by Aaron Kite
Holding it up briefly, he turned and threw the sphere against the stone wall nearest him. There was a loud pop, and the thing exploded into a small shower of luminescent dust. At precisely the same time, Gwen felt a sensation like pins and needles wash over her, though it disappeared so quickly she didn’t even have a chance to cry out in surprise.
“Where is he?” Bryn snarled, taking another stride closer to Gwen. “Where is Prince Tremaine? Nobody’s seen him; everyone thought he was with you!”
“Oh, that obnoxious prince I met? He left, all sudden-like.” She gave her father a half-smirk, and then sighed dramatically, as if heartbroken. “I guess he just didn’t care for me. What can I say? The man has no taste.”
“He was perfect! He thought you were ideal! It had all been arranged, right down to the date!” Bryn took off his crown and frustratedly ran a hand through his thinning curls. “We need those mines up north! Without the mines, the whole trade plan is dead in the water!” His eyes narrowed. “Where did he run off to? Tell me, now! There might still be time to salvage this, despite your—”
“He’s gone, Father! Even if you find him again, you’re never going to talk him into marriage now; he doesn’t have a death wish!”
Bryn’s eyes grew wider, and his nostrils flared. His already ruddy complexion got a shade darker.
“What did you do to him? You couldn’t have told him about yourself… and you couldn’t have shown him, so how—”
“A flower!” she laughed. “Can you believe it? All of your planning, your scheming, your efforts to turn me into a killer and damn my soul, all undone by a couple of freshly picked flowers. Oh, and I don’t think you’ll be able to try this little trick of yours again. I took care of that as well. I couldn’t actually tell him anything about me, but I did manage to share this one fairy tale I know. It’s all about a king who tried to use his only daughter to kill a prince and take his land. Pretty soon everyone will know about me, about you, and all about what you were hoping to accomplish!”
He stared at her, taking slow, deep breaths. Beads of perspiration appeared on his now-scarlet brow. She stared back at him confidently, and with just a hint of smugness, feeling more calm than she’d ever been during any of their previous confrontations.
“You stupid, useless child!” Bryn growled finally, slowly raising a trembling hand as though he were about to strike her.
“No glove today?” asked Gwen, giving him an extra-large smile.
Bryn bared his clenched teeth, snarling some unintelligible curses through them. Then, gaze still locked on hers, he slowly and deliberately unfastened the brass buckle of his heavy leather belt.
Perhaps it was everything she’d been through up to that point: standing up to her father, thwarting his plans. Perhaps it was knowing her father didn’t care about her, had never cared, in fact. Still, whatever the reason, the familiar sight of Bryn undoing his heavy leather belt resulted in Gwen having a very unfamiliar thought.
No. She wasn’t going to let him use that belt on her. Not today.
Gwen steeled herself, hands to her side and clenched into fists.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea, Father? Haven’t you heard?” She gave him a quick, tight smile. “I’m a very dangerous young lady. I touch people, and they blister and burn. Touch them long enough and they’ll die. My tears can melt skin like it wasn’t even there. And… what else was there? Saliva! You know, it occurs to me I’ve never seen what my saliva can do. Let’s find out!”
And with that, though it was not at all ladylike, Gwen took a step toward her belt-brandishing father, and she spit in his face.
There was only a tiny amount of spittle that actually managed to land on the king. It was perhaps the size of a head of a pin, hardly anything at all.
His reaction to that tiny little bit of saliva, however, was tremendous.
Dropping his belt, Bryn turned white as a sheet and reeled backwards as though struck, and a look of profound panic now replaced his mask of rage. He let out an urgent cry, sounding like a wounded bear trying to imitate a crow, and fell tumbling onto his back, pawing at his face with his hands.
Gwen retreated a step as she watched him roll over into a kneeling crouch and grab fistfuls of the fur-lined purple robe he wore, shoving the material into his face and rubbing vigourously. As he wiped his face, he spoke several muffled words she couldn’t make out.
After several moments, Bryn’s face emerged from the folds of his robe. His complexion seemed blotchy and red, though Gwen couldn’t tell if her saliva had caused it, or if it was due to the frenzied rubbing of his face. A tight ball of tension knotted in her stomach.
The king got to his feet. His eyes were wide as he stared at her, and his fingers trembled.
“You crazy little wench!” he shouted in a voice laced with both anger and disbelief. “Do you know what you almost did? I’ll tan your miserable, skinny hide! I’ll beat you like a two-copper mule-skin, you—”
Gwen took a threatening step forward and cleared her throat noisily, pursing her lips as though preparing to spit at him again.
Blanching slightly, he hastily backed away from her. Then, almost tripping over his loose, half-draped robes, he stumbled backwards to the open doorway and quickly fled her chambers, throwing her one last hateful glare before disappearing into the dark recesses of the stairway.
There had been a touch of fear in that glare too, Gwen realized.
Trembling but exhilarated, she walked over to the heavy door and heaved on it until it slammed shut with a resounding thud. Then she sat down upon her bed and focused on breathing. Her heart thumped madly, and her ears roared. Everything took on an unreal sort of feeling.
She’d done it. She really, really had. There was no way for her father to use her like he’d originally intended.
And she’d stood up to him, even forced him to back down! Just the thought of it was enough to cause Gwen’s breath to catch in her chest.
She sat there for a long time, considering what was likely going to happen next. Her father considered her nothing more than a tool, that much was obvious. She was probably in danger now that she’d thwarted him, which was equally obvious.
Still, her aggressive move had caught her father completely off guard. It was as though he hadn’t ever considered her a threat before, or he hadn’t really thought of her as dangerous, despite having intentionally made her this way.
Well, he certainly thought she was dangerous now. Maybe she wasn’t in too bad shape after all.
The real question was what would he do now? His plans were in tatters, and there was no way he’d be able to marry her off to anyone once word of Prince Tremaine’s experiences started circulating. Maybe this marked the end of her father’s scheming.
After a couple of hours spent pondering the ramifications of her actions, she heard a muffled noise by her bedroom door, like something being slid onto the topmost step. Her dinner, probably brought up to her. Just as well; there was no way she’d risk a trip down to the dining hall tonight.
Gwen briefly considered just leaving it outside her door, but realized she wouldn’t be able to for long. She was famished, and found herself craving that blue-green herb she knew had been sprinkled on whatever they’d brought her. Well, she’d had a very emotional day, and that sort of thing always played havoc with her appetite.
Sliding off her bed, she went over to the door and opened it, slowly.
Atop the step in front of her door was a medium-sized wooden box and blanket. Sitting inside of it was a small, floppy-eared brown puppy.
It seemed to perk up the instant it saw her, and its pink tongue lolled to one side as it panted up at her, an expression of eager curiosity lighting up its face. It regarded her with big, brown eyes and wurfed at her.
Gwen closed her eyes before her tears had a chance to turn everything blurry.
She
carefully closed her bedroom door, doing her level best to ignore the faint whine she heard beyond it as she clicked it shut. That done, she focused on breathing deeply so she wouldn’t start sobbing. She knew that if she started, she wouldn’t be able to stop.
Her father’s message was plain as day.
This wasn’t over.
Chapter 8
Gwen spent the next couple of days laying low, and not drawing any attention to herself. In fact, she barely came out of her chambers at all, and spent most of her time in her tower, looking out the window nearest the meadow, waiting.
Late afternoon on the second day, she finally caught a glimpse of what she’d been waiting for.
She quickly stripped out of her dressing gown and threw on her riding clothes, slipped into her boots, tossed a grey cloak over her shoulders and ran out of her room and down the stairwell. Once at the bottom, Gwen flew down the second-floor hallway, down the stairs leading to the kitchen, and out the servant’s entrance. Most of the castle staff who encountered her looked surprised or confused, but all of them hastily got out of her way.
Soon she was running down the path leading to the royal stables, her own pent-up anxiousness propelling her forward. When she was fifty yards or so away from the barn, she spied a familiar figure unsaddling a horse, and she nearly wept with relief.
“Rosie!” she cried, running even faster toward her friend.
Rhosyn’s head turned and, upon seeing Gwen, she dropped the saddle she’d been holding and ran to meet Gwen, rushing over the uneven pasture nearly as quick as Gwen herself. When at last they met, they barely slowed down enough to prevent serious injury, hugging one another fiercely.
“Oh, Goddess! I… oh, shoot! Hold on a second,” Gwen sniffed, pushing Rhosyn away from her long enough to wipe away her caustic tears with a sleeve. Then she wrapped her arms around Rhosyn and hugged her even more tightly than before. “Oh, how I’ve missed you, Rosie!”
“Hey, girl,” Rhosyn said, her tone soft and sad. She extracted herself from the embrace of her friend and considered Gwen at arm’s length. “Are you okay? I just got back; what’s happened? Did anyone—”
“I did it, Rosie!” Gwen said with a hint of laughter that managed to cut through her tears. “I really did it! I figured a way around the enchantment, and sent the prince high-tailing it out of the kingdom!” She realized something and frowned. “I had to send him away on Juniper though, and we’ll probably never get him back. I’m really sorry, but he’s just one horse, and I couldn’t risk letting Prince Tremaine anywhere near the castle after—”
“Whoa, whoa, hold on a sec,” Rhosyn said, her eyes widening. “You stopped it? You got rid of the geis? Wait, of course you did, or you wouldn’t even be able to talk about it! Well, what happened? Tell me everything!”
Gwen told Rhosyn as many details as she could remember, hurriedly bringing her friend up to speed. Rhosyn’s jaw practically hit the ground during Gwen’s retelling of her confrontation with the king.
“You spat at him?” she asked, amazement in her voice. “You spat at your father? Wow, look at you go! That’s just… wow! And he hasn’t come to see you since?”
“No, I haven’t run into him at all. He hasn’t come up to my chambers, and I’ve hardly left the tower these past few days. Things have definitely changed, now. Although,” Gwen sent her friend a troubled look, “I’m not entirely sure what’s going to happen next.”
“Well, I’m sure that goes double for your father right about now. He’s probably trying to figure out how he can salvage this whole situation as we speak,” Rhosyn said, nodding thoughtfully. “You know, you might be in real danger, Gwen.”
“I’ve been sort of thinking the same thing. But really, what can he do? I’m his only heir. And at the end of the day, no matter how angry or upset he gets, I’m still his daughter.”
“Gwen, let’s look at the facts. We both know he doesn’t care about you. Just look what he was willing to put you through! He’s the most despicable, evil man I know of, and that’s just based on the things we know about! Imagine what sort of stuff he’s done we don’t know! I can’t imagine the fact you’re his daughter is going to make a lick of difference. If he can’t try marrying you off to someone again, he’ll try something else, find some way to use you as a weapon or otherwise ruin your life. Someone like him isn’t simply going to let things lie.”
“Yeah,” said Gwen with a heavy sigh. “You’re probably right. But if we don’t even know what he’s planning, how can we do anything to prevent it?”
Rhosyn’s eyes seemed to light up, and a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “I brought you a present from Fort Pike.”
“Hmm?”
“Uh-huh! I even wrapped it,” she said, grinning hugely. “You’re not going to believe it, either! C’mon, I’ll show you!”
And with that, Rhosyn turned and bolted back in the direction of the stables. Gwen ran after her, feeling a little confused. They both came to a stop near the saddle Rhosyn had dropped in her haste to greet her friend.
“You know, you didn’t need to get me anything, Rosie,” Gwen said, watching as her friend hurriedly opened one of the saddlebags and dumped its contents onto the ground.
Rhosyn rooted through a few of the items that had tumbled out, then proceeded to dump the contents of her second saddlebag onto the grass as well. She appeared to locate the object she was looking for right away, grabbed it off of the pile, and then stood and held it out for Gwen to take.
The bundle was rectangular, and had been wrapped in a green and white scarf. Gwen looked a question at her friend as she accepted it.
“What is it?”
“Open it and find out, silly,” Rhosyn laughed.
It only took a few seconds for Gwen to unwrap the scarf, revealing an ancient-looking and cracked leather journal. Its pages weren’t trimmed particularly neatly, and some of the pages looked as though they might fall out. About a dozen coloured pieces of twine served as bookmarks here and there.
“Uhm, thanks?” Gwen said, inspecting the journal. “It certainly looks, well...old.”
Rhosyn’s smile got even bigger. “Two-hundred years old from what I’ve been able to gather. That stuff your father feeds you?” She nodded to indicate the book Gwen held. “It’s a plant called chi’darro. There’s even a drawing of it inside, information on how to find it, where it grows.”
Gwen stared at her friend disbelievingly, then stared at what she held. She realized her mouth was hanging open.
“I think that book is where your dad got all his information. You won’t believe how I came across it!” Rhosyn chuckled. “While the soldiers were getting settled at Fort Pike, I did some snooping around. It was just sitting there in the captain’s room, in a small dust-covered bookshelf, right in the open! Your dad probably figured it would be safe there; Fort Pike doesn’t even have a captain any more, and nobody goes in that room. Nothing there but a desk, a bookshelf, and some cobwebs. I’m guessing Calderia’s fighting men aren’t really big on reading. By sending me away, your father practically handed it to us!”
“Why would he do that though? Why send you to the same place he buried this information?”
She grinned. “Maybe your father doesn’t remember allowing me to keep you company during your reading lessons, and figured I can’t read. Maybe he forgot it was even there. Or maybe he figured everything had already been arranged, so it wouldn’t matter. Whatever the reason, I’m not going to object to the Goddess smiling upon us for once, are you?”
“Not at all! Oh, Rosie, thank you! This is huge! Now that we know what the herb’s called—”
“We know a lot more than that, Gwen,” Rhosyn said, her expression darkening. She indicated the journal with a quick nod. “I read as much as I could on horseback. Check the page bookmarked with the yellow string.”
Gwen looked a question at h
er, then did as she was asked, thumbing through the pages until she found the page in question. The handwritten notes were in an ancient and foreign-looking cursive style, and appeared to continue on from the previous page.
—shovld be introdvced very gradvally to the system dvring early development, adding no more than a single speck of chi’darro, no greater than the size of a pinhead, for each pint of mare milk boiled. Regvlar application shovld commence at no earlier than two months, bvt before the age of six months for maximvm enzyme prodvction, and to ensvre no avtoimmvne complications. (see svbject ‘Tsarina’, page seven)
Furrowing her brow, Gwen looked up from the book. “Instructions? It sounds like they were testing on people. This must be what my father did to me as a baby!”
“They were creating a very special type of assassin, from what I’ve gathered. There’s more, though,” said Rhosyn, looking grim. “Read the next part.”
Gwen did so, and within moments was staring down at the words in shock and disbelief.
“There was a ‘better than half’ chance I could have died?” Gwen turned to her friend, eyes wide. “He knew it could have killed me as a baby, and he did it anyway?”
“That is how little he cares about you, Gwen,” Rhosyn said, angrily. “That’s how badly he wanted this plan of his to work —the chance he was willing to take with your life, all so he could expand his kingdom. To him, you’re nothing more than a tool.” Her expression softened slightly. “I’m really worried, Gwen. I think you’re in danger, like I said. A king who could do something like that to his own daughter might be capable of anything!”
Too stunned to reply, Gwen nodded mutely.
The two girls stood there in silence for a while.
“It’s not all bad, though,” Rhosyn said eventually. “The details were hard to find, but there were several spots in the book that mentioned a possible way to undo what was done to you.”
“What? I can get rid of this curse? How? Tell me!”