The Mage's Daughter: Book One: Discovery Page 3

  Hannah turned to find the stablemaster and spoke first. “Sir, I was so excited to be going to get my new serving uniform from the seamstresses, I interrupted Cleanup to tell him about it. Please forgive me.”

  “Well, this is going to be your first time serving, is it?”

  “It is, sir. I’m old enough.”

  “That’s an important step up for you, Hannah. Go on, and get your uniform. And you,” he pointed to Cleanup, “I saw two piles waiting out in the courtyard. When are you going to get to them?”

  Cleanup grabbed his bucket and shovel. “Right now, sir.”

  Hannah followed him outside, where Cleanup searched for the work needed, but she stayed right behind him. “I think the carriage is enchanted.”

  “Really? You think so?” Cleanup rolled his eyes as if she had said that the sky is blue. Despite his lack of formal education, the boy was one of the more intelligent and observant people Hannah knew.

  “I felt the enchantment on the surface. Like I wasn’t touching it.”

  “That’s what I was trying to show you. It can’t get dirty. If I wash in the creek can you get your father to put a spell like that on me?”

  She grinned and said, “Maybe there is a spell I can put on you?”

  He threw back his head and laughed. “A spell from a little girl?”

  Hannah stormed off. If she knew another skill besides making a flame, she might have used one on Cleanup just to put him in his place. If she could make a pile of horse manure large enough, she’d drop it on his head. Then she would have no friends, but he would know not to mess with her. She giggled at the thought and then again at the image of that girl running past him with her dress on fire while Cleanup stood under a pile of horse apples. Then she cautioned herself about such thoughts. All it would take is a single instance of letting her angry mouth relay what her mind thought to put her in deep water.

  As she crossed the courtyard in the direction of the seamstresses, her eyes found a familiar, tall, young man on a second story terrace lounging against an iron railing, his eyes following her. He was the Young Mage that served the Earl. He wore black silk instead of normal clothing, a robe that reached down to the floor. His long, black, shiny hair hung to his shoulders. He stood absolutely still, but his eyes followed as she crossed the flagstones twenty steps in front of him.

  Hannah made a quick count. There were at least ten other people moving about the courtyard, yet his eyes had singled her out. Why? Why did the Young Mage watch her as if she walked alone in the castle—and he had not seen another person in days or weeks? She had seen him many times before, but not once had he paid her any attention. She kept her eyes averted, only allowing a quick glance in his direction. Is that a scowl on his face?

  Had his expression been scowling? Or friendly? Angry? She didn’t know and refused to turn and look at him again. But the idea that of all the people in the palace, a mage singled her out and watched only her made her uncomfortable. No, more than uncomfortable. It made her scared.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Hannah passed through the servants’ entrance to the palace and turned to close the door. She peered through the dwindling crack looking up at the terrace. The Young Mage still stood there, watching her as if he could see her through the thick oak of the door. She firmly pulled the door closed the rest of the way and raced to the third floor.

  Her uniform waited with the seamstress, hemmed and folded, and she carried it back to her windowless room by a route that didn’t pass the mage’s terrace. She couldn’t help trying on the uniform once again. Then she danced around her small room as she practiced carrying a pretend food tray overflowing with treats from one imaginary person to another until she faced the man she believed to be her father. When she finally faced him, she said . . . Nothing.

  No words filled her mouth or formed on her lips. What would she say to The King’s Mage if they came face to face? The same man she suspected was her father. What she would say was a question she didn’t wish to ponder because she had no ready answer. Her orders were to serve sweets and not speak to guests under any circumstances. She was not going to have a conversation with him, other than perhaps a few whispered words if the opportunity arose.

  But even if she did speak, what would she ask? Are you, my father? No, she could never ask that. Did she expect him to take one look at her and realize she was his long-lost daughter, whom he’d been searching for all this time? No, more likely he’d look at her in the eyes and ask her to come closer so he could select a sweet from her tray.

  Tomorrow the other women in the morning kitchen were sure to be ready with their sharpest barbs. Finally, Hannah decided to be content with seeing the Old Mage from a distance, even if he had no idea of who she might be, or worse if he did know and didn’t want to recognize her. That was the best she could hope to achieve. Perhaps she could get close enough to hear him speak. Would his voice sound like hers?

  Hannah lay down on her sleeping mat and cried herself to sleep. When she woke the light streaming through the single small window told her she’d slept the afternoon away, but tonight she needed to serve sweets for the celebration. She pulled on her uniform, ran her fingers through her hair like a comb, stuck the white feather in her hat at a jaunty angle, and pulled on the slippers.

  The servant’s hallway was unusually empty. She ran down it listening to the echoes of her footsteps on the bare walls, and across the inner courtyard to the dinner kitchens. Inside, she caught the scent of perfume in the form of meat roasting over open flames, bread baking, and there were pies and cakes spread out one after the other on tables set back from where cooks worked. All of them were better aromas than those imported perfumes the highest of the Royal Ladies wore to obscure their underlying stink.

  “Come on, you,” a familiar voice called. Ella reached for a small oval tray. “You’re late. Hold it in two hands, like this. Offer the tray to any who indicate they wish a sweet, or two. Circulate. No talking. I’ll be watching you closely.”

  “I’ll do a good job.” Hannah took the tray to where sweets were spread out on tables. A cook she didn’t know placed several on it. She nodded to Hannah and said, “When these are gone, come back for more.”

  “I will.” She smiled and raced to the doorway leading into the main hall, then she almost tripped as she saw the inside of the normally dismal room turned into the festive dining hall. Colorful drapes hung on every wall normally barren of decoration, stringed music sounded from at least three bands, dancers twirled, and jugglers tossed flaming torches into the air. A bear did tricks for the amusement of the Royal children.

  Other Royalty milled, talked, ate, and laughed, ignoring the army of servants weaving in and about them. At the far end of the narrow dining hall, a dais held a table where the Earl and Countess sat beside each other, their chairs, high enough to look over the spectacle they presided over, both wearing faint smiles. Beside them, at the far end of the same table, sat a tiny man with a mane of brilliant white hair. The Old Mage, without a doubt.

  Hannah drew in a breath and set her goal. She started moving in his direction, careful to offer her tray to any who glanced her way. She pasted a smile on her face. Before reaching half way to the head table, her tray emptied from greedy fists snatching the jelly rolls, candies, and cinnamon sticks. The sweets she carried seemed irresistible. Drawing a nod of approval from Ella, the woman in charge of the servers, she scurried back into the kitchen, this time choosing those treats not as attractive, and more of them. She entered the great hall again, trying to avoid anyone looking hungry.

  Hannah moved along the edges of the crowd so she wouldn’t get swept up in the dancing, nor trip or jostle a dancer. Both hands. She spun, twisted, and slipped past nobles of every rank with a turn of her hip, a few times ignoring the grasping hands. At last, she reached the dais and managed a quick look at her tray . . . and beyond. A few sweets remained, but she ignored them, other than shaking the remaining items on the tray to move them apart, so i
t appeared to hold more, but her target remained the Old Mage.

  Sweat broke out on her forehead. She felt limp and scared, but determined. The white-haired man glanced her way, and she flashed him a friendly smile, as if in answer to his call, or she hoped it looked that way to any observers. Holding the sweets before her, she stepped up and offered them briefly to the Countess, who refused with a small shake of her head. The Earl selected a pastry filled with fruit and seemed pleased at her offering. The Mage waved her off with a flick of his hand as his eyes focused elsewhere.

  No! He can’t do that to me. But, he could. He lifted a spoon and slurped soup, his eyes watching a pair of half-naked female dancers. Hannah moved closer and noticed she’d managed to garner the attention of one of the King’s Knights standing on guard duty behind the trio of Royals at the table. The Old Mage finally glanced her way again. She tilted the tray downward to the crowd, concealing her right hand from nearly all but the Mage, and her right hand slipped from the handle to underneath the tray, as if it was a shield. It hid her hand from the inquisitive Knight, and all others in the room for just a second. Only the Old Mage saw it, and her fingers.

  She ignited a tiny flame on her fingertip. The Mage’s eyes widened momentarily, and he nearly choked with a gold chalice at his lips. His mouth hung open; his wide eyes fixed on her finger as if nothing else in the room existed. She quickly extinguished the flame, waiting for the King’s Mage to speak to her, or motion for her to move closer and speak with him. He had seen the flame on her finger and would give her the recognition she deserved, or at least start a conversation.

  Instead, he half-turned away and slurped more soup. His eyes traveled over her to watch the female dancers again as if she was invisible. She took a step to the side where he had to see her. His eyes shifted away to look elsewhere. Try as she might, she failed to attract his attention; he refused to look at her again. The Knight stepped in front of her and motioned with his chin that she should move along. She stepped off the dais as if stepping off a cliff.

  She knew he’d seen the flame. His eyes and open mouth spoke more than words, yet he ignored her. She barely held back tears. Her plan had failed, and the dreams of being his daughter extinguished as certainly as if they were the flame she had put out. It no longer burned at her fingertip, and the dreams no longer burned in her mind. Her future became clear in that instant. In the morning she would again tend to the morning fires, and when older, another child would replace her at that mind-numbing task. In years to come, she would move on to bake bread or roast meat, and learn to put up with the catcalls and taunts that would last a lifetime.

  She stumbled back to the kitchen as if in a dream. When she arrived, Ella grasped her roughly by the upper arm and leaned close. “I’ve been watching you, girl. Twice you passed by Royals reaching for sweets, and once you bumped into a handmaiden and didn’t so much as stop, let alone excuse yourself. Your job is to serve them, not walk by like you’re in a dream.”

  “Sorry Ella, I don’t feel good.”

  The older woman leaned close and peered into Hannah’s wet eyes, Noticing the sweat on her forehead, her demeanor softened. “Yes, I can understand that you were so excited to serve, but now you look as if you’ve caught a fever.”

  Hannah nodded, allowing Ella to make up an excuse for her.

  “I appreciate a girl so willing to serve that she works while ill, but there is no need. I have other servers. But I’m impressed, Hannah. You go to your room and rest. We’ll talk again tomorrow.”

  Ella pulled the tray from her grip, and Ella’s soft hand on her shoulder directed her out of the kitchen. The boy, Cleanup, waited outside dancing around his shovel to the music drifting outside. He rushed to her side and asked, “Well, did you meet him?”

  “He wouldn’t even look at me.”

  Cleanup fell into step with her. He didn’t talk until they reached the door to the wing where she lived. He opened the door for her and said, “I guess he doesn’t want any part of you.”

  “He’s not my father.”

  “That’s not what everyone’s saying. I heard you went right up to the Old Mage with your tray, and everyone could see you were his daughter when you stood there in front of him. They said you have the same skin color, the same nose, lips, and eyes. Even those who don’t like you saw it and are talking.”

  Hannah hadn’t noticed or looked for similarities. She had hoped the Mage would see them and rush to her with open arms. Instead, he had ignored her. But for a second, just the briefest amount of time, she knew that he had seen something in her with the flame.

  She gave Cleanup a consoling slap on the shoulder and went inside. The hall stood vacant because everyone was working. She went to her door and hesitated. A single pull of the door revealed what her life would become. The same room, few personal belongings, and the daily drudgery of serving others.

  No, that wouldn’t be her life. She stamped her foot in the hallway and kicked the door. There existed an entire world out there beyond the palace gates, a world her mother had told her about. One day she would walk through them and leave the palace. Doing so would cost her the position of cook, and any other work in the palace, but she could find something to do. For a girl with a quick wit and strong back there must be a hundred things she could learn to earn a living.

  But not tonight, or tomorrow. Girls, eleven-years-old, almost twelve, didn’t run off. They waited until they spent a few more years aging, gathering information, and hoarding supplies. They planned and schemed, and they made their escape when they were prepared. Instead of simply lighting the fires in the ovens each day she needed to begin listening to conversations of people who had been beyond the gates, those who knew how to exist out there and how to get to each place. When her time came, she would be ready.

  She fell asleep with those thoughts ringing in her mind. The night watchman tapped on her door, as always, waking her before dawn. She shuffled to the door and opened it with her eyes still closed, mumbling her thanks.

  She still wore the serving uniform and quickly changed into her normal servant’s smock and hurried to the cold, dark kitchen. The tinder and kindling were beside the first oven where she stored it. She grabbed a handful of tinder and several sticks of kindling and placed it in the first oven, before realizing she’d forgotten the flint and iron in her room.

  Nobody was around to notice her start it with magic, but Hannah refused. No matter how careful she might be, watching eyes attached to wagging tongues filled the castle. There were few secrets within the walls. She ran back to her room and grabbed the flint and iron, then returned and quickly sparked a fire to life.

  The trick with lighting the tinder with her magic finger needed to be forgotten. It would take the notice of just one gossip, and the tale would spread throughout the palace. Hannah couldn’t even imagine what would happen, but she’d heard tales of the dungeon deep underground, and that was where she’d end up; that or dead. Unsanctioned magic had been forbidden for hundreds of years.

  “Wasn’t sure if you’d be here to make the fire this morning, so I came down early.” The old cook who fried the hard-bread snorted as she stalked into the cold room. “I heard you had a rough time last night, girl.”

  “I was silly, and I got sick. It’s over now.”

  For the first time, the woman placed a gentle hand on Hannah’s shoulder and spoke as a friend, “Now, child. It’s probably best that you set aside the fanciful childhood thinking about the Old Mage taking you off in a magical chariot to live in the clouds, and face the real world. Even if he is your father, why would he want to claim you?”

  “What do you mean?” Hannah asked, puzzled at both the friendly tone and odd statement.

  “Why? Because, if he recognized you in front of all those people last night, especially the Earl, he’d have to support you and live with the disgrace you’d bring him. The Mage counsels three powerful Kings from what I hear, and a dozen Earls and countless other wealthy Royals. His services a
re only for the best of us—and that’s not you and me, but we all know the truth about him . . . and you. Too many people noticed how much you favor him. You even have the same mannerisms, the way you curl your lip for instance.”

  Her explanation gave Hannah pause. The Old Mage had recognized her, or the magic in her, or something else. His contorted face had told her that. It was how he acted after he noticed her that offended. “I see.”

  “Better light the other two ovens before we both get into trouble for talking instead of working.”

  “Thank you.” It had been the first real conversation between them as friends. All other times they’d talked the woman had acted scornful, mean, or sarcastic. Yet, this morning, the cook had come down early to make sure Hannah didn’t get into trouble. That surprised her because the norm was for nobody to do anything nice for her. She leaped to build the fires in the other ovens while telling herself to stop badgering the cook in the future.

  “People like you and me, we got to stick together, Hannah. I mean, what else we got?”

  Hannah couldn’t agree more. What else we got? The question of the ages. The answer was, it seemed, to take what little you have and make the best of it. She owed Ella another apology for failing to serve properly, and a thanks for relieving her of the serving duties last night. She also had to return the uniform.

  Two other cooks arrived to find warm stoves and ovens, extra wood piled at the sides, and Hannah stood ready to perform whatever tasks they needed. Hannah would live with, and ignore, their crude comments and poor attempts at humor at her expense. However, neither of the two cooks mentioned those things today. They treated her kindly and gently, a rare occurrence. Both expressed their sorrow that the Old Mage had shunned her.

  It seemed everyone knew. The helpers, the servers, the boys who brought more logs to split. They knew and treated Hannah with pity until she was ready to leap up on a table and shout insults at them until they returned to their normal crude selves. She didn’t need or want pity. The more they tried to be nice, the angrier she became.