great, what was really satisfying was shoveling way-too-large amounts of food in my mouth when my teachers weren’t looking.

Mmmm . . . mashed potatoes!

Hours later, SJ, Blue, and I were standing on the balcony of Suite 608 in our pajamas.

Supper had ended long ago and it was nearly ten o’clock, but the air was still warm with the remains of summertime. We waited in silence—SJ brushing her hair calmly, Blue munching on a roll she had stashed in her cloak from dinner, and me just staring out into the dark quietude that felt like it would last forever.

Then, right on cue, the clock struck ten and our school’s shield came down without hesitation.

The purple force field descended from the sky and encased the property like a giant snow globe. When it reached the earth, silver sparks splashed upwards from the ground like sea-spray. The dome’s erratic, quilt-like patchwork of light flashed in clusters as the magic settled, glinting between different shades of indigo and translucent white. Then, after a minute, its color gradually fizzled. The whole dome faded to a paler shade of lavender until it blended in with the night completely. As the final sparks dissipated into the air, the entire thing turned invisible—out of sight, but most certainly not out of mind.

In and Out Spells did exactly what their titles suggested. They kept anyone from going in or out of the locations they protected.

Created by the combined magic of dozens of Fairy Godmothers, these were the most powerful spells that could be cast. Moreover, they had proven to be impervious to any attempts at breaking them in recorded history.

As far as we knew, there were four continuously active In and Out Spells in Book. One was around the entire realm and had been cast in the before times. This enchanted barrier protected our realm from the others—keeping us safe and completely separate from the various worlds that existed beyond Book.

The second spell was around the Indexlands (the forest where the Author was said to live). Meanwhile the third spell encased the kingdom of Alderon.

We didn’t talk about Alderon much—not here or anywhere. Lying on the eastern outskirts of the realm between the Indexlands and the Valley of Strife, it was the kind of place people feared. And, as with anything they feared, instead of facing the issue head on, people tried to push thoughts of it back to the farthest corners of their minds.

Unlike the other versions of the enchantment, Alderon’s version of the In and Out Spell was unique in that it was only designed to work at half capacity. Meaning that people could go in, but no one could ever get out. The reason for this was that, while our realm’s rulers did not want any of the kingdom’s residents to escape, they also wanted the freedom to regularly add to its population if need be.

See, most of the monsters and antagonists in our realm used to come from Alderon. So, long ago, Book’s Godmothers decided to block it off from the rest of the realm preemptively and use it as a vast prison. This way all newly captured villains, monsters, witches, magic hunters, etc. could be sentenced to one place from which they could not escape. And the rest of us were proactively protected from them, as well as from the horrible people and creatures that were said to be born there every day.

Talk about nipping a problem in the bud.

The last In and Out Spell in Book was the one around Lady Agnue’s. It was a full version of the spell like the others, but it was also a bit more basic. Not needing to be as strong, it only prevented people (and the occasional detrimental flux of weather) from penetrating its borders, while animals like birds, frogs, and deer could pass through at will.

Personally, I thought it was both stupid and insulting to have such an intense form of protection surrounding our school. Because, first of all, I highly doubted any of us actually needed to worry about threats coming to eliminate us. We were princesses, for goodness’ sake. As much as it pained me to admit it, the closest we ever came to mortal peril around here was when we wore heels on the lawn just after it’d been watered.

Furthermore, if we actually were in the amount of constant danger our severe security system warranted, Lady Agnue’s should’ve been teaching us how to protect ourselves against it, not hiding us from it like children in a lightning storm. We were princesses, not daisies. Just because we often came wrapped in gowns and glitter didn’t mean we couldn’t pack a punch. Frankly, I believed that we all had the potential to. That underneath the tiaras and the makeup, we could be just like the diamonds so many of us wore around our necks—a rare combination of shining and hard to break.

Alas, the school’s staff evidently disagreed with that sentiment and felt its “defenseless damsel” students needed to be constantly guarded from the threatening folks of the outside world.

Meanwhile, the boys’ school had no such magical prison around it because, unlike us, they were trained to fend for themselves.

Cue second major eye roll for the day.

The spell around Lady Agnue’s was activated when each school year began. Once it was, no human being could leave or enter the school grounds unless the barrier was lowered by a team of Fairy Godmothers. And that only happened for our monthly balls, other social events with Lord Channing’s, such as tournaments or similarly competitive sporting events, and the occasional heavily guarded field trip to somewhere off campus.

I watched the force field’s last spark merge into the night and wondered what my friends were thinking. It was impossible to tell. They both gazed out at the cloudless sky with blank expressions that made them appear much more solemn than teenage girls ever should.

After some time, the wind began to pick up and the three of us returned inside to prepare for bed.

SJ combed out the last few waves in her long black hair. Blue gently tucked her hunting knife into its sheath like a young girl tucking a precious doll into its bassinet. And I took off the pumpkin-shaped earrings I wore each day—a special gift from my mother that I’d worn since I was young.

The earrings were tiny and silver, and consistently reminded me of her. “Pumpkin” being what she’d always called me.

It was a cute pet name. Once, when I’d asked her why she’d selected it, she told me that it was because pumpkins, like so many things in life, could become more than people give them credit for. An idea she believed she’d learned from personal experience.

I didn’t argue that this was a nice thought. However, it was also one that perplexed me. After all, the people in our land submissively lived by the oppressive mandate that they couldn’t be anything besides what the Author had chosen. Ideas like change were beaten out of us from the very beginning. Example: in preschool I once told a teacher that when I grew up I was going to be a swordsmith who made blades by day and fought crime by night. And she’d responded by making me sit in the corner in a tiny throne facing the wall for the rest of the day—no recess, no talking, and tiara on at all times.

That was just one of the more mild forms of punishment I’d endured over the years for my resistance to the norm. Everywhere I’d gone in life the idea of a static existence had been banged into me. Our rulers had perfected a world of safe, stable, tried and true standards of conduct. Thus, they insisted that change was a concept we should never humor, much less believe in.

Still . . .

Despite all of this, and the backlash I’d gotten over the years, I held on to the hopeful idea proposed by mother’s nickname just as firmly as I did the notion that it might well be false. Both thoughts hung from my head on a daily basis, just like the very earrings that represented their duality. And I concurrently dreaded and looked forward to the day when one of the two sentiments would reveal itself as truth.

Placing the earrings on my nightstand, I kicked off my slippers as I hopped into bed.

“Well, here comes another exciting school year,” Blue said sarcastically from across the room. She proceeded to bury herself under her comforter like an animal burrowing into its den. A moment later, SJ turned out the last light illuminating our room.

“Sleep well, all,” she added.

As if, I thought in response to both their statements. With that, I closed my eyes and wished for some peace of mind that I knew would never come.