Curse-Maker- the Tale of Gwiddon Crow

by Alydia Rackham

  I drew to a stop before one of the towering windows, overlooking the terraced gardens. Movement had caught my eye.

  Prince Krystian walked slowly across the second tier, wearing a black cape lined with grey fur. He left a straight trail of footprints in the snow behind him. The sky was covered by thin, slate-colored clouds, and the wintry wind tousled his cape and his curls. He walked with his head bowed. I couldn’t see his expression.

  He trudged toward the edge of the garden, where a low wall was the only thing separating the garden from the plummeting edge, and a maw of a valley below.

  My brow tensed. I stepped closer to the window.

  The prince drew nearer and nearer that wall. That edge. That plunging depth.

  He stopped. His toes had to be touching the base of the wall.

  A great gust of wind soared up from the valley, suddenly billowing his cape out behind him like a thunderhead, sweeping the snow in a great swirl all around him. I could feel the fierceness of his frown, even if I couldn’t see it—a great, unfamiliar darkness and isolation rolling out from him.

  I didn’t breathe.

  He lifted his chin. The wind thrashed his cape, tearing through his hair. He stared out into the depths of the valley—even though his blind eyes gave him no picture.

  He turned around. Lowered his head. And I felt a ripple of something eerie and strange.

  He started back the way he had come. Slowly.

  And I suddenly realized that I stood much closer to the window, with my fingers pressed to the glass, and a Lifting spell on my lips.

  Night fell. Darkness drew in like a black curtain around the castle. It seemed to press down upon the torches, suppressing the light they threw, and making the corners and larger chambers too chilly to occupy.

  I found myself wandering weakly into the hearth room, unable to stand the cold floors anywhere else—for the hearth room had carpets. There, the several fireplaces blazed, as always. I remembered that earlier, Prince Krystian had told me that a special spell given to them long ago kept the fires here continually burning.

  I came to a halt.

  As if summoned by my thoughts, I suddenly glimpsed the prince, sitting in an armchair before one of the fireplaces. He wore very dark blue, with red around the high collar and cuffs. He sat with his left arm propped on the armrest, his fingers draped over his mouth. He gazed, seeing nothing, toward the fire. The light glimmered across his silver eyes. I could tell from the distance in his expression that he had not heard me.

  So, I took a breath, and summoned one of the niceties I’d heard him use.

  “Good evening.”

  He sucked in a breath, lowered his hand, and turned his head toward me.

  A smile flickered across his face for just an instant, before he turned back toward the fire.

  “I was beginning to wonder if you’d died.”

  I blinked.

  “You were?”

  “Only for a moment,” he murmured. “Because, if you were dead, then I would be able to see.”

  I swallowed—and I ducked my head, feeling an odd stinging sensation travel across my cheeks and throat.

  “I’m sorry, that was unkind,” the prince winced, sitting up and holding up a hand. “Come sit down.”

  I stared at him for a moment, thrown. Then, I obeyed, coming forward and sinking down in the armchair that stood next to him. He dropped his hand with a sigh and rubbed his eyes and his forehead.

  “Where were you today?” he wondered, with a thin weariness I hadn’t heard before. “I missed you.”

  “Really,” I lifted an eyebrow, feeling myself almost smile. “I don’t think I believe that.”

  He chuckled, sitting back and folding his arms. He shook his head.

  “No, you’re a bit like a cranky old cat that just follows you around, and it growls if you try to pet it, but if one day it isn’t there…”

  “You know, I’ve been called many things,” I mused. “But ‘a cranky old cat’ has never been one of them.”

  He chuckled again—and the sight of it eased something in my chest.

  “I imagine not,” he admitted. Then, he turned his head toward me and canted his head. “That reminds me, though—where have you been sleeping? In the guardroom?”

  I lifted an eyebrow.

  “Am I not allowed to sleep in the guardroom?”

  He raised his eyebrows in a look of surprise.

  “As a lady? No, you’re not,” he shook his head. “You can’t. Not when there are so many empty beds in this castle.”

  “Empty beds?” I repeated, nonplussed.

  “Come with me,” he beckoned, then climbed to his feet and started toward the staircase. I stood up too, but instantly hesitated.

  “I’m…not fond of those stairs,” I said—though I hated myself for admitting it. “And I have not been feeling…”

  “Come on,” he beckoned—and held out his left hand to me.

  Taking a deep, shaking breath, I stepped up next to him. I stopped, and hesitated. He waited blindly, his hand still outstretched.

  Rolling my eyes, I reached up with my right hand and found his fingers.

  He immediately drew me up to his side, transferred my hand to his right hand, and wrapped my arm around his left arm.

  “Hold onto me,” he instructed. And with that, he led me up the staircase. The staircase down which I’d fallen.

  I found myself trembling, and I couldn’t control it. The winding staircase suddenly felt close and airless, the echoes too loud. I gripped tight hold of his arm, and even reached across with my left hand to grasp his sleeve.

  “You’ve been sleeping on the floor, haven’t you?”

  The sound of his voice cut through the closeness and the echo—and I latched onto it like an anchor.

  “Yes,” I gritted. He shook his head.

  “No wonder you feel ill.”

  I didn’t answer. Together, we climbed one flight, then another. I tried to count them, at first, then realized I was repeating numbers in my head. Finally, we achieved a landing with a corridor, and two doors. One to the right, and one at the far end.

  “This is my room,” he said as we passed, reaching out and rapping on the door with his knuckles. “And this one is Tulia’s. You can use it. She doesn’t live here anymore—she got married last summer, and moved to Hoole with her husband.”

  He stretched out and grasped the golden doorknob on the scarlet door, twisted it, and pushed it open…

  To reveal a chamber unlike any I had ever seen.

  Tall, white-paneled walls, each panel outlined with gold filigree. Paintings of beautiful summer landscapes covered almost all the free space. A great crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, and thick white carpets covered the floors. A white-and-gold dressing table stood to my left, a great white wardrobe stood between two windows draped with lace, and a matching set of furniture—four chairs and a table—stood in the far corner near the broad, elegant fireplace. A giant bed with a canopy dominated the room, covered with a fluffy profusion of comforters and pillows, all exquisitely-embroidered. Directly across the way waited another door to a room that looked like it was floor-to-ceiling white marble.

  Prince Krystian let go of me, and twisted a gold knob in the wall. A few clicks and puffs issued from somewhere unseen, and the very dim lights leaped up in the chandelier, and on the mantlepiece, the bedside table, and in the far room. At the same time, the fire in the fireplace burst to life. The chandelier shimmered like tumbling water in the sunlight.

  “My sister insisted upon always being warm,” Krystian remarked, stepping further into the room. “Hated the winter. I can see why she’s happier down in the valley.”

  “I…” I tried, breathless and dizzy. “I can’t stay here.”

  “Why?” he asked, frowning my direction. I stared at him. My face got hot.

  “This is for a princess.”

  He shook his head.

  “No, not now,” he said. “It’s a guest roo
m. I mean, she and her husband stay here when they visit, but when they aren’t here…” He paused. “Do you not like it?”

  Sudden tears sprang to my eyes.

  “It’s for a princess…” I repeated numbly, realizing full well how stupid I sounded, but unable to form any other words.

  Prince Krystian laughed.

  “Well, if it would make you feel better, we’ve got a particularly spindly stone tower full of straw and fleas and no glass in the window!”

  I made a choking sound and swiftly swiped at my eyes—completely bewildered at myself.

  “Hey, hey…” The prince stepped up to me, truly frowning now, and reached out toward me. His fingers fumbled at my shoulder, then found my wrist and clasped my hand. My trembling fingers closed around his.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked.

  “I’ll get it all dirty!” I exclaimed, half laughing, half choking; looking helplessly around at the utterly splendid and spotless room.

  “Well, I’m sure you know a few spells for tidying up after yourself,” he said, tilting his head and smiling. “Isn’t that what magic is for?”

  “Heh,” I snorted, pushing at my eyes. “Who told you that?”

  “My fairy godmother,” he answered.

  I lifted my head and gave him a startled look.

  He closed one eye and grinned.

  “You…You do not have a fairy godmother,” I accused.

  “Oh, you don’t know anything about me,” he muttered. He turned and faced the room again, but he kept casual hold of my hand. “Erm, the bath is through there—tub is always full of hot water; here’s the lights, you can also turn the flame down with a knob by the bed; there’s clean clothes in the wardrobe, and whatever else you might need in the dresser.”

  “I’ll spoil it all,” I muttered under my breath, still feeling weak and baffled. He chuckled again.

  “You’ll be all right.” And he stepped close, took hold of my shoulder, bent down…

  And put his lips to my forehead.

  Just for an instant. Warm and soft—gentle and startling.

  He backed up. Let go of me. Stepped toward the door.

  “Goodnight,” he called…

  And he left me alone, hot and cold chills skimming across my skin, as I stared at the lavish chamber in front of me, suddenly feeling as blind as he was.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I stared at the darkened ceiling of Princess Tulia’s room. I lay on my back, my hands on my chest, my fingers tightly intertwined. I lay top of the blankets.

  I had vacillated through the center of the room for quite a while after the prince left, not daring to touch any of the pristine surfaces. I had peeped into the bathroom very briefly—but that shimmering light instantly irritated my eyes, and I knew I couldn’t touch the water in the tub. I’d withdrawn, moving back out into the bedroom—

  And jerked to a stop, my eyes going wide at what I saw.

  My own reflection. In the large mirror of the vanity.

  My white hair looked more torn and wild than it ever had, with thick, dried blood caked in it. My ornamental braids had frayed, and beads fallen out. My lower lip was split, and more dried blood coated my chin and part of my throat. Dark circles haunted my grey eyes, and my skin looked a very pale grey. The scar on the left side of my face stood out like builder’s plaster stuck to my cheek and forehead. My clothes looked equally ugly: torn, and covered in blood and soot. The hem of my crow cape was ripped more badly than it ever had been.

  If I didn’t know better, I’d swear I was looking at a woman who had just come from battle after a month of siege.

  But the sickening part was…

  I’d done all this damage to myself.

  The face-first crash into the magical barrier. Sleeping in the ashes night after night. Falling down the stairs. Starving.

  With shaking hands, I had tried to do a few quick cleaning spells, which managed to remove the layer of soot from my clothes, and a lot of the blood from my hair. I also did one on the inside of my mouth, as I’d tried to do at the beginning of every day. The cuts on the inside of my lips had finally healed. But I still felt gritty, aching and stiff. So, after turning down the lights, I had crept up onto the bed, and settled onto my back, vowing that I wouldn’t even turn over, lest I make a dirty outline on the white pillows and blankets.

  But I couldn’t sleep. The wind howled around the tower, rattling against the panes of the windows—though it couldn’t seem to come in, no matter how hard it fought.

  Slowly, I lifted my left hand, and pressed it to my forehead. Right where the prince had kissed me.

  He had kissed me.

  My dirty face, my mangled hair.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and clenched my teeth. And I dashed that thought away. It would do no good in helping me try to sleep.

  Knock, knock, knock.

  I opened my eyes. Dim morning light filtered through the windows.

  “Ugh,” I grunted, my breath catching in my throat. Grimacing, I pushed down on my stomach, even as a winding, twisting pain writhed through my gut.

  “Hello?” came the prince’s voice from outside. “Are you awake?”

  “Mm,” was all I could manage to grit out, squeezing my eyes shut. I laboriously rolled onto my right side and slowly managed to sit up. Taking deep breaths, I gathered my strength and stood up. My knees felt like water.

  Using the side of the bed for support, I worked my way around it and ventured toward the door. Sweat breaking out on my forehead, I reached out, twisted the knob, and opened the door.

  The prince stood outside, wearing splendid dark grey bordered in white. His face shaved, his curls combed through, but slightly wild. Beside him stood a rolling cart with a large tray on top, bearing covered platters and tea things. I stared at it, my clouded mind refusing to work.

  “How did you…” I croaked. “How did you get that up the stairs?”

  The prince laughed.

  “Good morning,” he said. “And…we have a rather large dumbwaiter for just this purpose.”

  “Oh,” was all I could manage. The smile fell from his face, and he frowned.

  “How are you feeling?”

  I looked at him. His face almost tilted toward me, his eyes almost finding mine…

  “Like I am dying,” I answered quietly.

  His mouth tightened, and he nodded.

  “You should try to eat something,” he said. “I don’t think you ate yesterday.”

  “I couldn’t have kept anything in my stomach,” I confessed, leaning against the doorframe. “I still don’t think I can.”

  “Well, this is only broth, some sliced apples, tea, and some soft biscuits,” the prince replied. “Nothing too rich.”

  “Mm,” I muttered again. I pushed back from the doorframe and stood out of the way. He apparently heard me do this, because he positioned himself behind the cart and pushed it into the room. The cutlery rattled softly as he steered it across the room, toward the chairs around the fireplace. There, he left it to act as a table.

  With my hand weakly resting on the doorframe, I stared at the distance between where I stood and the fireplace. Never before had twenty paces felt like halfway across the world.

  “Come sit down,” the prince urged, taking the lids off the platters and setting them on the lower shelf of the cart.

  “I’m…” I began. More cold sweat ran down my forehead. “I’m not going to be able to walk there.”

  He instantly stopped what he was doing, stood up and faced me. Some sort of real alarm crossed his face, and he frowned deeply.

  “Are you in pain?”

  I let out a bitter snort and a chuckle, glancing aimlessly at the ceiling.

  “My life is pain, Your Highness.”

  “Your Highness?” he repeated, eyebrows going up. Then, he stopped. “You’re not…”

  “What?” I asked, swallowing thickly.

  “Are you…” he began, his voice low and careful. “Are you t
ruly dying? Now?”

  “I don’t know,” I muttered. “I’ve never died before.”

  He considered for just another moment, then crossed the floor back to me.

  “Where are you?” he asked, reaching a hand out toward me.

  “Why?” I murmured.

  “Where are you?” he repeated, sharply.

  I lifted my left hand and tapped the back of his. He immediately twisted his wrist and took hold of mine, and the next moment, he had come right up to me, bent and picked me up, cradling me in his arms.

  I let out a tight moan, wincing, my arm reflexively winding around his neck. He carried me back across the room, toward the fireplace. Gently, he set me down in one of the chairs. I released a tense, shaking breath, adjusting the way I sat whilst battling back a wave of fresh pain.

  The prince, instead of standing back up, knelt beside my chair. I could feel his thoughts burning all over me—and I could sense his frustration at being unable to see, as if it were a tangible thing.

  “Why won’t you consider it?” he asked quietly.

  I took another breath, then another, making myself breathe evenly and stop shaking. I glanced over at him.

  “I told you,” I said through my teeth—though I wanted to speak clearly. I couldn’t. I took another breath. “I don’t know where to begin.”

  “Marry me,” he said.

  I blinked.

  And I stared at him.

  His face. Handsome, rugged and angular, yet youthened by charming smile lines around his eyes, a soft eloquence to his mouth, expressiveness to his dark brows, and an enchanting boyishness to those infernal curls that fell across his forehead. And his eyes…

  Eyes stricken blind, so blind that I couldn’t tell what color they would have been if that infuriating, silvery barrier didn’t coat them completely, hiding me and everything else from his sight.

  But, in that moment, it was just as well that he couldn’t see my face.

  “Marry you,” I repeated. Hoarse and nearly silent. As if someone else was speaking.

  He nodded.

  “Yes,” he said, gripping the armrest. “Pledge yourself as my wife. Try.”

  I opened my mouth. Prince Krystian’s face gained an earnestness…And the edge of his mouth curved up. His expression softened.