by Unknown
She found the spell in the old grimoire she’d inherited from the witch who had raised her. Poppy had written it in red ink—a sure sign that it was difficult and dangerous. Hyacinth copied it out. She didn’t know how long it would take Renata to have rooms prepared for her in the palace, but she must start this spell now if she wished to have it complete by the time Renata called for her.
#
A month later, Hyacinth shooed Pot Pie away from the table where she was grinding more ingredients for the wisdom spell in her marble mortar. A vase nearby held fresh cut iris and lilies; she breathed their heady scent, but it didn’t make her feel any better. She was grateful she was preparing this spell in spring, when the flowers were in bloom. Fresh flowers were so much more potent than dried ones.
She had been gathering ingredients, and brewing different parts of the spell bath, ever since the day Renata had requested it. The spell was nearly complete, and none too soon. Hyacinth had been summoned to the palace two days hence.
The flasks and tubing were purified and ready for use. She dropped flower petals and minced aloe leaves into a jar of pure almond oil, and heated them together over a flame. To the pale-green oil that dripped from the tubing she added exact amounts of four different powders—those which she had been preparing for a month—and heated it again. As the contents of the flask turned a glorious clear purple, Hyacinth removed it from the flame and carried it to the cool room.
When Hyacinth returned to the palace, she had the spell in her pocket in a bottle carved of alabaster. She hoped there would be some way to slip the bottle to Renata without anyone seeing it. Terzo would certainly not let his new wife take a spell bath while she was pregnant. Spell baths were more casually used in Vezienn, his homeland, so Hyacinth was sure Terzo knew the basics about spells and their effects. A spell bath taken by a pregnant woman endowed both mother and child with the desired quality; but both mother and child paid for the spell—and in different ways. Everyone had heard tales of deformed monsters born to women who had taken spell baths during pregnancy.
Renata had already used the spell for strength. There had been a good chance at the time that the spell would kill the barely formed child. But both mother and child were strong and healthy. Hyacinth wondered, for the thousandth time, what toll the spell had taken on them both.
As Hyacinth walked beside Renata, going through the rooms that would be hers in the palace, she glanced sideways often. Renata’s restless energy enhanced her natural beauty. That must please Terzo. More’s the pity. Renata did stumble often, and once she ran into a doorjamb. It was rather too early in her pregnancy for it to affect her balance. Was Renata’s clumsiness caused by the spell bath?
Renata opened the door to a small room, and as they passed through Hyacinth slipped the bottle into her hand, out of sight of the bored ladies following them. “You’ll have to get rid of your companions somehow,” she whispered to the queen. “This is a rather obvious purple, and has a strong—though very pleasant—odor. Anyone would guess what it is.”
Renata nodded. “I’ll do it if I have to get up in the darkest hour of the night and bathe in a bucket. Terzo will never know. He’s too busy bedding those twittering beauties.”
Hyacinth squeezed her hand. “Do take care. I still can’t agree with what you’re doing—”
“You live in this kingdom,” came Renata’s furious whisper. “Do you want Terzo and his offspring to rule you? My child must be strong enough to face whatever comes, and make a fine ruler in his own right. With strength and wisdom. . . .”
“I understand.” Hyacinth’s whisper was almost inaudible. She didn’t remind Renata that there would be payment for the bath. The queen was fully aware of that.
#
Though she ached to know if Renata had been able to use the spell bath—and what its consequences had been—Hyacinth was not summoned to the palace again until two months before the queen’s child was due. She—and Renata—knew that the child would be ‘early,’ but they hoped no one else suspected.
The palace was very different now than it had been during Bhaltair’s rule. New tapestries on the walls, expensive carpet underfoot, and gaudy statuary and bric-a-brac cluttering the hall were probably the least of the changes.
Hyacinth was taken to the room where she had met Renata before. The queen paced awkwardly back and forth, surrounded by chattering ladies and their useless needlework. Hyacinth looked closely at the queen, trying to discover what price she had paid for wisdom. But she seemed well enough, though restless and clumsy. The child would be a large one, that was obvious.
When Hyacinth accompanied Renata to the nursery for a final check that all was well, the ladies didn’t even bother to follow. What mischief could a woman who could hardly waddle get into?
“One more spell—and it must be soon,” Renata told Hyacinth. “Compassion. No matter what happens to me—or you—a king with compassion can’t be as greedy and selfish as Terzo is.
“But is this wise? The cost—”
“It doesn’t matter to me what payment the spell exacts. The child is healthy and strong. He’s big enough now that I could bear him today and he would thrive, so the midwife assures me.”
Hyacinth closed her eyes, praying for strength. “We may not have time,” she said. “I don’t have that one prepared, and it takes weeks. And how will I get it to you?” Compassion was another difficult spell—although not nearly as complex as that for wisdom. Hyacinth had never made it, because few people wanted it. Why risk the inevitable loss of some other faculty to gain compassion?
“Start moving your belongings into your rooms here at the palace. You needn’t come yet, but if you leave the spell somewhere, hidden but clearly labeled. . . .”
“The coffer you gave me when you were a child—the one with my initial on the lid,” Hyacinth said. Ten-year-old Renata had carved the ornate ‘H’ into the wood herself. She would know it.
Renata gave a half smile. “Good.” They passed back into the parlor, Hyacinth half supporting the queen, who was clumsier than ever. Renata said, as if continuing a conversation they had been having, “Then you will start sending your possessions to the palace in a week? The midwife says the child is so active it may come sooner than expected.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“I’ll send a cart, and porters.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
#
The reality of her move to the palace was made all the clearer when she sent off a cartload of her books and clothing. Her friend Tamarisk would live in the cottage until the young prince—or princess—no longer needed a nurse and she could return to her private life. She was apprehensive about living in such close proximity to the new King Terzo. If he came to the nursery to visit ‘his’ child, she would be meek and as invisible as possible. To his sort, servants were usually invisible. Perhaps he would not remember that she was a witch.
On a cold and blustery day in the Month of Storms, a carriage came from the palace. The imposing individual who stepped down from it to tell her that the Queen requested her presence had to wait. Hyacinth fed Pot Pie and gave him a last hug, gathered a bundle of things she wanted to take, left a note for Tamarisk, and closed the door. She looked back on her cottage regretfully. She would miss it, miss the independence and ability to speak her mind. But Renata was giving up so much more, living with Terzo; Hyacinth could spare a few years of a long life to raise up the next ruler of Orthefell.
Armed men were everywhere in the streets now, and few people braved the cold and possibility of tangling with the king’s troops. Hyacinth missed the laughter of children playing in the snow.
As the carriage drove through the palace’s main gate, a maid scurried out to tell Hyacinth that Renata was calling for her. Hyacinth left her bundle in the carriage—either it would be taken to her rooms or not, she didn’t care at this point—and hurried up the stairs to the Queen’s rooms.
The lying in was attended only by women, as t
radition demanded, and Renata had banned her twittering companions. The only people in the room were two stolid middle-aged maids and the midwife.
Renata sat, propped up with pillows, in bed. Though she was breathing quickly, she was far too still for Hyacinth’s peace of mind. Where was the restless energy that had filled the queen the last time Hyacinth had seen her?
Renata looked up as Hyacinth entered, but did not smile at her until the witch was nearly at her bed. The way Renata squinted at her made Hyacinth wonder if clarity of eyesight had been the payment for one of the spells. “I’m—so glad—you’re here,” she panted. “He’s coming early, my baby, and I wanted—you to be here.”
Now that Hyacinth could see the queen with her hair down in two plaits instead of up under a veil—as it had been the last two times she’d seen her—she thought she knew what another of the payments had been. Silver glints showed among the chestnut hairs at the crown of her head. How many years had Renata lost? More than ever, it pained Hyacinth that her gain was made at the cost of the people she helped.
“Thank you for calling me, Your Majesty,” she said.
“I knew—you would want—to be here. Oh!”
The midwife and maids lifted Renata onto the birthing stool. Hyacinth, though she had birthed babies before, wasn’t needed. She watched, uneasy. Why had Renata been in bed? Why not walking to ease the pain of the contractions?
The birth progressed quickly after that. When the baby was delivered, and the midwife had tied off the cord, the maids gently washed Renata, then carried her back to the bed and covered her up. She didn’t seem to notice; all her attention was for the child the midwife held.
“My child,” she whispered.
“Your son,” the midwife said. “Strong, for all he’s early. I think he’ll have your hair, Your Majesty.” Indeed, the round head was covered with chestnut fuzz. With luck, Terzo would never suspect the child’s true father.
As the midwife washed and swaddled the boy, Hyacinth studied him closely. She could see no deformities—he waved his arms and legs vigorously, and blinked big dark eyes when the midwife moved him closer to the lantern. What price had he paid for his mother’s spell baths? There was a patch of dark skin on one shoulder, but many babies had birthmarks similar to that.
“Show him to Terzo,” Renata whispered. “Show him his son.”
The woman left, carrying the baby, and the maids followed her. Renata closed her eyes and went limp against Hyacinth. “It was worth it.”
“What is it, Renata? What’s wrong?”
“The last bath. Ever since I took it, I’ve been losing the use of my legs. By this morning, I couldn’t stand. By the time the contractions started, not even my toes would move. But my son—he’s strong, he’s healthy.”
Hyacinth swallowed, tears rising in her eyes.
“I’ve given him everything I could. He’ll be the ruler Bhaltair didn’t have the chance to be. He’ll have strength, wisdom, and compassion.”
“We still have to raise him, to teach him. Keep him from Terzo’s example.”
Renata sank back against the pillows and closed her eyes. “Thank all the gods I’ll have you with me. You’ve given me the strength and wisdom to raise him the way Bhaltair would have wanted.”
In a nearby room, the King of Orthefell exulted over the birth of his son. He did not ask about the child’s mother.
Hyacinth had never made a bane bath in her life. She wondered grimly if, during her time here as the new prince’s nurse, she would find a need to. She would be meek, she would be obedient—but if Terzo stepped outside the bounds, he would be sorry he had offended the witch who loved the queen.
Dead Princesses
by Steve Chapman
Shada has never been anyone’s idea of a proper princess: that would be her sister Sienna. Shada has always preferred straight-forward fighting to diplomacy. Fortunately, she’s a very good fighter.
A lapsed musician and engineer, Steve Chapman lives with his wife and daughter at the New Jersey shore. Though he spends most days high above Times Square , in the evening he can hear the ocean. His fiction can be found in SWORD & SORCERESS 25 and 26, and in the forthcoming Harrow Press anthology MORTIS OPERANDI.
****
“It is my understanding, Master Dominic,” Shada said, “That once a Scarlet Guardsman is sworn to a princess as her Shield he must do whatever she commands.”
The young guardsman stiffened beside her. “This is accurate, your highness.”
Shada batted her eyelashes, playing the flighty girl Dominic seemed to take her for. He was terribly earnest, unable to parse even the broadest irony. It augured poorly for their future together, a future she was desperate to avoid.
Every member of St. Navarre’s royal family was assigned a Shield on his or her sixteenth birthday. The tradition was designed to foster a bond that could not be corrupted by gold or sorcery.
But Shada required no bodyguard to ensure her safety. She was afraid of nothing and had no doubt that she could beat handsome, stalwart, and dim Dominic senseless on the proving grounds. Despite her protests, the dark-haired, dark-eyed junior Guardsman had been sworn to her in a Citadel ceremony that morning. The only possibility of escaping his constant attention that Shada could see was to make his duty intolerable. If he resigned the bond then maybe they would leave her in peace.
To this end she had led Dominic into the dim passages behind Kings Hall. The corridors were roughly hewn from obsidian stone, lit only by wall-set torches. When Shada took Dominic’s hand it was moist with unease.
“We should not be here.” He tried to pull away.
“Your protection excites me.” Shada dropped her voice to a whisper and worked hard to suppress a snicker. “I feel a dangerous swoon approaching that can, uh, only be defeated by the touch of your lips.”
Dominic flushed the red of a turnip. “I cannot.”
“It is forbidden.” Shada knew her behavior was deplorable, but felt her heart sing at the look of horror on the boy’s face. “Yet you are sworn to obey me in all things.”
“Enough.” Shada’s twin sister Sienna emerged from the shadows.
Shada sighed. She should have known there was no escaping her killjoy sister. Dominic jumped to attention, back ramrod straight, arms at his sides.
Sienna had been born just moments after Shada, yet they were nothing alike. Sienna’s brown hair contrasted with Shada’s streaked blond, her perfectly fitted court dress with Shada’s worn combat leathers. They shared only the green of their eyes, through which they saw the world in utterly contrary ways. Because Sienna had been born second, she would not have to suffer her own Shield until the next High Day.
“I had thought myself beyond shock at your behavior, Shada.” Sienna’s dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail, her unadorned face starkly beautiful. “I stand corrected.”
Shada threw her arms around Dominic’s neck. “Just wait until you have your own dreamy Shield, sworn to answer your every need.”
The guardsman’s face darkened from turnip to eggplant.
“You’re not amusing.” Sienna said. “One day you may rue making your Shield despise you.”
The notion that she’d ever require anyone’s protection burned at Shada, but she kept her tone cool. “Should Dominic ever show the poor taste to despise me I would immediately command him not to.”
Sienna rolled her eyes and brushed past them, undoubtedly off to spy on someone through the many peepholes into the Hall.
Shada returned her attention to Dominic, but Sienna had effectively killed the joke. Shada no longer felt funny or justified, only tired and mean.
Down the dark corridor, Sienna screamed.
Shada broke away from Dominic and launched herself along the passage, her sword hissing from its scabbard.
“Princess, wait!” Dominic cried out behind her.
Two turns of the corridor ahead, Shada found her sister standing in a pool of yellow torchlight. Strung up beside the tor
ch was the body of a girl in a pretty purple dress.
“Sorry,” Sienna said, now all business. “I was surprised.”
Fair enough, Shada thought. “Who…?”
“Jennie Fassbinder, the Coin Minister’s daughter.” Sienna’s voice shook. “I barely recognized her.”
Sienna brushed Jennie’s hair back from her face. She had died from a cut across the throat, but it was her other wound that drew Shada’s gaze. She’d been fond of delicate Jennie, a kind and quiet girl whose blue eyes had lit up many dark Citadel rooms.
Now she was dead, and her eyes were missing.
#
Half an hour later Shada still lingered over the body, feeling sad and helpless. She could abide neither sensation, but neither could she walk away.
Scarlet Guardsmen had cleared the courtiers from the Cathedral-like space of Kings Hall, brought in the body, and taken up positions around the empty throne. Sir Gregory, the King’s white-haired First Councilor, huddled with Sienna and the Master at Arms at the foot of the enormous stone seat.
“Princess, we should let the Guard handle this.” Dominic looked nervously about the Hall.
“Leave me.” Shada was unable to pull her gaze from Jennie’s empty face.
“I’m sworn not to,” Dominic said.
The stab of shame Shada felt at her behavior towards him only inflamed her fury at his presence.
Sienna returned from her huddle. “The body was placed there to be found. Gregory believes someone is sending a message.”
Shada touched the sword at her belt. “It would be my pleasure to respond.” She intended to make whoever had done this very sorry they had.
“Jennie was harmless in herself and her position,” Sienna said. “If this is a threat, it lacks clarity.”
A Citadel Warden in gleaming armor approached. At the sight of the corpse the warrior-priest gasped. “This is Lisle’s Mark.”