by J. Conrad
My stepsister batted her eyes and stared at her lap.
“I haven’t yet had time to bake bread,” I said. “But you’re welcome to the pork and cabbage if you like.”
Dafina nodded slowly, tugging her gaze up to mine as she rose. “Yes. Thank you. And thank you… for helping me, and for coming back.”
I nodded, studying her pale face as she reached for a plate. I couldn’t recall her ever expressing gratitude before.
“I was only gone for a few days. Why do you and Annest look so thin?” I asked.
She pushed out her bottom lip. “No. It’s been seven days.”
Surely, she must be mistaken. I know I hadn’t been gone that long, and three days of little food couldn’t have put them in this condition. “Dafina, what’s become of our store of food? The cupboard and cellar are empty. I don’t understand.”
She met my eyes again as she reached for her utensils. I had spread out the silverware in little sections. “Um, the birds—the birds took it.” Without explaining, or leaving the kitchen like Annest had done, Dafina began cutting her meat and started eating it standing up at the table. It wasn’t a dining table after all, it was used for food preparation. She didn’t bother sitting on the stool where I had doctored her injury.
“The birds took it?” I waited, grappling with that statement.
Dafina nodded and answered me with her mouth full. “Mm hmm. I’d left the cellar door open by accident. The ravens carried everything away. I don’t know where they’ve taken it, but it’s all gone.”
Was she telling the truth? Or did she or the others ruin all the food in some careless way and this was her story? Biting my bottom lip, it dawned on me what might have happened. The birds—the birds had come back. They had chosen an interesting method of helping, not that I was opposed to it.
“Couldn’t you have chased them away?” I asked.
“We tried,” Dafina said. “Annest and I tried, but there were too many. Probably thousands of them.”
“Thousands?” I almost shouted.
“Yes. They scratched and pecked at us when we interfered, so we just went inside. But some followed us. They threw themselves against the glass door until it shattered, and they began to take the food from inside as well. They wouldn’t stop attacking us unless we stayed away, so we were forced to let them leave with almost everything,” Dafina said.
“I see. What have you been eating for… a week?”
“None of us know how to cook,” Dafina said. She wiped the corner of her mouth with her bare arm. “I tried to bake bread, but it was raw in the middle. We ate what we could of that. We ate a few vegetables from the garden. I tried to roast some of the pig you killed, but… my hand has already told the story. I didn’t do it properly. Mother got sick.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said.
Dafina smiled as she shoved another large chunk of meat into her mouth. “No, you’re not. Besides, doesn’t it serve her right?” She looked up at me, grinning. Taken aback by her rhetorical question, I could only stare.
I didn’t answer but reflected on what she had said about the birds. What an odd and interesting solution it was: taming my spoiled, aristocrat oppressors by starving them into civility.
Dafina had cleaned her plate. I asked if she wanted more, but she declined, saying that her stomach had shrunken, and she was stuffed. I gave her a generous plate of food to take to Gwyneth and she nodded, hastening out the door.
* * * * *
That afternoon, I took the leather pouch holding the seed and the pearl. The dead forest is a place you know, Elioth had said. I wished he could have been more specific. The woods outside my home were bare and grey in their winter slumber—maybe not “dead,” exactly, but they weren’t encapsulated in eternal spring like the spirit world. Taking a small spade, I walked out beyond the orchard, where our neat rows of trees ended and the wild began. Squatting down, I pulled the pouch from my pocket and carefully shook the seed into my palm. It was roundish, nut brown, and about the size of an acorn.
I dug a shallow hole and dropped the seed in, covering it with dirt. Standing up, I looked around and waited. Was something supposed to happen? Besides the occasional bird call, the wilderness around me stayed quiet. Thinking it might be nice to find this spot again to check its progress in the spring, I pushed the spade into the earth nearby as a marker. I hoped I had done what the spirit wanted. The leather pouch held only the pearl now and I’d keep it with me all the time.
During the next few days, I used most of my time setting Blaenwood to rights. I washed all the dishes and scrubbed the kitchen. I cleaned the stables, put out new hay, and attended to the animals. I baked bread and picked winter vegetables. I didn’t know what to do about our missing food supply, but there was plenty of meat. We had some chickens for roasting and others for eggs. There were more hogs if we needed one. I cut an abundance of firewood and warmed the place up, though we were burning through logs fast. Strangely, although the workload was too great for one person, it wasn’t terrible, because Gwyneth didn’t show her face until my third day home—the day before the ball.
I was in the kitchen, working a lump of dough on the floured table, when my stepmother swished in wearing a lavender gown with a knitted, deep purple shawl. Other than her cheekbones being a bit sharper, she appeared much the same as she had before I left. I guess being ill doesn’t drag a person down for long when you know black magic. She raised her chin and said, “I trust you’re attending to all your neglected duties in due order.”
I smiled, realizing I was no longer afraid of her. Cautious, yes, but not afraid. I nodded. “I trust you’re recovering well from your illness?”
Gwyneth narrowed her eyes, and for an instant the whites turned shiny black. She blinked, and her demonic stare disappeared. “Careful.”
“I’m always careful,” I said, and returned to kneading the dough.
She stuck her nose in the air and departed. How awful it must be to not know how to care for oneself. As much as she hated me, she needed me here. That need was the reason she hadn’t punished me or locked me in the attic again for disappearing. That, and the Midsummer Rite, whatever it was.
Eiriana had not reappeared, nor had the birds. It was time to get more firewood, so I decided to have a look around the orchard near the woods where I had last seen her. I put Father’s winter coat over one of my older dresses and headed out in the cold wind. I led the mare from the barn and hitched her to the work cart. She had returned here after my grandmother spooked her, just as I thought she would. I led the horse through the orchard to the edge of the forest where I had cut down the tree.
Tying the reins to a maple trunk in case Bella spooked again, I scanned the area for any sign of the Fae woman. “Eiriana,” I called softly. “Eiriana, I’m ready to do as you asked.”
I wandered between the trees, casting about for her silver hair or a small, green fairy, but found neither. I decided it was no matter. Tonight, I would begin working on a ball gown. I couldn’t locate the two I used to own. They hadn’t been returned like my other things, and neither Gwyneth, Annest or Dafina admitted to knowing their whereabouts. No surprise there. However, I could modify a gold dress of Mother’s, something that would be perfect whether I had Eiriana’s magic to help me or not. Gwyneth and her daughters would no doubt take the carriage, but there was no reason I couldn’t ride horseback to the castle if I left early enough. My gown would wrinkle, and I might end up smelling like horse, but I had no other options. I couldn’t afford to hire a carriage. Maybe I could spread a sheet over the saddle.
My arms feeling stiff and sore, I split some logs and loaded them into the cart attached to the patiently awaiting mare. I imagined stepping into the great hall of the castle—a place I had never been before—and a giddy feeling fluttered in my stomach. It was more than just nerves. My heart pounded as I thought of seeing Trystan again. Seren had said that he still spoke of me. Would he be glad to see me—would he be happy that I
was the chosen Fae girl? Or would his happiness wane because he’d have to do his dreaded duty after all, not slip off in the woods like he wanted?
With the cart full, I led the horse back to the wood shed where I unloaded, filling an iron basket to take inside for the hearth fire. As I came in the back door, I balked when I saw Gwyneth’s silhouette, rigid like a statue. I thought she had retreated to her quarters earlier.
“Elin, when you finish your regular chores today, I’ll have some additional tasks.”
“What additional tasks could there possibly be? I’m doing the work of four people already,” I said. I set the basket of wood down on the stone floor and stared at her.
“Annest spilled milk on the small, parlor rug beneath the tea table. It stinks and must be washed and aired. The curtains in that same room are dingy and need the same treatment. And the back patio needs to be swept and rinsed of mud.”
“Wash and air the rug and curtains? But they’ll freeze outside in this weather. Those are spring chores. Can’t this work wait until after the—”
“The ball, yes,” Gwyneth said, curling her lips into a smile. “I was thinking that if you’re able to finish your regular duties, along with these additional chores, you may ride along with us to the royal ball tomorrow. That is, if you have an interest in going.”
A lump caught in my throat and I glanced at the floor. So, she knew. Obviously, this was some ploy to make me miserable just like all the times before. The extra chores would take up my meager spare time and I wouldn’t be able to work on my gown. Or she might indeed let me ride along but shove me into the mud on the way. This plan smelled worse than Dafina’s undercooked pork.
“And if I don’t accept this offer?” I asked.
“Then you won’t be going to the castle at all.” Gwyneth grinned at me with straight, white teeth, her jade green eyes sparkling. She lightly touched the folded, black fan which hung at her hip.
My feet shot out from under me, like I had slipped on ice, and I fell backward. I hit the stone floor of the hallway on my bottom, grunting from the impact. It knocked the wind out of me. Reaching for the basket of wood, I tried to steady myself. A warm ache began in my feet, the sensation increasing until they burned like they were on fire.
“Stop!” I yelled.
“I can hobble you so that you’ll never walk again. What’s your answer now?” Gwyneth asked.
I glared at her stony face, listening to my own huffing as I struggled in vain to move against the invisible force that was holding me. I don’t know how Gwyneth knew, but she must have. She must have known the reason I had returned had something to do with the ball. No matter what else happened, accepting her terms wouldn’t work out to my advantage. That was for sure. As I lagged for a response, my left boot caught on fire.
“Fine!” I screamed. “I shall do it!” I jerked my legs and they convulsed as I struggled, remaining glued to the floor. I leaned across them—at least I could move my torso—patting out the flames with my coat sleeve before my dress caught on fire, too.
“Wonderful,” Gwyneth said, smiling like a golden angel. “I look forward to your company tomorrow night—if you finish all your chores.” She turned with an elegant swish of lavender and lace.
As I waited for her spell to wear off, so I could move my legs again, my cheeks burned crimson. I buried my head in my arms, wanting to scream. I could throw a log at the back of her head, but she’d only hurt me more. The small of my back ached from straining to put out the fire and I straightened, putting a hand behind it. Where in the hell was Eiriana? Some of this was her doing—telling me to come back to this miserable place but leaving me to fend for myself. I was sure she had a very good reason. It seemed that everyone did when it came to betraying me.
At last I was able to pick myself up off the floor. With shaking arms, I carried the basket of wood to the kitchen. I gritted my teeth and hurled a log into the hearth, watching as it smacked into the bricks with a satisfying crack. I threw another one even harder, stumbling from the force of my throw. As I pitched the next log, I growled, not even caring if anyone heard me. This ill-placed throw, directed by nothing more than my rage, knocked over the spit which clattered onto the stone floor. A cloud of ash burst in my face and all over the front of my apron and dress. Cursing, I turned just in time to see a shadow pass by the door and hear Gwyneth’s laughter.
“Cinderelin is displeased,” she said.
“Cinderelin,” Annest echoed. “The smoky girl wants to go to the ball!” Their laughter rang in my ears as I wiped my face with the underside of my apron. Coming back here was the worst decision I’d ever made.
Chapter 19
By the end of the day I was so exhausted that Gwyneth’s threats of hobbling me seemed far away. Sunset was fast approaching, but I had been so hell-bent on finishing my extra chores that I made good headway. I had completed the cooking, laundry, and animal care, and had taken the small, parlor rug to the back patio where I scrubbed it. My hands were red, chaffed and nearly frost bitten. With my face numb and my fingers barely obeying me, I rolled it up. It was just small enough that I could handle it, but it was very heavy, especially wet. Condensing it made it easier to move. I wanted to hang it on the fence to allow the excess water to drip off.
My arms and legs shook as I struggled to heave it onto my shoulder. It tipped forward and a freezing cold stream of water poured out of the center of the rolled-up rug and ran straight down my bodice. I screamed.
“For the love of—” I winced from the shock and dropped it. The rug landed on the flagstones with a plop. Now I would have to start over. I didn’t know if I had it in me to lift it again.
Beyond the garden on the other side of the patio, a fox trotted across the field before the orchard. His orange fur stood out brightly against the nettles and grey branches of shrubbery. He stopped, peering in my direction with his large ears pricked, before he turned and looked back the way he had come.
“There,” I heard someone say.
The fox took off like a dart, disappearing past the side of the house.
Quietly, I walked to the edge of the patio and listened. I heard hoofbeats on the hard ground, and the same male voice again, only closer. “This way.”
My pulse quickened as I wondered who would have the nerve to hunt on our land. Despite the cold and numbness in my body, I jogged along the garden path toward the sound. Four riders in dark, heavy clothing were galloping in the direction of the fleeing fox. I could see the yellow Hennion coat of arms against the royal blue saddle blankets. A man with dark hair and a beard noticed me and held up a hand in greeting. They were about to pass by without a word as they pursued their quarry, until I noticed the young man with sandy brown hair and a familiar face. I squinted to try and see him more clearly. My stomach dropped. I couldn’t believe it. He returned my stare, pulling back on the reins as he opened his mouth.
“Elin?” He reined his mount so hard the animal slid to a halt and reared. As he brought the horse under control, my feet started moving underneath me, propelling me toward the young man with the orange eyes. I had barely recognized him… in all that clothing.
“Trystan? Trystan, is it you?”
“Elin!” His face lit up in a smile and he swung off his horse. I stood there numbly as it hit me that I was soaking wet and red from the cold, with soot on my face and bedraggled hair. But just like the day we first met in the woods when I had run away from home, Trystan seemed not to notice or care. He took me by the shoulders, his vivid eyes connecting with mine. “Elin,” he said softly, wrapping his arms around me in a hug so tight I could barely breath.
So, he wasn’t angry. He was glad to see me. My face broke into a smile and I hugged him, warmer now despite the wind and our unexpected meeting when I looked my absolute worst. “I’m so glad to see you again,” I said.
“And I you,” he said, gently pushing my head against his shoulder and holding it there. I could feel his warm breath in my hair. “You don’t know.�
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Trystan’s three escorts had wheeled their horses and trotted up to us. “Your Highness,” I heard a man say. There was a hard edge to his voice with a punch at the end. “With all due respect, I must discourage this—this—” It was the dark-haired man with the beard. He wasn’t old enough to be Trystan’s father, the king, although the scowl he was making carved deep lines into his forehead. He dismounted, hooking his bow on the saddle before he approached the prince. Trystan still held me in his embrace like he hadn’t heard.
“Your Highness, I beg you,” the man said. His boots thumped along the hard ground as he came near and placed a hand on the prince’s shoulder. Though I didn’t want to, I awkwardly wriggled out of Trystan’s grasp. I didn’t need either one of us getting in trouble. The dark-haired man sneered at me in unconcealed disgust, his upper lip twitching. I would say that I looked like a serving woman to him, but truthfully, no servant in a decent house looked as bad as I did.
“Heffon, this is the woman I was telling you about. This is Elin,” Trystan said, shoving the man’s hand away and picking up mine. The other two men dismounted, keeping their faces neutral as they pretended to casually walk over to assist.
The man’s eyes widened. “Then it’s even more important that we leave here immediately. The queen will not—”
“The queen will not do anything,” Trystan said. “I did as she asked yet am left waiting. It’s the eve before the presentation and we’ve received no word from the Emissary. These remaining hours are mine. Leave us. I’ll find my own way back.”
“Your Highness!” Heffon said, his voice rough. “It’s not only your life which hangs in the balance. You’re putting us all at risk.” The other two drew closer. The way they were speaking to one another, Trystan’s three escorts must all be Draugosero. I could only assume the queen to be Seren, and not Adain, the human one in Hennion Castle.
“Go,” Trystan said. “I’ll catch up to you.”