by Aaron Kite
“Okay, whoever wrote this journal used the words in theory whenever they talked about it, but it says eliminating the herb from your diet would stop these enzymes, whatever they are. So basically, if you stop eating the chi’darro regularly, your body will take care of the rest. They figured it would take about five days or so.”
“You’re kidding? That’s all I’ve needed to do this whole time? I just stop eating that horrible-tasting stuff? For five days?”
“It’s not quite that easy, Gwen.” Rhosyn gestured to the open book again. “There was a whole section where they tried doing just that. It mentions that several girls volunteered to stop eating the herb so they could document what happened. They all went through withdrawal, and it sounded pretty awful from the descriptions. I guess it’s sort of like when that one farrier your dad hired tried giving up fortified wine, except this sounds way worse.” She frowned at Gwen. “All of the girls eventually decided to start eating their chi’darro again, and none of them lasted the full five days. Most of them didn’t make three.” Rhosyn looked troubled. “One of them actually died.”
“I’ll make it,” Gwen said, setting her jaw. “I know I will. Goddess, five days from now! Oh, Rosie! Do you know how happy you’ve made me? This is the best present I could possibly imagine!”
“And I’ll bet you didn’t even get me anything!” Rhosyn teased, laughing. After a few moments she appeared confused, and looked a question at Gwen that was soon answered by the appearance of fresh tears. “Hey, don’t you get like that on me, Gwen. Come on, this is fantastic news!”
“Oh, I know!” Gwen smiled, brushing away tears. “These are happy tears, believe me. Oh, Rosie, you’re the greatest friend in the whole world!”
“Yeah, I am pretty terrific,” Rhosyn said with a grin.
“Okay, so no more eating that stuff. Ever,” said Gwen with a note of finality. “I’ve already had breakfast, but I skipped lunch today, so in theory I’ve already started. I’ve got service to attend at the chapel late this afternoon, but I’ll spend the rest of the day going through this book, seeing if I can find out anything more.”
“Just make sure you have a good hiding spot for it. I’m pretty sure if your father discovers you have that book, you lose your advantage, and things fall apart.”
“I’ll only need to keep it hidden for five days, Rosie,” Gwen said solemnly. Then she gave Rhosyn a smile. “After that, I’ll be throwing this bloody journal right in his face!”
Chapter 9
Gwen barely paid any attention at all to the vicar’s soft-spoken words during service. She’d simply stood there the whole time, holding her fist-sized crystal, her mind racing through the details of Rhosyn’s discovery.
A few familiar words caught Gwen’s attention.
“—cherish life in every one of its forms, and do no harm to Her creations,” the vicar proclaimed.
“Do no harm,” she intoned dutifully, along with the dozens of other people who were attending service with her.
The crystal she held continued to glow brightly.
She noticed some of the newer staff watched her covertly as she handled her crystal, looking the slightest bit confused. Doubtless, if they believed the lies Anifail had been spreading about her, they wondered why her crystal glowed just as brightly as anyone else’s, why she should still be considered worthy of receiving Eirene’s divine blessing after all of the horrible things she’d allegedly done.
People believed what they wanted to, Gwen supposed.
It seemed so unfair that everyone appeared so willing to believe these things that were being said about her, despite the fact that she’d clearly been given the blessing of the Goddess, here in front of everyone. Rather than dwell upon the injustice of it all, Gwen simply stared straight ahead, recited the words that were required of her at the proper times, and focused on the reassuring glow of the crystal she held.
Once service was over, she placed her crystal in its usual spot on the altar and breathed a whispered prayer to Eirene, asking the Goddess for the strength and wisdom to make it through the next five days. That finished, she fled the chapel and headed towards the south castle entrance, intent on retreating to the privacy of her room as quickly as she possibly could.
Anifail was waiting for her at the bottom of her tower, looking smug and relaxed as usual.
“Oh, there’s the young would-be assassin,” he said, unfolding his crossed arms and regarding her with his familiarly half-lidded and unconcerned gaze. “So, our princess believes herself to be a spitting cobra now, does she? Goodness, such a clever little girl. And to think, it only took you seventeen years to figure that one out. You should feel proud. That’s rather quick learning for someone of your limited abilities.”
Gwen looked up at him, her expression defiant. She briefly toyed with the idea of making as if to touch his face, or perhaps clearing her throat as if to spit at him, but she quickly dismissed both notions. Anifail’s whole manner suggested that he wanted her to try something, so no doubt he was prepared for just about anything she might do.
So, rather than do anything that might make her situation worse, she decided to ignore him entirely, moving to step around him and continue on up to her chambers.
Anifail’s arm appeared before her, blocking her way to the stairwell.
“His Highness, your father, would like a few words with you over some supper,” he murmured in a sleepy yet dangerous tone. “Sort of now-ish, in fact.”
“Really? Well, how special,” Gwen replied, witheringly. “Tell him I’ll be with him shortly.”
“Oh, I shan’t have time to tell him anything of the sort, Princess, since you’ll be turning yourself right around and heading straight for the dining hall this very minute.”
She studied him. “And why would I do that, Captain? Because my father’s special little errand-boy told me to?”
“Why, no,” Anifail said, smiling at her. “I imagine you’ll do it because of all the wonderfully delightful things I’ve been authorized to do in the event you refuse. I’d tell you all about them, but quite frankly I don’t wish to spoil the surprise. Quite honestly, I’m rather hoping you decide to throw a hissy-fit, tell me off, and march upstairs to your bedroom. Is there any chance of that happening, Princess? Any chance at all?”
Gwen drew herself up and held his gaze as confidently as she could for about a five-count. Then she turned slowly around and walked unhurriedly in the direction of the dining hall. The sound of Anifail’s quiet chuckling infuriated her, but she resolved not to outwardly react. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
Her walk to the dining hall was uneventful, though she did encounter several of the castle staff along the way. They still gave her wide-eyed, fearful looks and stayed well out of her way, most of them nodding deferentially to her as she walked by. Gwen had stopped trying to smile at them to put them at ease; no amount of smiling seemed to help. Instead, she just focused on keeping her face as impassive as possible, staring straight ahead as she navigated the castle halls.
She slowed down slightly as the dining hall entrance came into view, realizing that her shoulders were beginning to bunch up with anxiety and concern. This would be the first time her father had been in the same room as her since their encounter in her chambers, and he’d had lots of time to prepare. Gwen had no real clue what she could be walking into.
Taking a moment to adjust her gloves, she took a couple of slow, deep breaths, then pushed the doors open and stepped inside.
Bryn sat at his usual place at the head of the table, a veritable feast placed before him. There were all kinds of delicacies piled high around the king’s chair, some which she’d never seen before, not even at the largest of the royal banquets she’d attended. It was easily more food than even her father would have been able to eat in an entire day.
Gwen noticed something else unusual, too: two armoured gu
ards, both covered from head to toe, both wearing sinister-looking hoods that completely obscured their faces in shadow. They stood on either side of her father, gauntlets clutching shiny pikes that looked to be quite sharp and functional.
Here for his protection, she thought.
“There she is!” Bryn called out good-naturedly from his seat, arms held up and out as if to greet her. “There’s my lovely daughter! Come, come, sit down and give me a hand with all this.” He waved at the collection of prepared dishes, a few of which smelled so delicious they were making Gwen’s mouth water. “After all, I shouldn’t get all the fun, should I?”
She saw a place had been prepared for her halfway down the table. A silver-trimmed platter she’d never seen before, utensils, and a crystal goblet were located a good fifteen feet away from both the king and his feast.
Gwen frowned, trying to piece together what cruel jape he’d planned so she could prepare for it to some degree. Perhaps he would force her to eat a plate of gruel or something while he dined on these exotic dishes right in front of her. It had certainly been a while since he’d pulled that one.
Not really knowing what else to do, Gwen slowly walked over to the place that had been set for her, pulled the chair out a bit, and sat down daintily. Though she did her best to ignore it, she was very conscious of the odd smile her father gave her.
She regarded the shallow silver-trimmed plate before her. It seemed ill-suited to hold something runny like gruel.
“Now, which would you like first, Daughter? You’ve dozens of mouth-watering, savoury dishes from which to pick!” He laughed, waving a gesture over the expanse of food before him. “Why, there’s so many I haven’t even sampled them all yet, and I’m practically stuffed already!”
Gwen tried not to look perplexed. Her father seemed genuinely happy about something, which was certainly enough to rouse her suspicions. It might be best to sit and say nothing, let him talk. He’d never been a particularly patient man, and she knew he would eventually share the details of whatever new torture he’d devised for her.
Rather than answer her father Gwen simply sat there, hands folded in her lap.
“Oh come now,” Bryn said, his chair squawking noisily as he stood up and away from the table, that unsettling smile still fixed firmly upon his face. “You must be starving! Surely there’s something on this table that… wait, I know!” He pointed at a large copper stewing pot. “Honey-roasted boar with curried pineapple. That’s your favourite, isn’t it? Here, let me get a helping of that for my wonderful, wonderful daughter!”
And with that, the king himself side-stepped around the table until he was near enough to the stewing pot to ladle two servings of piping hot stew into two serving bowls. Carrying both awkwardly, he came around to her side of the table and placed one of the bowls gently in front of her. Then he gave her a deferential nod, chuckled good-naturedly, and headed back to his seat with his own bowl. His step looked jauntier than usual.
This was weird.
Curried pineapple was indeed her favourite, and although the aromas from it and the stewed boar were already causing her hunger pains to intensify, she made no move to even touch it. The fact he knew it was her favourite — that he actually remembered she loved this particular dish — seemed extremely suspicious.
That the king had actually served her, a smile on his face, made it doubly so.
Gwen was about to lift a spoonful of stew from her bowl when she realized she couldn’t actually eat any of this. She’d very nearly forgotten she had already promised herself not to eat any more of that herb! Her favourite meal, served maybe once a year at best, and she wasn’t going to be able to eat a single bite!
The timing of it just seemed so unfair. She stared down glumly at the bowl of stew in front of her. Then, she furrowed her brow and looked closer.
Not a single blue fleck of chi’darro anywhere.
Bright yellow pineapple chunks in a familiar, thick yellow cream sauce, with tantalizing hints of dark orange and pink, suggesting a generous amount of boar meat throughout. She poked through the contents of her bowl with a spoon, but failed to uncover a single trace of the herb her father usually sprinkled on every morsel of food she was served.
It had to be some sort of trick. Something wrong with this dish, perhaps.
Then again, Bryn himself had served it to her. If he’d poisoned her food and she died as a result, his crystal would go dark at the temple, and he’d be forced to abdicate the throne. Plus, he’d served himself a bowl of the same stew, with the same ladle, and it hadn’t appeared he’d been keeping track of which bowl was which. She sent her father a confused look.
“Oh, come now. Try some!” Bryn said around a mouthful of the stew, looking both relaxed and amused.
After a few moments hesitation, she tasted a spoonful.
It was pure bliss. It seemed especially delicious to her just then, possibly because she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Of course, maybe it just tasted better when it didn’t have that foul herb sprinkled all over it.
And why didn’t it, exactly?
“Father? Why doesn’t mine have any ch— uh, any of that blue stuff in it?”
Gwen breathed a silent prayer of thanks she’d stopped herself before referring to the herb by its actual name. That would have been a rather difficult thing to explain away.
Bryn put his spoon down and smiled at her. “Because it affects the taste, Daughter! We’re sampling these dishes to figure out which ones are the tastiest. Oh, don’t you worry, we can sprinkle on some seasoning for you later, once we’ve settled on which of these dishes we wish to serve our guests.” He looked at a nearby plate and smiled an even bigger smile. “Ooh, a raspberry pistache! Want one of those? It may spoil your appetite, and there’s so much more to try, but—”
“Guests?” Gwen looked at her father, and then the extravagant banquet before them, confused. “We’re having guests tonight?”
“Oh, don’t be silly, Gwenwyn!” Bryn leaned back in his chair and gave her a familiar, contemptuous look. “No, these are all just for us. I just thought you should sample some of these delicacies as well, to see if any meet with your approval. I’m sparing no expense! After all,” he said, a triumphant glint appearing in his eyes, “this is your wedding feast we’re talking about.”
What?
Too stunned by his words to form any of her own, Gwen sat straight-backed in her chair, staring at the king with wide eyes.
Her reaction caused Bryn to chuckle. The chuckles soon became guffaws, and eventually transformed themselves into a hearty, booming laugh. Gwen couldn’t recall ever seeing her father laugh this hard, not even the time when that elderly tinker had tried bowing to him and accidentally fallen into the castle moat.
“I know, isn’t it wonderful?” he asked between laughs, slowly getting the better of his mirth. “My only daughter’s getting married. And it couldn’t have happened any more perfectly, either. I couldn’t have planned it better!”
“Prince Tremaine?” Gwen asked, mystified. “But, why? Why would he come back? I showed him—”
“Oh, I’ll admit, Daughter, you had me plenty upset when you found a way to warn that first prince,” Bryn said, his hard tone suddenly at odds with the amused, jovial expression on his face. “I’d really had my hopes set on Bespir, and those iron mines. But no, I’m not talking about your sweetheart, Prince Tremaine.”
“But then—”
“I did, however, receive a rather special visitor the day after Prince Tremaine left; a very out-of-breath messenger from Rhegar, who rode a full day and night on horseback just so he could deliver his message to me in time. You see, Gwenwyn, when word arrived in Rhegar that my own dearest daughter had been promised to wed the Prince of Bespir, King Alwyn of Rhegar sent me this note, written by his own hand,” said Bryn, reaching to his left for what appeared to be an official-looking letter. He
held it aloft for her to see, smiling at her. “He begged — begged — that I consider his proposal for an Affiliation Marriage with Rhegar instead!”
“What?” Gwen’s stomach tightened. “But Tremaine was supposed to tell—”
“Oh, I’m sorry. You hoped your prince would carry word of your condition far and wide?” Brin snorted contemptuously. “Even if the first thing Prince Tremaine did upon his return was to hire messengers and send them to each of our neighbouring kingdoms, it would take weeks for the messages to arrive! And that’s assuming they’re able to get past the men I’ve hired to watch the roads for the next little while. Oh, I promise you, it will be quite some time before news of your encounter with him reaches the other kingdoms, more than enough time for what I have in mind.”
Gwen could think of nothing to say to that. She sat there, staring at her father, feeling lost.
“And it’s an even better fit than Bespir ever was! I’d been hoping for Rhegar. Bespir was my third choice!” he crowed. “But now, thanks to my dear, sweet daughter, we’ll soon be united with Rhegar, instead of the dreary mining kingdom of Bespir! Calderia will have a coast!” Bryn’s eyes got a faraway look. “A coast, and two bustling port cities. I can’t even recall the last time I saw the ocean….”
“No!” Gwen whispered, only half-aware she’d actually spoken aloud.
“Oh, yes,” Bryn said, smiling at her in a self-satisfied manner. “And honestly, it’s going to be so much easier now as well.” He held up the letter again, like it was some sort of trophy. “King Alwyn wishes for the marriage between you and Prince Gavin to happen as soon as possible. I’ve already sent a missive agreeing to the date he’s proposed, and I’ve been informed the prince will arrive mere days before the wedding. Much less time needed to maintain the subterfuge, and convince your suitor you’re nothing more than a normal, sweet, innocent young girl. He doesn’t even need to meet you first; I was assured in the letter Prince Gavin will do exactly as his father, the king, wishes in this regard.” His smile widened. “He’ll be marrying you sight-unseen. Which means there’ll be even less of a chance for you to interfere with my plans this time around.”