Princess of the Midnight Ball - Jessica Day George [39]
“There’s more,” Ulrike said, leaning over the table and whispering so that their hysterical neighbors would not hear. “Westfalin has been placed under Interdict.”
Jutta shuddered and her husband put his arm around her, his expression horrified. Galen was so busy worrying about Rose that he almost didn’t hear.
“Interdict?” he said finally, shaking himself. “You don’t mean …”
“I do,” Ulrike breathed. “No mass. No marriages, no funerals, no christenings. For anyone.” Ulrike took a shaky sip of tea and splashed some on her dress in the process. She blotted at the stain with her handkerchief, not really seeming to care.
“The royal governess is a witch?” Jutta frowned. “She comes here from time to time, for tea. She always seemed so kind.”
Galen shook his head. “It’s a ploy to get the princesses to confess to something they didn’t do, to appease the foreign kings. At least you can’t execute royalty for witchcraft. Can you?”
“No, but you can force a king to abdicate,” Jutta said, shaking her head.
Her husband looked at Galen. “Are they guilty, do you think? Have you seen anything suspicious at the palace?”
Galen envisioned little Petunia running shrieking through the hedge maze. It was madness to think of her being a witch. Or delicate Pansy and quiet, gracious Lily. Poppy was a wild one, he thought with a small smile, but he still couldn’t believe such a thing of her. And it was certain that her twin, Daisy, and the devout Hyacinth were not witches.
And Rose?
“Impossible,” he said, putting down his teacup. “It’s impossible for any of those girls—I mean, the princesses—to be witches.”
“Well,” Jutta’s husband said, leaning back in his chair. “It makes sense that something unnatural is afoot, doesn’t it?” He was a large, thoughtful man with thick blond hair and a placid expression. “And they won’t say what it is, will they? And then these princes come, and try to find out, and they die for their trouble.”
Galen clenched his fists. “They are not witches.”
Jutta raised her eyebrows at his vehement tone. “You must admit, however, that all these deaths are suspicious.” She lowered her voice. “And you’ve probably never heard the rumors about Queen Maude.”
“What rumors?” Ulrike looked curiously at Jutta. “All I’ve ever heard about her was how much she loved her garden.” She wrinkled her nose. “Of course, this all comes from Father, who probably loves the garden more than the queen and king put together.”
“Well”—Jutta looked around to make sure that no one was listening in—“the king and queen didn’t have any children for a long, long time. After a while they became very sorrowful over it: they never had any parties, the queen hardly left the Fol—the garden. Then one day, they threw a huge ball and started telling everyone that they knew they’d be blessed with a child within the next year. And they were: Princess Rose. And then, after years of being barren, Queen Maude gave birth to twelve daughters, right in a row. Very strange, don’t you think?”
This gave Galen pause. Walter had said a few things about the old queen, as well. Could she have used magic to have her twelve daughters? It was very strange, as Jutta said. They sat in silence for a while, sipping tea that had gone cold and crumbling sweet rolls that no one had any appetite for.
“Do they have any other choice?” Galen said finally. “The king must confess to witchcraft or be excommunicated? And if he does confess, isn’t the penalty excommunication anyway? And what about the governess? Hanging?” He looked at his cousin.
Ulrike shook her head. Her father had not told her the details, if he even knew them. Then she grimaced. It was clear to all of them that there was little hope for King Gregor and his twelve daughters.
“I’m going to find out more,” Galen said. He threw down his napkin and got to his feet. He nodded a farewell to Jutta and her husband, and took his cousin’s arm. “You’d better come home as well.” He frowned at the panicky people