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I leaped into action at Sandra’s call, arranging plates, straitening the chairs after booting Thorn’s rump out of them, and kicking aside any wayward leaves that had happened to fall in the last five minutes. Nervesingeing panic began to set in with the ticking of every passing second. I know the horror stories told by maids from other households. What if I did something wrong? Messed up some kind of internal code of operation or even worse, what if I spilled something on someone?
“Oh, Travain! You’re just darling! So brilliant and smart! I can’t believe some girl hasn’t snapped you up yet.”
My subtly sparkling hands froze still as ice at the whiny fawning I knew all too well. Milasy. The arrogant, self-centered, nightmare herself. Even after being forewarned, I was hoping that maybe she would be sick or something where she couldn’t come – the or something, being like maybe the ground just opened up and swallowed her whole. Fat chance of that though, she’s too bitter and it would probably spit her back out. And lucky me, I get to spend the whole afternoon with her.
It’s so reassuring to know that this remaining torture in my life hasn’t changed yet.
The voluminous level of the fawning reached new heights as the door to the house opens to reveal King Nikos and Prince Travain marching out in all their royal glory. The short king was dressed in one of his robes – the brilliantly orange one I might add—that reached beyond his bony feet to puddle on the ground like water at the base of a stream, the too long sleeves hanging off his shoulders like empty sacks, and the hem kicking out with every step of his non-visible feet. What was most eye-catching besides the ornate golden crown resting on his head was the absolutely putrid shade of orange the fuzzy fabric was dyed, resembling a pile of dog vomit more than a fabric fit for a king. Someone, I am assuming Travain, had the foresight to pin the king’s long beard up to half its original length, no longer a tripping danger for the short king but tucked underneath his chin in an odd poof that looked like a cloud had been pinned beneath his neck.
In sheer contrast to the king, Travain was once again bedecked in his tunic and matching pants of creamy white. The only exceptional difference being that this outfit was accessorized with a jet black belt around his waist and a small white velvet cape was attached to his shoulders, flowing slightly in the breeze created by the speed of his stride.
Pattering on close behind the prince was my most unfavorite customer from the Femme Mystique, Milasy, in muddy brown silk and pink ribbons tied to the tiny braids decorating her loose blonde hair. She flipped a hand through the length of her strands and cooed, blatantly flirting with the prince from behind the decorated paper fan she held close to her face. Another girl followed behind Milasy – She appeared to be slightly younger than me, but I don’t recognize her at all, she must be Adva. – her storklike features performed jerky, birdlike movements that tried to mimic every movement of Milasy’s but failed, only serving to enhance her already odd appearance.
Waddling after the girls were two men both clad in the fine clothing of a magistrate, although one was nearly as short as the king but also twice as fat – he almost looked like he could roll around like a ball instead of waking. Obviously Magistrate Ghro if I had to guess – while the other was tall and slender, and even more birdlike with his shoulder length iron-grey hair and ill-tempered glower – and he must be Magistrate Saxton.
Last of all walking behind the little entourage was Sandra, Solomon, and the same three girls I had seen in the kitchen. Their heads were bowed and watching the footsteps of their forbearers as they trudged along behind. I slowly backed up till the trunk of the willow tree bumped against my back, patiently waiting with my head bowed and hands clasped in front of me as the royal crowd approached.
“Travain! You didn’t tell me that you had a new maid! I hope she lasts longer than the last one. It’s just so hard to find good help these days.” I could feel Milasy razor sharp gaze sliding over my appearance, taking in every piece of my new appearance one by one until the click of the puzzle pieces as they snapped together one by one became clear. “You’re the new maid?” She finally screeched.
“Yes, ma’am.” I whispered, bending down to perform a sweeping curtsy that my shoulder protested with a sharp stab of pain.
“Travain!” Milasy whirled on the prince in a huff of swirling mud-colored fabric. “How could you do this? Don’t you know who this is?”
The prince started to reply with one of his signature cutting remarks but the king was already in progress. “Shut your pie hole, you little slavering bimbo! Miss Kyri is my maid for a reason. She is my friend.” A withered claw-like hand tugged at my clasped ones – I pushed the magic back down to try and dampen the glow, luckily the king wasn’t shocked when he grabbed on to my skin. “Come on, girlie. It’s time for lunch.”
It seems that Niko’s particular brand of insanity is in full swing today as the king tugged me over to where he was seated at the head of the table – or where he tried to be seated, Travain had to lift him by his armpits into the chair because he couldn’t quite hop that high. The arthritis in his knees was too bad, he claimed.
While standing next to the king, I noticed that both of the magistrates seated next to him on either side were strangely silent. The pudgy Ghro already had his sausage shaped fingers buried deep in the pile of sandwiches and was rapidly shoveling them into his mouth as fast as he could manage—I could see the tales of his insatiable appetite were not exaggerated as I had suspected. In contrast, Magistrate Saxton barely picked at the apple slices on his plate, his fork slicing off miniscule chunks from each slice which he chewed exactly thirty-two times – I know, I counted.— with his unblinking eyes never leaving the mad king the whole time.
Traveling on down the table, both Milasy and Adva sat beside their respective fathers, both scowling and puffed up like a pair of grumpy wet hens. Scathing glances darted my way every few seconds from Milasy’s eyes as if I had insulted her by merely being appointed by the king to a maid’s position. I wish I had the ability to tell her that I hadn’t asked for this position—although I am grateful that it saved me from the executioner for now – and all the craziness that has come with it. I would have been more than happy to have my old life back, to work in the dress shop by my mom’s side and to have never ventured beyond the wall for that damned Vitare’s silk – if the truth be known, the blame also laid partially with Milasy for demanding such an extravagant gown anyway.
Down at the lowest end of the table sat a glowering Travain, a glass of rich burgundy wine held in his hand that he was gulping down with increased speed. His sour frown rounded out the table of dour expressions, the only one being truly happy was King Nikos who was happily munching on one of Rosa’s meat-filled sandwiches. Both Solomon and Sandra stood off to the side, heads bowed and awaiting orders while the other three girls flittered around the table doing this and that, mostly keeping Travain’s wine glass refilled.
The luncheon was a slow affair, frequently interrupted by mentions of business from Magistrate Saxton that mostly concerned the burned state and repair of Lentiqua. Magistrate Ghro only interrupting to yell something incomprehensible when he did not agree with Saxton, also resulting in a shower of half-eaten food to spray across the table. Normally that behavior was reserved for Nikos, but he also minded his manners, occasionally speaking up but mostly leaving the decision making to Travain. Milasy, who had now giving up on trying to murder me through the strength of his gaze, was now openly flirting with the prince to the best of her abilities, fluttering eyelashes, patting hands against the prince’s biceps, and tittering laughs were all in evidence and all so extremely fake. The strange Adva tried to follow her example, but the effect that just looked fake on Milasy looked almost monstrous on the storkish girl. When imitating a flirty grin, Adva’s face twisted into a garish bearing of teeth, and when she tried to lightly pat Travain’s shoulder, she gave a swat that would have sent a horse from standing completely motionless to a full rampaging gallop with a single stroke. I had no idea if Travain actually enjoyed the attention or not – his soured expression never changed no matter what the two girls did – but when Nikos gestured for Sandra and I to clear the table, I had never been more relieved to have something to do with my hands in all my life.
“Milasy, Adva, how would you girls like to see a demonstration of the lethal power and accuracy that a true king possesses?” Nikos suddenly announced as we cleared the remains of the dessert plates, interrupting Saxton’s monologue on the cost to repair the current mercantile shops that dealt in the retail of mined goods to flex his scrawny biceps in our direction. The speaking magistrate gaped back in shock, pointed brows narrowing into a v as he beheld the king actually flirting with the younger girls. The magistrates’ daughters shared a look of uncomfortable bewilderment before turning to simultaneously glance at Travain, seeking his input on what they should do.
The glass in the crown prince’s hand dangerously crackled under the sudden increase of pressure in his grip. Travain’s icy blue eyes narrowed to mere slits no thicker than a single leaf. With the most precise of control, he returned the glass to its place on the table, fine spider webs of tension imprinted into the glass after his fingers had uncurled from their resting position around the stem. “Your highness, perhaps we could continue to focus on our business efforts before participating in recreational activities?”
The king ignores his stepson’s suggestion, snapping his withered fingers in a gesture for Solomon to bring forth the archery equipment from the house. Solomon trudged forward at the command, lurching towards the house with his lopsided gate without so much as a nod in reply. Nikos continued on leering at the girls as if nothing had happened, completely ignoring his servant’s lack of respect, while Adva and Milasy looked distinctly more uncomfortable with each passing second of the king’s affectionate advances. Although uncomfortable in my present position by the king’s side, I had no desire to switch places with the higher born girls.
“Your highness, I must object to this blatant display of disinterest in your state of affairs!” Saxton rose to his feet and powerfully slammed his palms against the table, his anger palatable by the red flush staining his skin and the thin pulsing vein snaking down his thin neck. The enraged magistrate glared at the king so violently that I wondered if Saxton would reach across the table and haul the mad king to his feet. In contrast, Ghro looked like he could have cared less, sucking any remnants of sweet macaroon frosting off the tips of his pudgy fingers while gazing at his quickly enraging daughter out of the corner of his eye.
“Don’t let them catch you staring!” Sandra whispered urgently into my ear. My head snapped back around like it was on a whip, ignoring the interesting feud behind me as she handed me some of the used dishes and silverware to return to the kitchen.
“Why isn’t Angelo here? I thought it was the butler’s job to attend to the needs of the party?” I wondered.
Sandra shrugged as much as she was able too while holding the load of plates. “I don’t know exactly. Just that the prince told him to fetch something from the still operational part of Lentiqua, a bottle of wine I think it was. You would have thought that Travain would have prepared for everything with the magistrates coming and all. All part of being a royal prince I suppose, you don’t have to think ahead about things like that.”
We trudged back into the kitchen, the plates rattling as we dumped them into the sink for a later wash. Rosa barely noticed, too absorbed in punching her fists into the pale blob of dough on the countertop – I am assuming that the dough will be part of dinner tonight. Regardless, she doesn’t even spare us a glance before we head back outside to the battleground of opinions.
It seemed that the king was granted his wish because Solomon had retrieved a target set from the storage inside the house and the king was now bearing a bow and a quiver full of arrows, bouncing around eagerly while waiting for the falconer to completely set up the pitted red and white object object. Saxton, making his displeasure widely known, was screaming at the king for his attention on what must have been the most important matter in months. Nikos continued to ignore him, instead choosing to fire arrows at Solomon’s feet as encouragement to speed up his assembly. The falconer lazily dodged each strike with a loping step aside, the ground quickly becoming littered with half broken shafts and arrowheads burrowed deep into the ground. Travain took all this in with a painfully pinched expression, the glass of wine in his hand almost constantly being refilled by a blathering Milasy who had shoved the maids aside and removed the wine bottle from their hands, slathering praise onto the young prince while she continuously poured his glass till the burgundy liquid threatened to spill over the sides. Adva, wearing the same scowl as her father, looked as uncomfortably out of place at this luncheon as I felt.
“What’s going to happen next if Nikos keeps on ignoring the magistrates?” I whispered as the king stepped up to the now-completed target and fired with a twang. His arrow sailed through the air and thunked into the outermost red ring, quite far from the centermost red zone.
“Travain usually takes care of it when the magistrates come like this and Nikos isn’t quite all there. Usually a little money under the table seals a few mouths shut, but since the king has been acting funny just about every time a magistrate does come, I don’t know how much longer Travain is going to be able to hide it. All the magistrates are so backstabbingly sneaky that I’m surprised that they haven’t all turned on each other by now like a bunch of serpants, but they probably are suspicious about the king’s behavior.” Sandra shot a glance at the utterly bored Ghro and heatedly fuming Saxton. “There is not a single one of them that would support Travain if something did happen to Nikos. Grandma told me that sometimes she hears whispers about a coup d'état coming into play, but the magistrates always quiet the rumors before they can fully flourish.”
I had pretty much come to that suspicion on my own after the first encounter with the king, but even with my short time here, I have seen his lucid moments where he could be the incredibly cruel king everyone knew too well. They should be grateful for this childish state of mind whether they realized it or not.
Nikos drew and fired off three more arrows, each one clustering around the first in the outermost ring on the target. The king hissed in frustration—the girls insultingly tittering at his failed attempts to strike the bullseye—and raised his short, scraggly arms above his head in preparation to slam the weapon to the ground. As easy as breeze, Travain whisked behind the old man and removed the bow from his grasp, also sliding the quiver of arrows off Nikos’s sloped shoulders with the motion, and hefted them himself. “Why don’t you take a break for a little while, Father, and let me show the ladies how it is done?” Travain’s voice was so syrupy-sweet that Rosa could have used it to make meringue.
Plucking four arrows out of the quiver across his back, Travain aimed the first and fired, drawing and firing the remaining three in quick succession after the first. All four landed deeply embedded in the target, forming a clustered box shape in the ring just outside the bullseye but never striking the exact center. Milasy and Adva both clapped their hands and cheered approvingly while the Prince executed a graceful bow from the waist, his smirk radiating pure male arrogance like the light from the sun. Even the magistrates clapped warily in approval—no doubt they could not have performed a feat with such accuracy if they had needed to during warfare.
King Nikos was the only one besides the servants who was not smiling in some shape or form, his features puckered into a severe frown as he viewed his stepson with obvious disapproval, his withered arms hidden beneath the sleeves of his ugly robe folded against his scrawny chest. He didn’t look pleased with his stepson’s showing of talent in the least. Then, he turned and gazed at me, sunken red-rimmed eyes sparkling with malicious intent as he beckoned me forward with one curled finger. “That is all well and good, my son, but there is someone here who could best even that.”
I shook my head no. Not that. This was not how I wanted to show my years of hard training. Not as an amusing attraction during a luncheon for the elite.
The king smile widened, entirely lucid once more and knowing very well what he is asking.
Sandra’s hand pushed slightly at my waist, prodding me forward a step as I approached the king on shaky nerve-deadened legs, my steps as awkward as a newborn colts as I struggled to keep myself from falling forward flat on my face. Nikos giggled as Travain narrowed his eyes, the blue orbs scorching my skin with invisible flames before he thrusted the arrow and quiver into my trembling hands.
“Go on! Go on!” Nikos gestured impatiently, making little flapping movements with the shirtsleeves that had fallen over his hands. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the magistrates look to each other in confusion, not entirely sure what to make of Nikos selecting a maid to compete against the prince’s well known archery skill. It didn’t make sense to them.
Retrieving an arrow from the quiver and notching it against the smoothly waxed string, my shoulder screamed in protest as I pulled the string taught with fingers tingling with enough magical energy that I could have shocked all the elites surrounding me into unconsciousness. Sucking in a deep breath to steady myself, I stared down to the angry red center of the target.
The string twanged as I released the arrow, the vibrations traveling up my arm like waves lapping in a river. The missile whistles as it flies through the air, landing perfectly dead center of the target. A gasp rippled through the onlookers, so loud and sharp that it threatened to suck up all the available air in this space. Without waiting, I pulled another arrow from the quiver and fired again.
The arrow drove home in the heart of the first, splitting the shaft right through the center like two strips of peeling bark.
“That’s impossible!” Milasy screeched into the air. “There is no way that a stupid seamstress could be better at archery than my beloved prince!”
More grumbles rolled through the others like thunder over a valley. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Travain turning a new shade of red darker than the new glass of wine in his hand.
Pulling the last arrow from the quiver, I notched it to the bow. If you are going to do a job, you do it right. Focusing entirely on the arrow shaft splitting the center of the first, I released it through the air.
The final arrow slammed powerfully into the target, the wooden board snapping before it crumpled into a thousand tiny shards with the force of the blow like a giant had simply smashed the target with their foot. Laying face up in the bright sunlight was the largest chunk, the bullseye still holding the arrowheads embedded inside one another like nesting dolls. The two shafts had bent and curled into ribbons when the third and final arrow had struck home directly in the heart of the center.
I turned around and handed the empty quiver and bow to the widely smiling king. “You’re just like your father. A true master of archery.” He said proudly, shouldering the weapon in one hand – all the weight on one side of his smaller frame sent him dangerously close to tipping over onto his back – and attempted to upraise my hand like a champion soldier after a battlefield victory – it didn’t really work because his arms were too short to raise mine properly. The two magistrates and Adva all clapped politely at my unexpected victory, but Milasy huffed and turned her head aside, her arms crossed over her chest and was radiating a dangerously destructive aura now that the center of attention was off her precious prince Travain. That was fine with me. I don’t really care if she congratulates me or not. She is a pain in the ass, always has been and always will be.
Travain, on the other hand, had ceased his almost magenta colored flush. His anger now cooled and he had become the picture of an elegant gentleman by offering me his hand to shake, as if we were friendly rivals or something and not people who hated each other. “It seems you do have a bit of raw talent to be discovered, my dear. Maybe you could join us in the army training area sometime for a friendly round of lessons?” His blue eyes sparkled darkly with the question, displaying the same malevolent gleam that his stepfather showed. Family blood still runs thick between these two, no matter how much they deny it.
Milasy’s face erupted in a violently red flush that could have produced clouds of steam brewing from her ears. Her pale blue eyes contracted to pinpoint pricks of pure hatred, fingers twitching like she was itching to wrap them around my neck for even threatening to spend additional time together with the prince.
“I’d like that very much.” I muttered and bowed to the prince’s authority. In truth, it actually did feel good to hold and shoot a bow again. Not that I am eager to repeat the feat today in front of a live audience, mind you, but the ability to show up Travain at his own skill was priceless.
“Splendid idea, my boy!” The mad but now lucid king clapped his hands in delight. “I was just thinking the same thing! Kyri, from now on, your maid duties will be a little lighter so that you can attend the archery meetings with Travain. Doesn’t that sound grand? If you truly show talent, then we might can just see what we can do later, maybe even get you into your father’s old position.”
A squealing swoon preluded the thump of Milasy’s limp body hitting the ground painfully hard in a dead faint. Her father tried awkwardly to catch her, but failed miserably as she spread out across the ground in a large brown and pink puddle.
Somebody was going to have a huge knot on their head in the morning.
“I’d like that, sir.” I answered with an eager smile. Maybe that dream of actually being a huntsmen was not too far out of reach after all. Because if I could prove myself more capable than most of the men, then perhaps they would invite me to become the first female member of the army.
“The shadows told me you would be even more skilled with a bow than my stepson. You are just like your father.” My warm excitement chilled to frozen temperatures as Nikos whispered to me before he turned and walked away, the magistrates trailing behind him like little puppies as the king loudly proclaimed the plans he had for rebuilding Lentiqua to a new height of its former glory. Travain turned with a dismissive sniff, poking the prone form of Milasy splayed on the ground with his toe before bending down with a sigh and slinging her across his shoulder like a limp sack of laundry. Adva silently followed in step with the prince as they headed towards the mansion, her stork-like features bobbing oddly as she walked.
As I turned to help Sandra finish clearing the table, I caught sight of Solomon surveying the total wreckage of the target before turning to look at me with a curious expression on his wrinkled face.
I busied myself with folding the table linens in my hands, pretending not to notice his glance and the slight glowing sensation along my fingers that leaked through the mental restraint I had on my magic. The king’s words still whispered in my ears like the haunted echo of a phantom breeze. “You are just like your father.”