Kingdom in Distress Read online

majesties were back in Castle Daventry, and Queen Katherine could be seen hurrying off to their shared apartments, as cautiously optimistic and eager as ever she had been seen to be in following any pursuit. Along the way, she encountered Master Falkreath, King Edward's court alchemist.

  “Pray, hold a moment, your Majesty,” Master Falkreath exclaimed. He stared at the small crystalline vial within her hands, and then pulled a pair of rosy-hued spectacles from the pocket of his leather apron. He paced them upon the tip of his nose, and stared at the vial again.

  The Queen could see his eyebrows rise dramatically. “Speak, good Master,” she did implore of the accomplished potions-maker; “what is it you see within this crystal vial?”

  “I see nothing, Majesty,” Falkreath replied somberly, “though when I remove these finely attuned spectacles, I do see that which your mysterious benefactor did declare to be 'milk of the Sun'. This surely is a thing which those of my craft have pursued for many a long year, but without success. And yet, when I view it through these lenses, which were blown with a chemical treatment involving a potion of clarity, I see nothing. It is, I fear, suggestive of some sorcery, and not of the making of an alchemist's craft.”

  The Queen's shoulders drooped visibly. “Is it cursed then, or otherwise contrived to do me ill?”

  “Your Majesty, I can tell you nothing at this time, other than that it does not seem to be what the Magus claims but then, I cannot be certain, for like my worthy colleagues I have never succeeded in brewing it. Milk of the Sun is believed to require a tincture from the land of the Sun, which is nigh impossible to reach, and dangerous to pursue, for all things in that realm burn with a bright and searing light.”

  The Queen hesitated; “It does not reek of some foulness, then?”

  “I would have no greater faculty to determine such my Queen, than would you—not without my instruments. However, if I might have the vial for a brief time, to examine its contents more closely..?”

  Master Falkreath extended a hand, expectantly, but the Queen took a single step back. She looked at the vial, hesitating, and then looked back at the alchemist. “I do thank you for your help, good Master, and for your worthy advice; you are most certainly a credit to your craft. However, it does appear to me as though, if I am to follow the instructions with which Magus Deveureaux did provide me, I can spare not a drop of the fluid within this vial. You say that you can sense nothing ill from it, nor see any apparent foulness, and the Magus assured us that no harm could possibly come to me from drinking it...” her voice trailed off, and she gave the Master one last penetrating look.

  “If it is indeed milk of the Sun, my Queen,” Master Falkreath replied, in somber mood, “then 'tis true. It will not harm you, or leastwise, it should not, if the ancient tales which have instructed all of those in my profession be true. I feel driven to urge caution in its use, as if this sorcerer were a friendly soul or simply a loyal subject, I feel he would not have been so sparing, nor drive you to imbibe his elixir without your having the chance to verify its authenticity. My thoughts are that he is neither.”

  “I thank you again for your advice, good Master,” the Queen replied, and while she was seen to hesitate, she did grip the vial closely to her bosom. “I... have elected to take the concoction, and to risk all in hopes of providing my beloved Edward with a son and heir, or perhaps a daughter to make him smile. He does so seldom now, so rarely, when once his face was as bright as the midday sun.”

  “It is still,” Master Falkreath said sadly, “when it does behold your own, Majesty.”

  “I shall give him another reason, then.”

  Though the Master Alchemist attempted to reason further with Queen Katherine, her mind had been firmly settled upon the matter, and after a few more moments, she bade him a polite farewell for the evening. She then departed to her private chambers, which adjoined the royal apartments. She knew that the King would be about in short order, and in the course of her usual preparations before visiting his Majesty's bedchamber, she produced a small silver goblet from her personal wine service. As mandated by the Magus' instructions, she took an alchemist's dropper, and allowed exactly three drops of the fluid to fall into the goblet, whereupon she filled it nearly to the brim with a fine wine and stirred the resulting mixture exactly seven times counter-clockwise with a silver spoon.

  It may have been naught more than the Queen's imagination, but she thought she saw, for a brief moment, a soft, warm glow in the depths of the cup, afterwards, the wine returned to its former hue. She took up the concoction and drank deeply of it, draining the entire cup. As the Magus had instructed, she did then fill a second cup of wine, and drink that as well, though she did not add any further drops from the vial of tincture to its contents. Queen Katherine then felt unexpectedly lightheaded, and her vision swam, as though the whole world was melting about her but she had drunk wine with dinner as well, and being unaccustomed to even such mild excesses, she did attribute her dizziness to those two extra cups. I shall be glad, she thought wryly, when this fortnight is over, and we are then given to see if the cure has taken effect.

  The Queen's eyes soon righted themselves, as she had expected, and she was able to find her feet again, and so she made her way in her silken nightdress out into their shared chambers. The King smiled at the sight of her and made room within the bed, so that she might slip daintily beneath the covers as befitted her royal modesty. “My love,” King Edward said, his eyes alight with hope and admiration, “you do look as lovely as ever, e'en the day on which we first met. Though I must make many decisions each day, which affect or decide the fate of many, I daresay that taking you to wed is the finest decision that ever I have made, for I would not be so resilient in the performance of my royal duties without you. You are a blessing upon me, and upon my people.”

  The Queen, her head returned to normal, smiled warmly in return, and had the fine grace to gaze downcast before her husband modestly. “You do me such high honor, my love.”

  “The honor, my beloved,” King Edward said to her, “is entirely mine. Come, let us lie together, and with fortune's favor, we shall see if, in a few more days, both of our prayers are not marvelously answered, and Daventry's good fortunes of recent years all the more ennobled.”

  The next morning, upon first awakening, the Queen once more felt lightheaded and dizzy but this was taken to be a good sign, and she elected not to tell the King, for fear of exciting him prematurely. When the King asked her how she felt, she simply smiled, and advised him to be patient for a little while longer: “I know that you have born with this grief for years, dear Edward,” she said to him, “but I beg of you these few days' leave, as at the end of but a fortnight our prayers shall hopefully be answered. Then we shall give thanks for the miracle and mayhaps all the folk of your great kingdom shall join us in celebrating.”

  “It is our kingdom, lovely Katherine,” King Edward replied but he was smiling, some anxiety felt at his wife taking an unknown remedy, being alleviated by the sight of her, well and in good spirits.

  Over the two weeks that followed, the Queen repeated her medicinal ritual each night before bed, as she had been instructed to do by the sorcerer's written directions. Each time she drank it, she felt dizzy and disoriented again, with the effects never growing any less, but within a few moments they would dissipate, and with them went any feelings of doubt or uncertainty that she might have felt while so afflicted. Each morning, after she spent the night in bed with her husband, she would again feel this slight spell of sickness and it grew worse, and worse, slowly but steadily, with each passing day of her treatment. By the fourteenth morning after their walk in the King's reserve, the Queen could no longer hide her symptoms: she became sick, and was ill in her apartments. Her concerned husband called Master Falkreath, and the royal physician, and even the local dentist, in the event that the Queen was in need of some bloodletting. When these good and learned men examined her however, they reported back what seemed in that moment to be the very
best of news.

  Queen Katherine was with child.

  Mirrorless Kingdom

  “My love! It worked! It worked!” The three men with whom King Edward had consulted had emerged from the Queen's private chambers to inform the King of her condition first, as she was in that moment still quite ill, and required time to recompose. As this morning-time sickness had done on the previous nights, no matter how severe, it shortly thereafter abated, and Katherine made entry into the shared royal chambers to be greeted by a husband who had to be all but forcibly restrained, lest he pull her fiercely to him and crush her against him with the enthusiasm of his embrace. “It worked,” he said again and there were tears flowing down his cheeks, and a brightness shining in the depths of his eyes that made the Queen also weep for joy. “You are to have a child, my wife—my Queen—my beautiful wife!”

  Gently, once he had been allowed to embrace his delicate wife, having been urged toward reason and calmness by Master Falkreath—the King took the Queen into his arms. Together, Edward and Katherine danced through their royal chambers, moving slowly and cautiously, as the Queen was still light-headed. “But, well, that's normal, isn't