The Sweetest Spell

by Suzanne Selfors

  “You’re welcome,” I said.

  An older woman took the girl’s hand. To my surprise, she did not pull the girl away from me. “We’ve had no food for days,” the woman told me. “You have saved my daughter’s life.”

  The others thanked me, including Missus Trog. Because exhaustion and fear had eaten away at them, maybe they no longer had the strength to despise me. But it genuinely felt as if my unnatural status had been vanquished by the simple act of bringing bread. In their desperate eyes, I was reborn.

  “We will bring more,” I said, glancing at Prince Beau. He nodded.

  My father stepped away and looked down at his cracked boots. “Please forgive me, Emmeline. I haven’t been as a father should be. Losing your mother was nearly too much to bear. I haven’t felt alive since her death.”

  “I understand,” I told him. “I know how it feels to lose someone you love.” I took his callused hand. “Will you tell me about her? When we have more time?” He nodded.

  While the Baron of Lime waited at the wagon, Prince Beau walked up to my father. “Mister Thistle?” he said, holding out his hand. “It’s an honor to meet you. My name is Prince Beauregard.”

  Father did not offer his hand. “My people are not slaves,” he said defiantly. I suddenly remembered this defiance. It had been a part of him when I was little, when he’d organized a revolt against taxes. Before Mother’s death.

  “Pardon me?” Prince Beau asked.

  “My people are not slaves. We are citizens. You have no right taking us from our homes and enslaving us in the mineral fields.”

  “Slaves in the mineral fields?” Prince Beau frowned. “Well, I can guess who’s behind that.” He held out his chin and stared deep into my father’s eyes. “For now, I can only offer you sustenance and apologize for my mother’s actions. And promise that when I marry your daughter, she will be protected. I have no power yet, but when I’m king there will be no slavery in the realm.” Over at the wall, the crowd’s shouting grew louder. “We should get back to the palace before you are discovered missing.”

  I ran my hand over my blackened hair. “There is much I need to tell you,” I said to my father. “But I must leave. We’ll bring more food as soon as possible. And we’ll figure out a way to help everyone.” I had no idea how we’d do that, and the prince’s uneasy look didn’t give me much confidence. “In the meantime, don’t tell anyone that you’re my father,” I warned, thinking of the queen’s dungeon. She’d throw him into the same cell with Griffin. “Keep your name a secret until I can figure out how to fix things.”

  Prince Beau shuffled nervously, looking toward the looming city walls. “I really think—”

  “You intend to marry my daughter?” my father asked, his head held high. I smiled. The way he’d interrupted, he could have been talking to our neighbor back in Root. It didn’t seem to faze him that it was the prince of Anglund who stood before him.

  “Yes,” Prince Beau said. “Tomorrow. Before the second day of tournament.”

  “That is not possible.” Father folded his arms. “Emmeline must bid for you at the next husband market.”

  “Husband market?” Prince Beau asked with a slight smile. “What’s that?”

  “It’s our tradition,” Father said. “It has always been our tradition. I tried to explain this to the other boy.”

  “What other boy?” I asked.

  “The one who brought me here. The one who saved me from the mineral fields. Owen. Owen Oak.”

  I forgot how to breathe. The shouting in the distance faded and all I could hear was the beating of my heart in my ears.

  Chapter Fifty

  Where is he?”

  “He went to the tournament,” my father said. “The king’s tournament. He’s going to fight.”

  I pulled my skirt to my knees and ran from the clearing, my lopsided stride carrying me past the wagon where the Baron of Lime waited to drive us back to the city. Owen. Owen was alive. Owen was behind those walls. In the arena. He’d saved my father. He was here!

  I tried to run faster, my boots kicking up pebbles as I reached the road. The city gate seemed so far away. But someone grabbed my arm, pulling me to a stop. “Emmeline, where are you going?” the prince asked.

  “Owen’s alive,” I said.

  “Emmeline. Listen to me. There’s something I must tell you.”

  “Please help me get back through the gate,” I pleaded, my face twisted with happiness and panic. “I want to see him. I thought he was dead. But he’s here. He’s in the arena.”

  “That’s what I need to tell you.” Prince Beau held tight to my arm. “He was in the arena. He was one of the first fighters. But …”

  “But what?”

  “He said things. He spoke against the king. Mother had him sent to the dungeon.”

  I yanked my arm from his grip. “You knew Owen was in the dungeon? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I was going to tell you. No, that’s a lie.” He looked away. “I was going to have him released. Same with your other friend, that much is true. But I wasn’t going to tell you because I was afraid you’d want to leave with them. If you marry me, Emmeline, you could solve a lot of problems for me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “My reputation is tenuous at best. The people don’t know me. I’ve spent most of my life working on my inventions, shut away from public activities. Mother would rather leave the throne to one of my cousins. She thinks I’m weak, that I’m half a man because …”

  “Because you love the baron.”

  He met my gaze with surprise. “Yes.”

  I stepped closer. “Do you think you’re half a man?”

  “No, of course not. I know what I’m capable of. I know the changes I want to bring to Anglund. The taxes must be fair. They must benefit the people with new roads and a better sewage system. And we must have progress. The last thing we need is a new palace.”

  “You don’t need me by your side to accomplish that. As long as Anglund is your first love, the people won’t care who you choose as your private love.” I turned and looked back at the city gate. Owen.

  “Would you leave?” Prince Beau asked. “Would you leave if you could?”

  “Aye.”

  “You’d give up a life with servants and jewels and a crown?”

  “Aye. For freedom, aye.”

  “You would have freedom once I rule,” he said. “You would not have to make the chocolate unless you wanted to. You could go wherever you wanted. You could …” Understanding filled his eyes. “Oh, I see. You are speaking of a different kind of freedom. You love him.”

  I nodded.

  Prince Beau took my arm again, but this time with a gentle, guiding touch. “Then there is something else you need to know. He was thrown in the dungeon for treason. He’s going to be executed after the tournament tomorrow.”

  “Executed?” My knees weakened, but the prince held me upright.

  “I will still have him released,” he said. “I will bribe the guards. Both of your friends will be free.”

  “Thank you.”

  I looked over his shoulder where my father and the Baron of Lime stood, the homeless Flatlanders gathered around. The Kell. The first people. My people.

  “What do we do about them?” the prince asked as he followed my gaze. “Until I rule, I have no power to rebuild the Flatlands.”

  I struggled for an answer. It did not lie with the king, who was a buffoon, or with the queen, who’d prefer the Flatlanders to die. How had it come to this—that I was their only hope? Me. The girl they’d shunned. The girl with no purpose but to bring bad luck.

  As the crowd continued to shout their protests outside the city wall, the answer came, unfurling itself like a flower in bloom. The link in our magic had been broken many generations ago, and I was about to fix it. I was about to change our world.

  “The sweetest spell,” I murmured.

  And so, there on the road, with the unrest growing a
round us, the prince and I forged a plan.

  Chapter Fifty-one

  A trio of soldiers shoved me into a dungeon cell where I landed face-first in a pile of moldy straw. I scrambled to my feet as a thick wooden door closed behind me with a loud thud. A key turned in the lock. “Hey!” I shouted, my face pressed up to the door’s barred window. “I’m a citizen. I demand to be heard. Send a scroll to my tax-collector. He’ll vouch for me. Hey!” My voice echoed down the stone corridor. Laughter was the only reply as the soldiers strode away.

  “You’re wasting your time. They don’t listen to reason.”

  A man stepped out of the shadows. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim light, which trickled in through slits set high in the wall. He stood tall and broad-chested. His shirt hung open and his pants had holes in the knees. Light settled on a newly grown beard and on the hair that covered his chest. The hair on his head was chopped as if with a dull knife. “You have red hair,” I whispered.

  “Aye, it’s no secret. You don’t have to whisper.” His accent was exactly like Emmeline’s. The forest grew in his eyes, just like it did in Emmeline’s. “They know I’m a dirt-scratcher.”

  The air was rank with things I didn’t want to discover. My gaze quickly swept the floor. Damp rotting straw, a bucket of crud, rat droppings—just like every dungeon in every story I’d ever read. How soon would the rats find my bare toes? Or my bare chest? How far underground were we? The walls began to close in and I struggled to find my voice. “Did they arrest you for leaving the Flatlands?” I asked as I pressed my spine against the door. “Did you leave because of the flood?”

  “I didn’t leave because of the flood. I left because …” He narrowed his eyes. “Why do you want to know these things? Who are you? Why do you have that number painted on your chest?”

  “I’m a dairyman’s son, from the town of Wander.” The walls pressed closer. I turned around and yelled through the barred window. “Do you hear me out there? I demand to speak to someone! I have rights!”

  “You’re wasting your breath. They don’t care. My name’s Griffin, by the way.”

  I pounded my fists on the door. Surely I wouldn’t be left here to rot. Bartholomew Raisin had witnessed the whole thing. He’d help me. He’d demand my release. “I broke no laws!” I hollered.

  Griffin leaned against the wall. “I broke a few laws. I admit it. But that’s not why I’m here. The king locked me away so he wouldn’t have to pay the reward he’d promised. You heard of the Milkmaid?”

  I stopped pounding. “Emmeline?”

  “Aye. She’s the one. I brought her to Londwin City and delivered her right to King Elmer’s fat feet. He was supposed to give me the five thousand coin reward. But he threw me in here instead.”

  “You brought Emmeline to Londwin City?”

  “She asked me to protect her.” He stroked his furry chin. “Of course she wanted more from me than that. She’s a woman, after all. She’s going to bid on me at the next husband market.”

  “Bid on you?” Was this boasting or truth? “Emmeline wants to marry you?”

  “Every girl in the Flatlands wants to marry me.” He raised his eyebrows and looked at me as if I’d just crawled out from under a rock. As if I should have known that he was Mister Popular. Truth be told, his handsomeness shone even through the grime. Not that I usually paid attention to whether or not a man was handsome, but this guy was good-looking in a smack-you-in-the-face sort of way. It couldn’t be ignored.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” he said, slapping my back. “I’m thinking we’ll have a good chance of escaping if we work together. That old guy in the corner’s been no use at all. He’s practically dead.”

  I didn’t care about the old guy in the corner. Emmeline had traveled with this Griffin fellow so it was possible that they’d … “Wait a minute,” I said. “Emmeline and you…?” I cleared my throat. “You’re in love with Emmeline?”

  “She’s in love with me,” Griffin said. “No doubt about it. How could she not be?” He spread out his arms as if presenting himself to a panel of judges.

  I measured myself against him. He stood at least a head taller, was nearly twice as wide, and then there was that whole “handsome” thing. His chest had probably grown to its size because it was inflated with confidence and arrogance, but didn’t girls like that?

  Griffin dropped his arms and smiled coyly. “Emmeline and I spent many a night together on the road. The least I can do is accept her bid. Besides, she’s going to be the richest girl in the Flatlands and I deserve the richest girl.”

  Many a night? I was really starting to dislike this guy. “Look, buddy, I hate to break it to you, but Emmeline’s marrying the prince of Anglund.”

  His smile fell. “Who?”

  “The prince of Anglund.”

  “Never heard of him. But it doesn’t matter because he’s not from the Flatlands. Flatlanders marry Flatlanders. That’s how it works.”

  “They are getting married,” I said. “Queen Beatrice announced the marriage at the tournament.” I pointed to the painted number on my own hairless chest. “I was there. I heard the queen tell everyone that Emmeline and the prince are getting married tomorrow.”

  Griffin scowled, then began to pace, his big boots kicking straw here and there. A rat darted from the straw, jumped over my bare feet, and squeezed through a space beneath the door. I cringed.

  “I’ve got to get out of here,” Griffin said. “I’ve got to talk to Emmeline.”

  I wanted the exact same thing. “We can take the soldiers,” I said. “If we can get them to come into the cell, we can jump them. Do you have any kind of weapon?”

  “No,” Griffin said.

  “I do,” a weak voice said. “I have a knife.”

  “You have a knife?” Griffin lunged into the corner where someone lay in the shadows. Rustling sounded. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a knife? Let me have it, old man!” More rustling sounds, a soft moan, and then Griffin returned to the light, a victorious smile on his face. “This will do,” he said, holding out the blade. The handle was made from a brown woolly’s horn. “Now we need a plan.”

  “Kill me,” the old man said, his breath hissing like a teakettle. “If you kill me, then the soldiers will come and take away my dead body.”

  Wait a minute. I knew that voice! My heart leaped into my throat. Not caring what might be nesting beneath, I darted across the straw. He lay in a curled-up heap. I kicked his bone-thin leg. “Peddler, you bastard! Get up and face me like a man.”

  “You know him?” Griffin asked.

  “He’s the one who kidnapped Emmeline. He took her from my house. And he tried to kill me.” I kicked him again. “Get up.” Peddler groaned but didn’t move.

  “What was Emmeline doing at your house?” Griffin asked. “Hey, wait a minute. What’s your name?”

  Ignoring Griffin, I grabbed the tattered collar of Peddler’s merchant coat and was about to pull him to his feet when he turned his weathered face toward me. “Go ahead and kill me, young Mister Oak. I have nothing to live for. My daughter is dead.”

  “I’m not interested in your lies,” I said.

  Slowly he sat up. His wispy hair, once covered in ground charcoal, was white again. He tilted his head back, exposing his wrinkled neck. “Do it. Break my neck. Kill me now.”

  I shuddered as his sour breath hit me. This was the moment I’d longed for. When I could bring him to justice. When I could take my revenge. My fingers twitched as I imagined wrapping them around his neck, which was as thin as a willow branch. I took a long breath …

  … then relaxed my fingers. The urge to kill Peddler was gone. I’d carried a body’s weight in hatred for him during this long journey. But now, knowing Emmeline was safe, I shed the hatred, feeling only disgust. “Your fate is in the king’s hands now. I don’t care if he hangs you or if he leaves you here to rot, but I’m definitely not going to relieve you of your misery.”

  Peddler slu
mped against the wall, his arms wrapped around his bony knees. “You have a right to hate me, Owen Oak. I shouldn’t have taken Emmeline from you.”

  “Hold on.” Griffin folded his arms and glared at me. “You’re Owen. You?”

  “Yes, I’m Owen. What of it?”

  “She called out your name a few times in her sleep.” He looked me up and down, not bothering to hide his surprise. “Why would she call out your name?”

  “My name?” Was he serious? He looked serious, the way his eyebrows had knotted.

  There I was, standing in the king’s dungeon, surrounded by stink and filth, having learned that the woman I loved had spent many a night with the most handsome man in the kingdom and that she was also scheduled to marry a prince in the morning. I should have been nearly suicidal but that little piece of news—that she’d called out my name—gave me hope.

  “In her sleep?” I couldn’t believe it. “How did she say it? I mean, did she sound angry?”

  He frowned. “I don’t know how she said it.”

  “Come on, try to remember. Was it sad like this … Owen? Or was it kind of sweet like this … Owen? Or was it—”

  “I don’t remember.” His glare could have burned me alive. “Doesn’t matter how she said it, does it? Because I’m the one who protected her. You let her get kidnapped by an old man. But I brought her safely to the king. I’m the hero.”

  The truth stung. And because I had no good defense for losing to an old man, I went on the attack. “Some hero you are. You delivered her right into the prince’s hands. And now you’ll never marry her.”

  “Sounds like you two are in love with the same woman,” Peddler mumbled from the corner. Griffin and I glared at each other.

  “I was mistaken,” Griffin said coldly. “She never called out your name. She thought you were dead.”

  “Emmeline thought I was dead? Why would she…?” I whipped around. “What did you do, old man?” I darted into the corner and grabbed his arm. “Tell me!”

  “I might have told her you were dead,” he whimpered as I squeezed. “Okay, okay, I said you were dead.”