Dissever

by Ward, Tracey

  Then, when he and my mother produced a daughter chosen at birth to marry the three year old prince, they knew they were correct. Justified. Righteous.

  Being a child, I escaped my life by imagining other fates. Fates where Duke Walburton, a dashing man who was handy with a sword, fought for my hand from the Prince and won. I’d marry him, move to his lavish estate outside the castle walls and spend the rest of my life surrounded by his lovely, lazy dogs. Sometimes I dreamed I did marry the Prince, discovered a deep undying love between us and we would leave the island forever. But no matter what happened in my wildest of dreams, I was very careful about one thing in particular; I was never made Queen.

  Just two nights after I met Ro, my mother and I were in my bedroom dressing for dinner that night. Most girls were dressed by servants, gossiping with them as they laced up their corsets, pinching the life and breath from their bodies. My mother and I dressed ourselves for this very reason. We hated gossips. They were always digging, always dropping lies in your ear like poison to see if you’d bite. My mother once told me that they could dangle their lures all they like, she wasn’t eating worms to make them happy.

  “Is it alright, mother?” I asked her in an excited whisper. “Can I see him again?”

  My mother sat back on her knees, sighing. “It’s dangerous, darling. So very dangerous.”

  “I know that,” I muttered miserably.

  And I did know. I knew it was a risk for him just as much, if not more so, than it was for me.

  “Is it worth it to you?”

  “Yes,” I told her seriously. “He’s a wonderful friend.”

  She grinned. “You only just met him.”

  “I can tell. He’s not like the people here.”

  “Well, thank the Saints for that,” she mumbled, straightening the hem of my dress. Eventually she sighed, looking up at me again. “I know you want a friend. Badly.”

  Her eyes were sad, piling guilt on my heart. My mother would have given me the world if she were able. She’d have taken me from the castle years ago if there were anywhere to go. But we were trapped in so many ways.

  “Is it too much to ask?” I whispered, barely daring to hope I could actually return to the orchard.

  She considered me for a long moment. Her brown eyes slipped out of focus, no longer seeing me. I wondered what it was she did see. Was it the room behind me? Or the maze beyond those walls? Was it the village on the other side of the island, deep inside the darkened forest? Or was it something else, something beyond our borders? Beyond time and air and water, reaching out into the corners of her own imagination. Her own dreams of escape and a life bigger, brighter, better than this.

  “Never meet him anywhere but the orchard,” she finally said quietly, her eyes snapping back to mine. “And if there’s trouble, let him hide you. Do you hear me?”

  I nodded, not understanding but making the promise anyway. “I swear it. I’ll listen to him. But what if he asks me to go beyond the castle walls? I’m not allowed out there.”

  “If it’s to hide you, you do it. You have my permission to go.”

  “This is very dangerous, isn’t it?” I asked softly, made a little afraid by my mother’s seriousness.

  She nodded solemnly. “It is. For all of us. But it’s worth it.”

  “How do you know that?”

  My mother looked at the ribbon in my hair, the color of the boy’s eyes following me wherever I went. She surprised me when she smiled faintly at it.

  “Because they found you.”

  I had no idea what that meant. Even now, all these years later, I don’t completely understand what my mother was talking about. What she saw when her eyes slipped out of focus for those long, breathless moments. But the world does not depend on my understanding to keep its momentum, so fate carried on as it pleased.

  My mother went to find my shoes in my bureau just as my father entered the room. He didn’t knock, he never did. He also didn’t abide locked doors. Not from us, at least. He was dressed to perfection, ready for dinner in the Great Hall sharing a table with the King, the Queen and Prince Frederick.

  He smiled when he saw me, nodding approvingly at my mother.

  “She looks lovely, Evelyn. Well done,” he praised as he circled me for a closer inspection. I heard an annoyed grunt as he passed behind me. “What is this?”

  “What is what, Charles?” my mother asked, her voice tired.

  “This ribbon. The blue one in her hair. Is that even silk?”

  “No, it’s not. It’s a simple cotton ribbon.”

  “It belongs on the peasantry. She has finer things than that, I’ve seen them. I’ve certainly paid for them. Where are they?”

  “She has many more at her vanity.”

  “Find one. Something silk or lace.”

  He finished his pass around me, finding nothing else to his disliking.

  “You’ll walk in on the arm of Prince Frederick, Annabel Lee.” His voice was full, a smile tugging at his lips. He was proud. I didn’t know exactly what I’d done to earn this, but I reveled in his rare, happy gaze. “You’ll remember to mind your manners with him?”

  “Yes, father,” I quickly agreed.

  “Don’t speak of anything frivolous. No nonsense. In fact, do not speak unless spoken to, do you hear me?”

  “Alright, but I have to tell him about the frog in the fountain.”

  My father frowned. “What?”

  “The frog in the fountain. Frederick says there’s a frog that lives in the fountain and he named him Corbis. He asked me to help him watch out for the frog so I have been. I have to tell him that I have nothing to report today. He’ll want to know.”

  “You’ll tell him no such thing.”

  I frowned. “Can I tell him if he asks me?”

  “No,” my father replied, his voice becoming tight. “You will not bring it up to him and if he asks about it, you will tell him you are frightened of frogs.”

  “But I’m not frightened. Why would I be frightened of frogs?”

  “Because ladies do not go hunting for frogs.”

  “But I’m not hunting Corbis, I’m—“

  “You will not!” he said sternly, stepping toward me.

  I saw my mother straighten to my left, tensing.

  “Yes, father,” I muttered, lowering my face to the floor.

  “Chin up!”

  His words made me think of Roarke’s mother and her gentle hands. I sniffed hard, willing the tears to stay away.

  “Are you crying? Why is she crying?”

  “Because you’re shouting at her. Leave her to me. We’ll meet you outside in the hall,” my mother told him, coming to my side with a strip of frilly black lace in her hand.

  My father shook his head as he turned for the door. “See that she doesn’t show up red faced and squalling. And change her hair.”

  The door closed decidedly behind him. My mother smiled warmly at me as she deftly pulled the ribbon from my hair. When I saw it in her hand, I reached out wildly for it and clutched it tightly. She looked surprised for a moment then nodded in understanding, releasing it to me without comment. She carefully tied the other ribbon in my hair, then sat back and held my face between her hands.

  “You look beautiful, Annabel Lee.”

  “Thank you, mother,” I said quietly. “So do you.”

  “Thank you.” She scrunched up her nose in a disgusted face. “Should we get this over with?”

  I giggled shakily, nodding.

  When Prince Frederick walked me silently into the Great Hall for dinner, I could feel my father’s watchful eyes on me. I was dying to mention Corbis, but I knew better. I held my tongue and dutifully took my seat when Frederick pulled it out for me. Almost immediately I had to stand up again.

  “There’s no need to give them help. They have all the hands they need,” King Phillip exclaimed, entering the hall trailed by at least eight other men keeping close at his heels. “What is their population now, anyway?�
�

  “We aren’t sure, sire.”

  King Phillip glared at the old man. “How do we not know? Go count them and then we will know. It’s not hard.”

  “It’s not easy either. We can’t exactly go walking into their village counting heads, Your Majesty,” the man replied, unconcerned with the King’s disapproval. “They live on the farthest side of the island in the mountains. They have a main village, but many of them live hidden in the forests. I imagine their numbers are greater than we assume, but we have no way of knowing for certain.”

  “Submit a census.”

  “They don’t respond to them.”

  “Then they should not be on the island. Either they submit to my rule or they are welcome to leave.”

  “Sire,” the old man said patiently, “we all know that’s not an option.”

  “It’s always an option. They crashed their way in, they can find their way back out.”

  A silence fell over the Great Hall, no one wanting to speak against the King’s opinion but everyone knowing the statement was ridiculous. There was no sailing off this island. The rocks in The Shallows made it impossible. Many had tried and many had died.

  “Majesty, about the fishing labor...”

  “If they have so many in their numbers what do they need with more bodies from us?”

  The old man cleared his throat. “They feel that if they are supplying all of the labor and absorbing all of the risk in fishing The Shallows, they should reap all of the rewards.”

  King Phillip laughed as he resumed his trek to the head of the table. When he sat, he watched all of us sit as well, looking satisfied.

  “Tell them that’s madness. Ludicrous. They are our guests on this island. The fact that we allow them to fish The Shallows and till the land are gifts that we can easily take away. Hell, we gave them land to live on!”

  “We gave them the forests,” Duke Walburton spoke up, taking a sip from his goblet. “The mountains. It’s nothing but rock, moss and bark. Not exactly fine farming land.”

  “They farm,” my father interjected.

  “They farm for us on our land.”

  “With us. We share the harvests.”

  “And we share their harvest of the fish from The Shallows. Shouldn’t we be involved in the labor of that?”

  “Of course!” my father said sarcastically. “While we’re at it, why don’t we invite them to move into the castle as well? Be our honored guests?”

  “Most don’t feel that they are guests of this isle, Charles,” Duke Walburton replied calmly. “They’ve been here for over a hundred years. Not one of them alive today wasn’t born on this island.”

  “Are you siding with them, Patrick?” The King asked incredulously.

  He shrugged. “Not siding with them per se, but they make a fair point.”

  “No,” King Phillip replied with a shake of his head, causing his many chins to sway. “They were never wanted here. No one ever has been. The very fact that we didn’t kill them, something we still could manage, should be entitlement enough. Or we can cast them out, let The Saints take care of them. But no, you’re right, if they need help in fishing The Shallows then we should contribute. By all means. Clean out the prison. There are good strong backs there. That should be all the help they ever need.”

  I watched as Duke Walburton hid a frown from the King behind his goblet, the tightness around his eyes his only tell.

  “Enough about the Ten Alah. They’re taking away from our land and our dinner this fine evening.”

  “Tem Aedha,” the old scribe corrected quietly.

  “Foolishness! If they want to live here and join with us, they should stop using that foolish name. They are men and women of Kilmarnock!”

  I leaned across the table toward my mother where she sat beside Duke Walburton.

  “But, mother, if they are people of Kilmarnock, why does he say we should kill them?”

  My mother’s eyes became large and panicked. She shook her head and pressed her finger to her lips, silencing me. I slumped back in my seat feeling defeated and ignored. Luckily my father was far too involved in a grumbling discussion against the Tem Aedha to have heard me. As I picked at my dinner, I accidentally caught eyes with Duke Walburton.

  He was grinning at me.

  Chapter Three

  Every delivery day I waited anxiously in the kitchen, pacing the floor until the head cook, Mrs. Pomphel, shouted at me to sit still or get out. Without fail the threat of missing out on Roarke sent me to take a seat beside the hearth. I anxiously chewed my fingernails until his mother arrived. Once she showed up, gave me a smile and a nod, I ran from the room to the maze. Every time I entered the maze after seeing her, I immediately found the orchard. No problems. On days when I was feeling ornery, wishing it was a delivery day when it wasn’t, I would go in search of the orchard on my own. Despite memorizing every twist and turn to get there, I never found it.

  But on the days when it was open to me, I would burst into the warm sunshine glow of the orchard with a smile on my face and excitement beating wildly in my heart. And he was there every time. Happily waiting patiently for me to arrive. When he’d look up at me and smile, my heart would stutter in my chest. My stomach flipped and I felt as though I might be sick. It was a strange, terrible feeling, one I had never known before. But I liked it. I craved it.

  We played every game under the sun, exchanging ones he knew with ones I knew and making others up as we went along. Those were my favorite, the games we made together. The ones that sprung up naturally between us and made us roll around in the grass laughing and shouting until our sides ached.

  One afternoon I was so eager to see him that I ran too quickly, too clumsily. I stumbled just outside the orchard. I reached out to catch myself but my hand slid into one of the hedges, finding a sharp branch that slit down the center of my palm. I cried out in pain and surprise, falling to my knees on the white stones, clenching my aching hand.

  Roarke exploded from the orchard. He was beside me instantly.

  “Oooh,” I moaned, afraid to look at it. I didn’t care for the sight of blood, least of all my own. “Ro, it hurts. Oh, it hurts.”

  He frowned at my pained expression then looked around us at the ground, searching for something. All he found were white stones turning red and brown as my blood dripped down onto them, pouring in a steady stream from my palm. My heart sank when he leapt up, running through the maze into the orchard. He had left me. He had left me alone. My hand ached worse because of it.

  When Roarke came running back to me, I sighed with relief.

  “What’s in your hand?” I asked through clenched teeth, my curiosity squeezing its way out between them.

  “Your salvation,” he said with a small smile. He opened his palm for me to see.

  I frowned. “It’s dirt.”

  “It’s earth,” he corrected, though I did not see the difference.

  “What will you do with it?”

  In answer, he spit into his palm, wetting the earth. He then clamped his hand tightly around it.

  “Give me your hand.”

  “Are you going to spit on it?”

  “No. Now give me your hand. Unless you want it to keep hurting.”

  “I don’t,” I said quickly, relinquishing my injured palm.

  He held it firmly in his, carefully avoiding the cut. Then he slowly applied the moistened earth to my palm. I cringed, expecting a horrible sting. But it never came. Instead the pain slowly leeched out of my skin, evaporating on the air. I looked up at Ro in amazement, ready to ask him how he did it, when I saw his eyes were closed, his lips moving quickly and silently as his fingers continued to roam over my injured flesh. I couldn’t make out what he was saying, but it seemed as though there was a rhythm to it. Like a song.

  Suddenly his eyes opened. They fixed immediately on mine, startling me.

  “Feel better?”

  I stared at him in wonder. “You’re magic.”

  He
shrugged, grinning as he wrapped my hand in a white handkerchief.

  That night when I unwrapped my hand, expecting to see an angry red cut, I gasped. My palm was white as snow with nothing but a mild pink welt to show for my trouble.

  ***

  Queen Elizabeth Anne died two years later. Despite dining with the Royal Family almost every night, I knew very little about her save for the similarities in our names. I asked my mother once if she was named after me. She laughed and told me it was probably so.

  King Phillip never shed a single tear, not that I saw, but Prince Frederick was despondent. Though I never saw him cry, I will forever remember his round ten year old cheeks being blotchy and red. He was growing into a young man more and more every day. After the death of his mother, I swear I hardly recognized him. It made me fearful for what would happen to Roarke, who was only one year younger. I prayed for the good health of his mother every night.

  “How old is your mum?” I asked him one afternoon. We were sitting in the grass eating apple slices and cheese curds that squeaked against my teeth as I chewed.

  “I don’t know,” he said with a shrug. “Very.”

  I frowned. “No, she can’t be very old. She doesn’t have any white hair.”

  “Then kind of. She’s kind of old,” he amended.

  “Do the Tem Aedha really live forever?”

  He looked up at me, suddenly paying attention and frowning. “Who says we live forever?”

  “Everyone. I hear it all the time. You live forever, you speak to the trees, some of you can fly, though if that were true I don’t understand why you don’t leave the island. If I could fly, I’d leave. I’d leave tomorrow.”

  “Well it’s not true. We die just like you. We do everything just like you. We aren’t different, Anna.”

  “Yes you are,” I replied, catching his eye. “You are completely different and utterly wonderful.”