Lies of Golden Straw

by E. L. Tenenbaum

  Oddly, this seemed to bring the king back to his senses.

  “A very great loss indeed,” he told Merlin with genuine sorrow. “No doubt you understood how much we lost when his power joined with yours.”

  Merlin didn’t respond, though only I knew the real reason why.

  The king cleared his throat and seemed to force himself to say the next few lines, surely due to the finality they held. “I must correct myself,” the king managed, “for you have surely been named a mage and are therefore an apprentice no more.”

  “I humbly pray I shall be worthy,” Merlin replied carefully.

  The king nodded in conclusion though his mind already seemed far away. Without another word, he turned and left the room, his lunch untouched, his appetite spoiled. Merlin looked around long enough to nod at me, then he left as well, though I wasn’t sure where to. Those who remained were visibly subdued, shaken by the news. A lot of food went untouched that afternoon.

  I, however, was shaken for reasons far different from the others, even having witnessed the death of Merlin’s master. What worried me most was that I knew what had really happened, knew that Merlin had not received his master’s magic. It had entered the little man who’d killed him, leaving Merlin just as strong as he was when he’d entered the room, which wasn’t quite enough for his new position. Considering how swiftly the little man had cast him aside, it wasn’t nearly as strong as I’d once thought either. Magic is tricky like that; it’s so rarely seen that regular folk think every small display something truly incredible. While this is so, I was learning there were things that needed far more than the strength of the incredible.

  Merlin hadn’t corrected the king, and Heaven only knows what kind of trouble that could lead to, having been promoted to a high position without having the necessary powers. What if someone asked him to do something he couldn’t? What if the king wanted something he could not give? This was what he’d have to navigate the rest of his life. A lie he now had to live because the truth couldn’t come out. Ever.

  I shuddered inwardly. The most honest man I ever knew was forced into a heavy, deadly lie, all because of me.

  The next incident happened a few days later, when I was again exploring the palace gardens, this time with Kirkin, who’d apparently been reassigned to accompany my shadow with his steadfast presence until I was allowed to return home. It wasn’t absolutely ideal for him to always be there, always just behind my shoulder or just off to the side, especially when I wanted to sneak about on my own. However, he had proven a most wonderful fount of information about the palace and that made his companionship well worth it.

  I was taking a leisurely stroll through a long pathway covered on both sides and above by twisting grape vines. Seeking shade, I’d gladly turned down this path, not knowing that the king and his dear aunt Mulberry were coming up the walkway from the other side.

  I heard before I saw my mistake, because Lady Mulberry’s voice made her the bane of every secret. I only knew the king was with her when we inevitably crossed paths.

  “Good day, Miller’s Daughter,” the king greeted me, though the shadows partially hid his face so I couldn’t determine if I was actually hearing relief in his voice.

  “Is she still here?” Lady Mulberry asked loudly, ignoring the fact that I was standing right in front of her.

  Her growling Pomeranian should have given her a clue. Heavens, how I wanted to kick that obnoxious dog.

  “Rather, she’s right here,” the king calmly pointed out.

  “Good afternoon, Your Majesty, Lady Mulberry,” I said politely. “What a lovely place.”

  The king looked around as if deciding for the first time. “Quiet lovely,” he agreed.

  “You should know, Rupie,” his aunt cut in, “you requested it.”

  The king struggled to contain his grin, something I never would have noticed when I first met him. “So I did,” he agreed seriously.

  I was surprised to hear the king had been the one to think up this part of the palace grounds, and I wanted to ask him more about it. He must have read my face though, because he gave a slight shake of his head to indicate now was not the time, or company, to talk further on it.

  “I’ve explored much of the gardens the past few days,” I commented, in an attempt at conversation. “I find them incredibly delightful.”

  I really wanted to return to the waterfall the king had shown me, but I wasn’t sure that I could. The way things had played out that day, it seemed like a rather secluded spot, a spot to visit only by the king’s leave.

  “I accept your compliments,” the king said, “especially as it seems you are quite the gardener yourself.”

  I nodded in response. How much did the king already know about me? How much had come from guards, gardeners, and servants, and how much just from watching me? And if he could know all these little, external details, how much of who I was inside did I need to closely guard?

  “It was begun by my mother,” I admitted, “and keeping it pleased Father very much.”

  “Your father also has a knack for cultivation?” the king inquired.

  “He may, though all I’ve ever heard of him planting are some magic beans that led to a giant’s lair.” I bit my tongue, but the words had tumbled out before I could stop them.

  The king grinned broadly. “A wonderful story, no doubt.”

  “I’d love to hear it,” the lady pressed.

  Seeing my face, a short, hearty laugh escaped the king. “Another time, Aunt Mulberry,” he said, guiding his aunt past me and my guard. “Goodness, is it already time for afternoon tea?”

  “Did you order that maid to cut the lemons into circles?” Lady Mulberry asked. “I haven’t the patience for wedges.”

  “Of course, of course,” the king reassured her. “Good day to you, Miller’s Daughter,” he said to me. “I’ll see you at dinner tonight.”

  “As His Majesty wishes,” I obediently replied.

  As they walked away, I could hear the lady’s voice trailing behind her. “It really isn’t seemly to keep such a lovely young thing locked up in your palace, Rupie. Isn’t there a nice gentleman in your courts owing you a favor you can command to be her suitor?”

  I flushed in anger, and embarrassment, at her crass remark. I didn’t even hear what the king said in reply, but it wouldn’t have mattered. I was beginning to wish I could kick her instead of her dog.

  “Are they gone yet?” I hissed at Kirkin.

  “They’re gone,” Kirkin confirmed. “Are you all right, Miss Millie?”

  “I’m fine,” I insisted, though my clenched jaw and fists suggested otherwise. “She really is a bothersome old woman.”

  Kirkin chuckled. “I’ve always wondered that the king puts up with her, considering she’s of no relation to him.”

  “She’s not?”

  That brought me up short. Until then, I’d figured all her behaviors, especially the way she treated the king, were only tolerated because she was his aunt. If she wasn’t, then why did the king put up with her?

  Kirkin shook his head. “She’s nobility of sorts, but she’s not closer than any family friend can claim to be. She hasn’t any children, and after her husband died, the king invited her to live here. I suppose he thought she’d be too lonely by herself.”

  “She has that beastly dog.”

  Kirkin laughed. “Judgmental little thing, isn’t he? I think he only likes His Majesty and his mistress.”

  I rolled my eyes and kept walking, trying not to think of the short exchange. My mind replayed it anyway, and in doing so, snagged on a single comment.

  “What did she mean that the king had requested this?” I asked, gesturing toward our vine-woven arch. “Didn’t you tell me a mage gave the king this palace as a gift?”

  Kirkin pursed his lips a moment in thought. He seemed ready to tell me that it wasn’t his story to tell again, but finally relented. “A mage made this palace as a gift, but the king was the one who designed it
,” he explained. “Really, only a rather powerful mage could have pulled this off and built it in a year besides.”

  “The king designed the palace?” I repeated.

  “Yes,” Kirkin replied, unsure what I hadn’t understood the first time.

  “But-but, it’s so beautiful!” I exclaimed.

  “Isn’t it?” Kirkin said fondly, sounding like someone proudly showing off an old ancestral home.

  “And the king designed it?” I asked again.

  “He did,” Kirkin confirmed once more. “His Majesty may have had some help, but the vision was all his.” Kirkin furrowed his brow a moment. “Actually, the mage who just died built the palace.”

  “The mage who just died,” I repeated softly.

  “Everything all right, Miss Millie?” Kirkin asked again, eyeing me oddly as I kept dumbly repeating after him.

  “Yes, yes,” I tried to pull myself together. “I just didn’t know…I didn’t expect…well, that the king envisioned all this.”

  Kirkin smiled and tilted his head back to take in the foliage around us. “I suppose His Majesty is too modest to give off the impression,” he conceded, “but his simple nature belies the wonders his mind can contrive.”

  “I see,” I said, realizing that whatever I was seeing was only a very small, very limited glimpse.

  Already, the king had surprised me with some of his acuity, perhaps his patience, too, but this was something else altogether. What kind of man could look at a simple hilltop and see this magnificent edifice? And this wasn’t just a palace that had staked its claim on the highest mound it could find, but a part of the earth itself, designed to create a partnership, an agreement that by coexisting it would do right by the land it occupied. It seemed an example of the king’s duties to Farthington, to care for and celebrate its natural beauty and resources.

  What else did the king see that no one else noticed? What kind of kingdom did he imagine, what kind did he hope to create? Aside from royal celebrations, we didn’t speak overly much about the king in our village, and having met him, I believed that was the way he wanted it to be. Sure, there was something to be said about a monarch whose subjects sang him endless praise, but there was also something about a man who let his citizens prosper, who ensured their safety and their ability to fulfill their basic needs on their own.

  How much of what he did for the kingdom went unnoticed? How much good did we ignore because his actions were so unassuming, as natural and fluid as the water running throughout his palace?

  My thoughts turned abruptly from my newfound awe of the king as I remembered something else. I didn’t know everything about the powers or limitations of Merlin’s magic, but I was quite certain he wasn’t nearly on the level to build a place as wonderful, as detailed, as intricate as this one. What future awaited him if anyone ever found out that he was quite unlike the king, that his position was nothing more than a glorified façade because of all the things he couldn’t do?

  The Cost of Handsome Reward

  About two weeks after my final test, I was finally summoned before the king. Now that Merlin had his new appointment, he stayed close to the palace, waiting for news of my release. As no one would make trouble for a master mage he planned to walk to the king’s gate and await me there, both of us still under the assumption that I would very soon be going home for good.

  It’s rather odd how much a person can live through and yet still be so naïve.

  When Kirkin came for me that morning, I was already dressed in the plain orange dress that had been left out for me. I didn’t bother feeling anything toward it, not indignity, not anger; I simply appreciated the richness of the material and enjoyed how soft it felt beneath my fingertips.

  To my surprise, Kirkin didn’t lead me to the throne room. We started down the familiar hallway, but when we reached the semi-outdoor courtyard with the gurgling spring, he stopped and stood patiently, seeking out something, or someone. He found what he was looking for on the other side of the courtyard, just inside a hallway I hadn’t yet been down. In the shadows, I could just make out a green marble bench, a presence beside it.

  Kirkin nudged my arm and nodded in the overall direction, indicating that was where I was supposed to go, indicating I was on my own. But I knew better. Starting across the courtyard, I picked out a few guards here and there melting into the shadows of the hallways. By the time the presence on the other side had detached from his position and started coming toward me, I had no doubt of who I was about to see.

  The king closed the gap between us, stepping from the hallway and into the illuminated courtyard. I curtsied, but rose quickly when the king walked past me to the fountain, where he studied the vibrant water lilies with his hands clasped behind his back. Without invitation, I joined him, stealing sidelong glances as he stood lost in thought. What I discovered then was rather important for what would come next.

  Firstly, as I waited beside him, the sun warming us with its yellow light, I decided that though unremarkable, the king was not entirely unpleasant. He had decidedly royal features: a straight nose, square jaw, thick hair, and a tight, little beard. Plus his eyes were a rather interesting shade of hazel.

  Also, His Majesty’s simple clothing couldn’t hide their quality, nor could they entirely hide the breadth of his shoulders or the strength in his hands. Contrary to my expectations, he didn’t openly carry a sword, seeming to either have too much faith in his soldiers or uncomprehending that anyone would wish a king, even a peaceable one, any harm. Despite that, he gave no impression of vulnerability.

  Additionally, I suddenly realized that I much preferred this simple, contemplative man to the king I’d seen in the throne room. This man was someone I might actually consider, if only to wonder about what was going through his decidedly not unremarkable mind.

  Lastly, my thoughts and feelings had changed toward the king in my time at the palace since the tests. He was still my sovereign, still a man to obey and fear, the one who’d brought me here and locked me in a room full of straw, but I’d since learned that he was also just a man. A man with nuances, habits, thoughts, and feelings like anyone else, no matter in which areas he outshone others. I would be sorry to say goodbye not just to his wonderful home, but to him as well.

  “My advisors and I have been discussing what’s to be done with you now,” the king abruptly spoke, his words almost negating all I’d been thinking about him until then.

  “Something must be done with me, Your Majesty?” I asked innocently.

  The king turned to look at me, and though I didn’t like to be under his far too discerning gaze, I appreciated the honesty and forthrightness of it.

  “You’ve done what your king has asked of you,” he said, “three times, no less. It would be rather silly to keep testing you at this point.”

  I wanted to add it had been rather silly to have ever tested me, to have gone to such great lengths for my father’s lie, but I wisely kept my mouth shut. The king was telling me, he wasn’t asking anything. Not yet at least.

  “At the same time,” the king continued, “it is appropriate that you receive some sort of reward for your service.” A grin tickled the king’s lips. “Even if it wasn’t entirely voluntary.”

  I nodded, but still didn’t speak. I wasn’t sure where this was going, despite what the little man had predicted.

  “But what kind of gift can a monarch offer a girl with gold at her fingertips?” the king questioned. “And now that word is out, what will stop anyone else from wanting to use that power to his own gain? Can she ever be safe again? Perhaps a magical friend could cast a spell around her, but that doesn’t dispel the fear, the constant need to always look over her shoulder for men who would still try to use her for personal gain, or cause her harm.”

  I kept my face carefully neutral when he spoke about my magical friend. I knew he’d seen us together at the banquet, but I would not allow my features to betray how much Merlin meant to me. Maybe he would accuse him of being t
he true spinner of gold and have him punished for it.

  The king paused a moment in his speech, allowing his words to sink in. He’d laid everything out very simply, so there was hardly any doubt that I would misunderstand what kind of future awaited me back at the mill. Having recently learned how big the world truly was, having seen new extents of greed and mischief, and even beauty, too, I had figured out that much for myself, even if I’d skipped over all the potential dangers.

  “Millie,” the king said, and my heart stopped mid-beat at his curious, first time use of my name. “We’ve considered many rewards, but none seemed right enough. However, I’ve thought of one that may be sufficient.” At this he paused long enough to catch my eye, to hold it with his in a way that was neither threatening nor superior, but honest and sincere. “I cannot offer you undying devotion or passion, but I willingly offer you my high regard and my respect. I think that enough to build any marriage upon.”

  I froze in shock. What?

  “I-I-I—”

  The king grinned. “Too large a reward?” he asked, comically enlarging his eyes.

  I couldn’t find my tongue. It was lost somewhere inside my throat and I struggled to make it work again. I finally managed one syllable. “W-W-Why?”

  The king shrugged. “The moment you marched in the wheelbarrow of gold and looked ready to dump it, and me along with it, into the river, I had never before seen myself so plainly. Your anger burned away every layer and left only the barest facts in its place, and I didn’t like everything that I saw.”

  More shock. What?

  “Being the king means people are rather premeditated in their behavior toward me, but you, you made me confront myself. I truly believe you’ll keep me honest.” A pause, then, “I must also profess my admiration of the way you handle Lady Mulberry.”

  Irony has a mighty maniacal laugh.

  “I-I-I—”

  “Think about it,” the king suggested, and I managed to nod dumbly in response.