The Kindness Curse Read online

Oddly, she dreamed about the farmer family on their journey home in the moonlight. A star fell from the sky. The girls cried out with childish pleasure and made wishes for each other's happiness. They drove up the lane to their farm and found their dogs digging in the garden, just uncovering a small wooden chest. When the farmer pulled it out of the ground, he found it full of coins as silver as the light trailing after the star.

  Merrigan woke feeling quite discontent. Perhaps it was just a dream, but she almost wished she had accepted the offer to go home with them. Were they so foolish they would have shared the treasure with her? With just a handful of those silver coins, she could have hired a carriage to take her to the nearest port and booked passage to Armorica on a fine ship.

  Yet what good would it do her to return to Carlion, when it was no longer her home?

  Perhaps she should go home to Avylyn?

  "Oh, yes, return in this wretched state, to live in hiding and shame until Father persuades some majjian to restore my proper face and form?" She snorted in a most unqueenly manner.

  "Awake back there?" the merchant called from the front of the long, enclosed wagon. He sounded far too jolly for so late at night.

  In point of fact, when she climbed out from the interior of the wagon, Merrigan found she had slept the night through and it was early morning, that sparkling time when dew covered everything. She settled on the long driver's bench and allowed the merchant to offer her some breakfast: weak, sweet wine, an apple, and a hunk of bread spread with sweet, soft cheese. His assistants, who had slept on the flat top of the wagon, called down good morning to her and chattered nonstop about the town up ahead of them. It was much larger than the one she had left behind. They were sorry to tell her she was still several days of travel away from the nearest port. One said he admired her for following her dream to see the world, and he wished her strong legs and the endurance to see everything her heart desired. Merrigan thanked him regally, taking the blessing at face value, no matter how crudely stated. Perhaps when she had regained her place—and her face—she might send back to this crude little country and reward him. She would astonish them all with the realization they had had a queen among them, and didn't know how to treat her properly.

  His talk of following her dream reminded her of her dream of the farm family. She asked the merchant about his friends, what sort of people they were. His words dismayed her.

  "Aye, they're the most generous folk, and it seems like whatever they give away, they get it back double. Nicest folks you ever want to meet. You'd think there are majjians watching over them. They do something nice and helpful, beyond what an ordinary man would expect, then something good falls on them. When bad things happen, they take it in stride, and whatever they lost is paid back double. Like they're being rewarded for suffering." He nodded for punctuation. "That kind of thing happens to old Tom, regular as rain falling from the sky."

  Merrigan made polite noises, and demurred when the merchant offered to tell her stories about Farmer Tom and his family. She had made a terrible mistake. She should have accepted their rough hospitality and gone home with them. They were such generous and goodhearted simpletons, she could have told them her entire sad story, and they would have helped her. They might have even pleaded her case with whatever majjian had taken the family under his protection, and mended her life for her.

  That settled it. She had to go back. She asked the merchant to turn around and take her back, she had changed her mind and wanted to accept the family's invitation. He laughed for a moment. Why did people think it was all right to laugh at her?

  "I'll be glad to help you, Granny, but I have my route to keep. People are expecting me to deliver what they ordered. You can ride with us, but it'll be more than two moons before we get back to Tom's place. Is that all right with you?"

  What could she say? Of course it wasn't all right, but telling them that wouldn't do her any good. She didn't look like a queen, so who would tremble in fear of disappointing her? She thanked him and agreed.

  At the next town, the merchant's big sons helped her down from the wagon and treated her to a fresh meat pie from their favorite vendor. Then she walked away without a word of goodbye. Perhaps she should have said thanks, but she feared they would try to stop her. Perhaps say she was crazy, like those brutes the day before. Merrigan set off for the far side of the merchants' square, where dozens of wagons were unloading, and pointed herself at a wagon that seemed aimed back the way she had come.

  The world spun around her, the lights flickered and the ground slid from under her feet. Merrigan let out a most unqueenly shout.

  Until you turn, you are forbidden to return, while ungrateful thoughts linger in your mind and pride in your heart, Clara whispered in her memory.

  Merrigan landed on her knees in a patch of violets along the side of a tree-lined road. She heard nothing but the whisper of the wind through the leaves, and far off, the songs of sleepy birds. She turned around and settled on her bottom, drew her knees up to her chest, hid her face in her knees, and waited for the tears to come.

  None came. Apparently, she was too wrinkled and dry and shriveled up to even cry in frustration.

  So she wasn't allowed to go back, once she had turned her back on rustic hospitality and generosity? What common sense was there in that? Where was the justice in the world?

  "Fine, then. Have it your way. I'll find someone to take pity on me and help me, no matter how much you interfere," she whispered.

  Such words would have had greater effect if she had leaped to her feet and stomped out of the violets and headed down the road. Merrigan was too tired, and somewhat achy from her landing, so she made herself comfortable and sat and thought for a time. When no wagons came down the road after nearly two hours, she got to her feet and resumed walking.

  By nightfall, she found her way to a village small enough that people noticed the elderly stranger among them. They offered her shelter in the little building that served as a general meeting hall and chapel. The bread and butter, mug of milk and bowl of porridge provided weren't up to her standards, but she said nothing. Demanding better because she was a queen would earn her mockery. She curled up on the bench cushion the circuit judges used, wrapped herself in the blankets several people offered for the night, and told herself she was quite comfortable. She was, compared to how she could have spent the night.

  She finally fell asleep, trying to persuade herself that she liked the silence and solitude. The porridge reminded her of her nursery days, before Nanny Starling fell from grace and Nanny Tulip took over. Her dreams were full of her long, secret, magical correspondence with Leffisand, and all the advice he had given her, helping her to grow wise and insightful, to become a queen worthy of him. He had taught her the truth behind all the tales of faeries and godmothers and other majjian folk. He claimed they were lies, sweetened to trick people into trusting magically gifted folk. The witless, ignorant and undeserving always expected to be helped, rather than picking themselves up by their own bootstraps and fighting for what they wanted.

  As the days and moons passed while she journeyed, Merrigan thought long and hard about the things Leffisand and Nanny Tulip had taught her. The truth behind the tales of majjian folk. While she trudged from village to town, she had many chances to see majjian injustice at work. It galled her to realize some of the too-sweet-for-their-own good twits who helped her with a loaf of bread, a coin, a ride down the road, were often rewarded soon afterward.

  If faeries were waiting around every corner to reward every village idiot and simpering twit for performing charity, why did none of them show up just ten minutes earlier and help her? She was Queen Merrigan of Carlion, daughter of King Urson and Queen Daylily of Avylyn. Surely she deserved their help.

  By the third moon of her unfair exile on the other side of the world, Merrigan decided the imbeciles and goody-two-shoes of the world had an unfair advantage over the clever girls and boys who wouldn't stand for any nonsense. Granted, the sweet girls
and boys were the ones who actually noticed the shriveled old woman in need of food or a place to spend the night. Several times she considered going back to tell them she was a queen under a terrible curse, and ask if they would put in a good word with the faerie or pixie or minor wizard who had just rewarded them.

  Each time, she mentally slapped herself. Asking for the help that should have been hers by right galled her.

  She chewed so long on the injustice that had been meted out to her, she got past the sharpness of the ache. She learned to examine the whole situation with less emotion, and tried to determine where the mistakes had occurred. Possibly, she had done something wrong. Of course, not anything bad enough to warrant what she now suffered. Perhaps she was being punished for something Leffisand did? Was being stupid a crime? Or perhaps her husband had been a little too clever, a little too lucky? Could he have brought his ignominious demise on himself because he had broken several rules of magic? She had been deprived of her throne, her home, her beauty, because of something he did?

  She would be safely at home in Carlion if she had produced the heir to the throne. Could it be the fault hadn't been with her at all? Perhaps Leffisand was denied an heir because of underhanded things he had done? Things she knew nothing about? After all, she had heard the rumors. There was the whole magical apple tree debacle, and the accusations that Leffisand had been involved in the death of his first wife, Fialla. Merrigan didn't believe any of it, otherwise she never would have married him, but ... what if?

  If that were the answer, it simply made her whole situation more unbearable. She suffered for the crimes of others. She had been robbed, cheated, when she was innocent of wrongdoing.

  In the very next village, she looked at the villagers with new eyes, and watched their interactions, seeking the innocent and cheated among them. Surely there would be a kindred soul here? There had to be, since injustice filled the world.

  She decided the blacksmith was dangerous. He had a thin smirk on his thick face, when he settled at the village well and watched the young people dancing that night. He had a way of looking at people that made her skin crawl. Merrigan asked the baker's daughter about the blacksmith the next morning, when the girl gave her fresh bread dripping with butter and honey. The girl looked in all directions before leaning closer to whisper that the blacksmith was new to their village. He had arrived last fall, claiming he was the long-lost younger brother of their smith, who had just died. No one could dispute him, because the brother had indeed been gone for nearly twenty years and no one could remember if he looked like his older brother or not.

  They accepted him and let him take over the smithy. The four orphaned sons of the smith were only half-trained. They needed a teacher. The village needed a blacksmith. Nobody could fault the man, but nobody was entirely happy with him, either.

  Merrigan did not believe in coincidences. Chances were the new smith had arranged for the death of the old one and came in to take his place. Probably by magic. That was just the way the world worked, according to Leffisand and Nanny Tulip.

  The elderly, she had discovered by this time, were easily ignored. Merrigan settled under an apple tree where she could see and hear the activity at the smithy. Before the morning was half-gone, she was enraged at how the man ordered the four boys around, as if they were slaves. If she was right, he was a fraud, stealing their inheritance. Just like her kingdom had been stolen from her. She had to bite her tongue not to shout a command to stop, whenever he slapped the boys with the heavy leather gloves used for handling the hammer and tongs. Or when he swung a bar of red-hot iron perilously close to one boy who didn't respond fast enough to suit him.

  "Hello, Merrigan."

  She stiffened at the sound of that damp, warty-sounding voice. It couldn't possibly be—could it? She looked down, bracing herself, and nearly didn't see the tiny, brownish frog sitting on a pillow of moss only a few steps away from her. Thank goodness, it wasn't Veridian, prince of frogs.

  "What do you want?" She started to slide away, then stopped herself. She refused to admit that the sight of a frog, especially a talking frog, made her distinctly uncomfortable.

  "Why are you scowling at those poor boys? Are they too noisy for you? Too dirty? Too ragged?"

  "Not them." She could have bitten her tongue, to be caught conversing with a frog. What had conversing with Veridian in her mother's secret garden ever done for her? "Their uncle. I'm sure he's stolen the smithy and their inheritance. There's just something about him I don't like."

  "Well, there's some hope for you yet." The frog let out a croaky chuckle. "You're right, he did steal it. He's selling the boys as slaves, at the fair in Blintytown tomorrow. I heard him promising them to a one-eyed man who stopped here three days ago."

  "You have to do something. That's unfair. This is their home, not his."

  "What can I do? Besides, you're the only person here who can hear me."

  "What can I do?" she echoed, only half-heartedly mocking him. "I'm a stranger. People may be kind to the elderly and frail, but they don't listen to them. Especially not strangers. I'm quite tired of being laughed at and called mad."

  "Forewarned is forearmed." He hopped away while Merrigan tried to decide if she should kick him, or even risk warts by picking him up and flinging him away.

  She fumed, chewing on his words, until the blacksmith walked away at noontime to get his meal. The boys were left to tend the forge, and he left nothing for them to eat. That just added fuel to the fire inside her. Ordinarily, Merrigan believed in letting peasants cheat and trick and steal from each other and reduce their numbers so their betters didn't have to look after them. However, those boys looked so helpless, and so young, and there was just something appealing about them, under their dirt and bruises. Forewarned? Would it be enough to warn them?

  The baker's girl came around the smithy from the back way, with a basket covered in cheesecloth. Her furtive look gave Merrigan a good hint of what she was doing. She wasn't surprised at all when the girl whistled softly and stayed in the shadows of the trees, close to where Merrigan sat. The boys came running and she quickly handed them bread with thick slabs of cheese, and an apple each. They thanked her with much nicer manners than Merrigan would have credited them, and she blushed prettily and turned to leave. Then she saw Merrigan sitting only a dozen or so steps away.

  "Oh, Granny, I'm sorry. If I had known ..." She looked back over her shoulder at the boys, who had emptied her basket.

  The youngest looked up and his gaze met Merrigan's. She shivered and lost her breath for a moment. Was that tingle in her fingertips a sign of some majjian nearby, watching? Of course, it would be the youngest who looked at her, looked at the remaining bread and cheese and the apple in his hand, and moved away from his brothers. Why was it always the youngest chosen for magical tasks and help? More important, why wasn't she granted such protection and help, since she was the youngest daughter of the King of Avylyn?

  Chapter Two

  Merrigan was hungry enough, she wanted to take all the bread and cheese and apple he offered her, but what if there was some majjian watching? She wanted to gain a few sympathy points. She refused the apple, telling him a growing boy needed something in his belly. What he had offered her was more than enough. Even though it wasn't. Then she told him what the frog had told her.

  "Oh, I believe it." The baker's daughter looked in all directions, as if she feared the false blacksmith would come upon them at any moment. "No one likes him. The entire village knows how he treats you and your brothers, but what can they do? If he's your uncle, he has authority over you and the forge."

  "We can tell the magistrate and the judge and the king's soldiers, when we go to the fair," the boy said. His brave little smile made Merrigan's heart ache, just for a moment.

  Why was it always the brave and honorable and hopeful who got hurt the worst in this world?

  The girl promised she would tell her father, and he would warn other leading men in the village, and
they would do something. The one-eyed man would not claim his new slaves. She hugged Merrigan and hurried away. The youngest boy thanked her again, quite gravely, and insisted she take his apple before he ran off to tell his brothers.

  Merrigan decided now might be a wise time to get up and leave. No matter how careful the good boys and girls were, they always told the wrong person what they knew, and who had been helping them. Something about that man made Merrigan quite sure he would hurt her if he knew what she had done. That really wasn't fair, she silently complained, as she hurried down the road. After all, she had only passed on what the frog said.

  How desperately she wanted to stay around and watch the feathers fly. Just imagining the ruckus that would soon enfold the village occupied Merrigan's thoughts for at least an hour. She chuckled and hurried along the road, grateful that all the walking she had to do had restored her youthful vigor and endurance. Not that she thought she would need to dance until dawn any time soon. She considered lingering in the general area to find out what happened to the blacksmith. As a child, she had found it entertaining to eavesdrop on the nobles of her father's court, or ambassadors, or ministers in the council, and then stir up trouble by leaving notes, revealing what everyone's rivals or enemies had said or planned.

  "Why not?" she muttered, after glancing over her shoulder for at least the twentieth time since hurrying away from the village.

  Merrigan stopped and looked back the way she had come. Did she really want to go back? One village looked pretty much like another, which was depressing enough in itself. She needed to move on from small villages and towns and find decent-sized cities. Some place large and sophisticated enough that when she mentioned Avylyn and Carlion, people actually knew what she was talking about. She needed to find an ambassador or diplomat with the intelligence to believe her, and help her get home. Once she returned to Avylyn, surely her father could find someone with enough magic to break Clara's curse. What use was it being the most powerful king in Armorica if he couldn't get a curse lifted?