Six

A CURSE UPON US

They named the child Rose, a tribute to Lenore’s love of flowers as well as the baby’s deep red lips. From the beginning she was welcomed with as much pomp as any son: Trumpets announced her arrival from the ramparts, and the queen held her, swaddled, in the chapel on the Sunday following her birth, so that members of the court could admire the new arrival. Her baptism, the king declared, would be held in the cathedral of St. Elsip, so his subjects could rejoice alongside him. Following the public celebration, noble families from throughout the kingdom would gather at a grand banquet in the Great Hall.

Only one person of rank was denied an invitation, for the king had banished Millicent from the kingdom on the day after Rose’s arrival. Queen Lenore’s pleas on behalf of his aunt only hardened his resolve.

“Look at yourself!” he barked. “Groveling for a woman who treats me with contempt. I never paid heed to gossip, but perhaps it’s true. Perhaps she has put a spell on you!”

“Stop!” the queen cried. “Don’t say such things!”

An unwilling witness to their confrontation, I moved discreetly from the bedside, inwardly scolding the king for berating his wife when she was still weak from childbirth.

“She has a hold over you, I’ve seen that well enough,” the king said. “I’ll not have her do the same to our daughter.”

“And the baptism?” Queen Lenore asked, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her gown. Months before, through her usual cunning maneuvering, Millicent had convinced the queen to appoint her the baby’s godmother.

“She is not welcome,” King Ranolf said firmly.

“She is your father’s sister!”

“I will never allow that woman guardianship over my child.”

“Please.” Queen Lenore’s voice was desperate. “She need not stand as godmother. Invite her as a guest, as a gift to me. It is all I ask.”

“Enough!” the king shouted. “Aunt Millicent may have kept my father under her thumb, but she will not do the same to me—or to you! I have sent guards to escort her from the castle, and I will not hear her name spoken within these walls from this day forward. As far as I am concerned, she is dead.”

He stalked off in a fury, and Queen Lenore broke into sobs.

“He does not understand,” she moaned.

“Hush, my lady.” Without thinking I ran my hand along her head, imitating the manner in which my mother used to comfort me. To my surprise she reached for my hand and kissed it, then pressed it against her cheek.

“Thank you, Elise,” she said. “You bring me strength.”

Her tender words touched me deeply, but I could not rid my mind of Millicent’s cruel pronouncement: You would be nothing without me! Was it true? Had Millicent urged the queen to choose me as her attendant because she knew I would do her bidding? Was all I had achieved not the fruit of my own labor but rather the result of sorcery, a charm cast by the green wishing stone I had pressed between my fingers? Such thoughts so disturbed me that I sneaked to my sleeping alcove while the queen was distracted with the baby and pulled the stone from under my pillow, slipping it between the folds of my skirt. Excusing myself, I ran to the servants’ latrines and hurled the stone into one of the foul pits.

Yet Millicent’s influence was not so easily cast off. Rather than return to my mistress, I found myself following the route to the North Tower, to assure myself that the woman who had been both my protector and my tormentor was truly gone.

She was not—not yet. As I approached the marble staircase leading up to her room, the commanding voice I knew so well echoed downward, and I froze in place. Then she appeared, flanked by two guards whose grim expressions signaled their distaste for the task at hand. Millicent, who had been haranguing them for keeping an overly tight grip upon her arms, laughed when she saw me. It was such an unexpected sound that I could not fashion a response. I simply stared, appalled by her expression of near-madness, yet enthralled all the same. Even as she was dragged from the castle in disgrace, she carried herself with an air of righteousness I could not help admiring.

“Elise!” she announced. “How fitting that you should bear witness to my downfall.” The last word was uttered mockingly, almost as a boast. “Have you come to gloat?”

I shook my head.

“Then why are you here? Why would you possibly seek me out?” The guards had loosened their hold, and Millicent strode directly in front of me, weakening my defenses with her piercing stare. “Ah, yes. I see. You wished an assurance that your rival for the queen’s love is well and truly gone. So I am. You shall have dear Lenore entirely to yourself, for all the good that will do you.”

Embarrassed that my emotions could be so easily read, I protested, “My only concern is for the queen’s health and that of her child.”

“Yes, the child. The focus of Ranolf’s every hope. A girl!” She cackled bitterly. “And so the throne will be Bowen’s after all. What a fitting end to Ranolf’s disastrous reign.”

“The king has declared his daughter as his heir.”

“Nonsense! Women have never been allowed in the line of succession.”

“They are now.”

I did not expect those few words to strike such a blow. Millicent looked as if I had hurled an unforgivable insult; her mouth hardened into a grimace, and her eyes blazed with fury. When she finally spoke, expelling her words with brutal force, spittle dotted her lips.

“So it has come to this. Ranolf breaks with centuries of tradition, yet he banishes the one person who could be a model for his precious daughter. Does Lenore know anything of what it means for a woman to wield power? No! She is content to spin and weave, no better than a peasant’s wife. And Ranolf—he is blind to the forces gathering against him. I am the only one who can save this realm from conquest and destruction. The only one! Yet I am cast aside!”

Her escalating shrieks shook the guards from their lethargy. One took firm hold of her upper arm and tugged, pulling her away from me.

“You know I speak the truth! You know it!”

I did not want to believe her. It was easier to discount her warnings as the ravings of a madwoman than to believe our kingdom truly in danger. As the grumbling guards wrestled Millicent to the bottom of the stairs, I heard a rustling sound from above. I looked up and saw Flora standing at the top of the stairs.

I remained motionless, but she seemed unaware of my presence. She was watching her sister, tears streaming down her cheeks. I had given no thought to Flora in all the ferment over Millicent, but now I realized what a terrible blow this must be. She was losing her closest companion, the one person who retained her trust even after she had withdrawn from everyone else at court. Yet it was not heartbreak I saw in Flora’s face. Sadness yes, and perhaps regret. But also a certain resolve. As if she must cry for the past before facing a new future.

I intended to slip away, but as I turned around, Flora called out my name.

“Yes, madam?” I asked.

“The child, is she well?”

“Yes, strong and healthy.”

“What do they call her?”

“They have named her Rose.”

“Rose.” She pondered the sound of it for a moment, then curved her lips in a shy smile. “Queen Rose.”

I waited for more, but silence hung between us as Flora drifted into whatever thoughts haunted her troubled mind. Wishing to make a gracious departure, I said the first words that sprang to mind: “I am sorry about your sister.”

“Do you know, had my father been as bold as Ranolf, Millicent might be our queen? She was the eldest, and more cunning than my brother and I put together. But of course women could not inherit the title.”

Until now. When it was too late for Millicent.

“She left Ranolf no choice,” Flora said softly. “Yet I fear where her anger might lead. I fear it very much.”

She turned quickly, her crumpled skirts forming a tangle around her, but not before I recognized the other emotion that had swept across her face as her sister disappeared from sight. It was relief.

In the following weeks, I tended to Queen Lenore as she gradually regained strength. She insisted Rose’s cradle be placed in her own sitting room, rather than in the nursery on the castle’s third floor. A wet nurse tended to the child’s feedings, but in all other matters Queen Lenore took charge of the baby herself. The ladies-in-waiting felt sure that King Ranolf would object, particularly if he heard the crying infant from his own bedchamber. But the king made no complaint. Indeed he was often seen holding the child himself, beaming down at her peaceful, sleeping face.

“My Beauty,” he would murmur. “My Beauty.”

On the morning of the baptism, the king, the queen, and their tiny daughter proceeded through St. Elsip in a golden carriage. Undeterred by the frigid winter wind, townspeople lined up three and four deep along the streets to see them pass. A procession of courtiers followed the carriage, with Rose’s newly chosen godmother, Lady Wintermale, leading the ladies and Sir Walthur Tilleth, the king’s solemn chief counselor, at the head of the knights and noblemen. A boisterous gaggle of jesters and musicians followed behind.

I formed part of the tail of this parade, jostling among the other servants. Queen Lenore had given me one of her old gowns for the occasion, made of a sumptuous velvet that caressed my skin. The hem was frayed and the style of the sleeves years out of fashion, but it was the loveliest dress I had ever worn, and a fur-lined cloak protected me from the chill. Clad in such luxury, I moved differently, as if the fabrics conveyed the noble bearing of their original owner. At fifteen I was years younger than any other lady’s maid, and self-doubt still plagued me despite the queen’s kindness and patience. But on that day, in that dress, I took my place in the procession as if born to it, smiling graciously to the well-wishers. Even after I entered the peace of the cathedral, my ears were still ringing from the cheers of the crowd outside.

The baptism service was long and tiring, as such ceremonies often are, but Rose acquitted herself well, crying only at the end as the water was poured on her head. Crammed in among merchants and minor landowners at the very back of the church, I hardly saw the baby at all, only fleeting glimpses of Queen Lenore at the altar, holding a bundle of white lace. When the service ended, the king and queen walked down the aisle beaming, then emerged onto the cathedral steps to present Rose to her new subjects. I heard a wild cry of voices outside, after which cheers erupted inside the cathedral as well, ringing back upon us from the stone walls.

I waited until the crush at the church doors had cleared before attempting to leave. Outside, hundreds milled around in the open square, hoping to prolong the celebratory mood of the day. I looked around to see if others from the castle still lingered but saw no familiar faces. I was preparing to walk back alone when a voice called out, “Miss Elise!”

It had been some time since I’d been addressed so formally. I looked around and saw a rotund figure panting up the church steps toward me. As he approached, I recognized Hannolt, the shoemaker. Though I had passed the entrance to his shop on occasional visits to my aunt’s house, I had not seen him since the day he escorted me to the castle.

“What a pleasant surprise!” he exclaimed.

He reached out to take my hand and kissed it with an extravagant flourish. As ever, the words tumbled from his mouth with barely a pause for breath.

“Your aunt tells me you serve the queen herself—how you have come up in the world since we last met! Well done, my girl, well done. Are you in town for the baptism? It’s been very good for business, I can tell you. Ladies and gentlemen both have been ordering new shoes for the festivities. I’ve been working through the night for the past week, and that’s with my wife and Marcus helping.”

I looked over Hannolt’s shoulder to see if his son lurked silently behind. “Is he with you?”

“Marcus?” Hannolt looked so puzzled that I immediately regretted my question. How brazen I must have appeared to him, asking after a young man I barely knew. I compounded my foolishness by stammering a too-hasty excuse: “It’s only . . . I thought perhaps your whole family might have come to see the princess.”

“Good luck catching a glimpse of her in this crowd!” Hannolt scoffed. “No, this may be a feast day at the castle, but my work continues all the same. Marcus is off making deliveries on the east side of town. I was just coming from Mrs. Hilsker’s house, right around that corner, when I saw the procession, and I couldn’t help but stop and take a look.”

“It is a pleasure to see you,” I said, attempting to extricate myself gracefully from further conversation before he delayed my return any longer. “However, the queen expects me back at the castle.”

“I say, now that you keep such royal company, perhaps you might speak well of my work, if the opportunity should present itself. I do so enjoy working for the fine ladies of the court.”

“I would recommend you without hesitation.”

“Spoken like a true gentlewoman. Yes, your voice has become quite refined. And such lovely manners, too. You’ve made your aunt proud. She has much to celebrate—from what I hear, there will be another baptism celebrated before the year is out?”

“Yes, my cousin Damilla is expecting.”

“Joyful news all around. I will send Mistress Agna your regards, and Marcus as well.”

I told him it was not necessary, feeling the redness rise in my cheeks, but Hannolt was bowing and did not appear to hear. I could picture the scene later that day: Hannolt blathering on about my interest as Marcus struggled in vain to remember me. Since we met, I had crossed paths with dozens of young men with finer prospects than a shoemaker’s son. Why, then, did Marcus’s face remain so clear to me, and why had my heart sunk with disappointment at his absence?

Upon my return to the castle, I passed through the kitchens, where the cooks were flushed with the effort of their labor. Pigs roasted on spits in every fireplace, and the tables were covered with dough and pies. At any other time, I would have stopped and stolen a few bites—my stomach was rumbling at the smell—but that day I knew it meant risking a shout and a slap from the head cook. I walked on without stopping.

In the Lower Hall, pitchers of ale and platters piled with meat and cheese had been set out on the wooden tables. Stableboys and chambermaids were toasting one another and picking at the platters, though I guessed Mrs. Tewkes had not yet given leave for the party to begin. A cluster of grooms stumbled across my path, preparing to greet the visitors’ carriages. One of them, a particularly sour driver named Horick, cursed me as I stepped on his foot after another jostled me to the side. A word from me to the queen could cost him his job, and I thought to tell him so but walked away instead. There would be no more certain way to turn the other servants against me, and I felt the loneliness of my station keenly enough as it was.

A few maids dashed past toward the Great Hall, their hands clutching precious goblets and bowls. Petra had described the feast preparations to me the day before: All the finest gold and silver serving pieces had been polished, the best crystal laid out, tapestries brought down from throughout the castle so every wall would be covered with color. The king and queen would sit at their table on the dais, with Rose in the royal cradle at their side. After dinner and the usual songs and poems in honor of the child, the highest-ranking guests would present their gifts. This procession was expected to take hours, by which time the crowd would be hungry again and supper would be served.

A hand tugged at my shoulder, and I turned to see Petra, eyeing me approvingly.

“What a lovely dress,” she said.

“The queen gave it to me, for the baptism.”

“You were at the cathedral?”

“In the back, crammed in a corner,” I said. “Hardly a place of honor.”

Petra glanced at the servants bustling past us. “I can’t talk now. I’m risking an earful for being late as it is. Shall I look for you here later?”

“I’m not sure. The queen may need me.” It was a convenient excuse, one I had used often to avoid servants’ gatherings.

“Surely she’ll allow you an hour or two of fun?” Petra asked. “All the girls will be dying to hear about the ceremony. And I hear that a certain huntsman will be singing.”

We exchanged smiles, mine tentative and hers mischievous. The young man who tended to the king’s hunting dogs was the subject of much conversation among the castle’s female servants. Grateful for the friendly overture, I told her I would try to come.

Petra grinned and turned to go. “I’ll be expecting you,” she said over her shoulder as she ran off.

When I arrived in the queen’s chambers upstairs, one of the maids told me she had already made her way to the Great Hall. I hurried back downstairs, weaving my way between extravagantly dressed ladies and gentlemen who sashayed along the hallways, preening for one another’s benefit. When I entered the hall, I saw the king and queen across the room, greeting guests I did not recognize but whose elaborate cloaks signaled their noble rank. Counts, lords, and princes from throughout the land would be in attendance, and the king was determined to dazzle them all.

I elbowed through the press of people in the hall until I caught Queen Lenore’s eye. I began to offer apologies for my late arrival, but she simply tilted her head to the side, indicating that I was to take my place. I pushed through the crowd until I reached the wall behind the dais, where I could watch the proceedings yet be within easy reach.

Suddenly the blast of trumpets rang out. Guests rushed to take their seats in a buzz of conversation and a rustle of skirts. The king rose from his chair. He was resplendent in his purple-and-gold robe, radiating happiness.

“Fair ladies and good gentlemen,” he began, “it is my honor to welcome you to this glorious celebration. On this day I present my daughter, Rose, to you as my heir, with all the rights such a title entails.”

I saw guests glance at one another, acknowledging the momentousness of the king’s break with tradition, and I remembered Millicent’s warning about forces arrayed against him. If any disloyal subjects lurked in this crowd, I saw no sign of them.

“The future of the kingdom has been a matter of great concern, to you as well as to my family,” the king continued. “Whatever fears may have been raised in the past, I trust that Rose’s arrival has eased them. Let her birth herald a new era of glory for us all.”

He raised his golden goblet, inlaid with a rainbow’s worth of jewels, and the guests stood and raised their glasses as well, a mass toast that exploded through the room. I tried to capture the sight in my mind, imagining I might one day tell Rose of this moment. Was it possible that a tiny child, and a girl at that, could preside over an era of peace? I wished it with all my heart.

After the toast, trays of food were brought in by an army of servants; I noticed that even the chambermaids and pages had been pressed into service. It was surely a mark of my favor with the queen that I had not been ordered to wait on the guests as well. She signaled to me a few times during the meal—once to fetch her a cool cloth, for the room was warm from the press of bodies, and the other to wipe a small puddle of wine that had spilled at her feet—but for the most part I stood aside and watched. By the time the jugglers and dancers arrived and attempted their entertainment in the narrow aisle that crossed the room, my face was flushed and my feet ached.

But there was still more to be endured: the endless parade of gifts. In order of rank, guests were escorted to the dais, where they presented gifts chosen for their power to impress the king and queen. The pile of jewels, furs, and gold grew, was carried away, and then grew again. I could see the hours wearing on the queen; she leaned sideways in her chair, her smile gracious as ever but her body slumped with fatigue.

The last of the gift givers, an elderly noblewoman whose back was bent in a permanent bow, shuffled toward the dais. The room’s previously lively spirit had dissipated through the course of the afternoon. Now guests yawned and whispered to one another, long since bored by the proceedings. The gown I had worn with such pride that morning was wrinkled and damp with sweat, and my precisely arranged curls had wilted. I yearned for nothing more than to collapse upon my pallet and sleep.

In my distracted haze, it took me some moments to realize that the mood of the room had shifted. It was the rustle of mumbling voices I noticed first, near the doorway. I rose to my tiptoes, peering about to discover the cause, but the crowd was too thick. I listened to the commotion gather and swell, as a ripple passes across a pond. And then a figure emerged from the press of courtiers, and I gasped.

Millicent did not appear a woman disgraced. She held herself as regally as any queen, her black cape swirling around her tall frame. She wore a gown of green and purple—the royal family’s colors—and her golden earrings flashed in the candlelight. I will never forget the sight of her as she marched, radiating strength. In that moment she was both beautiful and terrifying, and I felt myself succumb once again to her mysterious allure. Had she commanded me to bow before her, I would have, without question.

She stopped at the edge of the dais, directly in front of the king, and all sound ceased. She motioned toward the pile of riches at his feet.

“I fear I have arrived unpardonably late.” Her resonant voice rang throughout the silent room. “Have all the gifts been presented?”

Queen Lenore sat perfectly still; to the guests she might have appeared indifferent to Millicent’s arrival. Only I recognized the stiffening of her jaw and the way her hands clenched in her lap. The king’s cheeks flushed, and I saw the effort he made to control himself before speaking.

“Madam, the celebration is at an end.”

“I wish only to pay my respects,” Millicent said, lowering her head in supplication.

Queen Lenore reached out and laid her hand on her husband’s arm. He glanced at her, then nodded at Millicent, his eyes narrow with suspicion.

“Thank you,” Millicent said with an elaborate bow. “I do have a gift for both of you, but it is one you have already received.” She stretched her long, bony fingers toward the crib. “Your beautiful daughter.”

The king began to protest, and Millicent spoke quickly to silence his objections. “Ask dear Lenore. She will tell you how my efforts brought this miracle to pass.”

The king turned to his wife, but she stared straight ahead, watching, waiting, her body so still that it was as if she had forgotten to breathe.

“Yet did I receive your gratitude? No. Instead you chose to shame me, casting me off like a common beggar. You have taken everything: my home, my good name, my happiness. And so, good King Ranolf, I will take your happiness from you.”

Queen Lenore, as if sensing what was to come, reached toward the cradle and clutched Rose’s tiny fist.

“Your child, your wife, your beloved kingdom—you shall lose it all,” Millicent went on, her voice rising in triumph. “Not today and not tomorrow. No, I want you to clutch at your throne as you watch your power dissolve. I want you to live each day in fear, not knowing when the final blow will fall. I want you to see your child grow, loving her more with each passing year, until she is snatched away forever.”

Despite my revulsion I remained enthralled by her voice, her spellbinding presence. The entire court must have been so affected, for not one us of moved to stop her.

Millicent dropped her voice to a murmur and leaned in toward the king. “There are so many ways to take a life. An elixir poured in a goblet. A potion spread on a pillow. Perhaps a trace of poison on the tip of a spinning wheel. Lenore, you are fond of such womanly arts, are you not? Imagine your girl at the height of her youth and beauty, pricking her finger and falling dead before you. What would you do then?”

I can still hear her cackle. That chilling sound is lodged in my memory for eternity, Millicent’s revenge on me from beyond the grave. Queen Lenore cried out, and the sound roused the king from his horrified stupor. He leapt from his seat and made as if to attack Millicent himself in a battlefield rage. But she was prepared for such an onslaught. She sprang back, laughing, as the king tripped off the dais and tumbled to the floor.

“You will spend the rest of your life in fear,” she said with a terrible smile. “That, my dear Ranolf, is my gift to you.”

Then she disappeared. Later, through the years, people would say it happened by magic, that she vanished in a puff of smoke. Though I can swear there was no such scene, what I witnessed was barely more believable. One moment Millicent was standing at the center of the room; the next she had wrapped herself in her cape, turned, and lost herself in the crowd. The king shouted for his guards to go after her, and there was a roar of outrage and confusion as the knights pushed their way through the press of people, but to no avail. Millicent slipped out of the Great Hall without being seen.

She left behind a wake of shock and horror. Some guests huddled together and argued about what was to be done; others were struck dumb by what they had seen. Queen Lenore was shaking with sobs as she pulled Rose from the cradle and curled her body around the baby, as if to shelter her from Millicent’s hatred. Rose began to scream, finding no comfort in her mother’s embrace.

The sound roused me from my horrified stupor. I knelt before the queen, anxious to protect her from the frenzied scene.

“Come, madam,” I urged.

Gently, I pried Rose away from the queen’s arms and told the nurse to take her upstairs. The baby’s shrieks and the surrounding mayhem made me dizzy with confusion. Looking to the king for direction, I ushered Queen Lenore through a small doorway behind us that led to the Receiving Room, the chamber where she had cheerfully greeted visitors throughout her pregnancy, with a preening, proud Millicent by her side. As soon as we entered, King Ranolf waved to his guards and they pulled the door shut behind him, silencing the bedlam outside. The king reached for his wife’s hands, but she erupted with fury, pummeling her fists against her husband’s chest.

“What have you done?” she shrieked.

I had never seen her so unhinged, and the sight horrified me almost as much as had Millicent’s threats. King Ranolf gripped her elbows, and she sagged against him as her fury melted into despair. It was all I could do not to break down in tears myself.

“I begged you to invite Millicent,” Queen Lenore sobbed, pausing between words to catch her breath. “You refused, and this is the price we pay.”

“She is a madwoman! How dare she say Rose is her gift to us?”

“Because she is,” Queen Lenore said, her sobs subsiding into a moan. She did not meet her husband’s eyes.

“How can that be?” King Ranolf asked.

Behind us I heard a gentle rap at the door. Not wishing the king and queen to be bothered at such a time, I ran over and opened it a crack. To my surprise I saw Flora standing before me, a frail vision wrapped in an ivory cloak.

“Lenore. Ranolf. I must speak to them.”

I pulled the door just wide enough to admit her. She moved shyly, hesitantly, like a sheltered maiden of sixteen rather than a woman well past middle age. She held her hands before her with fingers intertwined, in an attitude of prayer, and seemed to float rather than walk in her trailing skirt. The edges were tattered and grimy, evidence of years of wear, and her wavy white hair had been shoddily pinned in a ramshackle mass that threatened to collapse with each movement of her head.

Queen Lenore cried out and pulled away from her husband’s arms.

“Help us!” she begged, falling at Flora’s feet. “We are doomed!”

Flora’s fingertips smoothed the queen’s hair. “I feared that Millicent would come,” she said slowly, her voice rusty from disuse. “You must believe I did my best to stop her. But it was not within my power.”

“What can we do?” Queen Lenore moaned.

“Take hold of yourself!” the king ordered. “I will not have you undone by my aunt’s wicked lies!”

“Ah, but what she said is true,” Queen Lenore repeated wearily, rising from her knees. “Without Millicent I never would have given you a child.”

“What do you mean?”

“The pilgrimage.” Queen Lenore’s voice was soft and hesitant, her eyes despondent. “It was Millicent’s idea that we seek the intercession of St. Agrelle at the convent named in her honor. It was only after we arrived that she told me the full story. The reason St. Agrelle herself made the journey there so many years ago.”

As the king waited for his wife to continue, Flora’s face fell. “No,” she whispered.

My stomach tightened with dread. What had Millicent done?

Flora turned to the king. “There have been stories, passed down from woman to woman. Claims that barren women bore children after visiting that hilltop. Some whispered that terrible sacrifices were made to a goddess there in ancient times, but I cannot believe that Millicent—”

“Black magic?” scoffed the king. “Nonsense!”

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.