The Girl on the Stove

by M. Wiklund

  Table of Contents

  The Girl on the Stove

  Book Details

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  About the Author

  The Girl on the Stove

  M. WIKLUND

  Princess Galina's father has set her a difficult task: persuade a peasant named Elena to reveal the secrets behind her magical powers. Difficult, and maybe impossible, given that Elena is stubborn to a fault and has no respect for authority—especially the kind that wears a crown. And the more time passes, the less Galina cares about doing her duty and more about simply Elena herself.

  The Girl on the Stove

  By M. Wiklund

  Published by Less Than Three Press LLC

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher, except for the purpose of reviews.

  Edited by V. Duncan

  Cover designed by Phil Thompson

  This book is a work of fiction and all names, characters, places, and incidents are fictional or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is coincidental.

  First Edition October 2018

  Copyright © 2018 by M. Wiklund

  Printed in the United States of America

  Digital ISBN 9781684313648

  Chapter One

  Galina's father, the king, informed her that the visiting peasant was crude and disrespectful, a hussy with neither manners nor brains. Galina sighed at that but made little answer other than nodding. Obediently, she headed to the private chamber where the peasant awaited her. Using tact and charm with someone of a different social class, someone of limited mental capacity and terrible attitude, would be more difficult than her usual tasks, but she did not doubt she was up to the job. There had never been a man or woman she could not charm before, and it made no difference to her whether they were appealing or utterly distasteful.

  A bit of an annoyance, of course, that her father would send her to gather information from someone so unworthy of her time, but she could do it. She paused outside the chamber door. Sighed. Braced herself. Set her face into a smile, and walked straight in.

  The peasant girl was sitting on a stove at the other side of the room. The sight was a bit of a shock. While the king had told her that the peasant girl had arrived riding on a stove as only a witch or sorceress could, she had not quite processed that. At the least she had pictured in her mind some magnificent amalgamation of brick and stone, polished and perhaps scribed on in strange runes. But no, it was a simple hollow block of well baked clay that opened up to a steadily burning fire. Dirty, too, soot and ash smeared on it here and there. Clearly very old, and not even all that big, though heavy enough that try though she might, Galina could not picture it moving without a number of strong men carrying it. In a chamber of this sort, carved stone decorated with red and gold tapestries, it was distinctly out of place. Well, it would keep the room warm at least.

  As for the girl, she was not quite what Galina had pictured. She was surprisingly plump and un-tanned for a peasant. It made her look like a wealthy woman despite her simple smock and apron. At first her pose was hunched like a beast, curled in on herself, but when she saw Galina enter, she straightened. She stood up on the stove at her full height (and she was taller than Galina would have guessed too, almost six feet) and bowed before sitting again. She did not get off the stove.

  It was such an odd combination of reverence and disregard that Galina was unsure what to make of it. Was it rustic custom that made the peasant behave so? But surely her town was not so far from the capital as to have no knowledge of how to behave around royalty. And she had bowed—but now she sat while Galina stood, and her seat was elevated as well…

  Galina cleared her throat. "My father sent me that I might entertain you during your visit to the capital."

  "He said he would," the peasant said. Her eyes flickered over Galina, resting briefly on her face and crested headdress before flickering down, over her elegant gown and then down to the floor, where they remained fastened.

  "He did not mention your name," Galina said after a moment of silence. Only that she was a peasant and very crude and stupid.

  "My name is Elena, princess," the peasant said. She bowed again slightly, this time without even bothering to get up. "It's an honor to meet you. I've never met a princess before."

  Galina, on the other hand, had met many peasants. Most of them had been servants, though, with a couple merchants thrown in for good measure. Certainly the king had never shown as much interest in a peasant as this.

  Not that he was interested in Elena as a person. No one really interested the king personally. But there had been rumors that she possessed certain magical abilities, and the king was always interested in magic. He had decided as soon as he heard the rumors that he would learn the secret to her powers. But thus far, he had told Galina, Elena had refused to reveal it even when he had begged her, threatened her and reasoned with her. He did not want to use violence yet, but, he had told Galina, he would if he had to.

  He could be hardheaded when it came to getting what he wanted. Focused, obsessive. A couple years back he had sent hunters chasing around the country to catch a golden leopard he had heard about. It had been ferocious, killing several men, but when it was caught the king had realized there was little he could do with it except put it in a cage. Now the leopard was sleek and lazy, a pet of the court, elegant in appearance but of very little use to anyone. And whatever magic Elena possessed was likely just as petty as a golden leopard.

  Well, Galina would still try to wheedle it out of her. If the matter could be solved today, it didn't need to be blown out of proportion. And she wouldn't make nice with a member of the lower class longer than she had to.

  She walked over to the stove and leaned against it, next to where its small chimney spouted out smoke. Smooth and warm, but not hot enough to burn. "Well, your inexperience is not surprising. There are not that many princesses out there, you know." And in this country, she was the only one who was the king's daughter, all the others being cousins and nieces. The highest ranked woman in the country since her mother's death—not that she got much of that power for herself.

  Elena nodded rapidly. She was still staring at the ground.

  A bit annoyed, Galina let the smile slide off her face. She reached over and grabbed Elena's chin, and tilted it up so that Elena looked her in the eyes. It was probably more appropriate for a peasant not to meet eyes with a princess, but it felt like Elena wasn't even paying attention to her.

  Elena didn't flinch at the touch, though her eyes darted back and forth. They were big and blue, as light as her mouse-brown hair. A little frightened, too, which was not what Galina wanted, she reminded herself. She needed to be less authoritative and more charming.

  Gently, she said, "And what do you think of your first princess?"

  Elena considered the question for a minute. Finally, she said, "You look quite grand."

  Only there was something very reserved about her voice, very neutral. Galina fought back a frown. Yes, she did look grand, in her headdress and her carefully embroidered gown, dark hair and dark eyes against porcelain skin. Men wrote poems about her, and women trembled in the presence of their superior. Yet this girl made such praise sound akin to mockery.

  She realized she was still holding Elena's chin and lowered her hand. Now, Elena did not look away.

  There was a moment of silence. How to approach a situation like this? Far easier to entertain a nobleman, who woul
d be pleased to fill the air with his own chatter and choose every activity, than a quiet girl like this.

  Elena leaned forward. She was sitting in a crouch, barely balanced on top of her stove. "You can come up if you want."

  "Up on the stove?"

  "It's warm," Elena said. "I spend most of my time on it. That's why I brought it with me."

  Galina almost laughed—such a simple reason, and the arrival of the stove had caused such a ruckus! She heard it had been a sight (though she had not been there for the scene), the stove walking straight into the throne room as if it were an animal rather than an object of clay and stone. The court had been greatly disrupted, and no one had been able to speak of anything else until the king had taken Elena aside into a more private room to discuss business quietly. And even after that, the whispers had spread because surely this proved Elena truly did have incredible powers.

  Galina was skeptical. Having lived at court for more than twenty years, she had heard of and seen many wonders stranger than a walking stove. They all turned out simple and somewhat useless in the end, even when they involved magic.

  Elena patted the surface next to her. "You ought to give it a try. Unless princesses can't sit on stoves."

  No, they really couldn't—not if they wanted to preserve their dignity. It would be a hideously awkward position, besides which her skirt would get smeared with soot. But it was better to be polite, and to accept any invitation offered. Only, "There isn't any room." The top of the stove was too small for more than one.

  Elena frowned. Then, looking at the stove's surface, she muttered something under her breath.

  The clay warped and bent and stretched, as if pulled by huge and invisible hands. And when it was done stretching there was plenty of room on top of the stove for two.

  Galina didn't exactly gape. Magic was not new to her, after all, and really this was just a parlor trick. Still petty. But she did give Elena an appreciative look before realizing this meant she would have to get her skirt dirty after all.

  She lifted her skirts and tried, bracing an arm on the stovetop, to get a knee up. And failed utterly—it was much too high for her to stretch, and there was no convenient handhold.

  Elena pointed out a foothold closer to the bottom, and Galina hesitantly put a foot on it. Then Elena put her hands out, palms up.

  Dirty fingers, and a very familiar gesture. But Galina swallowed her pride and took Elena's hands anyhow. They were warm, and her grip was unexpectedly strong as she pulled Galina onto the stove. And still wobbly, Galina found herself clutching at Elena's arm as she tried to stabilize herself. But Elena let her, though Galina heard a repressed snort.

  "I thank you for your help," she said when she was settled. "It was a bit tricky."

  "You're welcome," Elena said. She looked at Galina expectantly. But Galina was still short on ideas of how to entertain someone like this. And it was too soon to start asking about her secrets outright.

  "Would you like me to sing to you?" she said. That was a skill many appreciated at court, and she was not a bad singer, though not the best.

  Elena said, "I am not all that, that a princess should sing to me."

  "It is my pleasure to sing when I am in good company."

  "Well, I would not deny you any pleasure."

  So Galina warmed up for a minute or two, warbling scales which made Elena sit back and take an interest before launching into a song about bringing lavender bouquets to a sweetheart. As a woman, she knew she ought to sing about receiving them—there was a variation of the song that was the version she usually sang before men—but the song flowed better this way and she liked the image of herself bringing lavender bouquets to some young woman. It was a pastoral song, the sort that made peasant life, common life, sound peaceful and pleasant. But the abstract peasant woman she imagined while singing it was nothing like Elena. Real peasants were not so sweet, after all.

  Well. There were also songs exalting the royalty, and Galina could never live up to any of those, no matter how grand she might look.

  When she was done, Elena said, "I can't sing like that."

  "I don't expect you to." If she could, it might have actually been upsetting. Galina had all the training of a courtier, and Elena certainly did not.

  Still, Elena frowned. Then, suddenly smiling, she reached into the pocket of her apron and brought out—horror of horrors—a handful of bones.

  Was that her secret? Cursed or blessed bones did her magic for her?

  Elena dropped the bones on an empty area of stovetop. "Do you know how to play knucklebones?"

  Chapter Two

  Now, Galina was very used to doing what her father needed.

  She was a prize of sorts. He liked to tell people—generals, people in positions of power, great warriors—that if they did this or that for him, just one more task, he might let them marry her. She was his only daughter, and if she ever did marry her heir would inherit the entirety of his kingdom. Quite a prize, and that was ignoring her looks, which really could not be ignored, and her talents: singing but also eloquent conversation, the ability to be simultaneously flirtatious and demure. Skills she had carefully honed until no man or woman could resist her.

  All for her father's use. He told her who to flirt with, who to talk to, who to dance with at parties and what to say to whom. She was good at following instructions. Her actions, she knew, helped to cement her father's power. And if he saw her primarily as a tool, he still saw her as his most useful tool. And so, in a way, she was beloved.

  Charming a peasant girl into talking about her sorcery was not the usual, and it was a less delicate task than her father usually set her. But Elena was neither cleverer nor more stubborn than Galina's usual prey, and she had few doubts it would work out fine. She would eventually make the peasant girl talk.

  Whether she would ever win a game of knucklebones, now, was a different question entirely.

  "You are not very good at this," Elena observed, after a couple hours of playing.

  Galina gritted her teeth. So far, Elena had taught her how to play the simplest form of knucklebones—ones. You put the knucklebones on the table. You tossed one in the air, and you picked one up before catching the one you tossed. It should have been simple, but Galina had only succeeded a couple times. The other times at least one knucklebone had always fallen on the floor, and Galina had been forced to climb off the stove to fetch it, sometimes from under the stove itself, and then climb back on again. And every time she climbed back on, she had to let Elena help her, touch her. It was a bit unnerving how quickly she was getting used to Elena's grip on her hands and wrists, how much force Elena would use in pulling her up, the angle she would use. It was becoming easy to work with her, almost like a dance. But still very awkward—Galina danced with trained courtiers who would barely touch her, light as dragonflies, not with peasants who heaved her body this way and that at will. Elena touched her with practicality, as if unaware that her hands were on a princess. Every time they touched Galina felt the urge rise up to correct her or somehow warn her—this wasn't how things were done!—which she hurriedly shoved back down. It wouldn't help matters to be rude now, would it? There was even something friendly about Elena's businesslike grip, and surely that was promising.

  With all the climbing, though, Galina was beginning to get tired. She would have suggested they do something else—more singing, perhaps, or talk of simple matters. Anything else. But the fact of the matter was that Elena genuinely seemed be enjoying herself and was even beginning to relax.

  She had not yet failed at a round of ones, and occasionally did twos or threes or even fours, grinning with satisfaction. She could pick up all the knucklebones and still catch the one in the air. She was daring and threw the bone very high, and still it always fell back to her hand instead of skittering off, hitting the ceiling and then falling to a corner of the floor.

  "You just need to be able to keep track of both bones and once," she said, in such a serious tone
one might expect her to be passing on the secret to immortality or inner peace. "You throw one up, you catch it. I mean, there's naturally some room between the two actions in the first place. You just need to take advantage of it."

  A patient teacher. As if Galina needed to be taught this sort of art. But she tried to keep her voice patient, even humble. "I guess you're right. I'm not very good at it."

  "Not the sort of game for princesses?"

  "Would you like to learn a game for princesses?" Galina asked. The games they played at court might be too complicated for a girl like this one, but at least they would give Galina a break, and make her feel considerably less foolish.

  "I like knucklebones fine enough." Elena tossed again and caught again. "I hope I'm not boring you."

  "Not at all." Yes, very much.

  "I know your father wanted you to learn the secret to my magic."

  Galina smiled tightly. The king had told her Elena was not very clever, but she did have a sort of cleverness, didn't she? A dog's cleverness, a beast's. It was what made her so good at a simple game like knucklebones. And it also made her wary against anyone trying to find out her secrets, it seemed. How annoying. Trying to be subtle, Galina had spent the past two hours avoiding the subject.

  But perhaps it was as well to be straightforward with a straightforward woman. "He is interested in the matter, yes. If you chose to tell me about it, I would certainly listen."

  Elena smiled and shook her head. "Shouldn't a woman always have a few secrets?"

  "The king would be pleased with you," Galina said, "Which is a huge honor, and may well be accompanied by a reward."

  "I'm a simple woman, but I do not believe I will spread my secrets," Elena said. She did not offer further explanation than that.

  Galina sighed and returned to the knucklebones. She'd have to do better than frankness after all.

  "You're tired. Let me get you some water." Elena muttered something again, and a couple minutes later a pitcher full of water came sliding into the room on the floor, after which it levitated itself over to Galina's mouth.