I gasped. So I was right! I had been right all along. Don Julián was in love with Margarida. And the pain was so intense, I had to bite my tongue to keep from crying.
Don Julián did not seem to notice. He was staring blankly at a place beyond me as if he, too, were lost in pain. “He got his lady,” he said slowly, “while mine is . . . gone.”Again he looked at me, his eyes dark and cold like burnt diamonds, searching mine.
“I’m sorry you couldn’t get your lady, Sir.”
“Sorry? You are . . . sorry?” he repeated, grabbing me by the arms so violently that he hurt me. I welcomed that pain, which made me forget that other one I could not name. “That’s all you can say? Sorry? I don’t want your pity, Princess. I want you to help me find her again.”
“Never!” I shouted, trying unsuccessfully to free myself. “Do you want to stop the wedding and start another war? I will never help you.”
As suddenly as he had grabbed me, Don Julián let go of my arms. “Stop the wedding? I do not want to break their engagement, Princess. Why should I? I want you to come with me.”
He wants me to go with him? He does not care for Margarida? As his words exploded in my mind with the violence of a summer fire, my mind went blank. I said nothing.
“Would you come with me, Princess?”
I wanted to go so badly that my entire body hurt. And yet . . . I shook my head. “No, Sir. I cannot go with you.”
Don Julián did not flinch. “So it is true,” he said. “The woman I love is gone.” Looming tall over me in his anger, he continued, “I loved her because she was different. She was independent and strong-willed and followed her own mind. And today I only see a beautiful princess dressed in gold and painted like a doll. And as useless as one.”
“I’m not a doll!”
“Oh, but you are, Princess. Doña Jimena was right, you are indeed a comely princess now, not the spirited maiden I love.”
How did he dare insult me when it was to save his life that I had given my word never to return to the other world?
Don Julián was still talking. “When I asked your mother permission to take you with me, Doña Jimena said you wouldn’t want to leave. She said that you were a lady now and didn’t care about the New World.”
Not knowing whether to be pleased or upset, I stared at him. “Did Mother really say that?”
“Yes. I didn’t believe her then, but I do now. And I’m sorry, for you and for me. Goodbye, Princess Andrea. The sun is going down, and there is nothing left for me to do here.”
And turning his back on me, he walked away in a rustle of leaves.
My legs rooted to the ground, I remained still, looking at the place where Don Julián had been. And as his words settled in my mind, I came to realize that for the past few months I had been staring at a wall—a wall where reality had been playing itself somehow in a distorted way. But now that the wall had been shattered by Don Julián’s angry words, the false images were gone, and I could not pretend anymore. I could not pretend that I was ever going to be happy as a lady in my world. Pretend that I didn’t miss the freedom of California, the excitement of the classroom, or the spicy smell of the Coffee House. Pretend that it was the light that prevented me from sleeping every time Lua the copper moon was full.
And as the barriers I had unconsciously built around my feelings disappeared, I had to admit to myself that it had not been guilt over my failure to protect Don Julián that had made me wail in pain when I thought he might be dead, but something more disturbing. I finally understood that I cared for him in a way I had sworn to myself I would never care for anyone when I had fallen out of love with John. And still, it was different. With John I had been a willing victim. I had never wanted to love Don Julián. In fact, I had been so reluctant to do so, I had kept it a secret even from myself.
I moved my arms. Something cold—the perfect circle of my watch—was in my hand. And as I looked at the moon, now full, that from inside the glass seemed to be calling to me, the yearning to follow Don Julián was overwhelming. But it was not so simple. Don Julián is wrong, I thought with a pang of anger at the recollection of his words. I am not a useless doll. But he had been right about one thing: I had changed. I would not run away this time. I would never run away again. Resolutely I picked up the heavy train of my gown and returned to the castle.
Back in the great hall, the minstrels were still playing as they had been before I left, and the couples were still dancing, weaving intricate patterns as they swirled around each other across the floor. And no one among them seemed to have noticed the world had changed.
Keeping close to the walls, I made my way through the different groups of people talking and wandering around the Hall until I reached the eastern side. As I expected, Mother was sitting by one of the tall windows that opened into the garden. She was not alone, but talking to one of her ladies.
I knew I was not supposed to interrupt Mother under any circumstance, but if I were to make it to the arch tonight, I didn’t have time for subtleties. Twisting my skirts in my hands, I walked up to them and, after the briefest of curtsies, said boldly, “Mother, I need to talk to you.”
Mother finished her sentence. In a strained silence full of questions, she turned to her lady and nodded. And the lady was on her feet, deep in a curtsy, as Mother rose from her chair and swept past me toward the balcony.
Mother was already sitting under the trellis on the same bench where once—had it only been last spring?—Don Julián had offered a rose to my sister Rosa and promised her his eternal love. But the roses were gone now, and only the gnarled branches remained, bare of leaves, their skeletal fingers twisted around the frame waiting for the winter to come.
“Princess?”
I looked up. But the bitter taste the memories had brought to my mouth had taken my words away.
Mother returned my stare, the twinkle of a smile in her blue eyes. “Princess, is there anything I can do to thank you for rescuing me from yet another boring conversation with Lady Alicia?”
I shook my head. But then the words rushed out. “Yes, Mother. You can, you may . . . I mean, I want your permission to go back to California.” Mother’s eyes grew wide. “I know, Mother. I know I promised you I would never leave the castle, and yet I have to go, because . . . because I don’t belong here.
“I have tried so hard. All these months, I have really tried to become the princess you always wanted me to be. And for a while, I even fooled myself into believing I had. But I was wrong. I was wrong, Mother! I’m not a lady, and no matter how long I stay in the castle, I will never become one. Please. Let me go.” The last I said in a whisper.
Mother sat on the stone bench, a queen on her throne, looking at me as if she had never seen me before. And I blushed under her stare for what I hadn’t said and she could sense. When I thought my heart would explode, she closed her eyes for a moment.
“I guess Don Julián was right,” she said and smiled.
I jumped forward at the implications of her words. “Mother, did you send him to me?”
“No, Princess. I didn’t send Don Julián to you. Well, not exactly. Don Julián came to say goodbye this morning. He asked about you. I told him that the war had changed you, that you had become a lady. ‘But is she happy?’ he persisted, and I had to admit that you weren’t, that you were still distressed by your experience. So I told him you still needed time to heal. He insisted that you would never heal if you remained here, that you had to go to California. He was so adamant that when he asked my consent to talk with you, I agreed. Now I see that he was right. You do want to leave.”
“I’m sorry, Mother. I . . .”
“I understand, Princess. You are who you are. Nobody, not even you, can change that. But I want you to remember that you are a lady, indeed. You could have run away tonight. Instead you came to me. Now Princess Andrea, if you want to go, you have my permission. But before you go, one more question, Princess. What are you going to tell Don Andrés?”