2. Verena #2
"As for whether we have met, we indeed have," he goes on, growing uncomfortable. "I am Merrick. I was King Leland's dear friend and chamberlain of Isenmere Castle for many years until…well, until you chose Schultz to replace me the morning following the king's death," he admits.
I don't really know what a chamberlain is, but I recall what the Three Stooges said about Schultz. He also clearly wants me dead.
That says everything I need to know about Queen Rhinestone's ability to read people. If she sacked nice, honest Merrick for that guy with no warning, I doubt she has a lot of true allies in her corner.
Meaning I don't have a lot of allies.
"That's awful. You were probably still in mourning for your friend, huh? Sorry for being such a bitch," I sigh, glancing down the street when the tolling bell picks up again.
Merrick coughs like he's trying to hide a stronger reaction. He glances around as if he's making sure no one else will see me in this state.
"You are speaking rather bluntly, Your Majesty. If I may ask, do you at least recall why you’re in this state?”
Very quickly, while the heavy bell continues to ring out, I tell Merrick that I woke up to three men trying to kill me in a cemetery, escaped, and wandered here. I leave out what my blood did to them.
I also don't mention my hellish drinking binge, since I've decided to pretend that shit never happened.
"...and now, I'm looking for a witch," I finish.
His head rears back hard. "A witch? By the great goddess, whatever for?"
"I need magical help to get my memories back," I lie.
I mean, it's true that I would love to remember the last thing I was doing before I popped up here.
But mostly, I just want to go back to my world. Back to my small but extremely secure, cozy apartment in St. John's, Newfoundland, where I've finally managed to disappear into a private life with a new identity I'm very comfortable with.
I've sequestered myself there for years, living vicariously through books, movies, TV shows, and so on. I even finally have a few actual friends who don't ask any prying questions about my past.
That privacy and the ability to simply exist, peacefully and quietly, are everything to me.
Merrick is puzzled. When the thirteenth toll sounds before an abrupt silence yet again, he seems sad as he straightens his tunic.
"May I speak freely, Your Majesty?"
"Always and forever—and also, please don't call me that. Could you call me Verena instead? Or Vera," I add. "I used to hate my name growing up, but at least it's way better than Rhinestone.”
"Do you mean Reinhilde?"
"Damn, it's even worse than I remember. Call me literally anything else. Call me Ishmael."
"Ishmael?"
"Never mind, it's from a Melville book," I wave that off. "I just mean call me whatever."
"Verena, then. While recovering your memories is important, your immediate safety is far more imperative. Your Majesty is never seen without your veil, except by your Favored and the members of the Privy Council—those are Isenmere's most powerful nobles," Merrick explains patiently.
"So, most people here have no idea what their queen looks like? That seems stupid."
"On the contrary, it serves many functions.
Especially for safety. For example, if someone recognized you as the queen, wandering about without protection…
" Merrick trails off with an ominous headshake, his gaze earnest. "It is unwise for you to be outside the castle right now, with so many gathered in the town square. "
I glance down the street again. "What's happening in the town square? Are these bells to announce that someone died or something?"
The deep, resonant, spaced-out ringing begins yet again.
Merrick grimaces. "Those are death knells. They summon all of Isenhold to bear witness that the queen has sent her royal executioner, whose axe falls at each of the thirteenth tolls."
I stare at him as that sinks in. The deep ringing in the air now raises goosebumps on my arms.
"You're saying this is the sound of someone about to die? Someone the queen sentenced to death?"
"Yes."
"And just who the fuck am I accidentally killing today, on top of the three creeps in the cemetery?" I ask, my voice strained. "Please tell me it's a bunch of rapists and mass murderers who could actually deserve a death sentence."
He purses his lips. "It is not my place to tell my queen whether a small family of northerners deserves to face death for settling in Isenhold without your explicit permission…including their elderly parents and their stripling son of sixteen years—"
"You've got to be fucking kidding me," I groan, already hiking up my skirt to rush down the street in the direction of the tolling bell.
Merrick keeps up with me easily, since this dress is ten thousand pounds of ugly velvet and dried blood.
"Your Majesty! You must not reveal your face to the public. Please, this is not safe for you!"
I curse like a sailor when a misshapen cobblestone digs painfully into my bare foot. "Does the executioner know what I look like? Is he one of the inner circle peeps?"
"He is, but—"
"Great," I call back, adjusting the ratty blanket until it rests over my head like a hood, ready to be pulled down. "So fucking help me, I'm not going to be responsible for letting Queen Rhinestone murder an entire family!"
How many times has the death knell hit thirteen already, anyway? I curse again.
All at once, Merrick and I emerge from the glass-filled village into a large but crowded rectangular town square.
On one end of it is a giant statue of…a sexy horned angel, I guess?
At least, she has the feathered wings of an angel.
They curl around her voluptuous statue body as she holds a mirror high, smiling up into it.
At her feet are fresh flowers, polished trinkets, locks of hair tied with glossy bows, and about a trillion little mirrors.
"Offerings," Merrick explains quickly, seeing my frown. "That is Ayna, the embodiment of Pride itself. She is revered as the patron faerie of Isenmere. Now, please hide yourself, Your Ma—Verena."
Tugging down on the blanket to obscure most of my face while keeping a little peephole intact, I turn toward the much more crowded side of the town square.
Despite the stained glass everywhere, I thought this looked like a modest medieval-ish village—but all these townsfolk are primped to perfection, dressed in perfectly tailored fabrics.
Even in the middle of these executions, I see them adjusting their clothing, smoothing hair, and ensuring they look perfect in the mirrors hung on the doors of shops and storefronts surrounding the town square.
They've thronged so closely together that I can't see the actual execution. When yet another death knell resonates over the well-groomed observers, I tug the blanket down over my face fully and march into the group, determined to get to the front.
"Move! Stop everything!" I shout, but it's muffled.
I can't see anything from under the blanket, so at first, I'm surprised how easy it is to push my way through the villagers. But it quickly becomes obvious why everyone is clearing out of my way so fast.
Someone gasps. "What bloodied, muddied waif dares go outside looking like that?"
"How revolting!"
"Crones, something so unsightly would make even Ayna wish for blindness."
"Is that blood? My gown is made of mirrorflax! Move—I cannot get this dirty!"
They're all so melodramatic and vain.
I guess that means I've found my kind of people.
I must be nearing the front of the murmuring crowd now, because I hear a voice boom, "That was the twelfth knell. The thirteenth approaches. Why do you hesitate to raise your axe?"
"I do not execute children," a man replies. "The queen knows this. She should not have sent me."
I don't feel people bumping into me or fleeing out of my way anymore. Does that mean I'm finally at the front?
I take another step forward, but my cold bare toe stubs itself on stone, like there's a step up in front of me.
"You dare defy our queen's orders on behalf of a northern dog? Fine, I shall do it myself! Hand me the punishment axe. Bow your head, whelp, and prepare to—"
Stepping up, I pull the front of the blanket back enough that my face can be seen by the few people on this circular, raised stone platform.
"Stop the damn execution," I command.