Garden Princess Read Online Free

knowing, and so he waited.
    His name was Krazo. Or at least that was what Hortensia called him.
Krahhh-zo! Krahhh-zo!
she would say, mocking his raspy voice. He had been Hortensia’s servant for as long as he could remember. How long was that? It might have been ten years or a hundred; Krazo had no idea. What had he done before his life with Hortensia began? Where had he lived? Again, Krazo had no idea. His past was such a dim place that he never thought of it, not even in dreams. His mind was strongly connected to the present, to that suspenseful moment linked to the future by the question
What will happen next?
    Hortensia was a demanding mistress, and Krazo was at her beck and call both night and day. It was primarily magic that bound him to her. She was a witch, and he must obey her commands or she would punish him. But there was also the fact that she glittered. Just now, for example, the magpie’s eyes were kept busy by the sparkle of her adornments. Her flame-colored dress was embroidered with gold threads and amber beads. A gold collar set with amethysts circled her neck, a string of pearls wound through her dark hair, and rings decorated every one of her fingers — diamonds and emeralds, and rubies as big as berries. Hortensia loved jewelry.
    So did Krazo. He knew that Hortensia had great quantities of jewelry in her bedchamber. But that was nothing compared to the treasure buried beneath the rose tree.
    Late one night, some years past, Krazo had seen Hortensia enter the garden alone. Curious, he had followed her to this very spot, where he had watched her take a silver box out of her sleeve. After unlocking the box with a small silver key from a chain around her neck, Hortensia had sat there in the moonlight, gazing upon its contents. Krazo had not been able to see what was inside the box, but he knew it must be treasure, for Hortensia had locked it back up and buried it, tamping down the soil so that no one would ever guess it was there.
    If Krazo could have dug up the treasure, he would have done so. But magpies, even talking ones, have their limits, and one of those is an inability to dig holes. Not that this prevented him from thinking about it. He was thinking about the buried treasure now, in fact, when suddenly Hortensia gave a low chuckle. Krazo looked up to see a smile playing at her lips. “It occurs to me,” she murmured without opening her eyes, “that no matter how plain our princess is, she’ll be sure to come to the party wearing all sorts of pretty baubles. Royals never skimp on their jewelry.” Then she yawned, exhibiting a mouth full of perfect white teeth. She settled into her cushions. Presently she began to snore. Hortensia always snored when she slept, and it always jangled Krazo’s nerves. The magpie was sensitive to sounds, both good ones and bad, and so, relieved to escape this particularly dreadful one, he made his departure.
    He flew off to his nest, thinking about the princess.
    Or, to be exact, he was thinking about the jewels she would wear.

“What does one wear to a garden party?” was the first thing out of Marguerite’s mouth at the next day’s tea.
    “Light colors,” said Cecile. “Pale green, very light pink — actually, you might think about wearing a gown of mine. What about that lemon-colored dress with the lace trim?”
    So it begins, thought Adela, watching the two sisters lean toward each other.
    “Oh, Cecile! Would you really let me?” Marguerite was so excited that she had to set down her cup and saucer.
    “Of course, darling. We’ll just need to have the seamstress take the sides in a little. I declare you must have the tiniest waist in the kingdom.”
    “What should Her Highness wear?” asked Marguerite. “Wouldn’t it be fun if we could dress in similar colors? You have that lovely peach-colored gown.”
    Cecile shook her head. “I’m afraid it would never fit her,” she said, leaving unspoken the implication that Adela did
not
have the tiniest