A Princess of Sorts

by Wilma van Wyngaarden

  Above her, the faces shimmered in the flickering light. How strange, she thought and closed her eyes to shut them out.

  “Just mumbling. God, she’s cold. Feel her hand.”

  “Is she dying? I think she’s dying.”

  “I’m already dead.” But they paid no attention to her words.

  “She can’t die.” That was the grim voice, the demanding one. “Get some tea into her. Not too hot, lots of honey.”

  “I’ve tried a dozen times! I swear!”

  “Sit her up.” What were they doing now? Two of the faces came closer and the room swam wildly, so wildly that she squeezed her eyes shut again. She felt a hot cup press against her cold lips, and she could taste warm sweet tea. Again she closed her throat and the tea ran out of her mouth and warmed her chin, dripping onto her chest. She wished they would pour more tea on her, just for the warmth.

  “The dead don’t drink,” she tried to tell them sadly, once her mouth was empty. Apparently they had laid her flat again, because the four faces were hovering above her again.

  “What did she say?”

  “Just mumbling. She’s delirious.”

  She tried to speak more clearly, although her cold lips and tongue would not form proper words.

  “D-d-d-dead d-d-don’t d-d-drink.”

  “Something about drinking.”

  “C-c-c-can’t drink wh-wh-when you’re d-d-dead...” she clarified and drifted off with the cold icy wind. She went flying along the tops of the trees. So many times in the past few days and nights she had wished she could climb the trees and find some useful direction in which to travel. But suddenly she was thumping back into the earthen hell with the four faces and the flickering flames.

  “Princess! Princess!” The grim one was shaking her, tapping on her cheek. She opened her eyes a crack. Her vision was so untrustworthy. Everything swam and fluttered.

  “Mmmm?”

  “You’re alive. Drink some tea, it’ll help you.”

  More tea in her mouth... this time she failed to close her throat and the tea ran down into her lungs. She choked and coughed in agony. When she could finally breathe again, she found she was face down, in a pool of warm tea.

  “Sit her up in that chair.”

  “She won’t sit,” whined the voice of the old one who had been nagging her for the longest time and disturbing her time of death.

  “Leave me alone,” she ordered. “Why are you bothering me when I’m dead?”

  With the icy blankets wrapped tightly around her, she found herself hauled up and propped in the chair, her sore head propped up with a pillow. It stank of feathers and damp.

  She made an effort to speak more clearly. “Is this the earthen hell?”

  “It’s not hell, we’re trying to help you.” The grim one was clearly annoyed.

  “Too late, I’ve died,” she tried to say and went off into a paroxysm of shivering. “I’m s-s-s-so c-c-c-cold... Why is hell so cold?”

  The two faces in the upper part of her vision appeared to be chuckling. She wondered if they were angels.

  “She’s addled in the brain,” said one. “What good is she if her brains are scrambled? Maybe her skull is cracked. She hit that rock when she collapsed.”

  “She’s cold, dehydrated and half-starved. Get some more of that tea! You two, get that fire blazing. She must warm up.”

  They faded out again. The drifting part of being dead wasn’t that bad. She tried to go with it. But he was shaking her again and calling her back. There was some clunking and thumping, and the flames were roaring higher.

  “Princess! Princess!”

  “I’m not much of a princess.” She must have spoken more clearly this time because he heard it. For a moment compassion filled his eyes. Then the desperation chased it away.

  “Drink this up, Princess. You may like being a queen better.” She closed her eyes and her lips stubbornly.

  The cup was pressing against her mouth again. Why was he so damn insistent?

  “Swallow this,” he said. “Swallow it. You’ll feel better.”

  She remembered the taste of the sweet tea and sucked some of it back. This time she swallowed. The next time she could speak, she mumbled, “I’m f-f-f-freezing. Why is hell so cold?”

  “This is the old smithy in the village. That’s Bart Smith bringing you tea. Why do you think this is hell?”

  “The flames, the flames!” she chattered. “And look at those angels.” She rolled her eyes towards the other two faces.

  “Angels! Good Goddess!”

  “...Their wings are pretty... will I have wings?”

  The angels were snickering now. One was light-haired. He said, “Did I not say so? She’s addled. Clearly!”

  “Clearly,” said the grim man who was holding the tea to her lips again. “...To mistake either of the two of you for angels... Princess!” She thought he looked familiar. “Drink the rest of this tea.”

  It was too hard to resist, and the warm liquid tasted good. She went off into another round of shivering, her teeth chattering so hard she thought her teeth would break.

  “Why are the flames so icy? Hell should be hot, b-b-b-burning.”

  “You angels get those flames hotter,” said the one forcing the tea on her. He grinned over his shoulder at the blonde angel and the dark angel. Both of them had wings. The blonde one had fluffy white wings, the other’s were dark.

  “Are you the devil?” she asked feverishly. “This is hell, isn’t it? Why did I end up in hell? I did nothing that bad... Did I?”

  The devil lost his grin. “Listen, Princess, you’re not dead. You’re just ill, delirious. You need to help us.”

  “You look familiar,” she said, fading out. “Who are you?”

  Who are you? Who are you? echoed throughout the forest. Her vision was swimming again, the darkness was swirling around, and everywhere the flames flickered... higher... higher...

  “Is she dying?” said the agitated voice. “Here’s some broth if you can get her to drink it.”

  “She just died,” said one of the angels. He sounded regretful, sad. It was comforting that the angels were sad about her death. She couldn’t think of anyone else who would care. Even her handmaid had thrust her out the door alone.

  “She can’t die! Princess! Princess!” The devil was so very intense. Good lord. She opened her eyes, just so as to not disappoint him. But Death hovered so closely and was so very inviting.

  “I thought she just died,” said one of the angels. All four faces were staring at her again, including the devil, whose intensity was difficult to shut out.

  “Do I know you?” she asked him, around chattering teeth.

  “I taught you how to ride that damn white pony. Remember the white pony?”

  “Oh! So that was you... how did I do?” She had been six or seven, about ten years ago. The young man of a decade ago had risen in the king’s service to lead his most trusted soldiers. Back then, as a young soldier in the King’s Guard, he had been assigned to give her riding lessons.

  “Riding?” he said after a blank moment. “The king just wanted to see his little princess riding around on that white pony. I told him that animal was bad-tempered... There was another pony more suitable, but it wasn’t pretty enough for the king’s little princess.”

  “Oh.” She could remember his patience during the lessons. He had been very patient. She had been very bad-tempered.

  “But truthfully, you would have done better if you’d tried. At all.”

  “I did not wish to ride a pony then,” she said coldly. “Nor do I now.”

  Bart the smith put a cup against her mouth again. This time it was a delicious chicken broth. She drank, surprised that a dead princess could drink broth. She was sitting up in the chair too, although she was shivering so violently that she was almost convulsing.

  “She can’t die,” the devil snapped over his shoulder to the angels. “If she does, do you know what damn well happens? Prince be-damned Darwy
n takes over, can you picture that?”

  The princess concentrated: Darwyn... Darwyn. Who was Darwyn? And was the king aware that his most trusted guard was actually the devil?

  “What happened? Where’s the king? Where are the princes?” Although Torin and Togin were only nine, they would still be next in line if the king ... had died? There was an echo whispering in her brain... “They’re all dead!”

  But surely not! Her father’s good-natured face came into her mind’s eye. The lively, benign King Tobin could not possibly be dead... could he? The pesky princes?

  All of the faces looked angry, desperate now, strained. They were looking at her as if she was their golden hope... their only hope. So sad that she wasn’t able to help them.

  “They’re all murdered, all of them. The hunting compound was attacked... you’re the only one left...”

  She closed her eyes tightly. So Sorrell was right. (But what had happened to Sorrell?)

  Darwyn. A most unpleasant picture formed in her mind.

  “Darwyn,” she spoke clearly this time. “Our cousin. Does Prince Darwyn want to be king?”

  “Darwyn will be king.” That was the blonde angel. The dark angel was nodding, his face twisting.

  “If you die... If you die, Princess...” said the devil, with such intensity that his eyes burned into hers and she was unable to look away. “If you die, Darwyn becomes king!”

  “Ohhhh. Such a nasty, spiteful man...”

  “A stupid, perverted traitor... It won’t happen if I can stop it.”

  “...My condolences,” she muttered. “So sorry to disappoint...” Death came sweeping back to fetch her, tumbling her up and over with the wind, swooping and looping like vultures on the updraft, carrying her up to the mountains. All she had to do was stop breathing. It was so peaceful, so...

  “Princess!” He wasn’t letting her go. He was shaking her lightly within the icy wraps, calling her name desperately, tapping her cheek lightly with his fingers. She opened her mouth and gasped in a lungful of air. Her vision steadied. She could see they were in a dim room with a low ceiling, with a blazing fireplace next to her chair. Through a small window, she could see daylight. She was starting to feel some heat through the blankets and starting to feel something else.

  “Are there any women in hell?”

  “What?”

  She focused on him with an imperious glare. “Are there no women in hell?”

  “Ahhhh,” he said, obviously confused. “Women. I wouldn’t really... Why?”

  “I need...” She stopped, thinking and coming to a reluctant conclusion. “I need to...”

  “She’s got to piss,” said the blonde angel with a cheeky grin. “I’ll bet.”

  “Princesses don’t p...” she started grandly.

  “Nonsense! What did you do in the forest for three days?”

  “She watered the flowers like a rabbit,” said the dark angel, as cheeky as his companion.

  The devil came to a conclusion himself. “You two... angels. Go outside and see if there are any suitable women out there. And find out what’s going on. There’s not a lot of time.”

  “Be-damned Darwyn is galloping towards us even now. I’m sure he’s been informed. Thank the Goddess he was searching closer to the hunting compound. He and his men underestimated the princess. If they had found her...” said the blonde angel, no longer grinning. “All right, keep her alive. We’ll go out and spread the good news. The princess is alive and needs to piss.”

  “Oops,” said the princess faintly. “Sorry, not anymore.”

  The devil looked nonplussed. “Find some woman,” he directed his companions as they went away. “You, Bart,” he said to the agitated man who had heated the broth and provided the tea, “Do you have any more blankets?”

  Scylla was thinking. “The dead don’t have to... you know. Does this mean I’m not dead?” she asked him sadly.

  “Why the hell... ah, why on earth do you want to be dead?” He sounded exasperated.

  “Death... so peaceful... it was all so awful. I wished I would die...”

  “Death would be boring!” he snapped. “You can’t die, Princess. Stay alive, you need to speak, to appear strong... Think of all that still awaits you!” His intensity was pulling her along with him. The threads of Death, clinging to her like spider webs, were thinning, weakening... gone.

  “Listen,” he said. He took her by the shoulders and gripped her. “We’ll help you. Be strong... be Queen!”

  He stopped. He was listening. Outside there was a commotion – the thudding of horses’ hooves, raised voices.

  His eyes were burning into hers. “I’ll keep you alive! By god, I will!”

  She was beginning to feel the warmth from the fire. She could wiggle her toes and feel her fingers, even if they barely obeyed her. Everything hurt. Life was trickling back.

  Curse it! Curse everything. She was alive.

  | Chapter 3 |

  “Princess! Princess!” She opened her eyes. This time she lifted her head away from the pillow.

  “What is your name?” She knew he looked familiar, but could not recall his name.

  For a moment he was silent, open-mouthed. She had surprised him. Then he answered quietly, giving her only his first name. “Mako. You remember me... I served your father the King. I failed him due to trickery... and his complacency. Now I serve you.”

  After a moment she shook her head slowly from one side to the other and back. “No. You serve the Kingdom of Rellant.”

  His eyes bored into hers. His were hazel, forest colors mingled into a hard stare that she couldn’t evade. “This is what has to happen, Princess. We believe... we know that Darwyn caused the death of the royal family. He claims that the old caretaker at the hunting lodge went mad and slaughtered everyone while they slept. But a few servants who were able to hide and save themselves have told us Darwyn’s men did the killing. He will prevail... he will be king... unless you carry on as your father would have done.”

  She nodded again. There was no point in telling him again that she would probably disappoint him. She had never been much of a princess – she was more of a misfit. Oh well.

  He outlined what he wanted. People were gathering outside. They would want to see that she was alive, strong... the new queen.

  If Prince Darwyn arrived with his following – and no one knew how many men he had gathered to back him – he would try to take over.

  “He must be stopped. He must be stopped. Do you understand?”

  The flames beside them roared. The angels had put far too much wood in the fireplace. The princess was now feeling the warmth. It was lovely; at least, other than the damp blanket she was still sitting on.

  “Do you understand?” He gave her one of his little shakes that conveyed so much urgency.

  She nodded. Prince Darwyn did not have kingly qualities. For that matter, she herself had no queenly qualities, but even she could agree that Darwyn had to be stopped.

  “Do not die, do not fade away on me. The kingdom needs you.”

  The door burst open. The blonde angel came striding in, while behind him the dark one blocked the doorway.

  “They say Darwyn’s troops are coming. Not large in number. There are more of our people already gathered. Along with our soldiers, of course.” He spoke rapidly. “They want to see the princess. Most of them think she’s dead.” He hesitated. “Is she still alive?”

  “I am,” she said clearly. “Are all those people coming in here?”

  “Good Goddess, no!” Mako stood up from where he had been kneeling next to her chair. He was thinking, his uneasy gaze turning inward.

  The dark angel leaned inside and said, “There’s a girl out here who seems suitable. Also an old ... I mean, older... type... who says she is a lady’s maid. Or was.”

  “There’s no time, no time!” Mako gestured violently. “The princess will have to go out on the porch. Can you walk?”

  Apparently he was addressing her. She con
templated in silence the possibility of her walking.

  He answered himself. “No. No. Bart, get a clean... ah... a dry blanket. You two put the chair out on the porch. You will guard the steps. No one on the steps, not even the women, we’ll deal with that later.” She could read the next moments of silence. He wasn’t sure she would be alive by the time Darwyn got there. “Gather up a guard... for around the house... around the queen.”

  The desperate gaze swung around and found her again. “Princess, I’ll carry you out. Do not fade out on us. Sit up as long as you can. Can you do that?”

  “You’re asking a lot from a half-dead princess,” she murmured.

  The blonde angel laughed. “It won’t look good if her eyes keep rolling back into her head.”

  Bart was holding out another wool blanket. It was rough gray wool but appeared clean.

  The voices outside were rising. Horses whinnied. Someone was yelling, “Is the princess dead or alive? We want to see the princess!”

  Mako picked her up out of the chair and wrapped her in the new blanket. The two angels were out on the porch – although she now knew they were soldiers, in her mind they were still angels. Mako swung her up into his arms and carried her through the doorway.

  “Princess, don’t faint,” he said close to her ear. “Be regal.”

  She mumbled back, “I will pretend to be queen.” But she didn’t think he heard her.

  Then he was putting her into the chair as if she were a feather. The pillows surrounded her, keeping her upright as she sagged.

  People were shouting. Scylla tried to understand what they were saying, but the morning sun was so bright it hurt her eyes and the wind was roaring in her ears. She could not tell how many people crowded towards the smith’s house.

  Mako was standing beside her. His intensity was painful. But the people quieted as he raised a hand for attention and silence.

  “Is she alive?” someone yelled from the back of the crowd.

  “Let her speak...silence!” said a voice from up front.

  “I... am alive!” said the princess, mustering enough energy to produce sound. “I am cold... and hungry... happy to be alive...” Well, that was a lie. Accepting – yes, happy – no.