Unlike my new friend. Fine, I’ll tell you – I know you’re dying to know. Now I’m only young and I’m a good girl. Some of the girls who work here are not good. I hope you know what that means, because I won’t say it and we can’t help but laugh and gossip about them. All the little maids are good, mind you, but some of the older ones are trouble. And the castle is full of handsome men and good looking strangers. If I was that way inclined, I could go out into the courtyard and whistle and find five men who’d be happy to tell me they love me.
But I would never do that. This will sound stupid, but I’ll say it anyway. Everleigh is my best friend and the person I am closest to, apart from Cook. And she won’t admit it, but she must be so sad about being Kingmaker. She will never love a man. She’ll never be wooed or kissed or courted. She will never marry or bear children. And one day, probably when we were still little, I thought to myself that I would be like Everleigh. There must be a better word for it or way to explain it, but I would live like she lived, and I would stay away from love too, kind of like keeping her company or something.
And I have. Till now. But now there have been a few sneaky kisses, but only because a boy I haven’t seen before is slipping me so much raspberry gin that I feel woozy. Then he’s telling me how pretty I am and he’ll lean in right close, because I can’t hear him proper and then his lips will be on mine. But a kiss is all he’ll have off me. This new fellow. I have never seen him before; he must be here for the feast. He is right up my street. Two years older than me, blonde hair and deep brown eyes. And sweet and kind and funny. He listens to what I got to say and though most of it’s nonsense I like having someone listen. Cook will talk, and I will listen. Everleigh talks and mostly I listen. I wait on everyone in the hall at mealtimes and I listen to everyone around me telling their tales.
But he listens to me. I am enjoying having someone that’s there just for me. He has promised me he will look for me every evening after supper and I will be somewhere he will find me.
Anyway, last night ended up going on and on and on until Cook finally ordered us to our beds and then Everleigh woke me up early.
I feel so groggy. I reckon I drank more last night than I have drunk altogether the whole way through my life. I think I may still be drunk.
Oh, it was good though. Cook was saying that poor Everleigh coped well with the feast, mind you.
She did. It must have been right scary, but she kept smiling.
I still can’t believe it’s almost time. Yesterday it was six days to go; now we’re a day less already. This time is going to fly by and oof, are we going to be busy. The castle is so full now we’re in the run up to Everleigh’s death day. We’re all run off our feet. Cook is in a right pickle. There’s so much to do with food and drink to keep all these visitors happy.
There’s food coming in from all over the Realm because we could never get enough on our own. The bakers and the cake makers are up from three in the morning preparing things and baking and of course they do need a bit of help to taste things, especially the new things they’re cooking up. They’re mixing tastes I’ve never tried before, like yesterday I tried a ham and jam tart. The hunters are bringing in game daily and the butchers are hanging, salting and then cutting it. Cook has sent the fishermen out every day and there are hundreds of dead fish stinking out the back room behind the kitchen. I can’t even go in there anymore. I don’t want to breathe in the smell of them.
Cook has made me go out and pick vegetables and flowers every day for weeks now. She needs everything that grows between now and then and if a slug gets to a lettuce before me, I can look out. I’ve got bruises on the inside of my arms because the basket’s so heavy.
She is right scary now. I’m hiding whenever I can and blaming my not being there on Everleigh. Cook’ll never know.
She reckons all the visitors that came to the feast will be back for the death day. And she reckons there’ll be even more besides. Every day there’s hundreds of horses riding out, with the smartest men on them, taking messages to all corners of the Realm. Lots of important people will be coming. It’s so exciting and so heart breaking.
There’ll be the sacrificial ceremony on Saturday morning, which I’m not looking forward to – I think I may hide away in my little room and not watch it. After that there’s some Mourning Parade where they lay out Everleigh and whichever brother dies and carry them down through the village so that everyone can see them.
I was with my friend last night, walking, talking, and around the back of the stable block they’re making the things they’ll lay on when they’re dead. I don’t know what they’re called – I’ll have to ask Cook. But they’re wooden, a bit like beds. On the floor, next to them the little maids are putting together circles of flowers. There’s a pile of them. I guess they’ll lay them on top of them or something before they go out to sea.
I must say I find it all a bit grim. It must be affecting Everleigh – how could it not. All her life she’s been special but only because they’re gonna kill her. And what a way to go. Dead in front of the whole Realm.
Anyway, they have another feast after they walk around with the two dead ones – this one’s a bit jollier, so Cook reckons. Though how any of us will feel jolly I don’t know. I’ve thought before that I’d stay and hopefully work for Millard or Macsen if he’s crowned – though I doubt it – but now I’m not sure if I’ll go away. Maybe find a great house – there’s always somewhere that needs a handmaiden. I just don’t know if I’ll be able to stay here without seeing her ghost everywhere.
Anyway, in this feast they crown the new King and say goodbye to the old one. Ooh, they do like their feasts and ceremonies this lot. I’ll be glad when it’s over and life can get back to normal. Normal-ish.
Oh, I can hear Cook yelling for me. She has the shrillest voice when she’s mad. I’m not going yet. My feet are right sore. Look, I bet if I take off my shoes I’ll have blisters the size of grapes. Wait. Yes, look at my poor feet. Blisters there, there and there.
4
EVERLEIGH HAD A RESTLESS night. When she got in from her mother’s grave the fire was still lit. She had sat in front of it for a while, but the face that kept coming to her was not her mother’s but that of the stranger outside the castle. He wasn’t anyone she knew, but she kept thinking about his dark blue eyes.
Eventually she was warm through and had gone to sleep; dreaming of the blue-eyed stranger, her mother, Halfreda and her sacrifice.
She felt as though the minute the fire went out she had woken up, shivering and still tired but unable to get back to sleep. She had turned this way and that and then given up.
She had called for Lanorie, who came sleepy eyed up to light the fire again. Then two little maids had come with warm ale and some bread and cheese. It is much earlier than sunrise, but she won’t get back to sleep now.
“Lanny, run me a bath please.”
“It’s so early, princess. Do you feel alright?”
Everleigh shakes her head. “I just couldn’t sleep at all. I’d rather get bathed and dressed. I think I need some fresh air. I may go down to the river for sun rise.”
“I can come with you if you want me to,” Lanorie says, though the offer doesn’t sound that enthusiastic. Lanorie looks so tired that Everleigh feels bad.
“No, I’ll go by myself. Once I’m ready you can take the morning off, I’ll see you at dinner time.”
Lanorie smiles. “Thank you, princess.”
It doesn’t take long to get Everleigh dressed in a warm green gown lined with fur, and even though she is a little early for sunrise, she’s ready to walk out.
Lanorie and the two little maids leave and Everleigh walks through the castle.
It is a wonderful place to live. Most of the windows are stained glass, letting light and rainbows in to the dark interior. The walls are painted or hung with glorious tapestries, depicting seasons and battle scenes, animals and the gods. Each room is warm and comfortable with scented rushes
on the floor and cosy fires.
Everleigh has enjoyed her life, her home, her family. Her father is wonderful and has looked after her so well. She feels completely loved and cherished. Her brothers are great – very different from each other, but fun and loving and nice to her. Addyson is a joy to everyone, except her father, and Everleigh feels sure that she makes up for that. Whenever she isn’t sewing, reading, riding, learning or practising archery, she is with Addyson. She loves hugging her, singing with her and showing her the castle and the grounds. She feels like a mum to her, even though there are only five years between them. She will miss her so much when she dies.
Everleigh frowns as she walks along, thinking of her family and her life. As always, the deep grumble of unhappiness in her stomach brings back her stark reality: she will die. Either Macsen or Millard will die. Addyson will be left on her own and her father will move away. How will Addyson cope without her mother figure? How can Everleigh spill her own blood knowing that it will kill one of her innocent brothers?
She doesn’t have long left and the truth is like a fist squeezing her heart in an ever-tightening grip. Maybe she won’t make it to her death day. Maybe her heart will be squeezed to a stop before that.
The castle is quiet at this time of the morning. The bakers are probably in the kitchen, but everyone else is asleep. It is so quiet; Everleigh can only hear her soft shoes scuffing on the flagstones.
She opens the door to the outside and the morning cold rushes to greet her. She pulls her cloak tighter around her neck and then spots the boy from her dreams. He is standing just outside. She puts on her brightest smile; something about this stranger intrigues her. He turns to her and smiles.
He has his hood down and she can see his shock of bright red hair. “Miss,” he greets her, with another smile. He doesn’t bow.
Everleigh nods at him and turns away. Once again, she can feel his eyes on her as she walks away, and she doesn’t look back.
She goes down to the river and sits waiting for Halfreda. She is early and the cold air stings her nose when she breathes in. It is still dark. She can just about make out the island in the middle of the river, but nothing else. She can hear rustling around her feet, probably snakes or rats. She stamps her feet to drive them away.
She wishes she’d worn a thicker cloak. It’s chilly.
She hears footsteps behind her and turns. Halfreda is slowly making her way towards her. Her hood is covering the most part of her face.
Everleigh stands up and Halfreda stops. “Child.” Halfreda reaches out and takes Everleigh’s hands in hers. “Thank you for coming.”
Everleigh smiles. She doesn’t know what to say. She doesn’t know why she’s even here, really.
“Child, come with me to the island,” Halfreda says, her voice a whisper, and then drops to a curtsey. She goes to the water’s edge and kneels. Out of the rushes, deeply covered, she pulls a small boat.
Halfreda pulls it on to the grass. “Come on.” She puts her hand out to Everleigh. Everleigh is nervous and confused but she knows that she trusts Halfreda. Halfreda has been in her household all her life. She knows her and loves her. She isn’t worried about her safety at all, just intrigued.
The two women sit in the boat, complete opposites of each other. Halfreda is old, tired, grey, Everleigh is young, vibrant, flushed and glowing with colour.
Halfreda rows the boat across the river to the island. It isn’t far and doesn’t take long. The muddy waters are swirling around them and the sun is finally rising. She stops the boat, climbs out and helps Everleigh to get out. She leads her by the hand to the middle of the island. The island is literally a small patch of land, risen out of the water. You can walk around the perimeter in ten minutes. It is tiny. It is also a spiritual place for anyone living in the castle. Blessings are given here, vows are made, children are named.
Everleigh shivers. Halfreda frowns. “Child, you’re cold.”
Everleigh nods. “I’m fine, Halfreda. Please, tell me why we’re here.”
“Sit with me.” Halfreda takes Everleigh’s hands again and leads her to the stone bench which sits smack in the middle of the island.
Everleigh sits. “Please, Halfreda, I’m cold and tired.”
“Child, I’m sorry. I will tell you why we’re here. I will tell you my story. Let me start a fire first. We need it.”
Everleigh nods. Halfreda quickly gathers some branches and lays them in a circle. She pulls a vial of white powder from her deep pockets and throws some on the wood. Then she reaches in another pocket and pulls out a small black disc. She throws it down on to the white wood. It snaps loudly and bursts in to flames. The white powder and the wood burn.
Everleigh leans towards the flames. Straightaway she feels better.
Halfreda sits next to her.
“Child, what I’m going to tell you is strange. I need you to listen.”
Everleigh tucks her feet under her and lets the heat from Halfreda’s magical fire wash over her. She watches Halfreda and listens to her fantastical tale.
Halfreda sits like a statue, she is warm and comfortable, and the time had come to test the newest Kingmaker.
“Child, I knew long ago, when I was less than half your age that I was special. I saw things and knew things. It scared me. I tried to hide from my knowledge and powers, as any timid little mouse would.
“When I was a little older than you are now I met a man. A very clever man. He was a teacher. He taught me and many others. He helped me to use my powers, guide my powers, help others with my powers.
“One day he came to me with a quest, a mission just for me. He told me about a prophecy – a prophecy that I have since seen for myself. My teacher has it, it’s an old scroll. And I could feel the power coming from it when I held it.
“The prophecy said that one of the Kingmakers would not die. She would instead live and be Queen. She would rise so high as to be the greatest ruler the Realm has ever seen.
“My job was to come to this castle and find that Kingmaker, to help her and guide her to her throne.
“Every time a Kingmaker comes near the end of her life, after her feast, I visit with them here. None of them has lived.”
Halfreda pauses and watches Everleigh’s face. Everleigh’s eyes are wide and she looks scared.
“I need to know if you are the Kingmaker or not.”
Everleigh stands up, her dress flowing around her feet. “I don’t know what to say, I am the Kingmaker. It’s what I’ve been raised to do. I don’t want to do anything else.”
“Child, every man is raised to something, but given time, a pauper would certainly take the place of a Lord if he was given the choice. Why do you think women are so keen to marry up in the world? You are the Kingmaker because that is what you’ve been told you are. But what if you were told you were something else?”
Everleigh shakes her head. “I don’t know.” Her arms hang by her side.
“Child, let me test you. Let’s see if we even have something to worry about.”
Everleigh nods.
Halfreda stands in front of her. “Child, a King is more than just a man named King, he is more than human. He is beyond our Realm. He is special. A Queen is the same. She is special. She is holy. She is more than a human woman. I need to see if you are a Queen or a Kingmaker.”
Everleigh shakes her head, steps backwards. “I’m scared, Halfreda.”
“I know Everleigh and all the Kingmakers who came before you were as well. The awful thing is, this tiny spark of hope I am showing you, may be extinguished as quickly as this fire could be.
“Fate is fate and life is mapped out for us, Everleigh. If you are destined to die in less than a week, then there is nothing that I can or will do to help you. However, if this test shows you to be Queen, I will do everything necessary to keep you safe.”
Halfreda takes Everleigh’s hands. “A Queen is a powerful woman, Everleigh. She can command the winds to howl and the seas to rise. She can make men fa
ll in love with her with merely a glance. Men will die for their Queen, women will fight for first place in her affections and loyally serve her. A Queen can command men and mother nature. I need to test that command. That is how I will know if you are Kingmaker or Queen. What are you Everleigh? Who are you?”
Everleigh shakes her head. “I don’t know any more, Halfreda. I can barely understand what you’re saying. Are you saying that I might live? That I might rule the Realm. What would happen to my father, to my brothers, to me?”
Halfreda shakes her head. “Everleigh, you think too much. I want you to stand and I want you to command mother nature,”
Everleigh shakes her head. “I can’t.”
“You have to. Repeat after me: I am sixteen years old and I will die on the morning of my seventeenth birthday. As tradition dictates I will be sacrificed and my life’s blood will determine which one of my two brothers will be King. My blood will kill one and crown one. My name is Everleigh and I am the Kingmaker. Or am I? River rise. Rise for me. Rise for your Queen.”
Everleigh shakes her head again. Halfreda nods and takes her hands. “Child, you must say it.”
Everleigh finally nods. “I am sixteen years old and I will die on the morning of my seventeenth birthday. As tradition dictates I will be sacrificed and my life’s blood will determine which one of my two brothers will be King. My blood will kill one and crown one. My name is Everleigh and I am the Kingmaker. Or am I? River rise. Rise for me. Rise for your Queen.”
The sun peaks through a cloud. The river is bathed in light. The flames of the fire that Halfreda made start rushing.
The Kingmaker Series, #1 Page 4
