YA fairy tales in an original fantasy world
Once in a hidden queendom…
Little Red Riding Hood has an encounter with a ghost and a wolf.
A girl becomes captive of the king but Rumpelstiltskin may have the magic to help her.
When a door appears in the wall of thorns around a cursed kingdom, a Feline girl accidentally wakes Sleeping Beauty with a kiss.
Previously titled Love In The Gilded Age
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XANNA (A novella)
The Rimean winter had already set hooks into the small fishing village of Linxe, turning pathways into treacherous death traps and coating rooftops with icicles poised to spear passersby. Snow fell thick as always, the blizzard not deterred a bit by the drop in temperature. Xanna Kiejn ran down the road, skidding along patches of invisible ice to speed her up. Her red umbrella bobbed against her dark hair, jumping up and down like an eager child.
She’d been waiting for her mother to send her to the bakery all week, and now that she was on her way she was determined to bewitch him. Him. The baker’s son. His name was Alim and he looked like a storm cloud made flesh, all dark and brooding and antisocial. To Xanna, he was a perfect mystery, a daydream she was determined to make real.
In her haste, and caught up in a fantasy, she slammed into the back of a fisherman unloading crates from his boat. “Sorry,” she called over her shoulder, wincing at the red-faced man.
The scent of fresh bread cut through the brine-and-air smell of Linxe, beckoning Xanna with a wistful stomach rumble. Stepping over the threshold and folding her umbrella down, Xanna’s stomach writhed for a completely different reason. He was here. Alim. Sat behind the honey wood counter placing bread rolls into a basket for the woman with the perpetual upturned nose and pursed mouth who lived across from Xanna.
Alim didn’t bother to look up at her but that was alright; she hadn’t expected anything more of him.
Xanna was barely conscious of the old woman shoving past as she brushed stray drops of melted snow from her black coat—the one her grandmother had once insisted made her look paler, like one of the Skineaters in the black sea—and stepped up to the counter. She said, very authoritatively, “I’ll take half a dozen tangerine rolls.”
Alim grunted.
Progress.
Xanna arranged her features into scathing disinterest, dialling down the pleasant smile she usually wore. It was a countenance learned from her grandmother, who had been as intimidating as she was beautiful, even at eighty. Elder Kiejn knew exactly how to turn your admiration into a wicked sharp weapon. Xanna didn’t think she was quite hitting wicked sharp yet, but she’d gotten past blunt which was a feat in itself.
“Bag?” Alim asked without raising his head. Dark curls tumbled around his face.
“Yes.” Xanna stopped the please from rolling off her tongue. Sophisticated, desirable girls didn’t say please or thank you.
The façade was ruined, however, when Elder Tulinar the baker came from the back room, a tray in her hands and a smile on her face for Xanna. Sophisticated girls would scowl but as much as it hurt to admit it, Xanna was not sophisticated—and she didn’t want to be rude to an Elder. She smiled, just a small thing but a defeat nonetheless.
Alim wasn’t watching her anyway—he’d wandered off to line up baskets in the window. He’d left her bag of tangerine rolls on the counter.
“Aren’t you a curious one,” Elder Tulinar remarked as Xanna scooped up her purchase. “What have you been bred with?”
Xanna wished politeness would allow her a scowl. She was odd, or so she’d been told. She had Rimean eyes that curved down at their corners with pupils of darkest blue and irises of palest grey, but they were set in a face too long in its oval shape, too strange with its long nose and sunshine colouring to ever be Rimean.
She could have told Elder Tulinar that she was a mix of Rimean and Spring, that her mother had been born in the neighbouring realm and her family had migrated north in her youth, but the baker had been rude about asking. Xanna turned and left, stung at the insensitive question and irritated at Alim’s instant dismissal of her. She’d worked so hard to be something different, something new and appealing, but it didn’t make a difference. Alim could see through her pretence to what was hiding underneath—a girl who spoke to Elders with respect and courtesy, who attended the Saints temple each week beginning, who tried exceptionally hard to be a good person, who wasn’t exciting in the least.
Xanna would have to face the truth eventually—she would only ever be beloved of Elders, never of handsome young men.
*
Xanna stormed away from the bakery umbrella thumping her hood like a battle drum. In a few short minutes she’d gone from excited to impress Alim to wanting to do anything but continue this excursion. If she could just go home instead of crossing town to the sea market she’d be happier. Xanna wanted to throw herself onto her bed where the comforter would muffle her screams of frustration. Not only had she been ignored by Alim—again—but her sophisticated façade had shattered spectacularly and Alim’s mother had drawn attention to Xanna’s uncommon appearance.
Down in the Realm of Middling Spring, where the land sat between Summer and Rime, there was no common appearance. Nobody was expected to have skin as pale as snow or opalescent as a seashell. People were of brown skin and black skin and golden skin like her own. Xanna wondered what mattered in the Realm of Middling Spring, how people judged others of being worthy of attention. It certainly wasn’t by their appearance.
Maybe when she’d completed her education, her mother would let her visit the neighbouring realm and Xanna would get to see the complexities and traditions of Spring for herself. Crossing the briny streets that would take her closer to the Silver Sea and the market, Xanna found herself warming to the idea. A learning year, it was called—taking a year for travel and study of the other realms. But would they have enough money to fund it?
She tucked the idea away for further inspection and made a snap decision to cut across the park that separated this side of Linxe from the market. Mama wouldn’t be happy. She was superstitious; she said the park was rife with beasts and terrors but Xanna had never believed a single one of her mother’s stories. Her grandmother’s stories, however … those were as true as the sea on a storm night. The omens and legends she had spun were genetic, passed from Kiejn Elder to Kiejn Elder. People called the stories magic, some even said her grandmother had been a mage, but to Xanna it was ordinary. She didn’t question how the exact tales came to be; she believed them with a reverent belief, heeded their warnings and followed their instructions unfailingly.
But Xanna’s grandmother never had any tales about the park.
Linxe’s central park was a thicket of dense branches and slick grasses, the sea’s damp breath somehow finding its way through the heavy blanket of leaves overhead. The light was different here, diffused and irregular, appearing at random. What little light reached Xanna was soaked up by her crimson umbrella, which she refused to fold down even though the snow didn’t touch this place. The park felt like magic and mystery, like walking through one of Elder Kiejn’s tales. Xanna wouldn’t have been shocked if a tear drinker stepped onto the path to offer her a life-altering bargain.
Within minutes, the park had passed Xanna by without a magical incident and she found herself frowning at the other side. Xanna bristled with annoyance and resentment. Instead of the huts and carts of the sea market, what lay in front of her was a row of old houses she’d never seen before. She must be on the west side of Linxe where she rarely stepped foot. What a truly brilliant shortcut that was.
Xanna was beginning to see why the park was so dreadful—it wasn’t full of vicious creatures with maws that would swallow her whole but pathways that twisted and led you astray.
Muttering under her breath, she crossed the narrow, lonely road and looked up at the houses. They were tall and thin, carved of Silver Sea stone, and bore similarities to every other home in Linxe—Saints carved around the doorways to protect from bad intentions, black rooftops, five square windows, grey wood doors. They were also, unfortunately, all she could see in both directions. With the forest dominating the opposite side of the street, and no roads but the one she stood on, Xanna had three choices—she could pick a direction, left or right, and walk aimlessly; she could return to the park; or she could go up to one of these houses and ask the way to the sea market.
It wasn’t much of a choice.
Xanna looked between the closest houses, one with green curtains, one with blue, and one with red. She chose red.
She had to push the gate with a fair bit of strength to get it to open—it had rusted shut—and its creak made her wince. With every footstep that brought her closer to the house, Xanna became more uneasy. It was too quiet, too empty. But she was here now—she may as well see if anyone was home.
Her knock echoed all the way down the street.
The door swung open on its hinges, sending Xanna’s heart into her throat. She recalled how in one of her grandmother’s tales the hero had a ring that warned him beforehand of any danger. She wished she had one now. Maybe the diamond pendant she’d inherited from Elder Kiejn could be enchanted. She told herself it was, to give her courage.
“It’s just a house, Xanna,” she muttered to herself, her foot half-in-half-out. “Hello?” she called.
“Hello, dear,” came the distant reply. “You’ll have to come in. I’m afraid my legs have given up on me.”
Fears dwindling, Xanna collapsed her umbrella and dusted off the few flakes of snow that had found her. It was only an old lady, and she sounded friendly enough. Xanna decided she’d go inside, indulge in a cup of spiced ice, and ask the Elder for directions to the market. And then she’d get her mother’s things and return home to scorn Alim Tulinar for the rest of her days.
The crash as door swung shut behind her made Xanna stumble, her heart in her mouth. She had the feeling of being sealed into a coffin but she shook off her discomfort with irritation. Berating herself, Xanna looked around the dusty hallway. It was furnished in the choice décor of Elders: patterned paper on the walls, plush multi-coloured carpet, honeyed oak furniture. Every grandmother’s home was the same.
“Hello?” she said again. “My name’s Xanna Kiejn. I came to ask directions.”
“I’m in here.”
Xanna followed the voice to a sitting room papered in the same pattern as the hallway. In a faded green chair sat an Elder with grey hair piled on top of her head, a dusty dress covering the bones of her body, and a warm smile on her face.
“Sit down, sweet,” she said. “Let’s get you some spiced ice.”
The Rimean winter had already set hooks into the small fishing village of Linxe, turning pathways into treacherous death traps and coating rooftops with icicles poised to spear passersby. Snow fell thick as always, the blizzard not deterred a bit by the drop in temperature. Xanna Kiejn ran down the road, skidding along patches of invisible ice to speed her up. Her red umbrella bobbed against her dark hair, jumping up and down like an eager child.
She’d been waiting for her mother to send her to the bakery all week, and now that she was on her way she was determined to bewitch him. Him. The baker’s son. His name was Alim and he looked like a storm cloud made flesh, all dark and brooding and antisocial. To Xanna, he was a perfect mystery, a daydream she was determined to make real.
In her haste, and caught up in a fantasy, she slammed into the back of a fisherman unloading crates from his boat. “Sorry,” she called over her shoulder, wincing at the red-faced man.
The scent of fresh bread cut through the brine-and-air smell of Linxe, beckoning Xanna with a wistful stomach rumble. Stepping over the threshold and folding her umbrella down, Xanna’s stomach writhed for a completely different reason. He was here. Alim. Sat behind the honey wood counter placing bread rolls into a basket for the woman with the perpetual upturned nose and pursed mouth who lived across from Xanna.
Alim didn’t bother to look up at her but that was alright; she hadn’t expected anything more of him.
Xanna was barely conscious of the old woman shoving past as she brushed stray drops of melted snow from her black coat—the one her grandmother had once insisted made her look paler, like one of the Skineaters in the black sea—and stepped up to the counter. She said, very authoritatively, “I’ll take half a dozen tangerine rolls.”
Alim grunted.
Progress.
Xanna arranged her features into scathing disinterest, dialling down the pleasant smile she usually wore. It was a countenance learned from her grandmother, who had been as intimidating as she was beautiful, even at eighty. Elder Kiejn knew exactly how to turn your admiration into a wicked sharp weapon. Xanna didn’t think she was quite hitting wicked sharp yet, but she’d gotten past blunt which was a feat in itself.
“Bag?” Alim asked without raising his head. Dark curls tumbled around his face.
“Yes.” Xanna stopped the please from rolling off her tongue. Sophisticated, desirable girls didn’t say please or thank you.
The façade was ruined, however, when Elder Tulinar the baker came from the back room, a tray in her hands and a smile on her face for Xanna. Sophisticated girls would scowl but as much as it hurt to admit it, Xanna was not sophisticated—and she didn’t want to be rude to an Elder. She smiled, just a small thing but a defeat nonetheless.
Alim wasn’t watching her anyway—he’d wandered off to line up baskets in the window. He’d left her bag of tangerine rolls on the counter.
“Aren’t you a curious one,” Elder Tulinar remarked as Xanna scooped up her purchase. “What have you been bred with?”
Xanna wished politeness would allow her a scowl. She was odd, or so she’d been told. She had Rimean eyes that curved down at their corners with pupils of darkest blue and irises of palest grey, but they were set in a face too long in its oval shape, too strange with its long nose and sunshine colouring to ever be Rimean.
She could have told Elder Tulinar that she was a mix of Rimean and Spring, that her mother had been born in the neighbouring realm and her family had migrated north in her youth, but the baker had been rude about asking. Xanna turned and left, stung at the insensitive question and irritated at Alim’s instant dismissal of her. She’d worked so hard to be something different, something new and appealing, but it didn’t make a difference. Alim could see through her pretence to what was hiding underneath—a girl who spoke to Elders with respect and courtesy, who attended the Saints temple each week beginning, who tried exceptionally hard to be a good person, who wasn’t exciting in the least.
Xanna would have to face the truth eventually—she would only ever be beloved of Elders, never of handsome young men.
*
Xanna stormed away from the bakery umbrella thumping her hood like a battle drum. In a few short minutes she’d gone from excited to impress Alim to wanting to do anything but continue this excursion. If she could just go home instead of crossing town to the sea market she’d be happier. Xanna wanted to throw herself onto her bed where the comforter would muffle her screams of frustration. Not only had she been ignored by Alim—again—but her sophisticated façade had shattered spectacularly and Alim’s mother had drawn attention to Xanna’s uncommon appearance.
Down in the Realm of Middling Spring, where the land sat between Summer and Rime, there was no common appearance. Nobody was expected to have skin as pale as snow or opalescent as a seashell. People were of brown skin and black skin and golden skin like her own. Xanna wondered what mattered in the Realm of Middling Spring, how people judged others of being worthy of attention. It certainly wasn’t by their appearance.
Maybe when she’d completed her education, her mother would let her visit the neighbouring realm and Xanna would get to see the complexities and traditions of Spring for herself. Crossing the briny streets that would take her closer to the Silver Sea and the market, Xanna found herself warming to the idea. A learning year, it was called—taking a year for travel and study of the other realms. But would they have enough money to fund it?
She tucked the idea away for further inspection and made a snap decision to cut across the park that separated this side of Linxe from the market. Mama wouldn’t be happy. She was superstitious; she said the park was rife with beasts and terrors but Xanna had never believed a single one of her mother’s stories. Her grandmother’s stories, however … those were as true as the sea on a storm night. The omens and legends she had spun were genetic, passed from Kiejn Elder to Kiejn Elder. People called the stories magic, some even said her grandmother had been a mage, but to Xanna it was ordinary. She didn’t question how the exact tales came to be; she believed them with a reverent belief, heeded their warnings and followed their instructions unfailingly.
But Xanna’s grandmother never had any tales about the park.
Linxe’s central park was a thicket of dense branches and slick grasses, the sea’s damp breath somehow finding its way through the heavy blanket of leaves overhead. The light was different here, diffused and irregular, appearing at random. What little light reached Xanna was soaked up by her crimson umbrella, which she refused to fold down even though the snow didn’t touch this place. The park felt like magic and mystery, like walking through one of Elder Kiejn’s tales. Xanna wouldn’t have been shocked if a tear drinker stepped onto the path to offer her a life-altering bargain.
Within minutes, the park had passed Xanna by without a magical incident and she found herself frowning at the other side. Xanna bristled with annoyance and resentment. Instead of the huts and carts of the sea market, what lay in front of her was a row of old houses she’d never seen before. She must be on the west side of Linxe where she rarely stepped foot. What a truly brilliant shortcut that was.
Xanna was beginning to see why the park was so dreadful—it wasn’t full of vicious creatures with maws that would swallow her whole but pathways that twisted and led you astray.
Muttering under her breath, she crossed the narrow, lonely road and looked up at the houses. They were tall and thin, carved of Silver Sea stone, and bore similarities to every other home in Linxe—Saints carved around the doorways to protect from bad intentions, black rooftops, five square windows, grey wood doors. They were also, unfortunately, all she could see in both directions. With the forest dominating the opposite side of the street, and no roads but the one she stood on, Xanna had three choices—she could pick a direction, left or right, and walk aimlessly; she could return to the park; or she could go up to one of these houses and ask the way to the sea market.
It wasn’t much of a choice.
Xanna looked between the closest houses, one with green curtains, one with blue, and one with red. She chose red.
She had to push the gate with a fair bit of strength to get it to open—it had rusted shut—and its creak made her wince. With every footstep that brought her closer to the house, Xanna became more uneasy. It was too quiet, too empty. But she was here now—she may as well see if anyone was home.
Her knock echoed all the way down the street.
The door swung open on its hinges, sending Xanna’s heart into her throat. She recalled how in one of her grandmother’s tales the hero had a ring that warned him beforehand of any danger. She wished she had one now. Maybe the diamond pendant she’d inherited from Elder Kiejn could be enchanted. She told herself it was, to give her courage.
“It’s just a house, Xanna,” she muttered to herself, her foot half-in-half-out. “Hello?” she called.
“Hello, dear,” came the distant reply. “You’ll have to come in. I’m afraid my legs have given up on me.”
Fears dwindling, Xanna collapsed her umbrella and dusted off the few flakes of snow that had found her. It was only an old lady, and she sounded friendly enough. Xanna decided she’d go inside, indulge in a cup of spiced ice, and ask the Elder for directions to the market. And then she’d get her mother’s things and return home to scorn Alim Tulinar for the rest of her days.
The crash as door swung shut behind her made Xanna stumble, her heart in her mouth. She had the feeling of being sealed into a coffin but she shook off her discomfort with irritation. Berating herself, Xanna looked around the dusty hallway. It was furnished in the choice décor of Elders: patterned paper on the walls, plush multi-coloured carpet, honeyed oak furniture. Every grandmother’s home was the same.
“Hello?” she said again. “My name’s Xanna Kiejn. I came to ask directions.”
“I’m in here.”
Xanna followed the voice to a sitting room papered in the same pattern as the hallway. In a faded green chair sat an Elder with grey hair piled on top of her head, a dusty dress covering the bones of her body, and a warm smile on her face.
“Sit down, sweet,” she said. “Let’s get you some spiced ice.”