The Cracked Slipper

by Stephanie Alexander

  “Ezra Oliver is from the Fringe,” Eleanor said. “I never would have expected it.”

  “It’s true. An old martial magician told me Oliver’s better-born peers at the Covey hated him just as much as his teachers loved him. He showed tremendous power early, you see. Somewhere in his childhood he must have learned the art of solicitude. He’s been crafting relationships as well as he crafts sorcery ever since.”

  Eleanor thought of Oliver’s initial friendly overtures. “I must count myself formerly under his spell.”

  “I assume he thought you’d make a malleable ally, but Faust’s party showed him the other side of the coin. He’s always calm—”

  “Except in the midst of a screaming match with me.”

  “An unusual display of emotion on his part. In all honesty I could not find one person who would say a word against him. Maybe fear drives some of the respect shown him, but the consensus seems to be thus: powerful, hardworking, patriotic, and loyal to the death. Everything a king would want in a Chief Magician, I suppose.”

  Eleanor swirled the water around her hands. “Gregory doesn’t like him. Why, I wonder?”

  “Because the king put Oliver in a strange spot with his son. King Casper has always tolerated Gregory’s…temper tantrums…” Chou paused for Eleanor’s reaction.

  “I’ll not disagree with you.”

  “Casper has trouble saying no, so he’s always made Oliver do it for him. Someday Oliver will be slaving away for a king who hates him.”

  Eleanor sunk deeper into the water and into silence. She ran a scrub brush over her dirty fingernails. For a moment she almost pitied Oliver, until she remembered his obnoxious comments at Faust’s party. Her sympathy washed away with the dirt.

  “Well done, Chou,” she said, as Pansy knocked on the bathing room door.

  “Your Highness?” she called. “Come, please. You’ll be late for dinner.”

  “I’m coming, Pansy.”

  “Don’t forget to wash behind your ears,” Chou said.

  She splashed him, and he landed in the tub with a squawk.

  As the hot days wore on Eleanor missed more of the daytime social functions. She couldn’t justify attending another luncheon or fencing match when there were so many more worthwhile pursuits. Her new work energized her, and gave each morning a sense of purpose. She continued visiting the poor in their homes, but she also read to the children in Rockwall Chapel and organized donations from the summer visitors. She made appeals for charity at every party, and used carefully worded peer pressure to ensure near universal participation. She sent soldiers mounted on unicorns back to Maliana and Harveston to collect old coats and cloaks from the nobility’s winter residences. She spent a joyful afternoon organizing piles of warm clothes with Dorian, Anne Iris, and Margaret. They draped the bundles over the backs of Teardrop and Senné and delivered them to the chapel. The villagers eagerly sorted through the garments and marveled at their thickness and fine stitching.

  While Gregory cheerfully supported her and sometimes came along, Dorian was a far more willing participant. She was glad of it, because it was a harmless way to spend time with him. One afternoon Margaret caught her watching him teach two village boys to fence with willow branches.

  “Dorian will make a fine father one day,” Margaret said.

  “He will.” Eleanor returned to sorting books she had collected for the chapel library. Dorian sat down in the grass and the boys joined him. “Now, boys, you know how Fire-iron was discovered in Cartheigh eight hundred years ago, don’t you?”

  They boys shook their blondish heads.

  “HighGod, how can you be proper soldiers for Cartheigh if not? We must rectify this injustice. Listen well.” His voice floated over the chapel yard toward Eleanor and her friends. She knew the story well, and fell into the rhythm of his low drawl.

  “…when a rogue dragon attacked the Village of Pearl on the Tala River. The dragon was barely even grown up, probably only about eighty years old, but the village lost thirteen men in the battle. The villagers finally chased the creature into a cave. They trapped it by sealing the entrance with a boulder. Then they all said they heard it raging and growling away inside for two weeks before it finally ran out of air.” Dorian grasped his throat, his eyes bugging from his head, and the boys scooted away from him. He waved them back. “Or maybe it starved.”

  “After several days of quiet the villagers rolled away the boulder,” he continued. “All were amazed at the beautiful glowing stones surrounding the dragon’s big, dead body. They tried lots of ways to get the Fire-iron out of the rocks. They finally extracted some while it was still pliable.”

  “What’s pliable, sir?” asked the older of the two.

  “It means bendy, son. Now, water does not cool Fire-iron but the villagers of Pearl realized animal skins did the job quite well. The fur absorbs the heat and chills the stone enough that pieces can be chipped from the larger blocks. Fire-iron can be molded into almost anything when it is still warm, and pieces hold warmth for about a month after they are knocked out of the main rocks.”

  “It did not take long for news of the discovery to travel. The Malian kings of Cartheigh found a colony of dragons in the mountains of the far North Country, but before they could make a plan to begin mining the Fire-iron, the Svelyans invaded with a terrible and ferocious army.”

  The boys scrambled back again. Dorian laughed and continued. “For five hundred years the two countries fought over control of the Dragon Mines, even though they are on our Carthean side of the border, and of course the Svelyans should have just gone home. The Cartheans watched as Svelya got all the benefits of the Fire-iron trade—”

  “Sir, like what?” asked older boy.

  Dorian ruffled his hair. “You’re a curious lad. Mostly a lot of money. You see, Cartheigh did not have the armies to drive away the invaders or control the herd of dragons who lived in the mine caves and created the Fire-iron with their breath. Everything changed when Caleb Desmarais found an orphaned unicorn foal—”

  At that moment a Godsman emerged from Rockwall Chapel and called to the boys. Dorian scooped the younger one up under his arm and carried him to the priest.

  “I wonder who Dorian will marry,” mused Anne Iris.

  “I have no idea,” said Eleanor. Anne Iris could hint all she wanted, but Eleanor would never discuss Dorian, not even with her closest friends.

  She could not ignore the fact that Dorian would marry someday. Gregory continued to rely on him, and gave him more responsibility all the time. People speculated Gregory would give him a title once he was king. In the meantime, even with his limited means, women swarmed him like cats to cream. Unlike other courtiers, he never needed to draw attention to himself. Attention came with his quiet confidence and understated wit. Even when surrounded by wealthier, more seasoned men, he took up the room.

  Eleanor watched him each night as he flirted and danced. Even though she knew his conquests were legendary, she struggled for evidence he favored any one of his admirers over the others. She took heart she could always find his pale eyes in any crowd, no matter how large. When she was being honest with herself, she knew it would be better if he just chose one of them and married her. Eleanor had no claim on him, and she never would.

  CHAPTER 17

  Compassion

  One muggy Friday morning Dorian asked Eleanor if she would ride with him down to Porcupine Bay. Gregory was holed up in misery with the king and Oliver reviewing tax revenues. She found Anne Iris and Margaret on the veranda searching for a breeze with Brian, Raoul, and Christopher Roffi. They were playing swords and arrows, a local dice game.

  “Stay with us,” pleaded Roffi. “With Eliza gone back to Maliana we are an odd number.”

  “You know I’m not one for dice,” Eleanor said.

  “Eleanor would rather be out enjoying nature,” Anne Iris said.

  “Nature is too bloody hot,” Brian countered irritably.

  “Be careful,” sai
d Raoul in his soft voice. “The path to Porcupine Bay is difficult.”

  Roffi scowled. “It is hard for me to be believing Mister Finley would put the princess in …how do you say it? Jeopardy.”

  “She’s couldn’t be safer with a dragon as her guide. Dorian and Senné can navigate a mudslide and come out clean,” said Brian, tossing his cards on the table.

  Eleanor said goodbye and ran down the path to the unicorn barn. She greeted Vigor and Fortune, the king’s stallion, and then opened the door to Teardrop’s stall.

  “Thank HighGod,” said Teardrop. “I need some wind in my mane.”

  “Let’s leave the saddle. It’s just too hot.” Eleanor climbed onto Teardrop’s back. “I tell you, friend, if ever I am glad for these britches, it’s today. I think we’ll be out all afternoon so I can stay out of a petticoat.”

  “Humans should forego all of your trappings in the summer. Your modesty makes no sense.”

  “I agree, but I would suffer a wool coat today over dining with Sir Faust and his fat wife just as HighGod made them.”

  Teardrop whinnied her shrill laugh. There was an answering neigh, and Senné and Dorian rounded the corner. Senné’s ears pricked. “Share the humor,” he said.

  “We were just talking about naked humans,” said Teardrop, with a unicorn’s forthrightness.

  “Really?” asked Dorian.

  Eleanor hushed him. “Which way are we headed?”

  “Past Neckbreak Cottage and the main staircase.”

  They crossed the grounds of Trill Castle. When they reached the top of the path Eleanor leaned up Teardrop’s neck and looked down the steep incline. “Are you sure we can make it?” she asked.

  “A horse couldn’t do it,” Dorian said. “Don’t try and steer. Just let Teardrop lead and you’ll be fine.”

  Eleanor patted her unicorn’s neck. “Do you hear that?”

  Teardrop shook her head. “It’s not so bad. I see where the rocks are holding and where they will soon slip free.”

  Eleanor gripped the mare’s sides with her legs. “I’m glad you see it.”

  Teardrop followed Senné down the cliff. She placed one wide hoof carefully in front of the other. Once Eleanor got used to the rocking motion, and realized Teardrop was perfectly confident, she relaxed and enjoyed the ride. Scrappy trees clung to the rocky hillside, and insects sang and hissed in a million clattering languages. She caught flashes of bright blue in the scrub around them.

  “What’s making that noise?” A call, a loud Waa-eee, Waa-eee, sounded through the branches.

  “Cliff lemurs,” said Dorian. “They’re smart and curious. Don’t be afraid if one jumps in your lap.” He had no sooner said it than a blue creature dropped from the rocks to her right. The lemur swung onto Teardrop’s horn.

  “Hello, little one,” Teardrop said.

  The lemur whispered in Teardrop’s ear in a scratchy voice and eyed Eleanor over his pointed snout. His brown eyes were ringed in white circles, as if he were wearing a seeing glass.

  “We are just passing through,” said Teardrop. “I’m sure my mistress can offer you a gift.”

  Eleanor pulled a few dried figs from her pocket. The lemur reached across with tiny, almost human hands and took the fruit. He sniffed it, and licked one with his pointed pink tongue. The figs must have passed his test, because he climbed into Eleanor’s lap. He reached up and tickled her chin, then crept up her shoulder and onto her head before leaping onto the rock wall beside her. She turned around. He watched her, flicking his bushy tail and nibbling the figs, before lifting his hand and waving.

  The way leveled out as they splashed through the blood-colored waters of Redwine Falls. They cantered down the sandy path to the wide beach at Porcupine Bay, so named because of the thousands of bright sea anemones that washed up from the tidal pools. Dorian and Eleanor slid off their unicorns. Teardrop and Senné chased each other and splashed in the cool shallows. Dorian spread a blanket on a rock. Eleanor pulled off her boots and soaked her feet in the salty water.

  “This is far better than dice,” she said.

  Dorian chuckled. “I agree. It’s well worth the effort in getting here.” He passed her a piece of cheese and a water jug. “It’s fine fare, I know.”

  “If only you had bread I’d feel like I was back in my father’s house in Maliana.”

  He fished in his canvas bag and brought out a round loaf.

  “Perfect!” she cried. “All I need is a broom and an apron.”

  They sat in comfortable silence for a while, listening to the screaming gulls and the hiss of the waves lapping in and out. She studied his chiseled profile.

  “You know,” she said. “Your eyes don’t really have a color. Right now they’re blue, because you’re framed against the sky. Blue, green, gold. Always changing.”

  He looked down. “Even when I was a small boy it made me uncomfortable.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

  “No, I like the way you put it.”

  “I understand how you feel. Here we are, two oddities together.”

  He faced her. “Do you want to tell me something?”

  She brushed a piece of hair behind her ear. “I lost a baby,” she said.

  “I’m sorry. I wish I had known.”

  “There was nothing you could have done.”

  “I could have comforted you.”

  She shook her head. “It was not your duty.”

  “But I could have taken it up when others did not.”

  “I know you would have,” she said. “That’s enough.”

  They stayed a while longer, talking about their friends and the upcoming parties, but there was no excuse to linger much longer than it took the unicorns to cool down. She slipped on her boots and called to Teardrop. She and Senné stood in the surf, nose to tail, resting on one another.

  “Senné likes her,” Dorian said. “She’s a fine mare. Perhaps the Paladins will put them in the breeding program.”

  “Now wait,” Eleanor scolded. “Don’t think about retiring my mare for a year or more yet. She’s too young for that kind of thing.”

  A wicked grin crossed his face. “So are you.”

  Eleanor kicked water in his face, and then sprinted toward Teardrop. The mare tossed her head and met Eleanor halfway. Dorian followed her, soaked and laughing, and they made their sweaty way back to Trill Castle.

  Dorian hardly made it back to his room before Gregory summoned him to the financial review. Apparently Gregory did not wish to suffer alone. By dusk Dorian assumed they had reviewed to the penny the tax money collected from every city, town, village, hamlet, and farm in Cartheigh, not to mention the crown’s varied business interests and the fluctuating price of Fire-iron. As the royal comptroller droned on Dorian stripped to his shirtsleeves, but after a long ride in the sun and a half-day of financial minutiae he was near comatose. Not a hint of breeze blew through the propped open windows of Looksee Cottage.

  “Well, that was very thorough. I think we could all use a drink after such a productive day. Oliver, is there anything else?” asked Casper.

  Oliver shuffled his papers. “There is one other matter, Your Majesty, I would ask you to address.”

  Dorian’s plan to retire in a cool bathtub and scrub the sand from his hair went up in puffs of steamy air.

  “Get on with it,” said the king. Dark sweat stains leached down the sleeves of his tunic.

  “I’m sure Master Comptroller’s wife is waiting with his dinner,” said Oliver. The comptroller gathered his ledgers and heeded the message. Oliver continued. “It’s about Thomas Harper Rowe, sire.”

  Thomas Harper Rowe was a promising apprentice magician, one of Oliver’s personal charges. Several weeks ago Dorian had overheard Oliver informing the king he suspected Rowe of thievery.

  “Yes, that.” Casper said. “Have you reached a conclusion?”

  Oliver nodded. “I have, and it’s not a pleasant one. Rowe has confessed to stealing from you.
He admits he replaced the jewels in the necklace with false stones.”

  “What necklace?” asked Gregory.

  “I asked him to transport a valuable piece from Maliana to Solsea. A gift for the Talessee queen. It took several days, and much convincing, but we have a confession. He also confesses to skimming from the treasury.”

  Gregory mopped his face with a handkerchief. “What do you mean, much convincing?”

  Oliver could not have been blander if he were discussing the humidity. “He’s been locked in the sheep shed at the top of the Ramlock Face. We tried starving him, and then whipping him, with no success. He was probably near caving when we removed his fingernails, but it was a night hanging by his wrists from the wall that finally called forth the truth.”

  Gregory scowled in distaste. “Aren’t you a magician? Couldn’t you hypnotize him?”

  “There are some instances in which mundane interventions are more effective than magical ones,” said Oliver. He turned his attention back to the king. “Your Majesty, what would you have me do? There is the question of his family connections.”

  “Yes,” said King Casper. “Since his mother was a Harper and he uses her name it would be embarrassing to the family despite the fact he’s been claimed by the Covey all these years. A trial would still cast the Harpers in a bad light.”

  “I’m sure they would appreciate the attention to their honor,” said Oliver.

  “How can we get rid of him without a trial?” asked Gregory. “It’s not like he’s some peasant and we can just lock him away and lose the key.”

  “You’re right, my son. The line is a fine one. How to placate our dear friends yet show such behavior will not be tolerated? Oliver, take Gregory with you. He should see how we handle these delicate matters. Finley, you go too.”