Will snorts and Everleigh hits him on his arm, though she is smiling.
“I am determined to keep my head while I am sacrificed. I will be strong and make everyone proud. Won’t I? Oh Will, I’m so scared.”
Will puts his arms around her and holds her tightly. She is shuddering. “You will be brave and courageous and make everyone proud. Or-” He pulls back and looks at her face, “Or, you could run away with me.” His grey eyes are serious.
Everleigh smiles, tears slipping from her eyes, wetting them both. “Oh, Will. Don’t tempt me. I am so frightened. I know that it’s what I’ve been raised for and I’ve always known it was coming. But truthfully, now it’s so close I feel like I’ll die before then. My breath will just cease, or my heart will just stop. How can I live with this before me?”
“So, run?”
“Run where and do what? I am a princess. I am known all over the Realm. I would be brought back in defeat and embarrassment. I must hold my head up high. I just hope that I can. Will you root for me? Can I look at your face in the crowd? A friendly face will give me courage.”
Will nods as he contemplates the horrific task she has just bequeathed him. He thinks he might die too, just throw himself upon Halfreda’s dagger. How can he live without his best friend?
Ginata
IT’S BEEN BUSY TODAY. I’ve made a fortune. Three sleeping draughts, seven love potions, rat poison and some remedies for coughs and colds and headaches. I thought it would be quiet since it’s the day of the feast, but there’s been no rest.
I’ve closed the door for a while. I want to count my money and eat something before the afternoon rush. I get most of my visitors in the afternoon. I think people need to pluck up their courage before they come to see me. I think people feel nervous about what they don’t know and understand. They are nervous of putting their trust in me. Can I really do what I say I can? Can I really make someone fall in love with them, or ward off harm?
I think people realise the power of the poultice, the strength in a potion or a poison and it scares them. People need time to realise that they are desperate and willing to try anything.
It works for me.
My feet are resting on one chair while I sit on the other. I finish my food – a tender stew with the best lamb and potatoes. I’m lucky to be paid in coin and food, clothes and favours. After all, if I am paid in coin I have to go to the market to buy lamb. If I am paid in lamb it saves me a journey and I will earn while I am here. I cannot earn when I am away from my home and my work place buying lamb.
Everyone in the village and from around knows my little cottage. I keep it well. I keep myself well. I wash in the stream every morning, and between custom I sweep the floor, I wash the windows, I sew, I bake. I am never idle.
Idle people worry. Idle people make up the most of my custom. They sit, and they worry. Then they fret. Then they panic. Then they realise that without my intervention they may never sleep again.
Idle people are idiots.
I am clever.
I have potions and poultices, brews and cordials, draughts and medicines, stimulants and tonics. If you need to sleep I can help, if you need to stay awake I can help. If you have an illness or affliction, a wound or a sore, I can help. If you need a tooth out I can dose you up and pull it out. If you need luck or love or even have someone to harm, I can and will help for the right coin.
I will give out a poison, but I will not give out a death draught. If someone buys poison and kills with it, then that is their fear and not mine. But a death draught is a different thing – there is no other use for it. I cannot feign innocence if I sell a death draught.
So, my food finished I start tidying.
There is a knock at the door. Another idle person.
I open the door and fix my enigmatic but friendly smile on my face.
My idle visitor is coy. I presume it is a man because he is taller and broader than me. His cloak is down over his face though, and I don’t believe that he intends to look up.
“Miss.” His voice is rich and deep. A shiver goes through me. I don’t know if I like this customer.
He steps towards me as though he wants to enter – no customer ever enters my cottage. I do all my business on the bench outside. I step forward to block him and make him step back outside but he stands his ground. I look past him and his cloak and see a guard with him. The man is dressed as a peasant and tries to stand looking nonchalant, but I recognise his bearing. He is leaning but isn’t stooped; he is not relaxed. He is on guard. Why would he be guarding this cloaked man?
I decide to let him in. I am curious. I step back and gesture with my arm for him to sit.
“Sir, how may I help you?”
Cloaked man coughs. I think he is trying to adjust his voice, make me unable to recognise it, which makes me alert; do I know this man and if I do, where from?
“I need something from you. I presume you don’t report any purchases to anyone?”
I know what he’s alluding to. He wants to know if I’ll tell on him if he buys something he shouldn’t. I don’t report to anyone. I work for myself and I answer to myself. But he doesn’t need to know that.
“I work within the bounds of the law, Sir, if that’s what you’re asking?”
“Excellent.” Cloaked man didn’t sound like he meant that to me.
“What are you after, Sir?”
“A little discretion, maybe.”
I see an opportunity here. This man must have some funds to be able to bring a guard with him: one guard that I can see; masquerading though he is.
“Sir, I must work within the bounds of the law or else I am risking my livelihood. I would have to have some recompense for that risk.”
“Certainly, madam. I feel a fool for even asking you to risk your good name. However, needs must.”
“Certainly Sir. Thank you for understanding a poor woman’s predicament.”
“I need a death draught.” He is bold this cloaked stranger. I try to hide the intake of breath by clearing my throat. I am shocked. I have never been asked so forthrightly for something so awful. A death draught is an abomination.
“Sir, I cater for all sorts. But one of those, that draught, is not something I have here. It’s not something I could keep here. If it were to get in to the wrong hands...”
“Madam. Can you get me a death draught? For a reward?”
I try to think clearly, although the fear this cloaked man makes me feel, is clouding my thoughts. If a man will ask so boldly for a death draught, will he hurt me if I do not do his bidding? It’s possible, and I cannot risk an attack from this man or his cloaked friend.
I hate what I am saying but I nod. “Absolutely. I can make anything, draughts, tonics, medicines...” My voice trails off; what am I promising here and why?
“I will visit you again in four days. I need it and I will pay well. I am hoping for your silence. I leave this as a sweetener.”
The cloaked man hands me a small bag of coins and leaves. He closes the door behind him and I dart to the window to watch him leave. I keep my head low and watch him stalk past the guard, who follows him away, until I can’t see either of them anymore.
For all my confidence, I am no death draught maker. I don’t know what to do. I lock the front door and draw the drapes. I throw some more wood on to the fire and sit in front of it in my chair.
I need to think.
With my bag of coin in my hand I stare at the flames hoping an answer will come to me.
It does, Halfreda.
3
EVERLEIGH WAITS A WHILE after Will leaves and then pulls on her fleece lined boots. She puts two cloaks on over her nightclothes, both black, and goes to the door. She opens it a tiny bit and peeks out, keeping her body out of sight. If she sees one of the little maids she will ask them for some ale and they won’t see that she is dressed.
She is happy to be cautious and patient; after all she does this every night and hasn’t been caught yet, an
d with the end of her life firmly in her sights, she doesn’t have many nights left to do it.
There is no one there. She pulls her cloaks tight around her body and tucks her hair inside the hood. She pulls the hood low down over her eyes and keeps her head down, too. She hurries through the corridors to the closest door. She doesn’t meet anyone – they are all still enjoying the feast – her feast.
She takes the path leading away from the castle, away from the river and down to a large copse of trees. The earlier rain has left the air damp. She winds her way through tall, strong, old trees she doesn’t know the names of, until she finds her clearing.
Her mother’s clearing.
They buried her mother here, under the tallest, strongest, oldest oak in the forest and she knows that her brothers and her father all spend time here. She should have been sent into the river, pushed off the island, but the King couldn’t bear the thought of her being cold and alone.
Everleigh has seen her father here, as well as her brothers, and knows they are glad to have somewhere restful they can sit and grieve for their mother.
She realised several years after her mother died, probably around the age Addyson is now, that the best time to come here is at night. No one has ever interrupted her. She doesn’t know if anyone ever comes to visit at the same time but sees her and leaves her to grieve in peace. It’s what she would do.
She would sit for a time – she doesn’t know how long. Sometimes she would talk to her mother, out loud, and once she’d unburdened herself she would head back to bed. Other times she would sit crying until the rain came or the morning sun. Sometimes she just enjoyed remembering her mother and reliving her memories of her.
Tonight, she speaks to her mother about the feast. She knows her mother will never answer and some days she doesn’t even believe that she can hear her. Other days she believes her mother’s spirit watches over her.
Now with less than a week to go until she dies, she can feel her mother in the wind, in the air, in the light from the moon. She closes her eyes and thinks about her mother’s hugs, her mother’s face, her laugh, her smell.
She rests her head against the tree. Even though it has been raining through the day, where she is sitting is dry. Six days. Hardly any time, not enough time, to live, love, laugh, eat, drink, talk.
She will be dead soon.
She understands now that the knowledge of her role as Kingmaker drove her mother mad. She isn’t sure how she is still sane, when she knows what’s coming. Blind acceptance of her life and her role; what else could she do? Rally against her fate? Refuse to let Halfreda hurt her, turn the dagger back and kill everyone who tried to stop her? Run away?
She can hear the feast from where she is sitting, the music is loud and carries far beyond what it normally does. People from all over the Realm have come to see her die and are currently dancing up a storm in her name. It’s creepy, really. She isn’t even allowed to stay at her own party. It’s as though, without her there, they can all relax and enjoy themselves without the guilt of looking upon her face and knowing that they would cheer at her death. She closes her eyes and lets the music wash over her, taking away her maudlin thoughts.
Everleigh shakes herself awake. She’d drifted off to sleep and it’s much colder than before.
She stands up, stretching out her arms and legs. She is aching and stiff. She wraps her cloaks tighter around herself and starts towards the castle. Could she do what Will suggested and run away? Even as she lets her mind mull it over, she knows it is impossible. She must face her future. And her future is death.
She’s ready to sleep.
She heads out of the shelter of the trees, in to the heavy rain. She pulls her hood down and scurries forward. She will be warm and dry soon. Her fire might still be burning, if not she’ll call one of the little maids to relight it.
Ahead, close to the castle she can see a figure, a man from the size and shape. She has no choice but to pass him. She hopes it isn’t one of her brothers; she doesn’t want to see anyone now. She doesn’t want to answer questions or let anyone know about her secret visits. She doesn’t want to risk sharing this time with anyone else.
As she gets closer she raises her head and looks up. It is a young man, but she doesn’t recognise him.
She keeps her gaze high as she walks towards him. She doesn’t want to look as though she’s doing anything she shouldn’t be. She walks tall and keeps a smile on her face.
As she gets closer, he turns to watch her. She doesn’t know him, so she guesses he doesn’t know her, unless he’d been at her feast.
As she passes him, their eyes meet, she smiles and so does he. She keeps walking but can feel him watching her.
And as she turns the corner to go through the door, he is watching her still.
THE CLOAKED FIGURE paces the room. There is a fire burning and his guard, Wolf, is sitting, spit-polishing his boots.
“She will do it. She has to. She will.”
“If she does not we will make her.” The guard shrugs. There are ways of making people do what you want. Especially pretty, young girls. It was easy enough.
The cloaked figure nods. He is upset, which isn’t like him. He has less than a week; he should have organised himself sooner, but he’d been wary: the fates are not to be meddled with, it was an adage that everyone knew. And yet, maybe his fate was to question his fate and ensure the outcome that he so desperately wanted. He has great plans and a bold vision. He just needs to ensure that he is crowned.
Lanorie
OH, SHE’S UP EARLY this morning. I think the feast rattled her cage more than she likes to let on. I can’t say that I blame her. In all the years I’ve been looking after her she’s probably talked about it less than five times.
The call came down from one of the little maids that she was awake. Everleigh likes to sleep on her own, which is unusual. The King, the would-be Kings and little Addyson all have bed mates – though the King’s and the would-be Kings mates sleep on pallets on the floor. They are there in case they need anything in the night. Addyson’s sleeps in with her to keep her warm and to stop her feeling scared of the dark.
Everleigh likes her privacy, so I go down to the kitchen every night, there’s a room off it that Cook let me make my own. It suits me. We do have some fun in there, let me tell you, especially last night. I had a cheeky little visitor, but that’s another story.
Anyway, one of the little maids sleeps on a pallet just outside Everleigh’s room, in case she wants anything in the night. Or early in the morning – I think this is the earliest she’s ever woken. That I can remember anyway.
Course, last night was the feast and the party lasted well in to the early hours. I’ve probably only had three hours of sleep. If that.
What happens is the Cook and all the kitchen maids prepare food – it took them a week to get ready for this feast. As each plate comes back from the great hall, Cook sees what’s edible and puts it to one side.
The plates are passed around all the guests, though the royal table is always served first. If they like someone or a guest is proper important they will send a dish their way. But really there’s plates and plates and plates of stuff and it all gets passed around.
When it comes back some of it’s all mangled and Cook will give it to the dogs. Anything decent she sets aside for us. She does it every day but with this feast, there was a banquet left over.
So, by the time I’d got Everleigh off to bed, the feast was still going strong and I was happy to be a part of it. The singers sang again, the dancers danced again. The cheeky fool – the King thought he would upset Everleigh – came on and had us in fits of giggles larking about.
I kept serving the royal table for a while until Cook called me back to the kitchen to help her.
He’s a right card Millard. At one point, he pulled me on to his lap and sang to me. The King just rolled his eyes, but Millard did give me a little squeeze before he put me down. And oh, if I was a bit older and
not a maid I could fall in love with those eyes.
But then I was called in to the kitchen to help, which wasn’t so much fun. Cook told me which dishes to keep and which to pass to the dogs. It was a feast for them too.
So once the dishes were all back and the little maids had cleared the hall, we were ready to keep going. Cook even sang last night. She’s got a lovely voice – though you wouldn’t think it to look at her – she looks awful harsh, but she’s soft as butter inside.
So, we ate too much, and we drank too much and we all danced, and some of us sang – not me – and a few of the older boys and girls were kissing and larking about.
I’m not as close with the maids as they are to each other, I spend a lot of time with Everleigh and I don’t have much time to myself. I am lucky that I get nights in the kitchen. I am very well fed for a handmaiden and I find company when I need it. Often, that company is Cook. She never married, see, and works, lives and sleeps in her kitchen. Technically she sleeps just off it, in a little box room, next to mine, but often she cooks through the night, if the King is peckish or one of the princes is hungry after a hunt, so she often sleeps in her chair by the fire. Most nights I curl up at her feet and we talk about all things under the Realm. She knows everything, does Cook, though she gets fed up of me asking questions. I can’t help it, it’s in my nature.
Everleigh is well educated for a girl. Seeing as she was dying they never worried about filling her head with nonsense or teaching her more than her husband might know and showing him up. But Everleigh knows learned things, like the Great War, or how to play a lute, or blah, blah, blah. Cook knows the good stuff. The interesting stuff. It’s Cook that reckons Macsen is soft in the head. It’s Cook that knows that the King can’t bear to look at little Addyson. It’s Cook who knows that the youngest of the King’s men, Brett, has an eye for Everleigh. Brett is handsome and fit but mean. I saw him kick one of the dogs once when he thought no one was looking and though he makes puppy eyes at Everleigh, it’s never gonna happen, so I haven’t even bothered to warn her off him. He’s a funny one. He wins all the tourneys and all the girls are wild for him. But he doesn’t even look happy. He doesn’t look twice at me, so I get to watch him, and his eyes are just flat. All the King’s men gather round him and he’s always in the thick of it but there’s something off about him.
The Kingmaker Series, #1 Page 3