Her Moon: A Retelling of William Shakespeare's The Winter's Tale

by Cortney Pearson

  “Who told you that?” I say in disbelief.

  “You did. The minute I met you, in fact.”

  I’m speechless. I stand there, forge blazing at my back, lock in hand spewing out its heart-shaped key.

  He rests his hands behind his back and peers around my shop. “So why blacksmithing, Miss Aravale?”

  I can’t believe how at ease he is. He acts as if we’ve known each other for months instead of minutes.

  “It keeps me busy,” I say, turning away from him and reaching for a long piece of metal lying on the coals. I place it on the anvil. The tip snarls orange and yellow—the combination makes it appear almost white.

  “There’s more to it than that,” Cove says, removing his gloves and placing them on my filthy table. “I’ve never met a girl blacksmith before.”

  A girl blacksmith. I knew there was more to his attentions than he let on. I pick up my hammer and force away a wince as the pressure rises to my shoulder. The sun has already set. I’ve been at this long enough today. Argento is probably waiting for me to come in for supper.

  “Herding sheep won’t get me out of Bohemia,” I say, securing the scorching metal with a long pair of tongs.

  “You wish to leave?” Cove ambles around to get a better view. I wipe sweat from my brow again and lower the hammer. But I pause. I’m not used to having an audience. At least, not one who looks like Cove Rutledge.

  Heat from the sweltering forge blazes hotter than ever, adding a glow to his face and firelight in his eyes. Small beadlets of sweat collect along his temples. He can’t be comfortable. And yet he stands here. Talking to me.

  Me. The girl blacksmith.

  I grit my teeth.

  “Why?” he prods. “Why do you want to leave your home?”

  Forget it. I plunge the half-molten spoon into a bucket of water. The metal lets off a resounding hiss. I wipe my brow once more and remove the gloves, nursing my shoulder and stepping out to the open end of the barn.

  The cool air is a welcome change and I breathe it in, allowing it to soak through my lungs and clear out some of the congestion of being dipped in the heat of the smithy. I nurse my right shoulder, rolling it a few times.

  Cove joins my side. He waits in silence for my response. The valley spreads out before us, and several nearby sheep let off vacant baas. Lights from homes below speckle and flicker, a wagon rickets past down the hill, and I take in another clean breath.

  “See that moon?” I say.

  He nods, keeping his glance on me.

  “Growing up, Argento surrounded me with books. I was enticed by tales of the ocean, of forests, of vast, glistening lakes that mirror the mountains they border. Cities larger than I can imagine… I’ve read of them all.”

  “But reading isn’t enough,” Cove finishes.

  I bask in the brisk air, hands aching while the pocket of pain still gnaws at my shoulder.

  “That moon shines on those other places, just like it does here in Bohemia. I want to see it from somewhere else. To see what it’s like, knowing something so constant is with me no matter where I go.”

  Cove stares at the moon. After several moments he says, “I have something I’d like to show you. Will you come for a ride with me?”

  “What, you mean now?”

  He laughs. “Yes, now.”

  “But I’m—” Sweaty, dirty. Dreadfully behind on this order. If I have any chance of going with Christabel in a few weeks, I’ve got to step it up—I haven’t even started on her pots yet.

  Cove takes my hand and, as with last night, I’m instantly aware of how smooth his skin is against the rough spots on mine. I slip mine away.

  “Please, Perdita. Ride with me?”

  “Why?” I ask. “Why me? Why now?”

  “Would it be enough to say I enjoy your company and want more of it?”

  I analyze him. No boy has ever said he enjoys my company. And I’m sure it’s no secret I return the sentiment.

  “We won’t be gone long,” he adds, gesturing to his horse who paws the ground feet away.

  “Very well,” I say, wiping my hands on my apron. “Give me a moment.”

  I dash into my house—grabbing a bucket of water and a clean cloth—run to my room, rip off my clothes and begin scrubbing furiously with homemade soap. If only I had time for a proper bath. As it is, I dry off, toss on fresh clothes and spritz some rose water.

  “What’s your hurry?” Argento asks when I scramble back down the stairs, tying my hair into another quick braid.

  “I’m going for a ride with Cove Rutledge.” On his horse. Oh heavens, I’ll be on his horse. With him. “We won’t be gone long.”

  “This late?” Argento asks, rising from his chair near the fireplace. “Is the forge still lit?”

  “Blast,” I say, wheeling around. Not enough time. Will he wait for me to douse it? Ugh, and I just changed—that means I’ll have to change again…

  Argento hobbles to the door and slips into his coat. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Thanks.” I sneak in and peck him on the cheek. “We’ll be back soon.”

  “Mind yourself, Perdita,” he says with a warning sort of tone.

  “Back soon!” I yell.

  Three

  I scamper up the path and startle. Cove stands beside not just one, but two horses.

  “You saddled Ivory for me?”

  He gives a slight bow, offering her reins. While the courtesy isn’t lost on me, I can’t help the disappointment settling into my chest.

  “To get to where we’re going,” he says, stroking his stallion, “it will be easier riding Ember together. But I thought I’d at least offer, if you’d prefer to ride separately…”

  Chin high, I take Ivory’s reins and lead her back to the barn, tying her to the post and sliding her an apple in mute apology. Then without looking at Cove, I pass him, pat Ember’s nose, and mount.

  Cove’s mouth fights a smile. “I guess that takes care of that,” he says, climbing up. I scoot back so he has room to fit on the saddle in front of me, and thrill as my hands rest at his waist.

  I’m touching a boy. I’m touching. A boy.

  “I tried to hurry,” I tell him. “I couldn’t very well join you covered in ashes.”

  “Suits me,” says Cove over his shoulder. He takes my hands and secures them tighter around his waist. “I’d hold on. We like to go fast.”

  ***

  Ember gallops across the valley. Wind whirls my hair, and I hug Cove tightly through the horse’s rapid progress. Just when I’m wondering exactly how far we’re going, Cove pulls the reins and the horse slows to a trot, bouncing us with every step.

  A lake rises along the edge of the brush below. Rocks jumble and bar the way to the sand and the abandoned building looming several hundred feet away.

  Cove dismounts. “This ground is too rough for old Ember,” he says, offering me a hand. I dismount, foot slipping on an uneven rock.

  “Careful there,” Cove says, steadying me, hands at my waist. I’m aware of his touch like he’s an extension of me. He stares down, his expression soft, all while my stomach cinches into a tight wad.

  The horse dithers for a moment and lets out a low chuff.

  “Where are we going?” I ask, clearing my throat.

  Cove blinks in the moonlight before inclining his head and offering me his arm. “This way.”

  He leads me down the rocks bordering the lake’s shore. My progress is slow—I’m relieved when my feet sink into the sand instead of the corrugated rocks. The old water wheel attached to the abandoned building sways, letting off an eerie chorus of creaks. Empty window frames gape at me, devoid of even a trace of glass.

  The roof, likewise, is missing, baring the empty framework that once protected the old mill. Frogs croak amid the rattling panels, echoing, reminding me how far we are from civilization.

  “What is this place?” I ask, mounting the entrance’s crumbling step. Plants have overtaken the interior of the roo
fless structure, which has been gutted save for the exterior walls. Cove enters first, and I follow, opening my arms and twirling with the moon in view so it circles me like a giant eye.

  “Incredible, isn’t it?” Cove asks. “Imagine what it would be like if we all had no roof and could examine the sky at will.”

  “We could just step outside, I suppose,” I say.

  “Ah, but there’s your dilemma again, Miss Aravale.” He rests a boot on the vacant windowsill and stares out. “We haven’t traveled far, really. Yet seeing the moon in an unusual place is so much more intriguing than seeing it from the same perspective every time.”

  I glance at the broken timbers, the exposed rafters, at the luxury of being indoors and yet outdoors all at once.

  “I’ve never thought of it like that before,” I say, wondering where he’s going with this. “Is that why you brought me here?”

  “I wanted you to see the moon from here. But now that you mention it, there’s something else. Come this way.”

  Cove crosses the space toward a darkened corner I hadn’t noticed. He retrieves a lantern from the shadow and, with the sound of a striking match, lights it. The beam illuminates a staircase in the open chasm below.

  I clench. A dark, open building with no roof is one thing. An even darker passage leading to who knows where is another entirely.

  “What’s down there?” I ask, joining him to peer into the darkness.

  He rests a hand at my back, gesturing with the lantern. “You’re safe with me. I promise.”

  I hesitate. A royal surveyor’s son—probably not likely to ravish a maiden while in a town where his father is on duty. Curiosity itches down my spine, and I follow Cove down the stairs.

  ***

  The descent takes far too long. I have a huge desire to bolt back and run for it. Girls go missing in situations just like this. Charmed by handsome young men and then never heard from again. What am I doing here?

  But we reach the room below. It fills with a soft yellow glow, and I gasp.

  A statue stands on a pedestal directly in the center. It’s a woman, tall, stocky yet graceful, draped in cloth. A wreath of flowers encircles her head. Her face holds an unfathomable sorrow and she stares as though fending off some great loss.

  “She’s beautiful.” I circle the statue, noting the single word marking the base. Beloved. “Who was she?” I wonder aloud.

  Cove remains in the shadow near the stairwell. “They say she was the queen, banished and publicly shamed by her husband for a crime she did not commit.”

  “What was the crime?” I ask, examining the details in the flowers she holds.

  “I suppose no one really knows any more. Adultery. Murder. Something scandalous, probably. She was cast into prison for it, only for the king to discover her innocence too late.”

  She died in prison. Thrown in there by her own husband for something she didn’t do. I shudder and stare into her stony, sad eyes. I can only imagine the time it must have taken for someone to carve such pain, to immortalize it in stone.

  “That is terrible,” I say, though the words don’t seem to be enough.

  “It’s just a story,” says Cove. “But yes, heartbreaking.”

  I touch her cold, solid fingers. “Why did they hide her down here?”

  “King Leontes said it was too painful to see her all the time. Of course, this is all legend. For all we know, she could be someone’s lover or an object of imagination.”

  If King Leontes was that pained to see the statue, then the story is real. It must be.

  I give a small smile and stroke her gray, frozen arm. “I work and shape metals to be something they aren’t. The heat and force coerces them. Imagine chiseling and shaping something like this with small tools.”

  “Both are equally perplexing skills,” says Cove.

  “If I could learn to do it, anyone can.”

  “You still haven’t answered my question.” Coves saunters toward me. He examines the statue, occasionally sliding his gaze to me and back to her again.

  I lower my hand and give him my attention. “What question?”

  He raises an eyebrow, and I laugh.

  “About colors? What a silly thing to think about right now!”

  Cove moves closer this time, so close I catch his breath and the glint in his eyes when he tilts in. “What else should I be thinking about right now?”

  I stand there, trapped in his gaze. My heart climbs to my throat. I should be proper, retreat and say something about respectability. Instead, I face him, feeling his chest rising against mine.

  Cove lifts his fingers and—hesitating for the briefest moment—touches my cheek. “I’m glad you came, Perdita.”

  I can scarcely breathe. All my thoughts center on him, his smell, on the tips of his fingers, the charge they hold.

  I long to return the touch, to discover him in some new way. Curse the wretched calluses on my own fingertips. Thoughts muddle into a pile, growing deeper and deeper as I get lost in him, in the line of his cheeks and the shape of his mouth.

  “So am I,” I eventually say.

  ***

  My eyes refuse to close that night. I lie in bed and stare at the thatch, imagining the sky beyond it, remembering Cove and our silent but exhilarating ride home. The way he’d kissed my hand once more and let his lips linger against my skin…

  It could happen. We are old enough to marry, a future could be possible. I scarcely want to imagine it, but the thoughts crash in anyway. Cove and me, wedding beneath the same stars winking through my window. Starting a new life together, a family.

  I slam my lids shut. Foolish. I barely know him. Yet how many others marry through an arrangement, with no acquaintance at all?

  Warmth brews in my chest, feeding these feelings until I finally drift off to sleep with thoughts of Cove skimming the edges of my mind.

  Four

  The next morning I assess my closet, wishing for the first time I had more pretty things to wear. I settle for a pink dress cinched at the waist. Argento rose early and is up the mountain, tending his sheep. I scribble him a note and leave it on the counter beside the clay flower that’d been found in my basket so long ago and now serves as a decoration.

  The barn stares at me, reminding me I have Christabel’s order to finish, but I quickly saddle Ivory and ride down the mountain instead of stoking the forge.

  The outskirts of town come quicker than I remember. I guide Ivory past shops, past the inn, past several of the residencies and farms, until I come to Signet Manor, property owned by Leontes, the king of Sicilia and utilized by his men whenever they have business here in Bohemia.

  “I must be crazy,” I mutter to myself, handing Ivory off to a manservant who directs me toward a wrought iron archway surrounded by trees and dripping foliage.

  “He’s that way, miss.”

  “Thank you,” I say, adjusting my skirts. I wish I had a mirror. Or a tonic that could slow my heart.

  Gearing myself, I step onto the cobblestone. I don’t get far before I nearly collide with Cove. My senses skitter the moment I see him, my nerves ignite in little outbursts all through my body. I place a hand over my heart in attempt to slow it.

  “Perdita,” he says in surprise, buttoning his jacket as though he’d dressed in a hurry. “I was just coming to see you.”

  “You were?”

  “What are you doing here?” he asks, all smiles and dancing eyes. He takes in my appearance, and his gaze is so approving my cheeks burn.

  I glance around at the elegant courtyard, the vines climbing along columns decorating the entrance to his temporary home.

  “I—I came to…” To see you.

  I can’t get him out of my mind. Not him, not the statue. Riding with him beneath the stars, holding him close to me, it was the ultimate delirium. I want to make sure it was real. Doubt creeps in, seeing the grandeur surrounding him, seeing the elegance he’s used to. What am I doing here?

  “…to thank you. Fo
r showing me the statue.”

  He continues that silly smirk. “You did thank me. Last night. When I took you there.”

  Shame boils hot and fast in my chest, building up behind my ears. I should never have come.

  “Well, then. I said it once more. Farewell.” I turn heel and head straight for the stables. I should never have presumed I could simply visit him like this. Like he’s just anyone.

  Cove laughs and tags behind, gravel crunching beneath his feet. “Perdita, come back.”

  I pause, one hand on my stomach. After a few shallow breaths I peek at him.

  “Sunlight looks well on you,” he goes on. “I’ve only seen you by moonlight and lamplight. Please, won’t you come in?”

  I glance once more up at his grandiose dwelling, at its towering facets and decadent windows. “Are you sure? I should probably—Argento might need some—”

  Cove takes my hand, and I inhale. The touch courses straight through me, rooting me to the spot.

  “I’d like nothing more,” he says. He turns my hand over and traces along each callus with a gentle fingertip.

  My mouth goes dry. I can barely speak. “I know—they’re rough.”

  “They’re you,” he says, trailing a finger up from my palm to the tips of mine. Then slowly, he twines his hand with mine.

  “So—” I begin, but I don’t get farther than that. My breath hasn’t caught up yet and my voice is embarrassingly weak.

  Cove doesn’t miss a thing. His face is smug. In fact, he’s just plain gloating at the effect he has on me.

  “Come. I’ve seen what you do all day,” he says. “Would you care to see what I do here?”

  I clear my throat, willing sense to judder back into my brain. Wake up, idiot! “I’d love to.”

  We enter through an elegant hallway bedecked with red carpets and painted tapestries. I do nothing but stare. I make deliveries to places like this. I never get invited to them.

  Cove keeps my arm in his and leads me to a room in the back. A single desk sits in the room’s center atop a gold-trimmed rug. A large portrait depicting the countryside hangs over the fireplace between the two largest windows.