Page 1 of Bride of the King
1
“What didyou bring to trade dearie?” The old crone whispered as I slipped under the shade of her tent.
The summer sun was much hotter than I’d first thought, and my neck was damp with sweat under my chestnut hair. Every muscle in my body was sore and ached. A bruise bloomed on my shoulder from where my step-mother had pushed me last night. She was stronger than expected, and when I struck my shoulder against the fireplace mantle and fell to my knees, she’d landed a vicious kick.
Now, I knelt in the cool mud and clasped my trembling hands together. I took a deep breath, for what I would ask would break the deathbed promise I made to my father.Never use magic.He’d told me.No matter how bad it gets. The cost is not worth it.
“I was hoping I could pay on credit,” I said.
The woman waved her hand, shaking the loose skin that hung off her wrinkled arm. “I can’t live on your word alone. It’s payment or nothing.”
I’d been afraid she’d say that. Although we were alone in the stifling tent, I glanced around before pulling a coin out of my pocket. I’d wanted to save it to buy something nice for myself, but this was more important. Besides, if the magic worked, soon I’d want for nothing. I’d never spend nights lying on a bed of prickly hay, sobbing into my threadbare skirts, hunger gnawing my stomach while my body ached with bruises. I would not have to endure the sharp tongue of my step-mother and the mocking laughter of my step-sisters. No longer would I endure the shame and humiliation of being pinched and slapped when they were angry at their lot in life and took it out on me.
“Ah,” the crone all but snatched the silver from my fingers and stuck it between her gums.
I looked away. The idea was to check to ensure the coin was of value by biting down on it, but the woman had almost no teeth left. Her eyes were a milky white, an indicator of her lack of vision, and she had more wrinkles on her face than a chicken had on its neck.
“Now, give me your hand. What is your question?”
I held out my hand. It was red, chapped, and my throat dry with dust. But I was lucky to be left alone. My step-sisters had gone to visit a relative, and my step-mother was out for the day. I’d left my chores undone and snuck out. Four years I’d been unhappy. No more. I needed to change my future and control my destiny. “I wish to know the magic to summon the river goddess. I wish to leave my step-mother’s control, change my fortune, and find happiness.”
Dread coursed through me as I waited for her to respond. I’d said the words. I wanted to use magic. I waited for lightning to strike me dead, or a storm of black clouds to cover the sky.
The crone snorted, jolting me. I pressed a hand to my racing heart, ignoring the twinge of pain from my bruised shoulder. “Magic,” she murmured, more to herself than to me. “Fortune. Control. Happiness. You must be Nesrin, the half-breed, hasty to use magic. But as you wish it, the three wishes you seek shall be found. To make the winds of fate move, you must offer a sacrifice. Go to the river and make your wishes. If the river goddess grants them, you must give her whatever she demands.”
My face burned under her use of the word ‘half-breed’. My father was human, my mother, an elf, and so I became known as the half-breed. The term stung as though I’d been slapped, but I bit my bottom lip to keep my retort inside. “I already gave you my last coin.”
“A river goddess has no use for coin,” the crone shook her head, hints of mirth causing her wrinkled cheeks to sag even more. “Ask, and it shall be given. Remember to begin with the phrase: I summon thee, river goddess. Now go. Good luck, Mistress Nesrin.”
An entire silver coin for that brief conversation? Gritting my teeth, I stumbled out of the tent, back into the warm summer sun, and followed the road. It was winding and dusty, the heat causing it to flake up. A row of shops perched in a semi-circle, creating the marketplace of Gebeth, the village I lived in. A road led out toward the kingdom, and on one side were green pastures and open meadows for farming. On the other were trees. But no one built on the other side of the road. It was mere superstition, but among the trees you could lose yourself in the enchanted wildwood, a place where monsters bred and sacrifices were offered for the protection of the village.
Gebeth was once a proud village, one that enjoyed frequent visits from the king. But those days had passed, the wealth of the village disappeared, and the land turned to dust. The wealthy moved away, and those who could not afford to leave stayed to work the land. Part of me longed to leave, but I did not know where I’d go, or what I’d do. My past had many pleasant memories. I’d lived in a fine house with my father, a tradesman. I had love and wealth, everything except a mother. And so Father went to court where he met a fine lady and married her. She brought two daughters, who were close to my age. I’d hoped we’d be friends, but my hopes were in vain. And then, four years ago, when I was only sixteen, my father fell ill and died. The brunt of the weight of the family fell to my step-mother.
By then, Gebeth was dying and the money my father left behind was not enough to keep her fed and happy. And then there were the debts. She’d taken my share of the inheritance and spent it, claiming that if I wanted to be part of the family, I should help. I did my best, but with the way she spent money on the latest fashions, expensive cloth, rich food and decadent wines, there could not be much left. The debtors came around almost every week, and when they left my step-mother’s temper was fierce. It would not be long before something terrible happened. I had to do something before I became a beggar, and with my thread-bare clothes, dirt-smudged face and unbrushed hair, I probably looked like one.
But magic, forbidden, impossible magic would save me. And so I made my way through the grove to the river. It shimmered, running along the edge of the enchanted wildwood, with wide banks open to sunlight.
Warm loam beneath my feet, I stripped off my shoes, lamenting the holes in them, and tossed my ragged gown over my head. I’d patched the dress so many times over the past two years, it no longer resembled the simple yellow dress I’d sown. Back then, I was still figuring out how to use my hands to sew, farm, and fetch, and I hadn’t been as thin as I was now.
I removed my undergarments and tossed them over a bush. My eyes darted down the riverbank, but it was a lonely river and I did not expect anyone to appear during midday. Most families were busy preparing for the celebration of the first harvest, Lammas, which was two weeks away. I should be too.
My thoughts went to my little garden. I doubted it would produce much. While I enjoyed growing herbs and creating remedies, vegetables wouldn’t thrive under my thumb. A shiver ran up my spine at the thought of what my step-mother would do to me, should she come home early and find me missing. My fingers touched my cheek. If last night had not been enough, this morning I’d earned a slap for burning breakfast. My light brown skin hid the mark, but it was still tender to the touch.
Recalling the old crone’s words, I walked into the water, naked as the day I was born. A sort of freedom enticed me deeper into the waters, where I did not have to worry about my ill-fitting, scratchy clothes, or the heat of the summer day. The water eased the ache in my muscles like a healing balm. I lay on my back, loose hair drifting in the water, my dusky nipples pointing toward the sunlight, like an offering. Closing my eyes, I kicked and swam on my back, pretending I was a river goddess with the power to grant three wishes.
The warning tone in my father’s words made me hesitant to summon the river goddess. I needed to sink into nature and spend some time with my thoughts, without fear. But perhaps instead of thinking, I should act before I lost my nerve.
Grief had wrapped me tight for years after the death of my father and the descent of my family from wealth to poverty. Instead of wearing pretty dresses and teasing the maids, I’d become the maid, cooking, cleaning, and trying my best to run my father’s establishment while my step-mother and sisters pretended they were still nobility. My step-mother was a beauty, but her daughters were plain, and despite their desires, no good at finding husbands.
I dreamed of days when I’d no longer be forced to work. Perhaps a handsome prince would sweep me away. Instead of working for every bite I took, I could pour my energy into the one thing that mattered: continuing my father’s work in alchemy. When he passed, his herbs and potions were sold to pay debts, but I’d snatched his book of notes and kept it tucked under my pillow. When I had time at night, I’d pore over those words, and hope that one day, I could start again. My fingers seeking herbs, finding colors, crushing them and mixing potions. I loved creating. It was like magic, taking something and transforming it into something else entirely. We had potions of healing, of energy, to keep one from feeling sick or fatigued, to relieve old pains and other ailments. But my father had dreams of going beyond rudimentary healing potions, he believed he could create a potion to make the village strong enough to fight against the creatures that crept out of the wood after dark. Those whispered secrets he shared both frightened and encouraged me.
During the festival of Lammas, we offered a blood sacrifice to the Queen of the Wildwood. She used to keep us safe from the dark creatures in the wood, but four years ago, everything changed. Rumor had it that a new queen ruled the wood. At first the attacks ceased, but the stories continued. A child found mauled by a beast, a young virgin, stolen in the night. But since there were no large attacks, the king’s soldiers withdrew to the kingdom, taking our luck and livelihood with them. Gebeth had suffered ever since. There was no one to stand up to the wildwood, and the monsters that haunted us, never showing their faces, only coming in the night, and stealing.
A ripple in the water pulled me out of my thoughts. A fish? A frog? Unfortunately, I’d left my nets at home. If I hadn’t, I might catch one for supper. Standing to my feet, I scrubbed my body clean, using a mixture of soap and herbs. The herbs I used to create a perfume, with lavender and wild rose. The smell made me think of my mother, who died when I was young. Her name was Rose, and hints of the smell gave me foggy memories. Being pressed against my mother’s chest while gentle fingers stroked my back. The memory was so strong and poignant; it reminded me of a time when I was loved and cared for.
I’d be dirty again soon from the work that lay in front of me, and time was passing. It was now or never. Once I was clean, I felt much better. My body was only slightly sore and a well of determination rose in me. Clasping my hands together, I spoke the chant.
“I summon thee, river goddess. To grant my wishes, three. I wish for fortune to befall me. I wish to never see my step-mother and step-sisters again. I wish to find love and happiness. I have brought thee herbs of rose, to bless thy waters. Please heed my words and grant my wish. In exchange, I will be indebted to your whims.”
