The Kingmaker Series, #1

by Gemma Perfect

  Halfreda coughs. “I will be gone for a few hours.”

  “Halfreda, we’ll be fine. I’ll keep her safe.”

  “How can you pledge your life to a Queen?” Everleigh asks Archer, as Halfreda shuffles off to make history changing decisions with her teacher.

  Archer drops down on to the bench. Everleigh sits next to him, an appropriate distance apart. “I don’t know. I knew I could be a knight. And because of Halfreda’s connections I got taken on by a rich family. But I was only a squire. I wasn’t meant to be fighting in real jousts.” Archer shrugs. “I was a good fighter. I started training constantly, in private, in the woods, like I was when I saw you.”

  Everleigh blushes thinking about the way he makes her feel.

  “I trained and I got better. I fought and I won. I was always in disguise though.” Archer tousles his hair. “I’m pretty recognisable.”

  Everleigh laughs. It’s true. Having seen him only a handful of times she would recognise him anywhere. And not just because of his hair. She would know him anywhere now.

  “As time went on and I got better and better, I got to thinking about my future, I suppose and what I would do.” He looks down at his feet, seeming embarrassed. “I studied the great knights and I thought maybe I would be one too. Maybe I would be written about and sung about.” He looks up, meeting her eyes. “I’m good.”

  She has seen him practise. She knows he’s good.

  “I met Halfreda when she was with our kin on one of her trips away from here. I spoke to her about my plans and my hopes. I also told her about a dream I had.” He peers up at Everleigh again. She wants to touch him, to reassure him, to encourage him to carry on but she doesn’t. It wouldn’t be proper. “Do you think I’m stupid? Talking about dreams?” he asks her.

  Everleigh shakes her head quickly. “No Halfreda always told me and my brothers that dreams were important. They could be a warning or a glimpse in to our future. They could help us to understand things.”

  “That’s what my dream was. I dreamt that I would be a knight, a great knight.” He grins. “And that I would protect a beautiful and great Queen.”

  Everleigh looks down at her lap at the word beautiful. She doesn’t know what to say to him.

  “I came as soon as Halfreda called me and the journey here was my friend. It made me feel like I was on the right track.”

  Everleigh frowns; she’s not sure what he means. “Your friend?”

  “When I travel a long way for jousts, or whatever, I always get caught up in something. It might be the weather, or outlaws. It could be a battle or a flooded village. But my journey is never easy. That’s just the nature of long journeys, I guess. But this time I mounted my horse and I flew along. Everything went my way. I feel like it was because I was doing the right thing. I was meant to come to you.” He looks serious now. “Queen, I have so many friends, good young men, who would find it an honour to protect you once you are Queen. I will rally an army for you and they will keep you safe for the whole of your long and happy reign.”

  “Thank you,” she whispers, her voice catching slightly. “Thank you for believing that I can rule.”

  “Queen, I know it.”

  Their eyes lock, both smiling. She feels like she knows him already and wonders if he feels the same way.

  “Everleigh.” Everleigh and Archer both jump as a harsh voice interrupts them. Archer stands up and dips in to a bow. It’s Everleigh’s brother, Millard.

  “Millard.” Everleigh smiles. She really shouldn’t be alone with Archer; luckily, they are outside. “Let me introduce Halfreda’s nephew, Archer, visiting his kin.”

  Millard nods at Archer but frowns. “Where is Halfreda then? She knows better than to leave you alone.”

  “She had to rush off on some business. We’re only talking about the rose gardens. You can entertain him now; I’m behind with my sewing.”

  Millard smiles and takes his sister’s hand. “Sorry.” He kisses her hand gently and smiles at Archer. He guides him away from Everleigh, slapping his back and suggesting a horse ride before the evening’s entertainment.

  Archer lets himself be led away but turns once to look at Everleigh. He smiles, and she nods at him.

  She feels safe now. Halfreda is right. This man will protect her until they decide what to do next.

  SHE SITS IN THE MIDDLE of the forest, not far from her mother’s grave. The sun is streaming through the branches, dappling patterns across the moss on the forest floor and across her lap.

  She had sat with her father and her brothers eating their midday meal and now she needs some privacy. She has been doing exactly what Halfreda told her – acting like everything is the same as it has always been. In less than a week she will die and one of her brothers will become King.

  The whole castle is in a frenzy of preparation for the day itself and she keeps an innocent smile on her face. As far as anyone knows, she accepts her role in life and therefore she accepts the end of her life in the same way.

  Only Halfreda, Lanorie and Archer know the truth. She likes Archer a lot and truly trusts him, immediately she had felt an affinity with him. He’s off practising his sword fighting with some of the other men in readiness for the joust tomorrow. They all know that he is Halfreda’s kin and that he is in the middle of a visit with her which coincidentally coincides with the feast and Everleigh’s death day. No one questions him, especially now with strangers milling everywhere.

  She wants to try something. After making the river rise again she wants to see what else she’s capable of. She sits quietly and still. Then she whispers, “Come to me, creatures come to me.”

  She doesn’t move but she can see and hear the floor around her come to life. The floor becomes a wriggling mass as ants, spiders and bugs all move towards her. They stop in a ring around her, as though they have come to worship her.

  Everleigh smiles at the sight of them. She will live. She will rule. She has powers untold and a future before her waiting to be mapped out by herself and not anyone else. She doesn’t think that she’ll ever get bored of this feeling.

  “Rabbits, come to me,” she whispers and then watches the bushes twitch as the rabbits make their way to her. One jumps right on to her lap, but the others stay outside the ring of creatures.

  “Hedgehogs, grass snakes, squirrels come to me. Birds come to me. Deer come to me.”

  The forest comes alive. The floor writhing with life; the deer watching through the branches, coming closer than their instinct should ever allow them to. The rabbit is still on her lap, enjoying its ears being smoothed. The birds are perched all around her, some on the floor, some on branches, one tiny bird, she doesn’t know what breed it is, sits on the back of one of the deer.

  She touches them, and they don’t flinch. She is Queen.

  And if she rules the people and her brothers as easily as she rules these creatures, all will be well.

  She stands up, and the bunny rabbit hops away. Tiny, fizzy bubbles of excitement fill her up. They have taken the place of the butterflies of death, these bubbles of life.

  Ginata

  THE TREK TO THE CASTLE takes an age as always. I make certain to leave at roughly the same time, early in the morning, as I always do. I wear my travelling cloak, as I always do. I wear my hair loose, as I always do. I take my basket to bring back supplies, as I always do.

  As I walk along I feign nonchalance. I hum and sing, as I always do.

  If this cloaked stranger, who will kill so cowardly, can see me, if he is watching me since his visit, he will see nothing to arouse his suspicions. I value my life and take care of it.

  The route to the castle meanders through the houses, past the river, along the fields and through the castle square.

  The guards at the castle recognise me and lower their spears. I smile and saunter past.

  I am never sure where to find Halfreda when I visit. She can be anywhere. She has chambers, rooms, a herb room. She might be in the great hall, or with t
he King. She might be in the gardens or the forest.

  Usually I ask around and try to focus my thoughts on her and before long I come across her. This time though, my thoughts are all jumbled up with worry because of this cloaked man.

  I cannot think where she is.

  I see two little maids and beckon them to me. They lay down their jugs and scurry over.

  I ask them about Halfreda and they point me towards the rose garden and tell me that Halfreda is with the Kingmaker.

  As I wander through looking for her, my basket still tucked in the crook of my elbow, I see her coming towards me.

  “Halfreda,” I call out to her.

  She smiles as she spots me. “Ginny.” She comes over and places her hand on my head, her familiar greeting. I feel her power rush through me; I know this is one of the ways she transfers her wisdom to me.

  She has spoken to me in the past about taking over her role here, once she’s gone. I know she has spoken to the King about me. I don’t like to think of her dying, she is as old as the world itself.

  She turns her head to the side. “Oh. Come with me quickly.” She seems alarmed and I follow her. We go to her herb room.

  This room fascinates me.

  It is a big old square room, with rushes on the floor and hangings on one of the walls. There are no windows. The other two walls are shelved from floor to ceiling. A table sits flush against one wall. There is a big book on there today, open, and a few jars of herbs.

  The shelves are jam packed with jars and bottles of herbs, dried and powdered. The smell is thick and usually gives me a headache. There are too many fragrances all jostling for my attention. Too many to be pleasant.

  “Ginny.” Halfreda gestures to the bench that runs alongside the table.

  I sit.

  “I know why you’re here.” I nod. I thought she might. Her visions don’t just come from fires, spirits or stars. She knows things.

  She looks grey. She sits next to me, heavily with a thud.

  “Halfreda, are you ill?” I have never seen her look so frightened.

  “I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m just worried. I know what’s been asked of you. And for now, I need to give you the draught.”

  I interrupted with a gasp.

  “Shh.” Halfreda puts her hand on my head again. “This cloaked man, he is not to be played with. We will make the draught and when he calls, you will give it to him and accept his payment.”

  I nod nervously, thinking that maybe I will swap the draught for something more innocent.

  “No, Ginny, you must give him the death draught. He will probably try it on an animal or something to test you.”

  I should have known that she would know.

  “Ginny, the cloaked man is bad news. I have never seen it before. It has been closed off to me. The cloak he wore when he visited you is a cloak he wears in public too.”

  I nod. I will do as she says. She is wise and I am only learning. I must ask, though I’m not expecting her to tell me.

  “Who is he?”

  Halfreda shakes her head. “I will tell you but not yet. There is a lot going on here this week. Things are changing. I only need you to trust me.”

  I nod. I do and she knows it.

  “Follow me.”

  I follow her from the herb room still carrying my basket, she turns around abruptly, goes back into the room and comes out with two jars and three bundles of different herbs tied up with string. She drops them in my basket.

  We walk out to the castle grounds again and then around to her chamber. I have been here once or twice.

  She gets down on to her hands and knees and roots around under her bed. She comes out with a blue book, dusty and too big to hold with one hand.

  She passes it to me. I feel the anger and hate coming from it. It feels hot and spiteful in my hand.

  I shake my head. “I don’t like it.”

  Halfreda nods. “I know. It’s not a nice book. It’s full of dark magic.” She makes room on her table, and I put the book down. She blows the cover, and dust and cobwebs fly into the air, before settling.

  “It’s not a book I use often,” she says and I nod. Only a truly terrible witch would revere a book such as this. As she opens the pages and starts flicking through the different spells, I can feel it. “You really think he will test it?”

  She nods without hesitation. My face falls.

  “Don’t,” Halfreda says. “If he kills a cat or a bird or a horse or a human to test this draught we cannot help it.”

  “But it’s an abomination. It will be my fault. I am not innocent in giving it to him. I cannot say that it’s for anything else.”

  Halfreda puts her hand on my head again and I feel calmer. “You are not at fault. You are doing my bidding.”

  I nod. I don’t feel happy, but I do feel better.

  She taps the page. “Here.”

  I peer over her shoulder. The writing is stark, written in a rusty red hue, which I have a nasty suspicion is blood.

  DEATH DRAUGHT

  Underneath in normal ink are a series of complicated instructions, more ingredients than for any spell I have ever seen, and several illustrations of the steps involved. “It looks tricky,” I say, watching Halfreda’s eyes travel over the steps.

  “It is. I have only ever made it once before.” She takes a deep breath, refuses to look at me. “The King needed it and I had to do it. I felt unclean for an age afterwards.”

  “You made one? But-”

  “It’s an abomination. I know. But during my time with the King I have had only one job. To keep him safe. I haven’t always been able to do what I wanted or what I would choose.”

  “It sounds awful.”

  “There have been more good times than bad. But serving a King is serving a higher calling than your own.”

  I say nothing. I don’t know if I want to take over from Halfreda if this is what it means. My heart hurts knowing that I will hand over one death draught. I do not want to make decisions about whether enemies of the King should live or die. It’s too much responsibility.

  “We will make it together. It will be quicker.”

  It seems like something so evil and dangerous should take weeks or months to brew. “How long will it take?”

  She shrugs. “Not long. I know what you mean, though. It should take long enough that maybe whoever is making it has the time to change their mind.”

  I laugh. I forget that she can read my thoughts. Not always, but often.

  “Most of the stuff we need is pretty common. It’s the precise mix of ingredients which make the reaction. More or less of one thing can change the outcome completely. You could never make it by accident, however.”

  I read through the spell, deadly nightshade, a given, a spider’s web, predictable, the heart of a dead animal, disgusting. I knew there was a reason I was a good witch.

  “Do we have to kill the animal?”

  “The heart of a freshly killed animal is required.”

  “I don’t like it.”

  “Me neither, but we have to do it. We choose an animal that kills, like a fox, then it doesn’t feel so bad.”

  “Not like an innocent puppy or kitten?”

  “Exactly. Bad witches would kill the puppy.”

  A kill is a kill. Are we any better because we kill a hunter? Not really. I am feeling more and more unhappy about this. “How do we catch a fox?”

  “If we go in to the woods there are many. We’ll use a chicken as bait. A dead one from the kitchen.”

  I hate this day, this week.

  We stroll through the grounds and into the woods. We each have our baskets, and people are used to seeing us forage for potion ingredients. Halfreda’s basket is filled with cloth to soak up the blood. Mine contains a dead, plucked chicken.

  She took a dagger from a drawer in her potion room and the unspoken decision is that she will do the dirty deed. I am trying not to think that we are adding another innocent soul to my list of ca
sualties. The fox, whoever my cloaked man tests the draught on and whoever the original intended victim is. Three deaths, all on my conscience. It gets worse and worse.

  We walk deep into the woods; we don’t want witnesses to our sacrifice. Though no one would question Halfreda. I am guessing that many imagine she puts worse things than the heart of a dead animal in her potions and spells.

  Hunkering down at the edge of a copse of trees, Halfreda groans. “I am too old for this,” she mutters, but I don’t offer to take her place. I pass her my dead chicken, and slip behind a tree to watch, or not. I may close my eyes and wish myself someplace else.

  We are dead silent and dead still, waiting.

  It takes a while, but we are both patient. A fox slinks over, Halfreda is hidden by foliage, but the chicken is on display. The fox sneaks closer again, sniffing, and licking his lips, rotten teeth dripping with saliva.

  The fox catches hold of the chicken, and Halfreda catches hold of the fox. The circle of life? She snaps the neck with a scarily practised move and sets about cutting out the heart.

  I cannot watch. I am not a weak woman and I know the potency of some ingredients in the work I do. I cannot afford to be squeamish and truly, with my life on the line if I do not fill this order, I certainly cannot afford to be judgemental. But I cannot look. I hear the squelch and slosh of blood and guts and that is enough.

  Halfreda moans as she stands up, the heart wrapped in cloth, fingers bloody, gore dripping on to the floor. She wipes her hands on another cloth and I look away.

  Love potions are so much sweeter than this nonsense.

  We go back to the castle in silence. “You are unhappy,” Halfreda says. I nod, it’s almost like I’m blaming her and of course it’s not her fault.

  “Sorry Halfreda, but until this man came to my door, I was just minding my own business.”

  “Such is life, Ginny. Sadly, very few of us have the freedom to only do as we please.” It’s an admonishment and I am silent.

  “Ginata. This is how a death draught makes you feel. From the moment you first think on it, from the second you open the spell book and put your finger on the filthy stinking words, to where we are now. It makes you feel like your soul is slowly dying, being poisoned or strangled. Forgive me though, we have to make it.”