Mary-Cade Mandus - The Spell Bound

The man hesitated outside the massive door, an unlit torch gripped tight in his right hand. She was there, just on the other side; all he had to do was lift the latch, enter and light the torch. Nothing would remain of her malevolence but a pile of ash…and his broken heart, which no flame could solder back together, since she had used his only child as an example to keep the others in line.

He could remember as clear as though it were yesterday how he’d been summoned and ordered to assemble the entire castle personnel in the kitchen, immediately. As majordomo it was his duty to comply with her command and he’d hastened away to see that it was carried out.

The castle had been enveloped by a miasma of fear ever since her return and his staff had reacted in alarm when informed of the command. Their apprehension had only deepened when he’d been unable to answer their anxious questions, but none had been brave enough to disobey and soon they were gathered before the Queen. He’d felt the blood drain from his face when he saw his only child, his 18-year-old daughter Ilaine, standing nervously by the witch’s side.

With icy composure Queen Christine had stunned them all when she’d declared that the castle was to be readied and announcements delivered to all the Kingdoms’ regents inviting them to Prince Wendell’s coronation. She’d paused for effect then unperturbedly explained how, once the royals had gathered within the castle walls, she planned to poison them all. A collective gasp had risen from the assembly and a calculating smile had curved her lips. Her eyes had sought him out and when they’d settled upon him the smile had deepened. His heart had skipped a beat for there had been no warmth in the gesture.

Ignoring the alarmed whispers that were rippling through the crowd she’d calmly seated herself and addressed the room. She knew without question, she’d said, how trustworthy the castle staff was, for their families had served the House of White with unfailing loyalty for generations, but just in case someone among them decided to take it upon him or herself to warn the royals she’d prepared a little demonstration of what they [or to be more precise, their children] might expect to pay for their treachery.

He’d stood horrorstruck as she’d motioned to her personal servant and the toady had marched his daughter forward. Ilaine had thrown him a silent plea and he’d started towards her only to find the way blocked by a guard.

Helplessly he’d watched as the Queen had risen and circled the terrified girl. On the third circuit she had stopped directly behind Ilaine and removing her cloak had tossed it over the slender body so that his daughter was swathed from head to foot in the thick green velvet. The Queen had clapped her hands seven times, her lips forming unintelligible words and then, she’d stepped back. The cloak had hung for a heartbeat then fell in upon itself, pooling on the floor.

With a wail he’d lunged forward and this time the guard had not attempted to stop him. With no regard for his own safety he’d snatched the cloth up. Another cry had risen from the crowd, his shriller than the rest, for in place of his beloved child sat a small brown cat.

The Queen had spoken sharply and his arms had been pinned from behind. As he’d struggled vainly against his subjugator, the lackey had stepped forward, grabbed the animal up by the scuff of its neck and withdrawn from the room. That had been the last he’d seen of his Ilaine.

He’d planned to take his revenge on the night of the coronation, but that stranger, that mere slip of a girl, had stolen it from him by taking the Queen’s life herself. Well, alive or dead, it mattered not for he could still avenge Ilaine by obliterating every wicked trace of her. He lifted the latch and crossed the threshold.

The atmosphere in the room was not what he’d anticipated. No secret shadows hovered. No piercing cold. No seething residue of malevolence. Instead, candles glowed at the head and foot of the bier, softening and warming the chamber and gilding the body with an ethereal light.

Not to be dissuaded by a trick of illumination he lifted his unlit torch to the nearest flame, smiled grimly as it caught, then approached the corpse’s side. His heart pounded as he steeled himself to gaze upon the loathsome face one last time.

The torch trembled in his grasp. The face before him bore little resemblance to the witch he’d come seeking. The countenance was beautiful, that was true, but the Queen he’d known had worn a serpent’s elegant facade devoid of compassion or warmth. This woman’s was soft and supple as a young girl’s, the lips relaxed and charmingly curved, a hint of wistful sadness around the eyes and mouth.

The body was mature and clad in luxurious white brocade. A crimson rose, its moist petals opened wide had been placed atop the white gloved hands, which lay in repose upon the waist. A dewdrop, glistening like a tear upon the golden stamen, lured his gaze. Before his astonished eyes the droplet began to swell and did not stop until it resembled a miniature crystal ball.

Within the sphere there was movement. Mesmerized the man bent and drew closer until his nose almost touched the cool surface. Two figures strolled arm in arm, a young man and woman.

Age had blunted the sharpness of his vision and he squinted attempting to make out the girl’s features. There was something heartbreakingly familiar about the tilt of her head and the sheen of waist length hair.

He inhaled sharply and attempted to raise the sphere but it resisted and he was forced to kneel. He didn’t know how it was possible, nor if he trusted his frazzled judgment but the girl reflected within the crystal core was his daughter, his Ilaine!

With a heartened cry he leaped to his feet and hastened from the room.

The crystal shimmered and began to shrink. Within, the diminutive figures had stopped and were embracing beside a gaily-decorated signboard. A sign, bearing the crest of the House of White, which welcomed all who passed, to the Merry Pips Apple Farm and Royal Orchards.