by Anita Valle
“Did she send you to me?” Heidel asked. The man nodded, still cradling his jaw. Heidel plunked down the bowl and wiped her hands on her apron. “Please, sir, come in! I’ll help you.”
The man shuffled forward, pale and grimacing. He moaned when Heidel eased his hand off his face. His left cheek was badly swollen. “Toothache?” Heidel guessed. The man nodded and Heidel concealed her dismay. She feared not disease nor festering wounds but toothaches were difficult and dangerous to treat. Eravis hovered by the door and watched curiously.
“What’s your name, Sir?” Heidel asked kindly.
“H-Hadrian, m’lady.” The man barely moved his lips as he spoke.
“Hmm! Long name for a peasant.” Heidel shot a malicious sneer at Eravis who instantly reddened.
“Uh...?” said the man.
“Nothing! It’s a fine name. Now Hadrian, I must have a look at that tooth.”
Hadrian grimaced and slowly opened his mouth. Heidel took careful hold of his jaw and peered inside. Rows of dirty brown teeth, one side heavily decayed. Clearly he chewed on the left. “One of your molars is rotting away,” said Heidel. “I’m afraid it will have to come out.”
Eravis drew a sharp breath.
“No! No!” Hadrian shook his head, tears pooling in his eyes. “C-can’t! The pain!”
“It really must come out,” said Heidel. “Or the pain will only get worse. You could die.”
Hadrian covered his face with trembling hands. He continued to shake his head. “Can’t! Can’t!”
He feared the pain of an extraction. Heidel tapped her chin, thinking. “There is... one thing I could do. I have something – a strong medicine – that would keep you asleep while I removed the tooth. You’d feel nothing. But you must understand that it’s quite dangerous. I cannot promise... that you will ever wake up.”
Hadrian looked so relieved she wondered if he’d heard her properly. He nodded, quick and eager. “Yes! Yes, m’lady. Please!”
Heidel nodded. “Very well then. Come with me. Eravis, you too.”
“Me?” Eravis squeaked.
“I need your assistance.” Heidel led the men to the back of the kitchen where a narrow door opened onto the gardens behind the castle. The warm sun poured over Heidel’s growing herbs, laid out beside them in leafy strips of green. A rustic shed sat just beyond the garden, nearly hidden beneath the ivy that clambered over the walls.
“This is my herb shed,” she explained to Hadrian. She tugged on the rough wooden door and stepped inside.
The tiny shed was cramped and cluttered, lit by small windows and cracks in the wall boards. A table stretched from one end to the other, leaving narrow walkways around the sides. Every possible space was infested with herbs: hanging in bundles from the rafters above; resting in baskets on the table and floor, ground up and stored in small jars along the walls. The blended scents were so thick and sharp that entering the shed was like drowning in spice cake.
Heidel hurried to unclutter the table of its various pots and bowls. “Lie down,” she told Hadrian. “And Eravis, fetch me that bottle.” She flicked her eyes at an upper shelf. “The small black one. Yes, that’s it. Give it here.”
Eravis placed the bottle in her hand. Heidel removed the cork and poured several drops of dark green liquid into a handkerchief.
Hadrian watched with wary eyes.
“You won’t feel a thing,” Heidel reassured him. “Naturally, there’ll be some pain when you wake, but probably no worse than what you feel now. Are you ready?”
Hadrian gave a stiff nod. Heidel covered his nose and mouth with the handkerchief. “Breathe deeply.”
Within seconds, Hadrian was unconscious.
Eravis gasped. “What did you do?”
“Put the bottle back,” said Heidel. “As high as you can reach. Among other things, it’s a mixture of hemlock and opium.”
“Hemlock? That’s poison!” said Eravis.
“In large doses, yes. But small amounts will induce a heavy sleep. I don’t use it often. Joc once applied too much to an old woman he was treating and....”
“She died?” said Eravis.
Heidel nodded. She tilted back Hadrian’s head, easing his jaw open, and lit a small lantern. “Keep his mouth open,” she told Eravis. “And hold up the lantern so I can see inside.” She lifted a pair of pliers off a nail on the wall.
Eravis turned about three shades of pale. “Heidel, I... I can’t.”
Heidel sighed. “Please, Eravis. Believe me, I don’t relish this either. But this man needs our help and I can’t do an extraction alone.”
Their eyes met and Eravis nodded. Perhaps he realized this was the first time Heidel had ever asked him to stay, rather than driving him out of her sight. He curled his fingers around Hadrian’s jaw and raised the lantern. Heidel, breathing a silent prayer, steered the pliers into the wide-open mouth. Eravis shut his eyes.
It was over in less than a minute.
Heidel gushed a sigh of relief and dropped the tooth on the table. She washed the blood from Hadrian’s mouth and packed the gap with cotton strips soaked in clove oil.
“Thank you, Eravis. I think that’s all.” She sank wearily onto a stool and wiped her face with her apron.
“What about him?” said Eravis, regarding Hadrian with more sympathy than Heidel would have expected.
“He’ll sleep a few hours. I’ll stay until he wakes. The herb garden needs weeding, and I should bundle some of the mint and coriander to dry. I’ll keep busy.”
Eravis nodded and opened the door. Heidel stared absently at Hadrian, worrying, as always, if she’d administered too much hemlock. She raised her eyes to find Eravis still watching her.
“Well done, Heidel,” he said respectfully. “That was... very admirable. I could not have helped this man as you did.”
Heidel shrugged. “It’s what I do.” She hated herself for feeling pleased at his approval.
“Oh, and one more thing,” said Eravis.
“Hmm?”
Eravis’ crooked smile returned. “Mix the wet ingredients; add them to the dry. And don’t stir quite so much.” The door fell shut behind him.
Heidel smiled and shook her head.
Chapter 13
The butter cake was a failure. Sunken and cracked, as if someone had sat on it, and burnt around the edges. Heidel blew the air from her cheeks, more confused than angry.
Why did this happen? She was a good cook. Not glorious, like King Erlamon, but her meals were always enjoyable. And she made a wicked apricot pie. But cake remained her unconquered territory. Rather like Eravis.
She flung the cake out the nearest window and dusted off her hands. At least the squirrels would be happy. She wandered to the back of the kitchen and cracked opened the door. The afternoon sun poured over the gardens and the breeze washed her face with the smell of warm grass. Heidel shut her eyes and breathed deeply. “That does it, Squire. We need to get out of here.”
Squire charged out the door ahead of her, pausing to sniff at the broken chunks of cake lying by the castle wall. “Leave it!” Heidel said sharply. “We’re going to the lake.”
Grass and clover cushioned her feet as she walked. Squire bounced around her legs, tearing away whenever he spotted one of the castle cats. The lake Heidel sought lay just beyond the castle, about forty paces off from the corner. When the princesses were children, this had been their favorite place to play. Their old swing still dangled from a willow tree on the bank, and Heidel smiled, remembering how she’d fought her sisters to be the first to ride.
“Even now, Squire, that swing is never empty. Look, there’s Coco.”
Coralina sat with her back facing them. A purple ribbon tied up her midnight curls, lifting them off her neck. Even from a distance Heidel knew she was forlorn. Her bare toes brushed the grass as the swing drifted half-heartedly, and she rested her head against one of the ropes.
Heidel tromped toward the swing with no attempt at subtlety. “Tell me somethin
g,” she said cheerfully. “Why didn’t Father make nine swings for us? We had nine of everything else!” She dropped to the grass at Coralina’s feet. Squire combed the bank with his nose, his choppy brown coat rippling in the breeze.
Coralina smiled without shifting her eyes from the lake. Heidel kicked off her shoes and edged forward to dunk her feet in the water. “Still not going to Fenwick’s Feast?”
Coralina shrugged.
“Gord might not be there,” said Heidel, who had no patience for dodging a delicate subject.
Coralina sighed. “I just wish he would speak to me.”
“Won’t he?”
“Nothing beyond a courteous greeting. I’ve tried to visit his cottage but he won’t let me past the door. He’s always ‘busy’.”
Heidel swished her feet in the tepid water. “Listen, Coco. I’m not trying to be harsh. But all of us must lose a battle. And learn to grow from our defeat. Gord is your lost battle. You need to swallow that and keep it down.”
“I won’t give up on him!” said Coralina, glaring down at Heidel from her elevated perch.
“Why? Is it pride? You can’t face a world in which one man finds you undesirable?”
“No! I... it’s hard to explain.” Coralina bit her lip. “I felt... whole... when I was with him. Something inside me that’s always hurting... it wasn’t there anymore. He closed every wound, filled every hollow. There was nothing in this world that I wanted, no other place I wanted to be. Except with him.”
Heidel couldn’t help staring. It sounded obsessive.
“You wouldn’t understand,” said Coralina.
No, Heidel didn’t understand. How could she talk of wounds? One flash of her stunning grin and every man from serf to sovereign became her slave. No princess had ever been more universally worshipped.
Heidel shrugged. “Wounds heal, Coco.”
“Hmph!” Coralina tossed her head. “And how would you know? You’ve never been in love.”
Heidel laughed. “Oh no?”
Now it was Coralina who stared.
“Do you remember when the Prince of Havilon came to stay with us? About three years ago?” said Heidel.
“Rogan? Yes, I remember.... Oh, him?”
Heidel felt herself blushing as she nodded. “He danced with me. Once. And I was toast. For weeks I could think of nothing but him. Joc threatened to stop my cooking lessons because I made so many mistakes!”
Coralina laughed, enlivened by any tale of romance. “Really! Rogan! Yes, he was adorable. Did you tell him?”
“Oh hogs, no.”
“Why not!”
Heidel rolled her eyes. “He fancied you, Coco! Remember?”
Coralina scrunched her brow in confusion. “Did he?” Clearly, Rogan had been lost among the archives of her former lovers.
“Don’t worry! I recovered.” Heidel patted Coralina’s knee. “But I do understand. Love is exhausting. I certainly won’t do it again.”
Chapter 14
“How is the partridge, Your Majesty?” Maelyn asked cordially.
King Erlamon nodded as though pondering his answer. “Good. Yes. Good. Well-seasoned.” He smiled at Heidel.
Heidel questioned his sincerity but smiled back. Maelyn had relinquished the head chair to the king and now sat beside Coralina. Eravis held his place at the foot of the table, but though he faced his father directly, he scarcely glanced that way. He often looked at Heidel.
The princesses wore their finest apparel to honor the king’s arrival. Heidel was sweltering beneath a gown that must have weighed twenty pounds: a lush brocade, burgundy red, every inch embroidered with curlicues of gold, sleeves that dangled to her knees, and a skirt with so many layers her legs were sobbing for air. Furthermore, rather than their usual lightweight tiaras, Maelyn had insisted on crowns, heavy and gold and bejeweled. While Coralina thrived on this sort of extravagance, Heidel found it hot and oppressive. And Briette looked miserable.
But Heidel couldn’t complain. The king had brought gifts with him, among them a barrel of fresh salmon steaks, marinated and skillfully seasoned. Heidel hugged the barrel all the way to the kitchen, dreaming of tomorrow’s break-fast. She could suffer a fancy dress for this.
Maelyn smiled at the king. “Your son has now been with us for several days, Your Majesty. I couldn’t help but notice how strongly he resembles you since becoming a man.”
The king continued eating as if she hadn’t spoken. Maelyn waited a long moment before quietly returning to her partridge. Heidel snuck a glance at Eravis and found him scowling at his plate. He did resemble his father. The same thick eyebrows and statuesque features, though the king’s hair was stroked with gray and he wore a short, pointed beard.
As if struck by a sudden thought, Erlamon looked at Eravis. “Well, Son, have you decided?”
Eravis went redder than Heidel had ever seen him. “If you please, Father. I’d rather not speak of it.” His words came through his teeth.
“Decide what?” said Coralina.
“Uh, Father, I think the princesses would like to hear why you chose the kingdom of Runa for your contest this year,” said Eravis, speaking quickly.
“We’re deeply honored!” said Maelyn. “This will draw many people to Fenwick’s Feast. Your contest is famous, I’m told even monarchs are known to attend.”
“Yes. Yes. I believe it was a troubadour.” King Erlamon nodded emphatically.
The princesses waited patiently but the king seemed to think this was answer enough. Finally Maelyn said, “What troubadour, Your Majesty?”
“The troubadour who enchanted me with the story of young Fenwick who won a magnificent battle at sea.”
Heidel swept a bewildered glance down the table. Most of the princesses looked uncomfortable, eyes pinned to their plates. Ivy watched the six candles burning on the table. Only Shulay appeared to be enjoying herself, biting her lip and shaking whenever the king spoke.
“Oh....” Maelyn said carefully. “Oh, I believe that was Fennigan. Of Morganoch. He won a famous sea battle about two centuries ago. But Fenwick-”
“Which of you came from Morganoch?” King Erlamon asked, addressing the other princesses.
They all lifted their heads, startled. After a pause, Lace said, “I did.”
“Just you?”
Lace nodded meekly. “Each of us came from a different kingdom.”
“Yes.” King Erlamon regarded her, nodding again. “Yes, you have the look of their women. All fair and blonde in Morganoch. Did you consider her, Eravis?”
Eravis shook his head rigorously. He looked as if he was grinding his teeth.
“Would you care to hear the story of Fenwick, Your Majesty?” Maelyn barged on. Heidel smiled. Poor Maelyn. She’d make a fine queen someday. But it wasn’t worth it.
“Fennigan?” said King Erlamon.
“Fenwick,” said Maelyn. “He lived in this castle about ninety years ago. He was a servant – a kitchen boy – who assisted the Royal Cook.”
“He was fifteen,” said Arialain. “Like me.”
King Erlamon pointed his knife at her. “What is your name?”
“Arialain.”
“Beg your pardon?”
“Arialain.”
King Erlamon smiled. “Beautiful! Four syllables. But I’m afraid you’re too young.”
Arialain blinked. “Oh....”
“Anyway,” said Heidel, trying to help Maelyn who looked exhausted, “Fenwick carried supper to the royal family each night. He suspected the head cook was plotting to poison the young prince on his tenth birthday. He tried to warn the king and queen but they laughed away his fears. The cook, they said, had been with them for decades. They trusted him.”
“Like Joc,” Ivy whispered.
“Why should the cook want to poison the king’s child?” King Erlamon asked.
“Revenge,” said Maelyn. “Years before this, the king had sent the cook’s only son into battle, and the son was slain. The cook sought to wound the k
ing as the king had wounded him. When the birthday feast arrived, Fenwick burst into the dining hall, before all the guests, crying out that the young prince must not consume his supper. The king was outraged. A servant had already tasted the food for poison, as was customary. Fenwick explained that the poison was harmless in small amounts, but would kill the prince if he ate the entire meal.”
Heidel was growing angry as she always did at this point in the story. “So! That jolly old king decided Fenwick must be punished! He had a small table brought to the center of the room, and he commanded Fenwick to sit there and eat the prince’s meal – all of it. And prove himself a fool for suspecting their precious cook.”
“In this room,” Ivy whispered, her eyes faraway. “It happened in this very room. And poor Fenwick – they said he went very pale. But three guards held him at spear point and he had no choice. Can you imagine what he must have felt, eating that food? While the king and all his guests mocked and insulted him.”
“That’s horrendous,” said Eravis. “Shameful. What happened to the boy?”
“He died,” Maelyn said softly. “Right there at the table, before he had finished the meal. The king and his guests were utterly shocked.”
King Erlamon shook his head solemnly. “Poor lad. Brave little soul. Did they catch the cook?”
“Oh yes,” said Heidel. “Tried to flee the kingdom, but they got him. He was executed – I won’t tell you how – and the king felt terrible for not believing Fenwick. He saved the prince’s life.”
“And that little prince was our mother’s grandfather,” said Maelyn. “Since that day, our kingdom holds a festival each year to honor Fenwick and his fortitude.”
“It’s sad, though,” said Ivy. “He died so young.”
King Erlamon nodded. “Yes. Yes. But if he were alive, he’d be dead by now, anyway.”
Eravis dropped his face in his hands and Shulay shook violently. “Uh, yes!” said Maelyn. “Very true. Many lessons to be learned from that story, I think. Never trust a servant however loyal he may seem.”
“Don’t interrupt a royal party,” said Coralina.