“She is a Teller!” Kjell spit out, as if the word was bile.
“She is a Teller,” the king confirmed. “An incredibly powerful one. If she tells them to die, to fall from the sky, to throw themselves into the Jyraen Sea, they will.”
“And what if she turns that power on you, Highness? Will you become her puppet? Will I?”
“That is a risk we must take, Kjell. And so far, she’s not used her power on you. Obviously.” Tiras’s tone was so dry it crackled with mirth.
“You are different with her. You are almost . . . gentle.” Kjell said the word gentle with hushed disdain. “It’s . . . strange, Tiras!”
“I can’t help but be gentle with her, because she is gentle with me.” Tiras sounded embarrassed, and I felt the ice at my heart begin to thaw, even as Kjell scoffed loudly.
“She isn’t even beautiful, Tiras! She isn’t tall and strong. Bearing your sons will likely kill her.”
“She is strong in a different way. And your definition of beauty isn’t mine,” Tiras argued. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I sat up in the bed, my chest pounding.
“You don’t like big breasts and full hips? You don’t like brown skin and thick, dark hair? Since when, Majesty? She is a pale wisp of nothing.”
I winced.
“She is of use to me, Kjell. Who else can boast the same? I know no other woman who is of any use to me at all.”
Kjell was silent, and my pounding heart slowed to a sad slog. I cursed myself for listening in. It served me right. I thought of the wishing well and the silly people who threw their voices down into the murky depths, hoping the God of Words would hear them and grant their desires on a whim. I had been foolish too. I had given my words to a man who could use me. And use me he had. Use me he would. Until I was no longer of use. Silence daughter, stay alive.
I told myself I should be grateful I knew the truth. I laid back down on the big empty bed and I hugged the edge like a sculpture formed from buffeting winds and constant rains, impenetrable and hard. I refused to make words or entertain thought—to feel at all—until blessed sleep took me away on downy wings.
For three days the castle walls rang with preparations, and the city beneath my balcony geared up for yet another battle. The sounds from the forge filled the air, and the clanging of weapons and the sharpening of swords seemed never-ending. Horses were shod and fitted, supplies gathered, and carts and carriages filled as soldiers flirted and wives prayed and the line to the wishing well doubled.
The air crackled, like a storm was approaching, and I felt it gathering even as I tried to ignore the flurry and scurry outside the king’s chamber. I had nothing to prepare for, no duties to attend to, so I read and wrote and pretended that I was master of my fate instead of a virtual prisoner of war. I didn’t see the king again, not even once, though I’d seemingly been permanently moved to his room. Some of my clothing and all of my books, as well as my paint and writing supplies, were neatly arranged in an empty boudoir.
The day before the army departed, a feast was laid out in the square, table after table laden with roasted meats, figs and fruits and breads and sweets, and the food kept coming as each family in Jeru city brought an offering, and all shared in the spoils. The people ate all day, singing and dancing as if they would never do so again. I observed the party from above, spinning a spell every once in a while, just to prove I could. A horse reared and pawed the air, and I sent him a calm command before he upended an apple cart. A growling dog lunged at a child, and I banned him from the square. He retreated obediently, his tail between his legs.
I watched as the colorful skirt of a pretty maid snagged on a sharp corner and ripped straight up the back. She heard it tear and looked around in horror only to breathe in relief when she found it undamaged. It took a word to repair it, and I smiled at my handiwork.
Objects were easy, animals almost as easy, but people were harder to influence. So I tried my hand at simple solutions and what I deemed “helpful acts.” A man in silks strode through the square amid the tables groaning with food, taking and never giving in return. I watched him eat three sticky rolls from a woman selling bread, only to tell the woman they were barely edible and refuse to pay her. The money on his belt clanked as he walked, and the woman watched him strut away with helpless anger.
Rip and tear, Pay your share.
The man’s money made a trail behind him as he walked, the coins streaming from his torn money pouch, falling silently onto the hard-packed dirt. The baker followed behind him and took the coins she was owed, leaving the rest to fall by the wayside for others to find. I felt a twinge of guilt, judging him so completely, and repaired the tear before he lost everything.
I saw Kjell in the square. Boojohni too. I called to him in my mind, and he glanced up, waved, and did a little dance that made me laugh. He seemed happy and free, and I was glad for him, even as I wished to walk beside him and see the festivities up close. I never saw the king—it was as if Kjell had assumed the responsibility for directing the arrangements for the upcoming departure—and I wondered if Tiras was shut away somewhere, dealing with the business of the kingdom, plotting a way to defeat the Volgar and the Council of Lords. Or maybe he was ill and had given up on my ability to heal him. I thought maybe he’d forgotten all about me, though a guard remained at the door at all times, and I never went without a meal or a bath.
When the sun went down, the party moved from the courtyard and into the dwellings of the townspeople, and a pervasive silence slipped over the city, a silence that warned of an early morning and a long journey. I sat in the dark on the king’s balcony, listening for anyone or anything that might keep me company, desperate to escape, if only for a while. Before I came to Jeru City I’d had little freedom, but I’d stolen what I could. I would steal it again if I had too. I looked around for a solution to my problem and spotted a horse cart teeming with straw near the path to the stables. It was too far away to serve as a soft place to land, but I could remedy that.
Cart of straw, against the wall, move below me, catch my fall.
The cart began to move, slowly, as if it had been released at the top of a small hill and was rolling back to the bottom. It came to a teetering stop beneath the balcony, a stack of glorious gold forty feet below me. I laughed, my shoulders shaking and my hands pressed to my mouth, almost giddy with the opportunity I’d made for myself.
But it was so far. And what if someone saw me jump?
I peered over the edge, down, down, down to the cart of straw and quickly reconsidered. I needed to get closer, somehow. I would never dare make that leap. The castle walls were lined with smooth stone, not especially ideal for climbing . . . unless I created foot holds.
I didn’t stop to question the wisdom of the plan but climbed up onto the balcony ledge, balancing on the edge with my hands against the castle wall. I touched a stone near my head and demanded it fall.
Smooth rock, beneath my palm,
Move so I can climb this wall.
The rock immediately loosened and fell, creating a perfect divot for my fingers to cling to. I tapped the wall with my toe and repeated the spell, to create an opening for my right foot. The rock obeyed, and I started my precarious descent, creating hand holds and ledges all the way down, until the cart was a mere handful of feet below me. Then I let go.