The Cracked Slipper

by Stephanie Alexander

  As Dorian shouted his frustration to the uncaring night sky, Eleanor curled on her bed at Rabbit’s Rest and watched her daughter sleep. The baby smiled, and frowned, then gave a tiny whimpering cry and the most impossibly adorable shudder. Eleanor could not join her in rest.

  Will I live to see her smile a true smile?

  She went back to the vision of the Horn, but still she could not identify what had made the scene familiar. She did not know the mirror. She had never seen the bag until it appeared in her music box. She’d picked hundreds of unicorn hairs from her clothes, but they were all the same. She pressed her hands to her temples in frustration, and her elbow bumped the baby’s head. She let out a wail at her mother’s carelessness.

  “Hush, love, hush, angel girl,” Eleanor said. She pulled her daughter close and the child quieted. Eleanor rested her mouth on the baby’s fuzzy head and inhaled the clean, new smell of her hair.

  Eleanor’s eyes widened in the dim light, and suddenly the mysteriously familiar was no longer mysterious. The smell of the dream. Lemony mint.

  CHAPTER 29

  The Truth

  Eleanor heard unicorns in the courtyard as she prepared for bed. She hobbled to the window, telling herself it was just Teardrop, until she made out a black shape like a moving bit of darkness. When she saw Dorian dismount she nearly ran to meet him, even through the pain.

  “Wait,” said Rosemary. “Let him come.”

  Eleanor nodded, remembering she could not exactly throw herself into his arms in front of the guards. She sat on the bed. The four days he had been gone were nothing but hours of worry strung like pearls on a necklace. There was a soft knock on the door. Rosemary scooped up the baby, opened it, and slid out.

  Eleanor had never seen him so worn down. She held out her arms and he came to her and rested his head in her lap.

  “You’re back,” she said. “Thank HighGod.”

  “I have something for you.” He reached into his pocket and held out the red and black bag.

  She took it in wonder. “Only you, love,” she said.

  He told her his tale, and then buried his face in the silk of her nightdress. “I failed you. I did not find the name of the thief. You will never be truly safe until we know the real culprit.”

  She put a finger under his chin and turned his face up to hers. “You have hardly failed me, or the crown. Besides, not all wrongs are righted by a hard chase and a sharp sword.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  She explained everything, and he listened with a solemn face. “Now I must quote a wise woman,” he said when she finished. “Only you, love, only you.”

  She fussed over his injured hand for a time before they spent a last night curled in the bed together. Neither of them slept. They took advantage of the closeness.

  She faced him, and pulled his shirt over his head. She ran her hands over his back, his chest, down his thighs, wanting to memorize each muscle and bone. At first she balked when he tried to do the same. She had imagined this moment for longer than she cared to admit, but in her dreams she was lithe and strong, not swollen and exhausted. His voice in her ear told her he didn’t care.

  “You are so beautiful,” he whispered. “My love, so beautiful.”

  Her tired body melted into his hands. She couldn’t stop the tears from running down her face as he kissed her, and they added to the salty taste of his sweat. He reached up, again and again, to wipe them away. He rested his head on the pillow, his nose nearly touching hers. His green eyes were catlike in the candlelight.

  “Don’t weep,” he said. “I will find a way to love you. I swear it. Do you believe me?”

  “I do,” she said. And it was the truth.

  Eleanor’s carriage was too small for four women, a baby and a parrot, but she didn’t mind the close quarters. Pansy had offered to ride up top, but Eleanor insisted they all squeeze in the back. Pansy had been a staunch ally through her ordeal, and Eleanor saw no reason for her to suffer the hot sun because of her status.

  They removed the doors from the coach and the breeze blew in one side and out the other. The driver was taking his time, and the gentle rocking of the wheels lulled the baby to sleep in her arms. Eleanor dozed, content that when she opened her eyes she would see Dorian and Senné riding watch around them. Some of the old distance had returned out of necessity, but his face told her it was all right.

  The baby grunted and squirmed in her lap, and the coach filled with the unmistakable scent of a messy bottom. Pansy dug in the baby’s bag. She moved the purple rabbit aside and handed Eleanor a new cotton diaper. Eleanor spun her daughter around for a cleanup.

  “Ugh,” said Chou Chou. “I think I’ll stretch out a bit.” He flew out the window.

  Eleanor daydreamed as she wiped the baby’s round legs. The new life amazed her, and she couldn’t help but think of poor Roffi. He had been in the wrong, of course, but he had showed himself true. She wished Dorian could have brought his body for a proper burial, instead of a shallow grave in the Border Pass. He deserved better.

  As Eleanor rewrapped her daughter Chou reappeared. He gripped the sides of the coach with his feet and beak. “Riders coming,” he said.

  Eleanor gave the baby to Rosemary and leaned out the doorway. Dorian was already out in front. Eleanor recognized the purple and green Desmarais banner flying above ten mounted unicorns, and picked out Vigor’s proud head above the others.

  It was Gregory.

  His party closed the gap quickly. Gregory called Vigor to a stop when he reached Senné. He and Dorian passed words as Eleanor’s carriage caught up. Dorian had sent Teddy ahead to let Eclatant know the Horn was recovered, and Eleanor delivered of a healthy child. It didn’t surprise her that Gregory had come as the smoke cleared, she just wasn’t sure if she was ready to see him. She looked at her daughter, awake and sucking her fist in Rosemary’s arms. The driver called to the horses to stop. As Gregory dismounted and approached the carriage Eleanor made up her mind.

  She stood slowly. A week after giving birth the pain lingered, but she waved away the driver’s hand and took the steps herself. She reached up for the baby, and Rosemary handed her down.

  She and Gregory faced each other over the dusty road. She waited for him to speak.

  He cleared his throat. “It appears you are innocent of the great crime.”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “I’m glad.” He took a step closer. “Is this your child?”

  “Yes.”

  “May I see her?”

  Eleanor shifted the swaddling blanket away from the baby’s face. She peered up at her father with the reddish brown eyes of a fawn. The fuzz on her head was auburn.

  Gregory’s hands went to his hair. “May I hold her?” he asked.

  Eleanor nodded. “Take care for her neck.”

  Gregory took the baby gingerly and rocked her. “She’s beautiful.” He handed her back.

  “She has a name,” said Eleanor.

  “Oh. What have you chosen?”

  “Leticia Elise, for my mother.”

  “Leticia Elise,” he said. There was nothing Desmarais about it. He paused. “It’s a fine name.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  He turned to the people and unicorns surrounding the carriage. “Good people, loyal friends. May HighGod bless my daughter, Leticia Elise Desmarais, Princess of Cartheigh.”

  Gregory drew his sword. He planted it at his feet, and kissed the hilt. It was an old greeting among royalty. His subjects knelt around Eleanor and her child, and cast their eyes to the dirt. Only Dorian looked at her. He touched his lips in salute.

  Eleanor was the only woman in the Council Hall, and she knew many of the assembled advisors didn’t appreciate her presence, innocent or not. She didn’t care. She sat on a high stool, and shifted around the pain in her nether-regions. She crossed her arms over her flattened chest. Pansy had done her best to tie the dress up, but Eleanor wore a shawl around her shoulders to hide t
he loose lacing. Her breasts ached, and she willed them to stay dry until she returned to Leticia. The Council would hardly take her seriously if she leaked all over the table like a neglected milk cow.

  They were discussing the Svelyan king.

  “Mangolin says Roffi acted alone,” said King Casper. “He denies any involvement.”

  “Roffi’s family is as loyal to King Mangolin as any man here is to you, Your Majesty,” said Dorian. “Roffi wouldn’t have threatened international good will without direction from above. His reversal of loyalties can only be attributed to his respect for Your Majesty and his friendship with Prince Gregory.” Eleanor and Dorian had decided it safest to omit the true reason for Roffi’s change of heart.

  Gregory cut in. “What I want to know is how he got the Horn in the first place. Someone had to perform the Blood Path.”

  It was the sort of comment Eleanor had waited for. She stood, and the room fell silent. “That is the most important question, is it not? Who stole the Horn?”

  Oliver cleared his throat. “Mister Finley’s account of the events in the Border Pass and the note written in Ambassador Roffi’s hand have cleared you name, Your Highness. There is no need for you to further concern yourself in these matters.”

  “Oh, but I disagree, Mister Oliver. So great is my concern I have thought on little else, save my daughter, for over a week.” Eleanor turned to the king. “As I have already informed His Majesty, I believe the answer has come to me.”

  The Council whispered amongst themselves but the king silenced them. “The princess asked to present her argument here, before the Council. She has explained her allegations to me, and I pray the accused can prove them unfounded. You will give her your attention.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty,” she said. “I will not dally, or dance around the fire. The man responsible for this crime is in this room.” The Council glanced around the table, as if expecting to see a noose already around the neck of the guilty party. Eleanor took a deep breath. “Ezra Oliver.”

  The Council burst into a grumbly mixture of laughter, denials, and eye rolling. Gregory’s fist on the table brought their commentary to an abrupt end. “My wife is speaking. Pay her the proper respect.”

  Oliver stood. “Princess Eleanor, I think we must clear the air. I know you and I have had disagreements, but I hope you do not think me capable of this crime.”

  “On the contrary, Oliver, I think you very capable, and I am about to prove it.” She nodded to the two sentries at the Council Hall’s entrance. They opened the door, and three butlers came in balancing a punch bowl of dark liquid between them. Another servant followed, this one carrying a tray of small crystal cups. They place the punch bowl in the center of the Council table, between two Fire-iron candelabras, and began passing cups to each man in the room.

  “Gentlemen,” Eleanor said. “This water comes from the Watching Pool of Afar Creek Abbey. The Oracle generously agreed to let me share with all of you that which she shared with me. You see, powerful witches and magicians can hide their spells. She could not see the thief in the water, but something told her I might be able to make sense of it.”

  Oliver pointed at the punchbowl. “A lot of nonsense, all of it. Oracles are all mist and speculation. None of it is true magic.”

  “Magic cannot replace memory, or observation, Mister Oliver,” Eleanor said. She took a cup from the servant. “In your office you keep a potted plant. You told me it was rare, but you did not clarify how exotic it is. Gentlemen, Mister Oliver has quite the green thumb. For fifty years he has nurtured the last Blue Weathervane. A magician, and a horticulturist!”

  “I’d like to know how my gardening habits are relevant,” Oliver said, but his forehead was shiny with sweat.

  “They are relevant because anyone who drinks this liquid will find themselves inside the crime itself. They will see the Blood Path being drawn. Watch the Horn disappear from its chamber and appear on a mirror, pulled through thin air by a spell and a unicorn hair. They will not see your hands, or your desk, or the furnishings of your office. What they will discern, however, is a smell of lemon and mint. The fragrance of the one and only Blue Weathervane.”

  “Dragonshit!” Oliver exclaimed, and some of the older Council members looked faint at the sound of the Chief Magician shouting profanities. “A load of bloody supposition!”

  Eleanor turned on him. “You thought you hid everything, Oliver, didn’t you? You live in that office. It’s all so familiar you don’t even notice the smell anymore, like the fishmonger who doesn’t know why everyone avoids sitting beside him at chapel.” She walked around the table and curtsied to the king. “I have one more request, Your Majesty. Might I hold the Horn, just for a moment?”

  The king paused before taking the lump of Fire-iron from his pocket. He handed it to Eleanor, and she faced the Council once again. “May I borrow your handkerchief, Your Majesty?” The king handed her a square of white cotton. She rubbed the handkerchief over the Horn before setting the shiny rock on the table in front of her. She took a lit candle from the closest candelabra and held the handkerchief aloft. She kept talking as she touched the flame to the cloth. “If there is a trace of Blue Weathervane pollen left on the Horn this handkerchief will show it to us.”

  The flames crept up the handkerchief toward Eleanor’s hands. She smiled, and tossed the handkerchief into the air. Smoke swirled in front of her eyes.

  The smoke was a bright, jaunty blue.

  Ezra Oliver took action before the Council could recover their collective wits. Three gray fireballs left his upraised hands and soared toward the Council members across the table from him, and to Eleanor’s horror two of the men tumbled out of their seats. The third one collapsed face first onto the table. The first two did not reappear, and the third did not stir. A thin line of blood ran from his ear.

  Dorian shouted at the sentries, and they opened the door to a company of at least twenty martial magicians. The king had stationed the martials outside the Council Room to secure Oliver, but the Chief Magician’s swift and deadly counterstrike made her fear they had underestimated their enemy. Two of the Council ran from the room, and several others took cover under the table.

  As for Oliver, he had conjured a wall of gray mist around himself. Two more fireballs floated in front of his chest. His lips curled back from his teeth like a cornered badger’s.

  Eleanor panicked when the king stood. She hoped Oliver would not have the nerve to smite the living legacy of Caleb Desmarais in his own Council Hall.

  “Ezra, have you no explanation?” the king asked, his face a contortion of grief. “I don’t understand. Why would you do this?”

  Oliver addressed the man whose every command he had followed for twenty-five years. “Must you ask, Your Majesty? Will you force me to elucidate?” When he stepped away from the table the mist went with him. “Very well, then. If your second-rate, inbred intellect prevents you from drawing your own conclusions I will have to draw them for you. HighGod knows I’ve done it before.”

  One of the martials stepped forward, but before he could strike one of Oliver’s gray spheres sent him crashing to the marble floor.

  “For ninety years I’ve killed myself for this family and this country. Now it’s all going to shit in a rickety wagon. You let the witches run rampant. You let your overgrown child of a son marry this shrew, who will most likely be a king in petticoats one day. You give him—” Oliver pointed at Dorian. “—a unicorn when I’ve been in this family’s service over three times his lifespan. Should I suffer another century of your disrespect? Should I wait for your son to force me into early retirement so he can destroy everything I’ve built?”

  Gregory stood and leaned across the table. Dorian grabbed his shoulder from behind. “Cartheigh is the most powerful kingdom in the world, Oliver. Because of my family. Because of my father.”

  “You stupid boy,” Oliver sneered. “You have no idea how to protect what you have. You’ve all gone soft, just like K
ing Peter Mangolin, HighGod bless him and his country, says you have. The Svelyans understand what I have been seeing for years. The Desmarais dynasty has peaked. Wine and chocolate and parties have rotted what little brains you were born with.”

  Anger replaced the king’s sadness. “We’ve trusted you for a century!”

  “And what has it gotten me? Chained to a desk! Mangolin knew no one else could accomplish this mission. For years he’s put all his magical resources into disabling the Horn. I suppose I’ll be joining him sooner than I’d planned. Your pitiful attempts can’t stop me. I’ll have new friends, ones who appreciate my abilities.”

  “Friends!” Eleanor called out.

  “Eleanor, sit down!” Gregory said, and Eleanor heard a king in his voice for the first time. “Sit down, now!”

  Kingly or not, she ignored him. “Tell us about your other friends. Imogene Brice, for one.”

  Oliver’s misty shield quivered. When he turned on Eleanor his eyes were nearly as fiery as his projectiles. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “How did my stepmother help you? Roffi said someone else helped you. Don’t protect her.”

  “With that mirror and the unicorn hair I created the strongest Blood Path ever drawn,” Oliver said with absurd pride. “I allowed Roffi to pummel my face after handing the Horn over to him for the second time in that passageway. I covered my own ass and gave him ample escape time. You all believed the bruises. Every word and gesture. I hardly needed the assistance of some silly, gossiping harpy.”

  “Gossiping! Yes, indeed. Did you enlist her to help you spread your ridiculous claims of an affair between myself and the ambassador? What did you promise her?”

  Oliver’s eyes seemed to fill with his own gray magic. The whites disappeared. “You are everything that will go wrong with this country. Your loose tongue and your far flung opinions and your damnable questions. I knew any favorite strumpet of the witches would be trouble, but I thought I could set you on a useful path. I should have poisoned you myself, or better, your stepmother should have drowned you in the Clarity before you had a chance to poison the prince.”