When at lastI’d gathered the courage to ask Prince Nicolas if my parents might be allowed to visit, I’d expected resistance, perhaps a lecture about protocol, but he was surprisingly charitable with my request.
“Of course you can see your parents,” he’d said, as if the notion of his denial was outlandishly cruel. After less than two weeks in Altaigne, I was requesting for the prince of Gallae to invite two lower-class strangers into his fortified home, so his easy acceptance was unanticipated. “Write them, and I shall have a falcon deliver it to their hovel. Let them know a carriage will await them in Finn’s Hollow by week’s end.”
I’d taken offense to the cottage’s derogation, but my delight overshadowed his poor choice of words. I wrote the letter right in front of him, ignoring his condescending praise of my penmanship, and eagerly offered it forth. If he’d asked me to pay him with a kiss, I might have obliged him for all the relief I felt at the promise of seeing Mother and Father again.
Now, as I approached the visiting chamber and peered through the heavy oak door, I worried I’d made a mistake.
Mother paced restlessly about the visiting chamber in a gown she must have been given by Lord Haron’s wife: a deep plum brocade that hung slightly loose at the shoulders, clearly tailored for a woman of different proportions. The fabric was finer than anything she’d touched in decades. She kept smoothing the skirts with her hands, flinching whenever the silk snagged on her calluses.
Father sat uncomfortably in one of the lavish seats, Lord Haron’s clothes a touch too big for him, watching his wife’s erratic movements. His fingers tapped continuously against his knee.
I was anxious, unsure of what needed to be said and what should remain secret. As I finally stepped in, my mother rushed me, scooping me into her arms with the same overbearing hug she’d always given.
“Mother,” I said, grinding my teeth. “I can hardly breathe as it is.”
“Oh, my love, look at how they’ve got you dressed!” Mother remarked, stepping back to gander at the fineries. “I would forsake a few breaths for such a gown.”
“Easier said than done.” I smiled.
“And you’ve put on weight! You’re filling out!”
My smile faltered. I hadn’t noticed any such change, but it was hard to deny with the way these people ate. Even if I were to eat like a bird, I still would have consumed more in one meal than I might’ve eaten in a day back home.
I turned to my father. He wore his remorse plainly, seeming older than he was when I left. If I’d waited any longer to inquire whether they could see me, he might have withered into dust. “Father…”
My father got up and patted my head. “Alana, I’m so sorry.”
“Nonsense,” I said, backing up enough that he could read my lips. “It was my fault, not yours. And it hasn’t been so terrible.”
With an uncertain grunt, Father reached into his satchel. The muffled clinking of glass revealed that he’d come prepared for just about anything, but rather than producing anything medicinal, he pulled out a wax tablet and offered it to me. My lips parted and I started to protest, but he shook his head. “I made another. This is for you. I’m sure it will be useful.”
I placed a gentle kiss upon my father’s cheek and held the tablet to my bosom.
“How long were you permitted to stay?” I asked Mother, finally recovering from the comment about my weight.
“Not very long. The prince’s invitation stated we could spend the night as guests; they’ll have supper sent along to our suites.”
“Let me dine with you,” I insisted. Surely the Crown would allow my absence, under these circumstances. I took my mother’s hands, then trembled. “Mother, I am in urgent need of your guidance. I want to catch up, but time is of the essence, and I worry that if I grow too comfortable, I will neglect to ask what I need to.”
She raised an eyebrow. “My, I’ve never seen such a serious look.”
“It’s the prince. He has asked me to do something unthinkable, and I fear the time will soon come for me to act upon his will.”
“Then you must do it.”
She spoke decisively, despite her lack of context. I hesitated, unsure of how much more I should say. “He wishes for me to hurt someone—perhaps many—and he believes I am a witch.”
The last part seemed to startle Mother the most. “What have you done to convince him so?”
“He says I bewitched him, and that makes me a witch.”
“And he has asked you to turn your alleged magic against his enemy,” Mother filled in, crossing her arms and taking on the same troubled expression she always wore when discussing the curse.
Her brow furrowed deeply. “He’s the prince. To disobey him…”
I nodded, watching her eyes darken. A suppressed memory resurfaced—my mother, scissors in hand, trying to force me to open my mouth. Begging me to allow the mercy of removing my tongue. For the first time, I found myself wondering if perhaps it would have been the right thing to do. Then I wouldn’t be in this den of vipers. Perhaps I’d have grown up in the village, married off to a man who treasured my silence.
“Alana,” my mother said. “You must obey the prince.”
