Shirley Murphy - The Catswold Portal

“Did you not bring a light to guide your way up the passages to me, just now?”

“That is cottage magic—anyone can do that. There is no power to that—not like your powers.” She didn’t like treating this woman with deference, but she sensed that it was wise.

The queen smiled. “Do you remember the winged lizards which flew over you when you went to the Hell Pit? Ah, yes, I see that you do. My lizards saw clearly what you are capable of—Sarah. It takes a special talent to call the Lamia from the Hell Pit.”

Melissa felt naked and defenseless, as if she were suddenly suspended again over the Pit, about to be dropped into the flames.

“It takes great talent to make the Lamia obey you.” The queen’s smile was so cold Melissa shivered. “I mean to train your talent in more complicated magic, Sarah.” The queen looked at her deeply. “You are to be my disciple. You are to learn the powers of a queen.”

Melissa gawked. She dare not speak. Why should the queen want to train her?

“And now, my dear, shall we begin to use your real name? I much prefer Melissa.”

She swallowed. “If you wish.”

“Why did you lie to me about your name?”

“I didn’t mean to lie. I am used to Sarah; it is what I am called. Any other name seems uncomfortable.” She was sweating, her throat was dry and constricted.

“I’m sure you will learn to respond to Melissa. It is your birth name. Come closer and kneel.”

Melissa took three steps and knelt on the pale, richly patterned rug. Coldly she listened to the queen’s spell binding her to a disciple’s rules and submissions. She had not been asked if she wished to serve. Siddonie of Affandar did not ask, she commanded.

The spells were long and complicated. The queen’s power pressed so strongly on Melissa she was hardly able to breathe. Silently, terrified, she wielded a counter-spell to block Siddonie’s enchantment. But she began to feel deeply lazy as the malaise of enchantment took her. How rich was the queen’s voice. And Siddonie was so beautiful, her pale skin creamy against the satin shirt, her black hair and black eyes gleaming like ebony.

Melissa jerked her thoughts back, alarmed. She fought Siddonie’s charm harder with all the skill she knew. But blocking Siddonie’s powers, keeping her face passive, again she imagined another room, where Siddonie sat at a desk, a very young Siddonie, no more than a child. The room glowed with a white, harsh light, and beyond the window loomed infinite space, as if the stone sky had vanished, leaving a void, a terrifying emptiness.

But then the memory faded, and she continued to fight Siddonie, keeping her eyes expressionless.

The queen watched her intently. “You may rise, Melissa.” She nodded, smiling, as if she had seen in Melissa’s face obedience to her spells. “You will return to the scullery when I dismiss you.” She moved away from the mantel and drew her fingers along the back of a satin chair. “You will tell Briccha that from this day you are to work only in the mornings. Once you have spoken to her you will go to the dressmaker to be fitted for two plain, serviceable dresses. I have chosen the fabric. Then you will go to the bootmaker for sandals. You will come to me promptly each afternoon when you are summoned, not before.

“You will like my lessons, Melissa.” She gave her a look of complicity, as if they were close now. “I mean to train you to skills you don’t yet imagine, very special skills. If you learn as I expect you to do, you will know powers perhaps to equal my own power.”

Melissa left the solar quickly, and stood in the wide passage shaking, sick with apprehension. She was exhausted from her resistance to Siddonie’s spell, all strength seemed drained from her. She tried to recall the fleeting memories that had touched her but they were gone now and without meaning, leaving her puzzled and afraid.

In the scullery she delivered the queen’s message to Briccha, then escaped quickly to find the sewing rooms. There she endured the slow ritual of being measured. She went to the bootmaker, and again was measured and prodded by strangers. And now, with Siddonie’s unexplained interest in her, she might have little time to search for the Harpy’s mirror. Once the queen’s tests began, she would likely be watched more closely.

She must find the mirror quickly, she must look into the past and learn the spell Siddonie had used to lock away the rebel prisoners, she must free them and escape with them, escape the dark queen.

But that night when she went to search for the Harpy’s mirror, slipping down from the attic toward the king’s chambers, the queen’s maid was on the landing. And the next afternoon when she tried again, two pages were waiting outside the king’s door. The third time, very late as she approached the king’s chamber, Vrech came out of the queen’s door nearly on top of her. As she turned away, he caught her wrist.

“What are you doing down here? You belong in the attic at night.”

“I’m hungry. I’m on my way to the scullery.”

“This is not the way to the scullery, my dear.” Smiling, Vrech began to stroke her cheek. She kicked him in the shin and jerked away, and went quickly up the back stairs, her nostrils filled with the smell of stale sweat.

She did not go down again that night. The queen’s testing started the next day.

On foot she followed the queen’s horse toward the woods south of the palace. She was flanked by four mounted soldiers. Walking between the horses she felt very small. And she felt stiff, sick, and cold with fear. She didn’t know what would happen if she passed Siddonie’s tests. But if she didn’t pass she would be of no use to the queen and would likely be sent away.

When Siddonie drew her horse up, Melissa paused behind her at the edge of the woods.

The queen spun her horse suddenly to face Melissa and pointed toward a broad oak. “Do you see that dove?”

“I see it.”

“Bring it down.”

“I have no weapon.”

“Don’t sass me.”

She stared up at the queen. The queen looked back impassively. “Bring it down or I will use a harsher spell on you.”

Angered, Melissa made a simple killing spell. But she intentionally muffed it. The dove bleated and flapped away unharmed.

When it landed, the queen said, “Kill it now. Do not make another—error.”

There was no help for it. She brought the dove down smoothly. The small bird screamed, fell struggling among the leaves, and lay dead.

“Fetch it,” said the queen.

Obediently she picked up the limp, warm bird. As she gathered it in her hands, a sharp excitement filled her. Suddenly she longed to tease it, to play with it. Shocked, she stared at her grasping hands. Woodenly, not understanding herself, she carried the bird to Siddonie and dropped it at the feet of her horse.

The queen rode over the bird, crushing it, and began to describe the next test. “You will call a war horse to you—that bay gelding in the pasture. You will make it obey the commands I give you.”

Melissa called the gelding. He jumped the fence and came galloping. He was tall and heavily made, and more willing than a stubborn pony.

“Make him run free to the forest then bring him back.”

It was harder to control the gelding at a long distance, but she brought him trotting back. Under Siddonie’s direction, she worked with the gelding all afternoon. Only twice did he defy her; then the queen brought him back with her own spell, quickly, deftly. It was dusk when Siddonie released her.

There were no more tests for two days. The queen quit the palace before dawn the next morning, riding out with Vrech. Melissa watched from the window beside her bunk.

She had awakened feeling ill. For two days she dragged herself about wanly, making no effort to search for the Harpy’s mirror. The illness was so sudden she thought perhaps the queen had laid a spell on her and when, the morning the queen returned, she felt completely fit, she was certain of it. An hour after her return, the queen summoned Melissa to a tiny courtyard at the back of the palace.