Thea's Tale (Sisters Of The Curse Book 1)
Page 30
She took up the lead, and began to move closer to the scaffold. The crowd hadn’t recovered from seeing the end of such a well-liked prince. The woman glanced up at the grandstand box. The royal family sat at the rail. The king stone-faced, the queen dabbing at her eyes. All the princesses crying. Most tried to be discreet.
Except Thea, the eldest. She leaned forward on the rail of the box, fixed on the place where Casimir had been. Tears streamed down her face as she sobbed.
Thea put her head down on the rail and her shoulders shook with the force of her crying. The woman raised a brow. This was not usual behavior from a royal.
“If you’d really loved him, you’d have kept him away,” she muttered to herself, turning away from the distraught princess. “You didn’t though, did you?”
After pushing through the crowds, she finally was able to draw her cart next to the scaffold. She could see that the guards and the executioner were getting uncomfortable. The royal family was still here. No one could see to the body until the royals left. “Always making problems,” she said. No one heard her. That didn’t bother her. She didn’t need to hear someone answer her.
Finally, the king and queen stood. The woman watched them, spitting the foul taste in her mouth onto the ground. The princesses followed suit, and the family filed out of the box.
As soon as the family got a little distance away, those around the scaffold sprang into action.
“Didn’t think he was ever going to leave,” the woman heard the executioner say. “Stay long enough, things start to turn.”
Hearing that, the woman moved forward. “’Ere now,” she said, sounding suddenly more ancient. “I’m here to bring ‘em to the king’s transport.”
The executioner and the two guards who were standing next to him looked down at her.
“We didn’t get instructions for that.”
“You want to go and ask the king?” She asked. “Right. I’ll wait. He’s going to get ripe, but I already been paid. Go on.” She waved a hand, and leaned against the donkey, pulling a pipe from the folds of her dress. She stuck the pipe in her mouth and looked around. “Where’s a fire? Need a light.”
The guards and the executioner looked at one another. “You have something from King Markellus or King Aland?”
“Course I do.” The woman squinted up at him. She slowly pulled a cracked leather pouch from a belt on her waist. Opening the drawstrings, she pulled out a rolled piece of parchment. “Here. I need it back, though.” She held it up.
One of the guards took it and opened it. All three men leaned in to read it. Once they were done, the first guard rolled it back up and handed it to the woman.
“It’s got the king’s seal on it.”
“Well, good enough for me. You have something to wrap him in?” The second guard asked the woman.
“Yes. He ain’t a side of beef.” She sounded indignant. Walking around to the cart, she took out a bundle of linen sheets, and walked up the steps of the scaffold. “I’ll do it. I know the family. I’ll just need you lot to lift him in—and gently!” She glared at the three men.
She shook out one of the sheets, laying it flat on the scaffold. “Now carefully lift up the body.”
The executioner gestured to the guards impatiently. The woman watched him, chewing on her pipe. “Careful.”
“We know how to do our job, woman,” the guard grumbled. They picked up Casimir’s body, and carefully laid it onto the sheet.
“Now his head.”
The guard closest to the stone moved around and picked up the basket. “It’s a bit messy.”
The woman shrugged. “No matter. Got extra sheets.” She opened up several, but only half way. “Put it there.”
The guard lowered the basket and hesitated before reaching in.
“Fool!” The old woman spat around her pipe. “Move. I’ll do it.”
The guard retreated, his whole being radiating relief.
The woman reached into the basket with both hands, and slowly lifted up the head. “You poor soul,” she said softly, placing the head on the folded sheets. Once she’d set it down, she wrapped the ends of the sheets around it quickly. “Now take him and put him in the wagon.” Her tone was sharp, crisper than before.
The two guards lifted the body and navigated the small stairs, putting the body into the wagon. The woman followed them, wrapping more sheets around the body, and then putting the head next to.
“Better you than me,” one of the guards said with a grimace.
“It’s an honor to bring those we love to their resting place.” The woman gave him a hard stare.
He said something in return, but she’d already taken the lead and walked away with the donkey and cart. She chewed on her pipe, muttering unintelligible words as she walked to the gates that led out of the courtyard and away from the castle.
Once past the portcullis, she took the pipe out and tucked it away. She stopped and walked back to the wagon. “What am I going to do with you, Casimir? If I fix you, you’ll just run back to her. She’s not worth it, and I don’t want to see all my good work go to waste. Well, let’s see what we can do with you.” She reached into the cart and patted the body.
***
Casimir could not remember a time when he felt more uncomfortable. He felt strange, more so than he’d ever felt before. Nothing felt right. He felt as though he wasn’t…working, that his body would not, could not, work.
He struggled to open his eyes. When he did, he closed them again quickly. The light blinded him. All white, and he could make out nothing, couldn’t focus. His head felt as though it was bouncing along a rutted farm lane.
“Casimir, you poor, stupid, foolish boy. Why did you do this? Why?” It was a woman’s voice, but not one he recognized. She sounded like she wept. “I tried to save you, but you would not be stopped. You rushed right to your doom. And for what? Thea? She was never worthy of you. Now look at you! You’re a mess.”
Thea! Where was she? He remembered suddenly. He’d been looking at her and thinking he’d never seen her so beautiful. In spite of the people around him, and all the noise they were making, he’d focused on her. Her face, her eyes. The eyes that glittered like a handful of diamonds. She always was the most beautiful girl he’d ever known.
He tried to move his head, and found that he couldn’t. Like before, nothing worked. Where am I?
“You’re dead, dimwit. You went and got yourself killed. And now I shall have to work very hard to reverse that. I should just let you be, but I can’t.”
He wanted badly to see who it was who spoke.
As though she’d read this thoughts again, she said, “I am Catrin.”
To The Reader
Thank you for reading this book! Please leave a review! Reviews are the lifeblood of authors. Here’s the link for you:
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About the Author
Lisa Manifold lives in the amazing state of Colorado. She is an avid costumer, a lover of fantasy and romance, and wrangles children and a saucy Chihuahua. Please feel free to contact her at
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Dedication
This book is dedicated to my wonderful husband, Jimmy. He supports me in all things even when they make no sense to him. Thank you, sweetie for letting me do something I’ve always wanted to.
Acknowledgements
No man is an island. Such is eve
n more true for writers, no matter how much they hide in front of their computer screens. This book wouldn’t have made it to the light of day if not for some wonderful people. Mere words are not enough but I’m going to try.
To my parents and stepparents who have always been my cheerleaders. I’m lucky to have you. To my sister, Sap, who’s always in my corner. My other sister Sue, who muscles Sap out of the corner on a regular basis. All the love from the Fab!
To my amazing South Denver critique groups – Ariel, Cyn, Daphne, Deb, Julie, Kathie, Linda, Lisa, Lynn, Melanie, Shawn, and Sheri. There is some of every one of you in Thea. I thank you for sharing with me. A huge, tremendous, wet sloppy bucket of love for my Monica Poole. The number of calls she fielded on this is in…oh…the hundreds. To my editor, Rachel at Millar Editing. Any mistakes now are mine and mine alone. You did your best to whip me into shape.
To my darling children, for being supportive, not whining about me writing again too much, and asking nicely, ‘So how’s the book coming today, Momma?’ Love you both.
Finally, to Jimmy. I love you so.