The Impaled Bride

by Rhiannon Frater

  “Be a nice bird and come to me. You were written for me, remember? You belong to me.”

  The poppet appears to consider my words.

  “Yes, come here. Be a good poppet.”

  Ágota snaps her fingers. The bird cocks its head toward my sister. She whistles and it swoops off the windowsill toward her.

  “You are such a cheater, Ágota!”

  I pluck a book from my desk and hurl it at my sister. It, too, turns into a bird, a massive hawk which flies about the room chasing the frantic poppet. “Ágota, if your hawk eats my letter—”

  The door to my room bangs open. Balázs stands in the doorway with his face flushed and his eyes blazing with fury. Immediately, Ágota, the hawk, and the bird all land on the floor, the two poppets returning to their true forms.

  “I was only teasing her,” Ágota blurts out.

  I fetch the letter as Balázs stalks into the room. His glamour is in place and he has added more lines about the eyes and mouth these last few years. I am always struck by the disparity between his true youthful appearance and his older disguise.

  “This is not about you tormenting your sister, Ágota. Important matters are at hand.”

  “What’s wrong, Father?” Ágota asks.

  “King Charles has sent his army to demand my allegiance,” he answers in a grim voice. “They are in the valley below. I have dispatched Fülöp to deliver my terms for their surrender or withdrawal, but I doubt they will agree. King Charles has most likely sent them to lay siege outside our walls until I denounce Ladislaus Kán.”

  After Ágota destroyed the troops sent to confront Balázs years earlier, King Charles has circumvented our lands while waging his battle against the oligarchs. Balázs had hoped the disappearance of the king’s men would spur rumors of his great battle prowess. Instead, the tale of the lost soldiers that spread far and wide featured vengeful ghosts and ghouls. Whether the king believed the supernatural stories or feared Balázs, is not known, but he kept his armies far from the castle.

  “How will you respond?” Ágota sounds hoarse with fear and one hand flutters nervously against her skirts.

  My sister’s trepidation does not deter me from speaking my mind. “We prepare for battle, of course.”

  “Violence is not always the answer,” she retorts.

  “In this world, it usually is the most viable solution.”

  She winces at my reply, averting her face from me. My nature has driven a wedge between us that we do not often acknowledge. Ágota would rather pretend I am her innocent younger sister with a lovely future before me than acknowledge what I am. I cannot be so obtuse. As a battlewitch, it is my duty to fight in defense of the coven and town, just as it is hers to protect it. I honed my craft under Balázs tutelage during skirmishes between Balázs’s forces and a castle warrior loyal to King Charles. My magic is not as impressive as my sister’s, but it is potent. I am able to infuse soldiers with supernatural strength and agility. They fight harder, faster, and are able to suffer terrible wounds that would have downed them otherwise.

  Balázs folds his arms across his broad chest and regards us with a somber expression. “It is a greater force than those we faced in the past. You will need to stand at your sister’s side on the battlefield, Ágota.”

  “No, you promised me that she would not have to kill again,” I say in a firm voice. “She casts the protection wards! I fight!”

  Out of the corner of my eye, Ágota blanches at our discourse. It took her nearly a month to recover from her first and only battle. I had stayed at her side while she wept for days on end, unable to live with the guilt of taking the lives of mortals. Balázs had been wise enough not to tell her I was a battlewitch until she was in a better state of mind to deal with the revelation. My sister received the news with disbelief. Though delighted that my heritage had manifested, she had been demoralized by the class of witch that is my legacy. Ágota always regarded me as an innocent and sweet girl and was horrified I had killed Soffia in her defense. It was even more difficult for her to accept that I am a warrior in heart and mind.

  “She will need to feed power to you, much like the siphons. Ágota will not kill. She will assist you, Erzsébet.” Balázs focuses on his daughter’s pale face. “Ágota, Erzsébet needs you. It is a formidable force that has gathered outside our walls. It is obvious King Charles is done dealing with the oligarchs. He sent this army to crush us or force my surrender.”

  “And if you surrender?” Ágota asks.

  “King Charles will appoint his own man in my stead.”

  “He will kill you.” Ágota’s shoulders sag as she sits on the edge of my bed.

  “Or exile me. Either way, this castle and town will be lost. All we fought to build in the aftermath of the exodus from the Witch World is in peril.”

  “We shall never surrender,” I say with steel in my voice. “I will perform my duty. Victory is assured.”

  Balázs nods, but does not look convinced.

  I stride over to him, my hands clenched at my sides, and peer up at him. “I will win.” Every time I am in battle, I know victory is mine for the taking. I hear it in the clash of swords, taste it in the air fragrant with blood, and witness it as my enemies fall.”

  Resting his hands on my shoulders, he says. “Victory today will only ensure that we will battle again in the future. King Charles is determined to subjugate all of the Kingdom of Hungary beneath him, including Transylvania.”

  “Then perhaps we should take it from him.” The fire of battle is burning in my chest. I can feel my power stirring, preparing to infuse an army against its enemies. It is very difficult to calm myself once I feel the call of combat.

  “Erjy, how can you say such things?” my sister says, obviously stricken by my declaration.

  I spin about to find her downcast and wringing her hands. “What would you have me say, Ágota?”

  “You must remember we protect our people. We are not conquerors.”

  “Your sister is correct, Erzsébet. We are refugees in this world, not invaders.”

  “Perhaps not, but I will not stand for any king coming against you,” I reply.

  Affection fills Balázs’s gaze and softens his harsh expression. “Of that, I am certain, Erjy.”

  “Can there be peace when the King of Hungary and the Voivode of Transylvania war?” Ágota stomps back and forth before me, a frantic look upon her face. “Is there no way to resolve this without us being forced into battle?”

  “I am not bothered by it,” I say to her.

  “I know this! Which is why I worry! Every time you wield your powers I fear for you!”

  “Ágota, she cannot deny what she is.” Balázs steps in front of his daughter to force her to cease her pacing. “We have had this discussion before.”

  “War, death, and blood should not be her inheritance! She should be an Archwitch like me! Connected to the elements. Able to protect, heal, help and—”

  “You cannot alter what I am!” I have to interrupt her, for it is tiresome to discuss how at odds I am with her aspirations for me. “Though Balázs had hoped I would be a grandwitch or Archwitch, he has accepted my legacy, as have I wholeheartedly. Why not you? You are my sister! I love you! I accept everything that you are! I am exhausted by your judgment!”

  Pressing her lips together, Ágota nods curtly. Tears sparkle in her eyes when she looks at me. “I do not judge you, Erzsébet. I fear for you.”

  “At this moment, the future of the coven, our families, and the people under our protection are in jeopardy. This is our concern. Set aside your differences.” Balázs sounds more like a father than a leader, pleading with his children to behave.

  “I can cast a mighty spell to remove us from the map. Make us vanish from their eyes. I will do that!” Ágota lifts her chin with defiance.

  Balázs sighs wearily. “Ágota, they know we are here. If you cast such a spell, they will know that witches rule here. We would be in even more danger, for King Charle
s will dispatch more reinforcements.”

  “Then I will wipe us from their memory!”

  I snort at her declaration. “Erase the memories of an entire kingdom?”

  “If we can hold them off for a few days, I may be able to find a way to amplify my power and—”

  “Ágota, cease. We have had this discussion before. The outside world cannot know we are witches. We have already lost so many of our own to fire and water. We came here weakened, at the mercy of humans and supernaturals native to this world. You were born here. You are able to wield this world’s magic. The rest of us struggle.” Balázs lays his big hands on her narrow shoulders. “We must be discreet.”

  “I can be so much more than you allow me to be,” Ágota says in a raw, desperate voice.

  “I know, but this is not our world, Ágota. You cannot be all you could have been in the kingdom I ruled beyond the Veil. I am sorry.” Balázs kisses her forehead.

  “Enough of this. I need to prepare and so do you, Ágota.”

  Ágota grunts with frustration, throws up her hands at me, and storms out of the room.

  With a weary sigh, Balázs turns to follow. “Meet me in the great hall when you are ready. We will discuss the battle plans then.”

  The door shuts, leaving me alone.

  Staring down at the letter in my hand, I realize I will not have the luxury of reading it. The immediacy of the threat is more important. When my maids arrive to help me dress, I tuck it into my chemise to wear close to my heart. I cannot prepare alone for the chainmail tunic I wear in battle is heavy and difficult to put on without assistance. A lightweight cotton slip keeps it from chaffing against my skin. Over the chainmail, I wear a green linen dress with the burning tree embroidered on the bodice. The maids lace me into my attire, help me into my knee-high boots, and slip my belt around my waist. I set my hand on my rose dagger in its sheath and wait patiently for the maids to finish plaiting my hair and pinning it in a bun on my head.

  At last, I am prepared, and my blood virtually sings in my veins with anticipation. Leaving my room, I am escorted by two guards down to the great hall. From the heightened activity inside the castle, it is evident a battle is about to take place. Shouted orders in the courtyard below wafts through open windows and archers rush up the narrow stairwells to the high battlements.

  Arriving in the great hall, I immediately sense an uncomfortable prickle in the air. Silence fills the room despite the hectic preparations outside. The coven is obviously awaiting my arrival. Most are assembled in one large congregation facing Balázs and a handful of coven members gathered at his back. Henrietta stands behind Balázs with her husband while Ágota is next to her father. My sister is dressed very similarly to me, though her dress is burgundy, not green. Her expression is tense, her eyes wide, and her hands are pressed to her waist. I notice that the burning tree flags are missing from the walls, and my stomach twists into a fierce knot. Balázs holds out his hand to me and I hurry to his side.

  “What is happening?” I demand. “Why are we not we preparing for battle?”

  Fülöp steps forward, clearly the spokesman for the majority of the coven gathered in what I can only assume is a protest against Balázs.

  “The time has come for us to surrender to the will of the rightful king of Hungary,” Fülöp declares. “It is only a matter of time before the Voivode of Transylvania will bow to King Charles and make peace.”

  Balázs remains stoic in the face of such defiance, yet I sense his rage brewing beneath his calm demeanor. “Until that time we stand with Ladislaus Kán. I vowed my loyalty to his family in exchange for this land.”

  “That time is past. The Kán will bow or fall as all the others have before the power of King Charles. You are a fool to still stand with the voivode.”

  “How dare you speak of the Grandwitch in that manner!” I exclaim.

  “Be still, Erzsébet,” Balázs says, not unkindly, but he grips my wrist as though to stay my wrath. “It is not your place, Fülöp, to make such declarations. I rule here.”

  “You cannot even control your ward, Balázs. How can you possibly rule? You have become a shadow of the man you once were since their arrival. You even allowed Viorica’s bastard to break your sacred law. Erzsébet murdered Soffia and yet stands at your side empowered by your indulgence.”

  Ágota surges forward. “How dare you!”

  “Your sister broke our laws, yet she remains unpunished!” Spittle flies from Fülöp’s lips and his eyes bulge with fury. Next to him, his wife places her hand on his arm as if to stay his anger. He shrugs off her attempt and takes a step forward. “Were you so unwise as to believe the coven would tolerate this violation? We petitioned for Balázs as Grandwitch to punish her, but he refused. He is weakened in his resolve because Erzsébet is the mirror image of Viorica!”

  “Soffia attempted to kill me!” Ágota shouts. “My sister defended me!”

  “She violated our laws—the laws Balázs made us all swear to uphold and then abandoned because of his lust for your sister!” Fülöp retorts.

  “How dare you!” I storm toward Fülöp and the other witches. I am only stopped because Ágota anchors my feet to the floor. Forced to stand still, I realize my sister made a wise choice. The witches siding against Balázs have laid a protection spell on the floor, and it abruptly glows red in warning.

  “You would use magic against us?” Balázs stares in disbelief at the men and women gathered behind Fülöp. The weight of their betrayal weighs heavily on me, so how much worse must it be for him? These people escaped to this world with him. He has spent years protecting them and now they stand with Fülöp.

  “We would use magic to protect ourselves,” Fülöp answers. “I have asked you over and over again to bind the Archwitch and Battlewitch with a spell to the service of the coven. To shackle their headstrong inclinations and punish Erzsébet for killing Soffia. You have refused, unleashing them to destroy us!”

  “Binding them would diminish their ability to do their duty,” Balázs responds in an even tone. “You know this, Fülöp.”

  “You indulged them and they have weakened us!”

  “If you are so enfeebled, why is there a protective circle around you?” Balázs hooks his fingers onto his belt, his hand dangerously close to his sword. “This is evidence that you are not weakened at all by the presence of the Archwitch and Battlewitch.”

  Fülöp’s very handsome face is red with the heat of rage, but when he speaks his voice is ice. “I am nearly your equal in magical prowess, Balázs. I can defend this coven and this land against all those who would come against us from within and without. I laid the spell to protect the coven against you and your daughters.”

  “I would never harm any of the coven!” Balázs roars.

  I am satisfied to see most of the witches shirk.

  “How can we trust you when you allowed Erzsébet to murder your wife and you did nothing? Are the rumors true? Are you bedding her since she resembles your beloved Viorica?”

  Ágota throws back her arm, a ball of black energy – a death spell – forming in her palm. Henrietta grabs her wrist, shaking her head.

  “He is trying to prove you are dangerous,” she whispers.

  With a grunt, Ágota extinguishes it.

  Face flushed with fury, Balázs draws himself upright, glaring at the man seeking to usurp him. “Erzsébet is my ward. I love her as a daughter. She is the coven’s Battlewitch and—” Balázs stops himself from defending his decisions, realizing he is falling into the trap Fülöp laid before him. He is only proving Fülöp’s charges that he favors us above his people.

  “Your time is done, Balázs. We cannot trust you to defend us, so I have stepped forward to claim that authority. I have signed a treatise with King Charles’ captain. I will serve as his castle warrior and raise his banner above this castle, saving us from a siege. The coven will remain a secret from the outside world and be protected from all harm.”

  “Traitor!” on
e of Balázs’s devotees yells.

  “No! Balázs is the traitor!”

  “You have no right!”

  “This is not our way!”

  The voices reverberate around me like slung arrows on a battlefield. Every single one strikes deep into Balázs. I feel it acutely. The powerful man is physically and magically strong, but his heart is tender. He loves those in the coven and their rejection of his rule is devastating. Ágota releases me from her spell and I twist around to throw myself into Balázs arms. He embraces me before gently pushing me aside. It is his turn to step forward and make his stand. When he stops within a foot of the protection spell surrounding his former coven, the insults and cries of the witches fade into silence.

  The seconds tick by, the tension mounting with each one that passes. Ágota’s fingers flex and twist and a protective circle surrounds us and Balázs. As Battlewitch, I can sense the rising need to unleash violence on my enemies. The rapidly beating hearts of the witches sound like war drums.

  “So be it,” Balázs says at last. “I will depart with my daughters and any who wish to follow.”

  Fülöp gasps, startled by this abrupt pronouncement. Several witches behind him pat his shoulders and relief sweeps over the faces of his supporters.

  “I will not fight to retain my authority here. I will not fight or kill another witch. We are all that remains of our world. We will leave within the hour.”

  Balázs does not wait for Fülöp to agree. Striding from the room, Balázs motions for us to follow him from the great hall and we obey. All the witches that stood with us gather in the hallway.

  “Ágota, cast the spell,” her father orders.

  Bringing her hands together, Ágota whispers an incantation and a powerful spell ripples through the castle. She weakly slumps against the wall when it finishes, but nods to her father. “It is done.”

  “Time is stopped for all within the castle, save us. Pack swiftly and join me here. We leave in a quarter of an hour before the spell finishes,” he instructs the loyal witches.