Regina Rising

by Wendy Toliver

  At first I thought my near-empty stomach was playing a cruel trick on me, but even after I blinked, the cottage still appeared to be made of gingerbread, cake, frosting, and candies. Not only was it built entirely of treats, but it smelled like them, too; the delicious aroma of freshly baked cake filled my nose. Even as my mouth began watering and the urge to feast on sweets overcame me, I heard my mother’s warning in the back of my mind: If you’re to become queen, you’d best stay away from baked goods.

  “A cottage made of confections…” Claire said, her eyes wide. “I’ve never seen such a thing.”

  The woman tittered as she slid off Rocinante’s back. “I should hope not,” she said. “This is my creation, and it’s one of a kind. Always has been, always will be.” She stood on the pathway that led to the front door and sniffed the air. “I baked a cake earlier this morn. Come in and have a piece, won’t you? It’s the least I can do to repay you for your kindness.”

  “We really mustn’t,” I said. “I need to be back for afternoon tea. But thank you all the same.”

  “Oh, but Regina! It smells delicious,” Claire said. She had already dismounted and was tying Opal to a nearby tree, as surely any horse would chew through the licorice and peppermint-stick fence. “We won’t stay long. Besides, it’ll do my body some good to take a break before riding back home,” she added, rubbing her rear end and pulling a face so funny I couldn’t help laughing out loud.

  “Good girl,” the lady said. “Now, come inside. Don’t tarry.”

  I watched Claire follow the woman inside, and from what I could see through the door she’d left ajar for me, the interior was made of sweets, too. I took a few steps forward and then stopped. I suddenly had a bad feeling.

  Is there magic here? And if so, is it light or dark?

  Yet I couldn’t very well let Claire go in alone.

  The gingerbread walls were adorned with icing and peppermint candies in pretty designs of flowers, dots, and squiggles. On a table in the center of the room, a sugar-crystal candelabrum was surrounded by a smorgasbord of pastries. The aroma of freshly baked cake was almost dizzying once I was inside.

  “Don’t mind the dust. I need to find someone to give this place a good spring cleaning,” the woman said when I stepped into the quaint living room. “I’ve put the kettle on, so we can have hot cocoa.” She rubbed her hands together and hummed an odd little tune.

  I breathed a little easier when I saw Claire sitting in a cushiony chair, looking completely at ease as she sampled the piece of strawberry cake the woman had given her. Maybe my qualms were unfounded after all.

  Claire pointed at the dessert with her fork. “This is the best cake I’ve had in my entire life.” She took another couple of bites and said with her mouth full, “Come on, Regina. Have some.”

  “Try one of these meringue delights,” the woman said to me, holding out a dainty yellow cookie that spiraled up into a perfect peak. I placed it in my mouth, and the flavor of sugar and lemon exploded on my tongue. “Yes, yes, and here’s one for you.” She gave a cookie to Claire.

  “I’ve never seen so many goodies,” Claire said. “Tell me, are you a baker? A candymaker? Do you work for the king? Because if not, you definitely should.”

  The woman tittered as she lowered her body into the chair next to Claire’s. “Goodness, no, no, no. I am what I am, nothing more, nothing less.”

  While Claire ate the rest of her cake and kept the woman engaged in conversation, I took a look around. Other than the array of sweets, the cottage was sparsely decorated. I glanced down the corridor and spied the strap of the woman’s knapsack poking out from behind a narrow green door. Curious as to what she’d been packing all that time, I tiptoed down the hallway.

  I bit back a gasp as I peered into the room. It was packed with baskets and trunks, each bursting with diamonds and other jewels, gold, and silver. At my feet, a handful of rubies spilled out of the knapsack she’d been carrying. How has she acquired all this wealth? I wondered. Even if she supplied the castle with her confectionary masterpieces every single day, I couldn’t imagine King Leopold would pay her that much. Had she inherited it, by chance? Could she, like my mother, use magic to turn something as mundane as straw into riches? Or had she stolen all of it?

  The woman seemed harmless enough, but perhaps she befriended strangers in the woods only to turn around and rob them. Ogres were known to feign being hurt or trapped, luring unsuspecting humans into elaborate schemes that ended tragically for the humans.

  I couldn’t let the blind woman know I’d discovered her trove. All the horrible possibilities ran amok in my mind and made the hairs on the back of my neck bristle. I took one last glance at the treasure—partly to make sure it was real, and partly because it was such a strange and beautiful sight—and then hurried back to the living room, just as the kettle whistled from the kitchen.

  “Would you like me to make the hot cocoa?” Claire asked the woman.

  I shook my head at Claire, hoping to make her understand we needed to leave. However, she whisked by me, just out of my reach, saying, “Don’t worry, Regina. I’ll be quick about it.”

  “I’ll help,” I said, desperate to get Claire alone so I could warn her.

  “No, no, no,” the woman said, springing to her feet and rushing into the kitchen. “I must do it, only me. Sit, be my guest.”

  “All right,” Claire said, shrugging, as she returned to the living room.

  As I followed Claire, the woman materialized in front of me. Somehow, she’d made the cocoa, poured it into three mugs, and arranged them on a doily-covered tray, all in mere seconds. She swayed from side to side, and not a drop of hot cocoa spilled; in fact, it didn’t even slosh. “Stay out of my kitchen!”

  I backed off, shocked at what I was witnessing. “How did you do that?”

  “Never mind what you think you heard, never mind what you think you saw, never mind what you think you know,” she blathered. “It’s time for hot cocoa, and that is that.” Her blind eyes bored into me, and her unruly blond hair thrashed about as if it were alive.

  “Regina, what are you doing?” Claire asked from behind me.

  “We’re saying good-bye. We’re leaving,” I said, reaching for my friend’s hand. But the woman held out the tray at arm’s length and Claire took it, instead. Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw the cupcakes and pies and other treats in the dining room floating up into the air. But in a blink, the pastries were on the table, as before.

  “Come, sit, sip the sweet chocolate,” the woman sang as she shooed us away from the kitchen and back into the little living room.

  “Trust me, Claire. We have to go,” I whispered into my friend’s ear as the woman continued her ditty. “Something’s not right. She’s a witch of some sort, I swear to you.”

  “If what you say is true,” Claire whispered back, “we mustn’t anger her.”

  Claire carried the tray over to the coffee table and set it down. Once the woman sat in her chair, Claire placed a cup of cocoa in her hands, and then she slowly, quietly poured the two meant for us into the fireplace. “Mmmm,” she said as she handed me an empty mug.

  Grinning, the woman took a sip for herself. “Oh my stars!” She leapt to her feet. “I forgot the sweet cream. Sit, wait, I’ll be right back with it.”

  “You needn’t bother,” Claire said. “It’s quite delicious without the cream. The best I’ve ever had, truth be told.”

  “Actually…” I countered, seeing an opportunity to sneak out—although, based on the time it took her to make the cocoa in the first place, we’d have to run as fast as we could. “I’d like some cream. Some more cocoa, too, if it’s no bother.”

  “Oh, goody. We’ve a smart cookie amongst us.” She whirled around, her cloudy eyes moving about the room. “I must start again. Give me the mugs.” She held out her hands, which were flinching, like they were being stung by bees.

  “Yes, yes, of course.” I began placing the mugs on the tray, t
wo empty and one full.

  The woman lingered by the mantel, her nose twitching and nostrils flaring. All of a sudden, she bent down and sniffed the chocolate-drenched log.

  Claire and I exchanged wide-eyed glances, knowing the witch was onto us. With my head, I gestured for Claire to make a run for the door, but she only took a few steps. Meanwhile, the witch stood and turned to face me. It was as if she’d grown to twice her previous height. I held out the tray, ready to run. “Here you go.”

  The witch raised her gnarled hands high in the air, knocking the tray to the floor. The broken mugs made a terrible crunching sound as she stepped on them with her pointy-toed boots. “Liars!” she screamed, pointing all ten of her fingers at us.

  “My ring!” Claire cried. Sure enough, the witch was wearing Claire’s ring on her thumb.

  With a tornado-like force, Claire and I were lifted off our feet. We flew head over heels out the front door, landing in heaps on the hard ground outside.

  When I swiped my hair out of my eyes and glanced up to see if Claire was all right, I saw that her jacket—my jacket, rather—was splattered with hot cocoa. Otherwise, I was relieved to see we were alive and as well as could be expected. Although Rocinante and Opal neighed and pawed the dirt, they seemed to be all right, too.

  Claire scrambled to her feet and began dusting off. “That horrid woman took my ring.”

  “Wait. Where are you going?” I asked as she stormed toward the cottage.

  “To get it back,” she said.

  The door slammed shut before us, and the drapes dropped over the sugar-coated windowpanes.

  “Claire, stop. Please.” I wanted to help her, but I couldn’t form the words. Plain and simple, I was too scared. “That woman, she has magic. It’s too dangerous.”

  When Claire turned to look at me, I thought I glimpsed a tear in her eye. However, her lips were pressed together in determination. “I want it back,” she said softly. “That nasty witch.”

  “I know. We will figure something out. I promise. But for now, we must get out of here.”

  When I handed Opal’s reins to Claire, my arm felt tender, and I predicted an ugly black-and-blue bruise was on its way. Before mounting Rocinante, I glanced back at the cottage. It might have been the way the shadows dappled it, but it appeared much of the gingerbread had cracked and chipped off, and in place of the sweet aromas we’d originally been treated to was the unsavory stench of something burning. Somehow, I could still smell it even as we rode up to Giles’s estate and I helped Claire get down from Opal.

  “You were so quiet on the ride home, Claire. What are you thinking about?” I asked as I attached the lead to Rocinante’s halter.

  “I know it sounds silly, but I wanted to give my brother’s ring to my firstborn…if I’m fortunate enough to become a mother, that is. In that small way, my child would be able to know how brave his or her uncle was, and how he’d sacrificed his life for Ma and me. I want my child to know that Corbin Fairchild was a hero.” She made a small hiccup sound and covered her mouth for a second.

  “Oh, Claire. That doesn’t sound silly at all.”

  “Thank you. But you are right, Regina.”

  “Right? About what?”

  “The danger. The witch has magic. Besides, she’ll probably peddle my brother’s ring long before we can go back for it.”

  “I don’t think the witch’s magic is very strong,” I said. “Not anywhere as powerful as my mother’s, for instance.”

  “Do you think your mother would retrieve my ring for me?” Claire asked.

  “Oh. I don’t know.” I swallowed, hoping to get rid of the lump in my throat. “She wouldn’t be happy about my having gone to the witch’s cottage in the first place….” I didn’t even want to imagine what kind of punishment she’d dole out if she discovered I’d put myself in harm’s way by keeping company with a bad witch.

  Claire touched my elbow. “It’s all right. I understand. And really, who can blame her for wanting to keep her only child safe and sound?”

  In the quiet moment that followed, a bluebird landed on a branch above us, and soon after, another swooped in and nuzzled against it.

  “Claire, may I ask you something personal?”

  “Of course.” She turned, focusing her bright eyes on me. “I’m your friend. I have no secrets from you.” Claire held out her arms and not a second later, we were hugging. I squeezed her, feeling her warmth wash over me. “I’ll always keep your secrets as if they were my own,” she said gravely as we let go.

  If ever there were magic words, Claire had just uttered them. I felt a sense of freedom so light and pure, I wanted nothing more than to pour out my soul to my dear confidante. “Do you ever wish you had magic, Claire?” I asked. “Just a little? Enough to protect yourself, as well as anyone else who doesn’t have it?”

  “Like back there at the gingerbread cottage?” she asked, and I nodded.

  “Also, so I wouldn’t be so afraid of my mother,” I confessed.

  Claire inclined her head and squinted, as if contemplating her response. I realized I might have offended her in some way, or perhaps I’d put her in a tough position, as my mother had been kind enough to bring her here from the far side of the Enchanted Forest. “You want to learn magic to use against your mother?” she asked, finally.

  When she put it that way, it made me sound evil, and I didn’t want Claire to think of me that way. “Only a touch of magic,” I said, holding my thumb and forefinger a small space apart. “Mainly, so my mother doesn’t always have the upper hand. I hate always fearing what she’s going to do next. It may be something small, like changing my clothes if she disapproves of my choice, or locking me in my room when she’s had enough of me. Sometimes it’s much worse. Much…darker.” I chose not to think about all the abhorrent things I suspected my mother had had her hand in: the memories I’d attempted to block or explain away as happenstance. It was too upsetting—especially since I was helpless to do anything about it. “When I was younger, I remember wishing my mother didn’t have magic, or would somehow lose it. Now that I am older, I wonder if instead of wishing her to be without magic, maybe the answer is for me to learn it. After all, wouldn’t it make sense, since it’s in my blood, too?”

  “Claire, say good-bye to Regina. It’s time to come in,” Giles called from the balcony, and his boisterous voice gave me a jolt.

  “Yes, Uncle,” she responded to him. Then, holding my shoulder, she asked quietly, “How do you intend to learn magic, Regina?”

  I bit my lower lip for a second. “Like my mother did, I suppose. I will have to find someone to teach me.”

  We hugged good-bye, and then I began riding home, leading Opal behind me. It surprised me I trusted Claire enough to have shared my innermost thoughts with her. They’d been confined to my mind, yet they’d come out so willingly and freely in her company. She’d listened raptly, and even had a mist in her eyes. She understood. She truly was my friend, and I could tell her anything.

  July, four years earlier

  “My mother used to do my hair like this whenever I’d go riding,” Rainy said as she licked her fingers and wetted down the small hairs of my part. Next she passed me a handheld mirror and twisted my chair so I could see the back of my head in the larger mirror hanging on my bedroom wall. “Take a look-see, m’lady. What do you think?”

  She’d styled my hair into two braids, looped them, and fastened them with long yellow ribbons at the nape of my neck. “I love it!” I said. And this time, I was being honest, rather than saying so to spare her feelings. “Where did you get the ribbons?”

  “My daughter got them from the good doctor’s wife when she was born,” she said. “She won’t mind your wearing them, not one bit.”

  “Thank you.”

  Rainy’s dimples deepened and she curtsied. “I’m glad you’re pleased.”

  A moment later, my mother bustled into the room with an armful of new gowns that she pushed into Rainy’s hands. “There y
ou are, Regina,” she said, seemingly unaware—or more likely, unconcerned—that she’d nearly knocked the poor servant woman over. “I thought you were in the stable with that foal again.” She pointed at my wardrobe, and I hurried to unlatch it so Rainy could hang the cumbersome dresses inside.

  “I was, but then Father said he’d take me riding, so I came back here to change my clothes. He said since Rocinante is big enough to tag along with us, Hwin can finally get back out. Isn’t that wonderful?” I’d begged to take Hwin out almost every day since her foaling, but my father kept telling me to be patient, that she wouldn’t be too keen about leaving her baby behind. Two months was a long while to wait to ride my favorite horse.

  “As long as you ride sidesaddle,” my mother said, admiring herself in my mirror. “You must always ride like a lady.” In the reflection, her gaze met mine. “Oh, Regina, what is going on with your hair?” she asked, scrunching her nose.

  “I like it,” I said softly. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rainy shrink behind the wardrobe.

  My mother frowned as she reached for my head. “Well. You’re twelve, not four.” Two yellow ribbons fluttered down, landing on the rug. The braids fell down my back, unraveling. She gestured for me to sit in the chair, and I did. Soon after, she’d fixed my hair into a single braid, long and straight. “There, much better,” she said, rubbing her hands together.

  As soon as she left my bedroom, I crouched to scoop up the yellow ribbons. I tied them into a double bow at the tail end of my braid. Though Rainy said nothing, she nodded at me before following my mother out.

  Jesse, our stable boy, jumped out of my way as I came barreling into the barn about twenty minutes later. “She’s saddled and ready, my lady. Just don’t go far. Rocinante’s got himself some spindly little legs, and he might wear out quickly.” He handed my cane to me. Jesse, my father, and I had an understanding. Whenever my mother was around, I was to ride sidesaddle. When she wasn’t, they’d turn a blind eye so I could ride astride, or even bareback on special occasions.