The princess was weeping on the battlements. Below, the lights of the city twinkled and the noises of the party—her party—drifted upwards. The city was in celebration of the heir to the throne. Bonfires burned throughout the streets. Music played from all corners, making a discordant noise as the melodies jumbled together here, high up, on the walls of Castle Foyle. It was Princess Sybil’s curse that even at her own party, most of the city did not notice her, did not know her own unhappiness. Even those noble members of the court senior, accomplished, and connected enough to be invited to the royal celebration, paid her little notice, as they were caught up in the competition to gain favor of her parents. A fleeting word, a glance, from the king or queen would boost or crush an ego for these hangers-on and sycophants. So it was with little disruption that she had fled while the social climbers, the obsequious servants, the up-and-comers jockeyed for position.
Sade had grown to know them all. He had learned to be observant in the intervening years since he and his brother had come to Foyle Island. At first they both labored as longshoremen where in the comings and goings of trade many of the city’s secrets were laid bare before them. In time, Sade had become a tutor to children of wealthy families and from there an interpreter, for he quickly picked up the Oceanic Tongue and many of those on Foyle did not speak the Common Tongue. While his brother maintained their contacts at the city’s feet, mingling among commoners, Sade soon learned the ways of personalities of the ruling class. Even the king knew him by name as an expert translator and useful advisor. So his power had grown and it was natural that he would be invited to the celebration of Sybil Foyle’s coming of age at the castle—with its grand foyers, its high windows looking out over the sea, and of course its majestic tree with the silver bark and blue leaves, a living jewel, the heart of the island.
What a tree it was. Most islanders saw it as a mighty symbol of their heritage with thick, bountiful boughs and a high crown that caught the first and last rays of the sun each day. But it took a sorcerer’s eye to see the raw power, the untapped enchantments, woven into its fibers. Full of life and light they were, but Sade knew that could be changed. He was actually determined to make sure it was.
In the pocket of his cloak, he had the key. He only needed to wait for the right time. As he watched Sybil bury her face in her hands, her sorrow such a contrast to the cheerful, sparkling dress she wore, he knew the time had come. For he had watched the girl. He knew her discontent, her fear could bring this royal house down.
“Why do you weep, your Highness?” he said, approaching her where she crouched between two balustrades.
“Don’t call me ‘Highness.’ Leave me alone,” she said, running away. She came to a corner of the castle and turned into the round top of a tower where she fell to her knees beside a flag pole. It shook as the sea wind snapped the banner hoisted there displaying her house’s seal: a blue tree with a crown of stars on a field colored russet, like a sunset. It was a stubborn reminder of the responsibilities and obligations she could not hide from as a princess coming of age.
There should have been guards about, but even they had slipped off for s sip or two of strawberry wine. It left the two of them alone. Sade followed her to the tower top. No torches burned there. The only light was that which shone from the bonfires below. Considering the play of light and shadow, one might imagine the city burning and the castle under siege.
“Your Highness, it is not fitting for you to be so unhappy on your birthday.”
“I said to leave me alone.”
“I have,” Sade said, allowing some edge to creep into his voice. “I could have called the entire court to my side. I am sure your parents would want you back in your place at their table. But I have not. It is only me and I have respected your wish to be alone. Perhaps I understand you better than the others.”
She looked up from behind her hands, her eyes glistening before she shut them again and sobbed, “I don’t want to grow up.”
Sade knelt beside her. “I know,” he said. “For I see all.”
Her sobbing stopped and she looked at him again, as if considering him for the first time.
“Do you know me, child?”
“Yes. You are Master Beckham, translator and advisor to the court. You also tutor the children of some of the lords and ladies.”
“That I am and so I have watched and studied all that is around me. I know, like you, all the phony faces of nobles present, all the petty games they play, and all the heavy responsibilities that come to your parents as rulers of it all.”
“I don’t like it and I don’t want any of it,” she spat.
“You want to stay a little girl?”
She sniffed and nodded. “I miss when I was younger and mother, father, and I would go for picnics on the slopes and play down on the beach, catching crabs, digging for clams. I’d get dirty and mother would not mind. But now it is all about sitting like a lady, speaking like a lady, walking like a lady. I hate it.”
Sade rubbed the hem of her dress between his fingers. Sparkling stones sewn into its lace winked in the light so that she glittered as she moved. “It is a beautiful dress.”
“It is the last time I shall wear it. It is my favorite but mother says I must replace it, that it is for a little girl and that I will soon outgrow it.”
“So much pressure to leave your childhood behind. It’s a tragedy we force children to grow up so soon. I miss being a child.”
“I don’t want to stop being one.”
“Then don’t,” Sade said, releasing the dress and reaching into a pocket of his cloak. He withdrew a wand made of pale wood. It radiated a faint blue light in the darkness. “Do you know what this is?”
“A wand?”
“Yes, made from the wood of the Silver Tree.”
“The Great Tree, in the courtyard?”
“Yes. It is powerful Sybil. And I give it to you as a birthday present. But it is the last one you will ever need, for with it you can accomplish wonders.”
“But I do not have the gift of magic.”
“You don’t need it. It is an endowed object. It is a lost art. Mages once wove spells into steel swords, wooden staffs, or canvass sails, so that people without the gift could call on magic when they needed it.”
“Why was it lost?”
“This is old lore which you do not need to be worried about. This wand, I made especially for you, so that it only responds to your will, your wishes.” He handed it to her and she immediately pointed its tip at his chest. Sade felt a great hallow open up in the pit of his stomach. Had he made a grave miscalculation? A bead of sweat formed on his temple and rolled down his face. He strained to project the same steady calm and compassion towards Sybil, while ever so gently taking her by the wrist and pointing the wand away. “You must be careful whom you point it at,” he said, clearing his throat.
“Why, what will it do to you?”
“You would experiment on the only friend who understands you?”
Years living in the royal court had taught Sybil a few things. She was not naïve. “You want something. My father says everybody wants something from you when you are royal.”
The best lies have a kernel of truth.
“Sybil, you know me as Master Beckham, but I go by a different name I will share with you now. It is Sade. I am a member of an order of sorcerers. Once I was also a prince but I had no desire to take on the role of king. I wanted nothing to do with all the boring ceremony, the pompous nobles, the phony parasites. So the man who would become my mentor presented me a wand like this that allowed me to stop time, to keep myself from aging.”
“But you are a grownup now.”
Sade smiled and whispered, “I only appear so, but what if I told you I was a hundred years old.” He shared the lie the way a hunter would lay a trap.
“I would not believe you.”
“Very well, you might not. But you will believe me when the same gift is bestowed on you. But first, you must stop time for all those around you.”
“How?”
“Will it through the wand. No need for anyone to be hurt, just petrify them. The more you freeze, the more you lock into stone, the longer your life will be.”
The tear tracks were drying on her face. A trembling smile was forming at the corner of her mouth. She held the wand with two hands, her thumbs rubbing its wood, her knuckles locked. He knew by the look in her eye that she was his.