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

cheery fire burning in the fireplace, chairs with plump cushions, and ruffled curtains at the windows. The smell of shortbread scented the air, and a teakettle began to whistle as I started to back away.
    â€œLet’s go!” I whispered. “This is too peculiar. Come on, Breckin!”
    â€œWait—,” he started, and then we heard a doorunlatch. We could see, from our position at the front of the house, the door at the back of the house as it opened, and my heart leaped into my throat as we watched to see who would enter. I felt a great wave of relief as I saw an old woman, tiny and bent with age, come in with an armful of fall flowers—chrysanthemums and late daisies. She smiled when she saw us standing there, not at all surprised or concerned that we had come into her house without so much as a knock.
    â€œCome in, children!” she said. “Come and have some tea and cookies.”
    â€œB-beg pardon, ma’am,” Breckin stammered. “We thought—it seemed like the place was deserted. We never would have…”
    The old woman laughed so heartily that neither of us could help smiling. “I can still do a good illusion, if I do say so!” she said.
    â€œIllusion?” Breckin said. “Are you a witch, then?”
    â€œBreckin!” I chided him. In my father’s home, to be called a witch was to be insulted.
    â€œThat’s all right, my dear,” the woman said calmly. “I am indeed a witch.” I gasped in shock as, moving spryly for someone her age, she placed the flowers in a pitcher and filled it with water from a jug. “Do sit down. Would you like some tea?”
    Breckin and I looked at each other. He was veryexcited, I could tell, but all I could think was What if Father finds out?
    â€œYou don’t need to worry, dear,” the old woman said to me. I looked at her, confused. Had I spoken aloud? “Your father’s never noticed me yet, and I’ve been living here a long, long time. I’ve made the place seem deserted, you see, and I can always tell who is coming. I’m in no danger of being found out, and neither are you.”
    I was astounded. She knew who I was and who my father was. She had known we were coming! She was a soothsayer at least—maybe more. I slipped past Breckin and moved farther into the house. Cautiously I took a seat at the wooden table in the kitchen. Breckin followed me and sat too. The witch poured steaming water into a little pot from which a lovely raspberry smell rose. Then she opened the cast-iron door of the stove and pulled out a pan. Ah—the source of the shortbread aroma! I did love shortbread.
    She cut the shortbread into pieces and put the pieces onto a chipped plate, poured the tea into mismatched cups, placed a bowl of sugar on the table, and brought tea and cookies over to us as we sat watching. Her movements were so smooth and graceful that we did not think to ask if we could help her; indeed, I wondered whether perhaps her aged appearance was another ofher illusions. Again she appeared to read my mind and laughed merrily. “I’m quite as old as I look, dear. Maybe even older!”
    We spent a few lovely minutes eating warm, silky shortbread and sipping our tea. I thought that I had never eaten anything so sweet and delicious, nor ever tasted tea so much like real raspberries before. I caught Breckin’s eye and saw that he felt the same, and we smiled at each other.
    â€œNow,” the old woman said when we paused in our eating and drinking. “You must tell me a little about yourselves, my dears. I could see your coming, but not why. Do you have a trouble that needs attention? You, Zita, are you plagued by your father and his temper?”
    I choked on my cookie and coughed, and Breckin pounded me on the back. “Stop!” I said crossly to him, and to the old woman, “How did you know my name?”
    She smiled sweetly at me, and I marveled