by Anita Valle
Coralina pouted. “Only a hundred?” And the forty knights surrounding her thundered with hearty laughter.
Maelyn wanted to be sick. Yes, Coralina was lovely. Black curls spilling over her shoulders, plum-colored gown shimmering, teardrop pearls dangling from her ears. Acting more like a child at her birthday feast than a queen.
Maelyn stood at the back of the throne room, shielded by a clump of townspeople still waiting for Coralina’s attention. Maelyn noticed sympathy in the cautious smiles they gave her and sensed not all in the kingdom rejoiced at the change in monarch.
“Isn’t that your mother’s crown?” asked Sir Brunner, a man of dark eyes and crooked smiles. “I remember Queen Runa wearing it.”
“Why yes!” Coralina laughed. “Do you like it on me?”
Maelyn forgot to breathe. Coralina wore Mother’s crown. She hadn’t noticed. Mother’s silver crown with inlaid sapphires, that had lain on her pillow untouched since her death. It belonged on the next queen of Runa, not buried in Coco’s turbulent hair.
Her outrage must have been obvious because a hand nudged her shoulder. “Not to worry, my lady,” said a man.
Maelyn turned and recognized Gord, a carpenter of Creaklee village. A mountainous man with gentle brown eyes. He nodded toward Coralina. “It won’t last. She’s having her fun, but she’ll tire of it. It’s her butterfly nature.”
“Butterfly?”
“Never lingers at one flower. Always flitting to a brighter one. Playing queen – it’s just one of her flowers.”
“Hmm. I think men are her flowers,” Maelyn muttered. She watched Sir Brunner begging the privilege to kiss Coralina’s hand, and Coralina making a bad pretence of reluctance.
“My lady!” Sir Gwyn cried. “When you become queen, who shall be your husband and king?”
Coralina smiled mysteriously. “Perhaps he is in this room.” The knights bunched around her throne, crying “Who?” and “Pick me!”
“Ugh.” Maelyn dropped her face in her hands. She’d seen enough. And the neglected townspeople had waited long enough. She turned to the carpenter. “Why did you come today, Gord? Is it your eyesight?”
Gord nodded. “Gets worse every day, my lady. I’ll be blind soon.” He cleared his throat twice to steady his voice. “You said you’d find a nurse for my little girl when… when it got too hard….”
Maelyn touched his arm. “Of course, Gord.” She caught another peasant looking at her, an old shepherdess. “My sheep are wandering off pasture,” said the woman. “The fence is broken and I can’t repair it myself.”
Maelyn crept toward the door, beckoning the townspeople. “Come with me, all of you. We’ll talk in my library.” She needn’t have whispered, or worried Coralina would notice them. Coralina had eyes for only men and mirrors.
“Health and wealth to Queen Coralina!” another knight cried. Coralina laughed. “We must drink to that! Sir Brunner, find the Kitchen Princess! We need wine for everyone!”
Maelyn let the shutting door muffle the men’s cheers. Stupid Coco. Those men would drain a barrel at least and she knew Coralina would demand the finest: the aged mulberry wine that Uncle Jarrod drank.
Chapter 13
Maelyn tugged open the castle’s main door and wondered where the Door Princess had gone. Arialain should be doing this. The townspeople shuffled out, most looking happier than when they arrived. The sun hung just above the treetops of Lumen Forest. Maelyn inhaled the cool air and caught the scent of blackbird pie baking for supper.
She stood on the doorstep, watching the people trek the dirt road back to town. The road cut a wide path through the trees, but otherwise Lumen Forest wrapped Castle Hill like a dark green skirt, with a round clearing on top for the castle and their gardens.
As she turned to go in, a man emerged from the forest. He’d taken the Wending Way, coming out near the corner of the castle. Maelyn waved. “Hello, Willow!”
When he crossed the clearing, her smile sagged. He still held The Carnivorous Carriage.
“The miser didn’t want it,” said Maelyn. It wasn’t a question. Even if Willow had hidden the book, the reluctance in his walk would have told her.
“I’m sorry, my lady.” Willow’s face drooped with disappointment. “I failed you again.”
Maelyn suddenly felt tired. She sat on the doorstep and rested her forehead on her fingertips. After a moment, Willow sat beside her. He laid the book between them and stretched out his legs, digging his boot heels into the dirt.
“I really thought he would take it,” said Willow. “He said he didn’t know the story and flipped through the pages a long time. But then he said it looked unpleasant.”
“It is.” Maelyn sighed. “That’s why I thought he would like it.”
Willow gave a slight smile. “Is it a scary story?”
“Very! It’s about an enchanted carriage that draws itself without horses. It can take you anywhere in the world. But there is a risk.”
Willow raised his eyebrows. “Well?”
Maelyn smiled and shook her head. “The carriage draws its energy from human flesh. Every so often, it must consume one of its travelers to keep going.”
“Holy Toes!” said Willow.
“No one knows when or how often the carriage feeds. So when you step inside, you take a gamble. You may arrive safely at your destination. Or… you might be the carriage’s next meal.”
“How does it eat them?” Willow asked eagerly.
Maelyn laughed. “I don’t know! But when the carriage arrives, all that’s left is a skeleton. Fully clothed, still seated. And the walls and ceiling inside the carriage are spattered with fresh blood.” She shuddered, remembering how she’d slept with all the candles burning for almost a month. And began traveling everywhere on foot.
“May I borrow this book?” Willow asked. Maelyn laughed again. “Please, keep it! I never want to read it again.”
“Thank you, my lady!” Willow tucked the book under his elbow. “If I may ask, what do you like to read?”
Maelyn watched the sun lean closer to the trees. “Stories that take me to wonderful places. Where everything is magical and unexpected. That make me forget where I am… and who I am.”
Willow watched her quietly. When Maelyn looked over, his eyes held concern. “What’s troubling you, my lady?”
Maelyn stood up. She had spoken too much. “Thank you, Willow. Return tomorrow and I’ll give you another book to trade with the miser. I wish you a good evening.”
She stepped inside but a thought turned her back. “Did you happen to see Ari on the Wending Way?”
Willow twisted to look up at her. “Princess Arialain? Yes, walking with a short fellow. They looked quite happy.”
Maelyn looked toward the Wending Way and ground her teeth. “Not for long.”
Chapter 14
“I asked you to keep away from Tofer,” said Maelyn.
Arialain sat on the bed in her small chamber. She gathered her knees to her chest and hugged her ankles. In her white nightdress, she looked much younger than a girl of fifteen. “I’m not trying to… to marry Tofer! He’s my friend.”
“Has he kissed you?” Maelyn sat against the opposite wall, in the same chair Uncle Jarrod had used. Arialain shook her head.
“Tofer is a nice boy,” said Maelyn. “But not a nobleman. You know Mother wanted noblemen for all of us.”
Arialain sunk her chin in her knees. “Why? We weren’t born noble.”
“But we are now.” Maelyn’s tone hardened. “It would be ungrateful to our parents to throw that away on a commoner.”
Arialain raised her green eyes. Her yellow hair hung in delicate wisps around her face. “Forgive me, Mae. I – I don’t think that’s why.”
Maelyn frowned. “What?”
“Some people say we’re not truly princesses,” said Arialain. “And… I believe that frightens you. You think if we marry commoners… it will be like surrendering. Admitting they are right about us.”
Maelyn lost her words. She went to the window and watched the moon weave through thin strips of clouds. Arialain was right, of course. But that changed nothing.
“Ari,” said Maelyn, turning to face her, “Promise me you will stop seeing Tofer.”
“Oh, Mae!” Arialain cried. Maelyn watched her steadily, knowing her sister usually succumbed to a hard look. Arialain wept into her knees for several minutes. Then she lifted her wet face. “I promise.”
Chapter 15
The following evening, Uncle Jarrod joined them for the Royal Reading Hour. He chose The Tyrannical Troll, a chair by the hearth, and a deep goblet of wine. For half an hour he scowled at the book in his velvet lap, but his gaze often drifted to the heavy rain pelting the windowpanes.
Maelyn thought he seemed frustrated. Perhaps he’d expected them to be languishing without their servants and the castle to be chaotic as a smashed beehive. Perhaps he’d come to rescue them and was annoyed at finding nothing to rescue.
Maelyn looked around her library, at her sisters tucked into scattered chairs. Only a few seemed engrossed in their books, the rest fidgeted or drooped with sleepiness. Maelyn held The Curvaceous Countess but hadn’t opened it. She’d read it so many times. Arialain slouched behind her book to hide her tears. And Coralina had gone to bed, exhausted by another day of revelry in the throne room.
Uncle Jarrod plopped his book on the closest table. “One of you – fill this for me.” He shook his empty goblet. Heidel, the Kitchen Princess, grabbed it and flounced from the room. Maelyn knew she resented the depletion of her wine stores.
Why wasn’t the sallow servant fetching the wine? Maelyn rarely saw him as he seldom left her uncle’s bedchamber. Uncle Jarrod claimed his servant was occupied with mending clothes and copying royal documents. But whenever Maelyn passed the door she heard only sounds of snoring. She suspected her uncle simply enjoyed having his nieces wait upon him.
Heidel returned with a smaller goblet, which Uncle Jarrod seized without remark. She plunked into a chair, flipped her red braid over her shoulder, and opened her book again.
“Ahhh. Splendid wine,” said Uncle Jarrod. “Must take a barrel home with me. This realm has always produced the best mulberries.”
“Hmm,” said Heidel. Maelyn could almost see the silent storm of curses rolling across her mind.
“Now,” said Uncle Jarrod. “I have some news for all of you.”
The princesses looked up from their books. Most of them appeared more wary than eager to hear the king’s words.
“I return to Grunwold in three days,” said Uncle Jarrod. “After some consideration, I have decided one of you will return there with me.”
Silence reigned.
Maelyn found her voice first. “For a visit?”
Uncle Jarrod sipped casually from his goblet. “No.”
Silence reigned again.
“You’ve heard of Dorf, haven’t you? One of my smaller kingdoms.” Uncle Jarrod collected kingdoms the way a child collects pretty stones. “Apparently, the prince – Murdel by name - does not fancy the ladies of his realm. Dorf is known for unpleasantly wide women. And so the prince has asked me to find him an attractive bride.”
Maelyn guessed hers was not the only jumping heart in the room. “Well? Which of us will it be?”
Uncle Jarrod chuckled. “I haven’t decided. Doesn’t matter really, you’re all somewhat pretty. And slender - at least most of you….” He glanced at Heidel who carried more padding in her curves than the others.
Heidel’s eyes flared. “And what if we don’t like Prince Murdel of Dorf? If the women are ‘unpleasantly wide’, won’t the men be?”
Uncle Jarrod shrugged. “Preference is irrelevant. Without your parents to arrange marriages for you, the task falls to me. Don’t worry, I’ll find suitable men, men of good rank. If not kings and princes, at least dukes.”
Every princess lost color from her face, even Shulay who had the darkest complexion.
“How soon do you want us married?” Maelyn asked softly.
“Not all at once.” Uncle Jarrod waved the hand that didn’t clutch his wine goblet. “Too much work. By your twentieth year, for each of you.”
The youngest princesses gushed sighs of relief. They needn’t worry for another four or five years. But Maelyn was nearly nineteen, and eldest. Uncle Jarrod’s pretence of indecision didn’t fool her. She knew who would marry Prince Murdel.
Health and wealth to Maelyn, the next queen of Dorf. Mother would have been so pleased.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The castle’s main door rumbled with a sound like far-off thunder. A visitor. Maelyn closed her eyes and blessed whoever had brought the interruption.
“Very late for someone to come. In the rain.” Uncle Jarrod smirked. “Doesn’t one of you act as the ‘Door Princess’?”
Arialain sighed and slid out of her chair.
Maelyn didn’t care who’d come. She’d be taken from her sisters, married to a stranger, and live in a land of unpleasantly wide people. Shouldn’t she feel privileged? She who came from a ramshackle village slaughtered by the Red Fever. But she felt nothing. Nothing.
Arialain returned. “It was the new messenger.”
Maelyn didn’t look up. Willow must have come to return the last book she’d given him to trade. Well, she wouldn’t send another. What she should do was summon a pack of soldiers, raid the miser’s home, and seize every book the wretched man owned. Though Father wouldn’t have done that….
“He told me to give you this.” Arialain dropped a book in Maelyn’s lap. Small, with a plain brown cover, titled The Heartsick Hero. Maelyn snatched it up. “A new book!”
Everyone looked at her. Uncle Jarrod laughed. “What?”
“Nothing. Please excuse me.” Maelyn hurried out of the library. Within moments she conquered the corridors and staircases dividing her from her bedchamber. A new book! Willow had done it!
She lit multiple candles, yanked on her nightdress, and let her hair tumble free of its combs. She crawled under the coverlet and sat against the pillows. Outside the chamber, her life was cracking like ice on a pond. But here, now, she could find escape.
She turned the cover to the first page. Smooth white parchment. Unfaded black letters, carefully etched. This book was recently made. How surprising the miser would part with it!
The coverlet warmed her legs. The firelight wobbled over the pages. Maelyn sank into the world the words wrapped around her, hushing everything that hurt, and seeping tranquility right down to her toes.
She was home.
Chapter 16
Maelyn sat in the Old Ogre Inn, waiting for Willow. She sipped from a tankard of hot cider and set it down on the table, a crude square of tired gray wood. Roke the Innkeeper had offered her a private chamber but she insisted on the common room. She enjoyed the overfed hearth and the mounted antlers and the thick smell of rabbit stew simmering. Except for a frizzled hag dozing over ale in the corner, she was alone.
“It smells better than it tastes.”
Maelyn gasped. “Willow! I didn’t hear you come in!” She gestured to the opposite chair. “Do you mean the stew?”
“Like chewing on bark.” Willow flung off his cloak and plunked down on the chair. He wore a crimson tunic and knee-high brown boots. His blue eyes settled on Maelyn with strange intensity. “Pardon my boldness, my lady – you look beautiful.”
Maelyn stiffened. Father had once told her she looked best in firelight, the way it danced in her dark eyes and brushed shimmering touches of red into her brown hair. “Thank you,” she said without smiling. “And thank you for coming.”
Willow nodded, a large yawn snagging his words. Maelyn noticed a weary droop to his eyes though the hour wasn’t late.
“Sorry to be late.” Willow clasped his fingers loosely. “But it took some time for Princess Arialain to convince me. I couldn’t imagine why you wanted to meet here.”
The Old Ogre Inn belonged to Creaklee, a humble bu
t thriving village of craftsmen. On occasion, Maelyn’s father had taken supper there when he needed respite from his royal duties. And Maelyn felt that if she didn’t escape for a few hours she would either execute Uncle Jarrod or run screaming into the Crescent Mountains behind the castle.
“Never mind why,” said Maelyn. She lifted The Heartsick Hero off her lap and smiled. “I finished it.”
Willow blinked. “In… in one day?”
“One night and most of the morning.” Maelyn laughed, more lighthearted than she’d felt in weeks. “I loved it! I don’t usually care for romantic stories but this was delightful.” She smiled again. “Thank you, Willow. You did well.”
Willow returned her smile though a tinge of redness crept over his cheeks. “I am glad Your Highness enjoyed it.”
Roke the Innkeeper pushed in from an outer room and offer Willow a drink. Willow accepted a tankard of cider though he kept his gaze downward until the innkeeper slunk away.
Maelyn folded her hands on the table. “Now! I want to hear about it. How you convinced the Book Miser to trade with you. It takes me a dozen visits to get a book out of him.”
“Why does he hate you, my lady?”
Maelyn sighed. “Our first meeting was… not pleasant. For either of us.” She shook her head. “But I want to hear how you persuaded him.”
Willow grinned. “I’m clever. Haven’t you heard?”
Maelyn raised an eyebrow. “But he rejected you twice. What did you say that made a difference this time?”
She noticed a struggle in Willow’s eyes. He scooped up his tankard and shrugged. “Nothing worth telling.”
Maelyn sat back, feeling a nip of anger. She listened to the fire chomping through a pile of logs. Between the hearth and the hot cider she was becoming overly warm.
“I - I’ve read The Heartsick Hero,” Willow said, as though offering conversation.
Maelyn’s heart leapt. “Have you?” She leaned forward. “Do you think the hero truly loved both ladies? Or do you think he only pretended with the second?”
