Rupert blew out a breath. “A long and complicated tale. Suffice it to say, for now, we were able to refortify the wall and fight on.” He shook his head in wonder. “Never let it be said the citizens of Burgendy are not fierce when attacked in their own nest. Right wasps they were. I have seen sights you would not believe—women repelling armed invaders using rolling pins and hat pins. Citizens battling in the very passageways where I played as a boy. Beating Ortis’s men back by sheer force of will, so it seemed.” He looked grim. “There were casualties. But the weather once more came to our aid.”
His eyes met mine. “The turning point, though, was the death of Ortis.”
“He is dead? How?”
“Once the wall fell, after I sent you away, he came storming in as if he thought he’d already won. A more cautious man might have held back till the victory had been secured, but who can blame him? He knew most of our men were wounded or slain and did not expect such resistance from our women.”
He paused to kiss me. “Our women are beyond compare.”
Much as I wanted to go on kissing him, I protested. “But…”
“Ortis came to me and demanded—once again—I surrender. A bad moment and no mistake. I did not know if I’d ever see you or Octavius again. I knew whatever terms of surrender he offered would be harsh. I decided to fight to the death and took him on.”
“You killed him? In hand-to-hand battle?” My heart swelled.
Rupert’s lips twisted. “I wish I could claim so. We were battling with the press of bodies all around us, and he fell from the wall—tumbled backward off the rubble he had, himself, created.
“It was not much of a fall—I did not believe him dead. I had other opponents, the fighting being very intense, but I saw his men pick him up and carry him away. We went back to defending, repelled the invaders, and closed the breach in the wall using pieces of the broken stone, furniture, anything to hand.”
Rupert drew another breath, this one painful, and his fingers squeezed mine. “I went looking for you then, descended to the level where the tunnel opens. Mother told me you, Markka, and the children had gone on ahead. I tried to trace your course, but the tunnel had collapsed.”
“Collapsed?”
He looked at me with agony in his eyes. “I feared the worst, thought I’d sent you to your death and our son with you. My love, I descended to the depths of despair. I no longer cared if I lived or died. But I had still a kingdom to defend.”
“If you successfully repelled them then, why did it take you so long to come to Khett?”
“We did not repel them—at least, they did not withdraw, which made me believe Ortis to be still alive and directing maneuvers. For all I know he was still alive, if badly injured. They kept up the siege, though not so intense as it had been, until the weather broke.
“I will confess, then I feared the worst. We were out of fuel for the fires, out of food—out of hope. That’s when the message came.”
“Message?”
“From one of Ortis’s generals. He said King Ortis was dead and his army would withdraw. He presented terms of peace.”
Peace. It had seemed unreachable for so long.
Rupert drew me, by the hand, away from Octavius’s cot to the edge of the bed.
“That’s when the best part of the story comes. Cindra, my Cindra…” He caught my face between gentle hands and gazed into my eyes. “The truly amazing part. You must understand I believed the tunnel collapsed and you dead. Despite the peace, I could barely imagine going on.
“You must also know our people were equally devastated without you. They wept—spoke of your kindness, your compassion. Your beauty.”
“Beauty?”
“Yes, love. They saw what I always saw in you—your spirit, shining.”
“All except my mother.”
“Darling, your mother is dead, as is your sister, Bethessa. They both fell in the fighting, after conducting themselves bravely.”
“Bethessa, dead! And…you did not execute Mother as sentenced?”
“I did not have the chance.”
I struggled to comprehend it; all the pain, cruelty, and yearning, gone.
“But I have not shared with you the best part of the story. In the midst of my despair, Mother came to me. She told me she’d spoken with Father’s ghost. He bade me go search the tunnel again.”
Rupert’s eyes once more filled with tears.
He swallowed convulsively before he went on. “This time I took shovels and two of the lads but half grown. We excavated one of the branches and found only a sealed wall. We went back and took the right-hand passage, dug through the collapse I’d first found, and pressed on. It was close inside, and airless. I kept expecting to find your corpses.”
“Oh, my love.”
“Instead, after clearing two more falls, I found this.” He picked up the battered slipper from the table beside the bed. “It was caught in a pile of dirt and rubble. I knew it for yours.”
“The spot where I got stuck and fought my way free.”
“Beyond that place, the tunnel lay clear to the end. I could see the steps you fashioned in order to climb out. My brave and clever Queen.”
He kissed me, a mark of devotion.
“But, Cindra, why did you not turn to King Edmund for help?”
“I did not know if I could trust him. I feared he might see Burgendy’s downfall as an opportunity to seize control of Octavius and thus secure your kingdom for himself.” I swallowed hard. “I might risk my safety…never his.”
“Brave girl.” Again he drew me to him; again I felt the hurt and fear drain from me.
“But you are wrong,” he said in my ear.
“I am?”
“Yes, Cindra darling. You called Burgendy my kingdom. It is ours. Yours as well as Octavius’s and mine. Did I not just tell you how the people love you? When I left to come searching, each one I met stopped me and begged, ‘Bring her home, sire—bring her home.’ ”
I drew a breath that felt like my first in many days. “What now, Rupert?”
“We heal. We go home as the people have demanded and pick up the pieces, find our lost, if we can, and bury our dead. It will not be easy, but you, my love, are a healer by nature. I believe hard work and compassion will get us through.”
“And,” I smiled, “the advice of both your parents.”
“Yes, my beautiful Queen.”
Epilog
So you see, those who tell the tale did get some of it right. There was a wicked woman who had poisoned two of her daughters with selfishness and hate. There was a found slipper, though it was a battered, if cherished, specimen. No grand balls, though, and no magical coaches. But I do believe there was a fairy godmother who went—and still goes today—by the name of Markka.
All this, of course, happened many and many a year ago. Rupert, Octavius, and I did indeed return home to Burgendy. Everyone worked very hard to rebuild, recover our captured soldiers from Cardonay, and learn the fates of our dead, including my father who, I was told, perished fighting bravely somewhere north of the city. When possible, we collected their remains and provided honored burials. You may wonder what happened to my surviving sister, Nelissa; we had word from Cardonay, much later, that she’d fled the castle after the north wall fell and run off with one of Ortis’s last remaining mercenaries. I never saw her again.
Eventually we succeeded in restoring the kingdom, but it became a far different place—much more humble, more of a community. Perforce, people had to help one another. Such tragedy as we’d faced could not be survived alone. Kindness thrived.
Rupert has always tried to give me credit for that. Undeserved, I’m sure—life teaches lessons, and the kingdom of Burgendy had been presented with a hard one. But I could not deny the remaining citizens, battered and worn as that old slipper of mine, were glad to see me. And I did my best to live up to the gift of their acceptance every day of my life.
Rupert and I are aged now. The Dowager Quee
n, the beloved mother for whom I’d always ached, has long gone from us. Octavius, who grew into a thoughtful man and married Dinnie, is now King, with Robin his trusted advisor. We have grandchildren.
Sometimes I tell them the story just as I have told it to you. For I think it should never be forgotten that the slippers—or indeed the bodies—we wear are nothing more than garments that drop away in time.
All the beauty lies beneath, and within. And how lucky am I that my Prince saw only that beauty when first he looked at me?
A word about the author…
Multi-award-winning author Laura Strickland delights in time traveling to the past and searching out settings for her books, be they Historical Romance, Steampunk, or something in between.
Born and raised in Western New York, she’s pursued lifelong interests in lore, legend, magic, and music, all reflected in her writing. Although she enjoys travel, she’s usually happiest at home, not far from Lake Ontario, with her husband and her “fur” child, a rescue dog.
Author of numerous Historical and Contemporary Romances, she is the creator of the Buffalo Steampunk Adventure series set in her native city.
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