While Beauty Slept (18 page)

I remembered the figurines in Millicent’s room, the carved pieces depicting naked, round-bellied women. Months later I could still feel the strange pull they had exerted, as if begging to be taken into my hand. I had known, in my heart, that those creatures were tinged with danger, yet I had taken one. Lain with it underneath my pillow. Had I put my very soul in peril?

Queen Lenore looked at each of us in turn, taking in the king’s suspicious scowl, Flora’s anxious eyes, and my fearful concern. Her delicate shoulders straightened, and she faced us directly, captivating us with her husky, musical voice.

“We were there three days,” she began. “We prayed, we ate with the nuns who watch over the sanctuary, we walked the grounds. It was all as I had expected, until our final night. Millicent waited until Isla and the other ladies were asleep, and then she crept into my room and awakened me. She told me to come as I was, in my nightdress. It must have been past midnight. The moon was hidden behind clouds, and I could barely see my way down the path that led from the convent.

“She took me into the church and lit a candle. I thought she meant us to pray one last time, but she led me to a small anteroom. Underneath the woven mat that covered the floor was a wooden door. She pulled it up, and I saw narrow dirt steps leading into the ground. A wave of air wafted into my face. It was so cold and damp I felt I was staring into a grave. I stopped, shook my head, and said I wouldn’t go.

“I cannot explain what happened next. The thought of entering that pit terrified me. And yet, when Millicent stepped down inside, I followed. I knew from that moment I would do whatever she demanded.”

Flora nodded slowly, acknowledging the force of her sister’s will. Had she spent her whole life subject to Millicent’s commands? I felt a deep stab of sympathy for her, as I did for poor Queen Lenore. Had I been in her place, I would have followed Millicent down those stairs just as readily.

“The way gradually opened before us,” the queen went on, “revealing a large chamber hollowed into the earth. Flat stones engraved with strange letters and crude carvings of women were arranged in a circle on the floor. In the very center was a patch of black soil, the size of a well. Millicent gripped my hands and began babbling, words I could scarce follow in my bewildered state. She spoke of a Great Mother and the power granted to those who served her. I knew it for blasphemy, but I did not have the strength to resist.”

“It is as I said before,” the king declared. “The woman has lost her senses!”

“I do not expect you to understand,” Queen Lenore said, her tone wistful rather than dismissive. “I only ask for mercy when I tell you what happened next. One moment I was listening to her ramblings, and the next I saw a flash of silver as she raised a knife into the air above us. I wondered if she meant to kill me, and yet I was so in thrall to her that I did not fear such a death. Millicent grabbed my arm and held the knife over my wrist. I had only to make a blood oath accepting Millicent’s dominion over me and my deepest wish would be granted. It was then that I realized the nature of the dark stains scattered across the stones and the dirt floor.”

The king scowled in disgust, and my stomach churned with revulsion. Queen Lenore turned her despondent face to her husband, as if only he could offer absolution.

“I may be forever damned, but it was my last hope. I watched a red stream burst from my skin as Millicent cut into my wrist, and I swore to do whatever she demanded. Millicent told me the goddess’s wishes would be done, that if I lay with my husband on my return home, I would find myself with child. I returned to my room as if in a dream. For hours I drifted in and out of sleep, and by morning I was wretched with guilt. The entire journey home, I agonized over what I had done. I hesitated before inviting you to my chamber, I was so fearful of what the outcome might be.

“And then, when I found out I was having Rose . . .” Queen Lenore’s eyes had misted over with tears. “I was so happy and yet so afraid. I could not deny Millicent anything.”

“Enough of these lies!” the king commanded, breaking the spell cast on all of us by the queen’s tale. “It was a dream, brought on by my aunt’s devious whispers.”

“You do not believe me?” Queen Lenore pleaded, her face incredulous. “Look! Look upon the proof carved into my flesh!”

She thrust her arm at the king, palm upward, and the shimmering fabric of her sleeve slid backward. A puckered scar was all that remained of the raw gash I had noted on the morning I first spoke to her. Now, as I saw the evidence of her blasphemous bargain, my heart sank. The woman I looked to as a model of grace and kindness had shown herself capable of evil, and I feared that my love for her would be forever tainted by the memory of that slashed skin. It was only many years later, when I carried the grief of childlessness myself, that I was able to look upon the queen’s decision with understanding, not judgment. None of us can know what we are capable of until we are tested.

The king pulled roughly at Queen Lenore’s sleeve to conceal the wound.

“I will hear no more of this,” he said sharply, his tone that of a father reprimanding a wayward daughter.

Flora, who had stood wide-eyed but silent throughout the queen’s story, took a small step forward. “Ranolf,” she said. “Do not doubt my sister’s resolve. If she has sworn revenge, she will find a way to take it.”

Queen Lenore choked back a sob, and Flora took her hand. “All is not lost,” she said soothingly. “I cannot undo Millicent’s curse. But I can keep Rose and the family safe.”

The king looked at her doubtfully, but the queen was eager to take hope from Flora’s words.

“The herbs in my garden can be used to heal. Millicent may have the power to sicken Rose, but she will not die, I promise.”

“I’ll not have you practice dark arts on my daughter,” the king muttered.

“Dark arts!” Flora shook her head quickly as a blush flooded her cheeks. “My cures ease pain and lighten fevers. There is nothing dark about them.”

I was doubtful that the king’s eccentric aunt had the skill to cheat death, but I could see from the way the queen’s eyes brightened that she took heart from Flora’s assurances. Could the kingdom’s salvation lie in the hands of this timid, disheveled woman?

King Ranolf stood silent for a moment, and I was not the only one who feared what words he might utter next. His eyes seemed to stare miles into the distance, and his chest quivered with the effort of maintaining steady breaths. Just as his wealth outdid that of any man in the kingdom, so did his passions. Would this terrible story forever destroy the tender feelings that had so bound him to his pregnant wife? Or would that love be strong enough to temper his rage?

“I will do whatever I must,” he said at last, reaching for Queen Lenore’s hands. “If it sets your mind at rest, we shall install tasters in the kitchen for our food. It is the custom at other courts. No one will think it amiss.”

“The spinning wheels,” Queen Lenore said. “I can’t stop thinking of what she said, about Rose pricking her finger. . . .”

“If you wish it, I will burn every spinning wheel in the castle.”

“People will think me mad,” she whispered.

King Ranolf had always inspired more fear in me than love, but my heart swelled with affection in that moment, for he did not mock his wife or disparage her fears. He simply drew her closer and spoke as if they were the only two people in the room. “Your will is the will of the people. Whatever you wish shall be done.”

Queen Lenore nodded.

“Banish Aunt Millicent’s poisonous words from your thoughts,” the king urged. “Her actions were those of a traitor, and she will reap a traitor’s punishment.”

Flora’s eyes flickered nervously from the king to Queen Lenore to me. With that glance she and I became allies, silently promising to do what we must to spare the queen further agonies of guilt. Despite the king’s assurances, I felt no safer now than I had in the moments immediately following Millicent’s tirade. I knew too well her cunning, her ability to mold others’ actions to her purposes. I might hate her for what she had done to my mistress, but even I could not swear before God that I was resistant to her influence. She knew my weaknesses, as no one else did, and she would not hesitate to use them against me.

“That witch will not destroy us,” the king vowed.

And yet, by sowing the seeds of mistrust and fear, Millicent already had begun to do just that.

Seven

NEW BEGINNINGS

T
he bonfire blazed through the night, blistering the skies with its defiant light. All the spinning wheels in the castle had been smashed and burned in the front courtyard, and by the following day, in a gesture of loyalty, women from St. Elsip were dragging their own wheels to the foot of the hill outside the gates. The stack soon towered above the heads of the tallest men, and ladders were propped along the sides to carry the latest arrivals to the top. I joined a group of the queen’s ladies at the windows of Lady Wintermale’s room, overlooking the town, and watched a guard mount the ladder at sundown and set the pile alight. It was a stirring sight, and I found myself captivated by the crackling, sparking mass. Queen Lenore’s empty, silent workroom made me mourn for all that had been lost, but I hoped the fiery display outside the walls would show Millicent—wherever she might be—that the king’s subjects stood united against her.

But the following day I heard a group of footmen muttering that the king’s precautions had gone too far.

“He’s ordered the church of St. Agrelle destroyed,” said one whom I had often seen standing outside the Council Chamber. “The convent as well, down to the foundations. The king says it’s a favorite retreat of Lady Millicent’s, and he’ll not have her hiding there.”

“I wish her dead as much as anyone, but that’s hardly a reason to tear down a house of God, is it?” asked one of the other men.

“It’ll be more than torn down,” said the first man. “It’s to be set aflame and left to rot. ‘Leave the earth scorched and barren,’ he said. The northerners will use it as another mark against him, you can be sure of that.”

He ceased talking abruptly when he noticed I had stopped to listen. Turning swiftly away, I hid my face from them, as I would not have word spread through the castle that I had smiled in relief at the destruction of a church. Such an action would no doubt be proclaimed sacrilege by the deRauleys, the king’s disloyal relations who held sway in the north of the kingdom, but it would also risk offending even the king’s staunchest subjects.

If the obliteration of that blood-spattered pit beneath the earth was meant to reassure my mistress, it did not have the desired effect. She insisted Rose sleep in her bed, against the wishes of her ladies and the king.

“I’ll not have her raised like a peasant,” he said. “It’s time she was moved to the nursery.”

“Not yet,” Queen Lenore begged. “Not when she’s so small.”

I saw the pain flash across the king’s eyes and knew he would relent. “I will do everything in my power to protect her. I promise you.”

He was true to his word. The number of guards at the castle gates was tripled, and each visitor and parcel was searched thoroughly before being permitted entrance. This caused much grumbling among the tradesmen forced to wait in line for hours along the road, and noble families protested formally when they learned they, too, would have their cloaks and bags inspected. To those of us behind the gates, the castle might as well have been under siege. I barely left the royal apartments, as Queen Lenore insisted on my presence at all hours. Over the following months, I ventured beyond the grounds only once, to observe the baptism of Aunt Agna’s new granddaughter. I held baby Prielle and smoothed my lips across her downy head, breathing in her sleepy scent, wishing Princess Rose could have been welcomed into the world with such serenity. Prielle at least would live a simple, normal life, unencumbered by the terrible burdens of royalty.

Of Millicent we heard nothing. The king sent his best men after her, but perhaps she had magical powers after all, for they returned empty-handed. She had vanished, like a phantom. The thought that she might yet be plotting against the family weighed heavily on Queen Lenore, and I saw the toll it took on her in sleepless nights. She fretted if Rose was not within her sight and did not allow any of the other ladies to hold her. The baby was quieter than any I had known, but rather than give thanks for Rose’s peaceful disposition, the queen worried that the tranquillity presaged illness.

The only assurances of Rose’s good health that held any weight with the queen were those given by Flora. The king’s aunt did not fully relinquish her eccentric habits in the weeks following the baptism, but little by little she emerged from her prior isolation. She tended to her herbs in full sunlight, rather than at dawn or dusk, and became a regular visitor to the royal apartments. Casual conversation did not come easily to her after so many years of self-contained silence, and she skittered away like a frightened hare when groups of ladies swarmed through the garden in a chattering mass. Yet it was Flora, our unlikely savior, who delivered the queen from the fear that threatened to imprison us all.

It was a bright spring afternoon, the sort that once would have sent Queen Lenore to the garden to consult on new plantings or choose cuttings for her rooms. Yet she had not set foot outside in the three months since Rose’s birth. I lingered at the window in the sitting room, gazing at the trees and newly flowering bushes. Below, a familiar figure emerged from the herb garden and strolled leisurely along the winding path, a route I longed to follow myself.

Flora looked up, and I raised a hand in greeting. In return she held up a bright yellow bloom, the first flower of the season.

Delighted, I beckoned her to join us. Before long she had arrived in the queen’s sitting room, clutching her floral offering.

“My lady, come see,” I enthused. “The daffodils are blooming!”

Queen Lenore glanced up briefly, taking in Flora and the blossoms without emotion. Everything that had once given her pleasure—flowers, music, poetry—had been forgotten, replaced by fear for Rose. Flora gave a heavy sigh, and the weary sound encompassed all our despair.