by Jade
Fodor spoke for them all, it seemed, when he strode forward, stopping so that his foul-smelling face was mere inches from Rosamond's. "Shut up, whore." His meaty fist crashed into the side of her head, sending her to the ground, where the paving stones stole her senses and the darkness gave her a reprieve from pain.
THIRTY-FOUR
As he rode, Siward's head began to clear so he could think. The fastest way to the Wall was to change horses at the first town, and the next, and the next, resting only long enough to ensure he would not fall out of the saddle. He estimated he could make it to the Wall in a little over three days. It would still be another three days back to the city so that he and Rosamond could decide what to do about a Wall that wanted to attack, but he needed to gather intelligence before a strategy could be formed.
Rosamond knew more about plants and the Wall than he did. Perhaps he should have brought her.
Siward considered this for a moment, then dismissed the idea. Her knowledge should be protected by castle walls and guards, not risked against an enemy none of them understood. If the Wall hurt her...
What could any of them do against the Wall?
Rosamond said it wanted to protect them. The Wall had healed her scratches – he'd seen it. He hadn't imagined the blood, nor the smooth skin she'd showed him afterward.
Why, after fifty years of doing nothing, would it attack now?
She could ask it. Rosamond said she could speak to plants, and in their own way, they responded to her. Protected her. Obeyed her wishes.
What if it only existed to protect her, and not the kingdom at all? What if waking her and taking her to the capital had summoned the Wall to protect her new home instead?
Rosamond would know. If it was necessary, she would take down the whole Wall, now he had fulfilled his part of the bargain and she was queen.
Siward reined in his horse, horrified as realisation struck him. She was not yet queen. Fodor, a rabid dog who had never left the city in his life, had interrupted her coronation before the bishop could complete the ritual.
What did Fodor have to gain out of this? The man never did anything unless it fed his own selfish desires.
His sister, the Lady Jolanka, who his grandmother had promised would be queen.
Who couldn't be queen while Rosamond reigned.
The Wall was right. Rosamond was in danger, and he was sworn to love and protect her.
Time to make good on that oath.
Siward swung his horse around, headed back the way they'd come. He made it a hundred yards before a tree branch plucked him out of the saddle. He hung in the air for a moment, clawing for a handhold, but he caught nothing, so he tumbled into the river that ran beside the road.
He came up spluttering and furious. "What was that for?" he shouted at the offending tree branch. "I'm trying to get home to help her!"
Every tree in the forest shook its leaves as though blown in a mighty storm. With one voice that sounded like an echo of Rosamond, they shrieked, "Bring him home!"
THIRTY-FIVE
Rosamond's head ached. In truth, everything hurt, but her head was the worst. Her arms, from her wrists right up to her shoulders, burned, and so did her calves. Someone doused her in liquid and she spluttered, jerking awake.
She could see the whole city square from up here, for she was level with the cathedral's arched windows, and only a little lower than the castle battlements. That did not bode well, for the only thing high enough to give her such a vantage point was the Midsummer Eve bonfire with the wicker figure tied to the top. Rosamond twisted her head, trying to see if she had guessed right. Indeed she had. She was tied to the effigy, and if she didn't do something, she would burn with it.
From the plague to this. No kingdom deserved to have a princess lay down her life twice for it.
"The witch is awake!" the smelly man shouted.
Fortunately, she could not smell him up here.
"You will rot in my dungeon," Rosamond called back.
"You have no power here, traitor!" the old woman shrieked.
It took Rosamond some time to work out where the old woman was. She stood atop the battlements, half hidden by the roses that had climbed the wall in their quest for sun. They would receive no warmth from Siward's grandmother.
"You are a witch, and a traitor. You seek to rule a kingdom that is not yours!" the woman announced.
Shouts of "Witch!" and "Traitor!" rose from the crowd that filled the square, all of them faceless now in the darkness. A faceless mob had no conscience, either.
"I seek to rule my rightful kingdom!" Rosamond shouted back. "I am Crown Princess Rosamond, daughter of King Almos and Queen Maria. His Majesty King Siward woke me from my enchanted sleep and brought me here so that I might rule by his side. This kingdom is mine, by right of blood and birth!"
The old woman hesitated, but she recovered quickly. "Imposter! I saw the princess's body with my own eyes, buried beneath the roses in a convent outside Hatar. She died fifty years ago, and you cannot be she!"
No. It was not possible. No one had entered that convent until the day Siward woke her. When Warin and Monika left, she had told the roses to enclose it completely.
That made the old woman...
"Monika!" Rosamond cried. All the people she had known in life had died, except for one – her loyal maid. "Monika, you of all people should recognise me. You were there when Queen Margareta gave me her crown!"
"Liar!" Monika shrieked. "You cannot be the princess, even if you look like she did the day she died. It is a trick of some sort, a spell only an evil witch could cast. And if you are not the princess, then you are the evil queen, who caused this kingdom so much grief. You killed our princess, cursed our land...and almost corrupted our king, but no longer! Tonight, you shall die, burned in the Midsummer bonfires like the devil-worshippers do to their own!"
Desperately, Rosamond tried to tell the vine on the wall to wrap around Monika's feet, to drag her out of sight so she would stop. Stop accusing her. Stop fighting her. Just...stop.
"Light the witch's pyre!" Fodor roared, thrusting his torch deep into the branches.
Stop them! Rosamond screamed in her head. Put out the fire. Don't let me burn.
As smoke rose up, obscuring her vision, she wrapped her hands around the pole behind her. It was green wood, still full of sap. She directed her thoughts into the dying sapling, urging it and all the wood around it to grow, to break the ropes tying her and help her down to the square.
It was no use. No tree could grow fast enough to save her, for all around the base of the pyre, a score of torches dipped to light the Midsummer blaze.
THIRTY-SIX
Siward rode up to the castle gates, sore, weary and soaked from his dip in the river. In the square, the townspeople were lighting bonfires for St John's Eve, as they did every year. He could even see the wicker man on one, a tradition that had its murky origins deep in the past. Something to do with fertility, was all he could remember. Perhaps that's why it looked so much like a woman, her skirts billowing in the rising smoke.
The bonfire caught, illuminating the figure, who was struggling to free herself from her bonds. Not wicker. A real, live woman.
"Stop them," the leaves on the trees whispered. "Don't let me burn."
Rosamond.
Siward slid from his horse, and shoved his way through the crowd. The flames leaped high above his head, but they had not touched her yet. If he could climb the woodpile and reach her in time, he could save her. A man stumbled into him, grabbing him by the shoulders. "Help me!" the man begged, as something dark trickled from his lips. He collapsed at Siward's feet, nearly tripping him, but Siward only leaped over the man and ran on.
Rosamond was the only one who mattered. The only one who could save his kingdom. Her kingdom. All this belonged to her.
Siward put on a burst of speed. Just before he reached the flames, he leaped, clawing for a handhold. The already smouldering branches burned his hands, but he hard
ly felt the pain. It would be nothing compared to the heart-wrenching agony of losing Rosamond.
Slipping twice, but climbing ever higher, he reached the top of the pyre. She had stopped struggling now and hung limp and lifeless from the stake they'd tied her to. Whoever had done this would pay with their lives, he swore.
But first, he had to save her. To cut her free and climb down carrying her would take too long. Siward took a deep breath, then charged up to Rosamond, throwing all his weight against the post that held her fast. No, not a post, he realised as leaves showered down on him, but a fair-sized tree. An ominous crack sounded, but the tree did not break. He retreated a few steps further, to the edge of the flames, and charged again.
This time, his aim was true. The tree tilted and tipped, and Siward barely had a moment to wrap his arms around Rosamond to cushion her fall before all three of them tumbled down the side of the lit bonfire to the square below.
THIRTY-SEVEN
"Siward?" Rosamond croaked, then coughed. Too much smoke. "Are you all right?"
His arm stuck out at an unnatural angle, and she could feel the pain rolling off him in waves. Broken ribs, and more besides, she guessed. Much like herself. The soot-smeared man groaned.
Rosamond squirmed around until she could see his face. Yes, he was her husband. His face looked merely smoke-blackened, and his wet, woollen clothes had protected the rest of the him from the fire, but his hands...oh, his poor hands. So badly burned there was barely any skin left.
Their tumble had loosened her bonds, so she managed to get one hand free, then the other. Her feet could wait. She took Siward's bleeding, blackened hands in hers and kissed them, wishing with all her might that she had the energy to heal him. But all her magic had gone into the sapling that now lay on the paving, sprouting leaves and roots like it wished to start a forest in that very spot.
Still, she would do what she could. She seized a handful of leaves from the sapling's crown in one hand and lay her free hand over both of his. Closing her eyes, Rosamond drew every bit of power she could from the tree and poured it into Siward. She might not be their queen, but she would give her people back their king.
He let out a wordless cry and arched his back before another cry escaped, louder this time. Then..."Rosamond?" he said.
"I am here, my king," she replied. Even in her own ears, her voice sounded breathy and weak. "Healing you as best I can. It was...the least I could do. You saved my life."
"But if you heal me, who will heal you?" Siward asked.
No one.
The words seemed to echo around the square, caught by the leaves of the trees and spun into the air.
Siward seized her shoulders. "Don't you dare go back to sleep on me. In fifty years, I'll be dead. Tell me how to heal you, Rosamond. You promised to be my queen, and we have yet to share a wedding night. I won't let you break your word."
Rosamond smiled. "The rose garden. In the castle. Take me there. If anything can heal me, they will."
He lifted her in his arms and followed her directions until they emerged in an unpaved courtyard. It looked nothing like the garden where she'd spent most of her youth, for fifty years of neglect had turned her regimented rose garden into a briar patch more overgrown than the convent where he'd first found her.
"Are you sure this is the place?" he asked doubtfully.
"I am certain. I can smell my roses, welcoming me home," she whispered. "Lay me down among them."
"But the thorns..."
"My roses will never hurt me. You have carried me far enough. I thank you for all you have done." It was a dismissal, but only a half-hearted one. For her heart longed for him to stay.
"I'm not leaving you. I've spent the night with you in a bed of roses before, and I intend to do it again."
Rosamond smiled. "As my king wishes." She coughed again, then said, "I will sleep, and dream, as I work together with the plants to heal myself. If I do not wake with the dawn..."
He sounded fierce. "Then I give you fair warning. I shall kiss you until you do. Even if it takes hours."
Bliss, surely. "You are a brave man, my king. To lie alone and unprotected with a witch where her power is greatest."
Siward lay beside her on the briars, cushioned by roses, and took her in his arms. "I am not alone. I am with you."
THIRTY-EIGHT
Midsummer's Day dawned, and it was glorious. King Siward held his bride in his arms, and though Rosamond's eyes were closed, they fluttered as if she was about to wake. Then she did, and her green eyes outshone the sun.
"Are you healed?" he asked softly.
She laughed. "Yes, and so are you. However did you get all those bruises?"
Siward thought hard. "I was attacked by a tree."
Amusement sparkled in her eyes. "You mean you weren't watching where you were going, and bumped into a tree?"
"Not this time. It whipped out a branch, grabbed me from the saddle, and threw me into the river. Then it screamed about how it had to bring me back. To you."
"A tree screamed? You must have hit your head."
Siward shook his head, which didn't hurt at all. "No. And not one tree. The whole forest screamed with the same voice. Your voice. Every tree ordering the others to 'bring him home'."
Rosamond wet her lips. "Truly?"
"Truly. And now I am home, I realise my queen has no crown."
Rosamond reached up for Queen Margareta's crown, which her captors had left on her head when they tied her to the stake, in mockery of her mother's gold crown, which she should have worn yesterday. Now she had neither, for the rose crown had disappeared. It was fitting.
"The people called me a witch. A traitor. Not a princess, and not their queen. They don't want me. They want you. Are loyal to you. I am...no one."
"Then we will change their minds. Slowly, at first, but some day soon, you will be more beloved as their queen than you ever were as their lost princess. I promise you." Siward rose from his bed among the roses, and held out his hand. "We have other promises to keep. First, we must go to the cathedral and finish what we started."
"But..."
"I promised you will be queen." The fervour in his eyes brooked no argument.
Rosamond accepted his assistance to rise, and, hand in hand, they walked out of the castle gates.
They did not notice, but if either had turned their heads to look, they would have seen two dead traitors, dangling from the battlements. No hand had yet touched them, for no one was willing to unwrap the choking rose vines from around Monika or Fodor's necks, or pry out the pine bough that had somehow impaled Fodor so that one end stuck out the bottom of his tunic, while the other jutted from the juncture of his neck and shoulder.
The square was empty but for ashes from the fires and a brittle circlet of dried roses that disintegrated in a puff of wind. Siward led Rosamond through the doors of the cathedral and shouted for the bishop.
Several minutes later, the bishop appeared, looking like he had dressed in a tearing hurry. He eyed the ragged, blackened pair before him. "What do you want?"
"For you to finish the coronation. My queen needs a crown."
When the bishop heard his king's voice, he fell to his knees. "Forgive me, sire, I did not recognise you. Are you certain that you don't wish to wash before...?"
"I said crown her, now."
"Yyyyyes, sire."
In a gown of scorched silk, Crown Princess Rosamond knelt before the bishop. Like King Siward before her, she vowed to rule her kingdom fairly, protect its people and property, and uphold its laws for as long as she lived. She wept as she said the words, for they meant the end of all that had come before. The death of her parents, a goodbye to her childish dreams of freedom, and any desire to throw away duty, even for a day. But it was also a wondrous beginning, with Siward at her side.
Siward placed the royal cape around her shoulders, and the bishop set a crown on her head.
Queen Rosamond took her kingly husband's hand, and, both clad in
radiant smiles that outshone the morning sun, they stepped out of the cathedral into a brand new day.
THIRTY-NINE
Siward woke Rosamond with a kiss, as he had every morning for the last year since their wedding. "It is time," he said.
She smiled and stretched, still aching from the pleasure of last night's lovemaking. "So it is."
When they were both dressed, Siward opened the flap of their pavilion and led her out into the temporary village of tents that had sprung up beside the Wall.
The road ended where the hedge began, as it had for as long as anyone could remember, except Rosamond. But now it was time to make new memories, which was why half the kingdom had come to see the spectacle. For today, their beloved queen would open the door to the outside world.
Letting go of Siward's arm, Rosamond approached the Wall. She traced a small circle on the hedge, spiralling outward until she had to use her whole arm to span the radius of her circle.
Gasps and murmurs arose from the crowd as Rosamond's magic began to make itself visible. A hole appeared in the Wall, big enough to insert a finger, but no more. The hole seemed to spin, widening as it went, until it could fit first a child's, then a man's hand. Yet still it grew, branches unfolding and undulating until they formed a perfect arch for the sun to shine through from the far side of the Wall for the first time in fifty-one years.
Cheering and clapping erupted, but the show was not over yet. Rosamond took Siward's arm once more, and together the king and queen strode through the arch across the border. Then in view of everyone, they turned to each other and kissed.
On the inside of the Wall, a baby started wailing.
The king and queen returned home.
"The queen commands the Wall, to be our defence when we are in need, but she will open the door for all those who wish to pass through. For it might have been cursed by an evil queen, but she is no match for the power of Queen Rosamond the Fair!"
