The Tale of Mally Biddle (2 page)

The mournful gasp made Cayla jerk in surprise. She had thought she was alone. When she turned and saw who was rushing to her, she closed her eyes and breathed deeply through her nose. Gerda Higgs was a new, young servant who never failed to put Cayla’s nerves on edge.

“I’m sorry, Gerda, but I’m needed in the Princess’s Chamber,” said Cayla firmly.

“Oh! I couldn’t possibly keep you,” exclaimed Gerda, her a
lready large eyes widening dramatically. “It’s just—I just—” she choked wetly, drawing a damp handkerchief out of her pocket.

Cayla stood stoically, waiting for Gerda to recover herself.

“I’m sorry,” she hiccupped into the handkerchief. “It’s just so
hard
to believe
. Alice—
sweet Alice!
” she cried, dabbing her eyes. “I’m sorry, I must look like a fool!”

Cayla didn’t trust herself to reply.

“Who could have done this?” Gerda sobbed.

Cayla frowned, and though she had decided not to speak to Gerda, she couldn’t stop herself from saying, “What do you mean? I thought you believed in Alice’s guilt.”

Gerda’s large eyes, swimming with tears, widened.

“Where would you have heard that! Alice could never—she was always so nice. No, no I don’t believe she did this!” Gerda said, fiercely shaking her head. 

Cayla felt a warmth spread in her chest at Gerda’s outburst. She had always found Gerda tiresome and silly, but at her words Cayla felt her gaze softening.

“It’s just so
hard
to believe!” Gerda exclaimed again. “Why would anyone
want
to kill His Majesty? Especially one of us?”

“Someone could have snuck in through the servant passages,” Cayla muttered.

“But we’re sworn to secrecy!” Gerda gasped, horrified by the very idea.

“Then it must have been someone in the castle,” Cayla replied darkly, more to herself than to Gerda.

Gerda looked close to fainting.

“In—in the
castle
?” Gerda repeated, clutching her handkerchief, her eyes darting about nervously.

“It’s just a thought,” Cayla said wearily, pinching the bridge of her nose. She suddenly wanted to be alone again. Her eyes were burning.

She pushed past Gerda who was still too shocked to stop her. It seemed that she couldn’t believe that any of the servants would do such an atrocious deed. But after a few seconds, Gerda spun around and said something that made Cayla stop in her tracks.

“But it couldn’t be a servant! What would we gain by killing King Sebastian?”

What would a servant gain, indeed? Nothing that Cayla could think of. King Sebastian had been loved. As far as Cayla knew, none of the servants had a grudge against him.
And I would have known
, Cayla thought wryly. Gerda’s specialty was gossip and spreading it as fast and far as possible.

Cayla had entered Princess Avona’s bedchamber from a hidden entrance behind a large tapestry. She’d been the princess’s nanny since her birth. Cayla picked up the little wriggling baby and cooed softly.

Just as Cayla had calmed the fretful princess the chamber door creaked slowly open. Cayla turned and watched it sway forward as a large man with a grizzled beard slowly stepped through the door. When Sir Anon Haskin caught sight of Cayla he started.

“Cayla! Didn’t see you there! Gave me a start,” he said with a loud laugh.

“I’m sorry, Sir Anon,” Cayla replied. “Did you need something?”

“No, no … no, no. Just wanted to check on the princess … make sure all was right.”

“Why would you think something was wrong?” Cayla asked, alarmed, shifting the baby in her arms.

Sir Anon rubbed his bearded chin slowly, a crease appearing between his eyebrows.

“We live in dangerous times, Miss Black. Tragedy seems to be surrounding the castle … like a mist. I am a knight—my duty’s to protect.”

“Do you think someone might try … to hurt the princess?” Cayla whispered, clutching her burden closer as if she were afraid someone would run toward her from behind the dresser swinging a butcher’s knife.

Sir Anon shrugged, though his serious air remained.

“Like I said, I am a knight.”

Cayla nodded silently.

“Forgive me for intruding upon you.” Sir Anon tilted his head respectfully toward the princess, who was goo-ing and gaa-ing, before exiting the chamber and closing the door behind him.

***

A chilling breeze blew through the cemetery. The execution was over and a tall man stood watching the proceedings, a look of quiet repulsion on his young, narrow face. Salir Romore, King Sebastian’s advisor, watched as the servant Alice Spindle’’’s limp body was slowly carried from the wagon that had transported her body from the central square where the execution had taken place. The wind ruffled his black hair. Beside Salir stood Illius Molick, the captain of the knights.

“I weary of funerals,” Salir said suddenly. “Do you ever tire of them, Molick?”

Molick, a chiseled, hard-looking man, cut his eyes to the younger man beside him.

“As many as I have seen …” Molick sighed. “Yes, I tire of them.”

Salir breathed heavily through his nose as Alice’s body was lowered into the prepared grave. “I fear, Molick, that this will not be the last I witness as ruler.”

Salir who had not moved his eyes once from Alice didn’t notice how Molick had turned to him sharply.

“It has been decided?” Molick asked quickly. “You are to be king?”

“Until Princess Avona is of rightful age to take my place, I am king,” Salir nodded.

“When will it be announced?” asked Molick, his eyes taking in every inch of the pale man beside him.

“Tonight. At sunset.”

***

After his short speech, Salir walked quietly down the brightly lit corridors, his face like a slab of stone. It couldn’t be clearer that his mind was elsewhere.

He suddenly came to a stop and looked at the door he stood b
efore in surprise. He stood before his old chamber – the one he had occupied as advisor. With a soft laugh, he turned from his old bedroom and moved through the corridors and stairs, passing staring servants, to the King’s Chamber.

He hesitated before the heavily engraved doors, his hands ho
vering above the gold handles. He tightened his jaw, pulled the door open and entered. Slowly, the oak doors swung shut behind him and for a moment he stood still, letting his eyes roam over the room.

A magnificent chandelier hung at the center of the domed cei
ling. The room was three times the size of his old chamber, with a handsome, rosewood writing desk, a sitting area with luxurious chairs and glittering crystal bottles of wines and liquors, a fireplace large enough to roast a boar, and a giant bed. Along the walls hung decorative tapestries, and two glass doors closed off the winter chill from a balcony. Salir, of course, had seen all of this before. As advisor, he had sat in that very chair, discussing issues with His Majesty, often over a bottle of gooseberry wine. A smile slowly formed upon his face.

Salir walked past tall candelabras, whose flames flickered, to the glass doors. There he stood, overlooking his city—his
kingdom
. He stood just as still as the stone gargoyles that leaned boldly over the balcony’s intricate edge, watching the setting sun sink to her death. He stared, never moving, at his darkening city, his slim figure bathed in bloody reds and deep golds.

Sharply, he yanked the delicate drapes back over the glass. The tall candlesticks sputtered light into the darkened room, making wild shadows dance upon the walls. His shoulders suddenly tense, he turned slowly on the spot until he faced the two large portraits opposite him. Slowly yet deliberately, never shifting his gaze, Salir walked across the floor to one of the paintings.

Salir stepped before King Sebastian’s portrait and tilted his head back, his eyes gleaming in the candlelight.

“
Long live the king
.”

2
Meetings and Musings

Four weeks passed, bringing with them icy rain that left the roads a muddy, slushy mess. Cayla glared out of the rain-smeared window from the Princess’s Chamber. Even though nothing strange had happened in the castle for the last twenty-eight days, Cayla could still not accept that the danger had passed. King Sebastian’s mu
rderer was free, and it seemed to Cayla that she was the only one bothered by this.

“Cayla, we’ve been through this,” her friend Nanette had exclaimed in exasperation one week before. “I know it’s hard for you to accept Alice’s death, but—”

“She didn’t do it, Nanette,” Cayla had snapped fiercely.

“You know I know that,” Nanette had sighed. “I’m just saying that nothing has happened. If there was a murderer lurking the halls, don’t you think he would have done something by now?”

“But what Gerda said makes sense!”

“You’re listening to Gerda now?” Nanette had shook her head in mock disappointment. “Good Lord, Cayla, you are desperate.”

“I’m serious!” Cayla had fumed and Nanette had stopped smi
ling. “Who would want King Sebastian dead?”
“Criminals?” Nanette had shrugged. “Or Sir Salir? It was settled long ago that he would rule if King Sebastian or Queen Amara weren't able to—if Princess Avona was still too young, that is.”

“I thought of him first, too,” Cayla had agreed. “I would think that at some point an advisor would get tired of advising and want to start doing. But—”

“But he doesn’t seem the type to go about poisoning people,” Nanette had finished dully for her.

Cayla had nodded.

“Did you see him when it was announced that the queen had died? He looked so shocked.”

“He could be a good actor,” Nanette had suggested.

“No one’s that good,” Cayal had stated. “He looked like a ghost. Like a shell.”

“Okay, scratch him off then.” Nanette had waved her arm as if slashing a name off an invisible list. “Who else? A knight?”

Cayla snorted irritably as the memory faded, glaring at the rain-washed courtyard below.
A knight
. Cayla did
not
enjoy the knights’ company. A group of knights in particular were a bit too quick to pull out their daggers for Cayla’s liking. King Sebastian and Queen Amara had often been displeased with this small group, but Sir Illius Molick, the Captain of the Knights, had always assured them that he had them under control. They were volatile. Violent.

It wasn’t hard for Cayla to believe that a knight from that group had poisoned the king and blamed it on Alice. The question was, which one?

Sir Adrian Bayard was a hot head. Cayla doubted he would have the finesse for slipping poison in a goblet. He seemed too attracted to his own fists. But Sir Alexander Vinsus on the other hand … Cayla could easily see him plotting this murder. He was steely, cold, and as slick as a snake. Cayla often chose to travel down different corridors to keep from walking past him.

Cayla snorted again, turning from the window. She and the rest of the servants had heard rumors that the “difficult” group of knights had been quietly planning a revolt, but none of the rumors had been substantial enough to be taken seriously, especially with King Sebastian on the throne. But if the knights
were
going to rebel … if they
had
been behind King Sebastian’s death, then they would show it, wouldn’t they? Cayla tried to remember how the knights had been behaving over these past few weeks. Bayard had been strutting about the place like he owned it, but he always strutted. And yes, Vinsus had been more open in his aggression toward the poor and the servants … had sneered and grabbed his sword a bit more than usual. And Cayla had seen an increase in whispered conversations between these knights. Just yesterday she had seen Vinsus and Sir Anon Haskin talking in undertones, but Anon wasn’t a troublemaker. He was one of the few knights Cayla felt comfortable around.

Wanting to turn her thoughts to something else, Cayla picked up the letter that had arrived earlier that day. Two old friends were in the city … she’d need to pay them a visit, or at least write back.

Princess Avona suddenly screamed shrilly, shattering Cayla’s thoughts quite effectively. Tossing the letter to one side, she rushed to her, cooing and rocking her gently, but for all the good she did, she might as well have just ignored her.

“Goodness, the child isn’t too pleased, is she?”

Cayla spun around. Salir Romore stood in the doorway, looking slightly amused at the ear-shattering pitch the princess had reached.

“Would it pain you if I joined you?”

Cayla blinked dumbly before hastily curtseying as best she could with the wriggling princess in her arms. She still hadn’t gotten used to the fact that Salir Romore, King Sebastian’s quiet advisor, was now ruler of Lenzar.

“Of course, Your Highness,” Cayla replied over Princess Av
ona’s yells. “Shh! Darling,
shh!
”

“Perhaps she is not fond of my company?” mused Salir with a good-humored smile as Princess Avona screeched particularly loudly.

“No!” Cayla denied, still desperately trying to quiet her. “That’s ridiculous, Your Highness!”

“Either way, I think I will return when she is calmer—asleep perhaps …” He turned to go.

“No, please! Your Highness, do stay. Look, she’s quieting.”

And in fact the princess’s yells had dwindled to a small, pathe
tic whine, her face as red as a cherry.

Salir smiled, but then the glow from his smile dulled and it seemed suddenly to Cayla that his young face looked much older.

“I have not yet spoken to you of Alice Spindle’s death,” he said quietly, “and I apologize for that.”

The room was suddenly much colder.

“Thank you,” said Cayla jerkily.

“I was told you were friends with her.”

Cayla nodded, looking firmly at a chair’s legs. She wished he would leave … why had she called him back? She felt as if something large was jammed in her throat, keeping her from swallowing.

“I want you to know that I am here for you,” Salir said softly. “If you need to speak to anyone … just know that I am here.”

Cayla nodded again, her jaw clenched tightly. When she did not reply, Salir slowly walked toward the door.

“Sir!”

Salir stopped and half turned, looking at her over his shoulder. “Yes?”

“I-I don’t think Alice murdered King Sebastian,” Cayla said in a rush, frightened at her own daring. “I think she was set up … by someone in the castle.”

Salir’s eyebrows rose.

“And what made you form this theory?” he asked in surprise. “All evidence pointed to her poisoning His Majesty’s goblet.”

“I know, sir, I know.” Cayla shook her head, her eyes shut. “But I trust my instincts. Odd things have happened—the queen’s accident—”

“You believe that was not an accident?”

Cayla hesitated before replying.

“I do.”

“I see.” Salir looked around the room. His eyes momentarily rested on Princes Avona who still fidgeted in Cayla’s arms. “I will do all I can to help put your mind at ease.” With a curt nod, he went out the door, closing it softly behind him.

Cayla stood still, eyes fixed on the newly closed door, for quite some time until Princess Avona suddenly grabbed hold of one of her locks of hair and yanked. Gently scolding, Cayla returned the princess to her crib, but her mind was only partly on the giggling baby. The other part was wondering if Salir Romore would try to find out if Alice had been framed.

***

“Cayla, you’ve been inside for far too long,” Nanette snapped irritably. “Go outside—”

“I’ve been outside!” Cayla retorted indignantly.

“
To the orchard
,” Nanette scoffed, hands on hips, rolling her eyes sarcastically. “Wow, Cayla, I’m
so
impressed.”

“All right, all right,” Cayla grunted as Nanette beamed triu
mphantly, “but someone has to watch the princess and she still has to be fed and—”

“—and don’t worry,” Nanette interjected. She placed her arm around Cayla’s shoulders.

“We can’t be gone for very long!” Cayla continued. “I can’t—”

“Cayla,” Nanette said with force, letting go of her shoulders and glaring at her. “We are going to the Lone Candle—
ah, ah, ah
!” She waved a hand briskly to stop Cayla from interrupting. “And we are going to have a nice, long dinner. I’ll be back here at seven and we can be off.”

She smiled pleasantly, gave the princess a peck on the for
ehead, and left to find Kiora Locke, an older servant who often helped Cayla with Princess Avona.

At five till seven, Nanette entered the Princess’s Chamber, o
bviously still pleased with herself for getting Cayla out of the castle, closely followed by Kiora.

“I’ve just fed her,” Cayla said with the attitude of a fussy mother hen, “so she’ll probably go to sleep. If she wakes up and starts crying—”

“Cayla, Kiora has done this before,” said Nanette, amused, “and we’ll only be gone for a few hours. Not two months.”

“Well, you never can tell!” snapped Cayla, snatching her cloak off the back of a chair, kissing her charge gently and hurrying from the room. Kiora and Nanette shared slightly exasperated yet amused smiles before Nanette closed the door and followed Cayla down the corridor.

Cayla and Nanette stepped out into the crisp night and Cayla was pleased to find that there was no wind. Bright lamps illuminated the wide gravel road that led to the main gate. Cayla and Nanette nodded silently to the guard before continuing down a cobblestone road. The hems of their skirts and cloaks swished heavily around their ankles, dampening from small pools of water between the uneven stones. The road gleamed yellow from the lines of flickering lamps.

The Lone Candle was by far the most popular inn in Bosc, the capital of Lenzar. It was a cheerful hole-in-the-wall run by a rosy-cheeked man and his rosy-cheeked wife. The food and drink was some of the best for miles and traveling musicians provided a co
ntinual foot-tapping jig. Cayla and Nanette stopped at the Lone Candle’s brightly lit windows, sparkling merrily with raindrops. The inn’s sign, that of a squat candle with lumpy ribbons of wax dripping sluggishly down its sides onto a cracked, wooden table, creaked in a sudden cold breeze.

Nanette opened the heavy wooden door and they flinched slightly as the battering ram of music and talk issuing from the crowded room barreled over them. Cayla and Nanette entered and with difficulty squeezed through the throng of people standing around the thumping musicians in the corner by the door and weaved between tables to one at the far end of the room. They shed their long, wet cloaks—the large fireplace in the stone wall kept the inn comfortably toasty.

“Well I’ll be!” rang a loud, clear voice.

Olive Dunker, the rosy complexioned co-owner of the Lone Candle had squeezed through the wooden tables with difficulty due to her very large stomach and stood before their table.

“I’ll be!” she exclaimed again, even louder than before, hands on her hips, a smile taking up more than half her face. “If it isn’t Cayla Black. Why, I haven’t seen you in ages! Beginning to think you’d vanished,” Olive laughed merrily.

Cayla smiled.

“When’s the baby due?” asked Nanette.

Olive chuckled. “February. But the way he’s growing …” She patted her stomach affectionately and shrugged her shoulders as if to say “but what’s wrong with that?”

“Any names yet?” Nanette asked.

“Not many,” Olive admitted, flushing slightly. “Thomas and I know so many people—customers, you know—and you’d be amazed at how hard it is to find something original. But I have a soft spot for Galen. What do you think?”

“Galen Dunker. Sounds nice,” Nanette agreed. “But what if it’s a girl?”

Olive’s eyes widened.

“Names are so difficult,” she said. As Nanette laughed, Olive turned back to Cayla, “So why the long time no see?”

“It’s taken me longer than I thought to … to deal with Alice’s death,” Cayla replied quietly, though proud that her voice had r
emained steady.

Dawning comprehension swept over Olive’s face and she bent closer to them, no longer smiling, her voice hushed.

“Horrible, that’s what it is! Never would have
dreamed
—I’m still horrified! And you two were friends with her!” Her eyes widened in shocked realization.

“Everyone liked Alice,” Nanette said quickly, laying a hand on Cayla’s arm, who looked as if a dark cloud had suddenly materia
lized over her head. “She was very kind.”

“Yes, I know!” Olive nodded, her eyes wide. “It’s just baffling! But I guess you can’t tell with some people, can you? I feel so ho
rribly for the poor princess. An orphan and not even a year old.”

“I think we’ll order now, Olive,” said Nanette, cutting a glance at Cayla who was sitting so still and rigid she could have been stone.