by Anita Valle
“Oh! He did it!” Coralina cried. “He tried to kill her!”
“Shh!” said Jaedis.
“‘Rionan!’ the princess cried in anguish. ‘How could you do this? Why?’
“‘I have no choice, Mirabel!’ said Rionan. ‘Your brother wants the throne. He’ll murder my whole family if I don’t take your life!’
“‘But I thought you loved me,’ Mirabel whispered, a lone tear glittering like a diamond on her cheek. Rionan’s voice choked. ‘You know that I do. More than anything.’
“‘Then give me the dagger.’ Mirabel held out her hand with a compassionate smile. ‘And I’ll forgive you. We’ll forget this ever happened.’
“Rionan hesitated. Then he pressed the dagger into her hand and wrapped the princess in his arms. ‘I love you, Mirabel!’ He wept on her shoulder. Mirabel flung her arms about him and they kissed each other fiercely. But in the midst of their lingering kiss, Mirabel raised the dagger and thrust it deep into Rionan’s back.”
Every princess gasped.
“Rionan dropped to the cold floorboards. His dark eyes flickered with agonized shock before life faded from them. Mirabel stood over him, tears flowing like rivers on her satin smooth cheeks. ‘I love you too, Rionan,’ she whispered.”
Coralina buried her face in her handkerchief and shook all over. Jaedis was solemnly shaking her head. Even Briette looked a shade paler than usual.
“Why did she do it?” Heidel whispered.
Maelyn had set the book in her lap to wipe her eyes. “I think she knows she can never trust him. He tried to kill her. He might have tried again.”
“I think she was being merciful,” said Ivy, curled in her chair and hugging a pillow. “It tortured Rionan to choose between his lover and his family. He no longer has to choose.”
“It’s s-so saaad!” Coralina sobbed.
“Well, read! Read on!” Jaedis flicked her hand impatiently. Maelyn shook her head. “The hour is over.”
“NO!” the princesses cried together. Maelyn chuckled and shut the book. “At least I’ll have no trouble gathering you tomorrow.”
“That’s a new book, isn’t it?” said Briette. She slumped comfortably in her chair, her feet raised on a footstool.
Maelyn smiled with a tender sort of pride. “Willow wrote it.”
“The messenger?” Shulay looked startled. Another one who hadn’t heard the tale of Maelyn and Willow. Heidel smirked. A messenger who wrote sensational novels while secretly courting the crown princess. Quite the fellow.
“Such a pity that Eravis couldn’t join us,” said Maelyn, clearly changing the subject. “He might’ve enjoyed this.” Eravis had retired early, claiming a headache. He blamed the oppressive heat, but Heidel suspected his ailment began at the signboard in Merridell.
“Oh! Maelyn!” Heidel cried. “Do you know King Erlamon is coming to Fenwick’s Feast? He’s chosen us for his annual cake contest.”
“Erlamon of Bauble?” Maelyn’s brow shot upward. “I’ve had no word of this! Did Eravis tell you?”
Heidel shook her head and told of the post they’d seen in Merridell. “I thought Eravis was going to cry.”
“Well! King Erlamon....” Maelyn tapped her chin thoughtfully. “I guess that means he’ll be staying with us.”
Shulay began to snicker and Maelyn fired a warning glance. “Erlamon is a famous king. He is revered throughout the realms as a master of cookery, and his contest is quite prestigious. And though his ways are sometimes... peculiar, we are honored to have him as our guest.”
“He’s still a nutbread,” said Heidel. “Has anyone heard of the Syllable Law?”
Maelyn grimaced. A few princesses hadn’t heard of the law and so she explained. “Erlamon is a firm believer in class distinction. A few years ago, he decreed the ‘Syllable Law’ for his kingdom. If you are a lowly peasant, your name cannot be longer than one syllable: Brom, Rose, Joc. Merchants and tradesmen are allowed two syllables to their names. And nobles must have three or four. Everyone in Bauble had to shorten or lengthen their names accordingly.”
Heidel snorted. “What if your position changes? Peasants can become nobles – as we know very well – and nobles can be stripped of their titles.”
“Then your name must change with your position.” Maelyn sighed. “I know. It’s....”
“Crazy,” said Heidel.
Briette began to smile. “Then I’m afraid we’ll disappoint him. Most of our names aren’t long enough.”
“Mine is!” Coralina cried.
“Mine too,” said Arialain.
“I can go by my full name,” said Ivy with a grin. Her full name was Iviana though it was seldom spoken.
“Whatever will he do with me?” Lace shook her head in mock dismay. The princesses laughed and tried to invent longer versions of Lace’s name. Lacinora! Lacebelle! Lacelia! Within minutes they were laughing hard. Heidel felt a rare pang of pity for Eravis. At least he couldn’t hear this merriment at his father’s expense.
Still giggling, the princesses wandered off to bed. Heidel held the door, waiting for Ivy. She hadn’t left her chair and seemed intent on watching Maelyn.
“Sleeping here tonight, Ivy?” Maelyn joked as she circled the library, snuffing candles on the mantle shelf and scattered small tables. Ivy smiled and shook her head.
“Are you sure they’re out?” Ivy asked as Maelyn doused the last candle.
“Believe so.” Maelyn swept her eyes across the darkened library. Wispy trickles of smoke rose from the wicks. The open doorway, where Heidel stood, was the only source of light.
“No sparks that may ignite again?” Ivy pressed.
“No, dear. Come to bed.” Maelyn stalked out the door with an exasperated look. Ivy scooped her crutch off the floor by her chair. “Heidel... just give me a moment.” She hobbled to each candle in the room, peering at the wicks. Heidel yawned loudly. “They’re out, Ivy!”
“I don’t want another fire,” Ivy said defensively. She joined Heidel in the corridor which glowed a dusky red. The stone walls were flanked with torches mounted in metal brackets.
Ivy stared at them.
“They’ll go out on their own,” Heidel said patiently. “Look, the flames are dying.”
“Where is the bucket of sand?” Ivy asked.
Heidel sighed. “In the kitchen. But please, Ivy, don’t worry. This corridor is a cave of stone. There’s nothing to burn.”
“Is the kitchen fire out?” Ivy persisted.
“Yes.” They headed for the main staircase. The rustle of their skirts and the steady clop of Ivy’s crutch echoed through the silent halls.
“No sparks?” said Ivy. Heidel resisted rolling her eyes. “None that I saw. All is well.”
They started up the broad stone steps, but Ivy stopped and bit her lip. “Go without me,” she said, turning back.
“Ivy!” Heidel cried. She was trying hard not to be angry.
“Don’t worry about me. Just go,” said Ivy, directing her uneven steps toward the kitchen.
Heidel huffed a sigh and mounted the stairs alone. She knew Ivy would inspect the hearth with painstaking care, ensuring not a single red ember survived among the ashes. She would probably retrieve the bucket of sand too, and bury the torches.
Heidel reached the long row of doors that marked the princesses’ bedchambers. Hers was the second chamber, beyond Coralina’s. Heidel pressed the latch and stepped inside.
“Holy Teeth!”
If Ivy was anxious over untended fires, she should have checked Heidel’s chamber! It looked like a summer day, every torch and candle blazing. Yet Heidel had not entered her room since dawn, and even then she had not lit a candle....
Then she noticed her bed.
With a hard gasp, Heidel staggered back against the door. Her vision blurred. Her head swam in a near-faint.
Eravis lay on her bed, arms and legs sprawled across the green coverlet. The front of his tunic was soaking with blood. And a short sword pierced th
e center of his chest.
Chapter 10
Heidel’s breath came hard and fast. This wasn’t happening. The sword. The blood. Eravis! He couldn’t be....
“MAELYN!” Heidel shrieked and barreled out of her room. Maelyn’s chamber was a floor above. Heidel flew back to the staircase as her thoughts became a hurricane ripping through her mind.
Eravis was dead. Dead in her chamber. A killer. In the castle. Where? Who? Eravis was dead! The king. His father. Who would tell him? What would he do? Eravis was dead! His cheeky white grin. His taunting grey eyes. Gone. Forever.
The fourth floor corridor was black as ink. Heidel slid her hands along the wall until she found Maelyn’s door. She spilled inside without knocking. Maelyn was pushing her arms through the sleeves of her nightdress, her wavy brown hair loose on her shoulders. She turned in surprise.
“Maelyn! Come quickly!” Heidel staggered forward, knees buckling beneath her. She nearly fell against Maelyn, who caught Heidel’s arms to steady her.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Maelyn cried.
“Erav-v-v!” The word broke in Heidel’s throat. She buried her face in Maelyn’s shoulder and cried hard, gasping sobs.
“What? Tell me!” Maelyn grabbed Heidel’s arms and forced her back, meeting her eyes.
“Eravis is-s-s... he’s dead, Mae!” Heidel wailed, her cheeks drowning in tears. “In my chamber. Someone killed him!”
Maelyn went white as her nightdress. She marched to the fireplace and grabbed a long iron poker from its stand. “Show me,” she said grimly.
They returned to the floor below. Heidel’s door hung open as she’d left it, yellow light dumping out into the corridor. Maelyn held the poker aloft as they crept toward the door, Heidel trying to muffle her sobs.
She remembered the first time she ever saw Eravis. Her father had invited the King of Bauble to join him for the hunting season. Erlamon arrived, accompanied by his eight-year-old son. Heidel’s parents, always eager to exhibit their nine daughters, summoned the little princesses to stand side-by-side and curtsy for the guests. Eravis returned the customary bow with a smirk. His eyes skipped across the nine girlish faces, but on seeing Heidel he wrinkled his nose. She poked her tongue at him.
And thus they became sworn enemies.
“What’s the matter?” Briette, also dressed for sleep, stepped out of her chamber. “I heard Heidel yell.”
“Shh!” Maelyn beckoned with her hand. “Come with us. We may need you.”
Briette, always sensible, followed without questioning. The three princesses turned into Heidel’s chamber. Heidel ducked her head to rub her eyes, blinded by tears and torchlight. She heard Maelyn exhale impatiently.
“Heidel, what do you mean by this?”
Heidel looked up. There was her bed. And there was Eravis – alive. Sitting against her pillows, boots crossed at the ankles, with a book in his lap. He smiled at Heidel as if she had just arrived at a picnic.
“Hello, Princess Hoodwinked.”
Chapter 11
Heidel gasped. “Eravis?” There was no blood, no sword. He wore a loose white shirt, opened at the chest to reveal unwounded skin. “Eravis! But you were....”
“Dead?” Eravis gave his crooked grin. He reached beneath the pillow and held up two items. One was the red-stained tunic. The other was the ‘sword’. There was only a hilt and two inches of blade. The short blade was stuck into a flat circle of wood. Eravis had hidden the wood beneath his clothing, so the sword appeared to be stabbing his chest.
It was a prank.
Heidel’s vision blurred, this time with rage. “You....” she snarled. “I HATE YOU!” She lunged at the bed, but Maelyn and Briette had anticipated her. They clamped on her arms, holding her back.
“Let me GO!” Heidel screeched, trying to wrestle out of their grip. Her hands were curled like claws, her teeth bared. How fortunate that Eravis wasn’t dead - now she could kill him herself!
Eravis was shaking his head. “Heidel, Heidel. Such a wild little wench.” He slid calmly off the bed. “But please, keep on struggling. It’ll help you shed a few pounds.”
“I HATE YOU! HAAATE YOU!” Heidel fought to free herself, her sisters grunting with the effort to restrain her. Eravis sauntered forward, smug as a hawk. “Your sister Shulay lent me the sword. And the cherry wine to use for blood. Clever, wasn’t it? Perhaps this will teach you not to push my face into one of your horrible cakes again.” Eravis stopped, his sneer banished by a look of utter astonishment. “Heidel, were you crying?”
Heidel stopped struggling and immediately ducked her head. But there was no hiding it. Her face was wet, her eyes swollen, her breath shaky. Eravis stooped for a better look. “You were.” His face softened with disbelief. “You were crying for me.”
“What did you expect?” Maelyn’s tone was sharp with disapproval. “She thought you were dead!”
“I only meant to scare her. I never thought she’d... grieve!”
“I didn’t!” Heidel hissed through her teeth. Her sisters had finally freed her arms but still hung warily at her side. “You’d be upset too if you found a dead body in your bed!”
“Which, I should add, was highly improper!” said Maelyn. “This is Heidel’s bedchamber. Where is your decency?”
“Never had it, I’m afraid.” Eravis smiled and bowed briskly. “Goodnight, ladies. I pray you sleep well.” His eyes lingered on Heidel, holding that look of wonder. As if her tears had somehow touched him.
Once she was alone, Heidel marched to her bed and hurled the false sword across the room. She flopped onto her mattress, fully dressed, her body utterly drained of life. She shut her eyes until her breathing slowed.
It was Maelyn’s stupid novel. It made her too quick to believe the stabbing. Otherwise she might have seen the prank for what it was. Holy Teeth, he’d lit every candle so she could see him clearly!
And why, why did she cry?
Heidel never cried. Not when she’d broken her arm at age twelve. Not when her last puppy was killed by a wolf. Not even at her mother’s burial. She was the strong one, the one who never broke.
What gave Eravis such power over her?
Chapter 12
“Expel him from the castle!”
“Heidel... I’m a little busy.” Maelyn sat in her throne, a gilded chair held aloft by a series of marble steps. Four peasants, six noblemen, an ambassador from Kurzha, and a messenger from Bauble clustered about her knees. Heidel had barged into the throne room, disrupting the audience.
“He can’t stay here!” Heidel clenched her fists, not caring that scads of scornful eyes were upon her. “Either you run him out of the castle, or I’ll run a sword through his gut!”
Maelyn sat with hands folded primly in her lap. She wore her ‘queen face’ – a mask of arched eyebrows and pristine composure. An ivory cape draped her shoulders and a heavy crown nestled in her thick brown hair.
“Heidel, I cannot risk the offense to King Erlamon. The messenger here has brought word that he is, indeed, coming to Runa. Tomorrow, no less. Furthermore, I see no justification for banishing Eravis. You played the first prank. He retaliated. Call it even and carry on.”
Heidel growled and spun to leave, her heavy braid slapping her shoulder. She hadn’t really thought it would work. But she had to try.
She returned to the kitchen and tied on her apron. Forget Eravis. Two days remained until the contest. Two days to hone her baking skills. She would practice today with a simple butter cake.
She bustled about the kitchen, gathering ingredients: flour, sugar, and salt from the pantry; milk, eggs, and butter from the larder – a cold cellar below the kitchen where she kept any foods that might spoil. She plunked her ingredients onto the worktable beside a large wooden bowl.
Squire poked a curious nose over the table and Heidel scrubbed his shaggy head with her fingernails. “So, Squire. Do you remember this recipe? Joc made it once or twice, and I watched him. But that was ages ago....”
Heidel rolled her eyes. “Get out, Eravis. Nobody wants you here.” Squire gave a rumbling growl as if in agreement. Good dog.
“I’d like to speak with you.” As always, Eravis looked disgustingly dashing. He wore a tunic of soft, shimmery gray, the collar and sleeves flourishing with black embroidery. His belt, boots and breeches were also black. A silver crown encircled his brow, complimenting the pale grey of his eyes. He crept to the opposite side of the table and watched Heidel churn the ingredients into batter. “Did you mix everything together at once?” he asked.
“Leave me alone!” Heidel snapped. She hoisted the mixing bowl to her hip and turned her back on him, stirring all the while.
“I’m trying to help-”
Heidel pointed the wooden spoon at his throat. Not much of a weapon, but the batter dripping off the end threatened to soil his clothing. “Leave. My. Kitchen. Now. Do you understand? I don’t want to see your face, or hear your voice, or sully my mind with thoughts of you. Leave!”
Eravis looked taken aback. His eyes fluttered with confusion as a blush darkened his cheeks. Heidel stared in disbelief. Was he... hurt?
“Very well, I’ll go,” he muttered. He made for the door but hesitated at the threshold. “I don’t hate you, Heidel,” he said quietly, still averting his eyes. “I know we don’t get along. But I never hated you. And I’d like it very much if - if you didn’t hate me.”
“Too late.” Heidel kept her eyes on the bowl, stirring rigorously. Eravis sighed and pushed the door open. “Oh... hello!” She heard him say. “Are you looking for someone?”
Heidel glanced over her shoulder. A peasant man with scared eyes stood in the doorway. He wore a course brown tunic over trousers with dirty knees and looked as if he felt dreadfully out of place.
“Princ’ss Maelyn-” The man winced and curled a long thin hand over the side of his face.
