In The Name of Love

Panicked pounding on a door brings Fifi out of a deep and dreamless sleep, instantly afraid and wondering where she is. Zosya. Minna’s wedding. The king…. Fifi bites back a curse as she remembers that she was trying to transform into a raven so that she could fly away. I must have been too tired and just passed out…. The room around her is dark as she stumbles out of bed, nearly stepping in her chamber pot.

“Your Highness! Please wake up! It’s urgent!” Agda’s voice calls, guiding Fifi towards the door.

“I’m coming,” she replies. A moment later her hand finds the doorknob and she opens it to reveal her maid, wide-eyed and disheveled in the light of a sputtering candle.

“Queen Casilda is here to see you,” Agda tells her. “We must get you presentable immediately.”

Fifi’s heart thunders in her chest as her brow furrows with confusion. “She wants to see me? But why? What news of the king?”

“She didn’t say. She’s waiting in your antechamber. Come, come, we must make haste!”

Fifi lets Agda into her bedchamber, and together they rush to throw a dress on over Fifi’s night-rail and confine her hair to two long braids. They decide not to bother with cosmetics or jewelry so that Fifi might receive her royal guest more quickly.

“Ah. Princess Josefina,” Queen Casilda remarks as Fifi and Agda rush into Fifi’s antechamber. The queen is seated near the fireplace. Although her skirts bear bloodstains from her husband’s injuries and some of her hair has escaped its plaiting, her regal bearing makes Fifi feel small. Beside her is a young serving girl who stares at Fifi like a nervous rabbit watches a person approaching it.

“You wanted to see me, Your Majesty?” Fifi replies, dipping a small curtsey as she tries and fails to keep the confusion out of her voice.

“Yes. In private, if you don’t mind.”

Nerves bubble up in Fifi’s stomach but she does her best to keep them from showing in her face. “As you wish, Your Majesty. Agda, if you would, please?”

“Yes, Your Highness.” Agda curtseys and exits the room, leaving Fifi alone with the queen and her maid.

“How is His Majesty the King?” Fifi inquires. She cannot fathom why the queen has come to her while her husband lies suspended between life and death.

“He needs a miracle,” Queen Casilda answers, her voice low and cold. “And though I have prayed with our priests for hours, Chuezoh has not seen fit to send one. I am a devout follower of Chuezoh and have been since my youth, yet He does not look on me with favor to grant my request on this darkest of nights.”

“You have my prayers and my deepest sympathies, Your Majesty.” Fifi’s confusion has only grown during the queen’s discourse.

“Yanira believes you can do more for us than that.” Queen Casilda touches her nervous maid’s shoulder gently.

“You did something to Her Majesty’s flowers, the ones from Aethyrozia,” Yanira accuses. Her eyes are wide with fear and wonder. Fifi’s blood turns to ice in her veins as the maid continues. “I saw you drop something sparkly into them and heard you say some strange words. I was afraid you meant her harm by it, but…she’s seemed healthier and more lively since we brought the flowers to her chambers.”

Fifi cannot move or speak or even breathe. This is the end. I’ve been found out. She’s going to have me executed or something, even though I’ve helped her, she panics, but making her thoughts known is beyond her power.

“Well? What do you have to say for yourself?” Queen Casilda prompts, her steely eyes boring into the young princess.

“I…. Your Majesty….” Fifi fumbles for words, but fear stills her tongue.

“Did you or did you not perform some enchantment on those flowers?”

Fifi can think of no course of action but to tell the truth. “…Yes.”

“Were your intentions for good or for evil?”

“Your Majesty, I would never try to harm you or anyone else.” The words burst from Fifi like water from a shattered vase. “My thought was to help you in whatever way I could, and if I have failed or if I have offended you in some way—”

“On the contrary. You heard Yanira. I thought there was something special and invigorating about Aethyrozian flowers, but it was you, albeit through some heretical power, I have no doubt.”

Fifi bites her lip and says nothing, finding the floorboards beneath her feet the only thing she can bear to look at.

“Young woman. Look at me,” Queen Casilda commands. Fifi steels her nerves and, with effort, lifts her head so that her eyes meet those of the queen, which are filled with tears. “For years I have prayed for Chuezoh to restore my health. I have followed the teachings of the Lanourehm to the letter. But nothing has changed, for better or for worse, until you and your flowers came. Desperate times call for desperate measures. And it occurs to me, Princess Josefina, that in my husband’s hour of need, perhaps you have some power to help him as it seems you have helped me.”

Fifi’s heart starts pounding in her chest again with aching intensity. Fear and hope battle for supremacy within her. “Your Majesty…. You are right that what I can do you and the priests would call heresy, and possibly worse. I want to help the king, and I was wondering…when the ball turned bloody…how I could possibly…. But I am afraid.”

“The king does not have time for dithering. You will use your powers to help him, or I will have you tried as a witch based on Yanira’s testimony and your own admission of guilt.” The set of the queen’s jaw and her white-knuckled grip on the arms of her chair make it clear that she will accept no compromise.

Fifi’s heart sinks like a stone. She feels like no matter what she does, this woman will condemn her. But better to do some good, if I am able…. She blinks back tears, wishing she had a way to send a message to Kai before committing to this, but she knows she won’t be allowed that indulgence.

“I will do what I can to help the king,” Fifi tells Queen Casilda. “Please just let me gather some things from my bedchamber.”

“Make haste. Even now, he could be breathing his last.”

Fifi dashes back to her bedchamber and retrieves her sachets of herbs from her ball gown, then stuffs them into the pockets of her dress, along with several random pieces of jewelry. Please let this be enough. Please let me leave here with my life, she prays to Cybarei or whatever other deity might be listening as she runs back to rejoin the Queen, ignoring her maids’ questions. Upon seeing Fifi return to the antechamber, Queen Casilda rises with difficulty from her chair, though she maintains a straightness of spine that rivals King Ansgar’s. Yanira takes the Queen’s arm and helps her out of the room, mouthing for Fifi to follow them.

Their journey to the Great Hall is stilted and silent. Yanira leads them through servants’ passages, though whether for greater speed or greater stealth Fifi does not know. Although they cannot move with much haste due to the queen’s infirmity, it is not long in Fifi’s estimation until they find themselves at one of the doors to the Great Hall. Upon seeing the Queen, the guards at the door allow them to pass without comment.

The Great Hall is ablaze with light from torches and candelabras everywhere. Whispered prayers and the chanting of priests and burning incense fill the air. Fifi’s skin prickles with discomfort as they approach the king, who lies on a pile of cushions surrounded by servants and healers and priests.

“Your Majesty,” one of the priests greets the queen, eyeing Fifi with disdain. “Are you certain about this?”

“Chuezoh has had time to grant our petition,” Queen Casilda replies. Her voice is firm and cold as the stone floor beneath Fifi’s thin shoes. “And I would do anything to save my husband’s life. Make way for the princess, and do whatever she asks of you.”

With that, Fifi is thrust forward to the king’s side. The healers and priests all regard her as some sort of monster, someone who shouldn’t be there. Cold sweat breaks out on Fifi’s skin. You can do this, she tells herself, but the confidence she felt before has fled under the steely stares of the unfriendly people around her.

“Tell me about his wounds,” she invites, her voice little more than a whisper.

“Just one, but it’s deep. There,” one of the healers gestures to the king’s abdomen, which is wrapped in bloodstained bandages. His breathing is shallow but steady. His wrinkled brow is creased, his eyes closed. “We gave him some herbal remedies for the pain and to help him sleep.”

Fifi nods. “What I mean to do is…very similar.” She lets her fingers rest light as feathers on the king’s side and closes her eyes. Angry red streaks behind her eyelids, painting a picture of wound. Within it weak purple ripples indicate the king’s energy. There isn’t much. I’ll have to rely mostly on the gemstones, and my own energy, if need be. I’m not sure anyone else will be willing to participate, to contribute…. “Will you help me unwrap the wound, please? We’ll start with a poultice. Is there fresh lavender, and holy water?”

To Fifi’s surprise, a couple of the healers immediately move to help her and provide what she has requested. She pulls an herb sachet from her pocket and mixes the herbs with holy water and fresh lavender, just as she’d watched Kai do for the dove what feels to her like ages ago. Please let this work, she prays. She imagines that mercy and understanding will be in short supply if she uses Cybarein to try to heal the king and he dies.

Under the bandages, the wound is jagged and still seeping. Fifi applies the poultice as gently as she can, but still the king winces and groans at her touch. She can feel the priests watching her like hawks, ready to swoop down on her if she makes one wrong move. Her fingers tremble and she hardly dares to breathe as she works.

Once she has applied all of the poultice to the wound, Fifi pulls her jewelry from her pockets and lays them on the king around his injury, careful not to let any of the metal touch broken skin. “The gemstones will help provide energy,” she explains to the onlookers. “The king…needs their assistance.”

To Fifi’s surprise, with trembling hands Queen Casilda starts taking off her rings and handing them to Fifi. “Use mine, too. And any other jewels in here.”

“I don’t know how much I’ll need….”

“Better to have too much than not enough. Yanira, help me.” And as the maid starts to remove the queen’s earrings and necklace and hair jewels, some of the nobles praying around them get up and bring additional pieces of jewelry to Fifi. She murmurs her thanks to each one as tears prick the backs of her eyes, making it difficult for her to focus on the task at hand.

Soon the king’s torso is covered in jewelry, and Fifi knows she cannot put off the difficult part any longer. She sets one trembling hand on the jewelry, the other feather-light on a bandage laying over the poulticed wound.

“And now…um….” She takes a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. “Ley’keh o’loch’yeh, zh’yohras hiel…Ley’keh o’loch’yeh, zh’yohras hiel…”

She repeats the chant over and over again, praying that she’s saying the words right, praying that Cybarei will hear her and heal the king, praying that Minna and Adalberto will have the time they need, praying that the people around her will let her live to see her next birthday. Beneath her fingers, the jewelry grows warm, and the gemstones start to diminish. Silvery threads seem to stretch between the jewels and the king’s wound, and this time Fifi can see the jewels shrinking as they give energy to the healing process. Beneath the bandage, she feels the poultice soaking into the king. She dares a glance at the king’s face; to her surprise, his features seem more relaxed. His breathing seems more natural. It might be working. Keep going. Thank you, Cybarei.

“Ley’keh o’loch’yeh, zh’yohras hiel…” The bandage slides under Fifi’s hand, revealing that the wound is starting to knit itself back together. Around her, she can hear gasps and murmurings and maybe even others chanting along with her. Every time a gemstone shrinks enough that it slips loose from its setting, Fifi shifts her hand to another piece of jewelry resting on the king. Her head aches and she’s trembling all over, but her voice is strong and sure, repeating the barivyce words in a steady cadence.

“Ley’keh o’loch’yeh, zh’yohras hiel….” Without breaking her rhythm, Fifi brushes the bandage off the king’s side. To her surprise, no trace of his injury remains. Her chanting trails off into nothingness. She sits back, panting, euphoria rising in her chest.

“The wound is gone!”

“He looks like he’s just peacefully asleep…”

“She did it! That Aethyrozian witch really did it!”

“Praise be,” Queen Casilda murmurs with eyes like stars, and then she flings herself onto her husband and starts sobbing. A moment later, the king’s eyes open.

And then Fifi crumples to the floor, seeing and hearing nothing more.