Raven: A Dark Fairytale Chapter 1 Part 2

The next morning, Eglantine woke early to take a bath and brush her hair until it was free of knots and shiny. She braided it and then slipped on the cotton shift left completely white before pulling on her last good pair of stockings. Unlike her other five pairs, these were silver, and were void of holes and runs. Lastly she pulled a pale, rose pink dress over her head, shoving her arms through the sleeves. When Elias had her pick out cloth for her dresses she had chosen a large amount of pink and red, with a spattering of orange and brown that reminded her of her mother’s clothing, and a fragment of yellow. She knew the dresses would have to be plain, she was an apprentice, well, a slave, not a princess. That had not stopped her from embroidering flowers on the hems of all her dresses and the three skirts she owned. This dress in particular had her namesake sewn on the hems in gold dyed thread. It was a wild rose, a ring of them at her feet, dancing whenever she walked. Righting her doll on her bed, she made her way down to the kitchens for breakfast.

“Ho, ho, what’s with the new rags,” said Dior, one of the cooks, upon seeing her.

“Elias has me attending to the Queen Regent today as punishment for snapping some of her roses.”

“Her Majesty is not the nicest of people,” Dior nodded sounding as though she was remembering something unpleasant. “And she isn’t easily happy either, I should know. I was brought from the southern palace here with her. She’s rumored to have never smiled in her life, not with those legs. Not to mention her back, the princes didn’t help much either.”

“Oh.”

“Mhm,” Dior breathed out through her nose, “Ah well, come eat breakfast and then you can take her Majesty hers.”

Breakfast for Eglantine was muesli with blueberries and almonds and goat milk. For the Queen Regent Jeanne, who hardly ate with her son and daughter-in-law, the cooks prepared porridge sweetened with honey and cinnamon, soft brown bread and strawberry jam, and a bowl of blackberries. Eglantine was made to carry all this on a silver tray along with a porcelain teapot decorated with iris flowers, the teacup, the cream, and the sugar bowl on another tray. She was sure that she was eternally grateful when another girl, five or so years her senior, came down to take the food tray from her and walked her to the Queen Regent’s quarters in the east wing.

Jeanne was watching the sun creep slowly up in the sky from her place in bed when the two girls entered her room. One she knew on sight as Charlotte, she, along with Beatrice were her personal servants. But the dark haired girl in the pink dress was new and she had not yet learned the child’s name. The two girls set their trays down on the table and curtsied, Jeanne raised her left hand signaling for Beatrice to help her up. Carefully, Beatrice walked the old woman to the table a mere six feet from her bed while Charlotte pulled her seat out for her. Beatrice emptied the breakfast tray and Charlotte was just about to pour the tea when the Queen Regent stopped her.

“You,” she pointed to a very nervous Eglantine. “Pour my tea.”

Eglantine glanced at the two other girls who remained silent and expressionless. She was unsure if she should speak so she did not and obeyed the command as gracefully as she could.

“I want one spoonful of honey and two sugars.”

Eglantine nodded and picked up the sugar cubes with the silver sugar prongs that had two smooth, oval spoon heads and then used the teaspoon to add the honey, stirring it in slowly.

“Enough.”

Eglantine stopped and stepped back from the table, noting at the back of her mind that this was the first time she’d ever been so close to a monarch, despite her status as former. Not to mention that this was the first she’d heard the old woman speak. Jeanne allowed her tea to cool, letting the cup sit in its saucer between her porridge and fruit. Before she even started eating she gestured to Beatrice who, at once, brought her a basin of warm water to wash her hands in, Charlotte holding the soap in a handkerchief out for her. Someone had cut the soap to look like a pale yellow rose. The Queen Regent wiped her hands on a hand towel embroidered with gold fleur-de-lis. She picked up a silver spoon, stirred her porridge and lifted a spoonful of the cornmeal to her mouth.

“Now, young one, tell me why you were spying on me and that wretch that insists on calling me mother?”

Eglantine fought the urge to look up at the woman.

“Answer me child.”

Flinching at the hardness in her voice, Eglantine’s eyes flickered up and then down again in fear. “I had never seen a member of the royal family before, Your Majesty,” she said meekly. “I could not control my curiosity.”

The Queen Regent remained silent and began to eat her porridge.

Eglantine stood there wondering what on earth she was supposed to do. She did not dare raise her eyes and kept her gaze fixed on her shoes instead. The windows in the room were all slightly ajar so as not to let the place get stuffy, and dried lavender hung above each entrance giving off a faint aroma. These were not the rooms of the ruling monarch, but the rooms Jeanne de Valois had taken when her husband had died. She had refused to be called Queen Dowager, for her marriage to Louis XII was an unpleasant one. Instead she had been called Queen Regent, not knowing then that the title would stick with her for much longer than four years. Instead she had ruled longer than her husband and younger brother before her.

“I suppose that cannot be helped. How many years are ye?’

“Nine, Your Majesty.”

“Step closer.”

Eglantine obeyed, with cold fingers the Queen Regent took Eglantine by the chin and raised her head, forcing the child to meet her eyes for a second.

“You are a very pretty girl; you are doomed to turn out into a very lovely lady. When that happens, never let that wretch or my son see you. Ever. Is that clear?”

“Y-yes Your Majesty.”

“Good,” the elderly woman dropped Eglantine’s chin. “Now go stand by the door.”

Eglantine had to stand by the door until Jeanne finished eating and then she and Charlotte were sent down to the kitchen with the empty dishes. Afterward she looked around the room while Charlotte and Beatrice helped the old woman dress. Today she wore a navy blue gown fringed with spun gold, and her trademark black veil. The Queen Regent was always in mourning; for many had died to get her here, though that had not been anyone’s intention. Charlotte made the bed while Beatrice called for Nicholas, the guard whose main task was pushing the Queen Regent’s chair.

“Charlotte, Beatrice, I shall be having lunch in my garden. Do not be late.”

“Yes Your Majesty,” they chimed in unison.

“You,” she pointed at Eglantine. “You come with me. And tell me your name.”

“Eglantine, Your Majesty.”

Jeanne nodded, and gestured for Nicholas to wheel her out of the room. Eglantine walked a foot behind. She assumed that, once they had started walking through the palace, Jeanne would be going to her son. But that was not the case. Instead Nicholas, without being told, took the queen to a hall full of portraits and stopped in front of one in particular. Eglantine glanced at the plaque, read Jeanne de Valois, the newly wed. Jeanne had been 14, wore a dress of white silk and lace, and gripped a ruby headed walking stick. On her neck she wore a rosary with a cross made of ivory embedded with garnets hung from a gold chain that had garnet and obsidian beads, her dark curls visible from beneath her white veil. Jeanne herself had a humorless smile on her face, hardly noticeable. Eglantine thought she should say the woman was plain, because pretty would be too outrageous a lie. Jeanne did not allow her to comment though.

“I had a slight hunch so when my father came to see me at my aunt and uncle’s home in the south he exclaimed that I was ugly. He was not wrong, cruel, yes, but not wrong. I’ve never been pleasant upon the eyes.”

Eglantine looked at her, wondering if mayhaps the wrinkles and the frown had been evidence of youth lost, of something denied.

“Now I’m the face of the kingdom. Do you know what I would have done if I hadn’t become Queen Regent?”

Eglantine shook her head, but the queen was not facing her so she spoke, “No Your Majesty.”

“I would have retired as the Duchess of Berry, devoted the rest of my life to God.” She chuckled bitterly. “But He had other plans I suppose. Now you, do you expect to become a master?”

Eglantine had no answer.

“I thought not. That man is the only man of his craft; he should have stayed just an alchemyst. You’d do well to learn though. It helps that he’s the son of a Sister.”

Eglantine’s breath caught in her throat.

The old queen chuckled, “Worry not, I shall not tell. You’ve just as much right to live as I do, as that wretch does. She is the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter. She can heal, she can kill, and she can communicate with the dead. I advise you never go near her. I would too if I could.”

A moment passed as Eglantine thought on this, “I understand Your Majesty.”

“Good, can you sing?”

“I’m afraid not Your Majesty.” Nicholas was wheeling the old queen out of the hall, she hurried to follow.

“Because of my legs I could not be taught to dance like my sister, so I excelled at singing instead. I was trying to spite fate. I was taught many things, including how to play the lute. It would be nice to have someone to play for me,” there was sadness in her voice. “To the library Nicholas. You are going to read to me Eglantine; those girls of mine are so bad at it. I’m very fond of poetry.”

Eglantine was made to sit down and read an epic for the Queen Regent, it took longer because Jeanne would stop her and correct her on her pronunciation, tell her to slow down, and speak up. “I’m an old woman; my hearing is not what it used to be.” Eglantine would apologize and fix her mistakes as she continued but after several more complaints the queen sighed.

“Oh forget it, that’s enough for today. I want you to read Le Divine Comedie to me tomorrow. I’ve still got it in my room. Take that,” she pointed at the book Eglantine held, “and read it tonight.”

“Yes Your Majesty.” That is entirely absurd.

In fact the day had a fair share of absurdities. Like the queen insisting Eglantine eat lunch with her but also having her run to the kitchen to demand the cooks make her something with meat in it despite their usual avoidance of anything that would be too tough for her teeth. Followed by Eglantine being sent, along with Charlotte, back to the queen’s quarters to get her a more comfortable pair of shoes which they had to do five times, only for the queen to decide it was too sunny to eat in the gardens today anyways. Eglantine was beginning to suspect she was being bullied. It did not help that Jeanne took special care to point out every little thing she was doing wrong from not sitting up straight to chewing too loudly. If she is this hard on me, a nobody, how hard is she on the queen-to-be? Eglantine did not actually want a response to that question. She was only relieved of her work when it was time for the royal family to sup. However, Jeanne insisted that she sup with Charlotte and Beatrice rather than with Elias and continue reading her current epic.

“She does not even like epics,” Charlotte informed her while they ate their salade niçoise.

Beatrice nodded, “It is usually love poems or sonnets.”

“So I am being bullied,” Eglantine concluded.

“On the contrary,” said Beatrice. “I think she likes you.”

Charlotte grinned, “Yeah, she only let’s Nicholas spend the whole day with her. And she is not nearly so talkative.”

“Why would she even like me?”

Both the elder girls shrugged.

Jeanne had one final thing for Eglantine to do that night before they retired to bed. She had already been dressed in a cotton nightgown and her hair braided. Charlotte and Beatrice, who shared a room next door, were allowed to go to bed early. Jeanne sat up in bed, looking very thin but somehow not quite so frail as one would expect of an old queen. Eglantine found that the woman’s hair was mostly dark brown, only a small fraction of silver, the age showing more on her face than anything else.

“Sing for me,” Jeanne asked, her voice a hoarse whisper. “It can be any song, just sing.”

“Ah, um, yes Your Majesty,” Eglantine said, her thoughts racing through songs she knew. She hardly knew any, except for a lullaby she heard her mother sing a few times. She cleared her throat and sang.

“No one knows the trials we’ll face

Upon the sun’s rising

The journeys we shall make

And the faces we shall see

All we can do now is wait

And rest

To find reason for smiling

For soon the morrow brings

Good fortune and tidings

I will meet you there

Wishing you your safety

Hoping you find happiness where you soon will be

Knowing that one day you’ll return to me

To tell all the tales of your journey.”

Eglantine released a sigh and looked at the queen.

Jeanne cackled, “That was terrible. I thought you sung often. Those little rhymes you say to remember your lessons.”

Shocked and embarrassed Eglantine bit down a rude retort and said instead, “I am sorry to have displeased you, Your Majesty.”

“I never said you displeased me. We’ll have to get you an instructor; you’ve too nice a voice not to be able to sing. Now run off to bed.”

Eglantine obeyed, but stopped to relay all this to Elias who also found it quite strange. “Mayhaps she wants a personal singer, or a pupil,” he suggested, but that did not make any sense to Eglantine. After brushing her teeth with straw and the mint cleansing paste her mother had taught her to make, Eglantine lay on her bed and told her doll about the day’s events. She kissed it goodnight and went to sleep.