Stepfather had returned from the woods, where he’d hid, only late in the afternoon the next day.
I’d managed a million little curses over the King’s soul, but my powers hadn’t been strong enough to kill him to the spot. That’s when I’d sworn: one day.
And oh, yes, this was a beautiful day for a death curse.
Chapter 3
Commotion across the ballroom alerted me. The king’s guards were heading to talk to my sisters at their tables — with little cards with names for each of them, but lacking a seat for me — and my mind was a veritable beehive of contradictory thoughts.
From all this distance, from the guards’ body talk, it was clear how reverent they were towards my sisters. The guards kept bowing, crossed their hands behind their backs, nodded politely…
My sisters had done well for themselves and now they all enjoyed the good life, and while it was a huge relief and a blessing…how could they try to keep me from even having a little taste?
At the same time, I wanted to pull my sisters away and ask them upfront, how they put up with this charade. People here were smiling at the King, congratulating him, bowing as if he were worth any respect. Even my sisters had curtsied.
To the king!
To the murderer, who had killed our mother!
I wished I could say something, not merely privately boil with this embarrassment, trying to swallow down bitter tears. I had so, so many questions.
First of all, Elsa, how could you lie to me, when we used to be so close? Don’t we even know each other, are we strangers now? Loreleine, how could you keep me away from these feast tables, when I cooked all the suppers for you girls for years on end? Cecilie, did you really want to leave me out in the cold courtyard, when I used to keep our hut warm through all those long, harsh winters?
Well, perhaps you all did, and on some level, I understand. I understand perfectly, but it breaks my heart. It’s clear I don’t fit into your beautiful world now. I’m an unfashionable hag, a cripple, a sore sight, and I guess nowadays I’m nothing but an awkward burden to you all. Just look at your lovely lives where I do not fit even in the shadows.
But why, though? Why am I so horrid? I lost my eye because I fought that brute we called our stepfather, who never deserved that name. You know Victor would have killed us all…and how close he got to doing just that. He would have been the death of every one of us. But remember how we schemed? And remember how I stood up to him at nineteen…far too late…and yet, by the way, still younger than all of you are now, save for little Elsa.
I may have looked strong then, but I shivered inside every time I heard his steps on the porch.
And then that day came, when Victor lashed out on little Elsa, and everything went red and black in my eyes. I jumped on Victor’s back, kicking and punching, only wanting him to stop, because I wouldn’t have one more day when he’d hit you, little sisters, not one more day. It was blind rage…But the same was true for him.
He nearly killed me. Then he stormed through the door.
And did he even stay to find out if I lived? No. But I did live. And I did coach little Elsa back to life. And through the next months, I kept the house warm and cooked soup for us every day.
Soups, always soups — it was all I found the energy for. But I did find the energy for it, and then, of course I did; who else could have done it? You girls were little! I never thought twice! Years older than the eldest of you…
Why do you think Victor ran like a coward the first moment one of us had the guts to defy him and fight back? I think I get why; I think because he didn’t find us useful anymore. Perhaps we were too feisty?
But good riddance. Because only then we were free.
Oh, the first years after that, hard, so hard, with scraps to eat, but our hearts were so light and the house filled with so much laughter…
And why not? It was just us girls to govern the house as we pleased! Well, us girls and young women.
But what do you prim princesses now remember of that time? You don’t want to remember, because those times are gone and your days are prettier now. Why think back on dark times, when you can push them out of your mind…Is that what you think?
Elsa, you’re married to your Gabe, with a house and a garden. Lily, you’re married to your Steven and the stalls. For the rest of you, in your velvet dresses and curled tresses, silken shoes and blush, you’re better off not looking back. You’ve done well for yourselves. From rags to riches, all of you…and I’m glad. I’ve even made little cupcakes in the hut, celebrating you, thinking of you, often wishing you’d come by a bit more often. But still…
My sisters, my dolls, why pretend those days never existed? As if Victor never tore out the eye of your big sis and left us all to die? As if he didn’t leave us to starve and freeze, for real? Oh, you remember, but you don’t want to, so…What? Let’s pretend it’s just some dissolved nightmare?
See, I remind you of it, and that’s why you avert your eyes and go silent and tense at the godawful sight of me. Gah! Me and my cripple leg and my torn-out eye! Boo!
But I carried the wood throughout the winters for us, and the water throughout all those years…and I loved you. I know those days were grim, but I still loved them. Our freedom, our strength, our victory. Don’t you see that—how wonderful it was? How can you forget the laughter and the love?
Yes, now I’m full of anger, flaming and crazed, I’m sorry…But you can’t forget the laughter and the love? All those dark and brilliantly beautiful days of just us girls? We had each other’s backs and vowed to always stick together come hell or high water…
Well, it has come, and you’re forgetting the laughter and the love. I see you have better things now. Prettier. Safe.
The crowd whooshed, and I turned to look to the throne like everyone else. Queen Marjorie was walking to the throne with her company, a nanny carrying baby Aurora in her lavish, royal crib, a nursing lady following. Then my gaze fixed onto King John beside her.
The Queen was gloriously festive in her forest green silks, gown and cape, as she fussed about by her ogre of a husband. I couldn’t believe my eyes, as at that very moment, seen by all his court, King John wiped his hands on a maid’s hair.
I’d heard from my sisters, on our way here, that Queen Marjorie was a lovely person, unlike her monster of a husband. Perhaps she wasn’t a bad person; perhaps she just didn’t understand. Perhaps she was naive and blind to his faults or saw no other options. Perhaps she really had no other options, in her mind. I’d learned long ago not to make hasty assumptions.
But I wished to shake those shoulders and turn her to look at us all, for real. I wished I could say, my sisters are not your puppets, your playthings. You think it’s fine to use my sisters as some sort of charms? To bring you good fortune? To brighten your glory?
My sisters will accept it, I see, and I understand, because this is their life now. But this charade I see here, it’s not how they really are, and this travesty certainly isn’t how one is supposed to use magic.
Magic…You have no concept of it, with all your court education. You think it’s some kind of a gimmick, a trick, things changing with the flick of a hand? Oh, magic must mean something else to you entirely than it means in our mouths, rolling on our tongues like malleable wildfire. You don’t understand, I know, but it’s the building material of stars and universes, and one is not supposed to use it frivolously for silly, superficial purposes.
Make my baby pretty, you say. Make her eyes a brighter blue, her locks a lighter hue, her thoughts and moves a book of poetry. Make my baby smart, you say, make her learn the languages, the arts!
Oh, really!
Well, she could master all that with ease on her very own, because she’s a clever child. And for what I’ve seen of the future, her days could be gold.
But now they won’t.
I’m sorry, but they won’t. Because in one more minute, tops — if your husband won’t let go of that maid’s hair — I’
ll end him, I swear. Then your little baby daughter will be rid of her monster of a father…and I get that if I strike her father dead, it’ll leave a dent in her world, too.
But what can I say, the world is strange and sometimes life’s unfair. It’s unfortunate for her to be the daughter of a tyrant, or should I say blood-thirsty beast?
And the fact is, your husband is the most hated person to ever walk these lands. And since you allow all us witches magic here today — the irony, when you shun magic all other days — I’ll use my magic, all right! Oh, will I ever! To the last drop, if I get this one chance…
So, you see, I have better things to spend my magic on than golden curls and calculus. Now, if you’ll just step aside…
Step aside…
She was blocking my view.
My stomach twisted with the thought that I might miss my chance. People moved about, silken shoes shuffled, shadows shifted. People knew nothing of my thoughts.
Tentatively, I raised my arms. When I had the king’s looming, bull-like figure framed between my fingers, I quickly pressed my tongue against my teeth and uttered the incantation. Then I yelled over the room:
“For my gift for you tonight…I offer the Word of Death! I command that what shall take upon you shall be nothing but death and destruction!”
I ended up screaming out the last words, even if I hadn’t wanted to, because they already tore at my insides like bursting fire, coming through all the safety nets of good magic I’d woven around me through all of my life.
The crowd reacted, bowing down, kneeling, gasping, yelling, screaming and pushing each other. I refused to take my eyes off the king, whose disbelieving face began to grow dark with wisps of thin, gray smoke, as my spell found its target and latched on.
People close by reacted as well, stepping back, crouching…And the people, who noticed the king’s transformation, turned to stare. The king scratched at his face, as if trying to scrape something off. He must have felt the magic inching up on him, crawling into his pores.
“I say the Word of Death, and I usher it at—”
The lights died. Just like that.
I swung around, feeling the waves of magic move with me like water.
What was with the lanterns, torches, and candles? They’d all instantly gone out. But I didn’t do this. Even the giant chandeliers above us had gone dark, immaterially blown out—all the hundreds of little flames snuffed out with no breeze to speak of—as well as the torches on the walls, which were now hiding in fluctuating clouds of black smoke in the grips of some intangible wind.
The only thing left giving off light were the narrow, high windows, with the stormy night outside, plus, in the middle of the room, the giant green fluorite stone mounted on the fountain, now shining eerily through the sprinkling, running water bathing it, casting an ethereal glow all over.
But I didn’t do this.
I hadn’t been able to finish my curse because of the interruption. What was going on?
My gaze swept the shocked faces, the gaping mouths. One woman among the crowd stood out to me, because she had her arms up in the distinctive way one does when casting spells.
For a disbelieving, passing moment, my mind dismissed it, because this could not be a sorcerer. I knew of all the witches in this corner of the world, who let their names be known, and unless this was a visitor from a faraway place, she was no sorcerer. But of course, there were tons of visitors here, invited to come for the christening…
Queen Marjorie stood up, eyes glued to the sorceress, face twisting and ugly with pain. “Duchess Rachel…?” she said in a small voice.
The sorceress let her arms fall to her sides and flashed an ill-fitting grin.
From the power play — the duchess’ straight, proud back, her set jaw, and the furtive way she glanced at the king — it was obvious there was more at play here than immediately met the eye.
I understood why, as I saw how the king shrunk in his seat and stared at the duchess. I imagined right then and there they’d had an affair, the Duchess and the king, without Queen Marjorie knowing, because wasn’t that the look of a guilty man torn between regret and stubborn will…?
The sorceress — Duchess Rachel — shook those frighteningly powerful hands of hers that even glowed with magic, though I was probably the only one in the room to see it, then crossed her arms over her chest with the assured air of someone who knows they’ve done wrong but will not back up an inch.
“Yes, I’ve studied hedge witch magic. What do you say to that, you prude? That it’s forbidden? Oh, you and your stupid rules! And do you really think I’ll simply watch and do nothing, when someone throws ghastly spells like this at my John?”
“Your John?” Queen Marjorie repeated. “My husband is John to you? How dare you? In front of all these people…And what in heaven’s name have you done?” Body jerking, as she crouched down fast, she gripped the sides of the crib, where baby Aurora was still asleep. “Look! What have you done?” she repeated in a whisper that broke.
Her whisper rang in my ears, as I leaned in, trying to see better what was that glow about the crib that seemed to rest upon the blankets.
No. Wait…
Skies have mercy. The curse had bounced off and settled upon the baby. The smoke was now set tight on her lavish blankets, contouring her golden curls, tainting her whole, small being with veils of gray.
I panicked thinking of all the antidotes, the reverse-chants, the spell-breakers. But the Word of Death was harsh. This spell was as mighty as they came.
And irreversible, what else — there was no reversing death, was there. It took me a fight with my mind to accept it, but I had nothing to give, nothing to help out with. I’d used up my powers and I’d let go of the curse already.
Could we modify it? Even a smidgen?
Who still had magic? Anyone? Somebody needed to do something quick, or poor little baby Aurora only had moments left. But I had no powers to speak of, and my sisters had spent theirs, too, hadn’t they?
“You did this!” resounded through the hall. Duchess Rachel had walked to the middle of the floor, with people cowering around her, as she pointed at me, hunched, seething, as if trying to shoot imaginary arrows from her index finger. “You were the one who cast the spell! You did it! The Spell of Death! That’s forbidden!”
Of course it was forbidden, as it ought to be. But as to stopping King John…As far as I knew, all tyrants throughout history, who had been defeated, had been slain with deceit and violence. Perhaps sometimes an evil begets a worse one? I’d learned a thing or two about that at home, in the hands of stepfather Victor. Surely it was one thing to want to hurt people, but another to want to end people’s tormenting? And sometimes you just had to fight back? Wasn’t that so? Wasn’t it?
But oh, no, the child…Maybe there was still time? We shouldn’t spend more seconds arguing.
I stepped out of the velvet drapes.
“I cast a curse, yes, but I didn’t mean it for the child. You caught my spell and diverted it, and now—” I turned to talk to Queen Marjorie. “I’m so very sorry, but as far as I can tell, the baby got the curse on her. And it’s the Veil of Death…I’m so, so sorry.”
Marjorie stared at me, unblinking, as if she could hardly see what was in front of her, let alone understand it.
“Oh? Well, take it off!”
I shook my head. As if I hadn’t already gone through all the chants I knew, Greek and Latin rushing in my mind.
“I can’t.”
Maybe more magic could still modify it, just the tiniest bit? Postpone it? Redirect it? There had to be a way.
But someone needed to have magic left. I had none. No more powers, no more spells.
Maybe it hadn’t yet sunken in with Queen Marjorie what this meant in all its entirety. My gaze went around the crowd, and I saw baffled faces, confusion, and shock. Maybe they hadn’t yet quite understood it, but they’d soon see the scope of what I’d done. That the Word of Death on the baby m
eant one irrevocable thing.
How I wished I hadn’t given in to my hatred though, even now, watching King John’s uncaring face, as if this didn’t move him, I hated him more than anything.
Heads turned, and as I followed the cause of commotion, I saw Elsa striding out from her table to the center of the floor, stopping in front of slumped-down Queen Marjorie.
In her silks in the shade of apple blossoms, and with her gentle expression, Elsa was an odd mixture of strength and frailty, just like I remembered her from years back. Frail for her soft heart, but strong for her headstrong, persistent ways. That, she’d always been. Maybe she had an idea?
“One thing about magic you’re probably not aware of…” She twirled around, as she let her eyes sweep over everyone, and the apple blossom silks danced as well, billowing like a cloud, and I worried for her, for drawing attention to herself like this. Maybe we should have settled things with the Queen and the Duchess in private, away from the eyes of the public.
“Magic, it’s funny, it’s only a nudge towards the ways of the world. One tongue says this, another says that, and there’s no way of knowing how the world will take it in the end. So, never mind my sister gave the Word of Death…and even that Duchess Rachel threw it at this innocent child…that is, at your daughter, my queen, and my condolences! Still, never mind all that, magic can still change it. Magic adds effects onto the world like making ripples on a still pond. Throw another stone, and the rings change.”
Queen Marjorie stood up. She was shaking visibly, and she cupped her hands against each other. Tears were running down her perplexed face, as she kept minimally shaking her head.
Kingdom of Villains and Vengeance Page 47
