James turned a stone face to Myrtlebell. The coldness that had hold of his warm brown eyes chilled her. He stared right through her.
“Please say something James,” she said. “You're scaring me.” He frowned and turned away. She spun on her heel and tramped straight to the door.
“I never asked for this party, Myrtlebell,” he said, as she turned the knob. “In fact, I emphatically asked that it be cancelled, or postponed at least. You see how much my wishes mean to His Majesty. But then of course, he never really cared for Mother either.”
“James!”
“It's true, Myrtlebell,” he said, heaving his chair to face her with a screech on the stone floor. “The only thing Mother meant to him was someone to bear his heir.”
“James, you're distraught. And when you've thought things through clearly, you'll be ashamed of how hard you're being on your father. He's truly concerned about you and wants only the best for you, after all.”
“Oh yes, yes,” he said through his cold smile. “And that's exactly why he's forcing me to have a party I don't want before Mother is cold in her grave. It's out of his boundless concern for me that after five minutes of sustained mourning for Mother, he chooses to use my party as a convenient occasion to announce his betrothal to his piously young and buxom future queen.” He thrust a concluding grimace at her that caused her to gasp and step backwards.
She reached for the door knob behind her and paused resolutely. “James, I'm sorry you aren't pleased that your father has found a chance for happiness. You seem to forget that your mother was ill for a very long time before her sad and untimely demise. Since she'd not been able to be a wife to the dear man for a number of years, he's actually been alone for...”
“Where did you get this vomit, Myrtlebell? Mother's death was quite sudden. It came without warning. There was no sustained convalescence. You can pretend to believe that rubbish if you must. You very likely have to in order keep from feeling guilty, but don't try to cram those lies down my throat. Don't ask me to play along. I've lived here all the while and I know the truth.”
“Really James,” she said as she slowly turned the knob. “That horrid look on your face reminds me of Spitemorta. Now, pull yourself together and come down to the ballroom to greet your guests. They're all waiting.”
“Funny you should mention darling Spitemorta, Myrtlebell. Did you know that her parents were poisoned and that she now rules Goll? Odd that both the king and the queen should be assassinated in a land where there's been nothing but peace and contentment for the past fifty years, don't you think?”
Myrtlebell's fingers slipped off the knob and she came back to where he was sitting. She simply could not resist something like this. “Are you suggesting that Spitemorta had something to do with her parent's deaths?” she said, wide eyed.
“Come on. There was no one else in line for the throne except a very distant and dim-witted elderly cousin. It's unlikely that he perpetrated such a crime. And he was only a possibility if something happened to Spitemorta, and no attempt was made upon her life. The benevolent king and queen were loved throughout their land for their fairness and generosity. Everyone in waiting held them in the highest esteem. Who then would murder such adored monarchs?”
“But James, why would Spitemorta? As the only one truly in line for the throne, all she had to do was wait.”
“Impatient lass.”
Myrtlebell gave him a scathing look.
“Look,” he said. “All I know is that not long after Spitemorta and her parents returned from a trip to Niarg, thought to be to negotiate a marriage alliance between them and that place, her parents are found poisoned in their dining hall. Spitemorta dined with them and didn't even fall ill. Of course someone could have poisoned just the royal couple and not her at the same meal, but it certainly would have been more...complicated, don't you think?”
Myrtlebell drew up the footstool which matched James's chair. His tale enthralled her and she gazed at him speculatively. “So, you really believe that Spitemorta killed them so she could be queen a few years early? Or, do you suppose it had something to do with the attempted marriage alliance?”
“That's an idea. Who's to say? Did she come to the party?”
Myrtlebell nodded.
James's smile was not nice. “Perhaps we should go ask her,” he said, rising and offering her his arm, “'Mother,' dear.”
Myrtlebell went pale as she took his arm. “You're not serious, of course?” she said with a dry tongue. “You surely wouldn't ask Spitemorta if she murdered her parents, would you James?”
“Oh, I most certainly am,” he said with a calm grin. “Wasn't it dear Spitemorta who told Rose that malicious yarn about Ugleeuh being her mother?”
A scald of fear shot down Myrtlebell's spine. Veteraness of tight spots that she was, she at once mustered a well oiled relaxed exterior. “Absolutely. But that rumor's been around for years and it was only a matter of time until it got to dear Rose. One just wonders how she didn't hear it before then. Must've been the darling girl's boundlessly sweet and innocent demeanor which kept even the most fervent gossips at bay. You know yourself, James, how everyone adores Rose.”
“Drop the act, Myrtlebell. If I vomit, the guests will fancy I've been drinking.”
Myrtlebell's eyes widened. “All right, James,” she said. “If you must, it's true. Everyone at court found Rose to be just too...too...”
“Nice? Yea. They'd have a hard time with nice,” he said with a sidelong glance at her grimace.
“Yes, with 'way too nice they do. She's always so polite, so correct, so disgustingly sweet and genial. You can't trust someone like that, you know. People like that just aren't... real. When you really get to know them, you always find out that they've been hiding something, usually something quite substantial and loathsome about themselves.”
“Like being the daughter of an evil witch, perhaps?”
“Yes exactly,” she said, nodding emphatically. “You do understand, don't you? I'm so glad, because we were only trying to protect you, after all.”
“We?”
“Why yes, James. Erlene and I, mostly. We knew that you were making a big mistake marrying the fraudulent primrose of Niarg.”
“You told Rose about Ugleeuh?”
“Well no, not directly. We... I'm more subtle than that. I just made certain that Spitemorta overheard me tell Erlene the tale. From there things just took their natural course, if you know what I mean.” A hint of a smile tugged at her face.
“And you did all of this just to keep me from marrying Rose?”
“Well not just,” she stammered. “After all, you wouldn't want to marry a little witch, now would you?”
“No, Myrtlebell. Of course not,” he said, shaking his head as he steered her under the arch into the castle's great hall. “Nor would I want my father to.” He glared at her as he pulled her hand from his arm and walked smartly away towards Spitemorta.
Myrtlebell stood alone, feeling furious as she watched him go. “How dare he insinuate that my good intentions were not only wrong but evil,” she thought as she huffed a growl nearly loud enough to be noticed. “Rose is the one with the unsavory and despicable relatives, not me.” She craned her neck and looked about the crowd for King Edmond. “I'll tell him how his rude and disrespectful son just treated me. There he is. Oh no, maybe not. What's that about blood being thicker than water? I'll have to be very careful about what I say and do until after the wedding. Then if James continues to be stupid, I just might give birth to a new little prince or two and put some serious effort into getting him removed from the royal succession.”
“Good evening Spitemorta,” said James with a smile. “I say you're looking right well, stunning actually, in spite of your recent tragedy. I'd offer my condolences, but I'm not certain that you need them.”
Spitemorta raised her chin and calmly looked the prince in the eyes. “You're most astute, James. I am doing right well, thank you. In fact, witho
ut those effete and spiritless potentates around, I expect to make the sweeping changes Goll has long needed to be a force to be reckoned with on the continent.”
“It appears there are others in your country who also feel it's a time for change,” he said with a smile, as he offered her his arm for the next dance.
“What makes you say that?” she said, taking it and falling gracefully into the dance step.
“I can't picture your parents performing a double suicide right before you at your supper table, Spitemorta.”
Spitemorta threw her head back for a convulsive laugh. “Hardly!” she said as she abruptly terminated her hysterics. “Neither of them had anything close to the courage needed to do such a thing. Or anything else innovative, I might add.”
“Has your Captain of the Guard made progress in discovering who perpetrated the murders?”
“That fool? My! Certainly not. Nor shall he.”
“Really?” said James, wide eyed. “And might that be because one often is blind to the misdeeds of those he respects?”
Spitemorta's eyes flashed dangerously before looking amused. “You seem privy to a good lot of unusual information, James. I wasn't aware that Loxmere had spies in other courts across the continent, particularly not in one so dull as Goll.”
The tune ended and Spitemorta allowed James to guide her to the balcony for some fresh air and privacy. Once they were comfortably leaning against the balustrade, She turned abruptly and pinned him with her icy dark eyes. “Let's quit dicing around, shall we?” she said sharply. “It's obvious that you think you know much more than you're saying. Why not just come straight out with it and be done with it? Who knows? You could very well be right.”
“No problem, if that be your wish, lady,” he said with a smooth grin. “I've every reason to believe that there's only one person in Goll who could've benefited from the demise of King Brutlee and Queen Bee, and I'm speaking with her now. Your parents were revered by peasant and noble alike, my dear. No one had a quarrel with either of them. Further, no one but you, followed by one old half-witted fossil, were in line for the throne. Of course you know all of this. What's truly amazing is that no one else seems to have the wits about them to figure it all out.”
“There is the matter of proof, James. It's most unwise to accuse a queen of impropriety. Besides, ascension by assassination is quite common, don't you know.”
“Ah,” he said. “You admit it then?”
“I admit nothing. Nor do I deny it. You have your spies at my court, ask them.”
“I have no spies, Spitemorta, nor do I engage in idle gossip. I do, however, listen quite well at times and find that one who does so learns far more than one who spends all his time talking.”
“I see that you fancy yourself right clever, James. Really! How banal! If you've something to say, please do so. Spinelessness hardly becomes you.”
“If you'd follow your own advice dear, perhaps you'd not send innocent and unsuspecting young ladies off in search of false identities.”
“So. This is about Rose, aye? Sorry about that James, but I told Rose what I'd heard in good faith for her own good. I know now that the rumor Myrtlebell was spreading was absolutely untrue and that she was using me to get to Rose. Myrtlebell will have to pay for that of course, but all things in good time. Now James if you'll excuse me, I'll wish you a happy birthday and be on my way. I've a country to run nowadays, you know, and this party, though it almost showed signs of promise, is definitely starting to bore me.”
James surprised her with a laugh. “If you want entertainment, you ought to stick around a little while longer,” he said. “I'm sure what's about to happen will even live up to your demented standards for a good joke.” With that, he spun on his heel and vanished in the crowded ballroom. She stood for a moment, thoughtfully tapping a fingernail on one of her teeth, before gliding in to rejoin the festivities.
When the announcement came that King Edmond would marry his newly beloved Myrtlebell during the winter solstice festival, Spitemorta laughed until tears rolled from her eyes. James had been quite correct, and as she slipped out a side door to her carriage, she was not the least bit disappointed that she had attended this particular snob affair. Plots rolled around in her head all the way home. That old fool Edmond had just destabilized Loxmere enough that it might very well be the perfect target for her first conquest. She smiled. Life was good after all.
***
Princess Myrtlebell moved into Rose's old room. Her servants brought in a couple of trunks, a number of dresses on hangers (just like Rose's dresses) and little else. No one even noticed. Jamali mewed and scurried to keep up with her heels. Hebraun and Minuet pursued a daily humdrum much as they had been doing a month before Rose's birthday, thrusting mundane tasks onto Myrtlebell and heaping her with praise without seeing that she wasn't Rose. Rose tried frantically to set this straight, but the harder she tried, the more she was surrounded by the guests at her birthday party, tittering with scorn at her humiliation from Myrtlebell's jeering remarks. Rose flopped over onto her other side. A pointed rock dug into her ribs through her bed roll. She pushed away from it, wriggling as she settled into the adjacent depression in the cave floor. Far through the timber a mint owl wailed. Rose had a gnawing lost feeling. “Mother and Father would never mistake her for me,” she thought, but she still felt the same way...
***
Prince James was very different than she had remembered. He had undergone a metamorphosis from his ugly fat little self into the very most beguilingly handsome prince that she had ever seen. He stirred in her the most powerful sense of desire and yearning. And they were to be married, but something was wrong. She had gone too far. She had known she shouldn't, but she couldn't keep from it. Now she was so very far that she couldn't get back. James was on his great dark chocolate stallion unicorn, riding ardently to where their wedding was to be. How she wanted to be with him. When he got to Niarg and discovered her gone, it broke his heart. He returned home and began eating every particle of sukere that he could manage to put into his hands. Soon he was a bulbous pimply beast, a massive version of his old nasty self, hulking and petulant. He would spend hours on end brooding, sitting in the open tower window of Castle Loxmere shooting peas at everyone who passed by. As Rose hovered in the air, peering into his window, he shot her in the eye. “Augh!” she cried , sitting up to rub her eyes from the fistful of dirt flung into her face by a gust of wind blowing into the cave. She flopped over to be abruptly reminded of the pointed rock jabbing her ribs on her other side. As her feet popped out from under her blankets, they felt wet. Then she heard thunder. It was raining. She got up and drug her pallet further inside. After much wriggling and scooting about, she lay still with a sigh. Maybe the sound of the rain would lull her back to sleep. She closed her eyes and watched the whirl of changing colors behind their lids for the longest time...
***
But Rose was going back, after all. However, it was hard and scary. They had to go through the swamp to get there, turning this way and that, endlessly. A horrifying beast with a row of eyes and a mouthful of fangs pursued them at their heels everywhere. They even talked to it, and it would answer them. They had to run without let up to keep from being bitten, but Rose never got out of breath. Instead, she felt wave after wave of burning fear. As they were about to leave the swamp, the beast caught and ate Lukus. He was quite calm about being eaten. As his insides were being gobbled up, he told her: “Be sure to say hello to Mother and Father for me.” She could feel herself sobbing, by her shaking insides, but she wasn't crying. From there, she walked up the castle steps, feeling sadder than she had ever known. When she told Hebraun and Minuet what had happened to Lukus, they snarled at her with the same voices as the beast and blamed her for his death and disowned her. They sent her from the castle in shame, ordering her to go back and live with Ugleeuh. They said since she had allowed her brother to run away with her in the first place, her crime was as bad as Ugleeuh's had been
and that the two of them were no different in their eyes. Hebraun and Minuet's voices were now familiar again, but they were Fuzz and Lukus's voices, instead. Why weren't they talking about her exile any more? “Drat!” she mumbled as she flopped over, giving her blankets a yank that exposed her feet. “I don't want to know the piddly things about their fire and the victuals from their packs. I never will get the sleep I never got.” Somehow she couldn't cover her toes without sitting up. As she did, the dawn sun shone right into her eyes. “Very well then!” she grunted as she stamped upright and jerked her blankets off the ground into a wad. She bore a horrible feeling. She hesitated as a shudder ran up her back. She hoped she never had another nightmare as long as she lived. “Surely, this feeling will go if I merely start my day,” she said, and she quickly put on her clothes and went outside.
Lukus and Fuzz were enjoying their breakfast when Rose joined them. However Spark was nowhere to be seen. “Where is he?” she said, as she searched through her pack to find some dried fruit and cheese.
“Well,” said Lukus as he fiddled with his pack, “looks like he went off to hunt for your water. That's what he says in his message he left us over there in the dirt, anyway.”
“Oh.”
“It looks like he's not having much luck, though.”
“How do you know that?”
“Fuzz has been up perhaps two hours,” he said between champs, neatly wiping his hands on his breeches, “and Spark was long gone when he got up.”
“Do you suppose something has happened to him?” she said with a frown, as she turned to Fuzz.
“Spark knows this swamp,” said Fuzz, shaking his head. “I can't imagine anything here surprising him with a serious problem. More likely, there isn't any water without chocolate in it, and he's still hunting. Or, he's found Lipperella. And in that case, he may be gone for some time yet.”
Heart of the Staff - Complete Series Page 54