Fairest by Gail Carson Levine Page A

across from the blocked west window. He peered at the shelves, and I did, too. I read, Try This! Strange Enchantments , and No Harm Done: Safe and Simple Spells. The binding was falling off New Spells for New Times.
    Perhaps one of them contained a beauty spell.
    â€œAh.” The book was on the top shelf, under a nest. He supported the nest with one hand while he pulled the book out.
    â€œLet me see.” He thumbed through it. “It’s alphabetical. M … Ah, here.”
    He sang, “‘Magic mirror: Unique. Little known about. Commanded by maverick fairy Lucinda and often dispensed by her as a wedding gift.’” He switched to speech. “You’d be surprised how often that Lucinda pops up in these magic books. I hope she never pops up in person, by the sound of her.” He sang again. “‘Mirror has beautifying and other appearance-altering properties in conjunction with magic potions.’”
    Beauty potions?
    â€œâ€˜The creature within the mirror is called Skulni, a creature of unspecified abilities.’”
    Ivi had that very mirror!
    â€œâ€˜He may always alter whomever he reflects, but he may show himself and may speak only to those who’ve drunk one of the potions.’”
    That’s why I was beautiful in the mirror. He’d made me beautiful, to please me or to taunt me.
    The library keeper read on. “‘He may escape under certain unspecified circumstances. The mirror may be destroyed under certain unspecified circumstances.’” He closed the book. “The tome might have another title.” He sang with disgust, “It should be called Unspecified , not overused.”
    The most astonishing thought came to me: The mirror—or the potions, or Skulni—may have made Ivi beautiful. She might once have been plain. She might have been as hideous as I was now.
    Probably not hideous, if she’d received the mirror just before the wedding. The king wouldn’t have fallen in love with a hideous maiden. I recalled what our Amonta tailor’s Kyrrian cousin had said of her, that she was “merely pretty.”
    I heard the library door open.
    A female voice said, “Master Library Keeper?”
    â€œA good title,” he said. “It belongs to me, but I didn’t make it up.”
    The newcomer was a maidservant, seeking—me! The queen wanted me. I felt frightened.
    As we left, I heard the library keeper sing,
    â€œ Don’t Go! More Songs to Keep You—
    Â Â  A good title, not overused.
    Â Â Don’t Go! More Songs to Keep You,
    Â Â  A songbook in—”
    The door closed behind us. I would return when I could. I wanted to look at the beauty spells.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

    I VI WANTED me to accompany her on a visit to the king.
    As we approached the physician’s chambers, we heard a lute and Sir Enole singing a sickroom song.
    â€œCook up the soup!
    Â Â  Rich meat for strength,
    Â Â  Hot broth for fever,
    Â Â  And spices to chase
    Â Â  The sickness away.
    â€œMake up the room!
    Â Â  Silk sheets for ease,
    Â Â  Blankets for snuggling,
    Â Â  And fire to burn
    Â Â  The sickness away.
    â€œBring in the people!
    Â Â  Father for comfort,
    Â Â  Mother for cuddling,
    Â Â  And good friends to laugh
    Â Â  The sickness away.”
    When we entered, a servant set aside a steaming bowl and bowed. The king seemed unchanged from last night, except that his cheeks were stubbly with a day’s growth of beard. A bead of porridge stood on his chin.
    That gob of porridge pained me. He was our king!
    The servant used her handkerchief to wipe off the porridge.
    Ivi knelt by her husband, weeping. She turned to the physician. “Has he spoken my name?”
    Sir Enole put down his lute and bowed. “I’m sorry. He has said nothing.”
    â€œIs he at all improved?” I asked.
    Sir Enole just looked sad. The servant held the