Once upon a time, in a castle on a hill, there lived twelve lovely princesses. They were strong and brave, bright and clever, the orchard of their father’s eye, and still: like all girls, these princesses had a secret. Every night they would kiss their father goodnight and take to bed. Every morning they would emerge from their chambers exhausted, yawning, their dancing shoes worn out like old paper.
Their father the king grew fearful. If his daughters were to become more and more strange, if they were to take to the wing and fly away, if they, like their mother, left him alone – and so he made a decree: anyone who could solve the mystery of the twelve weary princesses would win sixteen chests of gold and the kingdom’s finest white stallion.
It seemed as though everyone in the kingdom tried their hand. Stable boys and governesses and luthiers and scholars and tailors and mailmen and maids. All of them, one after another, camped outside the princesses’ room; one after another, they reported sheepishly to the king that no sound had been heard all night, not even one.
There was in the castle a parlour-maid named Kit. Kit liked puzzles, and tart green apples, and stomping through the nettles at the edge of the forest in her black boots. She did not like the constant stream of visitors to the castle, who rarely cleaned up after themselves, and who spent long hours commiserating in the kitchen, eating all the almond buns. She liked, very much, the youngest princess, whose name was Tamsin, and whose hair framed her face like a black cloud. One day, after she had finally shooed away the last unsuccessful treasure-seeker, Kit wiped her hands on her apron and made a decision. She was tired of strangers setting up camp in the castle halls all night. She was tired of seeing Tamsin so pale and listless. That afternoon, when she had finished sweeping and dusting and making the princesses’ twelve neat beds, she hid herself under one of them, wrapped herself up in a blanket like a fat little log, and waited.
And she waited, and waited. As they did every night, the princesses kissed their father, took to their rooms. Kit listened as they brushed their hair, as they washed their faces, as they murmured to one another, sleepily. As they blew out the last of the candles, and slept. Kit listened to their breath, a quiet tide pulled by twelve shallow winds.
And then, just as the great grandfather clock in the landing outside struck twelve, there came a strange rustling from the princesses’ beds. Kit held her breath; around her, twelve pairs of feet swung down onto the floor.
Listen, said one of them.
He’s coming, another whispered.
A sound of wind blowing through wheat-fields. A sound of ice shivering over lake-water. Kit, peering out from under the bedframe, saw one of the princesses throw open the bedroom window. A great black bird stepped inside.
The bird was large as a work-horse, black as the longest night, tall as a hollyhock. His golden eyes were the liquid center of the sun itself; his wings shone blue, green, oil-slicked. The princesses climbed, one after another, up onto his back, which did not change shape, but was somehow more than large enough to carry them all. The bird hopped up to the window-ledge.
At the last moment Kit flung herself from under the bed and scrambled onto the bird’s back after Tamsin. The bird turned to peer at her, one bright eye after another, but did not make any sound or try to shake her off; instead he plunged through the window, and flew.
He flew and flew, up over the castle, over the kingdom, the forest and the water. Tamsin glanced over her shoulder at Kit. “What,” she hissed, “are you doing? What are you doing? You cannot be here, you cannot – you will get yourself killed, don’t you care that you will – ”
“Be quiet,” Kit said, though her teeth were chattering.
The black bird flew up and up and up, past chilly, wispy clouds, past shining star-rock, past the empty soundless hollow of the night sky, up to a bank of silver stone suspended in the middle of nothingness, and Kit said out loud, astonished, “Is this the moon? Does he take you to the moon?”
“Be quiet,” Tamsin said, mock-harshly, though she gripped Kit’s arms wrapped tight around her.
The moon, if this was the moon, curved and curled, a billowing, beautiful shape, like a wave frozen solid in the middle of the sea. The black bird landed gracefully beside a bank of silver-white flowers. Beyond them, a palace rose up bright as mother-of-pearl, fanciful as a cake made for a feast. Kit slid off the bird’s back and stared around herself. “Why,” she said, blinking, “does he take you here?”
Tamsin sighed. She took Kit’s hand. “Silly girl,” she whispered. “You stupid, idiot girl. You’ll see.”
The other princesses started up the winding path towards the palace. Tamsin followed, and Kit allowed herself to be pulled up after. A sweeping colonnade opened into the palace’s grand foyer, and there, standing at the top of a curved staircase, stood a woman who was a white dove, or a white dove who was a woman – Mother, the princesses cried, and ran for her. She gathered them up in her arms, in her white wings. On her head was a silver crown.
Tamsin climbed the stairs more slowly. Kit followed, hugging herself. “Mother,” Tamsin said. “Kit, this is our mother.”
The bird-woman turned to survey Kit. “Welcome,” she said, her voice low and lovely, “to the kingdom in the sky. Eat and drink as you like. Wolf is your servant tonight, as he is mine; anything you need, he will ensure that you have.” She nodded at the black bird, standing unobtrusively by the entrance to the palace. “My daughter must think highly of you, to bring you here,” said the woman, turning her sharp gaze to Tamsin.
“No, ma’am,” said Kit. “I stowed away.”
“Indeed?” The bird-woman smiled. “How clever of you. Maybe you can convince my daughters to stay with me longer than a single night.” She swept away, leaving Kit and Tamsin staring at one another.
The night was a blur of silver, blue, gold, light. Kit ate sugar teased into the shape of a starling, drank sweet water flavoured with drifting cloud, danced with a girl whose brown wings swept the flagstones. All night Tamsin watched her. Kit found her across the room, walked over. “I am sorry for stowing away,” she said.
Tamsin laughed, briefly. “No, you’re not.”
“I am if you’re cross with me.”
“I’m not cross.” The youngest princess reached out, brushed away a loose strand of Kit’s hair. “I was worried about you.”
“You were worried?”
“You seem to be doing all right for yourself,” the princess said, dryly. “I saw you dancing with Maralet.”
Kit felt herself smile. “Oh?” she said.
“Put away that look, oh.”
“Or?” Kit wondered.
But Tamsin did not answer, only looked away, out at the crowd of creatures with the wings and grace of birds.
The night ended, at last. Wolf, the queen’s servant, gathered the princesses and Kit up on his back again, flew them silently back through the haze of dawn, down to their chamber window. The princesses crawled into bed. Tamsin lingered by the door, moved as though to speak, took Kit’s hand, pressed it to her heart. Walked away.
Kit went to see the king. He looked up when she crept into his private parlour, then frowned. “What is it?” he said irritably. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”
“I know where your daughters are going,” said Kit.
The king blinked. “You do? You?”
“They are visiting their mother. If you let them sleep during the day, or listened to them when they talk to you, you would not have any problems.” She turned to go.
“Wait!” the king cried. “What about the reward? The coffers of gold, the fine white stallion?”
Kit shrugged. “No,” she said. “Thank you.”
That evening she knocked on the princesses’ door after they had kissed their father goodnight. Tamsin answered, lovely in the candlelight, and smiled, a secret smile, half-avian. “Do not dance with Maralet,” she said. “Only dance with me.”
Kit smiled back, full of her own secrets. “All right,” she said.
The black bird came and carried them to the kingdom in the sky. The bird-queen greeted them, beautiful as moonlight. Tamsin and Kit ate candied mist and sweet blackened berry-twigs and honey-cakes infused with pearl. They danced, and looked only at each other. At the end of the night Wolf did not fly back to the kingdom below the stars. Tamsin and Kit sat on the palace wall and watched the sun rise, far below them.
