I didn’t respond. I thought of my father and his lies. Maybe he was happier in his fantastical world, but what kind of father did I have because of it? Did he still know truth for what it was? Even if this would all end with my head still on my shoulders, did that excuse the eighteen years that came before?
Yarrow went on, “The young man was persistent and asked twice more to be tested. Three times he was turned away, never once considering the true reasons why. The last time he was turned down, he flew into such an uncontrollable rage that his magic spilled out from him untamed, spiraling in such wild frenzies his master had to battle it back. In fury, the young man killed his master, and received his great powers.”
Yarrow paused and looked at me questioningly. I nodded to indicate I understood how his powers could increase. Merlin had explained it to me on that long ago afternoon when the grass was our bed and the sky our ceiling, when we were both content in flying unbound, unconcerned.
“But the incident had marked him, and when he stood again, one eye had turned green, a permanent reminder of his jealousy and greed,” the mage finished. “At the same time, the new surge of magic further whetted the young man’s appetite, and feeling its power, he thirsted for more. He killed three mages before anyone was wise to him. By then, he was already four times more powerful than any mage had ever been.”
“Which is why he is the only one who can spin straw into gold,” I concluded.
“Which is why he is the only one,” Yarrow confirmed. “No mage is safe as long as he is alive.”
“Why must he hide if he is so powerful?” I wanted to know.
The mage smiled. “He is certainly more powerful than any one of us,” he explained, “but he is not more powerful than all of us.”
“What’s his name?”
Yarrow shook his head. “No one knows. No one remembers. He keeps his identity a carefully guarded secret, knowing full well how much his name is linked to the essence of who he is. No one’s gotten too close to him in years, as he disappears soon as he senses pure magic approaching. There have been a few mysterious mage deaths, a few rumors of him popping up here and there throughout the years.”
“And now he’s come to me,” I said, my voice containing more dread than I could reasonably feel.
“And now he’s come to you,” Yarrow repeated. “Though to what end, I do not know.”
“He wanted my mother’s ring and her necklace,” I reminded him.
The mage nodded thoughtfully. “I can’t think of any reason why he would have much need for those,” he finally said. “Though perhaps he’s hoping to build up to a larger trade.”
My hand involuntarily rose to my neck. “What else could I offer him?”
Yarrow studied me, and I tried not to squirm beneath his soul-searching gaze. His eyes were illuminated by a slight purple glow and I was certain I heard a slight hum. Within minutes, the glow receded and the noise disappeared, so I had to wonder if anything had been amiss at all.
“I don’t know,” Yarrow admitted. “If he wanted your life, he would have taken it. Your blood is not different from any other commoner’s. There doesn’t seem to be anything to separate you from anyone else.”
I knew what he was really saying, but the way he said it still stung. Merlin gave my shoulder an encouraging squeeze, understanding the pain cavalier words could cause.
“So what now?” I queried.
“A very good question, indeed,” the mage intoned. “When the king will test you again, we will devise a plan to capture him.”
“Again?” I almost shrieked.
Would I really be locked in a room, left to the mercies of a cruel little man, just to satisfy the king’s desire for a unique diversion? Just to act as bait so this mage could catch a prize?
Yarrow didn’t seem to understand my confusion. “Surely you didn’t think otherwise,” he said. “Merlin can tell you that doing a spell once is just luck, twice is improvement, and a third time is forever. Three being a number of permanence.”
I slumped forward, wishing I could slide off the chair and melt into the floor, hoping the waters rushing through the palace would somehow catch me and throw me over the falls so I wouldn’t have to live this lie anymore. The two magicals would stop me during any point of that process, so even trying would be futile. Especially as they now seemed intent on catching the mysterious little man I could not stop myself from being locked up with.
“So I must allow the night to play out again,” I said, “and hope the little man won’t ask for anything I can’t grow back.”
Yarrow chuckled at my solemnity. “Don’t worry, you won’t be alone for long.”
He stood up and Merlin rose quickly beside him.
“We must convene an emergency meeting of mages in the kingdom,” Yarrow told me. “With our combined powers, we should be able to create something to defeat the little man. If I’m correct, the king will test you again tomorrow night.”
“And if you’re not?” I wanted to know.
“I am,” he said with a warm smile. “I already suggested as such to the king.”
I nodded, though his assurances really weren’t enough for me. Merlin must have sensed my foul mood, he grabbed my hand and tugged me toward him. He wrapped me in a quick, but warm hug, and planted a kiss on my check.
“It’ll be all right,” he said.
“If not?”
“If not,” he replied, “it won’t be from lack of trying.”
I wanted a guarantee, but from Merlin that was enough. I bid him good night and intended to walk him to the window, but instead of turning into birds, Yarrow took Merlin’s hand and quickly mumbled something.
With a parting wink, they were gone in a puff of purple smoke.
I changed into bedclothes and climbed into bed, left alone to deal with the king and the little mystery imp until they saw fit to rejoin me. I was tired, mentally and physically exhausted, but even so, I passed the night in fitful, troubled sleep.
The next morning, I awoke to find a simple dark blue dress with a gold rope belt and gold-tinted shoes awaiting me. I knew right away that it was the work of the three seamstresses, though why I needed a new dress today of all days was beyond my still groggy mind.
I didn’t have to wait long to find out.
A knock at the door ushered in a servant, wheeling a breakfast tray with a note written on the king’s stationary.
Stables. One hour.
One less hour from the twenty-four or so I had left to live.
Figuring I would soon be dead anyway, I debated what to do about the note. Clearly, the king had some sort of plan, but I was beginning to resent the way he so easily controlled my life. He could lock me in a room and order me to spin straw into gold, no matter how ludicrous that command was. He could send me a dress, its mere appearance a command that I wear it. He could grin infuriatingly at me over his goblet of wine, his neutral expression suggesting he knew me better than I knew myself. He could have this magnificent palace built and appreciate its beauty enough to understand that his clothes, his furnishings, his style should not compete with it. And he was intuitive enough to know the truth about his court and the silly noblemen that filled much of it.
Upon first encounter, he had seemed such a simple man—Heaven knew his physical appearance wasn’t much to look at—and yet there was no way of knowing what really went on behind those keen hazel eyes. The not knowing irked me. Granted, I never knew what was true when my father spoke, but I did know most of it was a lie. With the king, I wasn’t yet certain about anything aside from his annoying ability to see too much. Which, I grudgingly acceded, would serve a king well.
By the time I had forced some food down and dressed, brushed my hair out and pulled part of it back so it hung like threads of gold down my back, I had worked myself into quite a temper. Even Kirkin noticed it, because when he came for me, he took a step back.
“Whoa,” he said, holding up his hands in preemptive surrender.
I tried to calm myself, but only succeeded in bottling up my rage for the while.
I yanked a friendly smile across my face. “Good morning, Kirkin,” I said sweetly. “I apologize for my demeanor, but I just can’t figure out what game the king is playing at today.”
Kirkin’s expression softened. “I would tell if I knew, Miss Millie,” he said, his voice, his expression unquestionably honest. “Though from what I saw, you made a rather good impression at the banquet last night.”
He gave me a cheeky smile and I shoved him lightly despite the inner voice warning me to behave. Kirkin only chuckled and tucked my arm into his, leading me across the palace and out the door to the stables in the back where the king was waiting beside two elegant black stallions.
“Mind your manners around the king,” Kirkin teased through the side of his mouth.
“I will shove you again then berate your clumsiness,” I retorted quietly, the line worth it just to see how my guard fought to control his expression before his king.
“Your Majesty.” I stepped forward and sank into a curtsy.
The king’s eyes washed over me before he bid me rise. I had to remind myself to keep my temper in check, that no matter how frustrated I was at my inability to decipher this man, he was still my king. He was still able to detach my head with a single flick of his hand, or imprison me in a narrow room with straw and spindle for the rest of my life.
“Will you join me for a ride, Miller’s Daughter?” the king asked me.
No one bothered asking when I was forced here, I wanted to snap back at him. Instead, I answered with a simple nod of my head.
“Very good, then,” the king replied, patting the smaller of the two magnificent horses.
As I stepped forward, Kirkin quickly kneeled to help boost me up. As he did, I glanced down at him quizzically, but he simply returned my look with a shrug and slight shake of his head. If even Kirkin couldn’t figure out what the king was up to, then I had little hope of figuring it out on my own.
I sat tall on my saddle, clutching the reins tightly as I watched the king mount his horse with unexpected grace. I shouldn’t have been surprised considering his upbringing, but the man was so outwardly unremarkable so as to render anything exceptional about him truly notable.
“What adventure awaits us today, Your Majesty?” I asked, forcing my voice to stay light and carefree.
The king gave me a shy smile that quickly disappeared into his usual neutral expression. “After being indoors for so long,” he said, “I thought a ride about the grounds was in order, considering how enamored you already are with the palace.”
Either he was entirely too adept at reading people, or he had easily weaned this bit of information from Kirkin. Right then, I didn’t mind either way. I really hadn’t expected the king to do anything so…thoughtful. It wouldn’t be the last time he would surprise me with such unexpected, yet decidedly appropriate gestures.
“It is a wonderful palace, Your Majesty,” I agreed.
The king nodded and nudged his horse into a trot, waiting long enough for me to catch up, my horse keeping me respectfully behind the king. For the most part, we rode in silence, but here and there the king stopped and turned just enough to point out something noteworthy or offer an explanation for any of the remarkable things around us.
The landscape was woven with the same magical streams of water that were the true foundation of the palace. Unlike most other noble estates, the palace grounds had not been designed just for grandeur or to overwhelm with the rarity of many of the flowers in the gardens; rather, the thin trail that lined the king’s gardens was so anyone could appreciate and revel quietly in their uniqueness from horseback as well as on foot. Of course, this offered an almost bird’s eye view of many arrangements, which further heightened their beauty.
After passing a bit through the gardens, the king turned his horse away from the palace, following the trickling water upstream, leading me through a wide open field, past a serene fishing lake with four narrow streams diverting its overflow, and finally through a small thicket of trees. As we went, the sound of rushing water grew stronger until it overpowered the noise coming from the insects and trees around us.
Emerging from the thicket, we were met by a new rise in the rocky hillside. Tumbling down the hill’s face was an icy blue waterfall, a steady stream that briefly sparkled with light the moment it first splashed into a small pool before being carried away by the river below. The river rushed into the trees, no doubt on its way to the lake, past the open field, around the gardens, into the main fountain, and through the palace itself, before it crashed down again outside the palace gates.
I wasn’t sure why the king had chosen to show me this, that morning most of all, though I have my suspicions now. Either way, all the animosity I had coaxed into burning flames inside me just a short while before dissipated into the mist of that lovely, magical little waterfall. It took a few long minutes for me to notice that the king was watching me intently, my horse having fully stepped up beside its companion, bringing me face-to-face with my king with a turn of the head. An amused look skittered across his face, which made me think that at least he wasn’t going to kill me for my trespass.
“Would you like to feel it?” he asked simply.
I nodded dumbly. However foolish I’d been until then, I would be an even greater fool to let this chance slip beneath the current.
The king dismounted his horse, and offered me his hand. I took it gingerly, overly cautious about touching him. At the same time, I was surprised that his hand was gentle—gentle yet strong—which only served to further confuse my impressions of the royal man.
I released the king’s hand as quickly as I could after dismounting and carefully stepped back in a way I hoped was more respectful than rude. The king didn’t say anything. He simply led me down the slope toward the rushing fall, keeping his hands slightly raised as if ready to catch me should I slip. He perched himself on a rock and crouched down to swipe his hands through the water, spreading his fingers and fluttering them beneath the cool surface. The moment he touched the water, it sparked a deep blue, a flash of light before returning to its usual color. I stepped forward cautiously, unsure of my footing along the unfamiliar bank.
When I was close enough, I bent and dipped my hands into the water, seeing the same blue spark the moment they touched, though not feeling anything from it. Otherwise, the water was cold, icy as its coloring, and clear enough to see straight through its wavering surface, straight to my hands that were supposed to be capable of the kind of magic these waters seemed to hold. This water, and the streams it filled, was so vastly different from the river running alongside the mill where I used to spend hours exploring with Merlin. That river was reliable and steady, a sparkling, sunlit mirror of the forest and faces around it. These waters, tumbling so gracefully down the hillside, were so transparent they didn’t even offer a reflection.
The king stood and shook out his hands, opening them out before him to dry in the sun. I was reluctant to do the same, and though he did not hurry me, I soon followed suit. Even as the king helped me back onto my horse, even as he swung himself onto his own, I didn’t make any move to leave, my gaze fixed on the fantastical gift of nature he’d shown me.
I wondered if it would still be here after I left. If this was nothing more than a magical mirage or the real source of the palace’s central spring and many streams. I turned to ask the king this very question, but as he had once again been studying me, he answered before the words came out of my mouth.
“It’s natural,” he confirmed. “Something to do with the unique, tiny life living in it. Magical only in its rarity and extraordinariness.”
Something in his tone triggered a new question in my mind. “Does His Majesty not truly believe in magic?” I dared ask, remembering how genuinely glad he’d been to see Yarrow.
It didn’t make sense that he wouldn’t, not after all he’d done to promote magic in Farthington.
But perhaps it was only a political maneuver, a way to give the kingdom an advantage should it ever need it.
“Oh, I believe in it well enough,” the king replied. “I also believe that people tend to create some where there is none.”
“Perhaps they only seek to be part of the extraordinary,” I replied innocently, thinking of the box of butterflies from Merlin, remembering how I felt when I saw what such a simple thing could hold.
The king’s eyes widened, then creased above a pleased smile.
“To revel at that point when the ordinary becomes extraordinary,” he agreed with a nod. “To know that it is possible.”
With that, the king turned his horse back toward the palace, and I readily followed.
The Third Test
True to Yarrow’s prediction, and unfortunately the little man’s as well, the third test happened later that night. When I took my first hesitant steps into the room, I immediately knew why.
The room was large, larger than both other rooms combined, and so stacked from ceiling to floor with bales and bales of hay it was difficult to discern its actual size. No doubt it had taken much of the past two days just to fill it. My initial thoughts were those of despair, my future morphing into a never-ending nightmare of larger and larger rooms stocked with wheat straw, an endless test to consume me until my final days.
My thoughts turned to Yarrow, and I prayed that if his mere suggestion was enough to guide the king’s actions, then perhaps he could persuade him to forgo these silly tests altogether. Maybe he’d even convince the king to set me free and allow me to live out the rest of my simple days at the mill. Though, as much as I really wanted to go home, I could never think past those first euphoric moments marking my return. I feared that if I thought on it too much, I would have to admit that the mill had become too small for me. My situation, however nerve-wracking and frightening, had shown me a world too big to block out from my little village life. In that way, I was beginning to understand Merlin a bit better.
Lies of Golden Straw Page 12
