by Anita Valle
“That’s not all of it!” Briette shouted. “Keep still, I’m getting a knife!”
Heidel heard the fabric shredding as Briette cut the gown off her body. Peeling away the sleeves, Heidel scrambled to her feet. Her white underdress was mostly intact, though the lower skirt had suffered a few blackened burn holes.
Briette stomped the remaining flames out of the gown. Heidel seized the burning broom and flung it into the hearth fire. The kitchen had become a fog of sooty smoke, stinging their eyes and nostrils.
“Ugh.” Heidel slumped over the worktable, pressing a hand to her chest. Her wet braid hung from her bare shoulder, the ends frayed and charred. Well, this was just marvelous. Imagine Eravis finding her this way, soaked and sizzled, wearing nothing but her undergarments. Her eyes jumped nervously to the kitchen door.
Briette grabbed a washrag off the table to wipe her sweaty face. “What... what happened?”
Heidel groaned. “My fault. I left the broom too close to the fire. I think a spark ignited the bristles and the flames passed to my skirt. I was standing close enough.” She glanced at the floor where the carcass of her gown lay. Dark green leaves on a paler green background, dotted here and there with tiny yellow flowers. “Pity, I liked that dress.”
Ivy, who had cowered against the wall during the fire, now returned to the stool, her cough worsened by the smoke. “You should-” (cough, cough) “-be more careful.” (cough, cough, cough) “You could’ve died!”
“And what do you suggest?” Heidel snapped. “Sparks will occur. Unless you plan to guard the fire from dawn until dusk, there’s nothing I can do!”
“Joc used to-” The cough took possession of Ivy again. She grabbed her crutch and limped away in search of cleaner air. Briette watched her go, a line of concern folding her brow. “Heidel... be careful what you say to Ivy.”
“What?” Heidel frowned as she examined the burns on her hand.
“Just be careful,” said Briette. “She is easily governed by fear.”
Chapter 6
Merridell was the largest town in the kingdom of Runa. It sprawled across the open land below Castle Hill, miles upon miles of brightly-colored houses, all stuck together in rows along cobblestone streets. Most of the nobility lived in Merridell, along with prosperous merchants and shopkeepers.
“Emptier than usual,” Heidel remarked as they walked along a street flanked by tall, narrow houses. A few nobles mingled on their sunny doorsteps or clopped along on black horses. But otherwise the street was bare.
“It’s the heat,” said Briette, strolling at Heidel’s side. The sun blazed above their heads without a cloud to shield its glare. Heidel could smell the warm earth baking beneath the cobblestones, the sharp tang of sweaty horses, the sweetness of primroses blooming out of window boxes.
She glanced at Briette. Her cinnamon hair was evenly parted and tucked behind her ears. She never let it grow past her shoulders and disliked any ornamentation. Especially....
Heidel smirked. “Crown, Briette.”
Briette shut her eyes. Her uncrowned head was tolerated at home, but she was expected to wear one in public. Though she seldom did. Unless someone reminded her, she conveniently ‘forgot’.
“Don’t tell Maelyn,” said Briette.
“Have no fear of that!” Heidel laughed. “She’s mad enough at me already. Because of... you know.” She pointed with her chin. Eravis walked several paces ahead, accompanied by Coralina. Heidel couldn’t hear their conversation except for a random word or two. Something about dancing.
“How is your hand?” said Briette.
A few shiny blisters marked Heidel’s left palm, but she had rubbed on lavender oil to dull the sting. Fortunately, she favored her right hand.
“It’ll hurt for a bit.” Heidel shrugged. “Nothing I haven’t had before. Joc always said burns are a cook’s battle scars.”
“Did Joc ever set himself on fire?”
Heidel laughed. “He did! You never heard that story? He was serving a flaming fig pudding to Mother and Father and as he placed it on the table his hair caught fire! He swore that’s what made him bald.”
Briette grinned. “Remember that pompous young lord who taunted Ivy about her limp? And Joc threw him across the dining hall?”
“Yes!” Heidel laughed again. “And remember how we’d hide inside those giant cauldrons he never used, and then pop out to scare him?”
“And he pretended to faint.” There was a pinch of pain to Briette’s smile and she slowly shook her head.
“What?” said Heidel.
Briette sighed. “Nothing new. I just can’t understand why he left. Or the others....”
“Oh hogs.” Heidel shut her eyes. “Let’s not speculate – again - about the servants. Ivy’s convinced herself they were abducted by a barbarian horde.”
“But that isn’t logical,” said Briette.
Heidel shrugged. “What explanation is?”
The street followed a downward curve on its way to the market. Nothing in Merridell was flat or straight; the streets dipped and swirled with the shallow hills. Coralina and Eravis had gained some distance and were fading beyond the bend.
“Let us say it was only Joc who left,” said Briette. “What would persuade a servant to leave his post? One: he is dismissed by his master. Two: he is offered a better position in another household. Three: he is being mistreated. Or Four: he is no longer able to perform his duties because of illness, age, or injury.”
“But none of that happened,” said Heidel.
“Yet what do we know? Maelyn – and Maelyn only – witnessed the servants’ flight. She claims they ran off during the night, taking the road to the mountains. I’ve asked and asked if she noticed their faces, their expressions. But she said it was too dark....” Briette shook her head.
Heidel blinked. “You don’t believe her?”
“We have nothing but Maelyn’s word,” Briette said calmly. “We must consider the possibility... of a lie.”
Heidel snorted. “Maelyn doesn’t lie.”
“Oh no? She already has. First she told us she dismissed the servants herself. Then – months later – she admitted they ran away. Maelyn isn’t perfect. And she likes to keep secrets.”
“Secrets?” Heidel forgot the trickle of sweat wriggling down her back. Briette lowered her voice. “Do you know she’s courting the Royal Messenger?”
Heidel halted her steps. “The messenger. You mean... the new one? Willow?”
“They were kissing in the throne room. Coco saw them.”
“Kissing?” Heidel’s mouth fell in a wide-open grin. “But he’s not a prince!” She gazed at Coralina, twenty paces ahead. Later, when they were home, she would pin Coco down and get every savory detail.
“That’s why it’s a secret. She’s afraid of what people will think,” said Briette.
Heidel couldn’t stop grinning. “I love it. I can’t wait to tease her about it.”
The street steadily widened as they neared the center of town and they encountered a sprinkling of maidservants returning from the market, who shuffled past with hasty curtsies and a chorus of mumbled “M’lady’s”. Briette watched over her shoulder until the maids were far behind, though Heidel saw nothing unusual about them.
Briette sighed. “Anyway, my point about the servants-”
“Do you think Maelyn will marry him?” said Heidel, not quite ready to relinquish the subject.
Briette bit her lip. “I don’t think Maelyn would bend that much. She’s unduly concerned with public opinion, with the respect of other monarchs. Especially since we weren’t born as princesses.
“Which brings me back to the servants. Maelyn thinks they left because the king and queen were dead. Without our parents we ceased to be royalty, and they refused to serve the false princesses.”
Heidel shook her head. “That’s pockrot.”
“I agree,” said Briette. “The servants were fond of us, especially those that knew us as babies, like Jo
c. They wouldn’t have abandoned us once our parents passed away.”
“And yet they did,” said Heidel.
“Because something compelled them,” Briette said firmly. “I’m convinced of it. They weren’t mistreated. They were justly paid. They were, most of them, happy in their positions.”
“So you’re saying....”
“I’m saying something or someone forced them to leave.”
Chapter 7
The heat had not hampered the bustle of the market square. The open space was roughly octagonal, walled on all sides by tall, pointed houses with shops on their bottom floors. To Heidel, the market resembled a stew, everything thrown into one crowded pot. Carts of fruit. Barrels of fish. Stalls shaded beneath striped red-and-blue awnings. Pens of squawking geese and chickens. Ladies with large baskets hooked on their elbows. Men mounted on horseback or steering wagons through the crowd. And always somewhere a baby crying.
“Where shall we go first?” Coralina asked. She seemed cheered by her chatter with Eravis, her purple eyes regaining their sparkle.
“I need meat for supper,” said Heidel.
“Candles,” said Briette. “We’re running low.”
“Well, I’m having a new dress made.” Coralina turned to Eravis with a suggestive smile. “Perhaps you’ll help me select the cloth? I’d love to know what you think looks best.”
Eravis smiled at her. “I fear no fabric made by man could do justice to your beauty.”
Heidel wanted to gag. Oh yes, Eravis would suit Coralina: both of them worshipped clothing. Eravis wore a tunic of burgundy red, the sleeves edged with a fine gold trim. Rubies studded the crown on his brow, and every trace of frosting had been carefully washed from his glossy black hair.
They parted on their separate errands, Eravis walking beside Coralina. Heidel paused to shake a pebble from her shoe and watched their backs for a moment. Eravis looked at her over his shoulder, but just as their eyes met, Heidel turned away.
Narrow streets fanned out from the market square like spider legs. Heidel headed to Butcher Lane. Her sisters avoided this street at all cost, repulsed by the hanging carcasses and sharp smell of animal blood. But Heidel wasn’t squeamish. The butchers waited on her with wide smiles, always offering their best cuts of meat.
She bought a pheasant to roast for supper. Since Maelyn and Jaedis didn’t care for roast pheasant, she added some rabbits to bake in a pie. Since Ivy and Ari liked neither of these, she also purchased a leg of lamb. And then there was Shulay who never ate meat....
Being Kitchen Princess for almost a year had taught Heidel something: princesses were picky eaters.
She returned to the square with a heavy basket and threaded through the crowd. The princesses always met at the signboard, a broad slab of wood about the size of a supper table, mounted on a sturdy beam. It served as a place to post adverts and notices. The board was more crowded than usual with the upcoming festival, giving Heidel plenty to read.
Stilt Race on Roran’s Meadow! one post declared. Three times daily during the Festival! Heidel smiled. Arialain would be first in line.
Fancy Hats for Fenwick’s Feast! cried another post. Come to Merry Milliners on Cap Street. Heidel hoped Jaedis wouldn’t see this. She never could bypass a bargain.
Lancelot’s Lemon Cakes! Come to the corner of Baker and Mill Street. Heidel began to bounce on her toes. Only three more days!
She finished the posts this side of the board, wishing her sisters would hurry. The sun was toasting her nose and cheeks, probably darkening her freckles. Irritated, she lifted her basket and stepped around the board. May as well read the other side.
And there was Eravis.
Heidel froze. Where had Coralina gone? He stood there alone, rigidly reading a large notice tacked to the board. His face looked almost sickly, the light struck dead from his eyes.
“What’s wrong?” said Heidel.
Eravis flinched as if caught unawares. The look he flung at her was pleading. “Oh, Heidel....”
Heidel turned to face the notice. It was larger than the rest, the words flaunting their elegant loops and curls. A royal seal marked the bottom of the page.
Contest of the King’s Cake
His Royal Majesty, Erlamon of Bauble, has chosen the Kingdom of Runa for his annual Cake Contest. All citizens, be they Noble or Common, are invited to present their finest Cakes before the King. His Majesty will select a winner who shall be awarded a Book of Recipes penned by the King himself. The contest will take place on the final day of the Festival of Fenwick.
“Your father is coming!” Heidel cried. Excitement brewed inside her. Everyone knew King Erlamon was crazy. But he was also a masterful cook. He personally trained every servant that worked in his kitchen, often cooking alongside them. He’d developed recipes and techniques that existed nowhere else and the meals he fashioned were worthy of worship. Twice, Heidel had eaten at Bauble. She couldn’t fathom how the king made tough meat soft as butter, sauces that whispered a dozen hidden flavors, dishes that blended ingredients that couldn’t possibly work together... but they did.
Heidel now wanted something more than lemon cake. She wanted that recipe book.
Chapter 8
Eravis looked as if he’d been sentenced to the gallows. He stepped back and sank onto a cart loaded with melons. Pulling off his crown, he raked his fingers distractedly through his hair.
Heidel gave a taunting smile. “So! We’re to be honored by Crazy King Erl!”
“Don’t call him that!” Eravis barked. “I didn’t know!”
“Know what?”
“He said he’d chosen Morganoch.” Eravis clutched the wooden edge of the cart, his head bowed. “Changed his mind, I guess. It’s like him.”
Heidel folded her arms and smirked. She’d never seen Eravis cower and couldn’t help but enjoy it a little. He looked as if he hurt all over.
“Can we be sure it’s cake this time?” Heidel asked. “I heard what happened in Kurzha last year. He started with a cake contest. The next day he made it a pie contest. And on the final day he changed it to bread! The bakers were ready to riot.”
Eravis sighed. “I – I don’t know, I wasn’t there. But usually it’s cake.”
“You’re ashamed aren’t you?” Heidel leaned forward aggressively. “I bet you never enter the contests. You’re ashamed of your father.”
“I’m not ashamed!” Eravis shouted, scaring away an old woman who’d come to inspect the melons. “But... it’s difficult! And what would be said if I entered a contest in which my own father was judging? I can’t enter. Neither can you!”
“Oh?” Heidel lifted her unblistered hand to her hip. “And why not?”
“You’re hopeless with cake.”
Heidel’s teeth mashed together. She knew it was true – the mudsucking swine – but she could fix that. She could do anything.
“Well,” Heidel said with an airy shrug, “Perhaps I won’t enter. How could a crazy king be a proper judge?”
Eravis sprang up and closed the space between them. “He’s not crazy!” he yelled in her face. “He just has an odd way of doing things.”
“Hmm. Didn’t he execute one of his cooks just for putting too much pepper in his soup? I’d call that more than odd.”
“He threatened to. It didn’t happen.”
“That’s not what the troubadours say.”
“Troubadours!” Eravis reddened with a look of savage hate. “Troubadours make a meal of my father-”
Heidel burst out laughing at his accidental jest. Eravis ignored her. “I’ve tried to ban them from the castle but Father won’t allow it. He doesn’t realize the troubadours come deliberately to mock him. They feast on his oddities to fatten their stories, garnish and season them, and feed them to surrounding monarchs. But I’m the one who must face the laughter, I’m the one who must bear the disgrace!”
Heidel’s eyes flicked over Eravis’ impeccable appearance. She wasn’t naturally intuitive. But she
sensed in him a desperation to be respected, to present to the world an image as unlike his father as possible. If she didn’t despise him, she might have felt sorry.
Heidel shrugged. “I don’t see why it should trouble you. You’re not the one who’s crazy.”
Eravis suddenly lunged at her, seizing her shoulders with firm hands. His gray eyes seemed to pierce right through her. “Call him ‘crazy’ one more time, and I’ll....”
“You’ll what?” Heidel sneered.
“I’ll kiss you.” Eravis tightened his squeeze on her shoulders. “Right here. Passionately. And I won’t care who sees.”
Heidel was dumbstruck. Their banter had already drawn more than a few curious eyes. A kiss would set off a frenzy of gossip, like a covey of birds springing to the skies. Word would spread throughout the realms that she and Eravis were... betrothed.
Heidel shuddered. She ripped out of Eravis’ grasp, shoving through the crowd, not caring who she bumped. Vile, vicious, villainous Eravis! He always found a way to beat her.
Chapter 9
“The huntsman slipped through the window into the princess’s chamber. On silent toes he crept toward her bed, easing his dagger from its sheath. Princess Mirabel lay in slumber, the moon painting her body in soft, milky light. The huntsman paused for one, wistful gaze at her breathtaking beauty. Then he raised the dagger until it hovered above her heart.”
Heidel couldn’t breathe. Nor could any of her sisters listening to the story. The only motion in the tiny library were the wavering shadows cast by candles, bobbing over bookshelves and large, padded chairs. It wasn’t often that Maelyn chose a tale which held them captive. But tonight at least, no one was sleeping through the Royal Reading Hour.
“The princess opened her emerald green eyes just as the dagger made its plunge,” Maelyn read. “With a piercing shriek, she rolled off the bed as the blade sank deeply into the mattress.”