Chapter 6
When at last I’d gathered the courage to ask Prince Nicolas if my parents might be allowed to visit, I’d expected resistance, perhaps a lecture about protocol, but he was surprisingly charitable with my request.
“Of course you can see your parents,” he’d said, as if the notion of his denial was outlandishly cruel.
After less than two weeks in Altaigne, I was requesting for the prince of Gallae to invite two lower-class strangers into his fortified home, so his easy acceptance was unanticipated.
“Write them, and I shall have a falcon deliver it to their hovel. Let them know a carriage will await them in Finn’s Hollow by week’s end. ”
I’d taken offense to the cottage’s derogation, but my delight overshadowed his poor choice of words.
I wrote the letter right in front of him, ignoring his condescending praise of my penmanship, and eagerly offered it forth.
If he’d asked me to pay him with a kiss, I might have obliged him for all the relief I felt at the promise of seeing Mother and Father again.
Now, as I approached the visiting chamber and peered through the heavy oak door, I worried I’d made a mistake.
Mother paced restlessly about the visiting chamber in a gown she must have been given by Lord Haron’s wife: a deep plum brocade that hung slightly loose at the shoulders, clearly tailored for a woman of different proportions.
The fabric was finer than anything she’d touched in decades.
She kept smoothing the skirts with her hands, flinching whenever the silk snagged on her calluses.
Father sat uncomfortably in one of the lavish seats, Lord Haron’s clothes a touch too big for him, watching his wife’s erratic movements. His fingers tapped continuously against his knee.
I was anxious, unsure of what needed to be said and what should remain secret. As I finally stepped in, my mother rushed me, scooping me into her arms with the same overbearing hug she’d always given.
“Mother,” I said, grinding my teeth. “I can hardly breathe as it is.”
“Oh, my love, look at how they’ve got you dressed!” Mother remarked, stepping back to gander at the fineries. “I would forsake a few breaths for such a gown.”
“Easier said than done.” I smiled.
“And you’ve put on weight! You’re filling out!”
My smile faltered. I hadn’t noticed any such change, but it was hard to deny with the way these people ate. Even if I were to eat like a bird, I still would have consumed more in one meal than I might’ve eaten in a day back home.
I turned to my father. He wore his remorse plainly, seeming older than he was when I left. If I’d waited any longer to inquire whether they could see me, he might have withered into dust. “Father…”
My father got up and patted my head. “Alana, I’m so sorry.”
“Nonsense,” I said, backing up enough that he could read my lips. “It was my fault, not yours. And it hasn’t been so terrible.”
With an uncertain grunt, Father reached into his satchel.
The muffled clinking of glass revealed that he’d come prepared for just about anything, but rather than producing anything medicinal, he pulled out a wax tablet and offered it to me.
My lips parted and I started to protest, but he shook his head.
“I made another. This is for you. I’m sure it will be useful. ”
I placed a gentle kiss upon my father’s cheek and held the tablet to my bosom.
“How long were you permitted to stay?” I asked Mother, finally recovering from the comment about my weight.
“Not very long. The prince’s invitation stated we could spend the night as guests; they’ll have supper sent along to our suites.”
“Let me dine with you,” I insisted. Surely the Crown would allow my absence, under these circumstances.
I took my mother’s hands, then trembled.
“Mother, I am in urgent need of your guidance. I want to catch up, but time is of the essence, and I worry that if I grow too comfortable, I will neglect to ask what I need to.”
She raised an eyebrow. “My, I’ve never seen such a serious look.”
“It’s the prince. He has asked me to do something unthinkable, and I fear the time will soon come for me to act upon his will.”
“Then you must do it.”
She spoke decisively, despite her lack of context. I hesitated, unsure of how much more I should say. “He wishes for me to hurt someone—perhaps many—and he believes I am a witch.”
The last part seemed to startle Mother the most. “What have you done to convince him so?”
“He says I bewitched him, and that makes me a witch.”
“And he has asked you to turn your alleged magic against his enemy,” Mother filled in, crossing her arms and taking on the same troubled expression she always wore when discussing the curse.
Her brow furrowed deeply. “He’s the prince. To disobey him…”
I nodded, watching her eyes darken. A suppressed memory resurfaced—my mother, scissors in hand, trying to force me to open my mouth.
Begging me to allow the mercy of removing my tongue.
For the first time, I found myself wondering if perhaps it would have been the right thing to do.
Then I wouldn’t be in this den of vipers.
Perhaps I’d have grown up in the village, married off to a man who treasured my silence.
“Alana,” my mother said. “You must obey the prince.”
Shock rang through me. “But I’m not a witch! What am I to do, Mother? Besot them? Make his sworn enemies fall in love with me?” My heart throbbed. “Will they, too, try to take me?”
Mother listened intently, then looked to my father. With a flicker of her eyes, she bid him to offer forth his satchel. I took the bag and rifled through it with uncertainty.
“There was a time when our practice was regarded with superstition,” my mother explained. I examined the jarred assortments of herbs, flowers, and fungus within the satchel with dubiety. “When poison and medicine were no different than magic to the commonfolk.”
“Poison?” I nearly dropped the bag. “You would have me poison the prince’s enemies?”
“You’ll need to find recipes within the royal library; we did not think to bring the family ‘grimoire’ along.” Mother flashed a lopsided grin, as if the thought of witchcraft was no more than an amusement to her.
The half-joke fell flat in the face of my stupefaction. I picked my jaw up from the floor. “Does this not distress you?”
Mother clasped my shoulders. “I can rest easy knowing that my daughter lives at night.”
“And you’ll be protecting the interests of the realm,” my father joined in, evidently keeping up to some degree. “An enemy of the royal family is an enemy to us all.”
My hold on the satchel tightened. “I cannot do it.”
“You can,” said my mother. “You must.”
We were quiet for a spell, and then my parents’ stomachs rumbled with hunger.
Clearly, they agreed on this concern, believing I should corrupt the very morals they’d instilled in me for the sake of survival.
It was hypocritical of them, and I’d hoped they’d find some wiser path for me to follow.
Disappointed as I was, however, I saw where they were coming from.
They hadn’t accounted for how to conduct myself in the face of sovereignty.
I put on a warm and loving face to the best of my ability and led them to the guest suite; together we dined, told stories, and managed to bring some level of normality to the evening…
And yet, all the goodness their company brought was marred by the tumultuous thoughts surging quietly through my mind. I looked into my goblet, swirling the burgundy liquid so that my image distorted.
Wolf’s Bane. Hemlock. Death Cap.
I sorted the jars into a small wooden chest, separating remedies and maladies.
Some of these ingredients I had collected myself, and others were imported from faraway lands.
I would have to remember to acquire something custom to keep them stored in, perhaps with a hidden compartment.
It wouldn’t do for anyone to find me with such an assortment of lethal ingredients.
Killing someone, in theory, was a simple errand.
A tincture of mandrake would bring a terrible bout of visions to whoever was unfortunate enough to consume it, followed shortly thereafter by a sleep they’d never rouse from.
Such a dramatic murder would no doubt raise suspicions, and I was hardly a trained assassin.
I wouldn’t know how to sneak poison into someone’s food and drink…
I shut the chest and pressed my forehead down atop the polished exterior.
The prince would need to find someone else to conduct his terrible business. Surely he could recognize his misunderstanding. And maybe when he saw that I was nothing but an innocent young woman, he’d send me home—no, no. I knew better. It was foolish to continuously delude myself with hope.
Sighing, I pushed away from the vanity and placed my night robe on a wall peg, then crossed to the oversized mattress. Tonight, my parents would sleep in similar comfort, only to return to their hides and straw beds tomorrow.
I sat on the foot of the bed and imagined the conversation my parents must be having at this very moment: Mother’s indignation at the warmth of the room; Father bemoaning how all the sweets at supper were upsetting his stomach.
Come to think of it, though, my mother looked quite natural in her borrowed gown, and the first thing she had thought to do when seeing me today was to express envy.
She didn’t seem too upset with my situation at all…
Perhaps, now that I was gone, she could finally return to an apothecary’s life in Finn’s Hollow.
It would be good for my parents to have friends again.
My absence would significantly improve the quality of their lives. Had my mother cut out my tongue, the three of us would have been happier. I might have wound up with brothers and sisters… Instead, my parents sacrificed all the comforts of marriage in order to continue our family’s safe existence.
The chamber door creaked open. I hardly turned my head; in my current state, I was as good as vegetative. Only the glint of metal caught my attention, and by the time I did look, the door was closed behind my stumbling guest.
He wore a tricorn hat over a mask of brass, any discernable features well-concealed.
His cape was turned up at the collar and draped down to his knees with the weight of luxurious fabric, black and embroidered with distinct designs.
It covered both of his hands, but the silvery tip of a dagger poked out from the opening.
I couldn’t move before the man lunged. I tumbled onto the stone floor from the force, landing on my side. Then he was upon me, reeking of alcohol.
His speed was impressive for a drunk. He took hold of my arm and twisted it behind me in one swift motion.
I tried to pull away, then heard a pop as I felt an excruciating sense that my limb was being torn from me.
My lips parted to scream, but I hesitated just in time, somehow managing to keep my wits about me through the searing agony climbing through my shoulder.
If I consciously exposed the man to my curse and he was already bent on violence, what suffering would I endure?
And if I stayed quiet? Was that truly the better option?
A rumbling tore from my throat. His gloved hand clamped over my mouth, concealing the wail before it could escape and draw attention from anyone close enough to hear.
“Gods above,” he muttered close to my ear, his voice hollow within the brass mask.
For a heartbeat I wondered if that had been enough, and then I felt him firm against my rear, only clothing shielding me from his indecency.
Steel armor wouldn’t have been enough to protect me from the terror it invoked.
“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, now that I look at you.
How could anyone want to hurt such a precious thing?
But I’m not here to kill you, m’lady; I’m getting you out of here.
It’s in your best interest to stop fighting. ”
“Like Hell!” I growled into leather, thrashing against him no matter how it pulled my wounded shoulder.
He grabbed just below my chin, no longer gagging me, but I couldn’t make a sound. The man said something more, but I couldn’t hear him beyond the ringing in my ears, and as my vision darkened, I could only think of all the terrible things Mother said men were capable of.