Heidel (The Nine Princesses Novellas Book 3)

by Anita Valle

  “Cook your own food!” said Heidel. “That’s why I do it. We never have to worry about someone trying to poison us.”

  Chapter 15

  Briette tapped on the door and slipped into Heidel’s bedchamber. “Still awake?”

  “Have you read this?” Heidel lay on her stomach, ankles crossed in midair, and hung over a book that lay open on her bed. “It’s funny!”

  Briette hitched up her nightdress and crawled onto the bed. “What is it?”

  “The Devious Damsel. Maelyn’s been hounding me to try it. Another work of her amorous messenger.”

  Briette smiled.

  “You know... I think she would marry him.” Heidel rolled on her side to face Briette. “He produces books! Maelyn would value that over a man who produces children.”

  Briette shook her head. “Her pride won’t allow it. She’ll never marry a commoner.”

  “I could marry a commoner,” said Heidel. “Sometimes I think I’d prefer it. I don’t relish the idea of being a queen, numbing my rump on a throne all day. I like to move about.”

  “Me as well,” said Briette. “I have no wish to marry.”

  “Ever?”

  Briette shrugged. “I like my own company. A husband would be another chore on my list. I’d have to... talk to him.” She grimaced.

  “Ha!” Heidel slapped the mattress. “But what will you do? With your life, I mean.”

  Briette wrinkled her brow. “I haven’t decided,” she said, though Heidel suspected this was only half true. “What about you?”

  “Oh, that’s easy,” said Heidel. “I want to find a cure for Red Fever. And take it to every kingdom I know.”

  Briette smiled. “Like the Faith Healer.”

  Heidel snorted.

  “You don’t believe in the Faith Healer?” Briette sounded surprised.

  Heidel shrugged. The Faith Healer was a popular tale bandied about by troubadours. A holy man. A friar. Who travelled kingdom to kingdom, treating the sick and praying for them. It was said that many people regained their health through his prayers. True or not, Heidel had little use for miracles. They were selective, choosing a random person here or there. She wanted a cure for everyone, one she could mix in a bottle.

  “Have you made any progress? Briette asked. Heidel groaned and shifted to a cooler patch of bed. “I haven’t studied a case in over a year. I like to catch them before they’re dead and have a shot at curing them.”

  Briette pushed back her smooth brown hair, sweeping it off her face. “But what can you do?”

  “Here’s what I think: victims of Red Fever become very hot; much hotter than any other ailment we know. That’s why the face turns red. I think your head becomes an oven and actually cooks your brain. Now, if there was a way to cool the fever – or prevent it from growing hot enough to kill you – than the victim might survive.”

  “Have you tested this?” said Briette.

  Heidel sighed. “A few times. Herbs like angelica and meadowsweet are known to cool a fever. But when it comes to Red Fever, they’re just not strong enough. I need something much more potent.”

  Tap, tap. “Heidel?” The muffled voice came from outside the chamber door.

  Heidel turned. “Who’s there?”

  “Ivy. But don’t get up. I just wanted to ask-” she paused and the sound of coughing echoed through the corridor. “-if your candles are out.”

  Heidel frowned. A short candle burned on her bedside table, three more on the mantle shelf. “No. I haven’t gone to bed yet.”

  “Just make sure you snuff them all. And check the wicks for sparks.”

  Heidel felt a pinch of annoyance. But before she could reply, Briette called out, “Yes, Ivy, I’ll see that she does. I’ll check my own candles too.”

  “Thank you.” They heard Ivy’s crutch clop away from the door, and moments later, the soft rap of her knuckles at the next chamber.

  “She’s going to check them all.” Briette shook her head. “I fear Ivy is becoming ill.”

  “She’s always ill,” said Heidel.

  “I mean ill in her mind, like King Erlamon.”

  Heidel frowned. “You think Ivy is crazy?”

  “No. But she doesn’t know how to manage her thoughts. Her fears become tyrants that she cannot disobey. And right now they’re telling her to check the candles.”

  Heidel shrugged. “That’s Ivy. She’s quirky. Doesn’t mean she’ll end up like Crazy King Erl.”

  Briette tipped her head and smiled mysteriously. “Speaking of which: what do you make of the king’s remarks tonight? When he asked Eravis to consider Lace, and told Arialain she was ‘too young’.”

  “The usual slop he dishes out.”

  “I think not, Heidel. Consider that Eravis is a man now. And heir to the throne of Bauble. Most princes are married by eighteen, if not younger, and Eravis is twenty-one.”

  Heidel instantly – and inexplicably - was irritated. “You think the king wants Eravis to marry?”

  “He’ll need a queen to produce an heir. There’s no other way.”

  “Pockrot!” Heidel retorted. “How could Eravis marry anyone, he’s too in love with himself! He won’t marry to please his father, and he certainly won’t marry one of us!”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I thought maybe Coco-”

  “Coco!” Heidel sneered. “Coco’s in love with a carpenter! She’s just distracting herself with Eravis, it’ll come to nothing. They’d hate each other anyway, they’re both too self-centered. And I don’t see why Eravis-”

  “Heidel, Heidel!” Briette set a hand on Heidel’s shoulder. “Calm yourself. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  Heidel stopped, her chest heaving. “I’m not upset. Sorry, I... I just hate talking about Eravis. And I’m tired.”

  Briette nodded and slid off the bed. “I’ll say goodnight then. Check your wicks.”

  When she’d gone, Heidel blew out the candles. She kicked her covers down to the very bottom of her bed where they couldn’t create more heat. She was furious with Briette without understanding why.

  When she finally fell asleep, she dreamt King Erlamon had decreed that every man in his kingdom had to have eight wives. And so Eravis came to Runa and married every princess except Heidel. He took them back to his kingdom, while Heidel remained in the empty castle. But since she hadn’t checked the wicks, the castle burnt to the ground, leaving Heidel homeless and utterly alone.

  Chapter 16

  “I... told you!” said Heidel.

  Briette shook her head. “It’s very strange.”

  “And frightening!” Ivy said with widened eyes. “How did he do it?”

  Heidel shook her head, teeth clamped together. “I don’t know. But we’ll find him! Filthy maggot.” If King Erlamon did not occupy the same carriage in which she sat, she’d have chosen her words less delicately.

  It was the first day of Fenwick’s Feast. Heidel had woken in high spirits, anticipating a breakfast of sizzling salmon, followed by a day of festival fun. But when she bounced into the kitchen, the small barrel of fish was missing from the larder. She had searched, questioned, raged, cursed, threatened, and searched some more. But Erlamon’s gift had vanished – along with Heidel’s good mood.

  “What’s the matter?” King Erlamon asked.

  “Nothing!” the princesses said together. By unspoken consent, everyone knew the king must not be told. Fortunately, he was easy to distract.

  At a leisurely roll, the carriages descended Castle Hill, sheltered by the towering trees of Lumen Forest. Heidel rode in the second carriage with Briette, Ivy, King Erlamon, and a rather glum Coralina. Shulay – the only princess who seemed unaffected by the salmon snatching – sat outside the carriage, driving the horses and singing to herself.

  Once they entered Merridell, the streets became choked with carts and carriages, jostling each other like apples in a tub. Travelers on foot filled every morsel of space, pushing their way around the carriages. The tight rows of houses
hugged the crowd on both sides, slowing its pace to a syrupy ooze.

  “I hate this part.” Heidel slumped against the carriage wall. “It’ll take us an hour to reach the square.”

  Ivy managed to laugh without coughing. “I know. But I like to watch the people and imagine what their lives are like.” She’d been gazing out the window with a dreamy smile ever since they arrived in town.

  Forty minutes later, they left their carriages at a private stable yard owned by the Duke of Merridell and finished their journey on foot. Fenwick’s Feast had transformed their familiar market square into a strange land. Leafy green garlands with white flowers looped from house to house. Strangers milled about in outlandish costumes, talking in foreign tongues. And music was always floating up from somewhere: a lute player strolling through the crowds; a piper sitting on the steps of the church; a band of fiddlers playing for dancers.

  Maelyn turned to King Erlamon with a gracious smile. “What would you like to do first, Your Majesty?”

  “I’d like to see the cows,” said Erlamon.

  “The cows!” Maelyn quickly concealed her surprise. “Uh... certainly! We’ll visit the livestock dealers.” She took hold of the king’s arm and steered him across the square. After a moment, Shulay nudged Arialain with her elbow and said “Games?” They scampered off to a side street that would lead them to Roran’s Meadow.

  This left Eravis and six princesses standing and staring about. “What should we do?” Coralina grumbled. Heidel shrugged. The hot air carried wonderful hints of things being roasted and grilled, but she wasn’t hungry just yet. “I don’t know. I think I’ll wander.” Wandering was how she usually eased herself into the festival.

  Coralina sighed. “I’ll wander with you.”

  “And I’ll wander with her!” said Eravis, rushed to Coralina’s side.

  Heidel swore inwardly. She didn’t want Coco, much less Eravis. “What about you, Briette?” she asked.

  Briette smiled apologetically. “I must get to my booth.”

  “Me too,” said Ivy.

  Heidel raised her eyebrows. “You have a booth?”

  Ivy patted a lumpy satchel that hung from her shoulder. “I’m selling painted rocks!” She dug inside the bag and withdrew several stones, small and round and smooth. One had been painted to resemble a turtle peeking out of its shell. Another depicted a bear cub curled in sleep. And another looked like a vibrant pink rose.

  Heidel grinned. “These are wonderful, Ivy! Can you carry that bag?” She reached out to take the satchel.

  Ivy drew back, clutching the strap. “I’m very strong,” she insisted, hoisting up her crutch and hobbling after Briette. Heidel sighed, reassuring herself that Briette would look after Ivy. She looked so small and breakable among the herds of people.

  Coralina tapped Heidel’s shoulder. “I was telling Eravis that most people start the day by buying food for Fenwick.”

  “Er, yes,” Eravis said cautiously. “Just how is that... possible?”

  Heidel grinned. “We’ll show you.”

  She approached a vendor selling candied nuts and bought a large bag. Coralina bought several mutton chops and instructed Eravis to get some corn. He returned with four ears still sizzling from the grill, holding them awkwardly inside a cloth.

  “Now follow me,” said Heidel.

  At the center of the square was a large stone statue, depicting a young man holding a plate with both hands. The plate, closer in size to a wagon wheel, was piled high with festival food, much of it hot and steaming. “This is Fenwick!” Heidel carefully poured the nuts along the edge of the plate. “Normally he lives in the churchyard but they wheel him out for the festival. The food is meant for children.”

  Eravis smiled. A few peasant children sat on the statue’s base, eating maple cakes and apples. Others were climbing up to reach the plate again or swinging from Fenwick’s elbows.

  “The plate is never supposed to empty so long as the festival lasts,” Heidel explained. “And if it does, believe me, the children make a ruckus.”

  “Are those oranges?” Eravis asked in wonder, eyeing the top of the food pile. Heidel smacked his arm. “Not for you! You can afford to buy your own. That’s why this plate is hard to keep full, too many selfish adults who don’t care.” She directed her last words at Coralina who had helped herself to a sugar dragon and was nibbling shamelessly.

  The day was growing steadily hotter, though thick patches of clouds brought shady breaks to the sun’s glare. The princesses wore gowns of soft airy cotton, Heidel in melon green, Coralina in violet. Even Eravis had forsaken his heavy jewelry and wore light colors.

  They passed several hours on the crowded streets. They watched a magician swallow an egg and spit out a live bird. Eravis and Coralina joined the dances at the tavern while Heidel watched and clapped her hands. They bought fancy hats at Merry Milliners, overpriced and ostentatious.

  Then Heidel found Lancelot’s booth and bought her lemon cakes. Glorious! She ate three on the spot and order a dozen for the castle. “For the family,” she told Eravis, hoping he swallowed the lie. Some things were too good to share.

  “Where are the games?” Eravis asked eagerly. He now wore a floppy cap that flourished a bright yellow feather. Heidel and Coralina had chosen steeple hats, tall and cone-shaped, with delicate veils flowing from their tips.

  “Out on the fields,” said Heidel. “But aren’t you hungry? I thought we could get-”

  “No.” Coralina said firmly. “Let’s go to the games.”

  Heidel suppressed a groan. She knew why Coralina wanted to watch the games - and who she would be looking for.

  Reaching the fields meant a half-hour’s trek, winding through the cramped streets that led out of town. Miles of gentle, rolling meadow separated Merridell from the next town of Creaklee, hidden below the horizon. The games were spread in large sites across the plain, sectioned off by rope fences. At a glance, Heidel could see an archery tournament, a jousting match, men sparring with swords and quarterstaffs, races on foot, on stilts, and on donkeys, rope climbing, wrestling, and competitions of strength.

  “Let’s go watch the strong men!” said Coralina, eyeing the field where several muscular men were dragging boulders on chains up a shallow hill. Heidel, failing to see the appeal of sweaty muscles and animal grunts, was about to decline sarcastically when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

  “Bet I can beat you at archery!” said Eravis, daring her with the roguish grin she had known all her life.

  And though she knew she’d regret it, Heidel cocked an eyebrow and responded with the same answer she had given all her life. “Bet you can’t!”

  Chapter 17

  They paid for the use of a single target, rather than joining the tournament. The target was a round mat of straw, mounted on blunt wooden legs. A canvas of colorful rings had been stretched across the face. It stood about 200 paces ahead, across a span of trampled grass yellowing under the sun.

  “Not the best bows,” Eravis remarked, turning his over a few times. They both held hickory longbows, roughly made for festival use and dirty from too many hands. “Poorly balanced.”

  Heidel tightened a leather guard around her left forearm and smirked. “Giving up already?”

  Eravis winked at her. “I never give up.” He slung the quiver behind his back and slid out an arrow. “Ugh. Even these are battered.” He grimaced at the mangled goose feathers ending the shaft.

  “Oh, shut your gob and shoot,” said Heidel.

  Eravis sighed and lowered the bow to nock the arrow. He raised his arm, drew the string back to his chin, and fired. The arrow zipped across the field but missed the target entirely.

  Heidel laughed. “Out of practice?”

  “It’s this crummy equipment,” Eravis grumbled.

  Heidel hated to admit that she was out of practice. Joc had taught her to how to hunt for fresh meat, but she found a walk to the butcher shop so much easier. It had been months since she’d fired an a
rrow at anything. She lifted the heavy longbow, nearly as tall as she, and drew back the arrow until the feathers brushed her cheekbone. Gazing down the shaft, she reminding herself to focus on the target, not the arrow.

  Zip!

  “Ha!” Eravis cried. “Sorry, but I thought we were shooting at our target.” Heidel’s arrow had flown far left, almost hitting a target in use by another group.

  Heidel swore beneath her breath. “You’re right, these tools are primitive.”

  They each fired again but failed to strike the target at all. Eravis pulled a third arrow from his quiver, smiling as if amused. “I just remembered something. You know what improves aim?”

  “I don’t need your advice!” Heidel snapped.

  “Pretend the red spot is somebody’s head.”

  Heidel looked at him. “That’s a bit brutal.”

  “It usually works.” Eravis raised his bow. “Master Phelps!” he cried, and fired. The arrow struck the target, though high off the center in the outermost white ring.

  “Better!” said Heidel. “At least you hit something. Who was Master Phelps?”

  “My old tutor. I hated him.”

  Heidel nocked another arrow. She drew back the string, grimacing with effort, and spoke through her teeth. “Uncle Jarrod!”

  Thunk! Heidel’s arrow struck the target.

  “See!” Eravis laughed. “You just assassinated the King of Grunwold. What was his crime?”

  “He never liked us,” said Heidel. “And he tried to take Maelyn away. Your turn.”

  “Let me see.... Who else do I hate?” Eravis held the bow low as he considered. “Cousin Arwynna!” He raised and fired. “For insisting that I’ll become as crazy as my father.”

  “Holy Teeth, that was close to the red,” said Heidel. “You must despise her!”

  “Thank you. I do.”

  Heidel smirked and raised her bow. She knew she shouldn’t do this but couldn’t help herself. “Prince Eravis!” She loosed her fourth arrow. “For pretending to be dead in my bed.”