“We were too many in family,” she said, keeping her voice calm. “My mother sent me to find work.” She wanted to run, and she suspected she knew no spell strong enough to turn aside this crude man’s attentions. Watching his eyes, she remembered every ugly story about the queen’s guard.
He dismounted and jerked her to him.“How old are you?”
“Seventeen.”
He stared at her stomach.“Are you with child? Is that why your mother turned you out?”
“I am not with child. I left home because there were too many to feed, nine sisters and brothers.”
“There are never too many to feed. The queen gives food to all families.”
“There are several big families in Appian. The queen’s stores didn’t stretch so far. And our cottage was crowded. Most of us slept on the floor. I am the oldest and they sent me to work.” Why didn’t he believe her? It was common practice to send a child to work at the palace or to apprentice in some wealthier village. Surely the two younger soldiers were apprentices.
The captain glanced up at the sergeant, licking the side of his mouth, then pulled her closer. He started to say something, then he looked at her more intently, grasping her chin, turning her head to left and right.
He lifted her hair, looking so closely she wondered if it needed dying again. Mag kept it dyed with spells and snake root, she was very particular about that. He looked intently from her hair to her eyes, then looked up again at the sergeant. Then, abruptly, he pulled his horse around, loosing her as the others drew close. He mounted heavily, off-balancing the horse. His look had changed, the lust had vanished.“Get on behind.”
She thought of breaking away between the horses and running, but they would overtake her. The captain leaned from the saddle, snatched her arm, and pulled her up against the horse.“Get on. You want to go to the palace, you will come with us.” He laughed. “You will go to the queen in style.”
She had no choice. She got on, putting her foot over his in the stirrup, and sat behind the saddle clinging to it, not touching him.
Through the night they traveled, stopping only to water the horses. No one asked Melissa if she was thirsty. She fought sleep; she didn’t want to doze and lean against the captain’s fat back. She was tense with fear of what he might decide to do if they stopped to rest. It was nothing to rape a village girl—there was no law prohibiting it, not under Siddonie’s rule. She didn’t know why they hadn’t tried already. Soon she heard a fox cry out in the dark woods, then they were skirting the Affandar River; in the darkness she could hear its waters gurgling over stones. They passed through a sleeping village, and another. She was relieved when morning began to gather misty green overhead.
They came out of the woods quite suddenly, and she sat up straighter. The meadow before them was very green, the road broad and smooth. Beyond the meadow lay rich orchards and vegetable gardens, and between these rose the pale towers of Affandar Palace. She stared at the huge, delicate structure, feeling uncertain again, and afraid.
Chapter 6
The soldiers kicked their horses to a trot, moving fast toward the palace. Five pale towers rose, the tallest reaching nearly to the stone sky. The curtain wall wandered in pleasing curves, and all around it lay the orchards and vineyards and vegetable gardens. Behind the palace were fenced meadows, then two small villages, then the ancient forest.
She had never before seen windows made of real glass. She could see the road clearly reflected, could see the large oak they were passing. But she could not see horses or riders beneath the broad branches, the road appeared empty. The windows were spell-cast; neither man nor beast would reflect in them.
The captain trotted his horse through the palace gates into a courtyard crowded with villagers working at the day’s tasks. A smith pounded hot metal, vegetable carts drawn by small, stocky ponies stood at a side gate. A carpenter was mending a table, some scullery girls were husking corn. In a corner against the palace wall, six pages skirmished at sword practice.
She had thought to approach the palace at a servants’ wing, unnoticed. Now the entire courtyard stopped work to watch the soldiers, and folk stared at her, too, and smirked as if they thought the captain had a new companion for his bed. Two scullery girls looked so knowing that Melissa wanted to smack them.
But then she was forgotten as heads turned toward another gate, and suddenly folk were kneeling and there was no sound but the soft thud of approaching hooves.
Through an archway beneath the palace a large group of mounted soldiers entered the courtyard. They were led by a dark-haired youth no older than she, dressed in a red and purple uniform pointed with ermine.“King Efil,” she heard the captain mutter as, bowing, he reached back to nudge her. She bowed, looking up under her lashes.
The king was slim, dark haired, and very handsome. He rode directly past her, and he was looking at her. As his dark eyes seared hers, she felt her face go hot. He smiled intimately, and then with amusement, and then he was past. She glanced around to watch him move out the gate at the head of his uniformed troops.
“Get off,” the captain said, shoving her. She slipped down and fell under the horse’s legs, and breathed a quick spell to keep the stallion from kicking her. When she crawled out, red-faced, a soldier, the pasty one, pointed his sword to direct her ahead of him.
He guided her across the courtyard to a jutting stone wing of the palace, and flung open a door, shouting. She could hear the clang of pots and the cacophony of girls’ voices. She stepped into a huge, cluttered scullery. A woman, uniformed in white, turned away from a stove of steaming saucepans, and the young soldier pushed Melissa toward her. “Village girl. Wants work.” Quickly he was gone again, whether from embarrassment at herding women, or from boredom, she couldn’t tell.
The big woman inspected her without expression. She had a fat, lined face.“I am Briccha. I am the Scullery Mistress. If you are allowed to stay, you will answer to me.” Her braids were so tight they pulled her scalp. Her bodice clung tightly over ample breasts and belly. When Melissa didn’t answer, Briccha grabbed her shoulder and jerked her through the scullery, shoving other girls aside.
They entered a small chamber with whitewashed stone walls. It held a chair, a table, a pitcher of water and a bowl, a towel and a crock of soap.“Wash yourself. Comb your hair. Youdo have a comb?”
“No.”
The woman fished in her pocket and handed her a dirty comb.“And sponge your dress. Make yourself acceptable for the queen.”
“I do not seek audience with the queen. I want only to work in the scullery.”
“The queen sees all who seek scullery work. Don’t dawdle.” Briccha gave her a harsh stare, and left her.
Angrily Melissa spell-locked the door, then dropped her dress and scrubbed thoroughly and slowly, luxuriating in the soap and clean washcloth and clean towel.
Soon, refreshed, she washed the comb, scrubbing it with the washcloth then the towel, then she combed her hair.
She was left in the room for hours. She paced, then sat down and closed her eyes, trying to keep her temper in check. She loved idleness on her own terms. She detested idleness enforced by others. She was nearly asleep when the door rattled but didn’t open. Hastily she removed the spell that locked it.
A thin serving girl entered bearing a plate of bread and a mug of milk—a bone-thin girl, maybe thirteen, with a bluish cast to her skin. She looked Melissa over shyly. “You are another,” she said softly. “Doyou know why you were brought here?”
“I wasn’t brought. I came on my own. To work.”
“But I saw you ride in behind the captain.”
“I met the soldiers on the way. What do you mean, brought? Were you brought here by soldiers?”
The girl had gray smudges under her eyes. Her hair was lank, her eyes the color of mud. She was a valley elven child.“We all were brought here or summoned. Surely the soldiers brought you at the queen’s orders.”