Retribution

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Brice was confused, and Hannah was amused. It wouldn’t hurt to keep him in the dark for just a little longer. “We need to turn me back into a woman.”

“Do you have a spell for that?”

“I wish I did, but I guess we’ll have to do it the old way. I will need a long gown, and while you slip back into the market and find me one, I’ll wash the spell out of my hair.”

“Me? Find you a gown?”

“And shoes.”

“I don’t know how big your shoes are.”

“I’ll give you a piece of string that measures from my heel to my toe.”

“Why me?”

“I’ll be too busy. I like blue dresses, you know. Better get going before all the good ones are sold.”

Brice tried to smile and failed. “I’ll say it’s for my sister. Not for me.”

“Of course, you will. And I’m sure the seller will believe you, but no matter. If I don’t like it, I’ll send you out again for another.”

Brice turned and headed for the balcony. “No matter what others say, I have my doubts about how good a queen you’re going to be.”

She started to laugh, but he held his finger to his lips and pointed to the other door. A guard was supposed to be standing out there all day and night until her return. She didn’t need him hearing sounds inside and reporting them. Brice slipped out.

Hannah removed the straw hat, allowed her hair to fall from under it, and used her fingers to comb out most of the powder. A glance at her reflection revealed the spell still hid her real hair, so she bent and shook her head, while running her fingers repeatedly through her hair, and watched the fine dust accumulate on the floor. She finally decided it looked better but needed both time and more cleaning.

Water was a problem, or the lack of it. Clear liquids in the workshop were suspect so it would have to wait. She had located several hidden places in the workshop the only time she’d been there, so she methodically started near one corner and worked to her right, examining everything from the construction of the table, the floor under it, and ceiling above. She searched every inch of the wall behind, both with her eyes and her fingertips to make sure they agreed. She looked under the table, behind it, and then on it. Her eyes and fingers probed, touched, felt, and prodded each item.

Or course, that didn’t mean she hadn’t missed anything. It simply meant that if there was something there, she hadn’t found it. What she had found could keep her busy for years, especially the rows of books on two shelves. Each was the personal account of a mage, most long dead. Inside each was the life and trials he faced, the politics of the time that helped or hindered, and most importantly, details of their work.

With those at his fingertips, no wonder her father had become one of the greatest mages of all time. She read the author’s names on the inside covers, the dates, and often subtitles that foretold of the contents. Dust had settled on them in the years she’d been gone, although in a closed room she wondered where all the dust had come from.

All but one. The last book on the second shelf was as pristine as the day it had been made. The leather on the cover was bright blue, and the white top was free of the pervasive gray dust coating everything else in the room. It stood out like a beacon.

Her hand reached for it and tingled as her fingers touched it. She instantly knew that only she could see it—and that it had been her father’s. When she had last visited the room, the other books hadn’t been dull with dust, and she hadn’t noticed the one with the spell. As she held it, she expected to find it blank, or unreadable. However, when she opened it to the first page, she found, instead of a name, his image peering at her.

Hannah dropped the book. The surprise, fear, and unknown, combined with the other contents of the room had her nerves on edge. She knelt and reverently lifted it in both hands, then placed it on the table and opened it to the first page again.

Her father was smiling at her, forgiving. The image gave a slight shrug. The page had no depth, but from what she saw, it was as if a miniature man stood there, as tall as her hand, and if she could have moved behind him, she would had seen his side and then back, the same as if she circled a statue.

When she looked at his face again, he had raised his eyebrows, as if wondering why she hadn’t turned the page. She did. There were words on the next page, squiggles and curves, writhing about like a can fishing worms. As she watched, they moved to their proper locations and formed words.

I OFFER HUMBLE GREETINGS TO MY ANCESTOR

Nothing else appeared on the page. She turned it, wondering what the greeting meant. The next page also contained unreadable marks and lines, but they quickly resolved into words. She read and understood. The book was enchanted, of course, not by her father, but by her mother, for her father. It was the work of a sorceress, the only work she knew her mother, who hated magic, had performed.

That in itself told more than any book could. In addition, it was meant to be read only by their direct ancestors. She suspected that the book survived in another plane of existence, somewhere in another realm of reality and that accounted for the lack of dust and the new appearance.

It also meant the book had double protection. First, it was hidden from view by any but his ancestors. Second, if it was located, what was inside couldn’t be read, except by them. That level of security and secrecy indicated the contents were either valuable or personal.

She gently closed and replaced it and continued her search. She would return to it soon, but since nobody could see it, she felt it safe where it was. One square leg of the next table she searched was turned slightly, so the angles didn’t match. She propped the corner of the table on a stool that seemed placed there for that reason and twisted. The leg unscrewed. She removed it and found a single rolled scroll inside a hole drilled in the wood.

She carefully worked it free because it had expanded to fit the size of the hole, and over time had grown dry and refused to unroll. She carefully eased it open and read the title. It was a copy of the official Royal Line of Succession for the Kingdom of Wren, a modified document with her name inserted above that of Princess Elenore, and signed by the King.

This cannot be an accident. But how? Her father hadn’t known about her until he had gone to the Earl’s Castle, and he died a day later. So how had this document been created? And who placed it in the table leg? Not her mother or father. But nobody was supposed to have entered this room, and the scroll suggested someone had.

It must have been someone who supported her. A friend. But only the King had known of the apartment he’d agreed to keep sealed for her, but someone had violated that seal and done it soon after she departed. The slightly turned leg of the table was a clue left for her, not an accident.

Only one person came to mind. Evelyn, the sorceress who made her workshop in a hollow tree. The pieces fell into place. After her interview with the King, he must have searched for, and located Evelyn. He’d probably brought her here and escorted her into her father’s apartment to place the scroll where she would find it.

She looked at the table leg again and found the second recess. In it rested a small, carved raven dyed black, the same birds that had issued warnings to her sent by Evelyn. It was possible Evelyn lived and worked nearby, possibly in the palace.

Her hand shook, and when the door to the balcony opened, she started, almost dropping the table leg as she spun around. The leg had become a club.

“Sorry,” Brice said, slipping inside and peeking back through a slit to make sure he hadn’t been discovered.

He held three dresses over his forearm and a sack in his hand. When he was satisfied he’d returned safely, he held up his arm. “All blue.”

She rushed to him and examined the dresses one by one. All of them were acceptable, but the one on top was perfect for her needs if it fit. She held it against her and knew it would. “The bag?”

“Shoes and other things the dressmaker said you’d want.”

She peeked and sighed with contentment as she removed a jar of cleansing cream smelling of roses, and other items a young woman needed to wear with a gown. She said, “Help me wash my hair to get the powder out.”

“You already look like a woman again.”

“My appearance is critical for what I’m about to do.” She bent at the waist and let her hair hang where he could use the cream to clean it. Then she used more on her face to remove the grime and soot and asked Brice to remain in the workshop while she went to the bedroom and changed.

When done, she wished Maude had included a spell for her to dress and act a Queen. It was still well before noon, and while physically ready, she held back. Then she lifted her chin and walked slowly into the workshop.

Brice’s mouth dropped.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“You. Well, you look like a princess. No, you look like a queen. All you need is a crown.”

“Are you sure? Check everything.” She spun around.

“Perfect. Now, what’s our plan?”

She pointed to a sword hanging on the wall. “Remove that and put it on.”

The sword was old, the hilt showed signs of wear and the leather on the scabbard was faded and dry. He pulled it free. The blade sparkled as beautifully as the day it was last polished. He held it reverently in both hands.

“That is the sword of the High Knight of King Charles the Second, better known as Charles the Just. Over two hundred years old. It’s yours, now.”

“I can’t wear a treasure such as this.”

“As your future queen, I command you.”

“Is it enchanted?”

“Obviously. But it is rightfully yours, and you will accompany me. All should know your royal position, but that sword is not simply for show. Be prepared to use it.”

“What are we going to do?”

“Not we. Me. I am not going to slink into my palace like a thief in the night. I am going to draw attention and enter like a future queen should. I will hold my head high.”

“Hannah, you can do all that after you wear the crown.”

Instead of answering, she strode quickly to the door, threw the lock, and pulled it open to face a surprised and startled palace guard. He stepped back and half-drew his sword.

Before he could speak, she said in a calm voice, “You were ordered by King Willard to stand guard over my father’s rooms until his daughter, Princess Hannah, returns. Well, relax good man, for I am here.”

“Huh?”

“I am Princess Hannah. You will escort my Head Knight and me to the King’s chambers where I will wait for him to join me. We will be on that small balcony of his and would appreciate tea and a light snack. Now, please lead us there.”

The palace guard only hesitated a brief moment before snapping a salute and turning smartly. Hannah breathed a sigh of relief. That encounter had been her biggest worry. If the guard had refused or placed her under arrest for violating the apartment, things would have been different. She might have ordered Brice to draw his new sword. She had no doubts Brice could remove the guard’s weapons without hurting him badly.

She walked behind the guard, Brice behind her. The hallway, as before, was deserted, but as they reached the first intersection, the tapestries on the walls and the carpets became rich and elaborate. Paintings and statues worthy of masters told their stories.

But they encountered the first Royalty, two young women who pulled to a stop and looked at her, puzzled. One giggled.

Hannah paused, and the Guard halted when he realized she had. But Hannah’s eyes bored into those of the two women, neither of whom she’d ever seen. Her voice came forth as ice. “Curtsy.”

The girls exchanged almost amused glances, but neither moved.

Brice pulled his sword in a whirl of motion, cocking it over his shoulder where he could swing it to reach both of them. His tone was colder than Hannah’s, “Shall I take their heads, Princess?”

Both curtsied in unison. Brice muttered something about lacking Royal manners and ceremoniously replaced his sword.

Hannah saw no more humor in the women. But before Hannah would be out of their sight, they would rush off and spread the rumors. She wanted the entire palace to know of her return, and there was no faster way than to let the pompous, arrogant, self-important royal women of the palace control a juicy bit of rumor.

Hannah motioned for the guard to continue. But by the time the rumors flew, she would be in the King’s chambers. They passed a man and woman, each wearing expensive clothing. Jewelry glittered on their fingers and hung from chains around their necks. They must be very important.

Hannah met the woman’s eyes as they approached. She considered what to do, but to her surprise, the woman curtsied, and the man bowed deeply. She nodded as she passed them. How did they know?”

The rumors couldn’t have traveled that fast. They passed other Royals, and while most ignored her, two more couples pulled to a stop and either bowed or curtsied, as was correct. Hannah heard a commotion behind, the squealing of young girls. One shouted, “There she is.”

Yes, the rumors were already flying. But from her time in the palace years ago, she knew the King’s private chambers were near. They continued down the wide hallway as more doors opened and people rushed out to see what the commotion was about, or to catch a glimpse of Hannah.

The guard paused at the door, his hand near the latch. He glanced at her. “Are you sure?”

She nodded.

He threw the door open, stepped inside ahead of her where two more palace guards stood, and shouted, “Princess Hannah to see the King.”

“He’s not here,” one of the guards said in a hushed voice.

Their guard, older than the others by a decade, drew himself up and shouted louder, “Then send someone to fetch him. The Princess and her High Knight will wait on the patio. And bring them wine and snacks.”

The two guards in the room stood at either side of an empty throne, yet the room was barely ten paces in either direction. This was the small chamber, where the King transacted private business. A small sitting room lay beyond the next door, and outside, a private, walled patio.

Hannah remembered it all well. She barely watched as one guard departed at a dead run. The other stood aside as she entered the sitting room and then went to the balcony. After taking a seat, she pointed to a chair and glanced at Brice. “Did I ever tell you about that one?”

“The old King made it with his own hands but could never get all four legs the same length. He kept it to remind him of his failings.”

“I guess I’ve told that story a hundred times.”

Brice stood beside the door, at near military attention. He knew the King would enter at any moment. “You’ll keep it here, won’t you?”

“I can think of no better chair to sit on.”