The Sevenfold Spell

by Tia Nevitt

I watched him for a moment. I suspected he was very young. Only the young seem to feel anguish with such acuteness. I crept up the aisle and sat in a pew several rows behind him. He wept on, unaware.

  After a few moments, I ventured to speak. “I think I know your pain,” I said. He stilled. “I loved a man, and he was sent away to become a monk.”

  He lifted his head. After a moment, he turned around to look at me. Until that moment, I had not seen his face. When I did, my breath hissed in.

  I caught a glimpse of pure wonderful. I had to avert my eyes. I could not have even said, in that moment, what he looked like, only that he was too beautiful to have rested his eyes upon the likes of me. Had I known he was so handsome, I never would have spoken to him.

  However, he didn’t flinch from my face, and I became brave enough look again. His hair was dark. That much registered. He regarded me in all seriousness.

  “How long have you lived with this heartbreak?” he asked.

  “Almost fourteen years, now.” His eyes were light, but whether they were blue or hazel, I couldn’t say in the low light.

  “And how do you bear it?”

  I was silent for a moment. Then, I said. “In the arms of other men. But that is not an approach I would recommend.”

  Unexpectedly, a twinkle appeared in his eyes. Green, they were—or perhaps gray. “I’m not likely to find comfort in a man’s arms, anyway.”

  I giggled.

  He stood, and swept his cape back once again. “Walk with me,” he said.

  I did. His tone told me that he was used to obedience.

  We walked through the dark streets. He asked me of my love, and I told him of Willard. I spoke of him long into the night. I told him of our three weeks together and, like Harla, he didn’t judge me.

  At one point, I asked him of his own love.

  “I will not speak of her,” he said. “The wound is too fresh. For you, the passage of time has been a balm, and it brings you comfort to speak of him, I think. Does it not?”

  “Yes, it does, I confess.”

  “Then, pray, speak. It brings me comfort to bring you comfort.”

  I wondered why, but I didn’t question him. Instead, I spoke of my longing for Willard’s child, of the blood that denied it and of my heartbreak afterward.

  By then, it was close to midnight. “I have enjoyed your company,” he said. We were standing on the top of one of the bridges that spanned a river cutting through town. “I have not asked your name.”

  “Talia,” I replied.

  “A lovely name. I am…Andrew.” I did not miss the slight pause, and I wondered what his name really was. He was obviously a noble, and a powerful one at that.

  “May I meet you again?” he asked.

  “If you wish,” I said.

  “I will come by here again tomorrow night, by nine bells.”

  “Nine o’clock,” I said. “Until tomorrow, then.”

  ***

  He was exceedingly punctual. Again, we wandered the streets at random. On this night, without telling him of the spinning wheel, I told him of my seduction of Master Caleb the wainwright, and of some of the men who followed.

  “It’s strange,” he said, when I reached the end of that tale. “I would not have expected you to be a loose woman when I saw you in the church.”

  I didn’t know how to respond.

  “I suspect it isn’t in your nature,” he concluded. “I suspect, had you been able to marry your Willard, you would have been faithful to him.”

  “I would have.”

  “And you seek these men to replace Willard.”

  “Yes.”

  “Did something else add to your sadness?”

  “Yes. There was a small child. A little girl. I was something of a nanny to her. I don’t think I could have loved her any more if she had been my own. But she was taken away from me.”

  “You ought to have been a mother. You ought to have taken in some child.”

  “Perhaps I should have.”

  We walked on in silence for a space, until we reached the top of the bridge again. He took my hand and pressed his lips to it. “May I meet you again tomorrow?”

  “Yes.”

  Although I agreed, I didn’t know what to think. What could he want of me? I judged him to be in his early twenties—what did such a young and handsome man want with me?

  The next evening, his demeanor was strangely awkward. We walked the streets in silence. I sensed he had something to say, that his purpose in getting to know me would finally be revealed. However, we walked six straight blocks before he even began to broach the subject.

  “You have probably guessed that I am nobly born,” he began.

  “It’s evident.”

  “It is traditional among my class for a young man to find an older woman to—Not that you seem that much older than I…” he amended in a rush of words.

  “How old are you?” I asked.

  “I am two and twenty.”

  “I am ten years older than you.”

  “Yes, well…it’s difficult to know whom you can trust, you see. I believe you have spoken to me from the heart. I believe I can trust you.”

  “Trust me with what?”

  “My…education.”

  “I have no education. You seem much better educated than—”

  “Not that kind of education.” He turned to face me and looked me square in the eye. He took my hands in his. He looked like he was facing down a mortal enemy as he opened his mouth and spoke again.

  “I want you to make a man of me.”

  My mouth dropped in the most profound shock I ever felt. I was unable to speak.

  I could see his face turn dark as a flush overtook it. “You see, a man in my position cannot command the respect of his men unless he has been…touched by a woman. What’s more, a woman of my class expects the man who brings her to his marriage bed to have skill enough to…to perform without awkwardness, and to be able to relieve her of her…of her maidenhood without undue pain.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “Do you find me undesirable?”

  “What? Of course not! But…but you cannot find me desirable!”

  “Of course I do.”

  I didn’t know how to respond. He took away the need.

  “I know you think yourself ugly, Talia. But you are a very desirable woman. Not beautiful, certainly, but desirable just the same. I’m sure many men think so.”

  “No, you must be wrong.”

  “I know I am right. I would not be asking you this, otherwise. Will you do this for me?”

  I looked away. “It would be wrong of me to take away your purity.”

  “I assure you, if it’s not you, I will find someone else.”

  “No, you must not. Save yourself for your future wife.”

  “Why? So she will laugh at me in the marriage bed? So she will ridicule my ineptness with her friends the next day? No, I will not be mocked in such a manner.” I stared at him. “You don’t understand such marriages,” he said. “My future wife—whoever she is—will be a political partner, nothing more. Love is unlikely. But I must have her respect.”

  “No, I meant for your original betrothed.”

  “I told you that is impossible.”

  “Perhaps a way could be found.”

  “No!”

  I silenced. He held up a key.

  “This is the key to a small house by the river.” He placed it on the wall of the bridge and told me how to get there. “If you agree, take the key and be there at nine tomorrow night. If you cannot do it, then leave the key. Good night.”

  With that, he walked off.

  I touched the key. The river flowed by under the bridge as I pondered. A cloud swallowed the wavy reflection of the moon.

  Finally, I picked up the key and put it in my pocket.

  ***

  I arrived before he did. I found a house that had been prepared by now-absent servants. A banked fire burned in the kitc
hen. Covered plates of wine and cheese were in a sitting room. Another chamber had a bed with the quilt turned down and a fire burning low.

  He arrived.

  “Thank you for coming,” he said as he doffed his cape.

  “I’m not here for the reason you think,” I said. I had thought about his proposal all day, and had come to a decision.

  He paused and looked at me.

  “I wanted to tell you something else about Willard and me.”

  “Very well,” he said. His voice was somewhat frosty, so different from the warmth he had shown on the previous two nights. He poured me a glass of wine and handed it to me. I took it. He gestured for me to be seated, and so I did.

  “I know you are suffering from a heartbreak,” I said. “But—”

  “You wanted to speak of Willard,” he said.

  “Yes, of course.” I let out a sigh. He was not going to make this easy. “You must know that Willard and I were both untouched when we came together.”

  “Yes, you’ve said as much.”

  “What you cannot know is how much it means to young people when they are each other’s first lover.”

  He frowned. “I’ve already spoken of this. I would never have the respect of my wife if I did not command the marriage bed.”

  It seemed so strange to me. When I thought of my time with Willard, I had never thought him in command of me, nor I in command of him. “I’m talking about your betrothed. The one you love.”

  He stood. “That is impossible, as I have stated.”

  “I know you think so now, but perhaps she will come to love you.”

  “You don’t understand. She loves me already.”

  I was thoroughly confused. “Then, why—”

  “Because she does not know love, in such a way. She only knows love as a child.”

  “Then she is still young, yet?”

  “She is barely fourteen.”

  “If you give her some time—”

  “No! It’s impossible! How can I make you understand?” He paused, attempted to speak, twice, and then finally sighed. “She is a child! Loving, beautiful and pure, but a child. She will always be a child, even when she grows into a woman.”

  I blinked at him. “A child?”

  “Yes. When she speaks, it’s with the singsong voice of a young child. She understands nothing. I am her playmate, a beloved playmate, but nothing more. How can I bring such a woman-child to a marriage bed?”

  I stood, but too suddenly. I felt a rush in my ears, and I swayed.

  He jumped up and caught me. “Talia! Are you well?”

  “Rose!” I said. “Your betrothed is named Rose!”

  The color in his face leached away. His arms could no longer hold me up, and I collapsed on the couch.

  “I see that I’m right,” I said. “She is exactly the right age, and her mind—it’s just as you describe! There cannot be two such girls.”

  “That’s her middle name, and her childhood nickname. But how do you know of Rose?”

  “She’s the child I spoke of—the one who was taken away from me.”

  He sat across from me. I regarded him, as more and more things became clear. How she was so beautiful, so loving and yet so flawed. How her godmothers had taken her away the moment they had learned of our spinning wheel.

  “You are a prince,” I said. “And Rose is Princess Aurora.”

  He looked at me, his face reflecting bleak pain. And I knew I was right. He picked up his wineglass and took a deep drink. He sat there a moment, lost in thought, swirling the dregs of wine in his glass.

  “It’s all true, all of it. Her name is Aurora Rose. And I’ve been betrothed to her since her birth.”

  He sat in silence for a moment, while I could do nothing but stare. “I’ll never forget it,” he said, “standing there beside her cradle, holding her tiny hand while I spoke the words of the promise. Her father stood as her proxy, and his eyes never left mine. When I was done, I wiped my hand on my trousers and went to stand next to my father. I only had a dim idea of what I had promised, but for the most part, I was just glad it was done.”

  He looked up at me. “It was all part of a grand week of festivities. Perhaps you remember it.”

  “There was dancing in the streets.” I said. It was the only time I had ever danced with Willard.

  “The next day, on Sunday, Aurora was christened, and all seven of her fairy godmothers were invited. After the christening, they gave her their gifts. Or, I suppose I should say their gift, because their gift was the Sevenfold Spell, of course. However, the evil fairy…strange that no one thought of her as evil before that day…interrupted the spell. She put a death spell upon the princess.

  “They had left her out, you see. Omitted her. The seven fairies had all some sort of connection to the throne and there is a strong tradition of fairy godmothers among royal families going back generations. The fairy that we all call evil was of a fairy family that was trying to gain entry in that tradition. They certainly will never succeed now.”

  “She cast the spell out of spite?”

  “It’s said that fairies can nurture spite until it becomes a living thing. They say that’s where fairy changelings come from.

  “So she cast the spell and vanished. Everyone was horrified. The godmothers came up with a plan to weaken the curse with the spell that the one fairy godmother had not yet cast. The best she could do was to modify the curse so it would send her into a sleep that seemed like death. And for it to seem like death, the duration had to be so long that it would outlast her loved ones. And so, she will sleep for a hundred years, until her true love awakens her with a kiss.”

  It seemed to me that the spell to cure her was almost as bad as the death spell itself.

  He finally looked at me. “So what you are urging me to do is wait for her for a hundred years. Even if I were to live such a preposterous length of time, I’d be old beyond decrepitude. And I would, with a kiss from my withering lips, awaken a maiden who would still, at the end of the hundred years, have the mind of a child.”

  We were silent for long moments. He drank a deep draught of wine, and went to pour himself another glass. He topped off my glass, as well. I took a sip with shaking hand.

  “It was a spell that made her so,” I said at last. “Not nature. Spells can be undone.”

  “Whole spells can, but broken, incomplete spells? No one knows how! Her father has summoned fairies for hundreds of miles around and darker creatures as well, but none of them have been able to fix the spell, or even weaken it.”

  I sat for a moment, thinking about what he said. “I’m very sorry for you,” I said. “I don’t know what you should do, but I counsel you not to lose hope.”

  “Hope is a futile thing.”

  “No, hope is life. Hope gets us through. Otherwise, why would we bother to do anything but die?”

  I stood, and took up my cloak.

  “What—” He stood. “You’re leaving?”

  “I think it’s best,” I said.

  “But what of…of the favor I asked of you?”

  I looked at him. He was still so handsome that I almost wept to behold him. But he also looked so very young, too young to interest me. Even if he had not belonged to Rose. “How could I lay with Rose’s intended?” I asked him.

  He stood for a moment. Then, he nodded. “I understand,” he said. He took my hand and kissed it. “I wish you well.”

  “Thank you, Prince Andrew. I know you are thinking now of finding some other woman, someone with no connection to Rose. But please, consider what I said about my time with Willard. You can find some other way to command the respect of your men. Don’t do anything you might later regret.”

  And I pulled my fingers from his, and walked out the door.

  I wandered the dark town for hours before I went home, thinking about the past, about how the spell had changed my fate, as well as the fates of the prince and princess. And I realized that I had blamed too many things o
n my altered circumstances following the spinning wheel confiscation.

  The next morning when I went into the kitchen, my mother was at the table with the tea ready, as was her habit.

  “Mama,” I said, the word thick in my throat.

  She looked up. I had not called her Mama since the affair with Willard.

  “I just—” My voice failed me for a moment, but I forced myself to go on. “I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry that I haven’t been a very good daughter. But I’m going to do better from now on.”

  She blinked at me for a few moments before she spoke. “Well,” she said, her voice gruff, but not in the usual way, “I don’t suppose I’ve been a very good mother, either.”

  And that was all we said about that. But from then on, even though I still called her Mother from the force of habit, we no longer squabbled as much as we once did.

  I remained celibate after that. For a year or so, it was difficult. However, the next year, I developed consumption and lost all interest in men.

  Chapter Seven

  Year of the Curse

  By the time the last year of the curse arrived, I was a sickly thirty-four years old. Princess Aurora was fated to touch a spinning wheel before the end of the year. And as far as we knew, we had the only spinning wheel in the kingdom. Mother spoke of it, sometimes.

  “And the prince will awaken her with love’s first kiss,” she said. I had never told her that I now knew who the princess was. “But not before the evil fairy’s curse comes upon her in our own cellar.”

  “Do you really think she’ll come here?” I asked. I now spoke in a wheeze. I knew better than to inhale deeply enough to talk normally.

  “Of course she will,” Mother said. “Where else would she go?”

  “Maybe the evil fairy has a spinning wheel hidden somewhere.” It seemed more likely to me. Surely, the fairy godmothers would keep her well away from our shop, as they had for the past ten years.

  Mother sighed. “I suppose that’s so.”

  I could tell the thought disappointed her. She longed to meet the princess who had caused her so much grief. I think she wanted the princess to touch the spindle. It would be partially out of revenge and partly out of curiosity to see if the curse would work. I thought about telling her of what I had discovered about Rose; for surely, if she had known of such a thing, she never would have wished Rose to touch the wheel. But if I tried to tell Mother about Andrew she would want long explanations and, by now, speech exhausted me.