Her daffodil queen, p.4
Her Daffodil Queen, page 4
“Let me at least say goodbye to my family,” the man begged, tears welling in his eyes. Morghan tilted her head. She raised one brow and tapped her chin.
“I am not heartless. You have until the clock tones nine to get your affairs in order,” Morghan said, granting the man his leave.
“Meet me under the willow tree outside on the hill. Do not be late,” she said after the man as he hurried away. He turned and nodded his thanks for the small kindness, he ran back into the crowd.
Morghan strolled through the streets, stopping at the butcher shop on her way to buy the salted meat that she had promised Hunter, the fruit seller placed two pieces of fruit into her hands. She looked at them, her eyebrows knitted together. The seller dipped their head as if he too knew who she was. Morghan spotted the brooch of the Court of Shadows pin on the cloak hanging from their shoulder. She used her finger to tilt their head, so their eyes met hers. “Thank you” she tucked the pair of fruits into her skirts before leaving the town square.
Morghan’s next stop was at the baker’s store to collect an iced bun for her young Charge. She walked up the grassy knoll where she left her two boys. But she only saw Hunter.
“Where is the boy I entrusted you with?” she inquired, scanning the raised roots to see if he had moved the boy to a shadier spot.
“The ferryman came to collect him for you,” Hunter answered, with his tail curling between his legs. “I thought you allowed it, Mistress.” Hutner wiped.
“That is fine. I have something for you,” she said. Morghan placed herself on the lush patch of grass next to her friend.
She laid the chunk of salty meat at the drooling dog’s feet. Hunter yipped in gratitude and devoured the brackish treat in two large bites.
Morghan sat plaiting the loose strands of her silver hair. The chimes of the village clock tower pulled her from her wandering thoughts. She shook her head, releasing the braid she’d been working on, and returned to the task at hand. She turned to a dozing Hunter.
“What number chime was that?” Morghan asked.
“The tenth, I believe. Why? Are we late to meet someone important?” he answered.
“No, my darling. I tried to be nice to a mortal that had failed to live up to his deal with the Elder Gods. He mistook my kindness for weakness. Not to worry, my dear, we can catch him later.” Morghan looked at the shadowy hollow in the tree roots where the young boy lay.
Hunter had jumped to his feet, ready to launch into action by tracking the man down. Morghan sniffed., she had hoped that the young boy would have had a better life. But she knew she would have to give Gaea the sad news. The family that she had given the child to had failed to protect him from the ravages of the world. Hunter nudged her hand, his teeth grazing her fingers.
“I know, darling. He will have the life he deserves in the gardens.” She stroked her companion’s head. Morghan lingered, soaking in the last few moments of soft sunlight, knowing the duties that require them to be in the living land were ending.
She worked her way along the path, peeling some fruit from the market. When she bit into it, the fruit released a spray of juice splashing across her face. Hunter snickered and Morghan erupted in the fit of laughter, tears and fruit juice mixing in the hollows of her collarbones.
“I have missed the sound of for laugh mistress. You’ve been solemn during this trip,” Hunter said, a grin pulling at the edges of his muzzle.
“I am sorry, my love. I have an overwhelming feeling of unease that things are shifting,” Morghan said. She shook the juice from her hands and used the sleeves of her maroon cloak to mop up the remaining liquid.
Hunter’s ears pricked as his body lowered to the grass, stopping her joyful moment in its tracks. His muzzle pulled back to show his gleaming fangs, and a growl rattled in his rib cage, which launched into a howl. His enormous paws kicked leafy matter from the forest underbrush as he flew off the path. Morghan’s eyebrows knitted together, confused by the white beast’s sudden abandonment of her on their walk home. “That hound will pay for his actions one day,” Morghan muttered under her breath, hiking up her skirts as she followed him into the woodlands. The fog was still rolling in off the moors, and a delicious scent of opened flower buds married with the decay that so often followed them, that she realised where they were heading.
Chapter five
Ceryse
Ceryse walked through the old door of her family’s cottage. She placed the clean laundry basket next to the dining table, intending to fold it after dinner. Her mother had the bath steaming in the centre of the living room next to the hearth. For once, there were bubbles floating on the water. The beautiful fragrance of lavender and daffodils assaulted her brother and her nostrils as they strolled into the room. Their mother stood next to the steel bath, a lace collection in her arms.
Taran and Oscar stepped towards the scene, beaming with excitement. But before the boys could relieve themselves of the day’s clothing, a scowl appeared on their mother’s face.
“What do you think you two are doing?” Their mother asked her sons. Both boys turned and looked at their father for help. He’d just darkened the cottage’s doorstep.
“I believe we are going to have a bath,” Oscar cheered as he bounced on the balls of his feet. Their father swung his hand in a mock fight with his sons. The family stopped as the hand swung up and caught the side of Oscar’s head. Taran didn’t even try to hold in the laughter that bubbled up within him at the sight. Oscar stuck his bottom lip out, fainting, defeating.
“The bath is for your sister. Did you forget the festival this evening? She is going to put her name in The Goblet,” their father said, smiling as he turned to face his daughter.
“Come along, petal. We must get ready for the harvest festival and the crowning,’ Ceryse’s father said. Before he turned his attention to his daughter.
“You may use the bath after your sister,” their mother said. She levelled a stern look at her sons. Ceryse attempted to conceal her grin, but the joy of being able to bathe before anyone else, which was so rare, overflowed within her. She used the water after both of her brothers, leaving her with nothing but murky, freezing water.
When their mother saw the look on her face, she gave her daughter a soft smile and said, “Yes, my dear, you’ve got the new bath.” Oscar stormed off further into the house towards the kitchen, in a foul mood. Taran only nodded, following the youngest child, and muttering about poor behaviour.
“Mother, my brothers, or at least my father, should have time to wash off the day. They have worked harder in the fields than I did,” Ceryse offered. With a pat on the back of her head, her father gave her a tender kiss on the forehead. Her mother smiled, pride oozing from her demeanour.
“We did well, darling,” Ceryse’s mother said as she craned her neck to face her husband. Decades of love floated in their eyes.
“Yes, dear, we raised a kind young lady. Let us hope the Gods smile on her and choose her name from The Goblet this evening,” her father said as he kissed her mother’s forehead and followed the boys into the kitchen. Ceryse slipped off her pants and then peeled her sweat covered shirt off for the day. Her mother stepped back, waving her hand in her face as the dust filled the air.
“Be careful, darling. We don’t want to get your dress dirty before the event, do we?” She asked.
“No, we do not, mother; I’m sorry.” Ceryse swallowed, looking down at the hay-covered floor.
She slid her bare body into the warm water. As soon as she got into the tub, the grime from the daily harvest work and being down by the river rose to the surface. It was like the bubbles were whisking it away from her skin. Ceryse’s mother rubbed a washcloth across her shoulders and then down her arms. The refreshing scent of the soap flooded her senses.
Ceryse flopped all her hair onto the top of her head, then plunged her head beneath the surface of the bubble-laden water. She opened her eyes to see how the sunlight reflected in the water, creating a soft rainbow that danced across her tanned skin. She lifted from the water, fingers running through her wet hair, tendrils falling and resting on her shoulders.
“Darling, you need to remove yourself from the bath. We have more to do to get ready,” her mother whispered in her ear. Ceryse obeyed her mother. As the chilly air struck her skin, a shiver ran up her arms. Their mother held out a towel that she had warmed on the hearth, offering it to Ceryse to cover herself, stepping closer to the fire to warm her body.
It was as though the boys sensed the emptiness of the tub. They appeared in the doorway, squabbling over who got to use the tub first.
The boys wrestled in their bid to get into the water first, forcing Ceryse and her mother out of the room.
“When did you become a woman?” Oscar shouted the question from the headlock he was in at the mercy of his older brother. Ceryse could feel her whole-body flush with embarrassment. Taran squeezed Oscar’s neck tighter.
“She’s old enough to enter The Goblet, you idiot. She can’t enter it without being a woman.” Taran explained, after hitting Oscar on the head.
“Ouch! Can everyone please stop hitting me around the head?” Oscar demanded as he wriggled free of the headlock and jumped into the waiting bath. Water splashed onto the floor, flowing in the grooves of the tiles. Ceryse threw her towels on the floor to divert the water away from the fire.
“Nice one, little fool, ignoramus,” Taran called.
Both parents walked in from the kitchen. Rage and shock filled their father’s eyes while their mother hung her head, exasperated. “What on earth are you doing, Oscar?” their father growled.
“I am having a bath; is it not obvious?? Ceryse is not in the tub anymore,” Oscar said, reported.
“Yes, darling, your sister is no longer in the bath. However, if either of you boys ruins the work, we’ve put into the preparations for the harvest festival; I’ll be very unhappy,” Their mother said. She crossed her arms, standing next to the dining table and tapping her foot. Oscar and Taran observed her and took a small step back, noticing her hands planted on her plump hips.
“And as for you, Taran, don’t you dare think to stop your brother,” their father chastised. Taran stood, his mouth agape, trying to form words to make him look less like a fish out of water.
He turned his attention back to Ceryse, softening his voice. “You should go cover up.”
“Of course, Father, I just wanted to make sure the fire didn’t go out because of the water escaping from the tub,” Ceryse said, her skin prickling with goose bumps as the cool evening brushed over her bare skin. Ceryse hadn’t been in her parent’s bedroom since she was a little girl afraid of the storms that shook the house with their rage.
“Come, darling, sit here. I’ll braid flowers in your hair,” her mother said, patting the edge of her bed.
“Oh, it is so lovely, Mother. Are you sure that we can afford all of this?” Ceryse asked, knowing that the crown had not yet paid the family for the harvest.
“My precious little petal, let your father and me handle that. Tonight is your evening,” her mother said, stroking Ceryse’s cheek, “If they choose you as the Daffodil Queen, you know they’ll honour and take care of us.”
“I want you and father to be happy. My brothers are taking steps towards things that might help the family, at least in Oscar’s case. I’m not sure about what Taran is aiming to do for the family,” Ceryse said. The butterflies that lived within her stomach came to life, bombarding her rib cage and abdomen with their fluttering. It was nice to have a moment with her mother fussing over her. Ceryse thought about how she and her mother had fallen into the habitat like most of the woman of the village: making everything perfect in the eyes of those seeing the family from the outside.
She hummed to herself as she toyed with the hem of her dresses sleeve. trying to push down the guilt of the pleasant feeling of being the centre of the family’s attention. As she spent so much time staying in the shadow of her brothers. Ceryse watched how tendering her mother care for her family. She prayed she would grow to be half the woman her mother had shown her during their childhood.
“If they do not pull my name from The Goblet this evening, would it displease you?” Ceryse asked, shuffling in discomfort.
Her mother put her hand on Ceryse’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “No, my darling, it is something outside your control,” she reassured Ceryse again. It had been a long-standing fear for Ceryse that she might not live up to her parents’ expectations. The pile of lace that her mother had been cradling gave her pause. This was going to change everything. If her name didn’t get pulled during the festival, her parents would introduce her to the town for marriage for the first time.
When her mother unfurled the fabric, she saw the dress for the work of art that it was. It hugged her curves, accentuating all the right places. The dress appeared to be tailored for her, hanging just off of her shoulders.
Her mother held her at arm’s length, taking in the sight before her. Tears flowed down her face. Nothing but pure joy and pride shined through on her mother’s features. Ceryse held back tears of her own as she wiped a drop from her mother’s cheek.
“Do not cry, Mother. It is not my wedding day. You’re not giving me away. I’ll be back,” Ceryse jokes.
“Yeah, right, my blessing? Of course. I am so thankful to the Gods that they gave you to us. I can see my radiant daughter standing before me,” she said. Ceryse tilted her head and then understood her mother’s sentiments. It was so rare that she had the chance to show her femininity that she wasn’t sure what to do next.
As the sun dipped towards the horizon, the stunning colours of purples and oranges lit up the sky, making it a royal day. Ceryse and her family collected the baskets of braided garlic and bushels of herbs that had been drying in the kitchen window over the last three weeks.
They walked to the village as a group, her brothers on either side of her and her mother, who walked arm in arm. A cool early evening breeze came off the stream, playing with the tendrils of Ceryse’s hair. Oscar held the cottage gate open for his parents and sister. He sent a glare at Taran as his oldest brother walked through the gate with a smirk on his lips.
“Why thank you, little brother, it’s always nice to see you taking care of the family,” Taran said as he fell into step with their father, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
“You need to be respectful to your brother. He has been a marvellous help in the last month, picking up the slack that has been clear from your absence,” their father said, his voice stern. Taran scuffed his shoes in the dirt, avoiding eye contact with their father. They walked along the well-worn path that led to the town. The trees on either side had grown so tall that their canopies met in the middle, forming a stunning sight. It was an artistic tunnel that provided much-needed relief from the intense heat and brutal sun at the peak of the summer months. Ceryse often remarked about how the light filtering through the trees’ leaves reminded her of stained-glass windows in a cathedral. Smelling evening primrose wafted on the gentle breeze. It was a beautiful evening.
As Ceryse and her family approached, they could see and hear the hum of activity that came from the town centre. Groups of people were buzzing from stall to stall. Their mother’s eyes were open wide with a joyful smile on her face as she looked at the marvellous twinkling lights of candles in small jars scattered around the beautiful cobblestone town square. Her excitement grew as the evening’s potential events unfolded, causing the apples of her cheeks to turn red. She felt especially delighted that her daughter would be part of the group who revered and celebrated. Squealing under her breath, she nudged Ceryse forward.
Her father and brothers were dragging behind. Oscar followed, still rubbing his ear from where their father had gripped him, pulling him from the tub.
“Remember boys, tonight is about your sister,” their father growled, staring at Taran and before winking at Oscar.
“Come on, sweetheart, we need to add your name to The Goblet,” her mother said. They walked towards the new tents that the organisers had erected overnight. A nervous energy flowed from the giggling collection of young women standing in a circle. Excitement filled them as they prepared to join womanhood, but they also felt nervous about the unknown events surrounding the festival.
No one spoke about what would happen. The knowledge imparted to those taking part in The Goblet included a dowry, glory, a beautiful headdress, and the honour of their family being raised to the table of honour for the evening. Also, the village saw the selected girl leave to be the devout for the festival.
Ceryse ran sweaty palms down the skirts of her dress. With her oldest brother’s development, he became more enticed by duties outside the fields, which meant that the burden of supporting the family, both with food on the table and coins in their pockets, fell more heavily on her father’s shoulders. All the while, he was trying to teach Oscar how to run the fields so that he could take over when he was old enough, since Taran would not be the one for the job.
They taught Ceryse about the flute, how to tend to the fields, the vast skills needed to run a household of her on one day. From how to heal small wounds and mending clothing. And a variety of other skills to become a woman of station within the village. During Ceryse’s childhood, Ceryse’s teachers had instructed her in a variety of skills. That would be necessary for her to become a woman of station within the village, such as how to work the fields and run a household on a farmer’s wage.
Among the three children, we distributed any additional funds that could be spent. So, they may further add to their skills. Ceryse could learn to read and write. Fortunately, one wife of a councilman had taken a shine to Ceryse when she was younger and taught her how to play the harp. She wanted to stop being a burden for her family.
“Mother, are you worried about the future?” she asked, looking at her mother with a nervous energy. Her mother didn’t turn around, she seemed lost in her own world.
