The Cold King (10 page)

They talked about previous years of unloading the wagons and laughed about old times, like the time Klaribel had dropped a cage full of hens and they had spent an hour chasing them all over the courtyard. Calia had very little to add to the conversation but sat in wonder with a small smile on her face.

She had never had friends, never been included in fun or companionship or conversations. But they all sat around her, welcoming her into their warm circle of friendship. She was content for the first time ever. She had always done everything that had been asked of her but had never been rewarded with the one thing she had always needed—warmth and friendship.

Finally the revelry died down and the servants began to drift off. Sad to see it end so soon, Calia turned to Jos. “Now what do I do?”

He gave her a smile, one of the first she had seen on his face. “Now you go soak in your tub so you do not wake up too sore to walk in the morning.” He turned away then turned back with his eyes on the floor. “Thank you for your help.”

Calia bit a grin back. “You are welcome.”

Chapter Seven

T
hat winter was particularly cold
and harsh but Calia did not feel it. She slept in a real bed with real goose down pillows and blankets for the first cold season of her life and enjoyed the luxury of warmth and fireplaces in every room.

It began to get easier to serve the king. For the most part he was quiet and reserved, only speaking when he wanted something. Sometimes she was almost able to forget he was in the room. And when she did remember, she wasn’t so frightened. She served his meals, ran his errands and cleaned his rooms. In the mornings she practiced sewing his shirts and although she was still terrible at it she was improving. In the afternoons she cleaned the odd assortment of collectables he kept displayed all over his rooms. She swept and kept up the fires and tidied his desk.

She soon learned he spent almost all of his time in his rooms. He seemed to have endless paperwork that he worked on and sat at his desk for hours going over documents and writing. Occasionally he would pull out a book and sit by the fire reading. It was by no means a bad life but Calia was finding it very lonely. She didn’t have the courage to try to start any type of personal conversation with the king and so most of her days were spent in silence, save for the scratching of his quill.

But as time went on, the king seemed to begin to trust her more and left his room for longer and longer periods of time. He never asked her to come with and never spoke of where he went or what he was doing but often he came back with dirt on his hands or dust on his trousers. Calia was curious but too afraid to ask him anything. One day he came back to the room early, covered in dirt and swearing.

“Where is my gardening book?” he asked, bursting into the room. Calia jumped up from where she was sitting in front of the fire place.

“I am not sure, Your Majesty.”

He searched his desk to find it and went to leave. He glanced back at his servant and she thought maybe his face softened a little bit under his hard mask.

“You needn’t sit around and wait for me if your chores are done,” he said quietly.

Calia looked around the room. “I don’t really have anything else to do.”

“Then go find something to do,” he said, giving Calia her freedom to do what she wished while he was out.

She ventured over to her room but it was already spotless. There was nothing useful she could find to do and the silence was deafening. She poked her head out into the hall, wondering if she might find some art to look upon that didn’t seem to sneer back at her.

A low noise caught her attention and she followed it until she could make out voices and laughter down in the kitchens. All the other servants were there, seated at a large table at the back of the kitchen. They were laughing and joking, passing food around and generally just having a good time.

Calia stood at the threshold, unsure of where she stood with any of them. Was she just like them, one of them? Or was she to keep separate?

Iago spotted her first. “Ay! Come sit down, you are just in time for dinner.” Abelina scooted over on her bench and patted the new spot next to her.

Shy, and still a little overcome at being included, she walked over and sat silently.

Cato overfilled a bowl of stew and handed it to her as Jos pushed a spoon into her other hand. “It’s hot,” he warned. She nodded and blew over the meal.

Abelina pressed into her side. “During the winter months we servants eat supper together. You’re welcome to join us anytime you are free.” Calia ducked her head, unsure of what to say.

“The days are so short and frigid we can’t work past dark. What better to ward off cold and darkness than friends and company?” Iago explained.

Klaribel sat next to him and was watching Calia closely. She ripped a big chunk off a bread loaf, popped it into her mouth and chewed methodically, not breaking her stare. Finally she swallowed and asked, “You ride?”

Calia looked around hesitantly. “Horses, you mean?”

Klaribel rolled her eyes. “No, pigs.”

Marchello gruffly cleared his throat and gave the stable master a pointed look.

“Yes, I mean horses.” If it weren’t for the faint smile on her lips Calia might have run.

“No. Well, I’ve never tried.”

“I knew it!” Klaribel burst out. Then she narrowed her eyes and rubbed her hands together like a greedy miser would do. “Come spring, I am going to teach you.”

Calia looked around to the other servants and they all grinned back. Jos looked her in the eye and said, “Do not worry, just be as bad as me and fall off a lot and eventually she’ll give up.”

But Calia was excited. “No, I want to. I’ve never gotten to learn anything that did not have to do with cooking or cleaning or tending to my younger siblings.”

Their smiles dimmed and they all seemed to turn inward. Calia panicked and kicked herself for killing the joy that had been in the room before she had entered. “I’m sorry,” she pleaded.

Abelina patted her shoulder but it was Iago who spoke up. “No worries, dear. We all have our own painful pasts. It’s just been a while since we’ve had a new one to incorporate.”

Calia looked each of them over, taking in their ghost smiles and dull eyes. “Did all of you get chosen to come here?”

“Har!” Klaribel snorted. “I
chose
to come here.”

Calia jerked her eyes back to the stable master. “I remember you said that. Do you regret it very much?” she whispered.

The stable master leaned over the table towards her until the braid hanging over her shoulder touched the rough top. “Never. Not once.”

Calia frowned. “Really? Aren’t you unhappy?”

“I am not unhappy now, I was unhappy then. I was lucky to be able to come here. Who knows what would have happened to me otherwise.”

Curiosity burned but Calia bit back her questions. Surely the other servants had already heard the story and she did not want her to have to repeat something painful.

But Klaribel’s eyes were already gleaming and she seemed to be gazing at a point over Calia’s head. “I was eighteen. I should have been married already according to the shrew my father married after my mother died.” Her eyes cut back to Calia’s. “She was her sister. She knew how much money he was worth, the life my mother had lived. And she used every trick in the book, including making herself up to look more like my mother, to win him over.” Klaribel scowled then continued her story. “I loved my dad. He had a horse farm in the valley. He let my brother’s work with him every day but wouldn’t let me no matter how much I begged. So when that did not work I just stole a pair of pants and followed him out to the barn one morning and wouldn’t leave his side. It took a week before he finally stopped trying to shoo me away for my own good and began to teach me about the animals. I was eight.”

Klaribel’s shoulders slumped a little. “That was before my evil aunt came into our lives. By then it was pretty clear I wasn’t ever going to marry, I did not
want
to marry and that I would spend the rest of my life taking care of my father’s farm.” Her lips twisted in a sad grin. “My own little happily ever after.” Iago rubbed her shoulder and Klaribel leaned into him.

Calia could not help herself. “Then what happened?” she breathed.

“My aunt got it into my father’s head that I should be a proper lady, a wife. We began to fight every day as she drove a wedge further and further between us. When they thought I was asleep I could hear her pestering him, saying that me being a farm hand wasn’t what my mother wanted for me, that he was letting her down. It got to the point my father would throw me out of the barn if he found me in there. I thought about running away but it would kill him and my brothers if I disappeared and they never knew what happened to me.”

Klaribel’s smile returned and Calia found herself leaning forward, hanging onto every word. “And then the king came down from his mountain and demanded a horse master. Everyone was horrified, acting as though he had demanded the blood from ten virgins. The most terrified, though, was a girl much younger than me. She was going to be picked and she knew it. She was already taller than the boys her age and her hair was so fair you could almost see through it. And it really did not help she stumbled over every word she spoke. I remember seeing her in the square, bawling her eyes out, clinging to her mother who was bawling
her
eyes out.”

“So what did you do?” Calia demanded even though she already knew the end of the story.

“So, I went home, packed my things, hid them in the barn and then waited in my room. My aunt came up the stairs, screaming at me to not even think about leaving and locked me in. I went out the window, picked my favorite horse and scattered the rest. And then I raced through town, breaking up their little meeting and pushed the horse as fast as it could run until I reached the castle.”

Calia sat back, stunned. “What about your father?”

Klaribel shrugged. “He got his horse back. He tried to get me back as well but the king refused and I was glad he did. I still am.” She saw the look on Calia’s face and grew a little defensive. “My dad had his choice. And he chose her side so I chose mine. I could not live my life in anger and despair so he could make his new wife happy.”

Iago smoothed a hand over hers and asked, “And how is your life now?”

She gave him a deep, genuine smile and leaned into his shoulder. “Happy and full.”

Calia suddenly saw what she had been missing. The brash stable master and the slight, limping gardener were together.

“Were you locked in the dungeon as well?” Calia burst out suddenly.

Klaribel cocked her head to the side. “I was, for a short time.”

“And yet you are grateful to our king? You… like him?”

“I do,” Klaribel said stoically. “I owe him my life.”

Suddenly Calia felt overly warm and confused. “Thank you for the story,” she mumbled and shoved up from her seat. “Please excuse me.”

“Calia,” Abelina called out but Marchello interrupted her.

“Let her go. The first year is so hard, especially for one who did not choose this. Let her go and think.”

Calia raced up the stairs, wiping her cheeks and found she had one more thing to thank the stodgy butler for.

She dove into her room, careful not to slam the door shut and stood with her back against it, tears streaming down her face. More comforts than she had ever had in her entire life at home were arranged before her. The fireplace blazed merrily just for her and the bed near it was also for her alone. The wardrobe was so full of clothes that it would barely shut. Even the bathing room was hers. All gifts from the king.

And she had friends, or at the very least people that were kind to her and did not pretend she did not exist—another thing she could thank the king for.

She had been terrified of him since the first day and while he wasn’t friendly or particularly kind he was the one that provided all of the warm, good things. He could have worked her to the bone like her mother did and scarcely give her a nights rest before demanding she be back up and doing it again. He could have assigned her impossible tasks and berated her in front of everyone when she predictably failed. He could have never given a kind word but always a sharp, cruel one. But he didn’t. Maybe the Cold King wasn’t a lot of good things but he wasn’t a lot of terrible things either.

Calia stood frozen against her door thinking these strange thoughts. She was a captive, a slave to the king. And all the merry people down stairs were slaves as well. “He locked you in a dungeon!” she hissed at herself, trying to bring back all the fear and uncertainty that had held sway over her since her first moment in the castle. But it wouldn’t come back, not completely. And she still did not like the king, not at all. But everything nice and warm and comfortable in her life had come after he had entered it. Everything she had was only because he had chosen to give it to her and he had given her more wonderful things than she had ever known possible while living in the village—even as he took her freedom.

Calia shook and shivered and finally made her way over to her bed to wrap herself in a thick fur. She wasn’t stupid. Happily ever after’s weren’t meant for girls like her, they were meant for the pretty, privileged girls who had families that loved them.

But maybe she could have her own small happiness. Maybe she could have a life with people that were kind and did not ignore her, who did not care what she looked like. She could have warmth and clothing and food and never have to worry or work so hard she broke. Calia fell asleep before her tears dried on her face.

When Calia brought the king his tray the next morning she seemed a different girl. Her back was straight but not stiff and her feet glided instead of stumbling. Her eyes shone with a light that had never been there before and the hard frown lines that normally bracketed her mouth were smoothed away.

“Good morning, my king,” she murmured as she set the tray on his desk. The king took this all in and something inside him relaxed. She had fought so hard in the beginning, harder than any other, and he had worried she might break herself. He had feared she would never mold like the others did and as time wore on it had depressed him. His last servant had been with him for over sixty years and he missed her sorely. He missed her loyalty and discretion; he missed how she knew what he needed without having to say it. And after the sad, final years he had missed her quiet companionship.