Chapter 11
That night, Serena found it difficult to sleep. Maris wasn’t speaking to her, even when she tried to apologize for her snarky comment.
With her mother’s shawl wrapped around her shoulders, she curled in the chair by the fire.
When the flames got too low, she placed another log on it.
She grappled with everything that had happened.
The stranger at the Well of Wishes. Lying to Papa.
Lying to the Grand Duke. His veiled threat that he would be back.
She could not stop playing his last words over and over in her head.
The king is interested in miracles, Mistress Serena. Expect me again.
He was going to return with the king in tow. And when he did…then what? What miracle did he expect from her? Without knowing, she could not go back to the Well of Wishes to ask for—
She stopped that thought before it fully formed. No, she would not return. She would not risk more than she already had. She’d lost two precious things to her—even if they were things she did not remember. She could not afford to lose more.
But the king—
Her stomach was coiled into a tight knot as she clutched her elbows, her eyes fixed on the flickering flames in the hearth.
Papa’s bedroom door opened, and he shuffled out. He halted there, his eyes dark orbs in the shadows. He was surprised to see her.
“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked.
“No. You?” she replied.
“No. I suppose insomnia is better with company.”
Heaving a heavy sigh and clutching a book under his arm, he lowered himself into his favorite chair across from her. The book rested in his lap as he gazed at her from across the fire, the yellow light flickering across his haggard features.
She had done that to him. She had made him weary and suspicious. But now, she was so far in, how could she tell him the truth? The lies and secrets were her burden to bear.
They sat in silence for a time. His gaze drifted to the fire, his hand clutching the well-worn book. Outside, the wind howled low, swishing through what leaves were left on the trees and clacking the branches together. It was a quiet night. Too quiet.
“You carry a heavy burden, daughter,” he said at last breaking into the silence. “Tell me what it is.”
“Papa…” Her voice drifted.
“Secrets are heavy things, Serena. Too heavy to carry alone.”
This she understood, because she had been carrying the secret of the stranger close to her since the moment she stepped off the mountain with a satchel full of gold.
His worried gaze landed on her again. “Tell me. Before it eats you alive.”
She clutched the shawl tighter around her frame. She took a deep, cleansing breath to steady her heart. “Do you recall the old folklore about the Well of Wishes?”
Papa stiffened and clutched his book tighter. “I do.”
Serena’s mouth went dry, but she forced herself to forge onward. “Most folks think it is nothing more than a myth. That it doesn’t exist, but I…” She swallowed hard. “I found it. I went there.”
His eyes widened as he stared at her in shock. “Serena—”
“I didn’t know what else to do, you see,” she rushed on. “The taxes, your illness…I-I couldn’t let you die. I couldn’t let us be thrown out of our home.”
His shoulders sagged, as though in defeat. “Gods, girl. You made a bargain.”
“I had to. It was the only way—”
“Serena.” He scraped a hand down his face, leaving a bloodless trail she could see in the flickering light. “Gods, do you know what you’ve done? The Well always takes more than it gives. You mustn’t go back. You must never go back. Promise me.”
“Papa—”
“Promise, Serena.” Worry lines creased his forehead. He looked as though he’d aged ten years hearing her confession.
And she hated herself for that. She hated what she had done, but she knew it was the only way to keep a roof over their head and save her father.
She wanted to promise and keep it. But the stranger’s green-blue eyes and face etched in sorrow with a bit of hope haunted her.
His voice, his sorrow, his curse. Deep down she was certain she would find a way to free him from his horrible burden.
If only she could find his true name. Her gaze flicked to the book clutched in Papa’s hand.
“Will you promise?” he asked.
As emotion clotted her throat and tears threatened, she nodded. And even as she promised, she knew she would not keep it.
He blew out a breath. “I’m glad you told me.”
“What will we do about the Grand Duke and the king?” she asked, then, worried about the coming days.
He gave her a faint smile. “We will think of something.”
“But—”
“Shh. There’s nothing to be done about it this night.”
His tone was gentle, reminding her of days long past when she was a girl and he was larger than life. Now, he was weaker, older. Still her Papa, but different. Aged.
“You have dark circles under your eyes. Go rest,” he said.
She didn’t want to face her sister in the morning. Her hands cramped, and she realized she clutched the shawl far too tight.
“I will think of some way to deal with the king and the Grand Duke,” he said at last.
There was that self-loathing again. She had put this burden on him, and it shouldn’t be his. But she uncurled her legs from underneath her and rose with a nod. She kissed his cheek.
“Good night, Papa.”
She turned toward her room, Papa’s warning echoing in her chest. You must never go back. But in her heart, she knew she already would.
Days later, the king arrived in the village with much fanfare. His entourage was so large, it coiled like a snake throughout the village. At least, that’s what it looked like to Serena.
Snow fell in earnest, blanketing the rooftops and muffling the world as if the village itself held its breath.
The horses churned the road into gray slush as they clopped through the square.
All the villagers were out to watch the processional.
All were bundled in their cloaks, hoods pulled tight around their heads.
Even Serena, Papa, and Maris stood outside in the falling snow, their breath fogging in front of them as the king arrived in their small village of Stonemere.
Despite the cold and her threadbare gloves, Serena’s palms broke into a hot sweat.
Her nerves jangled as the King’s Guard, riding two by two, passed.
The carriage was in the center flanked by more guards.
Even more were behind it. The heraldry of the king—flags in gold and plum with his sigil of a roaring gold lion—flapped in the chilled wind at the front of the line.
The line slowed and came to a halt. The carriage only a few steps from their modest cottage, which made her heart ram in her throat.
“They’re stopping here?” Maris said in a roughened whisper.
Serena glanced at Papa, whose eyes were fixed on the carriage, his brow creased with worry. He said nothing as he looked her way, and she saw the fear there. And it was her fault. She alone had put them in this position.
They had not discussed what would happen should the king turn up on their doorstep. Now, it was too late for that.
Maris shivered, pulling her cloak tighter as she peered at the ornate carriage with unabashed awe. Serena turned her gaze forward and tried to steel her nerves, but her heart continued to pound like a drum.
A footman was at the door in an instant, pulling it open and standing aside, waiting for his majesty to exit.
A moment later, he stepped down from the carriage, his labored breath wheezing in and out followed by a watery cough.
Serena did not get a good look at him as she curtsied with the rest of the villagers, bowing her head low in respect for the king.
“Ah, so this is Stonemere,” he said. The king had a big, booming voice. He did not sound pleased to be there.
“Yes, your majesty,” the Grand Duke replied.
Serena peeked to see the man standing next to the king. His thin frame was wrapped in his fine cloak as it was the day he visited them. His steely eyes moved across the villagers.
Then a woman said in a pinched voice full of disdain, “What a wretched place.”
“My dear, please try to refrain yourself,” the king chastised. Then to the villagers, “Rise, please.”
Serena lifted her head as did Papa and Maris. They stood side by side, snow dotting their shoulders and heads. She got her first look at King Leonidas.
He was a short, portly man wearing the finest clothes.
His fur-lined cloak was pulled tight around his thick frame.
His head was uncovered. His cheeks red from the cold.
His eyes, bright blue and flicking from one person to the next, paused on her.
Then back to her father. The wind tousled his thinning hair, making it stick up from his head.
He emitted another cough, low and deep in his chest.
Next to him, the queen. Her pinched expression was full of contempt as she looked down her nose at each and every one of them.
She, too, wore a fur-lined cloak, but her hood was drawn up to cover her head.
She clutched it tight with a gloved hand that was be-ringed, the jewels glinting in the late afternoon light.
She clearly looked as though she wished to be anywhere but there.
The village mayor bustled up, his breath see-sawing in and out as he hurried to greet the king. He bowed low.
“Your majesties, you honor our humble village with your presence. I’m Mayor Whitesmith. I welcome you both to Stonemere.”
The queen glanced at the mayor but said nothing. The king clapped the man on the back in a good-natured sign, as though they were long-lost chums.
“I understand this is the village of miracles,” the king said.
Mayor Whitesmith did not hide his confusion. Or perhaps it was merely his way of refusing to acknowledge the gossip.
“Miracles, sire?”
“Yes, yes.” Then the king’s gaze moved across the three of them. Then he looked at the Grand Duke, the mayor forgotten. “Lachlan, did you not tell me this was the house?”
He gave a bow of his head. “Indeed, I did, your majesty.”
“I’m sure that’s nothing more than local gossip, your majesty,” the mayor said with a weak smile and weaker voice.
But the king ignored the mayor as his gaze swung back to the three of them and stopped on Serena. He stepped closer to her, and she smelled the rich scent of port and cigar smoke wafting off him.
“Mistress Serena?” he asked.
She dipped a low curtsey. “Yes, your majesty.”
“His Grace has told me about you and your miracles,” he said, then punctuated that with another cough that sounded dreadful. “I wish for your help.”
“My help, your majesty?” She tried to keep her voice even and calm.
Next to her, Maris shifted uneasily. Papa placed a hand on her arm to steady her and, hopefully, keep her quiet.
“Your majesty, my daughter is not a healer,” Papa said then.
“Ah, so you’re the one.”
The king moved to stand in front of Papa, giving him a good once over. Papa, to his credit, remained calm and still and his eyes forward.
“But your daughter, Master Windriver, is the one who gave you this mysterious elixir to cure you.” Then, he gave his attention to the Grand Duke. “Isn’t that what you told me, Lachlan?”
“It is, sire.” When he replied, his gaze was fixed solely on Serena.
Her nerves jangled. Fear clawed its way from her gut to her throat, and her mouth had gone dry.
Papa gave a weak smile. “She is indeed the one and is good with herbs, but—”
“Then I wish for her help.” He sidestepped back down to halt in front of Serena.
Behind him, the Grand Duke did not bother to hide his smug expression. The queen, next to him, looked on with a mix of curiosity and contempt. The mayor wrung his hands together trying to decide if and how to intervene, his expression pinched with a mixture of fear and worry.
Serena swallowed hard. “How may I help, your majesty?”
“My son is ill, you see. Desperate times, and all that. I should like you to return with us to the palace. Of course, you’ll have whatever herbs you need and my staff will be at your disposal.”
Serena was stunned into silence. Heat crawled up her neck at the idea of leaving the village to go to the royal palace. “I…don’t know what to say, your majesty.”
She cut a glance to her father, who stood rooted in place. His face had drained of color. Maris nearly vibrated out of her skin. Either from jealousy or excitement, or perhaps both.
Papa spoke up then.
“Your majesty, it will be a…loss…if my daughter leaves. She keeps the household running and—”
“Yes, yes, Lachland explained all that to me.” He waved the thought away as though it didn’t matter. Then to her, he added, “The crown will be indebted to you if you succeed in curing my only son. He is, after all, the crown prince.”
He left the reward unsaid, but the promise clung to the air.
Maris emitted a strangled gasp that, thankfully, everyone ignored.
Papa remained tall and stiff in the cold, his apprehensive gaze remaining on the king, then landed on her.
His expression was guarded, as though he understood she dare not refuse.
He started to speak, but she gave one quick shake of her head.
He pressed his lips together in a thin line.
Refusal would be ruin. Higher taxes, harsher punishments, the village crushed beneath the crown’s heel. But acceptance…acceptance meant stepping into a trap. Her mouth was dry. Her throat raw.
Slowly, she turned to the king, dread clawing at her, but her chin lifted all the same.
“I would be honored, your majesty.” She dipped a low curtsy.
“Good, then, can we go home now?” the queen asked. She didn’t wait for a reply as she stepped back to the carriage, waiting for the door to open and grant her entrance.
The king ignored his wife as he reached for Serena’s hand, holding it between his gloved ones. Warmth pressed though her chilled fingers.
“We leave at first light.”
Then he released her, climbed into the carriage after his wife and the Grand Duke. Moments later, the entourage was off leaving her with a wickedly pounding heart and the dread coiling low and hot in her belly.