Excerpt: Dantea

PRISCILLA

Outside, the sun was beginning its inevitable descent into darkness, headless bodies were folding to the ground, and the sounds of angry villagers forging a fiery path to the castle were becoming almost impossible to ignore. Almost. I caught
Dantea’s eyes flicking towards the window again, despite the flowing amber curtains that prevented her from seeing through it.

“More wine?” I asked quickly, with the hope of distracting her. I gestured at a mousy servant, who came forward in hesitant spurts of movement. Dantea’s head was already shaking ‘no’ before she turned towards me.

“No, thank you, Mama...” she said, and her eyes flicked again towards that window. Her sisters shared a smile, heaven knows what about.

The villagers were getting too close, and I didn’t have to see them to know it. Robert knew it too of course, though he played it off as if they were too far to concern ourselves over. And the delicate folds of the curtains wouldn’t be able to shield my daughters’ eyes from the world outside the castle forever. The way Dantea kept eyeing the window was starting to make me think she could see through the window regardless of the covering. It was rather flimsy, come to think of it. If we lived through this, if there was a castle with a window left intact, we’d have to get new, more substantial curtains. We’d have them imported. Something with a design perhaps. If we lived through this. As much as I wanted to sit here celebrating the day of birth of my youngest child and pretend everything was perfectly normal and would continue to be perfectly normal, there was something more than a chance the castle walls would be breached, the soldiers and servants would turn on us, and we would not survive the night.

“Wine,” I said, calling the young servant girl over again.

She had stepped back in a graceful motion, relief smoothing her features. Now she came forward again, and poured the wine in much of the same manner in which she walked. Spilling it, she hastily dabbed at it. She was so nervous. She was new and quite young, probably not even ten and four. Perhaps that was the reason for it. Or perhaps she’d poisoned the wine. She was practically a child, but children could poison just as potently as adults. The child could have been planted by some overzealous rebel; the wine could very well be poisoned. I considered the scene that would occur if I stood up in a panic, pointing my finger at the girl, and accused her of trying to kill us all. Robert would likely not fair well and the girls would be so frightened. No, it would not due to recreate the insanity outside the castle within its walls.

And, also, we had all already drunk of the wine, poured by that same girl’s unsteady hand, and no one had taken ill or worse. The child was nervous, yes, but who wasn’t these days? Does she hate us too? I suddenly wondered. Not like I haven’t given her reason to in the short time she’s been here. My only comfort was there was no obvious malice in her downcast eyes.

“Come now, darling,” said Robert, as Dantea turned her head to meet his eyes. “Why do you look so pensive, Dantea? Today is an auspicious day. It is a day of celebration, for you are ten and eight today! You are a woman! We’ll have to find a prince suitable for marriage. One of a good family that would make a good alliance with Everthrope. Of course, you’ll have to find the match favourable, but...Oh, looking at you now, it’s hard to believe you’re a lady now and not the child that would climb upon my lap and demand another bedtime story...”

“Yes,” said Kristy-Anna, “You’re a woman like us now... right, Jordanna?”

“Right,” Jordanna said sweetly, “Just it doesn’t happen all at once. It’s a gradual process. It’s not as if one minute you’re a child, and then next...”

Kristy-Anna pantomimed an explosion and the same time as Jordanna. “Poof! You’re a woman!” Kristy-Anna finished.

The twins looked at one another, arms still mid-simulated explosion, and burst out laughing. I smiled at their enthusiasm; it seemed such a strange thing to be juxtaposed against my increasing nerves. I wanted to talk to Robert, but he would have none of it. He told me not to worry, that his men were loyal and would protect us. He told me the castle stood for a hundred years, that his family had never lost power, and that we were safe as could be, nestled within its walls. But I knew the castle could be cold and unforgiving; it was not a womb to me as it was to him. And all walls could be scaled, all gates opened, all castles could fall. After all, had my family’s castle not been in danger of falling, I would not have ended up at Everthrope, married to Robert, the mother of the children born of the very man who threatened to topple my beloved Forestshill. But that’s all in the past now. I grew to love the man. He was always gentle and comforting with me, never raising his voice or his hand to me or the children. And, of course, I could regret nothing that would have left me a life without my children. What mother could?

“Robert, my love,” I said, “Perhaps is time for presents?”

“Presents!” he exclaimed, “of course! What good is a birthday without presents! Maycie, bring out the presents!”

So the little mouse’s name was Maycie. I wondered for a second why he remembered it, what made her stand out, that he would remember her name but not others, but I pushed the distasteful thought from my mind. It landed somewhere amongst the heart of the rebellion.