The Year of the Dead Rose

by Rachel Parsons

Chapter 2, Chapter 4
appear in this issue.

Chapter 3

The three made their way to Heveydd’s dining chambers, a little ashlar alcove that gave him a view of the bowling green that was at the palace’s barbican lawn. You could also see the drum tower from it. In making their way, they had to transgress Rhiannon’s corridor; as they passed the latrine, she thought to herself how nice it would be to have a garderobe and a bath in her own quarters. Perhaps she should consider being queen after all, if only to enhance the privacy and convenience of her own toilette. She was already tiling the bathtub when they arrived at her father’s hall.

All of them were tall; all bent over to get into the antechamber, as it was made at a time when men and women were shorter. Vivienne, the court Meddygon, was already in attendance. She squatted by the king, oblivious to the greenish fluid that flowed as spittle from the left side of his mouth to her white gown. She took potions from the various orbs on her belt and dabbed their ingredients on the corner of his eyes, below his ears and at the point at the back of his head where many believe lightening travels through the body, giving actions to thoughts.

He had fallen backwards from the eitann table that had his plates and dishes. He had been enjoying a spinach, kudzu and dandelion salad, and some violent humor had made his chair fall back on the ground. His leather boots had jerked up and the heels of which were now on a pot and a plate; his purple robe lay open, exposing, to Rhiannon’s embarrassment, his pink tights and yellow leggings. At least his jerkin, she thought, was appropriately golden, even if you could see his shirt hanging underneath. Heveydd’s head lay by a small mouse hole which had recently re-opened. Rhiannon could tell that because the gnaw marks were of current vintage and the panel that had been placed over it had been shoved under the dining table.

He was whistling, which made for an eerie sound, not unlike a kite about to pounce on prey like the aforementioned mouse.

Rhiannon, her hand rubbing the back of her head in dismay, crouched by Vivienne, who wrinkled her nose at the presence of the naked girl. Rhiannon knew that Vivienne thought her nudity was unsanitary, and was annoyed by any attempt on her part to be a nurse.

“Will he stay on this earthly coil, Vivienne?” Rhiannon asked.

“It will take more than rotten spinach to fell this old fart.”

“Is that what it was?” Rhiannon started. Ioseff and Elfrod exchanged glances.

“Well, I can’t be sure unless I gut the old fellow, but this is partially digested spinach,” she stuck her finger on a spot on her dress and then stuck it under Rhiannon’s nose. The princess jerked back.

“I am told there are rumors that he is poisoned,” she retorted.

“No, he is a stout fellow, my crystals show that.” She picked up a rectangular prism that glowed green from its juts, and was on a small chain. It had been on the king’s forehead. She wrapped it on her belt. “His odd behavior is that he is quite mad now.”

“Because of my nakedness?”

“Enough to drive any man mad,” muttered Ioseff. Elfrod shot him a look.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You know Rhiannon, not everything is about your udders and twat,” Vivienne said sternly.

Rhiannon blushed fearsomely at that and was about to make a nasty remark in retaliation, but Vivienne put her hand up to halt her. The young princess quieted. Ioseff and Elfrod exchanged a glance, each, in the privacy of his mind, wondering if the physician could teach them how to manage that.

“I do not know the source of his madness,” Vivienne continued. “But I do know that he will not be fit for his duties for a very long time.” She looked at Rhiannon knowingly, which Rhiannon interpreted to mean that her chief physician too, wanted her to assume the crown.

Rhiannon, ignoring the meaningful glance, rang for attendants. Within a short time, two of Heveydd’s squires, dressed in golden jerkins and trews befitting their rank, appeared, as if they had materialized.

“Take the king to his bedchambers,” the princess ordered. Turning to Vivienne, “I want day and night nursing.”

She nodded, and choked back a response. Rhiannon had a way of telling one what to do as one was about to do it.

“And I want some determination as to whether the spinach, the kudzu or the dandelions were poisoned.”

“And how am I to do that?” Vivienne asked.

“I do not know. Hold your nose and make a magical sign. Feed them to a peasant. Just do it.”

“As you wish, m’lady,” came the sullen reply.

The two squires lifted Heveydd, and took him, as if he were a falling down drunk. Vivienne, still obviously annoyed by the princess, left with them. Rhiannon got to her feet without using her hands.

Ioseff spoke. “You see, Rhiannon, how it is. This was a small crisis, and you acted like a queen. You are needed in the larger crisis, aye?”

“I will consider it, Ioseff.”

“Don’t take too long, Rhiannon. A kingdom without a monarch is but a tasty morsel to its enemies. Even if by some miracle, the men of New Fairy won’t rise up to avenge the shame of your nakedness, the men of New Dyved had hungered for our forests and our wetlands. The offworlders wish to mine our treasures, and I’ve heard they even want our blood, which they think will make them immortal.

“I don’t know what kind of queen you will make, but even if you were the silly girl you were before your betrothal to Farrell, it would be better than no queen. And you are no longer that girl. Your nakedness not only reveals your physical maturity but your emotional maturity as well.”

Rhiannon’s mouth dropped almost to the floor at these flattering words. She stared at Ioseff for a while and for a moment a brief fantasy of his kissing her in an intimate way soared through her mind. Later, when she thought back at this moment, she would almost forget this thought, but she would remember where she wanted that kiss.

And it wasn’t on her mouth.

Proceed to chapter 4...