Regina Rising

by Wendy Toliver

  I reached into my pocket, grabbed the apple, and flung it at the witch as hard as I could. It flew between the bars and struck her between her unseeing eyes. Screeching, the woman pawed at the air, giving Claire the perfect opportunity to reclaim her ring. I braced myself for the witch to use magic to snatch the ring back again, but instead, she picked up the apple and held it to her lips. She didn’t take a bite, though. “Where did you get this?” she demanded, holding it against the cage.

  “I don’t know. I, uh, found it,” I said, trying to reach a pot or pan—or anything that could be used as a weapon. But everything was out of my reach.

  “Well, it’s no matter. Now you’ve lost it. I’ve found it, and finders keepers.” She gently—almost lovingly—ran her fingers over the apple, humming.

  I desperately wiggled and tugged at one of the knives, trying to pull it out of the floor. “Do something,” I urged Claire.

  “What would you have me do?” she asked, pushing her weight against the door to keep the witch imprisoned.

  The knife finally gave, and I cut through my cloak. Luckily, the witch was too preoccupied with the apple to realize I was free. “Use your magic.”

  “Regina, I…”

  Stepping over the heap of my ruined cloak, I grabbed the broom from the wall beside me and readied myself for battle.

  The witch shot a very heated, sightless glare at me. “Foolish girl, can’t you see? She hasn’t magic.” With that, the door of the cage burst open with incredible force. Claire tumbled hard to the floor, right at my feet. The ring soared magically into the air, falling onto the witch’s ready finger. “It’s no matter,” said the witch. “She’ll still pay the price.”

  I dropped the broom. “Claire!” I cried, trying to help her up. “What are you waiting for?”

  My friend squinted her eyes, as if she didn’t know me—as if she didn’t comprehend the gravity of our situation, or how much we needed her to fight the witch’s magic with her own.

  “Did you hit your head? What is wrong?”

  She gasped. “Cora?”

  “No, it’s me…Regina. Claire, you’re scaring me.”

  “Please…” Tears blurred Claire’s pretty blue eyes, and she shifted her feet on the floor, prying off one of her shoes.

  Freed from the cage, the witch hovered over us, waiting—for what, I had no idea. I had the ominous feeling that any second, she would do something horrible to us.

  Unfortunately, I was right.

  No sooner had Claire whispered another “please” than a strong gust blew me into the cage where the witch had been squatting only moments ago. I rolled up against the far wall, my spine slamming into the iron bars. Pain zapped through my body, and when I lunged for the door, it slammed in my face and locked with a resounding click. The witch’s dark red lips furled, and she triumphantly clutched the apple to her bosom.

  I had to do something, and fast. I couldn’t let the blind witch best me again, and moreover, Claire needed my help. Behind the spindly bars, I felt the chilling fear her juvenile prisoners must have experienced when they were trapped in there, not knowing what would become of them. Lucky for me, my meat was too old and tough for her taste. Suddenly, I had an idea.

  “I wonder when those two pudgy children will be passing by,” I said, and the witch tilted her head as I laid out the crumbs of my story in my mind. “I didn’t recognize them, the poor dears. Didn’t their parents tell them tales of big, bad wolves and terrible ogres to keep them from venturing into the woods at this time of night? Maybe you know them: a little boy who’s clearly never skipped his dessert, and a rosy-cheeked girl in pigtails.”

  The witched smacked her dark red lips. “Children, you say? Heading here? But I am not prepared. Oh, I have so much to do—so very, very much!” she cried. She dropped the apple on the countertop and started moving dishes and food around, feverishly trying to tidy up.

  “They’ve likely been snagged by a wolf,” I said.

  “What if they haven’t? What if they’re on their way? What if those two delicious children will be traipsing by at any moment?”

  “Even if they are, and even if they stop to indulge in your candies, cakes, and treats, it’s too bad this cage is already full.”

  “You! Get out. Make room.” The witch charged at me, shaking the cage with her gnarled hands.

  I crossed my arms and raised my chin defiantly, but I remembered the witch couldn’t see my acting. Instead, I held my finger to my lips, gesturing for Claire to remain quiet. My poor disoriented friend didn’t seem to be following, and I didn’t want her to speak up and ruin my yarn. “I don’t want to get out,” I said. “It’s rather pleasant in here; and besides, it’s late and I’m weary. This is a perfect place to get a good night’s sleep, and my friend is fine on your floor, as well.”

  “Get out,” the witch said vehemently. She raised her hand and the door of the cage swung open with such force I felt my body being pulled toward it. Her cloudy eyes rolled side to side in their sockets. She began chanting a string of indecipherable words—some kind of spell, I presumed—and the kitchen, along with the sliver of the living room viewable from the cage, returned to its former glory. Elegant candelabra cast an inviting glow on plates stacked high with the most delicious-looking and -smelling goodies, and all evidence of what would become of her victims—save the cage I was still in—had vanished without a trace. The result was convincing enough to make me forget about the witch’s unappealing habit of devouring children, at least for two or three seconds.

  “I’ll make a deal with you,” I said, bracing myself.

  The witch brushed her hands together. “Mmmm? What kind of deal?”

  “We will leave your house immediately, if you let us go in peace, and if you give my friend her ring.”

  “You won’t interfere with the children?” she asked, twisting the ring on her grotesquely gnarled finger.

  I shook my head, again having forgotten she couldn’t see me. “You have my word.”

  “And I can keep the apple?”

  “If you insist,” I said.

  “For whom was it intended? Tell me.”

  “Why does it matter? It’s yours now.”

  “It matters because it’s a poison apple. You have eyes, but you don’t know a poison apple when you see it? Whoever bites into this fruit will fall into a deep, deep sleep. The only thing that can awaken them is a kiss from their true love. A romantic tale if it turns out that way, a tragic one if it doesn’t.”

  I’d already suspected the witch was mad, but her latest rant only proved it. “Do we have a deal?”

  “Indeed, we do.” She held the gold-and-garnet ring out for me to take as I wriggled out of the cage.

  I yanked Claire off the floor, scooped up her shoe, and darted as quickly as I could to the front door while dragging her along. Behind us, the witch called, “You’ll never set foot in my cottage again, thieves. Only succulent little boys and girls. Juicy, tender little children, no one else. This time I’ll cast a spell to make sure of it. Don’t return, or you will be sorry.”

  Tuesday, May 23

  “My niece is in bed,” Giles said apologetically when I showed up at his door. It was a little past ten in the morning, so I figured our adventure with the blind witch had worn Claire out. I might not have been out and about, either, had I not been eager to give Claire the ring I’d mistakenly kept when I’d dropped her off at home late the night before.

  Though it had only been gently sprinkling when Rocinante and I first left, now the clouds were leaking fat, sluggish raindrops. Hopefully, by the time I leave here, the storm will have blown over, and it will turn out to be a beautiful day, I mused as Giles invited me inside. If so, maybe I could talk Claire into joining me on a longer ride that afternoon. Perhaps we could return to the pond and work on magic. I could think of nothing better than celebrating our victory over the blind witch by spending the entire day with my friend.

  “What happened here?” Giles asked,
pointing at my lip. “Would you like something for it? It’s already scarred, but a little salve might make it less apparent.”

  “Thank you, but it is all right as it is,” I said. He leaned forward, his eyes squinting in curiosity, as if he might be remembering the cut my mother had magically healed after he’d left our house that day so long ago. I quickly changed the topic back to Claire. “I slept in longer than usual this morning, too. It must be something to do with our age, or perhaps the weather?”

  “Actually, Claire has quite a bump on her head,” Giles said. I frowned and nodded sympathetically as he relayed what Claire had obviously told him. “She was walking in her sleep last night and fell. I’m sure she’ll be glad you’ve come by. However, I’ve instructed her to rest as much as possible, and I’d appreciate your cooperation.”

  “I understand. I won’t be long,” I said, growing concerned.

  When I opened the door to Claire’s bedroom a moment later, she was sitting arrow-straight in her bed, staring at the wall in front of her. When she turned toward me, it was as if her neck were made of wood. A bandage was wrapped around her head, a crown fashioned of white cloth. Her eyes closed and opened halfway, and she exhaled loudly. “I’m fine,” she said, before I could ask. “My uncle is overly cautious with me, that’s all. I’ll be good as new tomorrow, to be sure.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” I said, tentatively approaching her. Again, she turned her gaze to the wall. “I brought you something.” I’d strung her brother’s ring on one of my gold chains, and now I fastened it around her neck.

  “Thank you, Regina.” Her eyes welled up as she caressed her heirloom. “You’re such a good friend to me.”

  I slipped off my boots and sat next to her on the bed. “Now you’ll have something of your brother’s to pass down to your firstborn,” I said, straightening her necklace for her. The wonderful feeling that flowed over me must’ve been what friendship was all about. Knowing Claire was happy made me happy. “Who knows, maybe it will be your uncle who delivers for you, and if I’m lucky, I’ll get to be there, too, to help welcome your baby into the land.”

  “Our children can grow up together, and be friends as we are….” Her voice trailed off, and she slowly bowed her head. I had the terrible sinking feeling her injury was far more serious than she’d let on.

  “Claire, what’s wrong? Are you dizzy? Sick to your stomach? Do you want me to get Giles for you?”

  She lifted her head and blinked sleepily. “No, no. I’ll be all right.”

  “You must have hit your head harder than I thought you did. I’ve a mind to go back and make that witch pay for hurting you so. This time, you really can set her boots aflame.” Not only was I angry with the witch for having hurt Claire, but I was also selfishly upset to have to wait for my friend to feel well enough to spend time with me. It had been less than five minutes, and I already missed the old Claire. “Alternately, you can teach me how to do the magic, and I’ll do it myself.”

  She licked her pale lips. “I have a confession,” she said in a soft, somber tone. “I’m scared to death to tell you. However, I cannot go on like this. You’re such a wonderful friend to me.”

  “What is it?” I took her hand in mine. It felt cold, and somehow smaller than before. “You can tell me anything, Claire. Anything except that you’re going home to Port Bennett. I don’t know what I’d do with myself if you lived such a great distance from me.” I rubbed her hand to warm it up.

  She slipped her hand away and held it awkwardly above her knees. “I do not have magic.”

  “What are you talking about? Yes, you do.” I scooted to the edge of the mattress. “I’m going to go fetch Giles and have him reexamine your head.”

  Claire squeezed my shoulder. “Regina, please. Stay. I need you to hear me. I don’t have magic. I never did.”

  “No need to be humble, Claire. I saw you light that man’s boots on fire at the market, remember? Even if you aren’t the most powerful mage in the Enchanted Forest, you’ll get there. You once told me magic can’t be rushed. Remember?”

  She studied her hands in a most disturbing way—as if she’d never seen them before. She swallowed and winced, like her throat was sore. “It wasn’t my magic,” she whispered.

  “Wasn’t your magic…?” I repeated, churning the thought around in my mind. “Whose magic was it, then?” The room suddenly appeared dimmer than before, but the candles on Claire’s bureau were still lit. I could only presume the clouds were blackening, preparing for a powerful storm.

  “Claire? Answer me!”

  She clamped down on her trembling bottom lip. “Cora’s,” she said in a whisper.

  I shook my head, certain I’d misheard her. “What did you say?”

  “Your mother’s,” she said, a little louder. Her face blanched.

  “No. No.” In my mind’s eye, I saw the orchids in our foyer back home, changing from light pink, to deep pink, and finally, to crimson. There was suddenly a sharp ache in the pit of my stomach. “You’re telling me it was my mother’s magic?”

  Claire nodded her head once. “She was in the marketplace with us. She’d cast a glamour spell on herself so she’d appear to be a common villager,” she choked out.

  This made no sense to me. I planted my feet on the floor and stood. Freed from my weight, the mattress sprang up. “I don’t understand. Why would my mother want me to believe you had magic?”

  Though our gazes connected at that instant, Claire’s seemed to focus on something other than me, something beyond her window and the rain that was beginning to shower down. Something bigger. Something painful. “Because she loves you, Regina. She wants to protect you.”

  My thoughts were so jumbled I physically shook my head in a futile attempt to align them. “If you never had magic, what about the lessons you gave me…?”

  “They were only a ploy.” She took a deep, shaky breath before continuing. “Oh, Regina, I am so sorry. If you could have seen your face, how excited you were when you thought you’d used magic to knock the frog off its lily pad. I truly wished it had been real.” She briefly closed her eyes and then turned her gaze to her lap. “When you confided in me that you wanted to learn magic, your mother wanted to give you a wee taste—enough to keep your hope alive, to keep your mind off going straight to her source. She told me the one who taught her magic is a contemptible beast. Since the two of them have such a dark and sordid past, she wanted to keep you away from him—and others like him—at all costs. So, that’s why she made me pretend to know magic.”

  I wrung my hands and paced around the floor. “I don’t understand, Claire. Why did you tell my mother I wished to learn magic in the first place? You knew I didn’t want her privy to that. You assured me she never would be.” I suddenly felt like I were teetering on the ledge of a cliff.

  She fidgeted for a few seconds, keeping me in suspense. And when she finally spoke, her words were oddly stilted. “When Cora came to Port Bennett and offered me an introduction to high society, I jumped at the chance. Not only did she give me a way out of Port Bennett—and away from the lowlifes who tormented me on a daily basis—she presented me the opportunity to know my uncle. My ma had always spoken so highly of him, even though the only men I’ve ever known have hurt us, with the exception of my brother.” She paused, tracing the contour of her ring with the pad of her thumb. “Furthermore, I knew if I lived at my uncle’s estate, I’d have a much better chance to make the sort of connections that would help me take care of my ma in the future, as it seems each day of keeping the tavern afloat strips an entire year off her life.”

  “You made a deal with my mother,” I said, practically spitting the words. “On her end, she brought you here and gave you the chance to better your life. On your end, all you had to do was pretend to be my friend and report to her everything I did and every word I said.”

  “Yes, but—”

  Something snapped deep inside me, and when I laughed, it sounded strangely dark to my own
ears. “Well. I’m disappointed in you, Claire. You could have asked for so much more. You should have asked my mother to spin some straw into gold for you.” I balled my hands into fists. “That would set you and your ma up quite nicely, don’t you agree? As for ‘connections,’ you could have asked her to make you so beautiful and graceful, no nobleman would be able to resist you. Or, since you enjoy writing stories in your aunt’s old journals, you could have asked my mother to make you a famous author. I’m sure there’s a spell for that, and after all, Cora is a powerful sorceress.”

  With each word I spat out, Claire winced, and I thought that maybe, somewhere deep inside myself, I did, as well.

  I sat on a stool by the window and buried my face in my hands. I thought about all the times we’d had together. All the adventures on horses, in the royal castle, and at the gingerbread cottage. All the quiet moments we’d had in the drawing room, in my bedroom, and in Snow White’s chamber. The way she’d spoken up to my mother in my favor. And, of course, the ostensible magic lessons.

  “Regina, I am so sorry. I wish I’d never made the deal. If only I could turn back the hands of the clock…”

  I had been tricked, and with every memory that passed through my mind—flashbacks that used to fill my heart with warmth, love, and hope—I tightened my fists, until I was sure my fingernails would puncture my palms and draw blood. For some strange and eerily dark reason, the idea of bleeding sounded good to me.

  “It was all a sham,” I said through gritted teeth. “A lie. Everything. You are nothing but my mother’s pawn.”

  Claire shook her head emphatically as she rolled out of bed. She stood on the rug in her nightdress and bare feet. Her entire body seemed to shrink and wither like a rotting apple. “Not everything was a lie, Regina. Please believe me. Cora may be the reason we met in the first place, but our friendship…it is real.”

  Oh, how I wanted to believe in our friendship! I hadn’t even realized I’d been pacing until I came to an abrupt stop at the foot of the bed. “You may think you know what my mother is capable of, what she’ll do to make sure nothing—and no one—gets in the way of my becoming queen. But you have no idea.”