One Night At The Ball: A Sisters of the Curse Novella

by Lisa Manifold

  She allowed all the pain and hurt to rise up. These two false friends—look at them! They’d hurt someone who had nothing but good intentions towards them, yet here they were, happy as could be. She felt a sneer move across her face, and was glad for the veil. She didn’t want to expose herself just yet. The bride was coming in. Along with the rest of the guests, Catrin stood to watch Ceridwen enter.

  She was beautiful. So lovely that Catrin felt tears spring to her eyes. It wasn’t just the physical beauty. Her gown was astonishing. It looked like a stream of cream satin, flowing and moving as easily as water. Her veil hung to her hemline, covering her face. It was far more transparent than the one that Catrin wore—Catrin could see the face of the bride through it.

  The veil had a train longer than the dress, and there were flowers scattered across it. Roses, pink and red and white. Ceridwen moved so gracefully that her train barely moved, and the roses came along behind her, adding to the heady scent already in the chapel.

  What made Catrin sure in her resolve was the look on Ceridwen’s face. She glowed. Her eyes were fixed on Aland, and her face shone with the light of a thousand stars. It was the face of a woman who loved and knew, without a doubt, that her love was returned. All at the expense of Catrin of Nandrenay.

  Catrin pulled her eyes from Ceridwen to look at Aland. When she did, the tears trickled down her cheek. He looked at Ceridwen with the same love she had for him. The two of them were oblivious to anyone but themselves.

  Catrin reached under the veil and brushed her tears away. Aland had never cared for her, never had any intention of offering for her. Never. The way he looked at Ceridwen told her that. He had been false, allowing Catrin and her family to think otherwise. She looked at Ceridwen again.

  He didn’t deserve a love like Ceridwen’s. In spite of Ceridwen’s falsehood, her love for Aland was true. Catrin had seen that before she ever knew the name of the man Ceridwen loved.

  She hadn’t been sure, when she made her plans to come here today, what it was she was going to do. She knew that she was going to use the gifts that had been given to her. But what direction they would take was something that she’d not been sure of. Now she knew.

  With such a couple, what would their first object be? The first object of any couple, royal or otherwise. To have a child. An heir. Love aside, dynastic concerns came first and foremost. She felt bad for Ceridwen, but Ceridwen knew of Aland’s behavior. She had chosen to tie herself to such a man. With such a choice came acceptance of his fate.

  Catrin hardened her heart. So be it. Aland had made his choices, had taken the actions he had. Ceridwen had chosen him. His fate became hers. Whatever happened, the pair of them were at fault.

  She sat as the bride reached the altar, and she grit her teeth as the couple exchanged their vows. Once the service was over, the happy couple, who couldn’t seem to stop beaming, Catrin noted, ran from the church in a shower of rose petals.

  The guests followed them to the great ballroom, and Catrin kept her veil on as she entered. She chose a seat near the back of the room, where the nobility sat.

  Food was served, and Catrin made a pretense of accepting some from the footman. Around her, her neighbors chatted. The women on either side of her attempted conversation, but Catrin gave low-voiced, one word replies, and the women took their lead from her. It mattered not. All that mattered was watching Aland and his bride.

  Every smile, every time that Aland held her hand and brought it to his lips, Catrin’s heart broke a little more. She had been sure she’d be able to attend this with no real feeling, but she’d been wrong.

  The thought made her anger reach a state of rage. He had done this. He had toyed with her, allowed her to hope—and for what?

  His ego. And his hope for his true objective.

  Well, that was all about to change. The thought of how she would extract retribution from them both made her smile and assuaged her wounded heart.

  Finally, the king stood, and offered his congratulations to the happy couple. Then it was time. Aland stood, and began to speak.

  This was her moment.

  Catrin stood also and threw off her veil. She heard gasps around her as some of those sitting near her recognized her. She heard a sob and “Catrin!” that she thought might be her mother. She could see the looks of fear of those at the head table.

  She wasn’t sure, until that moment, if she would go through with it. Then she looked up, and made eye contact with Aland.

  He was gazing at her with annoyance. Annoyance. As though she were a horse fly, merely to be swatted away. As though he’d done nothing wrong, and it was she who was in the wrong. Her heart hardened further.

  “Your Majesty, Your Highness,” she said, casting her voice out so as to be heard, “My lords and ladies. Before the good Prince Aland has his say, I wish to confer my congratulations to the happy couple. They are most fortunate.” She raised her cup, and took a drink, smiling at Aland. She made her face mocking.

  A brief glance at Ceridwen showed her that tears had started down the face of the bride, but Catrin pushed on, ignoring her. The tears only confirmed that Ceridwen knew she had done wrong. It was time to pay the price.

  Aland raised his cup warily, accepting her words. He doesn’t know what to think, she thought gleefully. Good.

  “It’s customary to offer a gift to the new couple, with felicitations and good thoughts for the life they are beginning together. I didn’t bring a gift, but I have one to offer.”

  The king, Aland’s father, stood up, sensing that something wasn’t right. Catrin waved her hand at him, and he sat down abruptly. She smiled inwardly. Her talent was finally doing her some good.

  “So hear me, good people of Gallivas. Hear me, Prince Aland and Princess Ceridwen. I gift you, on this, the day of your marriage.” She bowed, again mocking.

  “I gift you daughters. Many, many daughters. So many, you shall feel awash in them. Of sons, you shall have none. Unless, of course, the sons of others visit your court.” She smiled. “You shall never experience the joy of knowing your line continues. You will be fruitful, and most certainly multiply, but your line will never again rule the throne. It will be that of another who will receive the crown of the king.”

  Catrin laughed, seeing the horror on the faces of the family at the head table. Daughters were a burden. Daughters took time and effort and were no guarantee of honor and nobility to a house. They added consequence only through marriage. And as her parents now knew, with a daughter, there was no guarantee of passing on the kingdom to one’s flesh and blood. Daughters were welcomed only after having a son. Her words were tantamount to blasphemy.

  “Catrin, no!” Grizelle had come from wherever she was. “No, don’t do this! My child, please.” She advanced towards where Catrin stood, but stopped when Catrin held out a hand. “No, my lady Grizelle, I need no advice from you.”

  She returned her focus to the people sitting frozen at the head table. “You,” she said, making eye contact with first Aland, and then Ceridwen, although the small piece of her heart still crying shrieked for Ceridwen, “Will never know the joy of fulfilling your duties. There will never be an heir for Gallivas until one of your daughters brings forth the line of another. You will know what it is to let down your line, your father, your ancestry. As my father has suffered through your behavior, you will share in it.”

  She looked around at the guests. No one moved. Catrin threw up her arms. “This is what happens when those who lead treat others poorly! This is how things go when those who rule care not for the lives of others!” She turned back to Aland, who still watched her in horror.

  ’You behaved poorly, and cursed me with your actions, and your lack of concern. Both of you. Now take that curse upon yourself. You will never, ever beget sons. You will fail in your most important responsibility.”

  She dropped her arms and drew her veil back over her head. She turned and moved towards the doors of the ballroom. She could hear her parents cry out h
er name, but she ignored them. They were part of her past.

  “Take her! Bring her back!” She heard Aland shout behind her. She could hear panic in his voice, and the thought that he was finally understanding the extent of his actions and some of the pain he’d wrought made her smile. Giggle, even.

  The thud and squeal of chairs being thrust from tables, the sounds of men running towards her grew. She turned and saw Aland pointing, the king and queen horrified, and Ceridwen crying.

  For the first time since she’d learned of Aland and Ceridwen’s perfidy, her heart felt at ease. Finally, he knew some of what he’d done. Finally, he was experiencing the consequences of his choices. And she’d been the one to do it. She wanted to crow with laughter, twirl in delight. She’d done it!

  None of them knew she was an enchantress. She knew they all thought her mad. She’d seen it when she stood and began speaking.

  But no one could be sure. And a curse of all daughters was not something to take lightly, even if the one uttering the curse was assumed to be a madwoman.

  As the men got closer, Catrin waved her hand in front of her casting out the powder she’d made herself—hours and hours of grinding to make it fine, nearly transparent.

  With it, the men close to her froze. They simply stopped still. She blew more of the powder from her hand, and as it drifted across the hall, everyone froze in their place.

  But not Aland. It hadn’t reached him yet. He watched the people around him stop, a look of fear on his face. When Ceridwen, who sat next to him, froze in the act of wiping her eyes, Catrin could see him start to cry himself.

  Neither moved as Aland watched his wife. Then slowly, he raised his head and looked at Catrin.

  “You evil, mad witch!” He spat.

  Catrin held up her hand, silencing him. He could still move, but couldn’t speak. He grabbed at his throat.

  “You are an evil, uncaring, hateful little man,” she said. “For the first time, you are feeling the effects of your actions. Everyone should behave as they wish, but they should wish to behave well. You have failed in that regard. You have not only harmed yourself, but you have harmed those you purport to love. Live with that, Prince Aland. Think of me with each new daughter born to you and your lovely wife. I wish you a long and prosperous life.” The powder had drifted to him, finally. He was unable to move. Impotent.

  The look of anger he gave her when he realized she’d immobilized him made her laugh. “I’ll take my leave of you now, Your Highness. I think I may have outstayed my welcome.”

  She laughed again at his anger, by his inability to speak. As she turned to leave, she caught her mother’s eye. It made her stop for a moment. She saw her father—both of them looking at her. The pain in their faces almost made her stumble. She moved to them, feeling the tears bloom at the corners of her eyes. Damn them.

  “I will always love you,” she said. Taking her finger, she dabbed a tear, and then brushed each of their hands with it. “Know that. But I can never be your daughter again. So it must be.”

  She felt their eyes on her as she moved away, towards the door, and freedom. She needed to hurry because the people in the room would not stay frozen for long. She gazed around at what she’d wrought one last time, and then she left the ballroom.

  Around her, servants bustled, unaware of the fracas within. She smiled at the few who glanced at her and exited the castle.

  The footman on guard hurried to ask her how he could help, but she waved at him, and he stilled.

  She walked across the lawn of the castle and into the woods that surrounded it. Turning around, she looked back.

  For so long, this was where she’d wanted to be. Mistress and queen of a grand castle, and wife to its future king. Now she walked away, leaving the ruins of all that behind her, and she did so willingly.

  Her heart was light. In the back of her mind, she could hear the warnings of Grizelle about the cost of magic, but she didn’t care.

  Her heart was quiet, soothed. It had not been so since the night of her ball. Now it was.

  Catrin turned her back on the castle and disappeared into the woods.

  Epilogue

  Catrin had her veil off. She was walking. She’d walked, using the gift to veil herself until she’d reached the border of Gallivas. Once she’d crossed in Ethion, she felt she could walk unveiled both physically and magically. She was not on a well-traveled road. The peace and quiet of the country air made her feel better.

  It allowed her to forget. Those who owed for their actions had paid. It was enough.

  After she’d left the wedding, she’d noticed that her hands were spotting. They looked like the hands of an old woman, like Grizelle’s. This was what happened when others suffered for the use of one’s gift. For her, the rules of her gift had decided that the cost for her magic was taken out of her looks. As she’d spent the last year using her magic for nothing other than the benefit of others, her looks had improved. Now, with her recent actions, she had to pay the price. She inhaled. It was a fair trade.

  She’d need to be careful. What she’d done in Gallivas had been a very large undertaking. It had drained her to expend so much magic, and she’d had to rest a great deal in order to get out of the kingdom.

  But now she was in Ethion, and she was free. She no longer looked like the Catrin of old, and she had enough power and skill to do whatever she wished. She and Melasine had parted ways before she’d gone to the wedding. Melasine had bluntly said there was no more she could teach her, and that it was time for Catrin to go and make her own way.

  Secretly, Catrin felt that Melasine saw her growing power, and was afraid. Good. It was good to be feared.

  The day was warm, and she was glad to reach a tavern in a small village. She veiled her face and entered, taking on the persona of a much older woman. If anyone sought Catrin, they’d be looking for a young woman. They’d underestimate her as they always did, she thought disdainfully.

  “Good afternoon, mother!” The tavern keeper greeted her cheerfully. “May I offer you a glass in honor of our good King Markellus?”

  That’s right. After she’d left her parents’ castle, Markellus had returned home, and his father had passed away shortly afterwards. If she recalled correctly, he’d just married. She had nothing but good wishes for him. Of all the princes she’d met at her celebration, he was the only one who’d seemed sincere, and who’d not wavered in that sincerity.

  “Oh? I’d be happy to, but tell me, if you please, what we are celebrating?”

  “A son! A fine, healthy boy! We just heard this morning. What with the old king passing on so suddenly, a son can only be a good thing.”

  “I’d be pleased to.” She took a glass of ale and raised it when the keeper said, “To the king and his son!”

  “What have they named him, do you know?”

  “I do not, mother. I know that the king has opened the castle to his subjects, as so many are wishing to pay their respects, and one may be able to see the little one.”

  “Indeed? That’s most generous of him.”

  “I agree, lady. Markellus is a good man. We’re fortunate to have him as the king.”

  She nodded, and took her glass to sit down, and to rest.

  A son. Markellus had the one thing that Aland would never have. The thought made her smile. And he’d opened the castle for his subjects? A trusting man.

  Once she’d had another glass of ale, and some bread and meat, she left the tavern. A thought had taken hold of her, one that would not go away. She made her way to the castle of the king to see if he still had his doors thrown open to his kingdom.

  The town around the castle was bustling. The birth of an heir was always cause for rejoicing, but she could tell that Markellus himself was also beloved by his subjects. Her impression of him increased even more.

  She inquired as to how one might get to the castle to offer the new prince a gift. The ribbon seller she asked had directed her, and as she’d said, it was as easy as co
uld be. There was a great line of others with the same idea, and Catrin took her place, content to wait her turn.

  She followed the snaking line into the throne room, where Markellus sat with his queen, a princess name Sophy. The two of them beamed at the small cradle that sat between them. Catrin watched them as they took turns attending to their son. She smiled. What good parents they would be.

  “Was it a love match?” She murmured to the woman in front of her. “They look vastly happy.”

  The woman turned. “I don’t know that it was. But they do seem happy, don’t they?” She smiled. “’Course, a fine wee man such as the prince makes everyone happy!” She laughed, and Catrin smiled with her.

  At last, she reached the thrones. The woman before her had left after leaving a basket of fine bread. It smelled divine. Catrin hadn’t been hungry until she had stood behind the woman and her bread. She’d just eaten but the smell of fresh-baked bread was intoxicating. She inhaled deeply, enjoying it. With her vengeance done, she could enjoy the small things. It was another thing she’d learned in her year with Melasine.

  “Welcome, madam,” said Markellus. “We thank you for taking the time to visit us and our son.” He included Sophy with a wave of his hand, who nodded at Catrin.

  “You are most kind to welcome me and to allow us all to see your son, Your Majesties. May I approach him? I have a gift for him.”

  Wariness flashed through Markellus’ eyes, but he stilled it and nodded. Catrin walked to the cradle and was lost.

  He was perfect. This little boy, he was perfect. He looked up at her, and she could swear he smiled, even though babies were not supposed to smile so young. “He is lovely. I am in awe of your lovely son.”

  A slight stirring near her told her that while appreciative, she made them nervous. Rightfully so.

  “Thank you, madam.” Sophy’s voice held the hint of dismissal.