The Sweetest Spell

by Suzanne Selfors

  We ate our feast just outside the town wall. Small fires flickered down the Merchant’s Highway as travelers set up their camps for the night.

  “Why you?” Griffin asked, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

  I’d asked myself the same question over and over. Only one answer had ever come to mind. “Why not me?”

  He could have listed all the reasons. But he didn’t. “Can you do anything else magical?” he asked, looking into my eyes. I’d had ample opportunity to stare into those mossy green eyes on this journey. I’d seen fear, anger, even resentment in them. But at that moment I saw something new—admiration. “Can you cast other spells?”

  “If I could cast spells, do you think I’d have this foot?” I shook my right foot, which I’d kept hidden in its boot during our entire time together.

  He grabbed the last of the ham. After a long chew, he asked, “Does your foot hurt?”

  “Aye,” I said. “Almost all the time.”

  He chewed some more, then leaned against a tree trunk. “Do you ever think about what might have been?”

  This question took me by surprise and my face went hot. All of the time would have been the honest answer. “It doesn’t matter. What might have been doesn’t matter.”

  “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about what might have been,” Griffin said. “If the soldiers hadn’t come to Root, I’d be married. If the river hadn’t flooded, I’d be living in my cottage with my new wife.”

  “Aye, you would.” I reached under my knit cap and scratched my scalp. If only I could free my hair, just for a moment. All of Missus Oak’s hard work washing and brushing had gone to waste. My hair was once again a wild, knotted mess. “Who would it be?”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t have my heart set on anyone in particular.”

  “Really?”

  “I wanted to wait, actually. But Mother insisted. I know they were all in love with me, but I didn’t feel that way about any of them.” He stared at me. “You know, I never really looked at you. I never noticed …” His sudden serious expression made me uncomfortable. His gaze traveled over my body.

  I shifted my weight. “Did you know that no one else in Anglund has a husband market? It’s another reason why they hate us. They think buying a husband is primitive.”

  “They can call us primitive all they want,” he said with a sudden burst of anger. “But at least we don’t enslave people. I hate them right back.”

  I felt Griffin’s anger. They’d taken him against his will, just as Peddler had taken me. “Not everyone hates us,” I said quietly.

  “Oh really?” He pushed his knit cap off his forehead. “And who doesn’t hate us dirt-scratchers?”

  “Well, the Oak family. They helped me, didn’t they?”

  “That’s one family in the whole of Anglund. That means nothing.” He stretched out his legs. “This Owen, the one who read you the book. Is he their son?”

  I glanced away.

  “Look, Emmeline, you can ignore my questions all you want, but I’m not an idiot. I heard the way you said his name in your sleep. You’ve got your sights set on this fellow, don’t you?” I looked down at my boots. “Put that idea out of your head right now, Emmeline Thistle. You hear what I’m telling you? Dirt-scratchers marry dirt-scratchers.”

  “Stop calling us that,” I snapped. “That’s their word for us. And it’s ugly.”

  He slowly nodded. “You’re right. But it’s true what I’m saying. Flatlanders should marry Flatlanders. That’s the way it’s always been.”

  “Have you forgotten that no one back home would have married me?”

  “Well, maybe not the old you.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” I told him. “Owen’s dead.”

  Griffin offered no soothing words, but I expected none. Instead, he tossed the ham bone aside and stood. Then, rubbing his chin, he spoke calmly. “If you want to get married, you should bid on me at the next husband market.”

  I cringed, expecting him to burst out laughing at his joke. But there’d been no hint of humor or sarcasm in his words.

  He looked down at me. “I’m serious, Emmeline. If you keep making chocolate, you’re going to be the richest girl in the Flatlands. You’ll be able to bid the most coin. That will make my parents very happy.”

  “Your parents? But they despise me. Your father yells at me every time the cows wander to my house.”

  He stuck his hands into his pockets. “So?”

  “So?” I scrambled to my feet. “Maybe you haven’t noticed, Griffin, but your sister throws rocks at me, and you, well, you were never nice to me, either.”

  “Aye, but now you’re going to be rich.” He smiled. “You’d be foolish not to bid on me. Every girl wants to bid on me. I’m the handsomest man in all the Flatlands. Maybe in all of Anglund.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “Think about it. With your chocolate and my good looks, we could launch our own empire. Forget about King Elmer. We don’t need him.”

  “But we do need him. He’s got our people, remember?”

  “Oh. Right.” His chest deflated. Then he pulled his hat back down his forehead.

  I thought my life couldn’t get any more amazing. Now something else unbelievable had happened. For a brief moment, Griffin Boar had imagined me as his wife. I couldn’t help the satisfied smirk that spread across my face. He glared at me. “By the way,” he grumbled, “you reek.”

  “So do you.”

  We decided not to journey any farther that evening. The horses were tired and my legs ached from the ride. Griffin set the saddles on the ground. We could have hidden deep in the woods but Griffin thought it would be more dangerous in there, what with wild animals and thieves. Sleeping near the road, where other weary travelers had set up camp, seemed best since there was protection in numbers. Besides, no one was looking for a pair of brothers so we felt relatively safe in the open.

  As I was about to lay my head on the saddle, a wagon rolled past. I might not have paid any attention except that the wagon carried an enormous cage. Two men sat inside the cage, their shoulders slumped. Another man lay facedown on the floor, his brown curly hair catching my eye. Owen’s hair looked like that. Stop thinking about Owen! I told myself. It does you no good.

  One of the caged men raised his head, and when he did so, long red locks cascaded over his shoulders. I was about to cry out when Griffin said, “Hold your tongue.” He’d noticed the boy, too.

  A humpbacked man and a soldier sat on the driver’s bench. They paid no notice, but we couldn’t tear our gaze away from the wagon as it rolled down the road with one of our own. “Did you recognize him?”

  “No,” Griffin said.

  “Where are they taking him?”

  “Same place as the others. But we can’t help him. Not yet.”

  Just like the day at the husband market, I felt totally helpless, watching as they carted another one of my people away. Griffin was right. This was not yet the time.

  But it soon would be.

  PART SEVEN

  Queen

  Chapter Thirty-six

  We smelled Londwin City long before it came into view. The scent reminded me of autumn days in Root when spawning fish were caught in the river and hung over the fire to cure. The smoky scent grew stronger as we neared, and a dark cloud bloomed in the sky. I wondered if the city was on fire. But no fiery glow appeared.

  Then the chimneys came into view, hundreds of them, standing on the horizon like a metal forest. Streams of smoke spouted from the chimney tops like dragon’s breath, blocking the sunlight. I slowed my horse, hesitation grabbing hold of me and squeezing hard. We’d come so far, but the thought of actually facing King Elmer sent my heart racing. Griffin also slowed, staring slack-jawed at the massive stone wall that surrounded the city. “We’re here,” he said. Was that fear in his voice?

  “We’re here,” I echoed, wiping my sweating palms on my pants. I pulled my hat low, as did Griffin, making sure every bit of hair w
as hidden.

  Soldiers stood along the top of the wall, yellow stalks in a world of gray. A pair stood guard at the massive iron gate. “Where you from?” one asked as he stepped in front of our horses.

  “We’re from Fishport.” Griffin did a pretty good job hiding his accent. He pointed at me. “That’s my brother.”

  “You here for the Bestowing of Coal?” The soldier scratched beneath his feathered helmet.

  “Yeah,” Griffin said. “That’s why we’re here.”

  “You’ll have to pay the horse tax if you want to ride inside the gates. Covers the cost of cleaning up their dung.”

  “We can’t pay,” Griffin said.

  “Then leave the horses or go away. The choice is yours.”

  At this point I could have made my true identity known. But Griffin and I had discussed this. What would keep one of these soldiers from claiming the reward, leaving Griffin in the cold? We had to get closer to the king before I revealed myself. Griffin would take the reward back to Root.

  “These horses belong to the Baroness of Salt,” I told the soldier. “Can you make sure she gets them?”

  “The king takes ownership of all horses,” he said. “That’s the law.”

  So we left the horses. Someday I’d pay the baroness back. The soldier led them to a fenced yard where others had also left their horses. Then Griffin and I walked through the open gates into Londwin City.

  We entered a world of stone. Narrow gray buildings lined the cobblestone road, their chimneys hard at work. Strange stone creatures with pointed ears and forked tongues stared down at us from the roofs. It felt as if their carved eyes followed our every move. With each hesitant step we kicked up soot. It covered everything and didn’t take long to settle onto Griffin’s hat and face. I wiped some from my lips. My eyes watered as we passed through drifts of smoke. Though I knew it was mid-morning, the looming darkness gave the city a feeling of doom, as if the storm of the century was on its way.

  A ditch, filled with thick brown sludge, stretched alongside the road. I plugged my nose. In Root we buried our sewage in deep holes. Here they let it run through the city. Disgusting. Seemed odd that they collected a tax to clean up horse dung. Why not clean up the rest of the gunk?

  “Where is everyone?” Griffin asked. “Why is this place so quiet?”

  Except for the soldiers back at the gates we hadn’t seen a soul. Soot blackened the windows so we couldn’t see inside any of the buildings. A shiver ran down my spine as I looked up and into the glaring eyes of a stone creature. Its sharp teeth protruded from its chiseled mouth, and it looked like it might leap from the roof and bite me. I picked up the pace, with Griffin, for the first time, at my heels.

  When we turned a corner, the cobblestone street branched in three directions. Fortunately a signpost, with a painting of a golden crown and arrow pointing to the center road, marked our destination. As we passed more gray buildings, the road gradually widened and another scent greeted us—the stench of unwashed people. Griffin and I would fit right in. As we turned the next corner, the stench rushed at us like a bull in heat. I breathed through my mouth, which helped a bit.

  A crowd had gathered—more people than I could ever count. They faced away from us, looking toward a golden fence that, even in the dusky light, gleamed like the rising sun. “What’s going on?” I asked a woman.

  “Bestowing of Coal,” she said, clutching a reed basket. Soot had settled into her wrinkles so it looked as if someone had drawn all over her face. A thick line of soot ran down the center part in her hair. She didn’t look at me, her gaze fixed beyond the fence where the golden towers of the royal palace disappeared into the smoky sky.

  “Follow me,” Griffin said. Then, in classic Griffin Boar style, he told the people who blocked our path, “Move out of my way!”

  As he pushed through, I followed. With bodies pressed so closely together, no one seemed to notice my limp, the only part of my identity I couldn’t hide. No one complained as Griffin elbowed and shoved his way deeper into the crowd. The people stared at the fence with blank expressions, like owlettes dazed by a full moon. I plugged my nose. Didn’t anyone in this city take a bath?

  The people of Londwin were oddly dressed. I’d expected that those who lived in the royal city would wear fancy clothes. But they were as ragged as anyone from the Flatlands, maybe more so, with loose hems and ripped sleeves. Dark stains covered their clothes, which were made from cheap, coarse, colorless fabrics. Worse, though, was the hunger that revealed itself in their hollowed cheeks and dark circled eyes. We Flatlanders were familiar with bouts of famine, but we looked robust in comparison. Griffin was twice as wide as any man here and a good head taller. How could people who lived this close to the king know hunger? And why were they all holding empty baskets?

  When we finally reached the edge of the crowd, I took a deep breath. The fence was only an arm’s length away. And just beyond, across a golden courtyard, stood the palace.

  A man scurried along the fence, wiping soot from the golden posts with a rag. Another man stood at the top of a ladder, polishing the posts. Back at the dairy, Missus Oak showed me a bowl that was plated in gold. She said it had been handed down through her family and was one of her most precious possessions. But here was an entire fence made of gold. Though the royal palace was built of stone, the windowsills and balcony railings were golden, as were the towers and roofs. Two golden swan-shaped sculptures stood on either side of a massive golden door. As an old man with a hunched spine polished one of the swans, a bitter taste filled my mouth and it wasn’t from the soot-filled air. Is this why my people were slaving in the mineral fields? So King Elmer could live in a golden world?

  “How do you want to do this?” Griffin asked. A line of soldiers blocked the entrance to the palace courtyard.

  He was asking my advice? Everything in my world had changed.

  “Tell them we’re here to see the king,” I said.

  We held each other’s gaze for a moment. I couldn’t hide all my fear, but neither could he. He had deserted the king’s “army.” If his true identity were discovered, he’d be hanged. When I reached out and squeezed his hand, he didn’t pull away. “You can still leave.”

  “No. We’re the only hope for our families.” Then his eyes flashed and he spun around. “Hey,” he called to one of the soldiers. “We’re here to see the king.” The closest soldier stepped forward.

  “No one sees the king.”

  “It’s important,” Griffin said. “We need to—”

  The soldier pointed his sword at Griffin’s throat. “No one sees the king without a royal invitation.”

  “You don’t understand,” I said. I smiled sweetly, even though I was so scared I felt like I might vomit. “The king will want to see me. I’m—”

  A horn blasted, startling me silent. Murmuring arose, the crowd waking from its daze. “Coal, coal, coal,” voices whispered. The people raised their baskets above their soot-coated heads. “Coal, coal, coal.”

  I pressed against Griffin, watching over his shoulder as a wagon, pulled by a glossy black horse, appeared around the side of the palace. Five men, dressed head to toe in black and carrying shovels, ran behind the wagon. The horse stopped in the center of the courtyard. A hill of small black rocks filled the wagon’s bed. “Bestow the coal, bestow the coal,” the crowd chanted, voices rising with excitement. They began to push forward. “Bestow the coal.”

  I tried to stand my ground but the crowd’s momentum swept me up and moved me into the courtyard. Memories of being carried away by the river washed over me and I panicked. “Griffin!” I yelled. He grabbed me around the waist and pulled me from the current.

  As the people of Londwin City held out their baskets, the black-clad men filled them with shovelfuls of coal. Children grabbed stray bits that tumbled from the shovels. But the coal quickly disappeared and most still held empty baskets. “There’s not enough for everyone!” someone shouted.

  “We need more!�
�� another voice yelled.

  One of the black-clad men stood in the wagon, his hands cupped around his mouth as he hollered at the crowd. “There’s no more! Go home!”

  “We paid our coal tax.”

  “How can we cook without coal?”

  “There’s no more!” the man repeated.

  Fights broke out as those without coal tried to take baskets away from those who’d been lucky enough to be first to the wagon. Soldiers tried to stop the fighting, but it spread as quickly as smoke.

  “They won’t notice us,” Griffin said. “Let’s go.” We crept around the wagon. Though the palace door waited just across the courtyard, the distance felt like a vast chasm. I cursed my foot for slowing us down.

  “Halt!” A soldier leaped in front of us, his sword drawn, his helmet askew.

  “I need to see the king,” I pleaded. “It’s very important.” Screams and shouts erupted behind us as more people joined the fighting.

  “No one from the outside gets to see the king without a royal invitation,” the soldier said. “Now get back to where you belong.”

  We’d come all this way. With each passing moment, time was running out for my father. Each moment in the mineral field meant another breath of the poisonous yellow air Griffin had told me about. The guard pressed the sword’s tip against the soft spot at the base of Griffin’s neck. “Get back!”

  I knew no words would convince the soldier. So, with a sweeping gesture, I pulled the cap off my head. As my hair fell free, the soldier’s eyes widened. He gasped. Silence descended over the courtyard. I knew, without turning around, that everyone was looking at me.

  “You’re—”

  “That’s right,” I said, holding myself as straight as possible. “I’m the Milkmaid and …” I tried to remember exactly what the new poster said. “The king is expecting me.”

  Griffin smirked as the soldier lowered his sword.