by Tia Nevitt
“Spirit of the mirror!” Lars yelled. “Come forth!”
Nothing happened.
“Hmm,” he said. “It doesn’t seem to work.”
“You haven’t properly activated it, you fool,” the queen said. “Now what about the demonstration I asked for?”
Lars flashed Gretchen a mute appeal that sent a surge of acid up Gretchen’s throat. He needed help—for her to distract the queen somehow. What could she do? She was no entertainer. The last thing she wanted to do was stand in front of all these people and do something amusing. She spent her entire life trying to avoid being pointed at, laughed at, and yet it seemed to happen every day anyway without her doing anything to encourage it.
But now, Lars was counting on her.
“Perhaps a different kind of demonstration?” Lars said. He bent over, put his hands on the floor and popped his feet into the air just as naturally as Gretchen would arise from a chair. He flipped off the chest, hand-walked over to the dais and stopped at the foot of the steps.
The queen heaved a sigh and tapped her fingers.
Gretchen walked over to Lars, hardly knowing what she would do. Maybe...maybe it didn’t matter what she did? And maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if she had some measure of control over what the people were laughing at. She pushed on Lars’s legs, and they came down. Before he had a chance to retain his feet, she climbed on his back, threw out her arms and began to sing. Lars obliged her by crawling about the room. Her voice faltered at first but then grew strong. She sang a bawdy traveling song, one that everyone knew but always could be counted on for a laugh. She knew that it would be doubly shocking coming from her small frame, which people tended to consider childlike.
Her voice faltered as she spied someone entering the throne room. She stared down the line of people and suddenly she knew how the queen had found Angelika so quickly. And she realized that she and Lars were in very deep trouble.
Rudolph walked down the line of people, dressed in the queen’s livery.
The queen turned and smiled. “Aah, my newest guard. These two fools wanted to meet you. Or perhaps you already know them?”
Rudolph stopped. He was resplendent in chain mail, shield, sword and helmet. “I know them,” he said.
“Then they are from the treacherous farm you told me of?”
“The same. However, the Madchen is new there. She is not involved in their treachery.”
“What treachery?” Gretchen said. “You’re the treacherous one!”
Lars whispered, “Gretchen, hush. Let me up.”
At the same time, Rudolph said, “But this man—he’s the worst of the lot. He has another name, the name of Stump the Dwarf.”
“I see,” the queen said. “Prince Richard’s fool, as I recall.” The queen turned to Lars. “Are you loyal to him, still?”
Gretchen climbed off Lars’s back and he arose. “I was fool to the father, not the son. And I am as loyal as one can be to a prince who’s been unheard of for years.”
“What are you doing in my realm?”
“Wandering, as our kind often do. I heard tell of the dwarf farm, so I came to see if it really existed.” He turned to the assembly. “Imagine it! Seven dwarfs, of which our illustrious guard here was the largest. All whistling while we worked in our miniature Einhaus, with our miniature cows, miniature sheep and miniature pigs.”
“When was the last time you saw Prince Richard?” the queen asked.
“He’s the slave in your magic mirror, isn’t he?” Lars asked. There was a murmur around the room as he waved toward the mirror. “Why don’t you ask him?”
The queen stood. “I believe I will.” She gestured to Rudolph. “Restrain him.”
Rudolph did so with open glee as the queen glided over to the mirror. Lars did not resist as Rudolph wrenched both of his arms behind him. The queen placed her hand upon the silvered surface. A shadowy face appeared within.
Rudolph almost lost his hold on Lars when he suddenly went limp.
“Slave of the magic mirror,” she said, “when was the last time you saw Lars the Dwarf, otherwise known as Stump?”
“Why, just a few moments ago,” the reflection said in an unexpected voice. “When I looked in the mirror!”
* * *
Gretchen watched the queen while edging toward Lars and Rudolph. The queen stood looking at the mirror with a frown of confusion.
“My queen!” Rudolph shouted. “The dwarf, he—” His words cut off in a yowl of pain as Gretchen kicked him in the knee.
The queen turned to frown at him. “Guards—restrain the girl as well.”
A guard came in on either side of Gretchen and each grabbed an arm.
The queen turned back toward the mirror and frowned.
“My queen!” Rudolph said.
Without turning, the queen said, “Yes?”
“That voice that answered your question—it was his!” He gave Lars a brutal shake.
“That’s right,” Lars said. “The prince is free, and I am now the voice in the mirror. Go ahead! Ask your slave his name!”
She frowned and turned back to the mirror. Instead, she said, “How did you become the face in the mirror?”
“Because I volunteered to take on the spell!”
“Why?”
“Why what? Oh, Queen!” Lars said with a gleeful chuckle. “The prince has been holding so much from you. I took on this spell as a lark, because I thought it would be amusing. I didn’t expect—” he stared around the ceiling as if he were demented, “—to suddenly become the guardian of such knowledge!”
“What knowledge?”
“I shall demonstrate! Since you are out of questions, Gretchen, place your hand on the mirror.”
The queen paused a moment and then nodded and stepped aside. Gretchen yanked her arms away from the guards, ran over to the chest and climbed on. She placed her hand upon the mirror. Once again, the face swirled within.
“There are many questions for which I have the answer,” Lars said. “Questions you, my queen, have never even begun explore. Questions of many vexsome condrumities of life. Questions of knowledge dark and dread. Questions of things that people, and beings other than people, would be loath to keep hidden.” He grabbed his head. “Gretchen, ask me something—anything! Ask me...” Lars paused for a moment. “Ask me how many illegitimate children the Holy Roman Emperor has.”
Gretchen stared at him for a moment. “Uh...how many illegitimate children does the Holy Roman Emperor have?”
“Six! Ask me how many maidens the Sultan of Turkistan has deflowered.”
She blushed. “How many maidens has the Sultan of Turkistan deflowered?”
“Fifty-three. Ask me how many lovers the Queen of Weissland has had since her marriage.”
“Uh—” Gretchen said, glancing sidelong at the queen.
“Stop!” The queen said. “Enough!” She glared out at the assembly. “Out!” she shrieked. “Clear the hall!”
Rudolph released him and the room swiftly emptied, the crowd oddly hushed until they were through the door, at which point only the hisses of whispers reached them.
“I ought to have you hanged!” the queen screeched.
“I can’t imagine why you haven’t,” Lars said. “But I think you get my point.”
“And that is?”
He looked back at Gretchen. “I am now bound to answer Gretchen’s questions, not yours.”
She looked at Gretchen. �
�Ask him what point he was trying to make.”
“What point were you trying to make?”
“That whoever has the spell of this mirror upon them is dangerous to you,” Lars answered.
“It hasn’t been dangerous so far,” the queen pointed out. “It has only been to my advantage.”
“Yes,” he said, turning to look at her. “But now that its weakness has been revealed?”
“What weakness?”
“That anyone may ask questions to the person who is bound to the mirror, as long as they know how to activate it. And that the person who is bound to the mirror has access to knowledge that is almost limitless.” He smiled. “And that the prince has been withholding that knowledge from you.”
She frowned at him. “Exactly what did you do to become bound to the mirror?”
“I simply told it that I would be bound by it.”
There was silence for a moment. The queen began to pace.
Unnoticed, Gretchen turned back to the mirror. “Mirror!” she yelled. “I will be bound by you!”
Lars spun. “Gretchen, no!”
“Too late! Quick—put your hand on the mirror! Ask me—”
“No!” the queen said, and she shoved Gretchen off the chest. Gretchen tumbled to the floor. Sybelle stood in front of the mirror and looked at her reflection. “I will be bound by the mirror! I will have its knowledge!”
Lars hastened to Gretchen and helped her to her feet. “That was brave of you,” he whispered.
“Yes, but now what?”
“I’m hoping she binds that thing up with so many spells that no one can ever be trapped by it again.”
“But the knowledge she will gain—”
“Trust me!”
“Knowledge?” the queen said. “Yes, of course. The prince was far cleverer than I imagined.”
She placed her hand on the mirror. For a third time that evening, it clouded over, and when a face appeared therein, it was distinctly feminine.
“Mirror, tell me...” She stopped and looked around. “Guard!”
The door opened. “Yes, my queen?”
“Put these two in stocks until I call for them again.”
The guards grabbed Lars and Gretchen without too much trouble and bore them away.
Chapter Sixteen
Richard took her straight to the church, where Angelika’s presence got him an immediate interview with the bishop.
“I daresay you know Princess Angelika,” Richard said with a gesture.
“Indeed, Your Highness.” He inclined his head and turned to Richard. “It is you I do not know.”
“I am Richard of Schwarzberg.”
“I see,” the bishop said. He again inclined his head.
Richard said, “We must be married without delay.”
The bishop frowned. “But the posting of the banns...”
“You can issue a license,” Richard said. “Her highness is recovering from a poisoning. The queen’s physic gave me this—to counteract the poison.”
The bishop took the vial and sniffed it uncertainly.
“We mean to take the throne from the queen,” Richard said. “Now if you prefer for the throne to stay in the hands of the queen, by all means turn us over to her. Otherwise, please perform the ceremony without delay.”
And in very short order, Richard found himself kneeling at the altar, with Angelika at his side, and two priests to serve as witnesses. He looked over at her while the Latin words of the ceremony slid past his ears without his comprehension. Her eyes were downcast, the long lashes a veil to her thoughts. He wondered at this stranger, barely known to him, to whom he was about to pledge his life. What little he knew of her, he loved, loved desperately.
Would she ever truly love him?
He clenched his fists at his sides and as he took the vows, he silently added another—that he would prove worthy of her trust and love.
After the ceremony, the bishop offered a room in his house, but Richard declined. Better an anonymous inn for them to consummate their vows. Angelika was silent as he led the pony through the city streets in silence. She wore a veil, and since she was not in her recognizable tatters, no one knew her for the Tattered Princess. He brought her into the Gasthaus where he had met the minstrel, and introduced her to the Gastwirt as his wife.
The innkeeper looked surprised to find that he was married. Richard asked for their best suite, and they were escorted to a pleasant room with a parlor and were left alone.
Richard went to look out the window. He was alone with the woman who was now his wife, and although he knew what he must do, he had no idea how to begin doing it. He stood there for long moment, staring at the sun as it sank beyond the slanting tile roofs of the city.
He turned and looked at Ange. She looked at him. He went over, took her hand and led her to the bedroom. Once within, he stopped them both.
“This marriage has been very sudden, and I’m aware that I am a stranger to you. I will trust you not to contest the marriage if you wish to postpone the—” he stopped and cleared his throat, “—the consummation of our vows. You stay in here, and I’ll sleep in the other room.”
He went to the door, opened it and then turned to look at her. “If you wish otherwise, just open the door.”
And before she had a chance to say a word, he slipped through the door and closed it behind him.
He heaved a sigh and walked over to sit on the sofa. He scrubbed his eyes with his hand. He was so tired, probably tired enough to sleep on the sofa well enough. If thoughts of the girl in the other room didn’t keep him up all—
The door opened. He looked up at Angelika, standing there in the doorway.
* * *
Ange stood there, twisting her hands together in front of her. She could not believe she stood here before him, but she also knew that if she did not do this, she would feel a fraud when she faced her stepmother.
And also, she had to admit that she wanted this. He was her husband now. He was a handsome man, and thoughtful. He was not repellent like her uncle. That made a difference, did it not? Was there not some reason women sought out handsome men, other than to produce handsome babies? Did not such attraction feed desire?
“I’ve been thinking about the love spell,” she said.
“You have?”
“I think I know what must be done to break it.”
“You do?”
She walked up to him and held out her hand. He took it. She looked up at him, and suddenly he reached for her and kissed her. For a moment his kiss was so passionate that all she could do was stand there, frozen with shock. But then he released her slightly, and his lips turned gentle. His hands slid up her arms. She felt a shiver jolt up her spine as alien feelings surged over her. Her body molded against his as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. The instincts of a woman, long suppressed, took over.
He pulled away slightly. “Come,” he said with a smile. “We have all night. There is no need to hurry.”
What followed was a night that was in many ways awkward and in many ways wonderful. It was a night when two people shared the secrets of their bodies for the first time. She was shy and did not want to look upon him at first, but that seemed silly after her blood was spilled and she lay there stunned at the intimacy of it all. What followed was a sudden and driving curiosity that shocked her.
* * *
If she was shocked, Richard was delighted. There was nothing more
charming, he thought, as she rolled on top of him with a shy smile, than a warm, willing and curious wife.
He never once thought of Sybelle.
Many hours later, they lapsed into an exhausted sleep.
* * *
The guard captain was kinder than Gretchen expected. He placed wooden blocks beneath their feet even as he secured their hands in the stocks. Otherwise both of them would have hanged by their necks and likely choked to death.
Lars was gallant to the end. “The queen only meant for me to be placed in stocks,” he said as they locked Gretchen’s clamps.
“I heard the queen, little man. Nice try.”
“But really, sir—a woman in stocks?”
The captain pursed his lips, as if he agreed with Lars. “It happens all the time around here.”
At first, the stocks were merely uncomfortable, but the discomfort swiftly escalated to pain. It started in her arches, from standing slightly on tiptoe to alleviate the pressure that the neck stock exerted on her spine. It radiated up the front of her shins, twin lines of fire. From there, soreness bloomed in her kneecaps, which she alternately locked and released in a vain attempt to find a less painful position. Then her hips, burning embers of ache deep inside her pelvis. From there, the small of her back—always prone to pain—became a ball of agony that shot pain right up to her skull.
But at least she had not been struck. As soon as Lars was helpless, Rudolph had struck him—again and again—until the captain told him to stop.
For a long time, he was senseless. Anxiously, Gretchen listened, counting each sound of his breath, gently calling his name over and over, ignoring those who came to stare until finally everyone retired, even Rudolph, who was prodded ungently away by his irate—and clearly, disgusted—guard captain.
Shortly afterward, she heard a groan.
“Lars?”
“Are you?”
“I’m fine. You’re the one who Rudolph beat.”
