Cress’s cheeks burned from the cold. Her eyes watered. She turned to watch the path behind her, but she could make out nothing pursuing her through the gloom.
She walked to the center of the clearing. The ground lay bare, but the night air still blew cold. It smelled like snow and fir trees. Dozens of tree trunks reached toward the sky, the high evergreens’ branches framing the full moon.
Something shifted overhead. Cress held her breath. Wings. Silent birds hiding in the shadows.
Turning slowly, Cress watched the treetops. The wind died down, yet the trees’ edges still moved. First one bird rose into the sky and then another. She squared her shoulders and readied her sword, but they only circled and settled back into the tree line. A moment later, three more birds did the same.
She had found the roost. The crow she had tried to kill, likely guarding the perimeter, had not yet raised the alarm.
Cress wiped her watering eyes and dripping nose. Barely a dry spot remained on her jacket sleeve. She closed her eyes and breathed into the fabric. It still smelled faintly of home, of the herbs that her mother often sprinkled on the fire to soothe her grandmother’s labored breathing.
Cress stepped to the edge of the clearing and swung her pack from her back so it landed neatly at her feet. Kneeling on the frigid ground, she fumbled the cold metal latches open and wrestled out a large wrapped bundle. She gently unraveled the fabric until she held the still body of a sleek black crow. Cress cradled the bird in her left arm and walked back to the center of the space. She pulled a small pouch from her belt and stamped her tingling feet against the cold. Had it been like this when her grandmother had come here? Had she been alone in the woods in the middle of the night—a dead bird in one hand and pouch of salt in the other? Cress blew out a long cloudy breath.
Grandmother’s journal stayed stashed away. Cress had memorized the summoning ritual hidden in its coded pages. The salt made a neat white line as she poured it out to mark a circle about four feet across. At the circle’s center she set the crow, then carefully stepped back over the line.
Almost immediately, a whooshing sound drew her eyes back to the sky. A cloud of black avian bodies swarmed down and along the edges of the clearing.
The dark whirlwind surrounded both Cress and the white salt circle, the sound of the wings deafening. The black whirl grew denser as more birds flew down from the trees.
Cress stood her ground. She watched the bird she had left in the circle until a pillar of black mist formed above it and obscured her view.
From the center of the dark cloud came a woman’s voice singing, clear and high. Cress didn’t understand the words, but the tone was joyful. The song became stronger, exultant, weaving through the clearing and rising up into the trees. Surely this had to be magic, for now Cress’s face stopped burning and muscles she hadn’t realized were braced against the cold began to relax as the clearing grew warm. The song ended and the crows that had encircled her streamed silently back to their roost.
A spark of light flickered in the center of the circle’s mist. The glow grew in intensity until the swirling mass dissipated to reveal a woman clad in white. She held a tall torch, like a flaming spear.
Ornate tattoos covered her face, dark blue against her milky skin. Long hair, the color of the last embers of a fire. The palest eyes Cress had ever seen, the shade of a stormy sky just past dawn. Her white gown, crafted of gossamer fabric, stretched to the ground but left her arms bare. The tattoos continued down her arms in long abstract lines. They were not quite vines, but more like the paths water can carve in a steep hillside.
Was there any stretch of her skin not tattooed? Cress tried to imagine what designs like that would look like on her own dark skin. A dark enough pigment could be quite striking.
The Sorceress released her grasp on the torch. It stood tall, without support, on the stone hard ground beside the crow’s body.
“Who has summoned me and disturbed my rest? Come into the light, let me see you.” The Sorceress waved her forward. “Do I know you?” she asked. Cress stepped fully into the torch’s light, hand on the sword at her waist. She fought not to reveal her anxiety, to breathe the warm air evenly. The white-clad woman stalked slowly forward across the line of salt, but stayed out of Cress’s sword range. She looked Cress over carefully before answering her own question with a quick shake of her head. “I think not.”
Cress eyed the path away from the clearing, but grandmother had no one else to do this for her. The Sorceress was her only chance. Cress’s rehearsed words froze in her throat. She hadn’t spoken to another person in weeks. Had she forgotten how?
“My name is Cress,” she choked out, then cleared her throat and continued, “Please forgive me, but I disturb your rest with good reason.” She stepped forward, holding out her hand. It only trembled a little.
“Oh.” The Sorceress seemed a bit startled. “Yes. Very well. My name is Mata-Linda.” She stepped forward again and took Cress’s dark hand in her pale one. She turned their joined hands from side to side for a moment, then let go. She returned her gaze to Cress’s face. “Who has sent you? What do they want of me?”
“I have come of my own choice. I return to you one of your own.”
Mata-Linda looked down to where Cress gestured. She crumpled to her knees with a quiet gasp, gathering up the bird and folding its rigid body to her chest. Mata-Linda closed her eyes and murmured quietly, rocking the creature back and forth.
“I found the bird already dead on the floor of my grandmother’s bedroom,” Cress added quietly. “I seek a release for her from your enchantment.”
“You come to have me undo something?” Mata-Linda looked up at her, tilting her head, still clutching the bird close. “I am much more of a doer than an un-doer.”
“You cursed my grandmother, Queen Frederica.” Cress bit out. “She who once received foreign dignitaries clad in a gown the color of the brightest poppies. Do you even remember her?”
“Cursed? I am not in the habit of cursing people. Messy business, curses.” She shook her head as if trying to get a bad taste out of her mouth.
“She has not eaten for months, yet she will not die. She is an empty shell of the woman she used to be.” Her grandmother’s journal had led Cress to find the crows’ roost and the Sorceress. It told nothing of how to undo the curse, but the common wisdom agreed that a Sorceress’s curses would fall away if she died. “What is to stop me from killing you and undoing all your magic?”
“This.” Mata-Linda made no gesture from where she knelt on the ground, but suddenly Cress could no longer move. She could take shallow breaths, but no more, until the Sorceress released her. “Right. So no trying to cut off my head.”
“Uh huh.” Cress coughed, nodding.
“Are you are done attempting to kill me?”
Cress quickly nodded again.
Mata-Linda glared at her once more before shifting to gently lay the black bird back on the ground at the center of the circle. She began a new song, melancholy and complex. Cress still understood none of the words, but the sentiment carried through. It brought new tears to her eyes, from emotion rather than cold. Mata-Linda’s hands began to glow a bright white. A strong smell, of fruit and spices, almost overwhelmed Cress.
The sorceress slowly brought her hands down to the bird’s body. The bird’s feathers absorbed the glow until the entire body of the bird cast a silvery white light. Mata-Linda’s voice reached a crescendo and the light grew so bright that Cress had to look away. When she could look back, the light had faded. In its place, a live black crow hopped from foot to foot, glossy feathers reflecting the moonlight.
“What does this bird have to do with my Grandmother?” Cress asked.
“She never explained to you what she had become?”
“Become?”
“I remember your grandmother.” Mata-Linda stood slowly. “Frederica paid me well to cast that enchantment. She was sick when she came to me, with young children and a kingd
om depending on her.” Mata-Linda looked her up and down. She stepped to stand in front of Cress, but did nothing magical to hold her in place. “Hold still please.” She put her hand on Cress’s cheek and hummed softly. Cress’s face vibrated gently and grew warm. The air around her head smelled of cinnamon as Mata-Linda closed her eyes and stood that way for an endless minute. When her hand fell away, Cress’s skin felt cold where the hand had been. “You are healthy.”
“You can tell?”
“It is one of my skills.” Mata-Linda tipped her head in agreement as she stepped back, still watching her intently. “What are your skills?”
“My grandmother made sure I trained in the sword.” Cress laid a hand on sword at her waist. “Shall I show you?”
Mata-Linda nodded once, clearing the way for Cress to demonstrate.
Cress took off her gloves and unwrapped the scarf from around her head, tucking them into her belt. She went into her favorite practice sequence. Awkward beneath the heavy winter layers, she still moved through the full set. The sword whistled through the air—the blade’s balance familiar and comforting. The cousins had always mocked her obsession with the sword, but her grandmother had always been proud of her dedication.
When she finished, returning the blade to its sheath, Mata-Linda smiled at her, her eyes bright and thoughtful.
“Yes, you are quite fine indeed. And your grandmother also shared with you her wisdom as a ruler?”
“I suppose. She liked having me nearby. No one really notices a girl in the shadows.” Cress shrugged. “You still haven’t told me what you did to her.”
“I did not.” She sighed, then nodded to herself. “To heal her I transformed her. I shared with her my power to transform into birds. In exchange, your grandmother vowed to protect a vulnerable border of my land.” The sorceress glanced at the moon now beginning to slip behind the tree branches. “She had to shift every month on the night of the full moon into a murder of crows. But she was much older than I was when I became what I am. And death can only be warded off for so long.” Mata-Linda turned back to her. “Have you been finding the dead birds frequently?”
“Yes.” The crow now hopped around on the ground at Mata-Linda’s feet. “When I found my grandmother’s journal I realized they might have something to do with her sickness. Can you save her? Or release her?”
“I cannot save her.” Mata-Linda looked sad. Resigned. “I will release Queen Frederica if you pledge to serve me in her place.”
“Serve you?” Cress asked.
“You are trained in combat. You fought my scout and survived my lands in deep winter. And you found a way to call me from my winter roost.” The crow flew up to sit on Mata-Linda’s shoulder. She absent-mindedly reached to smooth its feathers. “My woods are extensive and the villages that are loyal to me need protection. She who breached my defenses seems the best candidate to reinforce them. With your grandmother released from my service, my lands will lose one of their best defenders.”
“How long must I serve you?”
“For as long as your grandmother’s enchantment lasted.”
“And if I do not survive long enough?”
“Then you will have paid the price for her release with what remains of your life.”
Cress considered leaving—walking out of the freezing forest and returning home. She doubted that Mata-Linda would stop her. The kingdom would survive her power hungry uncles or it would not. But it was the thought of returning to see her grandmother still a breathing husk of a woman, the thought of finding those dead crows month after month, year after year, that convinced her. “I say yes, and you will set her free?”
“We will need something a bit more binding than just your word.” The crow cawed in agreement. “But first, do you agree?” Mata-Linda waited. The crow shifted, watching Cress with its black eyes.
“Yes.” Cress spat it out quickly, before she could change her mind. Cress’s heart raced, but she stayed still.
Mata-Linda gave her no time to reconsider. She walked quickly forward and took Cress’s face in both her hands. The scent of cinnamon returned. The first time the Sorceress touched her, only her face had warmed, but now her entire body grew hot. It quickly became almost unbearable, her skin feeling as if it crawled with fire ants. She grabbed Mata-Linda’s wrists, pulling on them to break free, to make the burning stop. The Sorceress was strong or her magic made the connection unbreakable.
“Stop fighting,” Mata-Linda whispered. Her tattoos shifted across her skin. “Let go and let me in.” Cress took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She pictured her grandmother’s smiling face, imagined her warm loving arms holding her close. The crawling on her skin faded. The heat moved deeper within her, like the warmth from a hearty stew on a cold day. Cress relaxed and let Mata-Linda work. When she opened her eyes, the world appeared different—brighter and warmer. “When I need you at my side, you will feel the pull to return to your sword.” Cress tightened her grip on it. Mata-Linda smiled. “But now, go say goodbye to your dear grandmother.” Mata-Linda waved her hand and Cress felt herself begin to fall away. She panicked as the world divided. Cress looked out of many sets of eyes. She flew up into the treetops, struggling to control all the winged bodies she suddenly inhabited. Starlings. Hundreds of starlings whirling through the branches in the moonlight.
Her grandmother taught her to call a group of starlings a murmuration. They had been one of Frederica’s favorite birds, wheeling around the castle towers at sunset each day.
The starlings cleared the treetops, turning as one to fly south. Perhaps every murmuration was a person like herself, one mind controlling all the birds at once. The land it had taken Cress nearly a month to cross as a human, took less than a day for the murmuration. She marveled at the speed of their flight, at the beauty of the lands unfolding beneath her. As she reached her grandmother’s castle at sunset the next day, the death bells were already ringing. The starlings swarmed through the open windows of Frederica’s chambers, filling the room with wings and cries.
The family stood at the queen’s bedside as her chief advisor unsealed Frederica’s succession decree. Cress tried to transform into her human form again, but Mata-Linda’s magic wouldn’t permit it. Her mother and uncles and brothers shrieked and swatted at her, racing from the room. The advisor dropped the scroll, abandoning it open on the floor.
Cress stared at her name on the parchment in her grandmother’s tight script. Through all her starling eyes she saw it over and over. She appreciated that Frederica wanted that for her. Cress would have been the youngest queen in the kingdom’s long history. But she had made her choice to set Frederica free, and she couldn’t turn back now.
The queen lay wrapped in a fine linen shroud. Cress spread the starlings out across its length, grabbing tightly with their tiny claws. More starlings reached for the edges of the sheet beneath the queen. They adjusted and shifted until, flapping their wings, they lifted her. The murmuration carried the queen’s body off into the darkening sky.
* * *
Jeanne Kramer-Smyth has been writing stories since she first got her hands on a typewriter when she was 9. A fan of many types of fiction, she has a special place in her heart (and large home library) for fantasy, science-fiction, YA, and historical fiction. She is currently an archivist by day and a writer, glass artist, and fan of board games by night. She lives in Maryland with her husband, son, sister-in-law, and cat. Visit her at http://www.jeannekramersmyth.com.
“Presenting Her Serene Highness, Princess Isabelle of Neubaden.”
Isabelle paused for a moment at the top of the grand staircase leading down into the New Year’s Ball being held at the Vieux Palais in Brussels. She gave the paparazzi ranged on either side of the landing a dazzling smile, the one the London tabloids called “diabolically charming.”
While the Herald announced her father, the Prince of Neubaden, and his latest wife, Isabelle moved down the steps and into the party. She paused in her slow meandering around
the room to take selfies with the French Prime Minister and the Colsteinburg Ambassador to the EU. She joined various conversations and made the same comment about the amazing decorations over and over as if she were as vapid as her blonde hair implied. If she were being honest, she didn’t think much of the decorations beyond the cover they gave the hidden Belgian snipers guarding all of the visiting royalty and dignitaries at the event. But, the socialite she played in real life wouldn’t have noticed, so Isabelle didn’t comment either. Instead she continued to circle the event, making small talk and posting meaningless updates on social media. She snagged a glass of champagne she wouldn’t be old enough to legally drink for years and kept one eye out for her target.
* * *
Constantin looked up from his phone when they announced Isabelle of Neubaden. He just barely managed not to snort that she had been called “serene.” He knew that this was the traditional way the German princes and their families styled themselves, but he’d never heard of anyone less serene than Isabelle.
“Isn’t that the girl Father wants you to meet?” asked his older brother. Pieter was the golden boy of the Corvin family—handsome, smart, and the natural to follow their father in his food import and export business once Pieter left Cambridge next term. There was only one thing Constantin had ever managed to do that Pieter hadn’t done first and better. Constantin had been accepted to L’École Suisse, the elite boarding school where the richest and most powerful people sent their children. Once Constantin started school he’d be sharing a three room suite with a Saudi prince and an heir to the second wealthiest oligarch in Russia, but to cement his social standing at the school—and the future business opportunities they would represent—he needed to get in good with the school’s reigning princess. Isabelle of Neubaden might be from an outdated principality with no real political power, but her social capital bought more friends than all the gold in the vault under the New York Federal Reserve.
Perilous Princesses Page 3