feather, and she began writing with the quill on a scrolled sheet
of brown paper. The girl spoke aloud as she wrote, and Allie
found that although the language was strange, she could
understand every word.
Dearest Quillfriend,
My trusted confidante Mythwell the Enchanter has
encouraged me to write to you, stranger though you may
be, in the hope that by sharing my woes, the burdens of
my heart may be somewhat eased. Since I have no
companions here of a like age, Mythwell has agreed to
use his magicks to ensure that my words fall on friendly
ears.
Allie realized she had stopped breathing and forced herself
to take slow, quiet breaths. She didn’t want to miss a word.
My situation now is more grave than thus far it has ever
been in my life. Yes, graver even than on the day when
the dragon Grovich flew away with me to his lair and
held me captive until seven of my father’s bravest
knights came to rescue me.
Please, dearest friend, write to me and tell me whether
you would hear of my plight. If you are disposed to do
me this honor, please affix my rune crystal to your letter,
and Mythwell’s spell will bring it to me. I await your
reply and crave any word of comfort you might impart.
Your Quillfriend (if you are willing),
Princess Avienne of Mereglade
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With that, the transparent image faded to a blur of rainbow
scintillation and then disappeared. Allie tried to reactivate the
sparkling rectangle—the rune crystal?—by gazing into it again,
smoothing it between her hands, turning it over, pressing it,
folding it, and even shaking it, but the sad-eyed girl did not
reappear. Next, Allie spent a full five minutes attempting to
convince herself that the image had been some sort of elaborate,
high-tech hoax, but found that this idea was almost as difficult to
believe as receiving a magical letter from a fantasy princess. And
much less enjoyable.
Merlin barked once, sniffed the air where the glittering
princess had seemed to stand, circled the mailbox wagging his
tail, then repeated his actions.
“So you believe she was real, huh boy? Well, who am I to
argue with the great Merlin?” With a shrug, Allie decided to
accept the impossible. For now. She wanted to believe it. She
was so lonely here, what would it hurt to play along for a while?
In any case, it would be at least a week before she could expect
a reply from Roshanda.
After dinner with her parents, Allie wrote a note, knowing
full well that mailing it probably wouldn’t work. While she was
writing, her mother looked in on her.
“What are you working on, dear?”
“Writing a letter to a princess.”
Instead of giving her a strange look, her mom beamed.
“That’s wonderful. I always hoped you’d get back to writing
stories again, like you used to in middle school. Can I read it?”
“Uh … it’s not ready yet,” Allie said. “Maybe in a few days,
when it’s further along. Anyway, I’m having fun just thinking
about it.” To her surprise, Allie found that it was true. Perhaps
the note would turn out to be a silly waste of time, but it amused
her. If no one wrote back, maybe she should turn it into a story.
“Dear Princess Avienne,” she wrote.
I don’t know if you’ll get this letter, but I had to try. I
would love to be your Quillfriend. I think I would be able
to understand your problems, since you look like you’re
about my age.
I’m 15 and my life is a mess. My parents don’t even
consider my feelings when they make decisions, and I
have no idea what my future will be. Feel free to tell me
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your problems, and I’ll tell you mine. I could really use
someone to talk to right now. Please write soon.
Your Quillfriend,
Allie
P.S. I’m enclosing a school picture of me, so you can see
what I look like.
Allie tucked the note and picture into a pink envelope, taped
the rune crystal to the front, and wrote her entire return address
in the upper left corner, including the zip code, just to avoid any
confusion. She left the upper right corner blank. Although it was
already dark out, she didn’t want to wait for morning, so she
turned on the outdoor lights and walked down to the end of the
driveway. Leashless, Merlin trailed after her. She put the pink
envelope into the still-pristine mailbox, closed the door and
raised the flag.
“Okay, boy. We did it.” Allie gave Merlin a pat and headed
back up the drive with him. The black lab replied with a
conversational woof. A moment later, he turned, bounded back
down to the mailbox, and paced back and forth barking with
excitement. Allie sighed. She knew she should have used the
leash. “C’mon, Merlin. Time to go in.” The dog shook himself
all over, as if he had just emerged from a bath, gave an insistent
bark, and reached up to put his front paws on the mailbox.
Allie knew when she was defeated. “Fine, boy. I’ll show you
what’s in there, but it’s just a letter, not a box of Milk-Bone
treats.” As if he understood, the lab sat and waited for her. When
she reached his side, Allie looped an index finger under his collar
and with the other hand opened the box again. “There. You
satisfied? Nothing but a—” She stopped, her mouth still open.
The little red flag was down, and the mailbox before her was
empty.
*
The next morning, after a night during which excitement
robbed her of a good many hours of sleep, Allie took Merlin for
a walk and found a new rune crystal in the mailbox. And thus
began a wonderful quill-friendship.
My Dearest Princess Allie,
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Thank you for your kindness in sending such a delightful
and heartfelt response. I received your reply scant hours
after I sent my letter to you.
We are indeed very much alike. As you surmised, we are
of an age, and my situation, too, is grave. My life, like
yours, is “a mess.”
My mother the queen died last year at the hands of an
assassin. On the eve of the winter solstice my father the
king remarried. My stepmother wishes me to marry her
cousin Warlord Morwolf in order to expand her family’s
holdings. In return, Lord Morwolf has agreed to ally with
us in times of war.
My parents, like yours, did not consult me in this matter.
Alas, my father agreed to the match! I cannot love Lord
Morwolf. He is a cruel, brutish man, rude of manner, and
thrice our age, dearest Allie. And he has but seven of his
own teeth!
When I asked my father to reconsider the match, he told
me that it is my duty to take a husband who will make
our kingdom more powerful. Because my father wages
war each spring, this alliance is much to be desired.
Should I refuse, I will be sent into exile. Marriage, too,
would be a form of exile. Since my two older sisters wed
lords from the mountain reaches, I hear from them but
once a year.
My heart is heavy, my future bleak. Have you any words
of comfort to offer, dearest friend?
Your Quillfriend,
Avienne
P.S. I am all in wonderment at the beauty and intricacy
of your portrait painting. How can I ever express
sufficient gratitude for such a precious gift?
*
Dear Princess Avienne,
First off, I’m not actually a princess. I’m just sort of a
normal teenage girl. I like music, mostly boy bands or
divas. What kind of music do you like? Do you play an
instrument? I tried playing clarinet for two years, but I
was never very good at it. For fun I go to the movies,
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hang out with my friends, or maybe go dancing. At least
I used to. I don’t have any friends here yet. What do you
do for fun?
Now for the serious stuff. Wow. Exile? My parents
would never be able to do that. They always wanted
more kids, but my mom couldn’t have another one, so I
know they couldn’t stand to give me up.
Your country looks so pretty in your letters. Are you
positive your father won’t let you stay? I’m sure the king
loves you more than he shows. Try talking to him.
Anyway, no one here would ever make a girl our age
marry anyone, much less such an awful-sounding man as
Lord Morwolf. That sounds so medieval! They do make
us go to school, though, and learn things like math and
history (yuck) and science. Then we have to choose what
to do with the rest of our lives. That can be pretty scary.
I hope things work out with your father.
Your friend,
Allie
*
My dearest Allie,
Your kind words gave me fresh hope. I must tell you that
at first my father was firm in his resolve: I must marry
Lord Morwolf, bear his children, and run his castle at
Fleamarsh, or be cast out of my father’s lands forever.
When I made my appeal to him, however, his heart
softened, and he relented. I now have a third choice: if I
do not marry the warlord, I may enter a convent, never
to leave its walls again, and take a vow of silence.
I cannot express how grateful I am to you for aiding me
thus with my dilemma. Yet if I make this choice, my
faithful Mythwell may not accompany me.
Perhaps you dread your choices at school even as I dread
my choice between a loveless marriage, exile, and the
convent. If so, my heart aches for you. Thank you for
being my comfort in my time of need.
Your devoted friend,
Avienne
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P.S. I adore music, and have been known to swoon when
listening to a minstrel sing tragic ballads. Though I blush
to admit to my skill, I am an accomplished lute player
and harpist. Like you, I love to dance, but my greatest
joy (or fun, as you call it) is going for long walks with
Mythwell, who secretly teaches me about plants and
medicine and the stars, instead of the silly needlework
and simpering manners I study at court.
*
Dear Princess Avienne,
Boy, am I beat! This morning Dad got me up before nine
and dragged me off to go shopping with Mom at the
dismal little mall that is the closest thing to civilization
within a half-hour’s drive of where we live. I had to
choose some new clothes for school, but most of the
shops only carried styles I wouldn’t be caught dead in.
Only three stores had any clothes worth being seen
wearing. I did find one cute dress, a pair of strappy spring
sandals, and three tops. Oh, and a pair of tight jeans that
make my legs look really long. But that was all I could
find. I mean, I really tried, but there wasn’t much to work
with.
I’m sure that you never have any problem finding the
right clothes. I wish I were a princess. You probably just
snap your fingers and the royal tailor makes whatever
you want. I know you’re not happy about that warlord
everyone wants you to marry, but in a lot of ways, you’re
really lucky. Most of the time you can just take it easy
and get anything you need.
After shopping, Dad took Mom and me to Starbucks for
scones and a latte, but I’m exhausted. I don’t know how
they expect me to walk the dog, take out the trash, and
unstack the dishwasher after all that shopping. I doubt
anyone would ever ask a princess to do all that! If only I
could go live with you.
I think I’ll take a nap now before my Dad comes up with
even more chores for me to do. Write soon.
Your good friend,
Allie
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P.S. I’m sorry to hear about the convent thing. What an
awful choice! You’d have to give up both your family
and your friends. Maybe it’s better than marrying that
Morwolf guy, but if I were you, I’d choose exile. I mean,
probably, where I could enjoy living and still keep as
many of the people I care about as possible. Weird, huh?
I guess I never realized how much my friends meant to
me until I couldn’t be with them anymore. I think I’ll
write to Roshanda again after my nap.
*
My dearest Allie,
I write you today from the dungeon of my father’s castle.
This was the suggestion of my stepmother, to enable me
to think “more clearly” until I have made my final
decision about marrying Lord Morwolf. She fears I may
flee (yet would this not be choosing exile?), and I believe
she had a hand in an assassination attempt on Mythwell
today. The plot failed, but now my loyal friend is
wounded and imprisoned with me. Mythwell tells me
that the queen is with child and will bear my father his
first male heir. For this prize he has so long desired, the
king will doubtless grant her any favor she asks. My fate
may well be sealed.
But enough of my selfish thoughts. I fear I have greatly
misjudged the gravity of your own situation. Am I to
understand that your father beat you and then forced you
to perform menial labor? I am very saddened to hear of
it. Does this “shopping mall” bear any similarities to a
marketplace or bazaar? If so, I shudder to think of you
venturing there. The merchant stalls in our villages are
dirty and dangerous, and filled with pickpockets. You
must have been terrified.
I can only imagine that the
scones and latte you wrote of are similar to the bread and
water I am being given now during my confinement. Be
strong, my friend. We must both endure.
Your devoted friend,
Avienne
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P.S. This may be my last opportunity to write to you,
regardless of my wishes, if I am soon forced to make my
choice. Live well, dearest friend.
*
Dear Princess Avienne,
Please, please don’t stop writing. Your problems are far
worse than mine, and I’d do anything to help you. And
to answer your questions: no, my parents aren’t cruel to
me, and they don’t force me to do dangerous work or
“menial” chores. They try really hard to make a good life
for all of us, not just themselves. I even showed my mom
some of your letters to me (I’ve been writing them down
like a story), and she said she wished we could give my
fairytale princess the loving home and family she
deserved. I thought it was kind of sweet. She doesn’t
even know you’re real!
Guess what? I started my new school today, and it
actually wasn’t that bad. The campus is really pretty,
with lots of trees and green fields around it. I got lost a
couple of times in the halls, but most of the teachers were
helpful, and an awesome-looking guy from my
homeroom showed me where the chemistry lab is. I think
I’m going to like my Shakespeare class best, but history
is pretty interesting, too. I found out there’s a spring
dance coming up. I think I may be brave and go to it all
by myself and see who I can meet. After all, it can’t be
nearly as difficult as facing an awful marriage,
permanent seclusion, or exile, can it?
I think about you all day long and wonder what choice
you made. I wish you could be here so we could talk face
to face instead of through letters. Please take care of
yourself, and try to find a way to reach me.
Your dear friend,
Allie
*
Days passed, and the only mail Allie received was a bright
and cheery letter from Roshanda—nothing at all from Princess
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Avienne. Roshanda was full of gossip about familiar friends and
places that Allie missed … including the news that Ian Walters