The Maid of Chateau Winslow

by Pippa J Frost

  As the men filed out, Sixtus preoccupied himself with studying the vibrant colors cast in elongated patterns across the floor from the stained glass windows. Inspired by those found in the Catholic churches in the canton, his vater had had artisans replicate their beauty in his Great Hall. Between them, shield-shaped alcoves in the walls housed statues of his ancestors. As a boy he’d found the figures fascinating, and he’d basked in his vater’s prideful stories about his predecessors.

  “I have summoned you here today because I have a secret mission I’m assigning to you and General Crispian.”

  “What is this mission?” Sixtus asked, his interest piqued. He’d rather be out on the road seeking the next adventure than be confined to the castle. The open air on his face and the responsibilities of castle life at his back was where he found the most contentment.

  “Patience, son. Let us first discuss the reasoning for this mission.”

  Sixtus bowed at the waist. “As you say, Your Grace.”

  “There is unrest and resentment in King Gian’s kingdom. The people cry of the continuing disappearances of earthmen, which is of grave concern. The elders of Schattenberg have come to me about this matter, and another that has caused stirrings amidst their tribesmen.”

  “What is the concern you speak of?” Sixtus folded his arms across his chest.

  “We’re a peaceful people, but the thirst for power has always driven my cousin. Gian has dabbled in necromancy. This is not only a threat to the tribes that claim these mountains, but to all of existence,” the king said. “His elders revealed that he has been on the hunt for the Zwilling power.”

  Sixtus dropped his arms to hang at his side. “But, we—”

  “I know, but he can never know about the woman. The elders didn’t say what Gian intends to do with the twin power. But if he were to learn that it survives here in these mountains, I fear no earthmen would be safe until he obtained it. Its whereabouts must remain hidden or he will stop at nothing, no matter who is in his way.”

  “He wouldn’t harm his own tribesmen,” Sixtus said with conviction.

  “You are a fool. You idolize a monster, a man capable of unleashing destruction upon us all. He would plunge his sword through your heart, remove it, and walk over your dead body without a second thought.” The king’s lip curled in disgust before he folded his arms over a belly so rotund it threatened to topple his diminutive frame. It shadowed his tiny feet, hidden within oversize shoes.

  Sometimes the prince wondered if his vater’s gorging at feasts and evening meals was a way to conceal the feature he hated most about himself. “You have the feet of a woman.” He recalled hearing King Gian’s jab at his cousin when Sixtus was but a small lad. The hatred between the cousins had gone on for decades. The prince and the grotesque king, marred with scars of the battlefield, shared a dislike for the humans. King Gian hadn’t inherited the prince’s rakish looks nor Jörg’s jovial demeanor, but he feared nothing.

  “You worry too much. If Gian seeks the Zwilling, you have the Träger tucked away where no one will ever find her.”

  “The carrier of the power?” The king gritted his teeth at Sixtus’s response. “Think, Sixtus. It isn’t the only way he can raise the Zwilling.”

  Sixtus frowned. “You speak of the Träger’s offspring?”

  “Yes. If my suspicions are right, they hold the purity and the soul-eater elements of the power.”

  “And if he possesses the Reinheit and the Seelenfresser, he won’t need the Träger; he can still attempt to raise the Zwilling.”

  The king nodded. “And that is where you and the general will come in. Today you are to journey to the village.”

  The prince raised an eyebrow and started to protest, but the king lifted a hand to silence him. “You’ve no freedom to protest,” his vater said. “It is an order.”

  “But, Vater, humans?” Disgust coated his words. “I despise the earth the weaklings trample. I won’t endure their insufferable company.”

  “Humans and dwarves have coexisted for years. If you’re to take over my throne, you will learn to put aside your bruised pride and carry yourself as the Prince of Himmelart.”

  Sixtus didn’t hold the same love for the humans as his vater. Despite the rumors that he’d been born from the womb of a human, who had been too fragile to survive his birth, Sixtus had another reason besides human weakness for his contempt. Never again will I be made a mockery of; never again will I fall for their trickery. His thoughts raced back to the human who’d caught him in her web of seduction. We’d been two long years on the battlefields, he reminded himself, remembering the song that had risen above the rattling of shields and armor and the hoofbeats of his army’s mounts.

  The lull of her voice had summoned him to the banks of the healing springs, where a squirrel hung, roasting above a small fire. But it was the creature next to the fire that lured his steps and his heart.

  A young woman sat on a fallen log beside the fire, her crimson mane lying in billowy mounds on either side of her. Captivating green eyes lifted as he walked toward her. Raising a gloved hand the prince halted his men’s advance, not wanting to scare the woman.

  “You and your men look weary.” She gestured with a slender hand for him to join her on the log.

  He handed the reins of his horse to his squire. “We return from the battlefield.”

  “What battle do you fight?” As she bent forward to rotate the spit the fire gilded the creamy flesh of her cleavage, drawing the prince’s eyes. Sitting in the company of a woman delighted him, especially one whose appeal tightened his chest and aroused a yearning in him.

  “Our brethren in the north,” he said.

  “Brethren?” Her inquisitive gaze held his. “Why would your king march on your kinsmen?”

  “They sought to overturn our kingdom.”

  She retrieved an apple from a satchel at her feet. Her bare feet were dainty, and her slender ankles were embellished with woven twigs and flowers. “Men are such peculiar creatures. They look to control and master another.” She wiped the apple on the bodice of her light blue dress. “Tell me, stranger, what do you seek to possess?”

  As if she had enticed the words from him he whispered, voice thick with desire, “You.”

  She tilted her head, and an alluring smile pulled at her full pink lips. “Ah, I see, your desire is that of many men. A desire only a woman can fulfill.” She sank her teeth into the apple and made a sound that heightened his need to feel the warmth of a woman’s body against his. “You and your men must be thirsty. Let me quench the thirst.” She trailed her fingers along his thigh, and his breathing caught.

  She rose and disappeared into the dark of the night, only to return with several skins of mead slung over her shoulders. She ambled across the grass to the tree line, where his men waited. A roar of enthusiasm rose as the bewitching goddess laughed and wove gracefully amongst them, intent on tempting his small army.

  Returning to the prince’s side, she offered the skin she had reserved. “Drink up, my prince.” She held the skin to his lips, and he drained the contents as the moans from his army reached his ears. The woman’s eyes hardened, and a smile of satisfaction spread across her face. “Women are not beings created to fill your needs or those of your army, Prince Sixtus.”

  The pain ignited in his gut, and he sprang to his feet as her drug took effect. “You will pay for this…” Then darkness overtook him.

  The king’s booming voice snapped him back. “Don’t think I won’t replace you with someone more suitable to sit upon my throne.”

  Bitterness swelled within Sixtus’s belly, and he laughed. “Who, Vater? One of your daughters?” His mockery resounded. The king’s admiration for and desire to live in harmony with the humans while aiding them in whatever way possible revolted him. “You’d become the laughingstock of all the tribes. Not to mention the king of Schattenberg. What would he say? You know he has coveted your throne for years.”

  “Have you not
heard anything I said?” The king’s ruddy cheeks deepened to a royal shade of purple. “Gian is a detriment to us all. That bungler will never have my throne. He isn’t worthy of it.” He puffed out his chest. “Nor does he hold enough wisdom to rule a kingdom.”

  “Yet he does.” Sixtus strolled casually around the room, regarding his vater’s prized artifacts—bounty collected from the kingdoms of his enemies. He recalled the years when his vater was known as a great conqueror. When peasants and noblemen alike chanted his name and wished him longevity and prosperity. Mutters held out their babies to be kissed by the king whispered to be a god. But he was no god. Seasons had changed him, and the warrior was no more. In his place stood an enfeebled man, a shadow of his former self. He and the elders spoke of peace and unity when the prince longed to return to the days of old.

  He paused in front of a golden tiger with bared ivory teeth and flaming ruby eyes. The beast peered down from its perch on a bronze tree limb. The king had the statue placed to remind him of his sins against the living. A spoil of war returned home in the early days of his reign from a kingdom he and his army had invaded. Greed and his thirst for blood had been his guide, and he refused to become that man again.

  “Enough of your chatter. You will prove you’re worthy of my throne by going to the village and taking care of a delicate matter.”

  “What sort of matter?” Sixtus twisted the ring on his index finger, engraved with the royal crest.

  “You will see soon enough. My steward will inform you of what’s to be done. Now, I must be going.”

  “Going to the tower again?” Sixtus heaved a deep sigh, weary of the argument that had stewed between vater and son for far too long. For years King Jörg had climbed the stairs extending into the heavens to visit the woman in her confinement. “The Träger grows stronger each day. Do you think it’s wise to have trained her?”

  “I have not heard of this magic in hundreds of years. It’s believed the humans are incapable of controlling such power.”

  Sixtus threw his hands in the air. “Because they’re weak vessels incapable of owning such wizardry.”

  His vater disregarded the hatred boiling inside Sixtus. “But the light struggles to defeat the darkness. I’d think it impossible for her. It’s remarkable,” he said.

  “The question you forget to ask yourself is how she came to hold the power of the Zwilling. Surely a human with such vitality is a menace to us all, a threat that should be done away with, and swiftly. Do you not recall how, injured and near death, she broke through our barrier walls? Has she put a spell on you?”

  “You read too much into our time together, son.”

  “How long do you think you can constrain your prisoner? She may take her own freedom and use her powers as she deems necessary, and then may the gods help us when the Teufel himself vents his wrath.”

  “The demon’s wrath is not to be taken lightly.” The king slammed the table with his fist. “Go now!” His order clapped like the skies before a storm, and he clutched at his chest as if in pain.

  The prince jumped at his vater’s sudden outburst. “Forgive me, Your Grace. You must calm yourself. The healer said you can’t be getting upset. It’s not good for your condition.”

  His vater struck his chest with a fist. “My heart is stronger than a hundred earthmen—” He broke into a coughing fit.

  “It will be as you say, Your Grace.” Not wanting to agitate him further, Sixtus bowed and dismissed himself. Fool, he muttered under his breath, and strode from the Great Hall. A human with the power of the Zwilling would bring death to them all.

  Valentina

  Arms weighted with a crate, I entered the bustling market square. The light wind snapped the vivid fabrics canopying the open-aired trader stalls. Street merchants and customers—earthmen, villagers, and travelers—crowded the courtyard. Stalls and trader carts stretched across the yard, stocked with gems, spindles, honey mead, exquisite silk brocade, and some of the finest cheese found in the canton.

  I wandered past a gantry of decadent chocolate molded by the town’s own Italian chocolatier and moaned, imagining the creamy sweetness melting over my tongue. The scent of freshly baked bread and pastries wafted from the baker’s shop, located a street over from the square, and the cavern in my stomach rumbled.

  A barrel-chested earthman stood bickering with the butcher over the price of a whole pig. “Why, you’re a thief!” He glowered up at the man.

  The butcher wiped his bloodied hands on his crimson-stained apron. “That is the price, dwarf. Do you want it or not?”

  “I’d rather starve than deal with the likes of you.” The earthman spat at the man’s feet before storming off.

  The butcher cursed. His eyes fell on me, and the scowl on his ruddy face deepened. “Where’s that scoundrel brother of yours?”

  “He is busy with our cow. I’m afraid she’s fallen ill.” I didn’t want to add to the townies’ distaste for my brother. Although my vater had been born and raised in the village, they’d never liked him. Instead, it was my mutter—the foreigner—who’d won the hearts of the villagers. When Vater had permitted it, she’d devoted her time to helping those in need and gained their respect. Many still grieved her loss.

  “He owes me. He gave me his word he’d attend the market today and clear up his debts. But I’ve yet to see him or the riffraff he keeps company with.”

  “I can account for my brother and nothing more,” I said. “When I see him, I will tell him you were looking for him.”

  Orell’s debts were many, and I feared what would befall us as people grew tired of his excuses. It was only a matter of time before they came looking to collect.

  “Very well. I wish you prosperity today.” The tightness in his round face eased.

  I adjusted the crate in my arms. “Thank you, Signor Zesiger, and to you.”

  “You’re a good girl, Valentina. It is a shame you’re left at the mercy of that goat brother of yours.”

  “I offer apologies for my brother.” I wished him a good day and promptly made my departure, threading between carts and stalls until I came to my family’s hut. I set the crate down and rubbed the ache in my arms before returning to the wagon.

  I climbed into the wagon bed and pulled the last crate to the edge before jumping down. As my feet touched the ground, a cheery voice chirped behind me, “That looks a wee bit heavy for a lady.”

  Grinning, I pivoted to find Flicker, his face returning my delight in our meeting. His mischievous dark eyes twinkled, and his ever-rosy cheeks flushed rosier with the nip of the mid-morning breeze.

  Balling my hands at my waist, I bestowed upon him a feigned look of disapproval. “You know I could have clobbered you for sneaking up on me.”

  Extending his hands, he said with a snort, “I’m small, but I’m mighty. That’s something you human folk forget.” He strode up to me and huffed and grunted and with some effort lifted the crate. Stubbornness oozed from every inch of his three-foot frame. Scarlet-faced, he said, “Best get those wee feet of yours moving if you don’t want this crate upended.” He staggered off toward the market square.

  I laughed and hurried after him. “What brings you to the village today?”

  “My uncle has come to the market to trade. With his son’s passing, he required a helping hand.”

  “Yet you have time to seek me out?” I said.

  “I saw you were struggling, and as expected, Orell’s nowhere to be found. Up to his usual antics, I assume?”

  “Yes, it’s as you suspect.” Flicker was the one person I’d always been honest with; it was a promise we’d made as children.

  “It’s time you considered marriage.”

  “I have. And when I find a man of quality, I will. Until then, I’ll make do on my own.”

  “Ludicrous,” he scoffed. “Your cheekbones stick out more each time I see you. And the gray circles under those brilliant blues of yours make you appear sickly.” He set the crate down on the ground insid
e the hut.

  I unloaded the contents and arranged them on the stand for customers to view. Flicker removed the cheese and displayed it on the opposite end of the counter. “Slim pickings today,” he said with a grim expression.

  My shoulders slumped as he voiced the worries that had plagued me on the journey to town.

  He touched my arm, and I lowered my gaze to look at him. Genuine solicitude shone in his eyes. “I wish I could help you more. But my trips to the valley become fewer with the demands at home. And the little I earn working in the mines scarcely takes care of Mutter and my siblings.”

  My throat tightened. “Please don’t worry on my account.”

  He cast a look around before grabbing my hand. “Here, take this.” He forced something into the wool of my mitten.

  I looked at the burnished ruby I now held and gasped, quickly closing my fingers to conceal the gem. “Are you crazy?” I said through clenched teeth, my voice low. “Where did you get this from?”

  “Where do you think?”

  “I can’t take it. I won’t see you punished for me.” I held out my closed hand for him to take the ruby. He folded his arms across his chest and refused to relieve me of a crime I wanted no part of. Come what may, I’d never disgrace myself as my brother had done.

  He inched closer, his dark eyes pleading with me. “I won’t see you starve.”

  “Everyone knows to steal from the dwarves means trouble for the villagers. We live in peace, and I won’t risk people’s lives.”

  “It’s not stealing if a dwarf gave it to you,” he said.

  My mouth unhinged. “But you stole it from the mines. The villagers made a treaty with the earthmen to stay away from the mountains in exchange for peace. Rumors travel of the kingdom of Schattenberg and King Gian’s ruthlessness toward any human who’d dare enter the mountains. No man, woman, or child is foolish enough to break the treaty. Besides, stealing is stealing, no matter whom you take from, despite your rationalizations to make it acceptable.”

  His jaw set. “One little gem? No one will miss it.”