The King's Daughters

by Nathalie Mallet

  I stared at Milo, and although I knew I should have told him, Yes, you better not see her again, I said nothing. I had promised the queen not to punish him. How much did that promise cover? I didn't know. And how big was his fault really? He hid something from me. I didn't like that. A cook. All this for a cook. I was flabbergasted, to say the least. A cook! I felt my anger dissipating, and soon I found myself smiling at the whole thing. I would probably allow him to see her again. What harm could it do, really? I peeked at Milo. He looked anxious, awaiting my reply. Well, he'll have to wait until we're in my room, I decided. That will do him some good.

  We were leaving the royal wing when I heard "Psst . . . " behind us.

  I turned and was surprised to see Countess Ivana standing at the corridor's junction. Throwing nervous glances around, she gestured frantically for us to approach.

  "Countess Ivana," I began.

  She placed a finger over her lips. "Shhhh!"

  I nodded. We could be quiet; I still didn't understand why though. Milo and I walked silently to her.

  After a careful inspection of the surroundings, she leaned toward us and whispered in urgency, "I'm taking a great risk by being here, so listen carefully. Be at the eastern side of the garden tonight past midnight. Please, be prudent and don't make a sound."

  "Can I ask—"

  "NO!" Eyes darting around nervously, she added, "We never spoke. I was never here." She began backing away from us; then in a rustling of petticoats, the countess spun around and ran away.

  "What was that about?" whispered Milo.

  "I have no idea. But one thing is sure; we have to ready ourselves for a night outside."

  Chapter Eleven

  For the rest of that day, my mind was occupied with thoughts of the night excursion. I had no idea what to expect. This was probably the reason why I decided to ask Diego to accompany me. Milo, as loyal and as brave as he was, wasn't allowed to use or even carry a weapon. Diego, on the other hand, had already proven his ability—mind you, he had waged battle with a handkerchief. However, I believed that any man who could do such a thing was apt to excel at swordplay.

  When I announced my decision to Milo, the young eunuch was disappointed, but nonetheless understood why I'd made that choice. Despite his reasonable attitude, Milo still managed to warn me against Diego. According to him, the long-haired prince wasn't to be trusted. I had an inkling that Milo's dislike of Diego was generated, for the most part, by the prince's indiscriminate preference toward his lovers' gender. To my credit, Diego's tastes had little, if any, bearing on my opinion of him. I liked the man and trusted him . . . to a point.

  As expected Prince Diego responded to my invitation with his usual exuberant enthusiasm. He would make this evening an event, beginning with choosing adequate garments. When he produced a full-length white mink coat, I slapped my forehead out of sheer exasperation. Now, I regretted having asked him to come along. "You're not wearing that, Diego."

  Planting his fists on his hips, he tapped his foot on the floor. "All right! What do you suggest I wear then?" By the sharpness of his tone, I deduced that he was vexed.

  "Something black would be best. You know, so we won't be seen so easily?"

  "Hmm . . . black. It's a boring color; I doubt I have anything in it. However, I believe I might have a midnight blue coat."

  "Perfect! That will do."

  "It's settled then."

  "One last thing." I glanced at the sword he kept hidden beside the desk. "Take that sword with you and no other."

  A crooked little smile curled Diego's lips. "As you wish, my prince."

  * * *

  "What's that noise?" whispered Diego in my ear.

  "My teeth chattering," I replied.

  We had been waiting in the dark coldness of the night for what now felt like hours to me. My feet were numb, my nose was running, and as for my ears, they were so frozen I had lost all feeling in them. At this point, I was beginning to think that this was all for nothing, except perhaps catching our deaths.

  Shoving my gloved hands in my armpits, I peered through the surrounding darkness. From our hiding place, crouched in the snow behind a stack of barrels, I had a good view of the entire eastern side of the garden. Besides the stable and its corral, there wasn't much to see here. It was unfortunate, because there was nothing to obstruct our view. Moreover, the torches hooked on either side of the stable's doors bathed the area in a soft golden light, aiding our spying.

  "Amir, are you sure this is the right place?"

  "Yes. Very sure. Now hush."

  "Why? There is—"

  "Shhh! Someone's coming."

  A shadow was moving nearby. I crossed my fingers, hoping it wasn't a guard again. They had walked by twice already, making their rounds. The shadow stopped, hesitated, then moved on toward the stable. With brisk steps, it cut across the golden light circle of the stable torches, and for the space of a few steps the shadow's features became clear.

  A woman? I was more intrigued than shocked by that. Wrapped in a thick brown shawl with a broad yellow stripe running along the bottom, the woman quickly dashed out of the light. Yet, I still caught the fleeting glimpse of a pale cheek and a strand of limp brown hair. That was enough. "Lady Isabo," I breathed.

  "What?"

  "Shhhh!"

  In complete silence, Diego and I watched Lady Isabo walk to the forest and vanish behind the trees. Only then did we rise from our hiding place.

  Diego placed a hand on my shoulder. "I suppose we're going to follow her."

  "Yes."

  * * *

  Following Isabo's tracks to the forest proved easy enough. Once inside the woods itself, things changed however. Amid the densely packed evergreen trees, the darkness was near total. It didn't take us long to lose her tracks, and shortly after, we realized that we had gotten lost too.

  "Wonderful," complained Diego. "Frozen in the woods is not how I planned to die."

  "How did you plan it?"

  Diego raised his face to the night sky. "I always envisioned myself being killed by a jealous husband—or a scorned lover. Something in that vein."

  I had noticed that since we had gotten lost, most of Diego's affectations had evaporated. Even his tone of voice had changed. It sounded deeper and firmer, I thought. "Why do you play this role, Diego? The one of a frivolous dandy." I asked, expecting him to deny doing so. I watched his shadow shake his head.

  A sad chuckle escaped from him. "What we both want in life is so different. You desperately want to impress the king and marry a princess. While I want to disgust him and be free of his daughter. I've tried everything short of slapping the man in the face, that is. Nothing works."

  "So I'm right, it's a role you play."

  "Oh, don't fool yourself, Amir. I am a dandy and a libertine to boot. However, you are right to say that I'm playing a role. I've put on all these flourished, excessive manners in the hope that it would repulse the princess and the king. Unfortunately, not only did it fail to accomplish its goal, I am now forced to remain in this character I have created . . . and all in vain. The king is determined to forge an alliance with my father's kingdom, no matter what." As Diego came to stand beside me I became able to distinguish his features in the penumbra.

  "Perhaps if you make a plea to your father—"

  Diego's stare was so hard it shut me up. "Amir, I have two elder brothers. My father has no need for a third prince." Diego's expression became a mask of bitterness. "And certainly not one as troublesome as I am."

  I thought about Diego's problem. Surely a solution could be obtained. "Perhaps you could create a scandal. I'm certain that a number of young noblemen would run to the king with grievances if disagreeable propositions were made to them."

  "I thought of this too. Don't get me wrong, Amir. I would really like to be free of this wedding arrangement—but, I would also like to leave with my head still attached to my neck."

  "Ah! Yes, that could be an unfortunate consequence of such
grievances. Surely there are other things you could do that would solve your problem. Let me think." I mulled over Diego's situation for a moment. Sadly no obvious solution to his problem came to me. "Perhaps, you should just leave—run away. Have you thought of that option?"

  "Yes. I could do that, if it didn't mean betraying my father and my country. You can rightfully accuse me of having committed many, many despicable acts. I will not deny that I am a person of questionable morals. Some people have even gone as far as to qualify me as a depraved individual—and I won't debate that either. But a traitor I am not."

  A point of light peeking through the forest in the distance caught my eye. "Diego, do you see that light?"

  "No—where?"

  I walked left and the light vanished. I pushed further and there it was again.

  Following closely in my footsteps, Diego bumped into my back, then looked over my shoulder. "Oh, I see it now. The trees were hiding it."

  Without another word, we hurried in the direction of the light. Once we got closer we noticed that the light came from torches set atop long posts circling a small log cabin. As I gazed upon the cabin a sudden uneasiness seized me. Something was amiss here. This house didn't seem right . . . not right at all. The closer we got to the circle of light bathing the house, the stronger that feeling became. And when Diego approached the torches, that growing feeling of uneasiness morphed into one of imminent danger.

  "Wait, wait, wait," I whispered. I grabbed Diego's coat and pulled him backward before he could cross the torches' circle. Toppling him on his back, I pressed my gloved hand over his mouth.

  "Shhh," I shushed against his cheek.

  Bemused, Diego stared at me with a blank face, then his expression turned to anger and he began struggling in my grip.

  "Ssstop . . . " I hissed under my breath. "I think this might be the witch's house. The Baba Yaga."

  Diego went limp. Not taking any chances, I waited until he nodded to me, showing he understood the danger, before releasing my grip on him. Silently rising to kneeling positions, we both stared at the cabin.

  Two things were bothering me about this home. First, it seemed detached from the ground, and looked as if it was floating just above the snow. Second, the four skulls set on its roof, two facing front, two at the back, appeared almost . . . alive. I could swear I had seen red glowing flashes coming out of those empty eye sockets.

  Either you're crazy, my inner voice nagged, or you're becoming as superstitious as a peasant. The peasants! I thought, recalling our meeting. One of them had said something about the house being able to see.

  Crazy! Mad! Mad! Mad! the voice hollered in my head. I shut my eyes, ground my teeth, and plugged my ears with my hands. I remained in that position, telling myself that I wasn't mad, until the voice had subsided and peace had returned to my mind. Then I let out a long sigh of relief. When I turned, ready to move on, I saw Diego staring at me. A look of deep concern twisted his face.

  "I'm fine," I whispered before he could ask. I then peered at the cabin again. Only one way to know if I'm mad or not. I examined the ground surrounding us. Nothing but snow. Snow would have to do then. I quickly made a snowball, then threw it inside the torches' circle. The snowball plopped on the left side of the circle a short distance from the cabin.

  Immediately, the skulls' eye sockets glowed as red as burning coals. With a complaint of twisting planks, the cabin rose into the air on . . . two giant chicken legs. No matter how much I stared at those yellow scaly skinned legs, with thighs the diameters of tree trunks, I still couldn't believe my eyes. I watched those monstrous chicken legs carry the cabin to the spot where my snowball had landed and viciously stomp and scratch the ground. Once satisfied that nothing underfoot could have survived, the cabin returned to its previous position.

  Diego and I exchanged petrified looks.

  "I'm not getting near that," he silently mouthed to me.

  Turning my focus toward the cabin, I studied its construction. The front door and the back window were right under the skulls' eyes, therefore inaccessible. That left the side window, which had no skulls above it. Yet, I knew they would still see me if I tried to go near that window . . . unless. I made another snowball and threw it toward the window. Just as I thought, the skulls caught a glimpse of the snowball's shadow as it passed in front of one of the torches.

  They didn't see the ball. They saw a change in the torch's light when the ball flew by. "Diego, make snowballs. Make as many as you can."

  To my surprise, he obeyed without question. In the meantime, I had made some myself. I pitched my first snowball at the nearest torch post and missed. My second ball hit the post right under the torch. My third struck the torch, extinguishing its fire.

  "Smart," whispered Diego, and began throwing snowballs too. We threw snowballs until enough torches were dead to form a dark semicircle on the cabin side. At that point, we stopped throwing balls and waited for the cabin, which had been running madly after our projectiles like, well, like a chicken without a head, to settle down again. Once the cabin had retuned in its original plot, I threw a last snowball. It fell on the ground just under the cabin's side window.

  Nothing happened. The cabin stayed in place.

  Gathering my courage, I moved ahead immediately, fearing that if I waited and analyzed the situation any further there was a strong chance that I might change my mind and not go. After all, this was totally insane. Then again, maybe I was crazy.

  Regardless of my apprehension, I made my way to the edge of the torches' circle without being noticed by the skulls. Then, careful not to make any noise, I slowly inched toward the window. It was only when I stood right in front of it that one thought came to my mind. What if the cabin could sense my touch as well as it could see me?

  As I was debating what to do next, Diego pulled to my side and, without further delay, grabbed the window's frame and opened it.

  Struck by fear, I gasped.

  "What?" he breathed, with one leg already through the opened window.

  "Nothing. Just hurry in."

  In no time at all we were both inside the cabin. A warm orange glow illuminated the room. Most of it came from two old lamps: one placed on a square table and the other resting on a shelf near the door. The rest emanated from the fireplace. I looked around. The room we were in was cozy. Strange, I thought, I didn't expect a witch to have a cozy home. There was a pine table with two stools, and a rocking chair was placed in front of the fireplace. Not much, I thought. I checked the only other room of the house, a bedroom containing a small straw-filled bed and a dresser. My eyes went to the window set between the two pieces of furniture. I crossed the room and peered outside. I could see a fence on that side of the house, a sort of enclosure. What could she be keeping in there? In this darkness, I couldn't distinguish anything.

  "What kind of animal does a witch keep?" The villagers had spoken of horses. A clearing in the cloudy night sky allowed some rays of moonlight to filter through. Enough to catch a glimpse of something big, black, and immobile . . . like the mouth of a cave. The cloud moved back in front of the moon and everything disappeared into darkness again. Not expecting to see anything more, I returned to the main room.

  "Well," I said, "the witch is not here."

  "The Baba Yaga, you mean," mocked Diego.

  "Whatever her name is, she's not in."

  "She can't be far, she left her shawl behind." Diego plucked a brown wool shawl from the rocking chair.

  I took the shawl from his hands; it looked familiar to me. Turning it around, I found a broad yellow line at its bottom. "That's Isabo's shawl. That's hers. I'm sure of it."

  "Isabo was here," Diego said. "Why would she come see a witch?"

  "Maybe she's the witch."

  Diego's mouth formed a perfect circle. "Oh!"

  I squeezed the shawl between my hands. Something didn't fit. Something was missing, as for what exactly, I didn't know.

  The clank of a cooking pot lid tore me from
my thoughts. I looked for Diego and found him with the pot lid in one hand and a ladle in the other, stirring the cauldron hanging over the fireplace. "Diego, leave that alone."

  "I am curious to see what she's cooking—Ahh!" Diego jumped back in horror. The pot lid and the ladle hit the floor in a cacophony of metallic clink-clank. "Witch's brew! Horrid witch's brew!" Hiding his nose in the crease of his arm, he pointed to the cauldron. "Go look! You have to see that."

  I picked up the ladle and reluctantly approached the cauldron. At first sight, the liquid inside had the thick, rich, brown appearance of a common stew. Taking a deep breath, I plunged the ladle in the steaming stew. A powerful jolt of energy shot through my entire body. At once all my muscles and nerves became as taut as the string of a bow. Frozen stiff, I watched powerless as the stew transformed itself into a green viscous concoction with what looked like a human ear and a foot floating in it. Before I could recoil in disgust, a white flash of light blinded me. As the light began dimming, an odd sensation invaded my body. I felt so strange, so light; it was as if I had no substance. I looked down and saw myself staring in the cauldron. I saw myself as if I were floating . . . high up on the ceiling. Panic seized me, and I fought to return to my body, like a drowning man desperately swimming to the shore. I was getting closer and closer to myself. I stretched my hand; I could almost touch my shoulder. In a last ditch effort, I kicked and pulled, then finally my fingertips made contact with my shoulder, and I felt sucked right back inside myself. But as soon as I had reentered my body, another jolt of energy shook me and a series of images flew across my eyes: a sea of riders galloping across a field; a vast stormy ocean; a marvelous city with dazzling white towers; a snow-covered mountain; a small, bald man in a deep yellow robe smiling at me, welcoming me. Then I saw Eva's face. Tears covered her cheeks. Suddenly her image vanished, replaced by the vision of blood—blood all over the snow. And there was that scream. It wouldn't stop.