by Jill Myles
The Scarecrow King
A Romantic Retelling of the King Thrushbeard Fairy Tale
By
Jill Myles
Copyright © 2013 by Jill Myles
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in
any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.
Book Summary:
Princess Rinda of Balinore knows of only one way to get her cold father’s attention – to be an obnoxious, spoiled princess. When she finds out that the king plan to marrying her off to a far-flung nobleman, she puts on her best bratty show in front of the entire court. But Rinda’s plan backfires, and she soon finds herself married to the most ineligible man ever. Her new husband is monastery raised, poor as dirt, and a traveling minstrel.
A very, very bad traveling minstrel.
But Alek isn’t what he seems like on the surface, and neither is Rinda. She won’t take this marriage lying down, and schemes to find herself a new husband – a king. But as she and Alek travel together, they learn that not only are appearances deceiving, but goals can change in the blink of an eye, and love can get in the way of the strongest plans…
The Scarecrow King is a romantic retelling of the King Thrushbeard fairy tale.
The Song of Balinore
In days of old
The warriors of Lioncourt were bold
And magic was scorned as a tool of the raw
And so it became
That with magic grew shame
And those that relied upon it, outlaw
Balinore the bold, powerful wizard of old
Would not do as he was told
With magic he escaped
And rounded up the mages of Lioncourt
No longer would they be slaves to their fate
Will you take the Ghost Roads?
Will you take the mages’ way?
Will you take the path under stone?
Will you seek out and find your new home?
Out of the city and into the night
On a journey to find safety before morning light
Trapped between the mountains and the city
No choices left to them
Balinore laid his hand on the mountain
And it began to hum
With his great magic
Rock melted like a rippling tide
Like ghosts they slipped into the mountain
Moving through rock like spirits
He created a tunnel through the mountain
Led his people through to the other side
Will you take the Ghost Roads?
Will you take the mages’ way?
Will you take the path under stone?
Will you seek out and find your new home?
For three long days
They journeyed in the dark, under the stone
And when they emerged from the Ghost Roads
Their voices rang against the mountain walls
Echoing voices, echoing their joy
Free of Lioncourt
They made the new land their home
And called it Balinore
Will you take the Ghost Roads?
Will you take the mages’ way?
Will you take the path under stone?
Will you seek out and find your new home?
Chapter One
Before I can tell you my own story, I should tell the story of my mother. She was the woman who could spin straw into gold.
Except that was a lie, and it was that lie that decided her future and mine.
Everyone in the Kingdom of Balinore – from the smallest child to the poorest farmer - has a Birthright of magic. Most were small Birthrights – the ability to find lost coins, or the ability to run a finger over a scratch and heal the skin. Tiny, small things that made day-to-day living a bit more bearable. Most powerful were the nobility, whose pure bloodlines had been mixed time and time again, matching strong Birthright with strong Birthright. Thus it became obvious to see who had the power – the paler the hair color of a man or a woman, the stronger the Birthright. The kings of Balinore, as a result, were pale blonde and had powerful magics, and the peasantry were brown haired, common, and untalented. The rift between the classes would never be crossed as no noble wanted to give birth to a child that had dark hair. That would make the child unmarriageable and unwanted. So nobles married nobles and commoners married commoners, and the nobles’ magic grew stronger even as the commoners’ magic grew weaker with every generation.
At least…until my mother’s time.
My mother was a very beautiful peasant girl – or so I have been told – with warm brown hair and a sunny smile. She also had the small ability to spin straw into gold colored thread. Completely and utterly useless for more than party games and some very coarse woven fabric. She grew up happy and unnoticed, until her father’s crop failed and they were left penniless.
I am told my grandfather was a ruthless, selfish man, and that is who I am patterned after. Perhaps they are right, because he chose to make a decision that forever changed my mother’s life. He told people she could spin straw into gold with her talent. And indeed, when she proved she could spin straw into a shiny, fine thread that looked very similar to gold, the word spread. Her father hoped to use her ‘gold thread’ to pay off his debts and return the farm to normal.
Instead, word spread to the king himself, and he sent the prince to pay a visit to the peasant with such an impressive talent. I am told that the prince was young and handsome back then – with shining golden hair and a beautiful smile. My mother was lovely as well, though she lacked the gilded beauty of nobility. The prince fell in love with my mother – either because of her ability to spin money, or for her lively, sweet nature – either way, her fate was sealed. They took her to the palace and commanded her to spin for them. Balinore, you see, is a kingdom of excesses, and excesses become expensive over time.
My mother wept copiously when they locked her in the tower and tried to spin, but her talent was a lie – she could make golden thread but not actual gold. At some point, the rumors speculate, she must have made a devil’s bargain with one of the fey folk, because her spinning did indeed turn straw into gold. The kingdom was soon full of riches, the prince married my mother, and everything was perfect…at least for a short time.
After a few years, my sister Imogen was born – blonde, beautiful, and sweetly cherubic. She never cried, merely blinked and stared at the world around her with a happy smile. Imogen was born with an amazing power – she could call water from the earth just by thinking about it. As Balinore was a thin sliver of land on the far side of a mountain chain nestled next to the sea, fresh water was a precious commodity. My sister was heralded as a blessing to Balinore.
They also say that my sister leached my mother’s magic from her. Her spinning stopped. Mother hid it for a long time, so I am told, but eventually the truth was discovered – she was a fraud. Unskilled and dark haired and had somehow managed to climb her way into the palace and snag herself a prince. The people hated her. My father the prince hated her – he felt betrayed by her.
She was pregnant with me at the time.
Some say that after she lost my father’s love, she also lost the will to live. Others say that the fey folk finally extracted their price from her, and the cost was her life. Either way, my mother died giving birth to me, her second daughter. I am told I came out of the womb squalling and red-faced, and my hair was as brown as dirt.
My father was not pleased. My moth
er’s betrayal and subsequent death had turned him hard, and the only thing he cared for now was the kingdom itself – and sweet Imogen, who remained fairness and light always. I was handed off to servants – a cranky, surly baby and an embarrassing reminder of the royal family’s mistake. Even my power lay undiscovered for many years, and when it was found, it was so minor as to be laughable – with a drop of my blood, I could bestow inanimate objects with a bit of luck. Plates would not be dropped, bowls not broken, laundry not accidentally splashed by mud.
Useless, according to my father.
It was not a princess’s Birthright. Not even close. I was called a disgrace to the kingdom. A servant in magic if not in title. And Father might have been right. I grew up surrounded by servants but not one of them. My sister loved me – she loved everyone – but my father ignored me.
And I learned over time that if I wanted my father’s attention, all I had to do was spend his money.
Chapter Two
With careful aim, I threw a pearl at the waters of the lake. One of the fish jumped into the air, catching it before it hit the water and swallowing the pearl, causing my companion to laugh uproariously.
“Throw again,” said the laughing baron at my side. “You do it so well.”
I smiled coyly at him, and raised the needle I always carried with me for my Birthright magic. With a flourish, I pricked my finger, letting the tickle of magic flow through me into the object I held. Then, when it was good and magicked, I lifted the pearl and observed the lake. A fat frog sat on a lily pad nearby, and I gestured at him. “How about a frog instead of a fish this time?”
He nodded with glee.
My toss was careful and easy, and because of my magic, accurate. The frog reached for the pearl and swallowed it whole. Its jaw inflated briefly, as if it were choking, and then it gave a tight ‘ribbit’ and jumped into the water.
The baron laughed uproariously. “Do it again!”
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the final pearl. “Last one.”
“Have we already gone through so many?” He sounded sad.
I shrugged. We’d been out here for a good hour, and I was saving some of the pearls for a bracelet, but I could always get more. “I suppose we could always do jewels next.”
His eyes widened. “Emeralds.”
I winked. “Perhaps. Though it would be far more amusing if it were diamonds. Imagine some poor fisherman cut open a fish and found a diamond inside? They’re going to be terribly confused with the pearls as it is.” I wasn’t quite sure why I found the thought so very entertaining, but I did. Perhaps it was because it was a shameful waste of money, and I did so love a shameful waste of money, especially my father’s money.
“You are very clever, Rinda.” The baron said with a laugh, reaching out to tug on my brown hair. “At least your magic is good for something, even if it is only for a lark.”
Just like that, my cheerful mood soured. It always went back to the color my hair and my Birthright, no matter what I did. I yanked my hair out of his hand and managed to keep the sly smile on my face. “Is that so? That’s what you think of me? That I am only good for a lark?”
“Of course not,” he said, clearly not sensing my dangerous mood. “You’re wonderfully rich and connected to the throne too.”
I kept the smile on my face, even as I admired the drop of blood still on my thumb. I carefully pressed it into my laughing companion’s jerkin and then shoved him hard. Thanks to my magic and the slippery bank, he crashed into the waters of the lake with a yelp and a splash.
“Oops,” I said, in a tone that indicated that I was not sorry at all. I tossed the last pearl in after him, not even bothering to see if one of the fish snapped it up. All my fun had been ruined.
“What are you doing, Rinda?”
My father’s angry roar echoed in the gardens, and I stiffened in preparation.
My father crashed down the path to the lake, his retinue close behind him. My sister Imogen trailed at his heels, as she always did. Imogen was the good one, and my father’s right hand.
I was the naughty one with the useless magic, as my idiot baron had pointed out.
“Where is Baron Thorpe?” my father demanded. His thick ermine cape swirled around his shoulders, emphasizing his angry, jerky movements. His clothing was rich, his hair as white blonde as it ever was, and even paler when his face was purple was rage as it was right now. My father looked every inch the king despite his age, and behind him trailed a line of courtiers with fascinated, avid looks on their faces. They’d come to see the show. “Where is he?”
I glanced back at the lake. The visiting baron was struggling to get to his feet, his rich velvet cloak and fancy brocade clothing soaked from the water. A lily pad hung from his forehead. “He’s in the water, father,” I said helpfully.
“Rinda, you are an embarrassment to this throne,” my father hissed at me.
I ignored him. My father always said I was unmanageable, but I think that was because he did not like me very much. I did not like Father very much either, if the truth were to be told.
Behind him, Imogen shook her head sadly at me, as if I’d disappointed her greatly. I didn’t care – Imogen was always disappointed in what I was doing. Father adored Imogen the way a father should, but to me he was cold and overly-critical.
When I was younger, his iciness had hurt me. Now I simply took it as a challenge instead, to see how completely unmanageable and unlikable I could truly be. After all, I was a princess and my father was king. Wasn’t I expected to be a spoiled brat?
“The maids tell me that you stole all the pearls from the treasury.”
I examined my fingernails. Drat, I’d gotten a bit of blood under them. I fixed my concentration there, picking them clean as I thought about how to answer my father. The truth would irritate him the most, so I went with the truth. “I fed them to the fish. They make the most amusing expression when they realize they’ve caught a pearl and not a fly. Quite hilarious.”
His fists clenched, and his mouth tightened as his gaze rested on my face. “The rest of you, leave. Now.”
When the guardsmen paused, Father slammed his fist down on his leg and roared, his face turning even more purple with rage. “I said, leave now!”
The men could not leave fast enough now. They scrambled down the path, eager to get away. Even Baron Thorpe, fool that he was, trotted after them dripping lake water and lily pads. I gathered my pearl-seeded skirts, pretending to leave, though I knew he was talking to me.
“Not you, Rinda! You stay there!”
Instructing me like a dog. Typical. Father glanced over at my sister Imogen and placed his hand on her shoulder in an almost tender gesture. “You may stay too, my dear.”
Imogen beamed at him. I wanted to gouge my sister's eyes out with my needle, the little brown-nose. As much as I loved Imogen for her sweetness, I wished for once that she'd try and take my side. Perhaps chide Father when he was rude to me instead of looking up at him adoringly.
Forcing my blandest courtier smile on my face, I yawned widely, assuming a bored expression on my face as if to say Father's temper was very dull indeed.
Imogen tossed her pretty blonde hair and gave a slight shake of her head at me as I continued to yawn loudly, knowing full well what I was doing. Imogen was the good princess, the dutiful daughter, and she strove to stay out of trouble at all times.
My father glared at me.
I ignored it – and Imogen - and patted my mouth, finishing my drawn-out yawn. “Will this take long, Father? I was just heading to get some rubies.”
“You will get nothing, Rinda!” My father was so angry that spittle frothed at the corners of his mouth.
Even though I dreaded Father’s rages, I would not let him see that it bothered me. So I kept the bored look pinned to my face even as he raised a hand as if he would slap me. It was only Imogen’s hand placed on his sleeve, that saved me from a hard slap across the face.
At her tou
ch, Father recovered slightly, though I could tell the fury was still there. “Rinda, you are a most vexing girl,” my father said, the tone of his voice dark.
“Thank you, Father,” I replied, keeping my voice cheerful. “I do try.”
He stared down at me with disgust, and I knew what he was thinking. Common, just like her mother. Disgraceful. Not worthy to be part of the royal family. I’d heard it over and over again throughout my sixteen years. Though I'd heard that Father had cared deeply for my mother, he couldn’t stand the sight of me.
Probably because my birth had caused her death.
Ever the peacemaker, Imogen glanced between the two of us and lifted her chin, smiling. “This is just Rinda being high-spirited, Father,” she said, her voice the right mixture between curiosity and affection. “She was merely being naughty as she always is.” Her pointed gaze slid in my direction before she turned her eyes back to Father.
“I have had enough of her naughtiness and childish games,” my father said in strained tones. “You are good to cover for her, Imogen, but it is time that both of you grow up. It is time that the two of you married,” my father the king said. “Sixteen and eighteen-year-old princesses are old enough to marry.”
My stomach dropped at his words. Imogen gasped in delight.
“It is past the time you found a husband,” Father said, his voice gentler as he looked over at Imogen's shining face. “Remember that your mother was not much older than you when she and I wed.”
“And that turned out so well,” I interjected pleasantly.
His face purpled and he glared at me. Good. Father did not like being reminded of our mother.
Father continued on, not bothering to look in my direction as he discussed the details of our royal weddings as he would taxes, or a crop harvest. “The invitations have gone out. I've invited all the outlying nobility in Balinore. All earls, dukes, and counts that are reasonably young and unattached and have some fortune are invited. I've even invited the Lioncourt king, though I don't expect him to show. I'd never send dear Imogen so far away, and Rinda is far too common to interest him. Her Birthright is known to be weak, and he can do better.”