The Thirteenth Princess by Diane Zahler Read Free Book Online Page A

little later, I wondered aloud, “Then how did your father die, if there were no accidents or sicknesses in your village?”
    Breckin was silent, and I was afraid I’d offended or hurt him by asking. Then he said, “He fell off a roof that he was fixing. He was killed right away. There was no chance for him to be healed.”
    â€œOh, I am sorry!” I said. “I hope you don’t mind that I asked.” I snuck a look at him to see if he was upset or angry, but he just looked as he always did.
    â€œIt’s all right,” he replied. “It was a long time ago. I was only four. I barely remember him.”
    We had that in common, Breckin and I, both losing a parent before we were old enough to have memories of them. I wondered, though, if Breckin missed his father as I missed my mother—missing the idea of her because I had not known the real person to miss.
    Then I saw an oak tree with a peculiar bare patch at its base. “There!” I said, pointing. Gingerly, with sticks, we dug down to the tree’s roots and found a rough round ball that smelled of mold and rot and a little like mushrooms, “with a touch of sweaty feet,” Breckin said, sniffing it and grimacing. “People eat these?”
    â€œJust a tiny little bit at a time. It’s like an herb,” I told him. “A great delicacy.”
    â€œThey can have them!” he said. We wrapped the truffle and placed it in a sack Breckin carried and then walked on, looking for a place to stop and eat the lunch that Cook had packed. I’d added to it liberally, as Cookdidn’t know that I would not be hunting truffles alone, and we sat under a willow on the edge of a brook and ate cold fowl and cheese, bread and pears, and drank from the sparkling stream.
    After lunch, we lay back for a while and watched the white clouds scud across the sky, but the breeze was chilly, so before long we rose again and walked on, still searching for the elusive truffles. We were now in a part of the forest I did not know. Though I wasn’t afraid of much, the woods at nightfall did have a place in my nightmares, so I would not have gone so far by myself. Here the trees arched overhead so I couldn’t see the sky. The gloom they cast made me shiver, and if I had been alone, I would have turned back and walked very quickly home. With Breckin, though, it was an adventure, and I was pleased to follow the stream up to a little waterfall that plashed on the rocks below. We dug up another truffle a bit farther on, and then I saw something between the trees that caught my eye.
    â€œLook!” I said to Breckin, pulling at his arm. There, deeply shaded by tall fir trees, was a ruined cottage, its roof sagging, its walls crooked and leaning. It looked as if it had been deserted for a century. Brambles grew up around it, trying to push their way in at the door. The two windows in front gazed like blind eyes, crusted over with the dirt of decades.
    We walked hesitantly up the remains of the front path and pushed aside vines to peer in at one of the windows. The cracked glass was filthy, and we could see nothing.
    â€œLet’s go in,” Breckin suggested. I was horrified.
    â€œThere are probably rats in there!” I protested. “And the roof could fall in on us at any moment!”
    â€œOh, don’t be such a—” He broke off. I could always tell when he remembered that I was a princess. He would stop whatever rude thing he was saying or doing and give me a look that I couldn’t interpret. And then he would grin and go on as before.
    â€œWell, I’m going in,” he said, grinning that grin. He pushed at the front door, and to our astonishment it swung open smoothly. He stepped inside, and I crowded behind him. My jaw dropped open as I peered around.
    The inside of the cottage was not ruined at all. In fact, it was clean and pretty and bright, with knotted rugs on wide-beamed floors, a