Free The Thirteenth Princess by Diane Zahler Page A

that she was a witch.
    â€œNo, that wouldn’t be wise,” she agreed. “I will do what I can from here. But you must let me know…”
    â€œIf anything strange should happen,” I finished for her. “I know. I will. Am I in danger there?”
    She pursed her lips. “I shouldn’t think so,” she said. “It doesn’t appear to be something new; it has the feel of old magic to it. If you haven’t been harmed before this, I can’t see why you would now.”
    I shook my head in disbelief. Perhaps Babette wasmaking the whole thing up—it sounded so unlikely. Then I had a thought. “If it’s old, maybe it was just left behind from before Father made the law,” I suggested.
    â€œPerhaps,” Babette replied in a tone that sounded to me as if she had barely heard me.
    â€œWell, can you show me something else? Can you show me where Breckin is?” I asked. “Maybe we can find out why he didn’t come.”
    â€œYes. Let’s try again,” Babette agreed. I was feeling very doubtful by now, and I wanted a chance to see whether she could actually do magic at all. There was the frog, of course, but perhaps that was the simplest kind of spell, one nearly anyone could do. This would be harder, I was sure.
    Babette did her motions and spoke her words, and the water shimmered as we peered into it. Then a picture began to form. It was not the stables, as I had expected, but a clearing in the woods. I could see the trees as plain as day, each bare branch and fallen acorn. There, sitting on a log and shivering, was Breckin. He was obviously lost.
    â€œOh dear,” Babette said, and I giggled.
    â€œI guess he couldn’t picture the path,” I said smugly. Babette frowned at me, and I quickly said, “Should we go look for him?”
    â€œYou should,” Babette said pointedly. “It is gettinglate.” I nodded, feeling a little ashamed. I pulled on my shawl and stood to go.
    â€œC-can I—,” I stammered. “May we come back?” I looked at the floor. I felt the weight of Babette’s disapproval, and I wasn’t sure I understood. What had I done wrong?
    â€œYou must always think of how others feel,” Babette told me. “Try to put yourself in Breckin’s place. How would you feel?”
    I was embarrassed—and slightly offended. “I thought of the frog,” I reminded her. “I knew it did not want to be a door knocker.”
    â€œYou must think not only of frogs but of other people,” Babette said firmly. So I thought about Breckin, sitting alone in the forest. Perhaps he had been walking for hours. If it were me, I would be tired, hungry, thirsty. Afraid.
    â€œI’ll find him,” I promised. “I’m sorry.”
    Babette smiled. “Come visit again,” she said. “The days are short, and the cold makes me lonely.”
    I kissed her, relieved, and hurried out of the cottage. When I got to the edge of the clearing where it sat, I looked back to see its ruined self and marveled at the illusion. Then I walked on, trying to envision the place where I had seen Breckin in the divining bowl. I had hoped that by picturing that place, I would be led to it,as had happened with Babette’s cottage. But it didn’t work, so I called Breckin’s name as loudly as I could and was soon rewarded with an answering cry. I stumbled through the underbrush and found him sitting on the log I had seen in the bowl, shivering and irritated.
    â€œWhere have you been?” he demanded.
    â€œI? I was at Babette’s house. Where were you?”
    He scowled. “I kept trying to picture the path, and I couldn’t seem to hold it in my mind. I’d think I had it, and then I would walk into a tree. I fell into a stream. I got caught in brambles.” He looked at me. “You mean to say that you could do it?”
    I shrugged, pleased. “It was