Faery King Chronicles
Part Two: The Secret of Cinnamon
by Clarissa
Boom, boom, boom. There was a loud, deliberate pounding on the huge wooden doors.
“I think he’s here, sire,” Cusac said to me.
“Took him long enough.” I bit into a wedge of peach pie.
Boom, boom, boom.
My assistant nervously drummed his fingers on the hilt of his sword. “Are we to arrest him for trespassing your decree of banishment, your majesty?”
“Perhaps.” I dusted the crumbs off my hands with a napkin. “If he behaves well enough we may be rid of him forever.”
“Since you stole his grandchild, behaving is probably the last thing on his mind.”
“I do hope so,” I said, and allowed myself a nasty grin. “Let him in!”
I wouldn’t be who I am today if I had not met Thomas Bartlemead. His name has been burned into my existence like a curse. For the past thirty eight years, I’ve done all I could to rid myself of this curse, but short of gulping down a memory-stealing brew, nothing has managed to erase his lurking presence which has had such an impact in these mountains.
Thinking of him is not something I like to do, to put it mildly. It never leads to a good place. What can I do but put it out of my mind? There is nothing else I can do. The rain keeps falling, and my anger keeps boiling.
To say that we did not part well is an understatement. Anyone who knew what had happened between us would understand my actions, but I don’t excuse what I’ve done. To say I feel a certain satisfaction in doing so whether or not it is justified is correct. After thirty-eight years, he’s finally getting his comeuppance!
And so what if I’m a villain? That was the most fun I’d had in years! That is, until the brat started struggling and flailing her thin limbs about. She was stronger than I expected, but my right arm was enough to hold her still on the saddle until she gave up. It was no trouble, even if the child had the nerve to try and kick me in the shins and bolt toward the gate while I greeted Jonathan and Rax at the door. We had to chase after her, like three grown men after a rabbit. Embarrassing.
But it was all worth it, just to see the looks on their faces, especially the slow, stupid expression Thomas had as I snatched his most valuable asset away from him, right before his eyes. Ha! He should have known better. Now his precious grandchild was mine.
“Why are you doing this? What are you going to do with me?” The child’s whiny voice rang out as she tried to pull her wrist from my grip.
“Well, let me see.” I grinned widely, as if to confirm all her fears. “The grandchild of my enemy... it will have to be something really horrible, the worst thing you can imagine. I can’t waste an opportunity like this!”
“What is wrong with you?!” The child continued to thrash about. I could understand her confusion. Before I had snatched her from the arms of her family of simpletons she had come to stop fearing me. She thought of me as an old friend of her family, someone to tease and trust instead of fear. Of course I had wanted her to think that way, and to let her guard down. She and Thomas both. Too naive, too trusting, and too nosy. It had all gone as planned. However, the child’s thrashing about was becoming dangerous as we began descending the stone steps to the Hall. She was going to slip and fall down them all if she wasn’t careful.
I squeezed her wrist sharply, making her stop and whimper. “Don’t get the wrong idea,” I said quietly, letting my voice become sinister. “This isn’t about you, brat. I kidnapped you for revenge. If you don’t behave, you’ll be punished, and while that aids my plan nicely, you won’t be doing your precious grandfather any bit of good.”
She shut her mouth, but met my eyes with a look as fierce as only a Bartlemead could give. I felt odd for a moment, torn between a bit of pride at her reaction and the reluctant thought that she’d be harder to deal with than I’d hoped. Why should I be proud? She wasn’t my granddaughter.
“Do you understand?” I asked her sternly, to round off my threat.
“Yes,” She said through gritted teeth.
“Good. Now mind your step, these stairs are steep.”
Jonathan opened the doors to the Great Hall for me, and I stepped through, flinging the child into an empty chair. “Sit,” I instructed. It was past dinnertime, so there were only a few stragglers in there, eating dessert and playing games before bed. “Cusac!” I called for my assistant. He wasn’t in the hall, but came rushing in behind me.
Cusac had been my assistant since before I was crowned king. Even in my adventurous days I’d never seen him surprised at anything I may have gotten into, but when he saw the human child his eyebrows shot up.
“Could you not get rid of it, your majesty?” he asked, as if she was a diseased ferret attached to my sleeve.
I laughed heartily. “This is the spoil of war. My perfect revenge, Cusac.”
He blinked. “Indeed?”
“It’s true. I stole her right in front of Bartlemead himself. Take her away, would you?” I sat down on my throne, looking forward to the peach pie that was still steaming on the table in front of it.
Cusac and the child looked at each other. “What do you want done with it-- with her, your majesty?”
I looked up. “Honestly, I hadn’t thought that far. Shall we put her with the others? No, she’d probably incite a rebellion. Well, maybe not,” I added, thinking aloud.
“Others?” The brat spoke up. “There are other human children here?”
“Quite a few,” Cusac said.
“Is this a habit of yours? Kidnapping children?” She looked at me reproachfully.
“If they didn’t want to be kidnapped, they should have listened to their mothers and not wandered off into the woods alone.” I declared, cutting into the peach pie with my knife. She sputtered, and Cusac began explaining the snatched children’s situation to her
The crust of the pie was neither doughy nor tough, but soft and flaky. The scent: that rare, perfect scent wafted up into my face. I had boasted at one point in my life that I had the best cooks in all the land, but even they had never been able to produce that particular level of deliciousness. Whenever they tried those human dishes there always seemed to be something missing. But I could never put my finger on it, and neither could they. I finished cutting out a wedge and bit into it. The peaches were hot, but not too hot, and while it was juicy, the filling didn’t drip onto my hands.
I looked back up at the child. “Were you the one who made this?”
“Yes, why?” Her eyes narrowed.
A grin made its way across my face, which was getting tired from all the unusual activity. “Cusac, put her in the kitchens. A well-locked room in the dorms should suit.”
“You brought me here so I could bake for you?!” Hands flew to hips.
“Sire, you know how the cook hates humans,” Cusac protested in an undertone.
“All the better!” I finished off the piece of pie and opened the drawer in the table in front of me that held parchment and quills. Pulling one out, I said, “This is the standard agreement for anyone who works in the kitchens.”
“I won’t sign anything.” she said.
“Not without your grandfather’s approval? It only says that you promise not to poison me.”
“Then why isn’t it shorter?” She pointed out. The document did take up most of the page.
“There are so many ways to poison.” I waved my hand. “Directly, indirectly, fermentation, persuasion, etc. No need to worry. It exists to protect you as well, and ensures you a day off now and then.”
“I won’t sign it,” she repeated.
“Then we’ll put you with the other children. It’s your loss.” I stood up.
“What do they do here?”
“Would you like to see? Let’s show her, Cusac.”
At that time, there were exactly thirty-six children under the mountain. All, as I had explained earlier, had wandered off into the wild alone (I’m not a complete monster). The Bartlemead girl, number thirty-seven, was the exception to this rule. When she saw the other children, happy and laughing while doing dishes and sweeping floors, her confusion grew.
“Did you bespell their minds away?”
“Nothing so drastic. They’re just enjoying themselves.” I handed her a particularly heavy broom. “Enjoy your new life as a servant! Come, Cusac.”
“You have no reason to keep me here! Let me go home!” she shouted.
I was getting really tired of her nagging voice. “I told you before, this isn’t about you. It’s about revenge on your grandfather. You’re stuck here until that old man comes and gets you or dies trying.”
“Why do you hate him so much? What did he ever do to you?” She demanded.
“Oh, did he never tell you that story? Funny that he never mentioned it!” I turned back and bent down to her puny height. “He stole my bride and ran off with her!”
Her mouth hung open in shock. “Grandma was...?”
“My betraying betrothed, my fickle fiancee, whatever you want to call her. Not quite the perfect people you thought they were, are they?” I marched out and let the door slam behind me, nice and loud.
She had been a very distant relation, the daughter of the royal faery family in Italy. Floriana was her name, though I’d tried to forget it. Her hair and eyes were dark and beautiful, and she had a laugh that healed all ills-- if any were lucky enough to hear it. She was no match for Thomas. Not that crazy-haired scamp who was always dirty from hunting, fighting, or digging about in the dirt. How could he have possibly interested her? What business did he have even thinking about her? He, who was not fit to serve her food? He stole her. He had been my friend for so long.
Once when we were children, Thomas dragged me up a tall, steep mountain, hopping like a goat from one rock to the next. When we reached the top, he unloaded the bundle on his back. It looked like the walls of a canvas tent, stretched tightly between four or five sticks.
“What are you doing?” I asked, catching my breath.
“I’m going to fly down to the valley!” he answered.
“With that? You’re crazy! That’ll break within a minute.”
“Nah, it’ll work. See, I hold onto this bar, push off with my feet, and ride the wind all the way down!”
“That’s a good idea in theory, but you’re forgetting how strong the updraft is. What if it throws you sideways into the cliff face or a tree?”
“I’ll just pull on these strings to steer.” Thomas’ idiotic grin spread across his face, taking up half of it.
“That’ll just-- no, no. Here.” We spent three hours adjusting and planning, and fetching more materials. He had gotten me completely engrossed in the project when I should have been studying politics. Only he had that talent: the ability to drag a future king up a mountain, and convince him to hurl himself down from it with nothing but canvas, wood, and string to hold him up. I’ve never laughed and screamed so much in my life. Oh, I was nearly impaled by a tree, but we made it.
The truth is, I was tongue-tied around her. She was uncomfortably stiff and silent around me. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t find anything good to say. She was too lovely. She was like porcelain, and I was so scared that a thoughtless gesture from me would break her. I should have been good enough for her. My royal birth and my upbringing gave me all of the qualifications to be worthy of her, but she looked so distant-- almost sad. She didn’t like it here.
She grew up near the sea. I could see that she hated the sight of the cold, stone walls that held her in like a prison. She wasn’t happy at the sight of me either, her nervous fiance. But she said nothing of this, merely smiled like a doll and went along with the arrangements of our parents. We held a ball to welcome her that year, a dancing night under the Summer moon.
I asked her to dance, and she agreed the first time, but afterwards said she’d rather sit. What nonsense I must have spouted while she smiled, stiff and silent! Well, that was when Thomas approached her.
“So you’re a bad hand at dancing?” I heard Thomas say.
“What?” The faery princess thought she had misheard.
Thomas gestured toward the couples dancing. “You have two left feet?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You turned him down. He’s my best friend. I know there’s nothing wrong with him, so the problem must be with you. You’re no good at dancing, then?”
“Of course I can dance! I just don’t feel up to it.”
Thomas was silent for a moment. “So you ate too much at dinner?”
“What?!”
“If dancing would make you feel sick, then I can understand that you’d want to sit and be boring.”
“I am only tired! I had a long journey, and it was very taxing on my body.”
“Come now, everyone knows that getting your blood moving is the best way to stop being tired.”
“Oh, do they?” Her color was heightened. “I have a weak constitution, sir.”
“Ohhhh.” Thomas nodded, then added, “If you danced more, your body would be stronger.”
“How dare-- who are you, anyway? What’s a human doing at a faery ball?”
“Told you already, didn’t I? I’m the prince’s best friend. What are you doing here if you’re not even going to dance with him?”
“I did dance with him once!”
“And a poor hand you made of it, too. The poor lad, stuck with a lass who can’t dance.”
“I dance very well!” She said with gritted teeth.
“Do ya? ‘Fraid I don’t know you well enough to believe your word only.”
That was all it took. My faery princess stood up, took Thomas’ hand, and dragged him into the dance with all the fierce dignity she could muster. He laughed at her, and shook his head. “Too stiff,” he said.
She glared at him, and grandly ordered the musicians to play a faster tune. Then she picked up her skirts and danced as fine a reel as could be, a lovely sight to behold. She out-danced Thomas-- he admitted it himself. It was not long before her face was beaming with a triumphant smile.
That smile should have been my first warning.
The slumber that followed the beginning of my revenge was interrupted by an escape attempt. No surprise there. I'll admit, she had a lot of energy for someone who was previously starving. According to Rupert, the boy who’d almost drowned when we found him, the little Bartlemead brat had volunteered to feed the horses in the stables, grabbed one of them, and bolted. If I had not taken precautions for this and shackled her left wrist with a spell, she would not have been dragged back to the mountain by a mere flick of my finger. She may have even made it halfway back to her village before we caught up with her.
As it was, I found her near the apple orchards after the alarm was sounded by the other children, fighting against the pull of the shackle spell. The gray mare she’d stolen stood nearby, watching in mild confusion. Her wrist was being pulled behind her, and the rest of her limbs were spinning desperately.
It was most amusing, so I rested my arm on the mare's back and joined her in watching the show. “Are you finished yet?” I asked politely.
“Urgh!” She growled in frustration. “Just let me go! They’ll be worried about me!”
“That's the point of keeping you here,” I said dryly. “If your dear old grandad doesn't come to save you, you'll be better off here anyway.”
“Just leave him alone! He’s old and sick, and I can take care of myself,” the girl snarled.
I frowned. “How sick?”
“He had a fever last week, and he broke his leg last year while getting firewood.”
She’d had me worried for a moment. “Ha! That should only slow him down if he’s half the man he used to be.”
“If he doesn't come, I'll escape on my own!” she declared, still tugging against the spell. What a stubborn girl.
“Do you not want him to rescue you?” I asked, mildly curious.
“I'm old enough to take care of myself,” the child replied haughtily.
A fly caught in a web would have had more sense of its own capability, but both humans and flies still struggle. I shrugged and let the spell pull her all the way back, while she continued to pull against it and growl in frustration. I'm no spider, but it was still fairly amusing, especially after my peaceful night's rest had been interrupted. Little brat. Well, I couldn't blame her too much. When it comes to Bartlemeads, you have to expect trouble. The whole countryside knew that.
“Well,” I scratched my head as I slowly walked back (she was still trying to walk the other way). “I don't feel like getting up in the middle of the night again, so you're going into the kitchens instead, under strict lock and key.”
“You're horrible!” she exclaimed.
“--But smart,” I reminded her. “I shan't underestimate you again. You'd better sign the contract and be grateful that it's better than the dungeons.”
“Don't expect gratitude from me.” She glared. “And no, I won't sign anything, you mean, selfish--”
By the time we got back into the castle, I was very tired of her. “Fine!” I burst out in front of everyone awake in the hallway (mostly guards). “You are not bound by contract. But I'll tell you this, Meg Bartlemead, if you try to poison me or anyone else, I'll have your head on a platter!”
Meg looked confused rather than frightened. After a long pause, she asked, “Are you going to eat my head?”
“No! Why would I? I'm not a goblin.”
“Well, then why would you want it on a platter?”
I handed her off to Jonathan. “I don’t know! Maybe I'll feed it to my dogs!” And with that, I stomped back to bed.
Cusac wasn’t exaggerating when he said that our cook hated humans. Flann was always so short, plump, and amiable, so eager to please and ensure every guest’s satisfaction-- except for when it came to humans. His black moustache would twitch at the very mention of a human town, person, or delicacy. Perhaps he’d had a bad experience, or some human chef stole his secret recipe; I never asked. But since I’d hired him fifteen years ago, Flann had never once attempted to make a simple peach pie. A part of me was ashamed of how much I enjoyed that first little pastry, brought as a bribe from a poor, dirty waif of a child, but...
It had been so long.
Breakfast that morning was everything I wanted: waffles, strawberries, fried eggs, and ham. After attending to matters in court, lunch was served: wild boar, roasted and glazed; apple slices drizzled in warm caramel, fresh bread still soft from the oven... Everything was perfect, but how I wanted the taste of that pie again!
I called for Meg Bartlemead to be brought to the Hall. She arrived in an overly-large white apron, the hems of her sleeves soaked in foamy dishwater. To complete the strange picture she made, her eyes were shining with excitement. What on earth?
“What happened to you?!” I blurted with a frown.
“Oh, I was washing dishes.” When I waited for more, she burst out, “Your kitchens are amazing! The ovens bake so evenly, and there is so much counter-space, and everything is so shiny, and--” she went on and on! “--And there is an endless supply of ingredients from all over the world! Please, can I use them soon? Please?”
“Hold off on the flattery. You haven’t cooked yet?”
“No, Master Flann said I can only wash and clean.”
“Well, I didn’t bring you here to wash. Make me another pie, just like the last one.”
The girl cocked her head to one side. “Just like the last one?”
“You should have no objections.” My eyes narrowed.
“No indeed, your majesty. However,” she paused, rocking on her heels, “Your pantry lacks one important ingredient that I need to make the pie. Without it, the taste will not be the same.”
My eyes became slits. She was being sly again. “And what is this ingredient?”
“‘Tis a rare spice, your majesty. The bark of a certain tree ground to a powder.”
“I can have someone fetch it. What is the name of this spice?”
“Oh, ‘tis a trade secret, your majesty. I have sworn a vow never to reveal it. But there is a pouch of it hidden in my family’s cottage. I will certainly be able to make the pastry for you if I am allowed to go back and fetch it.”
Clever girl. “Nice try,” I said flatly.
“No, no! Why would I try to run away now when I can cook in such a marvelous kitchen here?” She batted her eyes innocently. “But while I’m already there, I could let my family know that I’m all right--”
“That trick’s been done before. You’re staying here.”
“Then I’m afraid I cannot make a pie as delicious as before.”
“You’ll do it, child,” I said frankly. “There’s no contract to protect your whims or vows, so you’ll either tell me what spice you need, or you’ll do the best that you can with what you have.”
Her shoulders slumped while her mouth twisted into a pout. So much for her clever plan. “I’ll do my best, but you won’t like it as much.”
As she turned to go back, I said, “And by the way, an unpalatable dish can count as poison, so be careful, would you?”
Meg Bartlemead frowned at me, insulted. “Of course, your majesty,” she answered, sarcastically curtseying with the large apron.
But oh, what a disaster awaited her!
She had understood what I meant, right? No poison, and nothing so absolutely disgusting that any self-respecting cook would rather admit to poisoning rather than say that he or she made it? I was clear, wasn’t I?
So, why? Why did I sit there, mouth burning, staring at her steaming pie with perfect latticed crust, knowing that it was poison that was causing the bitter taste in my mouth?!
It had certainly smelled wonderful. The fork had just touched my lips when my test-taster started coughing up the bite he’d had. It was bitter beyond belief, but not from salt. He seemed fine after it was out, so it wasn’t enough to actually hurt anyone, but strong enough to detect.
I looked up at the Bartlemead girl, the little actress who should have known better. Her eyes were wide, her face as pale as a sheet. Everything about her said she was confused.
“What’s wrong?” her voice rose to a panic.
“It’s poisoned,” I told her. “What did you put in there?”
“Nothing unusual! Just regular spices! I didn’t-- it wasn’t me!” She wrung her hands.
Could I believe her? Was Thomas’ grandchild as honestly sincere as she looked, or was this the reward of taking the matter of revenge on him into my own hands? There was the possibility of sabotage, but no one should have hated her enough to poison me.
“But I'll tell you this, Meg Bartlemead, if you try to poison me or anyone else, I'll have your head on a platter!” I had said so myself, in front of witnesses. A king must follow through with his promises. He cannot pick and choose which of his laws to obey or shake the confidence of his subjects by being inconsistent. A king cannot go back on his word.
I have never been able to.
Not even when the only friend I had in the world and the woman that was supposed to stay by my side forever betrayed me all at once.
The second warning should have been the grudging way Floriana asked about my human friend. How long had I known him, was he always this irritating, and did he come to the faery mountain often? We were eighteen, so I'd known him for ten years at that point, yes, he was irritating, and we often went on many adventures together. How embarrassed I felt after I'd answered that last one! 'Adventures?’ Was I a child?! Sadder still, that was the longest conversation we'd ever had, and it was about someone else.
Thomas showed up the next day, asking me (right in front of her) if she'd been nice to me, or if she was still being a mean little miss. She was furious. She never touched me when she didn't have to, but she lost no time in giving Thomas a slap on the arm. He just laughed and told her she was a bit small to be picking fights.
In hindsight I understand, but how was I to know at the time that the constant bickering between them was supposed to be a sign of romance?
I only noticed that something was bothering Thomas one day when we were out riding. His normally idiotic, cheerful face was clouded and solemn. When I asked what was wrong, he blinked and gave me a crooked smile.
“Trouble with a woman,” he said.
“Oh, isn't it always? It's so hard to figure out what they're thinking!” I sighed, and twisted my head to look back at him. “But I didn't know you fancied anyone.”
“Neither did I,” Thomas muttered.
It was after the ceremony on my coronation day, the week before the wedding that I remember the white-hot silence following their announcement. The hush that fell over the faery court when words that should not have been said were sounded.
She loved him, and Thomas loved her.
Her parents were furious. “What is this? How could you, Floriana?!” her father thundered.
“You never asked me what I wanted!” she snapped back. “Not once! But I came anyway. I tried to be content! I’m sorry, Father, but I love no one but him.” Floriana looked up at Thomas, and her look made even him seem handsome and noble.
My parents shot disappointed and panicked looks my way, wondering what I would say, and hoping I wouldn’t let my people down right as the crown was just barely placed on my head.
Thomas was apologetic, his head bowed to me. My bride looked at me pleadingly.
Cases like this have happened before. Forceful kings will marry the woman they desire, and she and her lover will run off while he sleeps at the wedding feast. The king chases them to the ends of the earth with his horses and his hounds, vowing to get back what is his or to kill them both. What else could he do to save face?
The treaty between my parents and hers would be broken, our alliance shaky at best. The star-crossed lovers might be executed at once, changed into animals, cursed for eternity, or have to flee for their lives while the king chases.
How could a good king allow his friend to take what should have been his and tell his subjects that he didn’t mind at all if it would make both of them happy?
“Get out,” I heard my voice answer. “Both of you. Leave while I still allow it and never set foot in my kingdom again.”
People began to talk, the spell of shock broken. “But your majesty--”
“Your king has spoken!” I cut them off firmly. “I need no betrayers in my kingdom. I hereby banish you both from my kingdom. Be happy in the life you have chosen.”
Thomas looked sad, but relieved. When our eyes met, I tried to relay that I meant what I said about their happiness. The woman that was now his bride looked ecstatic. She was free. Hand in hand, they walked out of my hall for the last time.
A king cannot go back on his word.
Not even when their grandchild was staring at me with all the appeal they’d had then, but now multiplied. Her eyes couldn’t get any larger. She all but shook with panic. I didn’t think she was acting. She had too much pride in her own skills to make such a shameful concoction.
“You know what I said,” I heard my voice say. “You knew the consequences.”
“But it wasn’t--”
“Your head will be presented to me on a platter in the morning. Enjoy your last night in our mountain, Meg Bartlemead.”
I said what I said, but that didn’t mean I was going to do something as frightful as cutting off the head of my life-long rival’s grandchild and serving it to my dogs on a platter. They’d probably eat it anyway-- you know how dogs are, but that’s not the point. It wasn’t the only solution to the problem. It’s amazing what can be accomplished when you have a brain as marvelous as mine.
Firstly, I would talk to the child privately and find out what had really happened. Secondly, I would allow justice to be satisfied in front of my subjects, no matter what strings I had to pull in order to get that satisfaction. And thirdly, I would somehow acquire a pie that was not poisoned and much more delicious!
We put her in a holding cell for the night: not as awful or damp as the dungeons, but still with a hard bed and a strong door with a good, thick lock. I went alone down the stairs to the third level down, below the living quarters. Somehow, even that far underground, there was still a draft to make my candle flicker and go out. It was on its last bit of wax anyway. I could still see my way to her cell, so I continued on until a voice echoed up to me.
It was not her voice.
“I’m sorry. I am so sorry. I didn’t know.”
I stopped just around the corner from them, listening intently.
“What didn’t you know?” Meg answered.
Curious, I leaned around the corner to see who it was.
“I didn’t know you hadn’t signed the contract. I didn’t know what he said he would do! You were only supposed to get thrown out of here.”
Ah. It was Flann, my poor, prejudiced cook that hated humans. What was I going to do with him?
“It was you who ruined my pie?! Why would you do that?”
My cook hung his head in shame. “I was jealous. He has never been that excited about one of my desserts. I gave up on pie crust a long time ago. But that doesn’t matter now. I want to help you.”
“Can you help me escape out of the mountain?” She sounded eager.
“Oh- no. No, sorry. I have no key.”
“Then get a key! Or tell the king you did it!”
“But he’ll throw me out in disgrace!”
“So? He’ll kill me!”
This exchange was followed by a huffy silence.
“If there is anything I can do to make your last meal more enjoyable--” Flann started to offer.
“You’re not really that sorry, are you?”
“--I can make a splendid feast for you! Cakes are my specialty--”
“Shut up, I’m trying to think!”
“This is a lot, coming from me, you know!” Flann said. “Ungrateful human.”
Meg groaned. “Wait. I do want you to make a cake.”
“You do? I can make any kind you want!”
“Good, because it has to be very finely made. Listen carefully.”
I chuckled silently to myself when I heard her specifications. As it turned out, I didn’t need to pull any strings after all.
In the morning, the Faery Court was assembled, and it was unusually crowded. Most were there just out of morbid curiosity, I think, but it was a good turn out. Cusac stood on my left, sneaking glances at me and wondering just how much this whole revenge matter had gone to my head. He had a habit of stroking the thin, vertical scar on the side of his forehead when something bothered him.
“Are you worried, Cusac?” I asked, making him jump.
“Just a bit, your majesty,” he admitted. “What’s going to happen when Thomas Bartlemead comes to find his granddaughter dead? You don’t expect him to come right on time to rescue her, do you?”
“No,” I smiled. “Apparently she plans on rescuing herself.”
Having had her last meal, the proud granddaughter of Thomas Bartlemead was marched in, carrying a shiny platter with a cover over it. Murmurs of surprise swept through the room, and I caught a glimpse of Flann joining the assembly near the back. Even my morbid-minded subjects were a bit alarmed, wondering if her head was going to be cut off in front of them.
Meg presented the tray to me on my table, and knelt down respectfully as she lifted off the cover. “My head on a platter, sire, as you requested.”
I found myself staring into the blank, marzipan eyes of a cake version of Meg Bartlemead’s head. People gasped. There were some stifled snickers. It was very close to the original, I thought. Flann had gotten her saucy expression just right.
“But I wouldn’t eat it if I were you,” Meg added, her eyes twinkling. “It’s made out of scraps for the dogs.”
I gave her a flat look, but a slow smile made its way across my face.
“Well then,” I said. “That was our agreement.”
“But she tried to poison you, sire!” Someone protested.
“An accident. It wasn’t enough to harm me. Now! Go back to the kitchens, Meg Bartlemead, and teach poor Flann how to make a pie crust.”
Flann reddened in the back of the room as I caught his eye. Yes, I know exactly what happened. He got the message and nodded humbly.
Order was restored in my kingdom. The rest of the day was very quiet.
Too quiet.
Since I became king, I’ve been left to my own devices. I like it, but at the same time, no one will dare to approach me without a reason. No one wants to suggest that I might be wrong, or that I may need cheering up. Years after the matter of the stolen bride was settled, my assistant made bold enough to suggest that it was time to find a new bride, and I gazed at him coldly. “If you mention marriage in front of me again, Cusac, I will kill you.”
The entire room had gone silent, and I thought I could sense the hair standing up on the backs of their necks. “My marriage, I mean,” I hastened to add. “You can talk about other marriages if you like. Just not too much, if you don’t mind.”
Since then, I have been left alone. I like it, but it gets… quiet. What was taking that old man so long?!
The last time I saw him-- the time before he put that ridiculous potato sack on his head-- was during the war. Relations between my kind and the goblins have never been congenial, but a decade or so after Thomas left, a full-scale war broke out: more fierce than any other had been for generations. We lost so much, and so many of our best to their shadowy swarms. My castle was destroyed. Our proud and ancient race was reduced to a band of refugees, fleeing for our lives.
My group was ambushed soon after that, gleaming eyes and smiles sprang suddenly from the underbrush-- if there’s one thing goblins can do well, it’s sneak around-- and we were nearly done for. Cusac got a nasty blow to the head (that’s where he got his scar) and I was getting tired: so, so tired of the smell of blood.
Honestly, if Thomas hadn’t appeared out of nowhere and driven them away, it would have been my death. But I resented him for it. He’d been gallivanting here and there with his loving wife, having his adventures told over dinner tables like legends until I couldn’t stand hearing more, becoming stronger and more brilliant, while I sunk into the shadows like a rabbit down a hole. Of course he would appear when I was at my very weakest. So how did I react? I said I’d repay the favor one day, but that I never wanted to see his face again.
We weren’t friends anymore. By the time his grandchild came around to claim his favor, however, I was a different person. I and my kingdom were stronger. My castle had been rebuilt underground to avoid the ever-growing human skirmishes, and I was no longer a man to be trifled with. He was the weak one. Yes, I had stolen his grandchild right in front of his nose.
I was excited to see just what he would try to do about it. And it didn’t take all that long. I had to wait just the evening of the second day, when I had my much-more-delicious-than-the-last pie.
Boom, boom, boom.
“I think he’s here, sire,” Cusac said.
I grinned. “Let him in.”
Rax was thrown through the doors just as Jonathan opened them, landing on the floor and gasping for breath. Thomas Bartlemead stood in the doorway, looking much more awake than last time, and somehow younger and stronger. Maybe the kidnapping had woken him up.
“Well, hello there,” I greeted him. “How nice of you to drop by.”
Thomas glared at me. “Give her back.”
“Who?” I was enjoying this far too much.
“Meg. Give her back!”
I pretended to rack my brain. “Meg… do I know anyone by that name? Who is she?”
“Don’t give me that, you jackanapes! My granddaughter! You stole her! Give her back, now!”
“It seems to me that you did the stealing first. Don’t you remember this Meg’s grandmother? How you stole her from someone else?”
“Is that what this is all about?! Why don’t you just forget that already?”
“How could I forget something like my friend and my bride betraying me all at once?! You threw away our friendship over a woman and left me alone!”
Well, that was exaggerating a bit. Our reunion was turning into a shouting match, and the few people in the hall were looking uncomfortable at our domestic dispute.
Thomas looked at me in astonishment. “That’s what you’ve been thinking for all these years?! When we left, you said-- you practically gave us your blessing! You hated me all this time? It was you who banished us!”
“You both chose to leave me!” I shot back, standing up. “I had to banish you! It was either that or chase both of you down with my hounds to the ends of the earth. What else was I to do?”
“You should have told me how you felt! You should have told her! If you were really that mad about it, we could have at least had a proper duel over it.”
“Of course, because hurting you would really put me in her favor.”
Thus Thomas’ pride was pricked. “Oh, you think that’s how it would have turned out?”
“You want to see?”
“Now that I’m old and gray? Where’s the fairness in that?”
“It’s what you get for living in the human world!”
“You banished me from yours!”
“Because you stole my bride!”
“I’m sorry! Would you like to fight me now?” Thomas shouted.
“I would, you stupid old man!”
Meg had come in at some point (I didn’t notice when) and felt she had to intervene. “Stop it, you two! There will be absolutely no dueling, do you hear me?”
“Be quiet, Meg. This is a matter of honor,” Thomas said. “Even at my age, he’s no match for me.”
“Ha!” I laughed, a hand on my sword hilt.
“Stop it!” she repeated, stamping her foot. “Grandma would slap you both and send you to bed without supper if she saw you.”
At the word ‘grandma’ we both sort of jumped and looked at her strangely. For a moment it seemed as if all the years we’d seen collided in our heads until we realized how much time had actually passed in order for her to exist. We already knew it’d been that long, but, I guess I hadn’t really realized it.
“She’s your granddaughter,” I stated. “That must be depressing.”
“Aye, it is.” Thomas agreed.
“Hey!” the girl protested.
“Oh, not that I’m disappointed in you, lass,” her grandad hastened to explain. “It just a bit of a downer to think it’s been so long.”
“It really is. I ought to banish you again just for being so old.” I said.
“Your cheeky young face isn’t going to win you any friends either,” Thomas retorted, making me laugh.
“What is the meaning of this?” Another voice was heard in the doorway. We turned to see the subject of our fight, Floriana herself, standing with her hands sternly planted on her hips. She looked older, and perhaps a little rounder, but still very beautiful.
“Flori,” Thomas said, surprised.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” I began.
“And why not? Why should I not come here when I find you have taken my child?” The former faery princess took Meg by the shoulders, and hugged her. “Cara mia, I’m so glad you are fine! Let’s go home.”
“You weren’t at the village… I thought you were dead,” I floundered.
“Dead?” Floriana laughed. “Using my magic still keeps me young and strong.”
“She was visiting her parents in Italy,” Thomas explained, and then turned toward his wife and added, “For two whole years!”
“I hadn’t seen them in twenty! And if you must insist on living with our simple daughter-in-law that is frightened of magic, then I shall need to visit them again!” She retorted. “And what do I come back to see? That our grandchild is kidnapped by you!” She turned on me. This I didn’t expect.
“Why would you do such a thing?” She advanced on me threateningly. “Have you turned stupid?”
“Calm down, Flori; Meg’s all right,” Thomas said.
“I will not calm down until he tells me why.”
“Grandma!” Meg interrupted. “It’s all right now. He just wanted to make up with Grandad.”
We all looked at her, confused at this reasoning. She explained, “He’s not very good at saying what he really means, so he didn’t know how to go about it. But now they’ve shouted a bit, and they’re friends again.”
Thomas and I looked at each other doubtfully.
Floriana still seemed suspicious. “Is this true?”
I shrugged sheepishly. “That and I wanted her to make me pie.”
“Oh, Meg does make the most delicious pie!” Her attitude changed all at once. “Have you tried her caramel apple pies? The most heavenly taste! And her lemon chiffon-- Meg! Make us your lemon chiffon pie this instant!”
“Now?” Meg yelped.
“Why not? There are kitchens here! I have a craving that must be satisfied. Come!”
“Has she always been this bossy?” I asked Thomas in an undertone, as Floriana herded Meg off to the kitchens.
“Oh, yes,” Thomas answered with a groan that turned into a laugh. “Faeries and their food!”
“Um, sire,” Cusac interrupted timidly. “Is everything all right now?”
I sighed and threw up my hands. “Yes, everything is all right. Their banishment is hereby revoked!”
“Oh, good!” Cusac was very pleased. He turned to Thomas. “I hope you’ll come and visit often. The king has missed you a great deal.”
“Bah!” I gave up and sat back on my throne, embarrassed. After saying that we ought to have a welcoming feast and that he’d start preparations immediately, Cusac left. I noticed Thomas was grinning at me. “What?!”
“I missed you too,” he said, chuckling.
“Oh, shut up.”
So much for my revenge! At least things were lively again. I did finally find out the name of that spice the brat had told me was a trade secret-- and it wasn’t really all that rare. Just cinnamon.
The End (for now....)
“I think he’s here, sire,” Cusac said to me.
“Took him long enough.” I bit into a wedge of peach pie.
Boom, boom, boom.
My assistant nervously drummed his fingers on the hilt of his sword. “Are we to arrest him for trespassing your decree of banishment, your majesty?”
“Perhaps.” I dusted the crumbs off my hands with a napkin. “If he behaves well enough we may be rid of him forever.”
“Since you stole his grandchild, behaving is probably the last thing on his mind.”
“I do hope so,” I said, and allowed myself a nasty grin. “Let him in!”
I wouldn’t be who I am today if I had not met Thomas Bartlemead. His name has been burned into my existence like a curse. For the past thirty eight years, I’ve done all I could to rid myself of this curse, but short of gulping down a memory-stealing brew, nothing has managed to erase his lurking presence which has had such an impact in these mountains.
Thinking of him is not something I like to do, to put it mildly. It never leads to a good place. What can I do but put it out of my mind? There is nothing else I can do. The rain keeps falling, and my anger keeps boiling.
To say that we did not part well is an understatement. Anyone who knew what had happened between us would understand my actions, but I don’t excuse what I’ve done. To say I feel a certain satisfaction in doing so whether or not it is justified is correct. After thirty-eight years, he’s finally getting his comeuppance!
And so what if I’m a villain? That was the most fun I’d had in years! That is, until the brat started struggling and flailing her thin limbs about. She was stronger than I expected, but my right arm was enough to hold her still on the saddle until she gave up. It was no trouble, even if the child had the nerve to try and kick me in the shins and bolt toward the gate while I greeted Jonathan and Rax at the door. We had to chase after her, like three grown men after a rabbit. Embarrassing.
But it was all worth it, just to see the looks on their faces, especially the slow, stupid expression Thomas had as I snatched his most valuable asset away from him, right before his eyes. Ha! He should have known better. Now his precious grandchild was mine.
“Why are you doing this? What are you going to do with me?” The child’s whiny voice rang out as she tried to pull her wrist from my grip.
“Well, let me see.” I grinned widely, as if to confirm all her fears. “The grandchild of my enemy... it will have to be something really horrible, the worst thing you can imagine. I can’t waste an opportunity like this!”
“What is wrong with you?!” The child continued to thrash about. I could understand her confusion. Before I had snatched her from the arms of her family of simpletons she had come to stop fearing me. She thought of me as an old friend of her family, someone to tease and trust instead of fear. Of course I had wanted her to think that way, and to let her guard down. She and Thomas both. Too naive, too trusting, and too nosy. It had all gone as planned. However, the child’s thrashing about was becoming dangerous as we began descending the stone steps to the Hall. She was going to slip and fall down them all if she wasn’t careful.
I squeezed her wrist sharply, making her stop and whimper. “Don’t get the wrong idea,” I said quietly, letting my voice become sinister. “This isn’t about you, brat. I kidnapped you for revenge. If you don’t behave, you’ll be punished, and while that aids my plan nicely, you won’t be doing your precious grandfather any bit of good.”
She shut her mouth, but met my eyes with a look as fierce as only a Bartlemead could give. I felt odd for a moment, torn between a bit of pride at her reaction and the reluctant thought that she’d be harder to deal with than I’d hoped. Why should I be proud? She wasn’t my granddaughter.
“Do you understand?” I asked her sternly, to round off my threat.
“Yes,” She said through gritted teeth.
“Good. Now mind your step, these stairs are steep.”
Jonathan opened the doors to the Great Hall for me, and I stepped through, flinging the child into an empty chair. “Sit,” I instructed. It was past dinnertime, so there were only a few stragglers in there, eating dessert and playing games before bed. “Cusac!” I called for my assistant. He wasn’t in the hall, but came rushing in behind me.
Cusac had been my assistant since before I was crowned king. Even in my adventurous days I’d never seen him surprised at anything I may have gotten into, but when he saw the human child his eyebrows shot up.
“Could you not get rid of it, your majesty?” he asked, as if she was a diseased ferret attached to my sleeve.
I laughed heartily. “This is the spoil of war. My perfect revenge, Cusac.”
He blinked. “Indeed?”
“It’s true. I stole her right in front of Bartlemead himself. Take her away, would you?” I sat down on my throne, looking forward to the peach pie that was still steaming on the table in front of it.
Cusac and the child looked at each other. “What do you want done with it-- with her, your majesty?”
I looked up. “Honestly, I hadn’t thought that far. Shall we put her with the others? No, she’d probably incite a rebellion. Well, maybe not,” I added, thinking aloud.
“Others?” The brat spoke up. “There are other human children here?”
“Quite a few,” Cusac said.
“Is this a habit of yours? Kidnapping children?” She looked at me reproachfully.
“If they didn’t want to be kidnapped, they should have listened to their mothers and not wandered off into the woods alone.” I declared, cutting into the peach pie with my knife. She sputtered, and Cusac began explaining the snatched children’s situation to her
The crust of the pie was neither doughy nor tough, but soft and flaky. The scent: that rare, perfect scent wafted up into my face. I had boasted at one point in my life that I had the best cooks in all the land, but even they had never been able to produce that particular level of deliciousness. Whenever they tried those human dishes there always seemed to be something missing. But I could never put my finger on it, and neither could they. I finished cutting out a wedge and bit into it. The peaches were hot, but not too hot, and while it was juicy, the filling didn’t drip onto my hands.
I looked back up at the child. “Were you the one who made this?”
“Yes, why?” Her eyes narrowed.
A grin made its way across my face, which was getting tired from all the unusual activity. “Cusac, put her in the kitchens. A well-locked room in the dorms should suit.”
“You brought me here so I could bake for you?!” Hands flew to hips.
“Sire, you know how the cook hates humans,” Cusac protested in an undertone.
“All the better!” I finished off the piece of pie and opened the drawer in the table in front of me that held parchment and quills. Pulling one out, I said, “This is the standard agreement for anyone who works in the kitchens.”
“I won’t sign anything.” she said.
“Not without your grandfather’s approval? It only says that you promise not to poison me.”
“Then why isn’t it shorter?” She pointed out. The document did take up most of the page.
“There are so many ways to poison.” I waved my hand. “Directly, indirectly, fermentation, persuasion, etc. No need to worry. It exists to protect you as well, and ensures you a day off now and then.”
“I won’t sign it,” she repeated.
“Then we’ll put you with the other children. It’s your loss.” I stood up.
“What do they do here?”
“Would you like to see? Let’s show her, Cusac.”
At that time, there were exactly thirty-six children under the mountain. All, as I had explained earlier, had wandered off into the wild alone (I’m not a complete monster). The Bartlemead girl, number thirty-seven, was the exception to this rule. When she saw the other children, happy and laughing while doing dishes and sweeping floors, her confusion grew.
“Did you bespell their minds away?”
“Nothing so drastic. They’re just enjoying themselves.” I handed her a particularly heavy broom. “Enjoy your new life as a servant! Come, Cusac.”
“You have no reason to keep me here! Let me go home!” she shouted.
I was getting really tired of her nagging voice. “I told you before, this isn’t about you. It’s about revenge on your grandfather. You’re stuck here until that old man comes and gets you or dies trying.”
“Why do you hate him so much? What did he ever do to you?” She demanded.
“Oh, did he never tell you that story? Funny that he never mentioned it!” I turned back and bent down to her puny height. “He stole my bride and ran off with her!”
Her mouth hung open in shock. “Grandma was...?”
“My betraying betrothed, my fickle fiancee, whatever you want to call her. Not quite the perfect people you thought they were, are they?” I marched out and let the door slam behind me, nice and loud.
She had been a very distant relation, the daughter of the royal faery family in Italy. Floriana was her name, though I’d tried to forget it. Her hair and eyes were dark and beautiful, and she had a laugh that healed all ills-- if any were lucky enough to hear it. She was no match for Thomas. Not that crazy-haired scamp who was always dirty from hunting, fighting, or digging about in the dirt. How could he have possibly interested her? What business did he have even thinking about her? He, who was not fit to serve her food? He stole her. He had been my friend for so long.
Once when we were children, Thomas dragged me up a tall, steep mountain, hopping like a goat from one rock to the next. When we reached the top, he unloaded the bundle on his back. It looked like the walls of a canvas tent, stretched tightly between four or five sticks.
“What are you doing?” I asked, catching my breath.
“I’m going to fly down to the valley!” he answered.
“With that? You’re crazy! That’ll break within a minute.”
“Nah, it’ll work. See, I hold onto this bar, push off with my feet, and ride the wind all the way down!”
“That’s a good idea in theory, but you’re forgetting how strong the updraft is. What if it throws you sideways into the cliff face or a tree?”
“I’ll just pull on these strings to steer.” Thomas’ idiotic grin spread across his face, taking up half of it.
“That’ll just-- no, no. Here.” We spent three hours adjusting and planning, and fetching more materials. He had gotten me completely engrossed in the project when I should have been studying politics. Only he had that talent: the ability to drag a future king up a mountain, and convince him to hurl himself down from it with nothing but canvas, wood, and string to hold him up. I’ve never laughed and screamed so much in my life. Oh, I was nearly impaled by a tree, but we made it.
The truth is, I was tongue-tied around her. She was uncomfortably stiff and silent around me. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t find anything good to say. She was too lovely. She was like porcelain, and I was so scared that a thoughtless gesture from me would break her. I should have been good enough for her. My royal birth and my upbringing gave me all of the qualifications to be worthy of her, but she looked so distant-- almost sad. She didn’t like it here.
She grew up near the sea. I could see that she hated the sight of the cold, stone walls that held her in like a prison. She wasn’t happy at the sight of me either, her nervous fiance. But she said nothing of this, merely smiled like a doll and went along with the arrangements of our parents. We held a ball to welcome her that year, a dancing night under the Summer moon.
I asked her to dance, and she agreed the first time, but afterwards said she’d rather sit. What nonsense I must have spouted while she smiled, stiff and silent! Well, that was when Thomas approached her.
“So you’re a bad hand at dancing?” I heard Thomas say.
“What?” The faery princess thought she had misheard.
Thomas gestured toward the couples dancing. “You have two left feet?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You turned him down. He’s my best friend. I know there’s nothing wrong with him, so the problem must be with you. You’re no good at dancing, then?”
“Of course I can dance! I just don’t feel up to it.”
Thomas was silent for a moment. “So you ate too much at dinner?”
“What?!”
“If dancing would make you feel sick, then I can understand that you’d want to sit and be boring.”
“I am only tired! I had a long journey, and it was very taxing on my body.”
“Come now, everyone knows that getting your blood moving is the best way to stop being tired.”
“Oh, do they?” Her color was heightened. “I have a weak constitution, sir.”
“Ohhhh.” Thomas nodded, then added, “If you danced more, your body would be stronger.”
“How dare-- who are you, anyway? What’s a human doing at a faery ball?”
“Told you already, didn’t I? I’m the prince’s best friend. What are you doing here if you’re not even going to dance with him?”
“I did dance with him once!”
“And a poor hand you made of it, too. The poor lad, stuck with a lass who can’t dance.”
“I dance very well!” She said with gritted teeth.
“Do ya? ‘Fraid I don’t know you well enough to believe your word only.”
That was all it took. My faery princess stood up, took Thomas’ hand, and dragged him into the dance with all the fierce dignity she could muster. He laughed at her, and shook his head. “Too stiff,” he said.
She glared at him, and grandly ordered the musicians to play a faster tune. Then she picked up her skirts and danced as fine a reel as could be, a lovely sight to behold. She out-danced Thomas-- he admitted it himself. It was not long before her face was beaming with a triumphant smile.
That smile should have been my first warning.
The slumber that followed the beginning of my revenge was interrupted by an escape attempt. No surprise there. I'll admit, she had a lot of energy for someone who was previously starving. According to Rupert, the boy who’d almost drowned when we found him, the little Bartlemead brat had volunteered to feed the horses in the stables, grabbed one of them, and bolted. If I had not taken precautions for this and shackled her left wrist with a spell, she would not have been dragged back to the mountain by a mere flick of my finger. She may have even made it halfway back to her village before we caught up with her.
As it was, I found her near the apple orchards after the alarm was sounded by the other children, fighting against the pull of the shackle spell. The gray mare she’d stolen stood nearby, watching in mild confusion. Her wrist was being pulled behind her, and the rest of her limbs were spinning desperately.
It was most amusing, so I rested my arm on the mare's back and joined her in watching the show. “Are you finished yet?” I asked politely.
“Urgh!” She growled in frustration. “Just let me go! They’ll be worried about me!”
“That's the point of keeping you here,” I said dryly. “If your dear old grandad doesn't come to save you, you'll be better off here anyway.”
“Just leave him alone! He’s old and sick, and I can take care of myself,” the girl snarled.
I frowned. “How sick?”
“He had a fever last week, and he broke his leg last year while getting firewood.”
She’d had me worried for a moment. “Ha! That should only slow him down if he’s half the man he used to be.”
“If he doesn't come, I'll escape on my own!” she declared, still tugging against the spell. What a stubborn girl.
“Do you not want him to rescue you?” I asked, mildly curious.
“I'm old enough to take care of myself,” the child replied haughtily.
A fly caught in a web would have had more sense of its own capability, but both humans and flies still struggle. I shrugged and let the spell pull her all the way back, while she continued to pull against it and growl in frustration. I'm no spider, but it was still fairly amusing, especially after my peaceful night's rest had been interrupted. Little brat. Well, I couldn't blame her too much. When it comes to Bartlemeads, you have to expect trouble. The whole countryside knew that.
“Well,” I scratched my head as I slowly walked back (she was still trying to walk the other way). “I don't feel like getting up in the middle of the night again, so you're going into the kitchens instead, under strict lock and key.”
“You're horrible!” she exclaimed.
“--But smart,” I reminded her. “I shan't underestimate you again. You'd better sign the contract and be grateful that it's better than the dungeons.”
“Don't expect gratitude from me.” She glared. “And no, I won't sign anything, you mean, selfish--”
By the time we got back into the castle, I was very tired of her. “Fine!” I burst out in front of everyone awake in the hallway (mostly guards). “You are not bound by contract. But I'll tell you this, Meg Bartlemead, if you try to poison me or anyone else, I'll have your head on a platter!”
Meg looked confused rather than frightened. After a long pause, she asked, “Are you going to eat my head?”
“No! Why would I? I'm not a goblin.”
“Well, then why would you want it on a platter?”
I handed her off to Jonathan. “I don’t know! Maybe I'll feed it to my dogs!” And with that, I stomped back to bed.
Cusac wasn’t exaggerating when he said that our cook hated humans. Flann was always so short, plump, and amiable, so eager to please and ensure every guest’s satisfaction-- except for when it came to humans. His black moustache would twitch at the very mention of a human town, person, or delicacy. Perhaps he’d had a bad experience, or some human chef stole his secret recipe; I never asked. But since I’d hired him fifteen years ago, Flann had never once attempted to make a simple peach pie. A part of me was ashamed of how much I enjoyed that first little pastry, brought as a bribe from a poor, dirty waif of a child, but...
It had been so long.
Breakfast that morning was everything I wanted: waffles, strawberries, fried eggs, and ham. After attending to matters in court, lunch was served: wild boar, roasted and glazed; apple slices drizzled in warm caramel, fresh bread still soft from the oven... Everything was perfect, but how I wanted the taste of that pie again!
I called for Meg Bartlemead to be brought to the Hall. She arrived in an overly-large white apron, the hems of her sleeves soaked in foamy dishwater. To complete the strange picture she made, her eyes were shining with excitement. What on earth?
“What happened to you?!” I blurted with a frown.
“Oh, I was washing dishes.” When I waited for more, she burst out, “Your kitchens are amazing! The ovens bake so evenly, and there is so much counter-space, and everything is so shiny, and--” she went on and on! “--And there is an endless supply of ingredients from all over the world! Please, can I use them soon? Please?”
“Hold off on the flattery. You haven’t cooked yet?”
“No, Master Flann said I can only wash and clean.”
“Well, I didn’t bring you here to wash. Make me another pie, just like the last one.”
The girl cocked her head to one side. “Just like the last one?”
“You should have no objections.” My eyes narrowed.
“No indeed, your majesty. However,” she paused, rocking on her heels, “Your pantry lacks one important ingredient that I need to make the pie. Without it, the taste will not be the same.”
My eyes became slits. She was being sly again. “And what is this ingredient?”
“‘Tis a rare spice, your majesty. The bark of a certain tree ground to a powder.”
“I can have someone fetch it. What is the name of this spice?”
“Oh, ‘tis a trade secret, your majesty. I have sworn a vow never to reveal it. But there is a pouch of it hidden in my family’s cottage. I will certainly be able to make the pastry for you if I am allowed to go back and fetch it.”
Clever girl. “Nice try,” I said flatly.
“No, no! Why would I try to run away now when I can cook in such a marvelous kitchen here?” She batted her eyes innocently. “But while I’m already there, I could let my family know that I’m all right--”
“That trick’s been done before. You’re staying here.”
“Then I’m afraid I cannot make a pie as delicious as before.”
“You’ll do it, child,” I said frankly. “There’s no contract to protect your whims or vows, so you’ll either tell me what spice you need, or you’ll do the best that you can with what you have.”
Her shoulders slumped while her mouth twisted into a pout. So much for her clever plan. “I’ll do my best, but you won’t like it as much.”
As she turned to go back, I said, “And by the way, an unpalatable dish can count as poison, so be careful, would you?”
Meg Bartlemead frowned at me, insulted. “Of course, your majesty,” she answered, sarcastically curtseying with the large apron.
But oh, what a disaster awaited her!
She had understood what I meant, right? No poison, and nothing so absolutely disgusting that any self-respecting cook would rather admit to poisoning rather than say that he or she made it? I was clear, wasn’t I?
So, why? Why did I sit there, mouth burning, staring at her steaming pie with perfect latticed crust, knowing that it was poison that was causing the bitter taste in my mouth?!
It had certainly smelled wonderful. The fork had just touched my lips when my test-taster started coughing up the bite he’d had. It was bitter beyond belief, but not from salt. He seemed fine after it was out, so it wasn’t enough to actually hurt anyone, but strong enough to detect.
I looked up at the Bartlemead girl, the little actress who should have known better. Her eyes were wide, her face as pale as a sheet. Everything about her said she was confused.
“What’s wrong?” her voice rose to a panic.
“It’s poisoned,” I told her. “What did you put in there?”
“Nothing unusual! Just regular spices! I didn’t-- it wasn’t me!” She wrung her hands.
Could I believe her? Was Thomas’ grandchild as honestly sincere as she looked, or was this the reward of taking the matter of revenge on him into my own hands? There was the possibility of sabotage, but no one should have hated her enough to poison me.
“But I'll tell you this, Meg Bartlemead, if you try to poison me or anyone else, I'll have your head on a platter!” I had said so myself, in front of witnesses. A king must follow through with his promises. He cannot pick and choose which of his laws to obey or shake the confidence of his subjects by being inconsistent. A king cannot go back on his word.
I have never been able to.
Not even when the only friend I had in the world and the woman that was supposed to stay by my side forever betrayed me all at once.
The second warning should have been the grudging way Floriana asked about my human friend. How long had I known him, was he always this irritating, and did he come to the faery mountain often? We were eighteen, so I'd known him for ten years at that point, yes, he was irritating, and we often went on many adventures together. How embarrassed I felt after I'd answered that last one! 'Adventures?’ Was I a child?! Sadder still, that was the longest conversation we'd ever had, and it was about someone else.
Thomas showed up the next day, asking me (right in front of her) if she'd been nice to me, or if she was still being a mean little miss. She was furious. She never touched me when she didn't have to, but she lost no time in giving Thomas a slap on the arm. He just laughed and told her she was a bit small to be picking fights.
In hindsight I understand, but how was I to know at the time that the constant bickering between them was supposed to be a sign of romance?
I only noticed that something was bothering Thomas one day when we were out riding. His normally idiotic, cheerful face was clouded and solemn. When I asked what was wrong, he blinked and gave me a crooked smile.
“Trouble with a woman,” he said.
“Oh, isn't it always? It's so hard to figure out what they're thinking!” I sighed, and twisted my head to look back at him. “But I didn't know you fancied anyone.”
“Neither did I,” Thomas muttered.
It was after the ceremony on my coronation day, the week before the wedding that I remember the white-hot silence following their announcement. The hush that fell over the faery court when words that should not have been said were sounded.
She loved him, and Thomas loved her.
Her parents were furious. “What is this? How could you, Floriana?!” her father thundered.
“You never asked me what I wanted!” she snapped back. “Not once! But I came anyway. I tried to be content! I’m sorry, Father, but I love no one but him.” Floriana looked up at Thomas, and her look made even him seem handsome and noble.
My parents shot disappointed and panicked looks my way, wondering what I would say, and hoping I wouldn’t let my people down right as the crown was just barely placed on my head.
Thomas was apologetic, his head bowed to me. My bride looked at me pleadingly.
Cases like this have happened before. Forceful kings will marry the woman they desire, and she and her lover will run off while he sleeps at the wedding feast. The king chases them to the ends of the earth with his horses and his hounds, vowing to get back what is his or to kill them both. What else could he do to save face?
The treaty between my parents and hers would be broken, our alliance shaky at best. The star-crossed lovers might be executed at once, changed into animals, cursed for eternity, or have to flee for their lives while the king chases.
How could a good king allow his friend to take what should have been his and tell his subjects that he didn’t mind at all if it would make both of them happy?
“Get out,” I heard my voice answer. “Both of you. Leave while I still allow it and never set foot in my kingdom again.”
People began to talk, the spell of shock broken. “But your majesty--”
“Your king has spoken!” I cut them off firmly. “I need no betrayers in my kingdom. I hereby banish you both from my kingdom. Be happy in the life you have chosen.”
Thomas looked sad, but relieved. When our eyes met, I tried to relay that I meant what I said about their happiness. The woman that was now his bride looked ecstatic. She was free. Hand in hand, they walked out of my hall for the last time.
A king cannot go back on his word.
Not even when their grandchild was staring at me with all the appeal they’d had then, but now multiplied. Her eyes couldn’t get any larger. She all but shook with panic. I didn’t think she was acting. She had too much pride in her own skills to make such a shameful concoction.
“You know what I said,” I heard my voice say. “You knew the consequences.”
“But it wasn’t--”
“Your head will be presented to me on a platter in the morning. Enjoy your last night in our mountain, Meg Bartlemead.”
I said what I said, but that didn’t mean I was going to do something as frightful as cutting off the head of my life-long rival’s grandchild and serving it to my dogs on a platter. They’d probably eat it anyway-- you know how dogs are, but that’s not the point. It wasn’t the only solution to the problem. It’s amazing what can be accomplished when you have a brain as marvelous as mine.
Firstly, I would talk to the child privately and find out what had really happened. Secondly, I would allow justice to be satisfied in front of my subjects, no matter what strings I had to pull in order to get that satisfaction. And thirdly, I would somehow acquire a pie that was not poisoned and much more delicious!
We put her in a holding cell for the night: not as awful or damp as the dungeons, but still with a hard bed and a strong door with a good, thick lock. I went alone down the stairs to the third level down, below the living quarters. Somehow, even that far underground, there was still a draft to make my candle flicker and go out. It was on its last bit of wax anyway. I could still see my way to her cell, so I continued on until a voice echoed up to me.
It was not her voice.
“I’m sorry. I am so sorry. I didn’t know.”
I stopped just around the corner from them, listening intently.
“What didn’t you know?” Meg answered.
Curious, I leaned around the corner to see who it was.
“I didn’t know you hadn’t signed the contract. I didn’t know what he said he would do! You were only supposed to get thrown out of here.”
Ah. It was Flann, my poor, prejudiced cook that hated humans. What was I going to do with him?
“It was you who ruined my pie?! Why would you do that?”
My cook hung his head in shame. “I was jealous. He has never been that excited about one of my desserts. I gave up on pie crust a long time ago. But that doesn’t matter now. I want to help you.”
“Can you help me escape out of the mountain?” She sounded eager.
“Oh- no. No, sorry. I have no key.”
“Then get a key! Or tell the king you did it!”
“But he’ll throw me out in disgrace!”
“So? He’ll kill me!”
This exchange was followed by a huffy silence.
“If there is anything I can do to make your last meal more enjoyable--” Flann started to offer.
“You’re not really that sorry, are you?”
“--I can make a splendid feast for you! Cakes are my specialty--”
“Shut up, I’m trying to think!”
“This is a lot, coming from me, you know!” Flann said. “Ungrateful human.”
Meg groaned. “Wait. I do want you to make a cake.”
“You do? I can make any kind you want!”
“Good, because it has to be very finely made. Listen carefully.”
I chuckled silently to myself when I heard her specifications. As it turned out, I didn’t need to pull any strings after all.
In the morning, the Faery Court was assembled, and it was unusually crowded. Most were there just out of morbid curiosity, I think, but it was a good turn out. Cusac stood on my left, sneaking glances at me and wondering just how much this whole revenge matter had gone to my head. He had a habit of stroking the thin, vertical scar on the side of his forehead when something bothered him.
“Are you worried, Cusac?” I asked, making him jump.
“Just a bit, your majesty,” he admitted. “What’s going to happen when Thomas Bartlemead comes to find his granddaughter dead? You don’t expect him to come right on time to rescue her, do you?”
“No,” I smiled. “Apparently she plans on rescuing herself.”
Having had her last meal, the proud granddaughter of Thomas Bartlemead was marched in, carrying a shiny platter with a cover over it. Murmurs of surprise swept through the room, and I caught a glimpse of Flann joining the assembly near the back. Even my morbid-minded subjects were a bit alarmed, wondering if her head was going to be cut off in front of them.
Meg presented the tray to me on my table, and knelt down respectfully as she lifted off the cover. “My head on a platter, sire, as you requested.”
I found myself staring into the blank, marzipan eyes of a cake version of Meg Bartlemead’s head. People gasped. There were some stifled snickers. It was very close to the original, I thought. Flann had gotten her saucy expression just right.
“But I wouldn’t eat it if I were you,” Meg added, her eyes twinkling. “It’s made out of scraps for the dogs.”
I gave her a flat look, but a slow smile made its way across my face.
“Well then,” I said. “That was our agreement.”
“But she tried to poison you, sire!” Someone protested.
“An accident. It wasn’t enough to harm me. Now! Go back to the kitchens, Meg Bartlemead, and teach poor Flann how to make a pie crust.”
Flann reddened in the back of the room as I caught his eye. Yes, I know exactly what happened. He got the message and nodded humbly.
Order was restored in my kingdom. The rest of the day was very quiet.
Too quiet.
Since I became king, I’ve been left to my own devices. I like it, but at the same time, no one will dare to approach me without a reason. No one wants to suggest that I might be wrong, or that I may need cheering up. Years after the matter of the stolen bride was settled, my assistant made bold enough to suggest that it was time to find a new bride, and I gazed at him coldly. “If you mention marriage in front of me again, Cusac, I will kill you.”
The entire room had gone silent, and I thought I could sense the hair standing up on the backs of their necks. “My marriage, I mean,” I hastened to add. “You can talk about other marriages if you like. Just not too much, if you don’t mind.”
Since then, I have been left alone. I like it, but it gets… quiet. What was taking that old man so long?!
The last time I saw him-- the time before he put that ridiculous potato sack on his head-- was during the war. Relations between my kind and the goblins have never been congenial, but a decade or so after Thomas left, a full-scale war broke out: more fierce than any other had been for generations. We lost so much, and so many of our best to their shadowy swarms. My castle was destroyed. Our proud and ancient race was reduced to a band of refugees, fleeing for our lives.
My group was ambushed soon after that, gleaming eyes and smiles sprang suddenly from the underbrush-- if there’s one thing goblins can do well, it’s sneak around-- and we were nearly done for. Cusac got a nasty blow to the head (that’s where he got his scar) and I was getting tired: so, so tired of the smell of blood.
Honestly, if Thomas hadn’t appeared out of nowhere and driven them away, it would have been my death. But I resented him for it. He’d been gallivanting here and there with his loving wife, having his adventures told over dinner tables like legends until I couldn’t stand hearing more, becoming stronger and more brilliant, while I sunk into the shadows like a rabbit down a hole. Of course he would appear when I was at my very weakest. So how did I react? I said I’d repay the favor one day, but that I never wanted to see his face again.
We weren’t friends anymore. By the time his grandchild came around to claim his favor, however, I was a different person. I and my kingdom were stronger. My castle had been rebuilt underground to avoid the ever-growing human skirmishes, and I was no longer a man to be trifled with. He was the weak one. Yes, I had stolen his grandchild right in front of his nose.
I was excited to see just what he would try to do about it. And it didn’t take all that long. I had to wait just the evening of the second day, when I had my much-more-delicious-than-the-last pie.
Boom, boom, boom.
“I think he’s here, sire,” Cusac said.
I grinned. “Let him in.”
Rax was thrown through the doors just as Jonathan opened them, landing on the floor and gasping for breath. Thomas Bartlemead stood in the doorway, looking much more awake than last time, and somehow younger and stronger. Maybe the kidnapping had woken him up.
“Well, hello there,” I greeted him. “How nice of you to drop by.”
Thomas glared at me. “Give her back.”
“Who?” I was enjoying this far too much.
“Meg. Give her back!”
I pretended to rack my brain. “Meg… do I know anyone by that name? Who is she?”
“Don’t give me that, you jackanapes! My granddaughter! You stole her! Give her back, now!”
“It seems to me that you did the stealing first. Don’t you remember this Meg’s grandmother? How you stole her from someone else?”
“Is that what this is all about?! Why don’t you just forget that already?”
“How could I forget something like my friend and my bride betraying me all at once?! You threw away our friendship over a woman and left me alone!”
Well, that was exaggerating a bit. Our reunion was turning into a shouting match, and the few people in the hall were looking uncomfortable at our domestic dispute.
Thomas looked at me in astonishment. “That’s what you’ve been thinking for all these years?! When we left, you said-- you practically gave us your blessing! You hated me all this time? It was you who banished us!”
“You both chose to leave me!” I shot back, standing up. “I had to banish you! It was either that or chase both of you down with my hounds to the ends of the earth. What else was I to do?”
“You should have told me how you felt! You should have told her! If you were really that mad about it, we could have at least had a proper duel over it.”
“Of course, because hurting you would really put me in her favor.”
Thus Thomas’ pride was pricked. “Oh, you think that’s how it would have turned out?”
“You want to see?”
“Now that I’m old and gray? Where’s the fairness in that?”
“It’s what you get for living in the human world!”
“You banished me from yours!”
“Because you stole my bride!”
“I’m sorry! Would you like to fight me now?” Thomas shouted.
“I would, you stupid old man!”
Meg had come in at some point (I didn’t notice when) and felt she had to intervene. “Stop it, you two! There will be absolutely no dueling, do you hear me?”
“Be quiet, Meg. This is a matter of honor,” Thomas said. “Even at my age, he’s no match for me.”
“Ha!” I laughed, a hand on my sword hilt.
“Stop it!” she repeated, stamping her foot. “Grandma would slap you both and send you to bed without supper if she saw you.”
At the word ‘grandma’ we both sort of jumped and looked at her strangely. For a moment it seemed as if all the years we’d seen collided in our heads until we realized how much time had actually passed in order for her to exist. We already knew it’d been that long, but, I guess I hadn’t really realized it.
“She’s your granddaughter,” I stated. “That must be depressing.”
“Aye, it is.” Thomas agreed.
“Hey!” the girl protested.
“Oh, not that I’m disappointed in you, lass,” her grandad hastened to explain. “It just a bit of a downer to think it’s been so long.”
“It really is. I ought to banish you again just for being so old.” I said.
“Your cheeky young face isn’t going to win you any friends either,” Thomas retorted, making me laugh.
“What is the meaning of this?” Another voice was heard in the doorway. We turned to see the subject of our fight, Floriana herself, standing with her hands sternly planted on her hips. She looked older, and perhaps a little rounder, but still very beautiful.
“Flori,” Thomas said, surprised.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” I began.
“And why not? Why should I not come here when I find you have taken my child?” The former faery princess took Meg by the shoulders, and hugged her. “Cara mia, I’m so glad you are fine! Let’s go home.”
“You weren’t at the village… I thought you were dead,” I floundered.
“Dead?” Floriana laughed. “Using my magic still keeps me young and strong.”
“She was visiting her parents in Italy,” Thomas explained, and then turned toward his wife and added, “For two whole years!”
“I hadn’t seen them in twenty! And if you must insist on living with our simple daughter-in-law that is frightened of magic, then I shall need to visit them again!” She retorted. “And what do I come back to see? That our grandchild is kidnapped by you!” She turned on me. This I didn’t expect.
“Why would you do such a thing?” She advanced on me threateningly. “Have you turned stupid?”
“Calm down, Flori; Meg’s all right,” Thomas said.
“I will not calm down until he tells me why.”
“Grandma!” Meg interrupted. “It’s all right now. He just wanted to make up with Grandad.”
We all looked at her, confused at this reasoning. She explained, “He’s not very good at saying what he really means, so he didn’t know how to go about it. But now they’ve shouted a bit, and they’re friends again.”
Thomas and I looked at each other doubtfully.
Floriana still seemed suspicious. “Is this true?”
I shrugged sheepishly. “That and I wanted her to make me pie.”
“Oh, Meg does make the most delicious pie!” Her attitude changed all at once. “Have you tried her caramel apple pies? The most heavenly taste! And her lemon chiffon-- Meg! Make us your lemon chiffon pie this instant!”
“Now?” Meg yelped.
“Why not? There are kitchens here! I have a craving that must be satisfied. Come!”
“Has she always been this bossy?” I asked Thomas in an undertone, as Floriana herded Meg off to the kitchens.
“Oh, yes,” Thomas answered with a groan that turned into a laugh. “Faeries and their food!”
“Um, sire,” Cusac interrupted timidly. “Is everything all right now?”
I sighed and threw up my hands. “Yes, everything is all right. Their banishment is hereby revoked!”
“Oh, good!” Cusac was very pleased. He turned to Thomas. “I hope you’ll come and visit often. The king has missed you a great deal.”
“Bah!” I gave up and sat back on my throne, embarrassed. After saying that we ought to have a welcoming feast and that he’d start preparations immediately, Cusac left. I noticed Thomas was grinning at me. “What?!”
“I missed you too,” he said, chuckling.
“Oh, shut up.”
So much for my revenge! At least things were lively again. I did finally find out the name of that spice the brat had told me was a trade secret-- and it wasn’t really all that rare. Just cinnamon.
The End (for now....)
