The Storyteller’s Daughter

by Victoria McCombs

  What were they doing here? Were they on their way back from the war? Was the war over?

  Without taking my eyes off the tall men, I folded my book away. A strange feeling crept over me, the sort I’d get when reading a book, and I knew something bad was about to happen, but I was powerless to stop it. I could do nothing but watch as the scene unfolded.

  If fazed, Papa didn’t show it. He extended his hand to the men. “Soldiers, can I interest you in a meal?”

  The man who stood at the front of the group turned up his lip at the offer. “We are the King’s guards,” he said, his voice thick and deep. Mama fell into a deep curtsy upon his declaration, but in our trance, neither Anika nor I moved.

  His narrowed eyes lingered on Anika then swept to me, while one of his hands rested on the hilt of his sword to remind us of his authority. Each of his men stood in a staggered line behind him, and I couldn’t help but think they looked ready for battle. They’d brought a fight to our home, and we couldn’t prevent it.

  Seeing the King’s guards surprised me but hearing what they had to say next sent me into shock.

  His words would change my life forever. When at last he spoke, his voice sounded like a strong river, too powerful to resist.

  “We are here for your daughter, Cosette. She is to report before the King.”

  Chapter Five

  Upon entering Westnut Castle, or rather, being dragged in while I stumbled about, I’d been forced into a small room where a bath was waiting for me, along with soap. It had been years since I had the luxury of bathing with soap.

  All the questions that earlier screamed in my mind settled down in the calm of the bath. The water soaked my skin and the sweet aroma filled my lungs, and for a moment I enjoyed the unexpected hospitality of the King.

  But this wasn’t why I’d been summoned. Something waited for me after the wash, and I couldn’t avoid it.

  As the pleasure of the bath quickly wore off, I pulled myself from the tub and the worries rushed back before the first water droplets found the floor. My beating heart couldn’t be quieted even when I pressed a hand to it, instead it drummed as loud as my footsteps while I moved to the large chair in the room with a dress draped over it. It was made of finer cloth than I’d ever touched, and more vivid blue than I’d ever seen, and my hands trembled to touch it while images of the dress falling apart at my touch pricked my mind. Surely the dress would know my hands aren’t worthy of holding it.

  It didn’t fall apart as I touched it, and I savored the feeling of silk over my skin.

  A pair of shoes lay next to the chair: soft slippers that warmed my toes. Unsure of what to do with my hair, as I had nothing to fasten it up with, I hoped they would find my simple braid acceptable.

  I knew little of the King besides that he had no name, or that any name he might have once had was never used and long forgotten, like a memory of a dream that can’t be recalled. Many claimed to know his true name, but they each spoke a different one, and few believed their tale. Now, he went simply by the King.

  The opinions about him varied. He wasn’t well liked by the people but wasn’t particularly disliked either. Many assumed him to be greedy, driven to war with his envious desires, but he had set up food stations for poor villages and gave pensions for the elderly. When asked, people would shrug their shoulders and say, “He’s the king, and that’s all there is to it.” People did have strong opinions about his son, however. Prince Conrad was adored. From what I’d heard, Prince Conrad was a virtuous man, compassionate, smart, and charming.

  I’d never met him, nor knew anyone who had, so I wasn’t sure where these opinions came from. Still, it was widely accepted that when Prince Conrad assumed the throne, our kingdom would flourish.

  Perhaps I’d meet the prince today. The notion filled me with both excitement and fear.

  The guards gave me no indication as to why I was being beckoned before the King, not even a hint as to if this was a good calling or a bad one, but I prayed that it would be the first.

  Try as I might, I had not the slightest idea as to what the King would want with me. I had nothing to offer a monarch. I hardly had anything to offer our poor family.

  Please, let this be a misunderstanding.

  Something kept me in that room for longer than necessary, whether it was dread or awe, I couldn’t say. The large bed tempted me to feel it’s warmth, but if I crawl in, I might never leave its safety.

  Village girls didn’t belong before the King.

  A loud knock told me I could delay no more, so I summoned any courage that lived within and opened the door.

  A guard stood in the corridor, waiting to lead me to the King. The warmth of the room faded behind me while my heart started to pound in my ears and my blood rushed. My knees grew weak as I walked behind the guard, and I was unsure they would carry me all the way. My head spun with the confusion of it all, and my vision turned blurry.

  I had come in through the west entrance, a smaller but still beautiful part of the castle, and traveled through open hallways to arrive at the guest wing. The castle itself was quite empty, with only a few people passing us even though our walk took several minutes. Earlier I’d caught a whiff of something tasty, but the scent vanished quickly. I searched for that same smell on the way to see the King, but whatever aroma had once been in the air was gone.

  The first hallways we took were the same as those I saw on the way in, but after a few minutes we turned inward, heading toward the heart of the castle. A few more people filled these corridors, mostly guards, stationed throughout. They each gave us a look, and I searched their faces to find some clue as to why I was called here. No one’s face spoke to me.

  Other than the allusive guards, Westnut Castle was beautiful, but I had little time to enjoy it. I tried to remember details to recount to Anika later, but my mind kept pulling me back to why the King wanted me there, and I felt dizzy all over again.

  I thought the guard who was leading me was with us earlier, but it was hard to remember. This all felt like it was happening too quickly. Just a few hours ago I was cleaning our tavern, and now I was dressed to appear before the King.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” my voice croaked as I spoke. “Do you have water? I’m feeling quite faint.”

  The guard glanced back at me but continued to walk. “I’m sorry, miss, but I do not. I have been instructed to take you directly to His Majesty.” His voice, to his defense, sounded apologetic.

  “Do you know why I am being summoned?” I asked meekly. My fingers played with the side of my dress as I worried. This time the guard didn’t turn to answer my question. We’d come upon two large doors, where another guard stood.

  “I bring the Lady Cosette to see the King,” my guard said in an official voice. The second guard nodded at him and reached for the door.

  A new feeling crept upon me, and I clutched my stomach. “I fear I’m going to be sick.”

  I didn’t have time to compose myself. With a loud creak, the doors were pushed in and I found myself facing the King.

  The room was larger than any I had ever seen. There was a long table set up along one side, while the other half remained open, and above a few balconies lined both sides, overlooking the splendor of the throne room.

  It was stunning and would have taken my breath away if it wasn’t already caught in my throat.

  About twenty people stood in the room, not including the few guards along the walls to the left and right. One of the men had a crown on his head, and I assumed him to be the King. He was hard to see from a distance, but he looked impatient.

  “Walk,” the guard behind me said in a low voice, reminding my legs to move. I stumbled forward, keeping my eyes on the King. My mind was racing as I tried to memorize his face. This all still felt like a dream that I might wake up from at any moment.

  The King turned and said something I could not hear to the man next to him, who nodded and left, taking a few people with him. The others stayed, clearing a pat
h for me to walk to the King.

  He made no move to meet me. Before I reached him, another man appeared at his side, one with soft skin, younger eyes, and a nice-looking face hiding under curly red hair. He was taller than the King, but not as wide, though no one could call the King a plump man. The quiet lad stood with his hands folded behind his back, looking at peace next to the King. I could see some similarities between them, and I knew that I was looking at Prince Conrad.

  So, this is the famous, beloved prince.

  My feet stopped before fully reaching the King. I was unsure of how close I could get before someone would stop me. Attempting my best curtsy, I poised myself with my head lowered, waiting for someone to speak.

  “Are you the seamstress Cosette?” The King’s voice was crackly, revealing his age.

  The title felt strange to hear, as I was new to the trade, but I knew I needed to own it.

  “I have only begun learning the trade, Your Majesty.” I was surprised that my voice formed a full sentence while my mind went through any possibility as to why the King wished to see me. My knees, thankfully, had yet to give out on me, and I kept them bent and my head up so that I could see the King as he spoke. His head remained fixed straight, so he looked down his rounded nose to me.

  “And your father, is he the storyteller at the Riverfront Tavern?” The King’s posture was stiff, so only his mouth moved with the words.

  Ah yes. My marginally famous storytelling Papa. Perhaps he was why I was here. Did the King wish to hear one of his stories? If so, he called for the wrong person. I confirmed that I was the storyteller’s daughter.

  The King took his first step forward. He reached a hand up to stroke his chin. My legs felt weak from holding the curtsey and I hoped he would get to his point soon. All these eyes made me nervous.

  “Then you are the girl who can turn straw into gold,” he said slowly, his voice coarse like stone clashing against a sword. “And you will do it for me.”

  I found the strength to stand as the color drained from my face. “No m-my lord, I cannot do such a thing.” I took a step backwards from the intense gaze of the King and his son. How had word reached the King that I could perform such a wonder? Papa told the story only a few weeks ago.

  The King raised a curved eyebrow. “No? You cannot? My men heard your father confirm it at his tavern.”

  My heart beat fast in my chest and willed it to calm itself. “It was merely a story, Your Majesty. Nothing more. I can’t spin straw into gold.” My hands and forehead started to sweat.

  His eyes narrowed, and he paced for a few seconds while his son stayed still. I searched Prince Conrad’s eyes for a hint of the kindness I had heard of, but he stared blankly back at me. Disappointed, I dropped my eyes to the ground and watched the King’s feet as he walked around me. When he formed a full circle, he stopped.

  I shuddered as he reached out his cold hand and lifted my chin up. His voice was low as he hissed, “I don’t believe you.”

  Shaking, I answered, “It’s true, I have no Gift. You can search our home; you won’t find gold anywhere.” My voice vibrated with fear.

  The King exchanged a look with his son that I couldn’t decode. After a few moments, Prince Conrad nodded. The King brought his piercing green gaze back to me. “Either you are lying to us, hoarding your gold somewhere and refusing to share with us your Gift that could end the war, or your father lied to my men.”

  This day had taken a terrifying turn.

  “My papa is a storyteller; he weaves tales. That does not make his stories true.”

  The King remained unaltered. “When asked if his tale was reliable, he said you were capable of wondrous things. You will show us these talents.”

  I wasn’t sure how many ways I could say it. I tried to straighten myself and look confident. I wanted there to be no mistake in my words. “Your Majesty, I cannot spin straw into gold.”

  With my words, the King took another step toward me. A small whisper went through the room and I feared what would come next. “I hear what you are saying. Now listen closely to me. I believe you can spin straw into gold. You will share your Gift with me.”

  The King pulled away suddenly and waved his hand at my guard who came running forward. I protested, but he ignored my cries. Beside him, Prince Conrad studied me, and I shrugged my shoulders and shook my head at him, but he didn’t move.

  “Fill a room with straw, lock her in until the morning. She will spin it into gold for us.”

  My guard bowed and went to leave the room. I looked wildly around, begging for anyone to listen to me.

  “I can’t do it; I don’t know how!”

  “You are not doing this for me,” the King said. “You are doing this for our soldiers, the men off fighting the war in Osmelee and Tames. Your gold will buy us the armies and weapons needed to end this war. You will be a hero.”

  I sank to my knees, unsure of what else to do. “Your Majesty, do not think me to be greedy in keeping such a thing from my country. I promise you, I cannot do what you ask.”

  The King was still giving orders to other guards, choosing not to listen to my words.

  Anika would be ashamed if she saw me on my knees. I rose back to my feet and tried to summon the strength of my sister as I stood before the King and his court.

  “What will you do,” I asked, “when morning comes and there is no gold?”

  The King turned to me and narrowed his eyes. “In the morning, I will either have gold or I will have your life.”

  The strength of Anika left me as I fainted.

  Chapter Six

  “That room? That’s the room that you filled with straw?”

  I came back to my senses enough to know that I was being carried in the arms of a guard. My arm hung at my side and my head was tilted in an uncomfortable position. My mouth felt dry and my mind was thick with confusion.

  “It’s never used, and it only has one way to get in,” a second guard spoke near to me, and I suspected he was the one who carried me.

  “That’s where he lives,” the first guard said.

  I tried to wake up fully, but I still felt only halfway there. Who were they talking about? Where were they taking me? The questions swirled through the fog in my mind.

  “He is only a spirit.”

  “My mother claims to have seen him as a child. He’s more than a spirit, that’s for sure.”

  A third voice came, gruffer than the others. “I don’t believe in him at all. It’s all nonsense.”

  Finally, I pried my eyes open enough to see that they carried me down a thin corridor. The sun must have traveled across the sky, because there was a soft glow coming through the windows. There was a stale smell, and my hip felt bruised. I was still wearing the silk dress and slippers, though they didn’t feel as luxurious as they once had. The memory of the day came rushing back to me, and fright took hold.

  “Doesn’t matter either way, I’m not moving all that straw again. Took us several wagons,” my guard spoke again. He grunted as he shifted me in his arms.

  “You dropped some.” There was a sound of a foot kicking along the ground.

  We slowed to a stop and I craned my head to see where we were. One of the guards fumbled with a key until he unlocked the small door in front of us. I twisted in the arms of my captor to free myself, but he held tight. No, I must get free. I must escape.

  “Calm down, miss.” He squeezed my arms harder than necessary. “Just make us some gold and you can be on your way.”

  My mouth opened in protest, but it was too dry to form comprehendible words. Instead, tight cries came out.

  The door swung open and I was greeted with the crisp smell of straw. I twisted again, but the guard held on tight. He carried me effortlessly halfway into the room before dropping me.

  I stumbled as I stood up, ready to bolt. Looking up, I saw five guards behind the first. They thought it would take six guards to lock me in a room. The thought of that made me smile a little.


  One of the guards held a plate of food, while four others looked poised to stop me from running. The last guard was looking around the room as if something was going to jump out at him. That must be the guard who spoke of a spirit who lived here.

  The guard with the food slowly put the plate on the ground with his eyes on me as if I were a hungry animal. I was aware that I hadn’t eaten all day, but right now, food was the last thing on my mind.

  Before the guard stood back up, I scrambled for the door. I didn’t get more than a few steps before one of the guards caught me.

  “No!” I yelled with all my strength as I ripped my arm from his grasp. I tried to kick at him, but he pushed me back to the floor where I banged my elbow on the unforgiving stone ground.

  I slid my feet back under me and tried to run again, but the guards had exited the room with surprising speed. The last guard stood in the doorway for a second, looking around with wide eyes before studying me with an expression I couldn’t place.

  “Good luck, miss.”

  I suspected he wasn’t talking about the straw.

  He shut the door and locked it with a click, leaving me alone inside.

  I was alone, and I was going to die.

  Too much energy coursed through me to allow me to cry now. Instead, I whipped my head around, desperately searching for an escape.

  The room was half as big as our tavern. The door was centered along the wall, and had no windows on it. I ran to the door first, pulling on the handle with all my might. When that didn’t work, I pushed it, then kicked.

  The door didn’t budge.

  Perhaps I could beat the door in with something. The room had several carts full of straw dumped along one side, with a small rug next to them, and a spinning wheel on top of it, one nicer than the rotting one Seamstress Kira used. It might hold up if bashed against the door a few times, but it would break before the door would.

  To the other side of the room was a small table set up with a chair on each side. The ceiling was lower there, making room for the balcony above. Wooden stairs rose up along the wall near the door, leading to a loft overhead. There were bookshelves up there, but it looked otherwise abandoned.