Photo by iKshana Productions on Unsplash
Chapter One: Waiting in Line by Melanie
“Don’t disappointment me,” my brother whispered as we stood in the announcement line. We were toward the end though we had been in line over half an hour. Our crime was being from the Mountain Duchy; my brother’s fealty to crown and country temporally stripped after the assassination until he could reswear hand-to-sword. Normally, that would rush us to the front; the Crown always needing allies, especially along the trade routes to the Seaport Guild Cities on the other side of the Snowtops. But today was the first of the Balls of Choosing.
Couples closer to the capital and the seats of power who weren’t from a disgraced duchy and had ready cash and political capital slipped by us, guided by heralds to the proper precedence for entering the ball. Only two couples remained behind us, dressed simply, neither nobility, but then I wasn’t one either. Both women radiated witchy power. The one immediately behind us wore a black gown of the Dassa line, the death and earth witches. The gown did not have supporting layered skirts but did have enough cloth to fall all the way to the floor. The last in line had her city shoes visible below the skirt’s hem, her gown little more than a faded green working skirt and bodice, but clean and in good repair. Her green thumb of Ivie’s line proudly proclaimed by the bouquet of out-of-season flowers decorating her hair. The girl, and she was a girl, barely meeting the age restriction of fifteen, fidgeted beside her father.
All unmarried witches must attend the Balls of Choosing if it is within their powers to do so. Hence why my brother and I hopped on horses and rushed here as soon the invitation arrived at our manor-fort. The Crown’s Heir must marry a witch, and he had a week to do so. It had been a rush, arriving to our normal rental house with two other far-away landed already in residence. Though he and I were bunking together for the duration, in the last twenty-six hours since our arrival, neither of us had seen the inside of our sleeping quarters other than to drop off the saddle bags or get something out of them. Only my witchcraft kept us both standing.
I smirked up at my half-brother. “When have I ever not?
“Sissy…” his staid voice dropped in warning.
“Don’t worry.” I leaned gently against his muscled shield arm, crushing the dappled slightly oversized green bodice I managed to find in the picked over options left in the city when we arrived. “I know my place.”
“Oh dear.” We minced forward as those being admitted finally exceeded those arriving and jumping the line. “I hate to ask where you think that is.”
I looked ahead, at a new commotion. Two additional ballroom doors swung open and each had one of the heralds who had been sorting people move to announcing them instead. They must be done with the daughters of the Dukes and Counts. Things should move quickly now that it was just us women related poor Barons, Viscounts, and landed Lords left, plus one girl witch being raised outside the nobility and one death witch escorted by, I believed, a very fresh cadaver. The two behind us had to have interesting stories.
Slipping between the cracks of his stoic, responsible mind, I sent to my brother *I don’t think, I know. I threw bones right after breakfast on Brightday.* The messenger arrived at noon, my brother riding in with the Crown’s runner since they had met while Jase had been dealing with winter prep work at the low-route tollgate. I opened the invitation addressed to me, and we had been going non-stop ever since.
Fuck. Popped into his public mind where words are formed to say, but he managed not to have it come out of his mouth. His filter between thought-and-speech worked so much better than mine. I feel the tumble of words of him trying to figure how to respond, rejecting several including “of course the minx would wait until now” and “how far did she throw them this time” until what he felt worthy of sharing was put forth for official reading. It’s kind-of like watching a dozen expressions cross someone’s face until they decide what emotion they should be happening. What did you see?
*Marriage. Well, connection, legal, binding were where things fell. Plus hope, future, male, female. I believe that is a good landing for marriage.*
Sounds about right. Formed instantly and he decided to let it stand while shoring up the wall between his public and private minds.
Good, he would need that in a place full of witches. I wished I had access to some plants to put some real barriers in place for him. I squeezed his arm with reassurance as a very late arriving couple was guided by us. I noted the woman’s gown, at least two foot wider than mine and three times the cost, was colored a bright red for the fiery Christina line, making my brown skirts look dim in comparison. Beggars can’t be choosers and arriving late to the party, in our case a three-day hard ride and in Lady Christina-Line case likely fixing some burns caused in the excitement of Crown Prince hunting, we are both beggars.
The herald sorting the lines into the three announcements groups indicated we should move to the leftmost line. The necromancer and the flower child are shifted to the rightmost line. Looking through the entry gates, I can see the thrones were against the left wall. *I think them mean you to swear fealty immediately. *
One can only hope.
We stepped parallel to the herald. Jase passed the invitation with our names and describers for announcing us carefully written below.
*Yes, because then we can work on finding your wife.*
My half-brother head snapped to look down at me in horror, his public mind blanking as dozens of thoughts boil beneath the surface. My wife, struggles to gasp at the surface before being dragged back down.
I let him feel me exit his public place, closing the door gently behind me and sealing it as best I could. Outside of the white witches of thought, no one should be able to get in.
“Hedge Witch Melanie, of the line Barabara, Olive, and Berry of the fifth generation thereafter, escorted by His Lordship, Viscount of the Snowtops, Lord of First Leg, Low Switchback, and Trees End, Jase Douglas Pherson Rofile.”
***
Chapter Two: Swearing Fealty by Jace
Behind us the doors close, louder than the announcement of our coming, echoed by the closing of the other two sets of doors. Officially we were among the last to arrive despite our prompt actual arrival. I debate whether I would avenge the slight, or let the avalanche of chaos my half-sister leaves in her wake be enough.
In the meantime, we followed the herald cutting a path for me directly to the throne where a shrunken king sat with an empty throne whose armrest was close enough he could have reached out to cover the hand of the queen who should have been sitting there. His recently deceased wife.
A wife. “My wife is here?” I asked softly, confident my sharp-eared sister would hear me, knowing she would not answer. Too many other sharp-eared witches around, just three in the Hedge Witch combination of green top and brown skirts, but a gaggle in the fur of the fauna witches, and the ever-favorite and prolific line of the Whites, air, thought, and secret things depending on what secondary line their split after Bridget followed.
Mel’s laughter pealed, her happiness at getting under my skin once again lightening the air and making several male heads turn our way. While overtly, the ball is to get the newly named Heir his consort as soon as possible to fill in the holes left in succession by the successful assassination of his second oldest brother and his wife two months ago; the fall of Mayford, the previous third in line, on the battlefield just at the end of summer; and his oldest brother, the previous Heir, succumbing to a heart failure from his over indulgence of all things except his childless witchwife just three weeks ago, the truth of the Ball of Choosing was gathering all the unmarried nobleborn women of power in one place making it a grand matchmaking opportunity for all the unmarried nobleborn men, many of whom are escorting their sisters and nieces here.
Like me. Though few, if any, would hold their full titles making me a preferred target for those who wouldn’t catch the young prince’s eye even with the uncertainty of my status.
Father, as a good vassal should, joined the call-to-arms by the Duke of the Mountains, taking my older brothers with him, to challenge the weakening Rocksquarry line. The summer battlefield claimed them cleanly, all three in the line before me, as it did many lords and knights on both sides, then Samin, may his name be forgotten in a single generation, decided to go beyond treason to pure evil with a poisoning of those who stood in the way to the power he thought he deserved. The queen had been dining with her favorite son and his wife, eating bedeviled food unknowingly while her husband had worked late in settling the taxes and death records with his council following the deadly summer campaign. Now I and Crown Heir Baryon had positions we never thought to hold.
My responsibilities included a byblow by my father with a widow who lived in my mother’s rooms while my mother moved into the Snowcloud Manor in Trees End. Not Mel’s fault, but something I could never forget either. The weakness of love leaves too much blood upon the snow.
“Your Majesty, Jase of Snowtop.”
I bow at the introduction and kneel on the carpet at the base on the steps. Only the protocol father beat into me so I would be able to keep my brothers in line as their keykeeper, whichever of the twins ended up surviving father, kept me from wincing at the lack of the full title of my House.
“And Melanie of Snowtop, his sister.”
Beside me, my sister sinks into a curtsey billowing out her brown skirts perfectly, far better than I expected for the rush in sizing we had to deal with, but hedge magic was the most versatile of all the disciplines and my baby sister was exceptionally gifted for a backwater, untrained brat who rather lead the maple syrup gathering during spring melt in woolies than a sewing circle in high summer in silks.
We wait, patiently on my part and impatiently on my sister’s half, for the Crown to speak.
“Your father We knew.”
He spoke faster than I expected, but he was hosting a party. Now we would discover if we would survive the night.
“We thought him loyal.”
I don’t wince. I don’t inhale. I don’t breathe.
“The only good thing We can say about him is he wasn’t an oathbreaker. Did he teach you the same?”
“He taught me the only magic of man is true oaths.” I responded.
“Then We will have your oath to Us and no other. You may approach.”
I stood and looked him in the eye, knowing protocol well. “You may have my oath with two exceptions. One to the infinite, for it will always be the keeper of our souls and the other will be the oath I give to a wife, should one choose to accept me.”
“These conditions are true and good, We accept them.” He pushed himself up, taking on the mantle of authority offered in the ceremony to force aside the fatigue of the many losses which had befallen him this year. The Knight of the Sword, a one-armed man, the famous Baron Norsescar who had had fought beside Mayford in his last battle and the hero had broken the Duke’s line when his Prince had fallen in battle, held out the Sword of State to be drawn. The short plain iron blade curved out like death, jarring against the gleaming ballgowns, music, and jewels shining behind me. Elaine, the first of the witches, had created it for her husband, the first of the Rocksquary line.
I climb the steps. At the top, I loosen my gloves by pulling them off a little with my teeth, then completely remove them by hand before carefully grasping the sword. If the king wanted, a quick twist would slice tendons and leave me maimed of hand for the rest of my life, beyond the skills of the Purple for the cursed sword wounds did not respond to healing magic, a different twitch would behead me.
“We will have your oath now.”
“I, Jace of Snowtop, do swear to be your man, to hold your lands, to rule with your people as a just and faithful leader in your name, to follow you in battle in times of trouble and give grace in times of plenty. This I do by my oath, by my word, and by my honor.”
“These words We hear. You shall be Our man, hold Our Lands, rule with Justice and Faith, be at Our side in times of battle and in Our ears advising us in times of peace. Know that we will honor oaths kept and bring vengeance to oaths betrayed. By Elaine.”
I responded. “And the Thirteen Daughters.” I lifted my hands off the sword and take a step back paying careful attention to where the steps behind me start.
“We thank you for your oath Lord of the Snowtops. Tomorrow, Our Keeper of Lands will inform you where your oversight will best serve Us.”
“Your Majesty.” I step backward down one step, then another. The count of five steps up to swear fealty means five steps back down. I managed it without a stumble. At the bottom, my sister was still a flower of chocolate linen and woolen skirts. I wonder what she would have done if the sword had swung for my neck instead of rested under my hands, for Sissy loved me far more than I loved her. While I adored my little sister, for every one of her nineteen head-strong years, I was a man of nearly twenty-eight years and the hardness of time had taught me to weigh my emotions and actions.
I would kill for her but not publicly. I believe she would have turned the room red if she lost the last member of her family before she succumbed to the loss of her Corded.
At the bottom of the stairs, I hold out my hand and my sister uses it to rise as gracefully as she folded. I see several young men note her skill. Together we turn toward the Crown. And wait.
Longer than we should.
But eventually a man in a loose brown tunic wearing a baldric with a twisted rainbow steps past the herald. “You are expected at the Amelia Gate at the third bell of the day and will be escorted to your appointment. You are dismissed.”
“Finally.” My sister said a little too loud. Those on the podium heard as well as several in the nearby audience. “Come on, I caught a glimpse of her not a moment ago.” She jerks me after her through the crowd.
“Who?”
“Who do you think?”
