A Witch's Word

TOO DRUNK FOR DUTY

Lizzip had barely filled the glasses, an insignificant protest to fulfill the witch’s request to a less than mediocre degree. Noticing the shortfall, Edith smiled and tipped her measure into her husband’s goblet.

“Drink your fill, husband!” She laughed aloud with her lilting voice.

Lizzip had been too infuriated to focus on Edith’s hands. She didn’t see how the powder shimmered on the top of her husband’s goblet, she didn’t observe the swirl in his cup before the mixture settled. Since Edith had announced a toast to calm the awkward event of meeting his mistress, Cadmus felt compelled to drink till the grit of the dregs coated his tongue. Lifting his cup in salutation to his wife, she returned the gesture and waited for her potion to take effect.

Cadmus’ face became flushed with what others would describe as joy, perhaps the early signs of drunkenness, but to Edith it was the sign to be taken to her new room. Leaning over, as if she were a lover enchanted, she brought her mouth intimately close to his ear, knowing the court would be watching.

“I must retire, my lord; I have yet to see my room.” She whispered, hoping the guests would see a bride’s eagerness to start their marriage.

Clicking his glass, he called for the ladies of the court.

“My wife wishes to rest. Take her to western wing, the room that joins my own!”

Stumbling over his words, the male guests caused a ruckus with their lewdest comments and encouragement for the most successful wedding night. As the women fumbled around her, Edith internally recoiled at their degrading declarations. Outwardly, she laughed with them and projected the image of a keen bride. It only made her plan all the sweeter.

Through the corridors, various scaled artwork adorned the walls. She made sure she kept her head high and looked straight as if she was a bride who had accepted the inevitable. The women directed her to a corner room that protruded from the structure of the overall castle. A large balcony jutted out over the city below.

“This room is blessed. Four queens have birthed male heirs in this room. We all wish the same for you princess. Here are your nightdresses. They have been made in black and red, the colours Prince Cadmus favours. The colour of his dragon. The colour of kings,” The cheerful woman declared, while fussing around her.

Holding up her hand, Edith stopped the preparation. Clearly, the expectation was that she would keep in her room to be some type of brood mare.

“In my matriarchy, we have our own private preparations. I wish to follow my own traditions now and must be alone. I look forward to getting to know you better over the coming months.” Before they had fully processed her words, she had already gathered them into the hallway.

Shocked, they watched her shut the door with their attentive expressions.

Summoning her bags, she watched them appear on the rug in front of the fire. Sacredly, she began to pull out the items she couldn’t bear to leave behind. A shawl her grandma Joyce had spun for her, a pressed flower her sister and she had made when they were little. Finally, she reached for her most precious ornaments. The pieces she had spent years making, reforming and mastering. Made from glass, three birds sat on a bare branch, almost looking directly at her. She placed them by the window and let the magic that multiplied in her veins run through her. By the time she returned to the fire, her nightdress had turned to blue, the same shade that she would find on the petals of the flowers that flourished by her lake next to the home she missed ardently; the lava had been paused, giving a breath of fresh air. Reaching into her belongings one more time, she retrieved her grimoire. The pages were thick with ingenuity, ideas that had been cultivated, meticulously. After bearing witness to the conditions her new people were living in, she was determined to help and looked for ideas in the book she had been adding to since she had been a child. It was the only gift Mother Maggie had ever given her, other than her wedding dress, that didn’t benefit herself in some way. It had been given on the day she had started the college of craft. Taking a moment to reflect on the day, Edith allowed herself the indulgence to imagine a wedding day that she would have had, had she not been taken into Maggie’s care, if she had been without skill. The custom in Sourcero was for the most powerful witches to adopt children who demonstrated the most exciting magical potential so they could be guided. Welfare witches would come each year to test specific markers in a child and those who were excelling were soon known to the elite. Edith couldn’t remember her birth parents—no witch that demonstrated skill as a child ever would. At times, she imagined a world where she was loved rather than desired for her achievements.

For hours, she took pleasure in the peace of solitude, explored her own mind, followed possibilities to their results. Begrudgingly, she heard the hoots of the groomsmen escorting Cadmus to her chamber and put her book down on the ornate table and allowed the lava to flow freely once more. She knew she would come back to it soon, although she had been surprised by how long it had taken the Prince of Novtexo to fall beneath her power. Clicking the lock open from her seat by the fire, she listened as her husband stumbled into the room, hitting the furniture with comical precision. The men had seen him too, exactly what she had wanted. Never leaving her seat, she watched as he dived across the bed, leaving no space for her. The only indication that he had ever planned to consummate their union was the shirt that was untucked from his waistband. Just when she thought that things couldn’t have gone better, Cadmus snored with the gusto of a pig.

“I fear there will be no show tonight gentlemen!”

Picking up her book once more, that she disguised as a tome for the history of the empires, she planned ways to help those who suffered in this empire, making notes in her mind of how to achieve the impossible. Leaning against her high back chair until sleep claimed her.

Hollow slamming on the door woke both wife and husband up in the early morning. Both were in the same positions as they had been the previous night. Working out the knot in her neck from sloping down the chair once her reading had concluded, she glanced over at Cadmus, who was discretely wiping the drool from his face.

“Open up in the name of the emperor!” A croaky voice screeched against the morning’s stillness.

Determined to appear as the obedient daughter-in-law, Edith rushed to the door. Her nightgown trailing behind her. Cracking the door open slightly, Emperor Nokon assessed her cooly.

“Where is my son?”

Opening the door wider, Nokon stormed into their wedding chamber, quickly shutting the door behind him and barring access to the many men dressed in the maroon robes of the Dri acolytes, the religious leaders in Novtexo, that had eagerly assembled. There were many pods of power in Novtexo, but those who dedicated their lives to devotion of the Goddess Novtex were among the most influential. Loyal only to the Dri, who had been selected by the Goddess herself, the followers were as dangerous as they were devout.

Fumbling, Cadmus maneuvered himself to the edge of the bed. Staring at the ground to avoid his father’s wrath. Blushing with the embarrassment of the situation, Edith looked away as Nokon pulled back the sheets, examining them for any sign of a union.

Nothing.

The slap could be heard before it was felt. A sharp snap of disapproval. Although open palmed, it was enough to knock Cadmus to the floor. Open loathing was clear in both the father and son’s expressions; it seemed to crackle between them like sparks from the volcano fuelled their hatred of each other. Turning to Edith, Nokon held up one finger to silence his son.

“What happened?” He asked her, examining every inch of her garment in the hope that something had been misunderstood.

“Emperor, my husband came to the chamber last night extremely intoxicated. He fell on the bed and slept through the night. I remained in the chair. That is all.” She answered, calmly.

Cautious tapping at the door, interrupted the disbelief upon the emperor’s face. Pointing at the unyielding wood that filled the frame, he returned his unforgiving gaze to his son.

“The keepers of the eggs are outside, waiting to sanctify your marriage and consummation. Do you have any idea what you have done? What will we tell them? How will we explain this to the Dri?” Nokon asked, horrified at the repercussions this indifference to duty would have.

“Tell them to mind their own business!” Cadmus replied, with distain.

This time it was the grunt that Edith heard as Cadmus was punched to the floor. The attitude of the pair of them suggested that this wasn’t an uncommon event. She wished she could feel guilt for sabotaging their wedding night, but she only felt relief. Honestly, it was an intriguing notion to see that there was discord between her enemies. There was so much more to exploit between them than she had realised.

“If this is about Lizzip, I swear upon Novtex — the great goddess — that I will have her flogged and exiled from this court.” Nokon announced with unwavering certainty.

“No. I don’t know what happened. I didn’t think I had consumed that much, but perhaps I did misjudge. My apologies, my lady, for the offense I have caused.” Cadmus looked at Edith properly for the first time that morning, and the shame was hard to ignore.

“All very well and good, but there’s no other solution, you’ll have to get it over and done with now. The keepers of the eggs need to make their announcements!” Nokon exclaimed, and the moment Edith had been waiting for was finally presented before her.

Witches had always been considered some of the most mysterious of creatures, second only to the merpeople below the sea who treasured their elusive lives. There was no true understanding of the power they held, or the limitations to their craft. In fact, even for those people who were born in Sourcero, there was no similarity between individual magic. Everyone had found a limit to their skill or would eventually. Edith’s sister had amazing skills when it came to runes, artefacts and protection wards, but in other branches of magic her skills were mediocre at best. Maggie, mother of witches, was known for her versatility, but it was glamours and potions that she exceeded in. This was the reason that nobody could say that she had been affected by the process of time, a deceptive and somewhat vain glamour. This was also the reason that Nokon and his advisors never saw the alternation on the wedding agreement—the very one that they had insisted on keeping the only copy of. The beauty of mystery is that it would take an unlimited amount of imagination to consider what a witch was capable of, and this wasn’t something that the court of Novtexo could claim to have.

“Forgive me, emperor, but that won’t be possible. In the wedding agreement, it clearly states that conjugal arrangements can only take place once a month when the planets are visible to the unaided eye. You have had your month last night, Prince Cadmus. It would be an affront to my own spiritual conscience to allow you to amend your mistake from last night. We must wait now, as you both agreed and signed to,” Edith smiled, demurely, as if explaining this was pushing the edge of decency.

Shaking his head, Nokon, looked at his son once more. Disappointment oozed into his expression and the roar from his dragon, Dostex, mimicked his outrage. He had no doubt that Edith was correct. He had heard about the mating rituals in her homeland, but he was adamant he would find the clerk who hadn’t forewarned him and throw him from the battlements. Despondently, he strode to the door, eager to be out of the messy politics that hinged on the union of two people who clearly were ambivalent towards each other at best.

“There will be no announcements today. Return to your temples.” The couple heard Nokon shout to the lecherous holy men, who all groaned with the same disappointment.

Despite the absence of the emperor, the space between them seemed as vast as ever. Pouring him some water, she offered the cup in peace, which he drank from gratefully, swilling the taste of blood from his mouth.

“I’m sorry he hit you. You did well not to retaliate.” Edith complimented him, knowing that the urge to strike back must have been tempting.

“Your mother Maggie never hit you?” he asked curiously.

“No. The only pain we ever endured was given from a place of love. Given to make us stronger.”

A tenuous understanding formed between them. Neither of them was thrilled with the decisions made by their parents, but their filial duty was the one they were both beholden to.

“What do you plan to do today?” Cadmus asked his wife, courteously curious.

“My plan was to help the people, start to put some plans in place to ease their suffering.”

Cadmus frowned. He didn’t know how to tell her that her good intentions would be seen as antagonistic to the courtiers.

“Don’t worry prince, it is better to beg for forgiveness than ask permission. Enjoy your day, husband.” She replied to his worry that was louder than his words.

“Until next month, princess of the witches.” Cadmus withdrew with a deep bow.

“Indeed, prince of fools.” She replied, and was almost certain she heard him laughing in the corridor.

At no point did she feel the need to remind him that she was the princess of dragons now. She knew where her loyalties were.