An Unnatural Beanstalk

by Brittany Fichter

  After waiting for what felt like hours, the footsteps finally moved back toward the door. “Even with the delay,” the duke said, “I should back by noon tomorrow. Proceed with the preparations for the dinner party as planned.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Mrs. McConnell said, shutting the door behind her. Neither Eva nor Jack moved until the lock had clicked shut and both sets of footsteps had retreated down the hall and disappeared. Eva let out the breath she’d been holding and peeked out of the curtain. Jack was doing the same.

  “That was close!” he said, his eyes bright. “I thought he had us for sure.”

  “So did I.” Eva let out a nervous chuckle as she stepped out of her hiding place. “But we didn’t get to see the plans. He took them.”

  “That he did.”

  “So why do you still look so happy?” Eva asked.

  “Because,” Jack said, sweeping into a deep bow, “aside from narrowly escaping discovery and what would have been our sure doom, we now know where he keeps the Golden Goose . . . or its double, or whatever that was. And since he’s coming home tomorrow—”

  “We’ll know where to look!” Eva hopped up and down, clapping. “I know I can come up with an excuse to get into the study sometime when he’s not here. I can forget something on purpose in here the next time he calls me, and then I can insist on returning to fetch whatever I’ve—”

  Before she could continue to plot, however, Jack had swept her up in his arms and placed a kiss right on her lips.

  The kiss wasn’t long, nor was it passionate. Only a peck really. But almost as soon as he had done it, Jack let go of her hand and took a few steps back. His face was nearly the color of a tomato.

  “I . . . I’m sorry.” His smile was gone, and his eyes were wide with alarm. He scratched his neck and stared at the floor. “I just got carried away in the moment, I guess.”

  But Eva could only smile. Inside, she was singing. Never had a boy kissed her before. She wasn’t sure if any had ever even wanted to. But in that brief moment of bliss, the joy of his kiss was infectious. She had felt the smile on his lips as they’d touched hers, and it made her want to smile back.

  “Don’t be sorry,” she said shyly.

  His eyes finally left the floor, and when he met her gaze, his grin slowly returned.

  “Alright then,” he said in a low voice. “I won’t.”

  12

  You’ll Need Nothing Short of a Miracle

  Jack had to remind himself again and again to remain still and keep his eyes forward like a good servant should. It was the duke’s dinner party after all, and certainly not the place to be discovered snooping. But, he had grumbled to Eva earlier that day, he was not a good servant. He wasn’t even a servant. At which point, Eva had smugly reminded him that he had been paid just earlier that week for waiting on her hand and foot. And he had accepted the payment without complaint then. Which, she had smirked, made him a servant.

  The real servant was Eva, though. At the mercy of the duke’s beck and call, she didn’t even have a say in what was served for dinner. This evening, for instance, one of the main courses was ham covered in beets. Eva hated beets, and she had told the duke so at least five times. They gave her mouth a rash every time she ate them. But every time she made her objection, the duke would only respond with some condescending cut, and beets would appear on not just one dish, but all of them the next meal. The last time this had happened, Jack had nearly marched up to the duke’s bedchamber to give him a good thrashing. Instead, however, he’d gone in search for Mrs. McConnell for some aloe for Eva’s mouth.

  A kitchen maid walked past Jack’s corner carrying a covered platter that smelled strongly of mouth-watering herbs, and then Jack had to really work on keeping his focus sharp and not on the food. The food he and the other temporary workers, such as the field laborers and those that fed them, were given wasn’t necessarily bad, particularly considering that the rest of the kingdom was eating beans day and night. But compared to the porridge he and the others got every morning and the two meals of bread, milk, and stewed fruits and vegetables, he wasn’t sure his stomach had ever grumbled so much at the smell of a simple seasoned soup

  He held his platter of goblets higher when he finally heard the voices and footsteps of Eva, the duke, and those he assumed to be the duke’s guests. If keeping his focus off the food had been difficult, however, it was nothing compared to the hardship he faced when Eva walked into the room.

  Though her dress was another horrid shade of green, Eva made the gown look stunning. Cut to hang off the shoulders, the shiny fabric fell gently below her collarbone, where it exploded into beaded swirls that looked like roses that tapered down to her waist. Just below her waist, the skirt’s many layers of some even shinier material that Jack didn’t know the name of reached down to the ground like the arms of a weeping willow. And—Jack nearly smirked—it made her look even taller than usual. Lean muscled arms were poised gracefully at her sides, and though the duke held one of them, Jack could see she was making a great effort to touch him as little as possible. Still, even the few inches of gloved skin that the duke was privileged to hold made Jack’s stomach turn. He should be escorting her, not that horrid little dingleberry.

  Behind Eva and the duke walked six other individuals. A short, stout man with hair that was obviously not his, then a young dark-haired woman draped in furs, her expression signaling the intelligence of a mop. Her eyes were trained solely on the duke, though every few steps she would briefly glare daggers at Eva’s back. Another woman with graying hair and sharp, beady eyes came next, and she was followed by an older couple that clutched one another’s arms and watched everything with suspicion. Then came a bland-faced gentleman with no visible neck and very little chin. All of the guests were dressed in clothes finer than anything anyone in Jack’s village wore, and when they got to the table, they looked around as though such fare, dozens and dozens of silver platters and dishes, were a daily occurrence.

  “My friends,” the duke began when they were all standing beside their assigned seats, “I offer you the bounty of my home.”

  “Quite generous of you,” the wife of the older couple said, quirking an eyebrow, “particularly as the rest of the kingdom must order its food from across the border now.”

  “Yes,” said her husband, frowning. “It would be a relief if we knew how to replicate your efforts in order to better feed those who depend on us.”

  Though Jack had first assumed a dislike of everyone fool enough to associate themselves with the duke, he decided that this couple might not be quite so awful.

  “All in good time.” The duke smiled and gestured to their chairs. Servants appeared out of the shadows and pulled the chairs out for the guests, and then pushed them back in once they were seated. Jack resisted the urge to glare at the servant who pushed Eva’s chair in for her. That was his job.

  “I don’t mean to be rude,” the woman with the pinched mouth said, “but this supper is unusually early.” She glanced outside. “We’re hardly done with the afternoon.”

  “My betrothed and I,” the duke patted Eva’s head, not unlike one might do to a dog, “have work to get to, unfortunately, and it must be done by dusk. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “So, Carlton,” the short, stout gentleman said as he dumped salt into his soup, “what’s this about? Last I heard, you’re handing out beans, and now you surprise us with this to sup on.” He slurped down a mouthful and his eyes grew wide. “And it tastes fresh enough not to have been brought in from elsewhere.”

  “What you are eating, my dear judge,” the duke said after slurping his soup, “is all from my lands. The livestock, the poultry, the grains, milk, and produce were all grown and prepared here.”

  “But how?” The sharp-eyed woman studied her bowl. “We’ve all had to pay to bring food in.”

  It was a moment before the duke spoke. He wiped his mouth and stared at his bowl for a moment before looking up at everyone with a smile. “Wha
t do you all know of the king’s stance on magic?”

  “I asked him such last week,” the bland-faced gentleman said. “He says it’s unnecessary and creates too many complications.”

  “And how has this simple life . . . this existence without magic, helped him combat our strange famine?” the duke asked.

  The guests exchanged glances.

  “I thought practicing magic was difficult in Guthward,” the elderly husband said. “Our clay is good for growing, but it also blocks much of the magic that’s needed to flow through the ground . . . or something to that effect.”

  The duke nodded. “You are correct, Baron. But suppose I had found a way to make the land fertile again.” The duke stood and began to walk slowly around the table, coming to stop between the woman glaring at Eva and the judge. “And then suppose,” he leaned forward, “I had gone to the king and told him I have a way to end the famine. What would you say the king’s response should be?”

  For a long moment, no one spoke. And even Jack understood why. Speaking in hypothetical situations was innocent enough, but when the topic turned to discussing the king, it was only wise to be careful.

  Finally, the dark-haired young woman spoke, her voice tentative. “Wouldn’t he be . . . relieved?”

  “You would think so.” The duke nodded and continued his walk around the table. “But again, suppose the king was not thrilled, and even that he dismissed the topic altogether, stating that his best advisers and farmers would come up with a way to fix the soil. Tell me,” he stopped behind his seat at the head of the table, “what the moral obligation would be then, of the one who knew how to fix the problem? Would it be correct to allow the king to continue to flounder with dead crops, or would it be the righteous thing to disobey the king by moving forward with an assurance to fix the crops, but risk angering the crown at the same time?”

  “What are you getting at, Carlton?” The baron stopped eating and frowned.

  “Answer the question first. Is it the moral choice to disobey the king and provide for the kingdom, or to obey the king and watch children and babies risk starvation?”

  None of the guests, even the one who had been practically drooling over the duke a moment before, looked comfortable. Eva didn’t even raise her head enough for Jack to try to make out her expression. He wondered if her submissive position had been learned in that stupid book with all its rules, or whether she wanted nothing to do with the situation at hand. The bland-faced man opened and closed his mouth as though to speak several times without actually saying anything, and the older couple pushed their food around their plates. To Jack’s surprise, however, it was finally the judge that spoke.

  “If one wished to change the law regarding magic,” he said slowly, “one would need to assume the title of king without being arrested for treason for going against the crown’s edicts.”

  “Treason is a bit strong for a simple act of disobedience, don’t you think?” The dark-haired woman frowned.

  “Not when it comes to magic.” The judge shook his head. “The king has very staunch opinions on the matter.”

  “Well, we can’t just wait for the king to die!”

  Everyone, including Eva, turned and looked at the woman in her forties, slightly scandalized expressions on their faces.

  “Oh, don’t pretend you aren’t thinking the same thing!” She began buttering her bread fiercely. “King Eston is thirty-five, and without any children to drive him to an early grave, we can’t simply wait this drought out in hopes that something changes before he dies!”

  “She brings up a good point,” the bland-faced man said, looking down at the plate of fish a servant had just placed before him. “The king has no children and seems to have very little interest in ever producing any . . . even an illegitimate one. He refuses to consider magic as an alternative to this drought, and with every second we waste, more people are fleeing the kingdom than ever.” He looked at the judge. “Surely there must be a way to make him see sense.”

  “There is no legal way to force a king to act.” The judge shook his head.

  “There is, however, no need to fret, my dear countess,” the duke said with a slight smile. “For there is yet another option, wouldn’t you say, Your Honor?”

  “Well,” the judge said, looking around once again and reluctantly putting down the roll he’d been studying, “there is technically one way to replace him with someone who would allow magic.”

  The table went silent. The guests stopped with food halfway to their mouths, and even the servants froze and stared. But the duke kept that ridiculous grin and stood a little taller.

  Eva gestured for Jack. He brought her the tray, and she took a much longer sip from her special goblet than usual.

  “Imagine that there was someone who was willing to do what it took to end this famine. And that he even had proof that he knew how to do so.” The duke moved to stand behind Eva and placed his hands firmly on her shoulders. “And that he also was engaged to a woman of youth and strength who could bear him many, many children in order to avoid the tragedy of never having an heir.”

  Jack resisted the sudden urge to gag. Even more, however, he had to resist the urge to forcefully remove the duke’s puffy hands from Eva’s bare shoulders.

  “Your Honor,” the duke said, looking at the judge once more, “how would one go about that?”

  The judge frowned and rubbed his chin. “Guthward’s bylaws,” he said carefully, “allow a close relative of the king to replace him, should the vast majority of the peerage call for the selection of a more fitting ruler in his place. But,” he said in a lower voice, “the peerage would have to be utterly convinced that the replacement would be superior to the king in every manner. In short, they would need to view the king as a sort of villain before replacing him. It’s only been done once in Guthwardian history, and even then, it nearly tore the kingdom apart.”

  “But King Eston has been good to us!” the old woman exclaimed. “He has dropped all taxes until our crops grow again! And he’s always been good to listen to even the most lowly citizen who has sought his aid.”

  “I’m not sure what you’re at, Carlton,” the baron glared at the duke, “but you won’t have our vote. Eston is a good king.”

  Jack’s heart fell a little as the duke’s mouth curved up at the corners. Should the duke get his way, Jack was sure the kindly old couple would be the first of the nobility to disappear, along with anyone who stood with them.

  “Very well,” the duke finally said, taking his seat and attacking his food with great gusto. “Now, Bentley,” he said, turning to the earl. “I heard that you enjoy poetry. I’m a bit of a poet myself.”

  The duke’s disgusting smile didn’t falter for the rest of the meal, particularly as he regaled his guests with pieces of his own crass poetry, all spoken between bites of fish, where everyone could see the food rolling around in his mouth.

  For all the duke’s insistence on Eva memorizing her court manners, little Larry had better table manners.

  Once they escaped his poetry, lighter topics were discussed for the remainder of the dinner. Eva, however, hardly ate. And once, just once, Jack thought he saw a single tear roll down her cheek and into her dish. The other nobles, for that’s what Jack assumed the rest of them to be, sent her curious, or jealous, looks for the rest of the meal, but interestingly enough, the only two willing to address her directly were the baron and his wife. And every time she tried to answer, the duke would find a way to enter that conversation as well.

  It wasn’t until hours later, when the guests were finally preparing to leave, that anyone dared to bring up the subject of magic again. But the sharp-eyed woman, who Jack had discovered was a countess, paused on the threshold of the great dining room and turned to the duke.

  “You never told us just how you’ve managed to keep your estate running so well.” She glanced around furtively. “Or food growing in your fields.”

  “Ah, madame,” the duke bowed with
a flourish, “that’s a secret you’ll have to wait for until my wedding, I’m afraid.”

  Eva stiffened.

  “Just suffice it to say for now that magic is going to save our people. Magic with a power like you’ve never seen before.”

  “Careful.”

  Jack jumped at the warning whispered in his ear. He turned to find Mrs. McConnell beside him in the shadows.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “I don’t know what you’re up to, but I know you’re in love with the girl.”

  Jack couldn’t answer, only stare.

  As if to congratulate herself on being right, Mrs. McConnell nodded. “The duke sees that girl as his prize, and you’ll need nothing short of a miracle to separate that man from his prey.”

  13

  When Your Palms Get Sweaty, You Must Be in Love

  As they bid farewell to their guests, Eva wanted nothing more than to run into her room, slam the door, and hide under her covers for the rest of eternity. Surviving the evening without breaking down into tears or throwing something at the duke’s head had taken every piece of stage training she had ever learned with the harp. Breathing practice to overcome the jitters in her stomach. Pretending she had a stick tied to the back of her neck to keep her eyes forward and her chin up as she greeted their guests and then bid them farewell, hoping that each one might see the desperate plea in her eyes, begging them to see that she was a prisoner and needed to escape.

  And she had been mostly successful. Mostly.

  But as the evening had gone on, she got the distinct feeling that no matter what the rest of the nobles in the dining room thought, the duke held all the power in his puffy little hands.

  Finally, after the impish woman who seemed to bat her eyes at the duke every other minute was gone, Eva let out the breath she had been holding all night. As she turned wearily to head up the stairs to her own room, however, she was stopped by the clammy hand that grasped her wrist.