Kingdom of Mirrors and Roses

by A. W. Cross

  Father nodded and limped back a step. “We’ll do whatever you think is best.”

  I had no idea what was best.

  We really were out of Father’s tea again. So, leaving Ginger, Ruby, Jolly, and all the other ewes and rams at home, I talked myself up to face the chaos of market day the next morning. I never liked the bustling crowds, the constant yelling, but it seemed worse than usual. With the revolution, no one knew what our coins should be worth anymore. Haggling over the herbs took much longer than it ever should have. “It was only two last month.”

  “That was last month,” the merchant said flatly. “Now it’s three.”

  I sighed, but reached into my apron pocket to hunt down another quarter crown.

  “Is he giving you a hard time, Izzy?”

  I winced as Jean rested his hand on my shoulder. I had forgotten to look for him, but the inn was in the center of town and in eyeshot of most of the surrounding shops.

  The herb merchant crossed his arms and shrugged. “Don’t mean to. But there is a war. Times are tough for everyone. You understand.”

  “I understand,” Jean said with a bit more bite. I could feel him spreading out his frame beside me. Making himself larger. “I fought the war, remember. While the rest of you stayed safe at home. And now there is no more war, and there should be plenty of weeds to go around.”

  I slammed a third coin down on the table before they could really start measuring each other. “It’s fine, Jean. I can pay.” I wouldn’t be able to buy anything else this week, but that was okay. Eating more of Old Rose wouldn’t kill me, and once spring really set in, we would be shearing the sheep and have a few more coins to spare.

  “It’s the principle of the matter. You can’t let swindlers like him push you around.”

  Was the merchant a swindler? He was a bit vague about his sources, which made me think the herbs were a mix of willow bark and common St. John’s wort foraged from the surrounding forest. But they did work, and everyone was raising their prices. Not just him. It simply wasn’t worth the fight.

  I turned to leave, forcing Jean to run along with me. He called over his shoulder instead. “It’ll be a half crown more next time you want to stay at the inn!”

  Jean reached for my hand, and I frowned, pulling away.

  “What? That’s fair at least. If he can raise his prices, so can I.”

  And then what would happen the next time Father needed herbs? I might really have to hunt down the recipe so I could find them myself. But I knew Jean only wanted to help. It was what he always did—standing up for me with all the villagers.

  “Is there anything else you needed today?” he asked.

  “No. Not today.” Not anything else I wanted his help with.

  He brightened and reached for my hand again. “Then you can have dinner at the inn.”

  I needed to tell him. “Well, I . . .”

  “Come on. I already have a seat saved for you.” He winked. He really was trying.

  Whatever else happened, I still wanted to be friends. So, I let him drag me past the village well and through the inn door. Antlers from Jean’s various hunting trips decorated the walls, and thin coils of sweet-smelling smoke seeped in from the kitchen, warming the place. It wasn’t busy yet, with all the tables empty and only Jean’s mother waving from the counter.

  “Is that little Isabelle Berger?” Madame Dupuis gasped. She dropped her rag and held her hands near her chest like she couldn’t believe it. “It’s so nice to see you again. You’ve become quite the young woman.” She looked me up and down, and I knew she had noticed my new curves too. Everyone did. “We’re so lucky our Jean had the good sense to snatch you up early.”

  “Ma,” Jean complained like she had said something embarrassing, but I didn’t mind.

  I liked Jean’s mother—his whole family. I just couldn’t find much reason to visit while Jean had been gone. And there were so many of them. The kitchen would be crammed full of his sisters prepping for the evening meal, and his father was somewhere off in their barn, chatting up guests. Even Jean felt smothered by their crowding sometimes.

  At least that’s why I assumed he would take out the cows to find me instead.

  Jean leaned over the counter to yell for one of his sisters, and I, thinking of our old herding days, looked down. Sure enough, a red mastiff was curled up in the corner, chewing on a raw bone. I bent my knees and held out my hand, expecting a tail-wag.

  I got a growl and a flash of yellow teeth instead.

  Jean quickly left the bar and stood in front of me. “Sorry, Izzy. She’s a cranky old gimp nowadays.” He herded me away to a table.

  That was disappointing. I loved dogs. I cried a week when our old sheepdog went rabid and had to be put down last summer. Father promised me another pup come spring, and I had been feeling out the Beaumonts’ pregnant bitch. I spared another glance behind my shoulder, now noticing the dog’s white hair and stiff movements. The years that had given me my breasts had not been quite so kind to her. That could make any playful pup a bit grumpier, but I found myself staring at the bone she was guarding.

  Thin. Jointed. Almost like . . .

  Jean squeezed my hand. “Ma and the girls are roasting goose tonight. Is that okay?”

  Goose. Not mutton. I turned and nodded eagerly.

  “You should just stay the evening with us,” Madame Dupuis said, putting the steaming plates on one of the round tables for us. “It will be so nice to catch up, and I think another storm is brewing.”

  Jean led me to our chairs, waving her off. “You always think another storm is brewing.”

  “I can feel it. Old bones have a sense.”

  Jean rolled his eyes and tried to wave her off again, but I smiled.

  “My father says that too.”

  “There, you see?” Madame Dupuis leaned in more eagerly as we sat down. “And how is Monsieur Edgar holding up?”

  “He’s all right,” I said. “Just a bit slower. But he said he would come down with me next month to gather hands for the shearing.” I added a few more details about our flock, so happy to catch up with her and Jean that I almost forgot everything else.

  Then other villagers and guests at the inn pushed in to greet Jean, shouting out their questions in the same easy way Madame Dupuis asked about my father.

  “What’s the news from the front?”

  “How many nobles did you kill?”

  “Who’s next for Madame Guillotine?”

  Jean turned his chair to oblige every question, filling in more and more detail about the heads rolling down the streets. Even sending his younger sister to fetch his rifle so he could act out one of the bloodier battles with the same flair he used to dramatize all his hunting trips.

  As more people pressed in, I quickly finished my plate and found myself looking more longingly at the exit.

  Jean always said I was shy. That could be true, but after he left, I found more and more that it wasn’t that I didn’t think I could entertain a crowd. I just didn’t care to. I wanted to go home, give my father his herbs, grab one of my books, and call it an early night.

  The sheep and my books were all I needed.

  Especially when Jean’s story took on a familiar ring, telling everyone how close he had been to nabbing the royal family himself. And if he had, he would have run one of them through with his bayonet right then. But no. They wanted to parade the royals through the capital and decide which heads could be reasoned with and which were only fit for the guillotine.

  It all became so boring and tedious he just had to come home early.

  The same story he had been telling last night.

  “They’ll agree with me in the end,” he said. “You’ll see. The only good noble is a dead one.” He slapped his knee like a blade coming down. The spark of joy on his face said he had no concern except that he had all the attention he usually had to wrestle from his siblings or all the other Jeans in town.

  Though now all his sisters had been
fully pushed into the background. Just fetching and carrying and buzzing around like bees in a busy hive to keep up with the crowd Jean had summoned. I put down my eating knife, and the youngest reached for my empty plate.

  I tried to smile at her, distracting myself from Jean. “Are you doing all right, Georgette?”

  The fourteen-year-old girl tucked a lock of blond hair behind her ear before reaching for another greasy plate on the next table to add to her growing stack. “It’s good that it’s so busy. The inn hasn’t been this full in a while with all the boys gone, but now that Jean is back . . .” She shrugged and beamed at me. “We’ll be all right. And I hear we’ll be getting another set of hands to help us out soon enough.”

  “In the kitchen?” I blinked, stupidly wondering why she was so giggly about the prospect of hiring a new serving girl.

  “Sure.” She winked. “But it’s all right if it takes you a while to find your feet. Ma says she might just put you out here. All you have to do then is smile. Jean might get jealous, but it’s good for business to have a pretty face out front.”

  Me? Out front? Smiling? My breath caught, and I fell speechless as the girl walked away.

  The lamplight glared. Everything blurred to a mix of harsh colors and sounds. Jean had told his sister . . . what? That he and I were getting married? Not just his sister, his mother too, from what she had said earlier. I had a twisted, horrible image of me wrenched from my flock and lumped into the ranks of Jean’s family. Displayed up front like another set of antlers on the wall. Endless crowds swarming around while Jean strutted and posed and . . .

  I gulped, and all I wanted to do was run. Jean was so wrapped up in his war stories he might not notice. Even with me here, Anna-Marie had still found a way to touch his arm more than once and was sure to happily take my spot if I left, but I would at least try to say goodbye.

  A very pointed goodbye if I could manage it. “Jean, I—”

  “That’s right.” He tipped his chin down in apology and wrapped an arm firmly around my shoulder. I couldn’t escape while he pulled me in to address the crowd. “I lost my point again,” he said. “You see, I was out on Izzy’s farm yesterday, and they’ve been having trouble with wolves. So, it occurred to me that we’ve got a real chance here to take our land back from all the tyrants.” He plowed into what must have been a rehearsed speech, linking the wolves with the oppressive monarchs who were only good dead. Calling in a new army to his hunt.

  Father was right. Jean really did want to reorder all the stars.

  I had no more trouble believing that he told his family I would be joining them like it had already been decided. That boy was like a great cascading flood; I didn’t think I’d ever be able to dam the tides he set in motion. “Isn’t it great?” he said at the end, with me still staring in shock at it all. “They’re all ready to help you out, Izzy.”

  I wanted to agree. I was a shepherdess; I didn’t love wolves either. My father was the best of hunters, but he never displayed his antlers for a crowd or used his victories to call for more favors. He didn’t go hunting for all wolves because the Beast of Gevaudan killed my aunt. And if he had joined the revolution, he wouldn’t have wanted to stab even the king without a trial.

  He would have wanted every noble tried fairly, no matter how tedious Jean thought it was.

  “About that . . .” I backed away from his arms, heart beating like a running hare.

  Heaven help me, I was a coward. Everything was spinning so fast, and I didn’t want to spend any more time at this inn. I had no interest in Jean’s hunts and endless boasting, but I couldn’t say what I really felt trapped in the midst of this boisterous crowd.

  Maybe even if it were just me and Jean alone.

  “Father wanted to talk with you. Perhaps he could come along on your hunt.” I tried for a smile. “You can’t really object to that one, right? He is a man. He has a beard and everything.” He refused to shave until the sheep were sheared. Stubborn old goat.

  Jean frowned. “Yeah, but are you sure it won’t be too hard on his leg?”

  “He has Bullet. And you know where he got that limp, correct?” Somehow it was much easier to stand up for my father’s abilities than my own.

  “On the hunt with Jean Chastel.” But Jean said it like he had been called on in history class.

  “Yes. On the hunt with Jean Chastel.” I gave the words the full emphasis they deserved. “He’s the best wolf-hunter in the village. You couldn’t do any better.”

  Jean took another moment to consider. Then he laughed. “Of course, it’s okay. You run home and get him. The two of us can have that heart-to-heart like we talked about, and I’ll bring you home a wolf pelt.”

  I didn’t want a wolf pelt, but I certainly hoped they talked.

  I kissed my father’s cheeks, the familiar bristles of his beard tickling my face. Then I took a step back from him and Bullet the horse. “Are you sure you don’t mind?” There was no more point in asking, with my father’s belly full of hot tea and his rifle already strapped to the saddle under him, but I did feel bad.

  He gathered up the reins with a laugh. “Of course not. Chasing off unwanted suitors is one of the best things about having a beautiful daughter. I plan to fight off a whole herd before I let some young buck snatch you away.”

  A whole herd? Did he really think so? “I don’t know if there will be any more suitors. Honestly, Jean’s the only one who’s ever showed any interest.” I knew what I was giving up by refusing Jean and never would have done it if he hadn’t made me feel so . . . trapped.

  Frankly, I still felt trapped. The whole inn, the whole village, worshiped Jean. Disappointing him seemed the same as disappointing them all. Even if my father was willing to be the one to officially tell him off, I still didn’t know how I would be able to return to the village afterward. But I had made my choice. My farm and my books were what I wanted.

  I would much rather be trapped away from the village than inside it.

  But my father just smiled and winked at me. “Only because he brays so loudly. You’ll see. As soon as he’s good and gone, others will spring up like daisies. And I’ll bring you plenty of wildflowers to tide you over until then.”

  I laughed as I watched him ride away. More dead flowers. Whatever would I do with them?

  We were quite the pair, he and I. The rest of the village and even Jean could gossip about how eccentric and quiet we were in town, but we fit each other so well there never seemed to be a need for anyone else.

  But maybe my father was right, and another man would spring up now that I had crossed Jean from my mind. Though we had never any formal arrangement, he was my best friend, and I supposed I always thought we would end up together.

  Now there seemed to be a whole length of new opportunities.

  What kind of man did I actually want? If I could have anyone?

  My thoughts ranged from other herdsmen to scholars or refined gentlemen like storybook princes. I turned off the lamp that night, letting all the possibilities run through my mind.

  A crack of thunder sounded outside. I started from my bed in the loft, feeling a damp ache and an eeriness in my chest. It hadn’t looked like it would rain before, but it seemed his mother’s “old bones” had been right, and Jean had expertly chosen the worst time for a hunt.

  Since I was already up, I put on my boots and coat and went out to the latrine. After I was done, I checked the yard and made sure all the sheep were bundled up properly. They should be. Father always said that no proper shepherd should sleep until things were tied down well enough to ward off a hurricane. I opened the door to the barn and glanced down the line of sheep, starting with Sugar, Jester, and Pepper, then moving to where Opal and Onyx were curled up together at the end of the line.

  Then I did a double take at the next stall.

  Bullet stood outside the door—his tack still on. The chestnut gelding stomped one hoof to show that he wanted to be put in for the night. But where was Father?
>
  4

  Beauty

  I climbed onto Bullet’s back and rode toward the village. The rain had cleared, but the haunted eeriness never left my breast. It seemed I already knew what I would find before I saw the crowd gathered by the well in the village square.

  Everyone parted for me as quick as a curtain rolling back.

  Two bodies lay on the muddy cobblestone.

  I slid off Bullet, the movement numb and surreal. Jean ran up, waterlogged and with a few more tears in his vest. “Oh, I’m sorry, Izzy,” he said, quickly going over the details of the hunt. They found the first body a few miles down the road, a weatherworn drifter that had his left hand chewed off. The hunters tracked and fought the russet wolfdog from there.

  Jean added a few more details about the black tips of the beast’s fur coat and its pointed fangs, but I really didn’t hear much more than that.

  I just stared at my father’s body, the fresher of the two corpses. The open slashes on his arms and face had dried up. His eyes were closed. The damp curls of his beard lay flat against his pale skin, and he had a red rose looped around his belt.

  He must have picked the flower somewhere in the forest to give to me. So we could laugh about it again. Maybe even put over Old Rose’s bones because he knew I hated her.

  Now it could do nothing but grace his own gravestone.

  An arm snaked its way over my shoulder and I almost jerked away in surprise. And when I saw it was Jean, I was so relieved and horrified I didn’t know what to do. I let him pull me in.

  “I’m sorry, Izzy,” he said again. “I should have waited until I could have gathered more men, but I promise we did everything we could.”

  Tears welled in my eyes, but I couldn’t do this. Not in front of everyone. “I think . . .” I swallowed and tried again. “I think I just need some time . . .”

  “Of course. I’ll call the undertaker and the priest. You can stay at the inn tonight.”