A Reckoning Wind

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. And there had never been a queen on the throne. Until now.

I look out over the table of pompous blithering lords and sigh inwardly. It has been a week since my sudden ascension to the throne. A week since the King’s Guard found me weeping, awash in the blood of my beloved father as he lay dying in his chamber. Half the kingdom remains in mourning over his passing while the other half squabbles over who can rightfully claim the throne. The King’s Guard has fallen into disrepute, shamed for their inability to protect the king from an assassin. As well they should.

This failing is what the lords are presently arguing before me, their voices overlapping one another as they fight for my attention. I find myself preoccupied by the man at the far end of the table. Lord Walder has a plump maid held captive on one knee, his greasy fingers trailing up her thigh as she gives him a tight smile. My jaw clenches.

“Lord Walder,” my voice carries down the table and I see him jump, the treacherous trail of his fingers finally stilling. His beady eyes narrow and shift to meet mine. “What do you believe should be done with the King’s Guard?”

He grumbles, shoving the maid off as she gives a weak curtsey and a grateful glance at me before scurrying back to the kitchen. Lazily he lifts his goblet and drains the wine within, stalling to find an answer while trying my patience. It is intentional. Walder has always been a prick.

“Well Princess Agnes...” he begins then stops, feigning an “oh” of mistake. “Apologies, Your Highness. The change is hard to remember.” His smirk betrays his lie.

My voice is hard as dragonsteel. “Try harder.”

Walder meets my stare with a hint of respect. One predator recognizing another. “Yes, Your Highness. I believe all the men responsible for allowing the death of your father the King should suffer the same fate. Let them be killed.”

His answer is not shocking. Death is often his default punishment, both for those who betray him and maids who resist his advances. I’ve heard the whispers in the halls and from the kitchen. Lord Walder is not a man to be trusted nor believed. But in this case, he may be right. The kingdom demands blood to repay the loss of a beloved monarch. My father was a popular ruler, kind, fair, and practical. Qualities found wanting in the men who sit before me.

I turn my gaze to the remaining men on either side. “My lords, are we in agreement on this?”

The men in the room offer a hearty “hear hear” in response. I take note of the few who do not join in the cheer but rather respond with firm and solemn nods. These may be useful allies. Men who recognize what must be done but do not delight in the spilling of blood. I bow my head in agreement.

“Done. Bring them to the tower. They shall be killed in the square in two days’ time.” I raise a hand to silence the outburst. “Their families will be given a chance to make their peace. I will not punish the innocent for the sins of their fathers.” My words ring with a truth I’d be more worried about revealing if I was less confident in the lack of collective wits from the lords before me.

“Well,” Lord Bunning claps his hands, giving me a toothy grin. “Now that this is settled, Your Highness, I have brought with me some entertainment if it please the court.”

I resist the urge to refuse him. “How kind, my Lord. What entertainment are we in for?”

His smile grows even wider. “ The best kind, Highness. A Squealer! Fresh from my home near the East Mountain.”

I freeze, attempting to hide the twitch in my cheek. I will not show weakness. Not now. I dip my head briefly in acknowledgement as I cannot bring myself to give voice in agreement. Lord Bunning turns in his seat, clapping to the bannermen near the hall door. They turn in unison, opening the heavy oak doors as I work to keep my breathing even, eyes fixed on the doorway. Please no, please not him. I beg silently.

A diminutive figure is pushed forward with the tip of a spear in his back. I lean forward slightly in my seat but not enough to draw attention. The bannermen shove the dwarf forward, stringy filthy hair blocking the view of his face. He slowly lifts his head, revealing himself. We make eye contact. I slump back in my seat in relief. Not him then. Not yet.

“Come, dwarf. Sing for your new Queen!” Lord Bunning’s jovial manner has been replaced by cold cruelty, and in that moment, I hate him. He is no longer the grandfatherly man who used to offer me sweets from the sleeves of his court robes. He is yet another vile bastard.

The dwarf shuffles forward farther. I attempt to catch his eye again, pleading with my own to exempt me from these men, to excuse my inability to stop this, but he does not. He closes his eyes briefly, steeling himself for what is to come. Suddenly, he throws his head back, a horrible squawking noise emanating from his throat. The lords immediately burst in laughter, some collapsing onto the table in front of them, others roaring with their heads back. I take stock of the lords before me once more. No one is abstaining from the public humiliation. Even the men who were reluctant to spill blood are all too happy to cast stones. Very well then. They all must die.

The dwarf’s song continues for a few minutes more before he falls silent, tears streaming down his dirty face. His mouth gapes open, revealing the empty cavern with only a stump where his tongue used to be.

“Enough.” My voice is loud enough to startle the lords’ laughter into silence. “I grow tired of this. Send the dwarf away.”

Lord Bunning wipes tears of mirth away from his eyes before waving a bejeweled hand at the dwarf. The bannermen shove him back towards the doors. I watch him until he disappears from view. Have you seen him? I want to scream after him, jump up from my seat and run, grab him by his filthy hair, yell in his face. Where is he? Why hasn’t he come for me?


“Now my Lords, if you have no other pressing matters...” I begin before a cold wind blasts the doors of the hall back open, slamming them against the stone walls on either side. A few of the men lurch upwards, hands going to sword hilts. One of the bannermen returns, face white as a sheet. “Your Highness, m-my Lords...” he stammers.

“Out with it.” Lord Walder snaps, and for once, we are in agreement.

The bannerman swallows. “Your Highness, you have received an emissary. From the High Folk.” I straighten in my chair as the men beside me slowly take their seats.

“The High Folk?” I am proud of my ability to keep my voice steady at this news. “This is indeed an honor.”

“Indeed.” A deep voice resonates behind the whimpering lad at the door, and he scuttles to one side. Footsteps fall like thunder until the speaker is revealed.

An impressive set of wood and bone antlers come into view first, sprouting from a towering raven-haired creature. The High Folk. Guardians of the North Wood, a place of deep magic and terrifying secrets. For a hundred years, they have left the kingdom of men to its own devices. I lack the imagination to know what has summoned their interest but a spike of fear is wedged deep in my heart.

The High Folk emissary looks directly at me, silver eyes burning with unholy cold fire. “Highness.” He speaks again with a voice that seems to come from the ground itself.

“Magister.” I nod in response, hoping I’ve chosen the correct title. The emissary smiles, an expression that increases my terror tenfold.

“You may call me Tehsil.”

“Of course...Tehsil. To what do I owe this most incredible honor?”

“I am here to solve your assassin problem.”

“Problem?” I cannot breathe but must. “Forgive me, Tehsil, but I do not believe one murder constitutes a problem?”

The creature tilts his head like a dog, gazing at me with far too much insight. “This kingdom just lost a King, did it not?”

Shite. I smile weakly in an attempt to regain composure. “I was unaware the High Folk had such a connection to my father.”

“You appear to be unaware of many things...Your Highness.”

In any other, such a statement would be cause for treason. But this is uncharted territory. The High Folk are the stuff of legends, the monsters in stories the ladies and washerwomen alike tell to their children to scare them into behaving. Looking upon the looming figure before me, I can easily see why. Even at four-and-twenty, I find myself in awe.

I swallow and press on. “Well how lucky a Queen am I. To have you to enlighten me.”

The creature smiles again, an opening seam of hellfire in a face seemingly carved from wood and ash. “Indeed.”

“Am I to assume you will be assisting in the hunt for my father’s killer?”

Tehsil dips his head. “Yes, Your Highness. And I do not intend to leave until he is found.” A brief pause and another chilling smile. “Or she.”

Ice runs through my veins. “I loved my father, treow.”

The lords gasp, but the creature before me throws back his antlered head and bellows a laugh that shakes the room and sounds like a screaming child. “Rumors of your spirit were not wrong, Highness. I look forward to hearing more of it during my time in your court.”

We stare at one another as if entranced, two worthy foes sizing one another up. My moment with Walder from earlier pales in comparison. Tehsil will not be so easily outwitted. Nor dismissed.

I wave a hand, feigning boredom. “Of course. I will have the housemaids arrange a chamber for you.”

“No need. I had them prepare me your old chambers.”

My smile is brittle, fraying along with my nerves. “That is impossible. Where will I sleep?”

The creature tilts his head again. “Why, in the King’s chambers of course. They have been cleaned.”

Do not react. I nod once stiffly. “Of course. It is time.”

Tehsil only stares at me.

“If there is nothing else...?”

Tehsil dips his head once more before turning and striding out of the room, his booming footsteps slowly fading down the corridor.

I get up abruptly, dismissing the lords with a look and a final word of warning. “Two days time for the Guard. Make sure their families know.”

I leave before they can offer any more arguments. I have far bigger issues than the lords now.

------

“Here, Your Highness.” A housemaid extends a shaking hand, large brass key in her palm. The key to my father’s chambers. Now mine.

“Yes. Of course.” I snatch it from her before I lose my nerve. I approach the wooden door then pause. My hand shakes as I go to insert the key. The maid’s small hand covers mine as she gently takes it then opens the door. She gives me a sympathetic smile.

“I can only imagine what horrid memories are running through your mind, Highness.”

I give a stiff nod. You have no idea.

“Do you need anything else, Your Highness? A bit of company?” Her simpering tone snaps me out of my swirling thoughts. The last thing I need is the maids gossiping about my weakness.

“I’m fine.” I stride into the room and close the door in her face. Nosy little shrew.

I turn to face the room and my eyes are instantly drawn to the floor. The maids tried their hardest but faint red stains remain. My father, my beloved father, a man so revered the High Folk themselves came down from the Northern Wood to discover what happened. He died right there. And I killed him.

------

“Father, please!” I beg, falling to my knees in the middle of his chamber. “I was going to tell you, I swear. I was going to...”

“To what?” He snaps, looking down at me with the cruelest expression I’ve ever seen on his face. It is unnatural. “You were going to tell me that for months now, you have carried on an affair with a DWARF?!” He roars the last word and I am terrified he’ll wake the servants.

“Please, Father. Lower your voice I beg of you.” I clutch at the edge of his nightclothes and he kicks me away. I whimper and insert a sore finger into my mouth like a child.

“He is a King, Father. Like you!”

I should see the slap coming, but it catches me by surprise, knocking me backward and causing my ears to ring. He leans over me, grabbing the front of my dressing gown. Rage dances in his eyes and spittle flecks over my face as he spits his words at me.

“We are nothing alike, daughter. Nothing. And if you cannot recognize that, you are not fit to live in this court. To be called a Princess in MY KINGDOM.” He shouts the last again before slamming my head back against the stone floor. I see stars and taste blood on my tongue. He could kill me tonight. I have never seen him so angry.

He stands in disgust, running a hand over his graying hair. His signet ring glints in the candlelight. A ring that I always hoped would be passed to me along with the throne.

“Here’s what I’m going to do, Agnes.” My father turns to face me, his fury dulled but lingering behind his eyes. “I am going to find this dwarf king and I am going to kill him like the dog he is. No daughter of mine will marry such a creature. And when I have done that, I will bring you his head so that every day until it ROTS, you will look at what a colossal mistake you have made.”

“You cannot do that.” My voice shakes but I stand up, shaking with a fury of my own.

“I can and I will.” He turns away from me then, hand up in dismissal. “To bed with you.”

I reach for the candlestick near me without thinking. Striding forward, I slam it once, twice, thrice into the crown of his head. He crumples to the floor, mouth gaping like a fish after cook slices its gills. Kneeling beside him, I drive the base into his face twice more. This man who acts nothing like my father no longer deserves to look like him.

I brush my hair back from where it’s fallen from its ribbon, streaking blood across my face before I come to my senses. I look down. Blood is cascading out of my father’s head onto the stone. I am drowning in it. I gasp and stumble back, the candlestick rolling out of my hand. I gaze into my father’s ruined face and try to think.

I am a woman in this court. I know its men. They will never believe I was capable of such madness. There is only one way out of this. This was the only way to save him. I bend forward to wrap my arms around my father’s torso, open my mouth, and wail.