She laughed at their sudden, happy chatter as they thanked her profusely for the food. She glanced up to a sandy blond-haired girl standing in front of her. The child's features were oddly familiar. Her thoughts wandered to Victor. This girl must be his sister.
Cassandra stood as she brushed the crumbs from her palms. The children followed her, laughing playfully as she wound her way back to the trail.
* * * *
Cassandra gritted her teeth as she clenched the silk brocade of Matthew's vest in her small hands. She buried her face in the soft fabric as her hair whipped wildly in the wind. Matthew dug the heels of his boots into the flanks of his horse, urging the animal to catch up with Victor and his mount. Cassandra gasped at the sudden surge, clinging tighter to the prince.
Cassandra slid her grip from the folds of Matthew's vest and wrapped her arms tightly around his chest. She felt him suck in a breath, as if suddenly electrified by her touch. He still feared her, still shied away from her after all these years.
The only time he was comfortable with her was under the oak tree as they watched the clouds. He had even protested carrying her on his horse this very day. She smiled, suddenly pleased. She knew that it was not her sorcery he feared—it was her femininity.
Cassandra breathed a silent prayer of relief as they came to a halt. She reluctantly let Matthew's shirt slide through her fingers as he swung his leg to get down. She unsteadily blinked down from her perch like a stunned wild bird as Victor dismounted and strode towards them.
“Matthew, she cannot sit up there all day,” he chided.
Matthew glanced at her uneasily before returning to the horse. He reached out for her. She slid off the mare's rump into his waiting arms, holding onto them for a moment to steady herself.
“I should have transformed,” she muttered.
“Cassie, could you have stayed up with us?” Victor asked plainly, as he removed his gloves.
Cassandra glared at his handsome, mature face as his sandy blond locks waved in the breeze. He did not want her with them. She knew this. He saw her as a weight, as King Thomas's assurance that he and Matthew would not get into trouble.
Victor tied his horse to one of the trees leading into the forest that lined the meadow. “Come on, Matthew.”
Cassandra dropped her hands to her sides in exasperation. “And I am supposed to do what?”
“I do not know. There is a village nearby. Pick flowers. Whatever makes you happy. We will be back in a couple of hours for lunch.” Victor walked into the thick grove. Matthew tied his steed to another trunk and followed, casting a final glance over his shoulder at her before disappearing.
Cassandra crossed her arms around herself, staring into the darkness. Sighing, she found her way to the dirt path to the village. She kicked up tiny clouds of dust with her satin clad feet. She hated being left behind. She had no desire to explore caves or search for pixies. She would have rather been at the palace, reading books on the cushions of the window seat in the library.
Cassandra stared into the fields around her. Tiny shoots of grain struggled from the damp earth toward the warm sun. They looked familiar to her, so she struggled with the dark depths of her memory to recall the scene. She quickened her gait, drinking in the meadows, trying to break down the walls that blocked her thoughts. The revelation struck her as she climbed a lush grassy knoll.
Cassandra looked to her right, searching the miles of rolling hills that surrounded her. Her eyes rested on a crumpled cottage lying in the middle of a field of weeds. Half of its thatched roof had caved in and long strands of dandelions had grown in the cracks of the door, which lay in the dirt.
A sob lodged in her throat as she wandered across the meadow to the crumbling house. She stepped inside the cool abode, lovingly touching the meager furnishings, which lay in pieces on the dirt floor. Suddenly, she needed Victor and Matthew—she wanted someone to be near her in this place where she had become so alone.
Cassandra smiled as she picked up a filthy rag doll slumped in the corner. Pushing the yarn hair out of its face, she remembered the many nights she had held it tight as she slept in this very house. She clutched the toy to her heart as she stepped outside. She kissed her fingers then pressed them against the wood. “Goodbye Papa. Goodbye Mama,” she whispered.
Cassandra returned to the dirt road that wound its way to the village, all her childhood memories rushing over her like a flood. Her tears blinded her, so she did not see the figure before she bumped into it.
A man dressed in black turned towards her, gracing her with a wicked grin. She wiped her tears hurriedly as her feet scrambled in retreat. He caught her arm, however, chuckling low.
“My, what a pretty little filly you are.” He stoked her cheek roughly. “I think I will take you with me for my own little treat.”
Cassandra looked past him to the rest of the village, her eyes growing wide at the vision of men in black loading bags of grain onto a cart. They shook off the protesting villagers, who were fighting for the food they had worked hard to grow. The scrawny peasants lost to the ebony garbed thieves. Children cowered in corners, terrified of the soldiers that bore Gorgon's symbol.
The man dragged Cassandra with him towards his waiting horse, snickering at his comrades. She dug her heels into the ground as she struggled to cross her arms over her chest. Weakly, she chanted a spell under her breath. Her captor froze suddenly, unable to move any part of his body.
She wrenched her hand free and ran as fast as she could away from him, away from the bloody raid his men forced upon the villagers. Another of Gorgon's men caught her arm as her captor shook off her enchantment. He strode to her, hovering over her like a cold, dark shadow.
“What are you?” he demanded. “Whatever you are, you are not worth my time or patience.” He raised his hand and brought it across her face, sending her tumbling across the dirt. Then, he mounted his horse and followed the other troops out of the village.
Cassandra struggled to her feet, her head spinning from the blow. She looked up, running her eyes across the sobbing women, the trembling children, the broken and bleeding men.
Turning on her heel, Cassandra ran down the path toward the forest, not stopping to rest, not stopping to breathe, until her hand rested on the flank of Matthew's horse. She dug through the saddlebag for their lunch and pulled out one delicacy after the other that Cook had packed for them. She set a loaf of bread and a round of cheese in Victor's bag before returning in a sprint for the village.
Stepping into the square, she reached into her bag to retrieve the food. She placed the sweets and breads into the hands of the unsuspecting townspeople, greeting their overjoyed gratitude with a gentle smile. She knelt next to the wounded and placed her palm over their gashes, pulling her hand away and leaving the bleeding wounds healed.
An elderly woman clasped Cassandra’s cheeks in thankfulness and gazed into her eyes. After a moment, the woman gasped in surprise. “Cassandra?” she whispered.
Cassandra nodded. The woman bobbed her head as she tugged at her neighbor. “Samuel's daughter. Remember?”
The women sobbed at their discovery as they hugged Cassandra to them. The moment of discovery—the sudden rush of her past—overwhelmed her so much that she never heard the footsteps behind her.
“Cassie, are you alright?” Victor asked breathlessly. He and Matthew stared at her, panic resounding through their panting breaths.
“Gorgon's men robbed this village,” she answered as she drew them away from the crowd.
“They robbed us, too. We have no lunch.”
Cassandra dipped her head, her gaze sinking to the ground. “That was me. I took the food and gave it to the people. I left a loaf of bread and some cheese in your saddle bag.”
“You gave our lunch away?” Victor accused
“They are starving! Look!” Cassandra pointed through the cottages to the people, rage coursing through her voice. She turned her glare to the prince. “Matthew, do you not see? Help t
hem!”
“How?” he asked her quietly.
“Talk to your father. Make him see.”
Sullenly, Matthew looked into her eyes. “You have more influence on my father than I do.” Matthew spun on his toe and, with Victor, hiked back to their waiting horses. She stared at their retreating figures, frustrated with them both. After a moment, she slowly followed, glaring at their backs.
Victor reached into his saddlebag and pulled out the bread and cheese. He split each into three pieces with his dagger then handed them to his companions. Deliberately, Cassandra tore her bread in half and handed them each a piece. Then, she picked up her hunk of cheese and threw it at Victor.
“Here, have mine. I would not want you both to go hungry.” Storming off down the hill, she plopped down angrily on a rock at the bottom.
After a few moments, she felt someone brush against her. She looked down to find a piece of bread waiting for her.
“I am sorry.” Matthew spoke softly as he sat next to her. “You should eat also.”
Cassandra nibbled on the bread. “Thank you.”
“Are you alright?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Your cheek.”
Cassandra touched her swollen face. She had been so overwhelmed by the destitute state of the townspeople that she had never healed herself. She closed her eyes, and in a moment, the wound had disappeared.
“Gorgon's men.” She glanced up to see a horrified look in Matthew's eyes.
They ate in silence for several minutes. “Where is your training stone?” Matthew asked quietly.
“I do not need it anymore. I am almost a fully trained sorceress.”
“Oh.” Silence reigned again.
They both turned as they heard Victor shout, “Come on, Matthew. Let us go swim.”
Cassandra gazed up the hill, irritated. “Why do you follow him like an obedient puppy?”
“Because he is my brother, of sorts,” Matthew answered.
“No, he is not. He is your servant, remember? You are the prince.”
“I am not assertive. He knows what to do.”
“And when you are the king? What then?”
Matthew shrugged. “I will not be a very good one, I suppose.”
“Why not?”
“I do not like battle.”
“So you will rule a kingdom at peace. That is highly admirable.”
“I suppose.”
“Matthew, you have to be your own man. Do not let Victor live your life for you.”
He looked toward Victor instead of at her. “You do not understand, but I suppose you are right. I will try.”
“Good. Consider this your first piece of advice from your advisor.” She laughed, her eyes smiling into his.
Matthew shied away, taking backward steps up the hill. “Thank you.” He turned and ascended out of sight. Cassandra sighed deeply and followed.
She trailed after them as they led their horses to a small pond as clear as glass and as still as silence. They quickly disrobed, down to their undergarments, and then draped their clothes across the backs of their mounts. Averting her gaze, Cassandra looked across the meadow until Matthew and Victor entered the water.
Cassandra settled on a rock on the bank and wrapped her arms around her stomach. She studied the veins of the stone, watching its crystal blood lay silent in the cracks. She heard the laughter of the boys as they splashed in play. Once again, I am left out.
Abruptly, she felt a wet hand grasp her foot. “Come in, Cassie.” Victor laughed, a wicked twinkle in his eyes. “Take off your gown and come in.”
“I cannot.”
“You are wearing a dressing gown. Swim in that.”
Cassandra looked inside her dress at the thin, cotton undergarment. “No. I cannot.”
Victor tugged at her, nearly dragging her in. She kicked him and retreated to dry ground. Clinging to her gown with trembling hands, she cried, “No!”
“Why not?” Victor demanded.
“Because I am a girl, you twit!” Cassandra stomped off towards the meadow. She threw herself to the ground as tears streamed down her cheeks. She longed for the library—the soft cushions, the rich words embedded in the books, the brief literary discussions she had with Thomas, the father figure she had grown to love. The day had been long and bitter and now she wanted to go home.
Cassandra buried her sobs in her folded arms, her crying echoing through the field. Finally, a hand touched her shoulder. “Let us go.”
She looked up to find Matthew offering his hand. Clasping it with hers, she allowed him to pull her to her feet. He lifted her onto his horse's back then mounted the gray stallion himself. Cassandra glanced toward the pond, seeing Victor striding angrily towards them.
Wrapping her arms around Matthew, a smile escaped through her sobs. She grasped his shirt as she waited for the ride to begin.
Chapter Three
Cassandra sat in the window seat looking out over the garden as the palace servants decorated the trees and bushes with hundreds of pastel ribbons. A maypole was placed in the center, the ribbons that adorned it flapping happily in the breeze. This afternoon all the lords and ladies of Savon would arrive for the Spring Festival to drink, laugh, and be merry.
She would attend with Matthew and Victor, as would her grandfather, Edgar, and even Cook. As with every year, the afternoon's festivities were preceded by a royal banquet with Thomas and his most beloved advisors and servants.
Cassandra turned as the door to the library opened. “My lady,” Cook chided. “Come. It is time to eat.”
She sullenly arose and followed Cook to the dining hall. The long cavernous room was filled with flowers and ribbons. A long, wood table bore the weight of platters piled high with meat, bread, cheese, vegetables, and sweets. It was bordered with several chairs on either side and two large, delicately carved ones on each end.
Cassandra slid silently in next to her grandfather as the others found their places.
“Cook,” Thomas chided, a chuckle emitting from his lips as he watched the gray haired woman scramble around the table. “Sit.”
“In a minute,” she replied breathlessly. “In a minute.”
A moment later, Cook settled herself in a seat, rustling out her best gown like a hen resting on a nest. The bishop spoke a brief prayer of thanks, and in a sudden frenzy, plates and bowls were passed among the guests.
As the dishes came to rest, Thomas glanced around at the makeshift family that had assembled. His gaze came to a halt on Cassandra's empty plate. “Are you not eating, Cassandra?” he asked.
“No. I am not hungry,” she answered quietly.
“Are you feeling well?”
“Yes. Quite.”
“Then why will you not eat?”
Cassandra took a deep breath to summon all the bravery her heart could muster. “Because I cannot enjoy such a feast while the people of our land are starving.”
Everyone at the table stopped eating and looked up, their eyes fixed on her. Nervously, Cassandra turned her gaze to the boys. She saw Victor shoot a glance to the head of the table where Matthew sat. The prince was covering his face with his hands.
Matthew peeked through the cracks between his fingers, as Victor mouthed, “She would not!” Both turned their glare on her, shaking their heads. Cassandra returned their stares defiantly, straightening her spine to support the shock of the room.
Malicar hissed angrily, “Cassandra!” She cringed at the disapproval in her grandfather's eyes before facing the king.
“Malicar, she is free to speak her mind,” Thomas said quietly. Cassandra's heart sank at the grave tone in his voice. “I understand your concern, Cassandra, but how can I stop the raids? My army is spread too thin as it is.”
“I have put some thought into that, your majesty. I think I have an idea.”
Thomas stared at her a moment. “I am willing to entertain your idea, young lady, under one condition—you eat. Deal?”
Cassandr
a gazed down at her empty plate, feeling her stomach grow in knots. He doesn’t understand the importance of this to me, how it affects my life. She looked back into his dark eyes, so stern and unbending—not those of a dominant master, but of a concerned father at odds with a beloved child.
“Yes, sir.”
“Then get something to eat, and we will talk after the meal.” He watched as she scooped a little of the feast on to her plate then resumed eating.
Silently, one by one, the others at the table began enjoying their meal. Cassandra glanced over to Matthew and Victor, finding their stunned faces still staring at her. She slipped a spoonful of potatoes into her mouth and began to chew.
As the platters and bowls were emptied, each of the guests stood and exited. Edgar clapped Thomas on the shoulder. “Should we go to the garden? The lords and ladies should be arriving.”
“No,” Thomas stood, cradling his wine goblet in his hand. He looked at Cassandra. “I have a meeting. Shall we?”
She stood and wrapped her arm around the one offered to her. She clung to him as he led her to the library and motioned her to the window seat. He sat in a soft, overstuffed reading chair, facing her.
“So, Cassa. What idea have you conjured to stop the raids?” he queried.
'Well, garrison posts in each village. Each soldier would serve three months in the general army, unlike the six-month stretch they do now. Then they would return home for three months to defend their home village. After three months serving in the garrison, they would return to the army.”
“The troops would still be thin. How would this help?”
“I feel that if each village felt a constant military protection, the men of those villages would help in the fight, increasing the numbers.”
“And they would serve in the army for how long?”
“Actually, constantly. Instead of a week or two of leave a year to return to their families, they would return to their garrison posts for three months at a time. They would be with their families, yet still serve you. In total, they would serve in the general army six months and the garrison six months. It would help with morale, also.”
Queen of Savon Page 3