Her Vengeance

Happy Deathday, Your Grace

Cold. Ice cold. Everything around me – the floor, the walls, the ceiling, the stone slab they call my bed – was like ice. My dress, once an elegant, flowing blue, had long since turned to dusty rags from being caught on loose nails and ragged wood. The chamber pot in the corner was full, despite just being emptied a few hours ago. The food, what little the guards gave me, evidently did not agree with my stomach. I felt weak; my head was spinning, my lungs were aching from my incessant coughing, caused by the cold and damp conditions.

    The one thing keeping me grounded, however, was the shouts coming from outside. Only, in the last hour or so, the noise had increased tenfold.

    Shaking, I forced myself to stand and peered out of my one lonely window, into the courtyard. A crowd had gathered outside the prison, a group of men from the local tavern. A large, athletic man holding a bulky red potato sack stood a few steps forward than the rest -- he must be their leader, or at least the instigator for this mob -- going red in the face from all his shouting. The rest were a mix of all different shapes and sizes: some pot-bellied men, some frail elders, even some of their wives had come. Some could barely stand, yet somehow had enough sense about them to brandish knives and rope at the guards. 

    But it wasn't the guards they were after. No, they were out for my blood.

    Well, they wouldn’t have much longer to wait. Come sunrise, my head will be on a spike.

    What is my crime? To the townsfolk, I’m a danger to the realm. A co-conspirator against the Crown, an adulterer, and guilty of treason. However, my real crime is not having enough children and not being as young and beautiful as my nineteen-year-old sister. I, Margery, Queen Regent of Ephagon, was being executed for being thirty years old, cast aside for a younger, more fertile bride.

    Night had fallen a long time ago.  They'd been here for hours, calling me names, shouting threats towards me and my children. I wasn't overly worried for my children, though. As cruel as my husband, the King, was, he wouldn't let any harm come to his heirs, even if they were the children of an accused betrayer of the kingdom. Though I had no doubt in my mind that they were in danger -- it wouldn't be the first time an attempt had been made on a "criminal's" family, and plenty of the townsfolk had the right connections to harm my boys.

    I'd been imprisoned in this claustrophobic cell for going on three nights now, and every day the same mob would come back and hurl insults and abuse at the tower. I'd heard it all by now: w***e, traitor, witch... Though how they decided I was a witch remains a mystery. My home kingdom is probably to blame. Lussaecuria is famous for its white witches and magic, the healers and benevolent. Ephagon, on the other hand, was still living in the dark ages and feared all forms of magic, going so far as to burn any woman who they deem a witch. Not the men, though. Ephagonians couldn't even fathom the idea of a warlock, let alone bring themselves to harm a man.

    The athletic man in front stepped forward into the light. Vynce Harcourt, one of the stable hands at the palace. He and I had gotten to know each other very well over the years, so it hurt to see him out there. His face was red from shouting all night and his shirt was drenched in sweat from the heat outside. For a moment he simply stood there, breathing heavily, and for a moment I thought he might turn around and call it off for the night.

    Instead, I watched in horror as he fished around in the sack and pulled out the bloody head of my beloved horse Avis, holding her by the matted, bloody mane. The crowd behind him cheered, and all I could do was grip the bars covering my window, praying I wouldn't collapse. Avis and I had been through so much together, and my heart ached as I stared at her mangled, dripping head.

    "IT'S YOUR BOYS NEXT, w***e!" Vynce shouted, shaking poor Avis' head. "FIRST THE LITTLE ONE, THEN THE OLDER ON-"

    A grave mistake, Vynce. Nobody threatens the royal princes and gets away with it, no matter who their mother happens to be.

    An extra group of guards ran to Vynce and tackled him to the ground, causing him to drop the head. That's all I saw before my knees gave out beneath me and I sank to the cold, hard floor.

    I sat there, a pathetic, crumpled mess on the floor, and I cried. I cried for poor Avis, who had only foaled three weeks ago. I cried for my children, who would be plagued with threats and attempts on their life for years to come. I cried for myself, who had been stupid enough to agree to this god-forsaken marriage in the first place. 

    My children crossed my mind once again, eight-year-old Isaac and three-year-old Erryk. One destined to rule Ephagon, the other nothing more than a backup in his father's eyes. The classic story of the heir and the spare. It wasn't as if my darling husband tried to hide it either; he spent hours with Isaac, teaching him everything there was to know about ruling, encouraging him in his studies, but he barely even looked at Erryck. I did everything to make up for his father's absence, but deep down I could sense that he knew he was less loved.

    The sound of the heavy wooden door at the end of the hall slamming open brought me out of my thoughts. I choked back my sobs, dried my eyes on my sleeves and crawled to the back wall, trying to stay out of sight and in the shadows. Two people started walking down the hall: someone I presumed was a guard by the clunking of his boots, and someone I couldn't identify by the sound of their footsteps, though they were much lighter. What could they possibly want with me now, on the eve of my execution?

    The guard, dressed head to toe in chain mail, stopped in front of my cell door. I couldn’t see the person beside him for the wall. He rattled his keys in the lock and kicked it open, glaring down at me as he did so. He took two slow, predatory steps in, like a wolf approaching its cornered pray. His eyes scanned me from head to toe, once, twice, three times, and then he smirked.

    “May I see the Queen, now?” The sound of a woman’s voice from outside caught me by surprise. There weren’t many women in Ephagon who would voluntarily enter a prison building, much less to visit a prisoner in her last hours.

    The guard stared at me for another few seconds, before backing out of my cell. “All yours, miss.”

    In walked one of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen in my life. She was in her mid-thirties, though she carried herself as though she were still in her twenties. I looked down at the floor. I wasn’t worthy enough to look at her, let alone look her in the eye.

   Yet, she still approached me. She knelt beside me and lifted my face to look at her. Her vibrant blue eyes were full of hope for the future, and her long, flowing ash brown hair framed her pale complexion. I could only imagine what I must look like now. My own hazel eyes were dull and lifeless, while what remained of my back hair after it was sheared off was uneven, dirty clumps. I was covered head to toe in all kinds of dirt and dust, while she was dressed in a pristine white and grey dress.

    “That will be all, guard,” the woman said, not breaking eye contact with me. “I’ll take it from here.”

    “Right then.” He huffed, coming back in to collect my full chamber pot. “You won’t be needin’ this anymore, eh?”

    My blood ran cold. I wasn’t due to be executed until morning. Were they planning on killing me here instead? Was this mysterious woman here to finish me off?

    “Leave, now.” Keeping a firm grip on my head, the woman turned her head to look at the guard. “You know what to do. Queen Lyara sends her regards.”

    He nodded once and left, while my heart jumped at the mention of my mother. She must have sent this woman to rescue me!

    “You won’t be executed tomorrow, Margery,” she said, confirming my own thoughts. “But this is no ordinary rescue mission. Can you stand?” I shook my head. “I’ll help you onto your… stone, then.”

    I held onto her arms as she lifted me up. Either she was strong, or I had lost a substantial amount of weight in just three days. I stuck my right arm out and planted my hand down on the surface of the ‘bed’, using the leverage to pull myself onto the slab.

    The woman sat beside me. “You must have so many questions.” She wiped my face with her hand, and I realised that I had started to cry again. “My name is Eris. Your mother sent me to help you. But you’re not leaving this place.”

    “Wh-What?” I croaked, coughing to clear my throat. “You’re n-not going to…?”

    “No, I’m not going to kill you.” Eris chuckled. “Witches like me know much more… interesting ways of saving someone than simply killing them in a more humane way or smuggling them out of prison. And what I have prepared for you is something I think you’d be very interested in.”

    I furrowed my eyebrows, giving her a once-over. “My mother… She s-sent…”

    “A witch, yes.” She pulled a vial as long and thick as my thumb out from her sleeve and held it up, letting the muddy orange liquid slosh around inside. “This is not only going to get you out of here, but it will allow you to get revenge on at least one person.”

    I would be lying if I said I wasn’t curious. “How?”

    “I’ll need a drop of your blood, first – just a drop, nothing more – and then I’ll ask you to drink this. It will send you into a deep sleep, and when you wake, you’ll be back at home in Lussaecuria. Only, you’ll be seventeen again.”

    “I-I’ll be what?”

    “You’ll be seventeen.”

    “That’s impossible! What about m-my children?”

    Eris closed her eyes and took a slow, deep breath. “Margery, Your Grace, your children won’t exist. You will not be married. You will be free to do as you please. However, if you did decide to give His Highness his comeuppance, you’ll most likely still have to marry him.”

    It was my turn to close my eyes. I heard everything she said, but nothing made sense. Was she talking about turning back the clock, permanently? That couldn’t possibly be real. What kind of a white witch was she?

    “A witch proficient in grey magick, Your Grace, and a born mind-reader.”

    Good grief.

    “… What’s… There… I-Is there some kind o-of catch?” I stared down at my lap and pulled at my fingers, still struggling to make any sense of what I had just been told.

    “No catch. No cost. Nothing.” I breathed a sigh in relief. “… Actually, there is one thing I should mention.

    “When you wake up in your new – er, previous – body, you will be one of just four people who know about this. The others are me, your mother, and the King’s brother, Maelor.”

   “Maelor?” My head snapped up so quickly, I made myself dizzy. “But… Why him?”

    “It was Maelor who sent the word to your mother about your false charges. He explained everything to her, which is why she sent me down. You’re not the only one who wants to see the King pay for his actions, we all have our reasons.” Eris glanced off to the side, staring so intensely at the wall that I worried it might crumble.

    “What’s your reason?”

    Eris turned back to look at me, smiling widely. “Oh, you don’t need to worry about that, dear Margery. Now, shall we get to it? As much as I trust the men here, I can’t say they’ll be able to hold the fort forever, no matter how loyal to you they are.”

    “They’re far from loyal to me, Eris,” I said, taking a moment to stretch my back. “They’ve been nothing but cruel to me since I arrived.”

    She laughed loudly, showing off a set of perfect, white teeth. “Darling, they’re just good actors. The King has eyes everywhere, and there’s more than enough blind spots in here for an extra person to walk in without alerting anyone. They’ve been playing it safe, but I assure you, they regret it deeply.”

    “I suppose that’s reasonable… OW!”

    In a flash, Eris had pulled my hand towards her and pricked my thumb with a needle. She now sat squeezing my blood into the vial with more concentration than I’ve ever seen on a person’s face. My thumb went a grotesque shade of purple before she had gathered enough blood to turn the mixture fully red.

    “That was more than ‘just a drop’, I think.” I held my hand against my body, nursing my poor thumb. “Do I really have to drink my own blood?”

   “A few drops of yours,” she poured a clear liquid in with the bloody mixture,” a drop of Maelor’s,” she swirled the vial, “a drop of your mother’s,” I watched in awe as the mixture turned from red to a bright, fizzing pink, “ and a drop of my own.” Eris handed me the vial. “Try to drink it all in one if you can, it works fast.”

    I took the vial in my non-injured hand, giving it a curious sniff. I’d expected it to smell metallic, like blood, but instead it smelled strongly of raspberries. Even the fumes were starting to make my eyelids heavy.

    “Drink up, Your Grace.”

    With one last look at Eris, I brought the vial to my lips and gulped it down as quick as I could. It tasted just as it smelled, like fresh raspberries from a summer harvest back at home.

    And within moments I had slumped over onto Eris. I was tired. Exhausted. She sang to me. An old lullaby. One I used to sing to my boys.

    Isaac…

    Erick…

    My children.

    Mama will be back soon, darlings.