The Four Tales Page 11

  Wondering who might be visiting, Cassie opened the door and sucked in a breath. It wasn’t who she had been expecting.

  A well-dressed stranger stood at her door. His face frowning, and his smile forced. He was pressed and poised in a crisp, dark green uniform – beautiful and familiar. It was the uniform of those of King Tritium's army. His hat sat at a cocky angle, tilted over one green eye.

  Imagine having eyes to match his uniform, Cassie's thought came from a numb place as she held out her hand. This was the process she'd seen repeatedly with her neighbors, those dressed in black.

  The man took off his hat, held it under one arm, and with a sad nod, he handed to her the cornmeal-colored envelope. He saluted.

  His lips moved.

  She couldn't hear a word.

  The letter came out of the envelope, and she was reading it through blurred eyes.

  “We regret to inform you that your family member, Lachlan Alasdair, has been found dead.”

  Cassie couldn’t read anymore. Gasping made its way to her ears, and she wondered if the delivery man was having some sort of attack after all the messages he had to distribute.

  It wasn't until she looked up into his eyes that she knew the shocking little sounds were coming from her. She couldn't breathe.

  The note dropped at her feet.

  His green uniform swam before her eyes as she sank to the floor. Her mind registered the soft, soothing voice of the man in front of her, but what she really focused on were the words stamped upon her brain from the letter.

  Dead, Cassie thought before she blacked out.

  Cassie felt her head pounding through her eyelids. Voices drifted above her, but she was unaware of what they discussed. In fact, she was quite uncertain why people would be talking in her room at all.

  Struggling to open her eyes, Cassie couldn't seem to slide her heavy lids upward. The throbbing reminded her of the fall down the cellar stairs, and for a moment, she wondered if she was still at the bottom of the black hole.

  “I think she may be coming around, miss,” a male voice spoke. “Do you see how her eyes are moving?”

  Cassie wondered to whom the voice belonged because she didn't think it was recognizable. However, she heard the high pitch of Petunia's voice and knew she was safe from strangers at the very least.

  “Well, why won't she get up? Lazy and dramatic, that's what she is. I had hoped she'd have my tea remade by now.”

  Then again, strangers may be most preferable compared to her, Cassie winced.

  “I don't believe she will be making your tea any time soon, miss. Are you sure I shouldn't run and fetch the doctor? I believe she may end up with a concussion after that fall, and it could be serious indeed,” the kind voice solicited this opinion with the tone of one who spoke to a very spoiled child and knew it.

  “No, no. It’s quite unnecessary! She will be fine. Mother will be home soon, and I'm sure she will know what to do.”

  “If you are certain?”

  “Of course,” the snide reply.

  Cassie breathed out deeply and forced her eyes open inch by inch.

  “See! Her eyes are opening now! I knew she'd be fine!”

  Petunia's voice grated upon her ears. If it wasn't painful enough to have a headache, which felt as if it would break her skull, listening to Petunia would push her over the edge for certain.

  “I’m fine, Petunia, but would appreciate if you wouldn’t shout in my ear.”

  Cassie saw the angry surprise in Petunia's eyes and heard the very offended, “Well!”

  She spotted the man in the green uniform. Recognizing him immediately brought back to her everything she most wished to forget.

  Gasping, she stared at him and brought a hand to the right side of her head, where she found a small bump. Obviously, she’d hit her head when she'd fainted, and this was the result. A sharp spasm echoed through her right eye, and Cassie sucked in another breath.

  “Are you all right, miss? I attempted to catch you but didn't keep you from hitting the doorway with your head. I apologize.” The officer helped her to her feet and took her to the nearest chair in the living room.

  “Yes, thank you for your assistance,” she whispered.

  What else can I say?

  “I am sorry the news has been of a sad nature. Please know how much your father's service has been appreciated. King Tritium himself expressed to me those very words. I must be off, but before I go, is there anything I can do for you?”

  His green eyes were somber and kind. She could tell he really wanted to help in some way, but Cassie knew that the only thing she really wanted to ask him was how Simon fared.

  However, she didn't think he would know that or be able to tell her. So, she replied, no, and watched as he gave her one last look of commiseration before bidding them both goodbye and taking his leave.

  “It would figure you would cause such a stir over something so small. Men die in battle. This was to be expected,” Petunia complained. “You need to realize my mother is in control. She’ll make sure everything turns out fine.”

  Cassie stared at her stepsister with wide eyes and wide mouth, which gaped open and closed. She wanted to say something but didn't know how to respond to such cruelty.

  “What did you just say?” Cassie whispered. She felt her cheeks heating, and her head pounded faster.

  Petunia jerked backward and shrugged. “I only told you the truth.”

  “How did you end up the way you are?” Cassie demanded. “You’re cruel and mean and a huge jerk. When you first arrived, I thought we would be friends, sisters. I was excited to get to know you. Yet, since the beginning you have treated me as if I was just a servant. Why?”

  “Why?” Petunia’s mouth hung open, and her eyes darted around the room.

  “Yes. Why?” Cassie climbed into a sitting position on the seat, ignoring the pounding ache in her head.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about, and don’t speak to me in such a fashion!” Petunia’s snarl returned, and her eyes narrowed.

  “Oh, stop acting high and mighty!” Cassie growled. “I hate the way you treat me! I didn’t ask my father to marry your mother! I would have been happier if he hadn’t! We both would have been fine.”

  Petunia shook her fist in Cassie’s direction. “I didn’t want my mother to marry your father! She could have married someone with a higher position. She married your father –” she broke off.

  “Why? Why did she marry my dad? Who else wanted to marry her?” Cassie came to her feet and clenched her fists.

  “I don’t know what you mean. She did what she wanted to do. I had nothing to do with it, and I can tell you, I wasn’t happy about it.”

  “You could have talked to her. Why didn’t you try to change her mind?” Cassie had never had Petunia discuss anything so openly before, and she wanted to push it for all she was worth.

  “You should know how that turns out. Did your father listen to you?” Petunia sneered.

  Cassie paused and took a deep breath. She wanted to cry, in part because her head throbbed and because Petunia was right. Her father had stopped listening to her.

  “He didn’t give me the chance,” Cassie whispered. “He thought he was doing the right thing. He wanted me to be happy. He thought a stepfamily would accomplish it.”

  “I suppose both our parents have failed us.”

  “Petunia, I just wanted you to be a friend. I never meant for you to be unhappy too. I wish we could start all over.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Petunia told her. She shook her head and crossed her arms. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but I doubt we would have ever been friends.”

  “I’m sorry you feel that way,” Cassie replied.

  “Go clean yourself up, and I would like my tea served in my room. I will tell mother about stepfather,” Petunia commanded before turning and leaving the room.

  “Tea?” Cassie snarled through the throbbing pain. “Tea? Fix your own tea!�
��

  Struggling to remain on her feet, Cassie walked down the hallway and to her father's room. Opening the door, she saw each piece with new eyes.

  The covers pulled tightly over the bed were worn but neat; a soft, faded brown piece her mother had stitched with blue flowers was still there. Seeing it brought tears to her eyes, and she walked inside and closed the door trying to spot anything he might have left behind.

  Slowly stepping over to his dresser, Cassie ran a hand over the rough wood and picked up a hand-carved dog. It was small and well-formed with a distinct nose and tiny ears. Her papa had shown her how he had carved it when she'd only been five.

  Mama and papa had been gathered in their chairs around the fireplace with her playing on the floor. She’d held a homemade doll close and was content to play. Since the war, toys from the past were too rare and expensive to be bought. Families either traded for them or made their own.

  Closing her eyes, Cassie could picture that evening.

  Rocking the doll her mother had made for her in her arms, Cassie had grown sleepy by the fire listening to the soft sounds of her mama's knitting needles and her papa's knife on the wood.

  “Look here, little Cassie. I'm making a tiny pup for your mama. She's been wanting one for a few months now,” Papa's voice had been teasing and his eyes had been bright.

  Cassie had looked first at him before turning to her mama. Both were smiling, and mama made a shushing sound and shook her head.

  “Pup?” Cassie had wanted to know and dropped her doll to the floor to climb onto her father's lap.

  Carefully, he had held out his hands and showed her scrape by scrape the meticulous process. Even as she had grown comfortable on his lap and leaned her head against his chest, she watched until she could see nothing but blurry images. Later, Cassie had fallen asleep on his lap like many previous nights.

  Remembering it now, Cassie also recalled how her father had placed the dog on her night stand, so it was the first thing she saw when she woke up the next morning. The tiny pup had remained there until the day her mama had died.

  On that day, after the funeral, eight-year-old Cassie had walked into her papa's room with pup in hand and set it on his nightstand. Somehow, she had hoped it would remind him of the night he'd made it with her in his lap and joked with her mama, and that he still had her.

  Opening her eyes, Cassie held onto the carving and walked to the closet. A few of her father's clothes hung there, and as she reached out to touch a shirt he'd left behind, the scent of fresh grass overwhelmed her. Taking out the faded plaid shirt, she pulled it over her own clothes. The length hit her mid-thigh and felt soft.

  Going over to the bed, she sat heavily upon the side of it.

  “Well, Papa, I guess you are finally with mama. I wish you hadn’t left me behind. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now. Should I run away? Maybe I should join the war?”

  Sliding her hand against the soft fabric of the covers, Cassie sniffed and rubbed her fingers over the carved puppy.

  “I don’t think I’d last in war. I don’t know anything about fighting, but I want to help. It might do me good to get out of here. The thought of living without you and with the steps doesn’t comfort me.”

  Cassie stretched out over the top of the covers and smelled their fresh scent. She usually washed them weekly, but since her father had left, she hadn’t had the opportunity to freshen them more than a couple of times. Now, she wished there was a remnant of her father’s scent on them.

  “I think I’ll just take a nap. Decisions can be made once I wake up,” Cassie spoke to the room.

  “Papa?” she whispered, and closed her eyes, “I will always love you and miss you.”

  Shivering, Cassie hugged the pup to her chest and breathed slowly through her mouth to calm her beating head.

  “Please keep Simon safe,” was her last plea, before she drifted off to sleep.

  14

  Castle Dalry

  “Sire, preparations have been put in place. King Ammandon is reported to be on his way here with the declaration to cease fire. Captain Lachmore has reported your men have received the same word and are awaiting further instructions. They are still watching the border as you asked,” Atkins shared as he entered the room and closed the door behind him.

  “Thank you, Atkins. I hope tonight will work. Have all the families responded?”

  “Yes, we are expecting the whole kingdom. Do you think this will work? King Ammandon seems to have ulterior motives we have not yet completely determined. If you are right, and he is working with the witch, this Stay of Arms could be a ruse.”

  King Tritium turned his head aside for the moment and sighed.

  Word had traveled.

  The kingdom now knew what secret weapon they were up against: Magic. The oldest and most evil war to fight against. If this went badly, a lot of lives could be lost.

  “Has there been any word?” the king asked.

  Atkins knew what he was asking and responded, “No, Sire. We haven’t heard word of where the prince has gone. King Iver insisted he thought the prince was headed here. He’s very sorry he didn’t realize what the prince meant to do.”

  “I don’t blame Iver. He did his best. I shouldn’t have tried to keep Simon there. I shouldn’t have forced him to remain on the sidelines. It’s my fault.”

  “King, I believe Simon will be all right. We have men looking for him. Every guard who can be spared are making quiet inquiries,” Atkins told him.

  “Thank you, Atkins. I know everyone is doing their best. I keep having the irrational fear of the witch getting ahold of him and using him as leverage. I don’t know if I could handle something like that happening,” the king admitted.

  Atkins rounded the table and put his hand on the king’s shoulder. “Tritium, it will be all right. I feel as if he’s fine, and I don’t believe the witch has him. If she did, I feel everything would escalate, and she wouldn’t hesitate to shout her catch from the rooftops.”

  “I agree,” King Tritium said. Sitting forward, he entwined his hands and sighed. “So, we can at least assume Simon is safe from her. However, can we be certain he hasn’t joined the war and gotten himself killed?”

  Atkins shook his head. “I don’t think we can look at it that way, Sire. Simon has been learning from King Iver how to defend himself should the need arise. Even if we weren’t planning on war, we still have to be prepared for it. Like now. We should remain optimistic that the prince can hold his own.”

  “Thank you, Atkins. Your words set my mind at ease. I continue to pray for his safety and swift return to us. I hope this ball will enact a treaty of some sort with Ammandon. If the reports are accurate, I doubt it will do anything more than invite the enemy inside.”

  “You are correct, King Tritium. We can try to extend the hand of friendship. He has called a Stay of Arms, and I find it a positive step in the right direction. Perhaps we can persuade him to end this feud.”

  “Do you think the negotiations will bring Ammandon to his senses?”

  “I don’t know, my king. It might pause the inevitable. If he has the power we suspect, he could do anything with it. He might not be placated by anything we have to offer.” Atkins rubbed his chin and placed his hands on the back of a chair.

  Facing the king, he allowed his gaze to stray to the outdoors. “The weather is holding up for us, and I find that encouraging.”

  “I concur,” Tritium turned to look out the window. “Well, we have the Scholars reviewing the night of the engagement party. Have they found anything of value?”

  Shaking his head, Atkins stated, “No, they haven’t come to any solid conclusions. What they’ve found so far are the reports of what people have seen, including the firsthand account of a local blacksmith. Many of the accounts agree with what was found and what other people saw, but it doesn’t give us any idea what she was doing.”

  Nodding, King Tritium continued to look out the window. “Are we to infer no one h
as found what the evidence means in terms of the spell enacted?”

  “Correct,” Atkins agreed. “The forest fire was burned out by the time anyone investigated it. The spell could be concerning anything. The only idea we have by the remains is an indication of the magnitude of the spell. It might be why she disappeared for a long period of time. She had to recuperate her strength.”

  “It weakened her?”

  “Yes, it would have depleted her energy to a great degree. It’s why we suspect she has others involved. Otherwise, unless she’s much more powerful than any previous witch before her, she couldn’t have harnessed all of that energy and walked away.”

  “Is there a chance what she’s planning now won’t happen? Could it be too much for her?”

  “I don’t know, Sir. She’s had years to build up her energy, force, and power. Since we don’t know what the spell is or how it is meant to be used, we can only speculate on the level of her authority over what she means to do.”

  King Tritium nodded and turned around to face Atkins once more. He picked up a report on his desk and perused it. Shifting the paper from one hand to the other, he leaned back in his chair.

  “We have the council searching the archives, our men searching the south woods, our kingdom waiting to fight or waiting to attend the soirée we’re throwing to placate King Ammandon, and there are no answers.”

  “Yes, King Tritium, but we have enacted a Stay of Arms on both sides. King Ammandon wouldn’t have consented to this if he thought he could win. It has to mean something.”

  “Atkins, it could mean any number of things, and half of those answers have nothing to do with King Ammandon thinking he won’t win.”

  Both sat in silence while King Tritium looked over the reports. He’d read them more than once. King Iver had sent troops and would attend the ball this evening in a show of support.

  “Has King Iver arrived yet?”

  “Yes, he’s in his rooms now with his wife and daughters.”

  “He brought them?”