And does he love me? Or am I just a friend, someone he wants to keep close for the sake of companionship?
Before I can work up the nerve to ask him, he’s gone, closing the door gently behind him.
Chapter 8
I can’t get the girl out of my head. I’m in a stupor due to excessive daydreams. Whoever’s poisoning me must be pleased today.
There’s just something about her, something that draws me in. All I can think about is when I’m going to see her again, how I’m going to find her. But I can’t, not ever. Befriending me is dangerous, and I won’t do that to her. Plus, she has her elf—a curious thing, that.
He’s in love with her; it’s obvious. They don’t usually lower themselves so. Perhaps he sees something special in her as well.
“Don’t you agree, Your Majesty?” Rainart says after clearing his throat several times, hoping to get my attention. I heard him each time; I simply ignored him. It’s all for the ruse—just because I pretend to be mad doesn’t mean I have to be overly pliable.
I turn to the man, studying him. He’s lived fifty or so years, and his hair is mostly gray. He has shrewd eyes, full of schemes. I would bet a good deal of money that he is the man plotting against me. He’s the one with the ideas, the instigator of the group. The others usually go along with him, nodding and yipping like the ankle-biting dogs the courtiers seem to favor.
“Just sign here,” he prods, already shoving a parchment and quill under my nose.
Ah, yes. The increase in taxes.
“Where?”
“Here, Your Majesty.” He points to an empty space at the bottom of the carefully scribed lines of stupidity. Indefinitely raise the taxes on wheat so we may buy one set of golden plates? It’s asinine. If I were to read the contract carefully, I’m sure I’d find several certain advisors getting a portion of the money. It won’t come out and say it so bluntly—no. They’ll call it parchment allowance or some other nonsense.
I shove the contract aside. “I don’t want golden plates.”
“Of course you do, Sire. Morgenbruch has a reputation to uphold. We are a rich kingdom, envied and feared.”
I look right at him. “People will fear us if we boast of our new plates? Perhaps if we throw them? Should we wing them about, send them like disks through the air?”
The man purses his lips, exasperated. I love the expression; it gives me great joy. After all, they’re the ones tampering with my wine. They want me mad? I’ll give them mad.
“I rather like that idea,” I muse. “We’ll change our name—become the Kingdom of Plates. Quick, Herman, to the guards. Tell them to toss their swords in the blacksmith’s fire and line up outside the kitchen.”
The lot of them stare at me, stupefied.
Encouraged, I continue, “They’ll have to practice of course. It can’t be easy to aim.” I turn back to Rainart, reveling in the look of pure irritation etched into his weasel face. “Do you think if properly executed, you could behead someone?”
“Sire,” he says through clenched teeth.
“Ah,” I nod knowingly. “That’s why you want gold. I assume decapitation won’t be possible with pewter or porcelain? I’m afraid I know little of gold’s properties. Is it particularly sharp?”
“Plates would make inferior weapons.” The poor man is so livid, he bites out every single word.
After a long, silent moment, I give Rainart a knowing nod. “You know, I think you’re right.” I lean toward him. “We’ll stick with swords for now.”
And then, because I can, I rip the contract in two. “I suppose we won’t be needing this.”
“Conrad!” he bellows.
I hold my hands out. “You’re the one who put a stop to it. Why are you hollering?”
He leans forward, his eyes flashing, “Listen here—”
Herman, in all his jiggling-bellied-glory, leaps between us, letting out a loud, forced laugh. “I think that’s enough for today. You look tired, Your Majesty.”
I back down. Out of all my advisors, I dislike Herman the least.
“We will put aside the matter of the plates for now,” he finishes.
Rainart shakes his head, his face a lovely shade of red, and storms from the room. The other men, save Herman, follow him out.
Once they’re gone, Herman turns back to me. He frowns, creating not two, but three double chins. “We must speak.”
I sit back in my chair, waiting for him to continue.
“I don’t believe you’re mad.”
“Don’t you?”
He sighs, letting out a considerable amount of air, and takes a seat next to me. “You take great joy in tormenting Rainart, and don’t tell me otherwise. I’ve known you too long.”
I don’t bother to answer.
“So, the question is, why do you pretend to be addled?”
He stares at me, his expression so earnest, I almost take him into my confidence. Almost.
I’m nearly positive Rainart is the mastermind behind the plan, sure he’s the one slipping the poison into my drink, but I don’t know how many are in on it, don’t know how loyal they are to the snake. Herman, meaning well, might spill my secret to the wrong person, and then it won’t just be my wine that’s laced, but my food as well.
Or Rainart might save himself the trouble and send an assassin to my bedchamber. It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if, hidden in one of the contracts and decrees he constantly wants me to sign, there were a clause naming him as my successor should I die before an heir is born.
And since one of his greatest joys is killing off each woman I’m supposed to marry, I imagine it will be a long while until I have an heir.
That train of thought brings me back to Greta. Uncomfortable, I stand, choosing to leave Herman’s questions unanswered. No, I can’t have her, can’t think of her.
And I certainly can’t try to find her again.
“I’m going to count the ducks,” I inform Herman, refusing to bring him into my confidence no matter how tempting it might be.
Letting out a sigh, Herman nods. “Very good, Sire.”
Chapter 9
I’m going through my inventory, frowning because the flowers and herbs I have hanging in the back are not dry enough to sell yet, when there’s a knock at the door.
For one fleeting moment, though it’s completely ridiculous, I wonder if it’s Conrad.
Because what king doesn’t want to visit the clumsy peasant maid who injured herself while crawling over a log, attracting the attention of a troll?
You were a nuisance—that’s all.
It’s been several weeks, and I haven’t seen him again, not even the day I walked to the castle, telling myself I was only looking to see if the royal chrysanthemums were still blooming after the first hard frost.
They were, and that’s not why I lingered, looking up at the empty balconies and parapets when I should have been looking down at the gardens.
Shaking my head, irritated with myself for many, many reasons, I swing the door open, fully expecting Gerlind, or maybe even Millicent.
But what I find is a man in a burgundy jacket, the kind made of velvet, with ruffles at his sleeves and neck. It’s a popular style in the kingdom of Leant, not often seen here, except on some of the well-to-do travelers. It’s very fine, but the day is warmer than our last few, and he looks ready to pass out. His face is flushed, and sweat rolls down his temples.
“May I help you?” I ask, glancing at the horse that’s grazing just behind him, near our empty pig pens. “Have you lost your way? You are quite near Levinfeld, but you are welcome to a drink from our well.”
He’s an average sort of man, with light red hair peppered with gray, likely forty years of age. He looks tired, a bit harried even. But at my words, his expression softens. “Thank you, but no. Is Hans here? May I speak with him?”
“Hans is my father,” I explain. “And he’s in the village now.”
The man’s frown deepens. “Do you know whe
n he’ll return?”
Though he seems like a decent sort of man, it seems unwise to inform him I’m alone and will be until dusk.
“It depends on the day, sir.”
He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and dabs his forehead. A wedding band glints on his finger, catching my attention. He’s married, likely has children. They would worry if they saw him in this state.
“Are you sure you won’t have some water?”
I can’t let him pass out on our step.
“Or tea?” I continue. “It’s warm today, but if you step inside, out of the sun, I’m sure you’ll find some relief.”
He pauses, his handkerchief still at his brow. “Are you sure you’re Hans’s daughter? Hans the peddler?”
Once again, Father’s reputation precedes him. “I am.”
The man lowers the handkerchief and sighs. “You’re very kind, but I do not want to trespass on your hospitality. You see, I am Hendrick Belacore, and your father owes me a good deal of money for a supply of silks he bought from me this spring. He was to pay me in pigs, but I understand they died?”
My good mood plummets along with my stomach. “A mountain troll got into the pens,” I say, my voice almost a whisper. “We lost them all.”
He nods, his expression softening. “I understand your plight, but I am a man of business. I must have reimbursement. Otherwise, I will seek out the constable and have him deal with your father according to the laws governed in this kingdom.”
He would have his reimbursement if Father hadn’t squandered the gold he earned yesterday.
I purse my lips, thinking. “I have some money, sir. How much is our debt?”
When he tells me the sum, I blanch. I have nowhere near that much.
His eyes fall to the chain about my neck, the one that holds my mother’s pendant.
Blinking, I set my hand on it. “Please don’t ask it of me. It was my mother’s.”
Again, he pulls out his handkerchief and dabs his face. After a great sigh, he shakes his head. “I won’t take your mother’s jewelry. It won’t cover your father’s debts anyway. But I am going to speak with the constable—I have no choice.”
He turns to leave, and then I cry out to him, running into the sunshine. “Wait!”
The man pauses.
“I’ll have your gold tomorrow. Please. Give me one day.”
Again, he frowns. “This is your father’s debt to pay. You understand that, don’t you? It’s not your responsibility.”
I gesture to the cottage. “We own our land, sir. If you report Father’s debt, the crown will seize it as payment. I don’t want to lose my home. I’ll have your gold tomorrow.”
He studies me…then the house…and then me again. “One day.”
I nod. “I promise.”
Rune finds me near the creek as I’m scooping sifted silt onto a flat rock near the edge. My boots and stockings are discarded in the grass, the hem of my dress is drenched, and my feet and hands are freezing.
“Whatever are you doing?” he asks, appearing out of nowhere, as he often does.
I turn to him, desperately relieved he’s here, hating myself for what I’m going to ask him.
“I need your help,” I whisper.
He raises his eyebrows, taking in my bedraggled appearance and wild, desperate eyes. “Digging sand from the creek?”
I tell him what’s happened, unable to meet his eyes. I’ve never, not once, asked him for gold. I won’t use him like that, won’t belittle our friendship. The last thing I’ve ever wanted is for him to think I love him for his magic.
“I was hoping you could help me,” I finally say, feeling very much like I’m going to be ill. “I’ve been sifting the creek, trying to find gold dust to kindle your magic.”
He steps closer, offering me his hand. I stare at the frigid water that moves past my ankles, watching the way the sunlight glints and sparkles on the surface.
After a moment, I look up, meeting his eyes as I set my palm in his. Gently, he tugs me from the creek.
“Of course I will help you,” he says, laughing lightly—like it’s ridiculous that I’d even question such a thing.
I sag with relief, feeling again like I’m going to burst into tears. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“Don’t be.”
“I swear I wouldn’t ask if—”
“I know.” He nods toward the pile of sand. “And look. You’ve already done the hard work. Not a single pebble in the pile.”
I shake my head, hating Father. It’s a horrible feeling, something I loathe about myself. But it is what it is.
We sit here most of the day, sifting through the sand, finding just enough gold Rune can kindle the magic and create strand after strand of gold from the long, dry grass by the shore.
When he’s finished, we lie back, staring at the sky.
“Are you very tired?” I ask, clasping my hands to my stomach.
“A bit,” he admits. “The magic is draining.”
I roll toward him. My dress is dry, but my feet are still bare. The warm afternoon is quickly cooling. It will be cold soon. “The thought of losing Mother’s cottage, the place where her memory is alive and well…I just couldn’t bear it.”
He reaches out, taking my hand. “What was she like?”
I pause, realizing we’ve never spoken about her. I suppose it’s always been too painful.
“She was…happy. She sang all the time, even when she was doing mundane things like cleaning and churning butter.” I laugh a little, a painful sound. “Especially when she was doing mundane things. She loved flowers—”
“Like you.”
I nod, biting my bottom lip for a moment before I can go on. “She was very beautiful—”
“Like you,” he interrupts again, whispering the words.
My eyes fly to his, and my heart forgets how to beat.
“Rune?” I only say his name, but there are so many questions in it.
He smiles, pulls our clasped hands to his mouth, and presses his lips over my knuckles. Then he rises, brushing himself off before he pulls me to my feet. “It’s getting late.”
Father will return soon, and I must hide the gold chains before he spots them.
“Thank you,” I say. “So much.”
“Anything for you.” His golden eyes lock on mine. “And I mean that.”
I believe, with all my heart, that he does.
I pace the cottage, nervous, waiting for the merchant to return. By the time he finally arrives, I’ve worked myself into such a state, I can barely think straight.
He hardly has a chance to knock on the door before I toss it open. He doesn’t look as overheated today, though he wears just as many layers as yesterday.
“I have it,” I tell him, glancing around like someone will overhear me.
He frowns, taking me in. I must look a state. Something shadows his face, an emotion that looks very much like concern. “Young woman,” he says gravely. “I hope it didn’t come at too steep a cost.”
The cost was steep, but my virtue—as he’s referring to—is intact.
I shake my head as I step aside. “Please, come in.”
I can’t give him the gold at the door. Our meadow is relatively secluded, but what if someone were to see?
He steps in, cautious, perhaps wondering if someone is going to leap out and bash him over the head. I suppose I am acting strangely—but that’s only because I want this over and done.
“I’ll be right back,” I promise. “Please make yourself comfortable.”
When I return, I find him sitting at the table, smelling the potpourri I’ve been creating for sachets. Once he’s finished, I nudge the bowl aside and set down a bundle wrapped in fabric. Then, very carefully, I fold back the corners, revealing the knot of golden threads within. They’re as fine as spider’s silk, and they shine in the light coming in through the windows.
The man inhales sharply. “What is this?”
“Gold.”<
br />
He gives me a wry look, but his eyes are wide with wonderment. “I can see that. But how…?”
I’d rather not say, so I stay silent.
More than pleased, he wraps up the package and lifts it in the air, testing its weight. “This is too much.”
My eyes move to the table. “I was hoping the rest would cover your…discretion.”
He nods knowingly. “I see.”
I stand back, clasping my hands, desperate for him to take his money and leave.
Finally, he rises and very carefully places his payment inside his jacket. Before he leaves, he tips his hat. “Consider your father’s debts to be paid.”
“We’re much obliged,” I murmur.
He studies me for a long moment before he leaves. “Your father should be much obliged to you. Does he know that?”
I shake my head. “I very much doubt it.”
Chapter 10
Hendrick Belacore strides into the throne room and bows before me. He’s a pleasant enough man, though his taste in clothing is a bit fussy for my liking. What is with the Leantans and their love of ruffles?
“Hello, Hendrick.”
“Your Majesty, I have come to pay my respects before I return to the sea.”
Before I am forced to play the part of the mad king, Rainart steps forward, engaging the man in conversation. “You are looking well, Hendrick. How is your family?”
They go on and on, and I stare out the window, thinking about a certain brown-haired girl from the forest. I can’t get her out of my head.
“And what is your business in Morgenbruch?” Rainart asks.
“I came to collect a debt, I’m afraid. I don’t usually come in person, but this situation made it necessary.”
“And I hope you were successful?”
Hendrick nods. The look that crosses his face is so bizarre, it catches even my attention. After a moment, he steps forward conspiratorially. “I must ask you something, Your Majesty.”
I sit straighter, my interest piqued. I beckon him to the throne.
Queen of Gold and Straw: A Rumpelstiltskin Retelling Page 6
