The Crown Prophecy

Chapter 1

L eave it to my mother to equate baking a few croissants to committing a heinous war crime.

“For the love of the gods, please promise me this job you’ve taken is in a Mundane bakery at the very least. I can’t bear the thought of my only child working for a Wielder. ” She flung the word from her lips like a curse, a dirty thing unworthy of her enunciation.

I swallowed my irritation at her theatrics; this was not a good morning to let my temper get the better of me. On another day, I might have been sucked into the debate, but today I had more pressing things to worry about. Taking a measured breath, I reminded myself that I had prepared for this. Our two-bedroom cottage was no stranger to the sounds of our arguing, and anti-magic rhetoric was one of Mother’s favorite tirades.

Tuning out her chorus of beratement, I focused on the warm, excited buzz in my chest that accompanied the thought of my new position.

Just as my hand made contact with the worn brass handle of the front door, I turned to face her. “I’ve made my decision,” I said firmly, running through my well-rehearsed speech. “I don’t expect you to agree, but you do need to respect it.”

Not leaving room for argument, I swung open the cottage door and stepped out into the shy autumn sunlight.

The streets of Lilifel were bustling today, people weaving in and out of the various shops, arms laden with parcels. Children ran underfoot on the cobblestone streets, caught up in their worlds of make-believe.

Dotted amongst the Mundane stalls, a few Wielder vendors used small displays of magic to bring attention to their wares: the cobbler’s shoes left glowing footprints on the ground as he advertised his new designs, the blacksmith’s hammer clanged away at an anvil by itself, and the tailor changed the color of the dress on his form at will.

I watched as a young boy, perhaps five or six, pulled at his mother’s skirts to show her an orb of liquid held in his palm. His water-wielding Gift must have been freshly manifested, because the sphere wobbled and splashed into a puddle on the stones before she could turn around to see it. The woman knelt and wiped his tears, encouraging him to try again. Resilient as children often are, he sniffled and went bounding off to the fountain for more.

The tender vignette brought a soft smile to my face as I twisted the copper curl at the end of my braid around my finger. The chilly air of the crisp, gold-touched season filled my lungs as I took my first deep breath in what felt like days, welcoming the peace that settled in my chest whenever I ventured into the city.

The decadent sugar-dusted vanilla and almond scents of the bakery district wafted through the air, beckoning me to follow them to a sweet reward. I looked wistfully down the road where my mother, Wilomena, assumed I had gotten a job at a bakehouse. Call it dishonest, but I hadn’t corrected her. In fact, her assumption had been the perfect cover: innocuous enough to be believable and just far enough out of her way that she wouldn’t stop by looking for me. It wasn’t that the idea didn’t have appeal; even now, my feet itched to follow their well-known route to my favorite patisserie, but I didn’t have time for that today.

Steeling myself, I pivoted to the right and started toward the castle.

. . .

The palace gazed down at me imperiously, daring me to approach. The towering structure was made of a light polished sandstone with no fewer than seven peaks and over two dozen gleaming lattice windows.

The hair on the back of my neck rose as I counted the guards stationed outside the looming iron gate that surrounded the grounds. A portcullis guarded the entrance jealously, poised to drop at any moment. The Crown was notoriously secretive, and I had never known anyone who had been inside the castle until Mellie was hired as the Head Baker. Now, after months apart, the nearness of my friend made me giddy.

But five, then ten, then fifteen minutes passed as I stood waiting for her. Had she forgotten? I glanced down at her letter to make sure I had arrived at the correct time.

Quinn,

I’ve been given special dispensation to allow you commuting privileges from the village. Please reconsider accepting the Assistant Baker position and meet me at the Southwest gate in three days’ time when the clock strikes nine. I miss you, Dumpling.

-Mellie

I stared down at the precise penmanship I had often seen on the receipts she wrote at her bakery, reassuring myself that I had remembered the details correctly. So where was Mellie?

Unwilling to miss my opportunity, I identified the most approachable guard, a young man who couldn’t have been any older than his late teens, and advanced toward him.

“Hello,” I started, shifting on my feet. “I have a note from the Head Baker. She was supposed to meet me here this morning to escort me into the castle, but I suppose she must have gotten caught up with something?” It came out as a question, and I kicked myself for letting my nerves show so plainly.

The guard took the note I was holding out, scanned it quickly, and shook his head, shaggy hair following the movement.

“Sorry, miss, but no one gets in and out privileges. Your friend must be mistaken.” He turned back toward the guard station in a clear dismissal.

A lump of despair rose in my throat and I swallowed hard, my eyes prickling.

“QUINN PARRY, there you are!”

Tears of relief threatened at the sound of Mellie’s voice. She walked toward us at a brisk pace, linen apron whipping against her legs as she moved. Her chin-length mousy brown hair was starting to grey, but her warm brown eyes held the same sparkle they always had.

“Apologies for my tardiness, Dumpling. I got caught up in all the contest nonsense–she cut herself short. “Mr. Ryden here hasn’t been giving you any trouble, I trust?” She looked up at the guard with an air of authority that belied her short, stout frame.

“None at all, Permelia, ma’am,” Ryden cut in before I could answer.

I stifled a giggle. I’d only heard her called by her full name a handful of times in the nine years I’d known her. She much preferred “Mellie” and had told me so the first time I’d wandered into her bakery in the village at fifteen years old.

“Good.” Mellie waved him off curtly, ushering me toward the entrance.

She leveled her attention on the gatekeeper, who nodded and began to open it. I chuckled to myself. Four months here and she was already ordering the guards around.

Mellie linked her arm through mine and began to march us toward the castle.

“It’s so good to see you, Quinny,” she said, giving my elbow a squeeze with her free hand.

“Well, you haven’t come to visit me since you moved here,” I joked. “This seemed like my only option.”

Mellie’s steps stilled abruptly as she turned to face me with a heartfelt sincerity that made me regret my teasing.

“I’m so sorry, Dumpling,” she said. “Truly. Palace staff are required to live on the grounds and the security here makes it difficult to commute back to the village. There aren’t many opportunities for most of us to visit once we’re stationed.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think I’ve ever known someone who has come back to the village from the palace grounds. This place seems so . . . insular.”

Her only response was a cryptic nod, leaving me with even more questions. She moved to resume our journey to the grand double doors that led into the castle, but I held fast to her arm.

“Mellie, I have to ask . . . how did you get special permission for me to commute? That guard made it sound almost impossible.”

The side of her mouth quirked up in a sly smile.

“Well you see, the queen . . .” she began.

“I knew it!” I barked a laugh, swatting her arm.

Even prior to her offer of employment at the castle, the whispers in the village square said that Queen Evalina had a soft spot for Mellie’s cherry tarts. For as long as I could remember, royal carriages came by her bakery once every few weeks. The passenger, a hooded female figure, was always escorted into the shop by guards, and she kept her identity well hidden. Though I’d asked Mellie about it many times over the years, she always managed to evade the question or simply whispered, “I can neither confirm nor deny” with a twinkle in her eye.

“We need to be discreet about the arrangement, though,” she warned seriously. “Everyone in the kitchen will be made aware, but there are certain people in the palace who might not take kindly to the knowledge that you’re being treated differently than the rest of the staff.”

Something strange lurked in her tone, but I couldn’t quite place it, which was a rarity. After nine years of sneaking out to her shop whenever I could, I could usually read Mellie like an open book. She didn’t give me much time to decipher it, though, as she tugged me along, chatting excitedly all through the courtyard and into the foyer.

“We’re all Mundane in the bakery, but Jacques on the kitchen side has a Gift that allows him to stretch his body to fantastic proportions,” she said. “It’s a bit disconcerting, to be honest, but it certainly allows him to multitask. He can chop onions with one hand while the other puts something in the oven. The first time I saw it, I nearly fainted,” she laughed.

“I can’t wait to see that,” I said, grinning. The thought of working so closely with a Wielder was strangely thrilling. Gifts had always fascinated me, but Mother made it clear that I wasn’t allowed to associate with magic-users under any circumstances. It made my school years lonely, as half my classmates were Wielders and I found myself left out of almost every play group.

“Just last week poor Franc tripped over his leg halfway across the room,” Mellie was continuing a few paces ahead, but I had stopped to gape at the extravagance of the palace.

Gleaming white marble floors covered with elaborate handwoven rugs drew the eye to the grand double staircase lit by golden candelabras; they held a dozen tapers each and must’ve been at least eight feet tall.

The ceiling was so high I could barely make out the details of the carved triangular panels, which each housed an intricate painted pattern. The result was lovely, reminiscent of an elaborate, gilded quilt. A crystal chandelier larger than my bed at home hung over the space, and I could see life-sized marble statues guarding the large doors at the top of the stairs.

When Mellie realized I was no longer following her, she doubled back to join me, smiling at my wonder.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” she asked. “They say the chandelier has been there for over two hundred years.”

“How do you get any work done? I’ll be hard-pressed not to spend all day staring at the art.” Such extravagance was something I’d only read about in my favorite novels. Taking it in, I realized how little of the world I had seen outside our cottage.

“You get used to it,” she dismissed with a wave of her hand. “Though I do thank the gods that I get to live and work in such a beautiful place.” I couldn’t imagine getting accustomed to something so breathtaking, and I craned my neck to take in every beautiful detail as we walked.

We continued down the steps to the servants’ passages as Mellie shared anecdotes from the last four months of living in the palace.

“You mentioned a contest?” I asked.

“We’ll have our work cut out for us, that’s certain,” she huffed. “Over two dozen women are set to arrive next week. All Wielders. They’ll be competing for the prince’s hand.” She waggled her eyebrows.

“Competing?” I scoffed. That was one prize I would be glad to let someone else win. “He certainly thinks highly of himself, doesn’t he?”

“It promises to be a fierce fight, too.” Mellie nodded solemnly, ignoring the latter half of my comment. “Any woman in the kingdom would be thrilled at the chance, I imagine. He’s so handsome, Quinny!” She sounded like a schoolgirl despite being thirty years my senior, and her enthusiasm made me chuckle. “Dark, wavy hair, unbelievably blue eyes, and a jawline that could slice a loaf of bread, I’m telling you!”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at that.

“Every story I’ve ever heard about the prince paints him as a vain, pompous ass,” I said. I had little love for Prince Evander. Though I’d never met him in person, I’d heard enough whispers in the village to know that he was selfish, spoiled, and arrogant.

Mellie gave me a stern, reprimanding look that made me shrink down like the teenager I was when we met. “Be careful how you speak about the crown prince, Quinny,” she warned. “He’s respected here and I don’t think there are many people in the castle who would take kindly to that sort of flippant criticism.”

“Sorry, Mels.” As usual, she was right. I didn’t need to like my employer, but it probably wasn’t the best idea to openly mock him in his own home. With any luck, I’d never even meet the man.

Mellie nodded in approval at my apology, launching into another story about the challenges of a new pastry she was experimenting with for the incoming guests. I swallowed as she described the difficulty she was having tempering the chocolate. The process sounded incredibly advanced. An ugly feeling of self-doubt came creeping in. Who was I to accept a position in the palace? My face heated, turning my freckled complexion tomato red.

Oblivious to my misgivings, Mellie opened the heavy wooden door to the kitchen, beaming with pride as she gestured broadly.

“ This is where you’ll be stationed!” she bubbled.

Looking around the vast space, I couldn’t help but gasp. My eyes roved over the three connected rooms: the main prep and cooking area where we had entered, a pantry the size of Mother’s entire cottage, and an enormous bakery space that made Mellie’s shop in the village look like a shoebox. The L-shaped butcher block countertops along the back and left walls were laden with trays and trays of proofing pastries. Two matching rectangular islands in the center of the room were pristinely organized, and a row of wood-fire ovens on the opposite wall wafted the scent of baking dough toward the doorway. As I inhaled deeply, I felt the muscles in my shoulders relax.

“There are three ovens just for bread, Quinny!” Mellie gushed. “Working here has been a dream. The staff is so diligent, and I have all the ingredients I could ever need. Learning how to lead has been a challenge, of course; delegating has never been my strong suit. But it’ll be so nice to have you around, Dumpling!” She beamed at me, slightly out of breath from her tirade.

I took both my friend’s strong hands in mine and squeezed.

“Thank you, Mellie. Truly. I can’t tell you what a relief it is to get out of that house.”

“And your mother was amenable?” She quirked her brow knowingly.

“I told her I was going to work in a bakery,” I grinned. “I didn’t say where. And thanks to you, my brilliant friend, she’ll be none the wiser when I come home in the evenings.”

She scoffed. “It’s a wonder she let you out of the house at all.” Mellie made no secret of her disdain for my mother.

“Well, she wasn’t thrilled.” That was an understatement. “Of course she assumed you had some part in it, but I wasn’t technically lying when I told her I wouldn’t be working at your bakery in the village.”

The negative opinion Mellie held of my mother was decidedly mutual. Mother had always resented the time I spent at the shop and I knew she was envious of our close relationship, so I wasn’t any more eager to let her know who had hired me than I was to divulge where I was working.

“This morning, she switched tactics and asked me to promise it was a Mundane bakery,” I continued. “I didn’t even bother to answer that one. I’m a grown woman; her permission is irrelevant.”

Try as I might to infuse confidence into my tone, the lie tasted bitter coming out of my mouth. Despite our fraught relationship, I hadn’t figured out how to stop seeking my mother’s approval in the last twenty-four years, a fact Mellie knew all too well.

“You shouldn’t,” she grumbled, opening a dark mahogany cupboard and pulling out a large bread bowl. “I don’t understand why you continue to live with her, Dumpling. The way she tries to control you isn’t healthy. She can’t keep you in a box forever, monitoring your every move. That’s not how love works.”

Mellie had a point, but I couldn’t explain the tangled emotions of my familial relationships to her. As ornery as she may be, Wilomena was still my mother, and I knew her overbearing nature came from a place of love. As she often told me, she only wanted to keep me from getting hurt.

Unwilling to argue after so long apart, I changed the subject.

“Are you sure this position shouldn’t have gone to someone more qualified?” The kitchen was quiet now, but from what Mellie had said on our trek down, it seemed like she already had several bakers under her, inherited from the previous occupant of her position.

Though I didn’t have a formal apprenticeship, Mellie had taught me as much as she could in the scraps of time we found during her bakery’s slow hours. No other pursuit had ever matched my love of baking. The scent of cinnamon wafting through the air as I put all my frustration and worries into kneading the dough was its own kind of magic.

“Oh, tosh. I’ve taught you plenty.” She dismissed my worries with a wave of her hand. “Besides, I’ve missed you, Quinny. We need someone with your spirit around here.”

I wrinkled my nose, uncomfortable with the compliment.

“Now wash up,” she said, tossing me a mustard yellow linen apron. “I’m going to start you on something easy. Try some rolls for supper tonight. All the ingredients are in the back right of the pantry.” She gestured toward the storage room. “Just as I taught you, remember?” Her jovial wink made me feel lighter.

My nerves somewhat calmed, I wandered back to the pantry, selecting the ingredients I needed to begin prepping the dough and balancing them in my arms.

When I returned, I found the bakery filled with people, though I had only been gone for three or four minutes. Mellie was jovially giving orders to a thin man in his fifties who was pulling pastries from the icebox, a young blonde woman with her hair in a tight ponytail and sharp, shrewd eyes, and a young man about my age with the air of an overly-excited puppy.

“And this is Quinn Parry!” Mellie said, gesturing to where I stood, my arms awkwardly laden with ingredients. “She’ll be joining us in the kitchen as my assistant.”

“Four dozen rolls should be about right,” she said, leading me to an empty workstation. “And be sure to make a few extras to take back to the village tonight.”

“I’m sorry, but I must have misheard,” the blonde woman snapped. “I thought you said back to the village. ”

“Nothing is wrong with your hearing, Serena,” Mellie said, her tone stern. “Quinn will be commuting home in the evenings. Special dispensation from the queen.”

The young man’s jaw fell open and Serena shot daggers at me with her eyes. Mellie leveled a disapproving look at her, silently warning her to drop the subject. She did so begrudgingly, muttering a few words that I couldn’t catch under her breath.

Keeping my head down, I began to flour my work surface. How could I be so nervous to make a basic dinner roll? Even without Mellie’s tutelage in the bakery district, I would’ve learned to make something as simple as this. Still, I had to stop to take deep breaths on more than one occasion as I found my mind spiraling with worries of somehow making rolls so horrid that the queen dismissed me.

While I waited for the dough to rise, I got to work making the puff pastry Mellie needed for the next morning’s breakfast. Lost in the lamination process, my heart rate slowed and I entered the creative flow I often got into in the kitchen. Before I knew it, lunch was being taken upstairs.

We took a short break to eat our own meal, a more modest version of what was being served upstairs, and I did my best to ignore the holes Serena bore into the back of my head with her gaze.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of kneading and proofing, and I soon found myself back at the castle gate, clutching the basket of rolls from Mellie (“for believability,” she winked.) Thankfully, this time she accompanied me and I didn’t have any trouble with the guards.

My feet found their way back to the cottage without me, and I braced myself as I unlocked the door and stepped inside.

“Mother, I’m back,” I called, wincing.

When I didn’t receive a response, I wandered into the main living area, scanning the room to see if she was home. At last, I found her on the settee, but she barely lifted her head to acknowledge my presence. Her thin lips were pursed and her eyes, an identical hazel to mine, held no affection as she appraised me, tired and covered in flour.

Though her pale skin was beginning to show signs of age, her raven hair was as lustrous as ever. It was pulled back in a tight chignon tonight, which only served to make her look more severe. I waited for her to say something, but she just blinked at me and returned to her embroidery.

The silent treatment then. Fine. Anything was easier than rehashing the same old fight. Her prejudice against magic aside, I never understood why Mother was so insistent on keeping to ourselves. When I’d informed her that I was getting a job, she’d acted as if I were using her beating heart as hand pie filling.

By the time I reached the kitchen, I had given up hope of civil conversation and was surprised to hear her voice from the next room. “A letter from your father arrived today,” she called.

“Oh?” I forced my tone to stay neutral even as my heart jumped. How long had it been since I had seen Father? Eight months? His work meant that he spent most of the year traveling to the port and back to meet with his suppliers and move goods. I missed him, but such was the life of a merchant.

“Apparently he’s at the port in Lienoris,” she remarked nonchalantly. “It’s on the table if you care to read it.”

I picked up the travel-worn envelope and fumbled to open it in my excitement. The majority of the letter was written to me, with a short postscript to Mother at the end.

Quinn,

I miss you very much, my darling girl. I have reached Lienoris and plan to head north from here. The post is few and far between in Dolende, so I may not be able to communicate as often when I reach the border.

I am writing to let you know that I am safe and thinking of you. Please be careful. The disappearances are increasing again in border towns. It seems to be mainly Wielders that have been targeted so far. I pray you’ll be safe in Lilifel.

Sending all my love,

Father

P.S. Wilomena, I have seen to the request you made for new winter furs, though I’m unsure when I will be back to deliver them. Hopefully last year’s fashions will be acceptable until I return.

“What do you think he would say if he knew about your activities? ” Mother mused, still stationary on the settee. “It seems rather disrespectful of his hard work to seek out additional income that you can’t possibly have use for.”

I ground my teeth before replying. Truthfully, I didn’t need the salary. We weren’t rich by any means, but Father’s work provided enough for us to live comfortably in our modest neighborhood. But the excuse to get out of the cottage and work with Mellie again was all the motivation I had needed to accept my position.

“I’m sure Father wouldn’t mind me occupying myself.”

She hummed in disapproval anyway.

“Did you read the bit about the Wielders? Good riddance, I say.”

“Mother!” When I made my way back into the sitting room, I found her still concentrating serenely on her project as if she hadn’t just said something horrid.

“The kidnappings are unsavory, to be sure,” she raised one shoulder, “but I can’t say I entirely disagree with Falerin’s philosophy.”

The acrid taste in my mouth didn’t go away when I swallowed. The neighboring kingdom’s years-long campaign for the extinction of magic was barbaric, founded on nothing more than ugly prejudice. Though most Mundanes lived peaceably alongside the Wielders, a select few, like my mother, held a disturbing nostalgia for the anti-magic rhetoric of the war.

Oblivious to my anger, Mother continued. “We should all be on equal footing.” I almost laughed at that.

“Any advantages Wielders have over Mundanes are marginal at best,” I pointed out. Though I’d heard their Gifts were stronger before the war, the magic of the realm seemed to have dwindled to almost nothing in its aftermath. All that was left were little cantrips, like the tricks shopkeepers used to draw eyes to their stalls. I failed to see how Mundanes were at such a disadvantage.

Though there was always a part of me that was raring for a fight, I was tired from my long day, and I knew answering would only result in an unwinnable argument, so I set the bag of bread on the counter a little too hard and headed for my room. Flopping down on my bed, I picked up the novel I was halfway through from my bedside table.

The next few hours found me lost in the pages of The Eriargen Encounter , my heart tight with worry when the heroine, Astrid, was captured by Gothresian soldiers and my eyes shedding tears when she lost her father. The romance in the story was passable, but the heart of the tale was the love that Astrid had for her kingdom and the lengths she would go to in order to save it.

Glancing at the clock, I sighed as I realized I had lost track of time again. The small iron hand alerted me that it was already well past midnight. Reluctantly, I blew out my lamp and resolved to get some rest. I had my own adventure to prepare for, and while I was sure it would be much smaller in scale, I fell asleep excited, for once, to greet the new day.