A Time of Mourning and Dancing: The Floramancy Archives - Book One Read online

  Copyright © 2020 Abigail Falanga

  Cover art Copyright © 2020 Megan McCollough

  All rights reserved.

  For my family.

  Shall we have buns for tea?

  In Ex Gloria Deo

  Table of contents

  1: The Edict

  2: The New Suitor

  3: New Friends and Old

  4: Plan of Campaign

  5: The Twelve Princesses

  6: The Mare’s Nest

  7: Another Realm

  8: The Dance

  9: His, Hers, Theirs

  10: The Six Princes and Lords

  11: Namesakes

  12: The Second Night

  13: Foxglove Leads

  14: Questions

  15: Answers

  16: Hands Joined

  17: Moves in Retrospect

  18: The Librarian and the Cobbler

  19: The Journey and the Fairies

  20: The Wandering Door

  21: Pas de Deux

  22: Last Curtsey

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Many thanks to my family, for being such good sports, for picking up where I left off, for pushing me along and giving constant encouragement.

  For late nights and brainstorm sessions.

  And for becoming Typing Zombies for me!

  Thanks to Kendra E. Ardnek, for all her amazing work. And for inspiring this book through The Tattered Slippers Challenge.

  Megan McCullough—you did such a stunning job on the cover! It’s so gorgeous, I can’t even.

  Thanks to the amazing editors at Havok Publishing, who helped hone my writing and editing this last year. Especially the skill of telling a story with brevity.

  And finally to my online writing buddies. The ladies of the Realmie Writing Group for chats and accountability; Realm Makers Consortium for ideas and feedback; Write Warriors for character refinement; and especially to my reader group Heroes, Fairies, and Scholars—who have listened to much talk about this book and will be obliged to listen to more.

  You are all awesome!

  CHAPTER ONE

  The Edict

  ~

  “AND THIS IS WHERE WE TURN OFF.”

  The wagon rumbled to a halt as the other four in the caravan kept rolling, painted merry bright reds and golds against the dusty brown of the autumn landscape. Carlos waved Mara and the baby back inside when they poked their heads through the beaded curtain and gave the man seated behind him a hand as he climbed down.

  “I know we said we were headed to the citadel, but plans change,” he continued in the amiable drone that had filled the dusty hours on the road. “This news that all the festivities have dwindled out means we’ve no more reason to go to the palace than to linger in this cobweb-corner. The fair at Deirlings is a far better prospect for our kind of trade, if you know what I mean.”

  “I don’t, and I don’t want to.”

  Carlos tilted back his head and laughed. “Been six weeks with us, and still have that same idea of we nomads any other farm brat has.”

  “Better than that, I hope.” Toph reached up to clasp his hand and said sincerely, “Thank you for all that you have done for me.”

  “We’ve been more than repaid by all you’ve done for us,” Mara said, half through the curtain again.

  “What—pass by a beggar who could barely hobble six steps?” Carlos demanded.

  “Most would.”

  “We’re not most! Sure you won’t come with us?”

  “This is home,” Toph said, the word tasting as foreign to his tongue as any name of a city leagues away.

  “Do you have anyone to go home to?” Mara asked, ignoring a whimper from the baby. “You never mentioned anyone.”

  “Toph never mentions anything,” Carlos chuckled, shooing her back again. Then he said, serious for once, “Good luck, then, Toph. I hope you find what you’re looking for. And whatever happens, you have friends with us, remember that.”

  Toph nodded and stepped back as Carlos flicked the reins, and the wagon rolled on.

  Silence settled in the void left by Carlos’ talking and the constant rattle of gear and the clink of beads and bangles which even the horses wore. He wouldn’t miss all that. It was the soothing silence of the country, filled with the noises of birds and crickets and farm animals not too distant.

  But Carlos was right—this was a cobweb-corner of a town. Just a few small houses scattered around the crossing of two roads. Even the spires of the capital city were hidden from sight behind the folds of the farmed and forested hills. No one was in sight.

  After several minutes, Toph left the wall he’d been leaning against and went to sit under the cross. Notices were nailed on the board there and, with nothing else to do, he read them.

  A man wanted for highway robbery.

  A new tax.

  Bans for the marriage of John John’s son to Mary Joe’s daughter.

  A royal edict, so yellow and tattered that it must have been there for several weeks. “By Royal Edict,” it said, “Whoever discovers the secret of the Princesses shall have a Princess’ Hand in Marriage and Inherit the Crown. Yet, should he fail after three days, He shall forfeit his head.”

  Not the usual kind of royal edict.

  He was surprised enough to read it through twice and was still staring at it when a door opened across the street. It was the house with the mounting block and rein posts in front; clearly where the stagecoaches, king’s messengers, and other such things stopped.

  A plump and contented-looking old woman came out and stood under the eaves for a moment, clucking over her baggage. She wore a little-worn travel cloak and a querulous expression and had at least three bags and an awkwardly shaped package which seemed to be giving her great trouble.

  Giving up on her struggles, she at last came over and deposited herself and her burdens beside him. “What a trouble,” she chattered. “Me all of a tither lest my package shouldn’t be here in time. And now it’s too late to be of use anyway, and I obliged to wait for the coach! Me waiting for something instead of something waiting for me, in fact.”

  Toph had nothing to say to this, though after a moment, he offered to help her fit her parcel into her bags.

  She hesitated and blushed like a girl. “Well, really—I really don’t think that will be necessary now. Though it was very kind of you to offer, young man, thank you so much.”

  “Don’t mention it, mother,” Toph said politely, faintly amused since it was a very long time since anyone had called him “young man.”

  “Are you here waiting for the coach, too?” the old woman inquired.

  “Where is it headed?”

  “Northeast toward Roenbac in the mountains. Or, at least, that’s where I’m headed, to stay with my sister.”

  “Then, no, I am not waiting for the coach, since I’m going to the citadel.”

  “I see. And neither are you going west with those gypsies. Yes—I saw you getting down from the van! In a place like this, everyone instantly looks when anything passes through, from field or window. Now, I suppose that means you must have something quite important to do in the citadel! Do you mind telling me all about it? It may wile away the hour ‘til the coach comes.”

  There wasn’t a special reason to go to the citadel.

  There wasn’t a reason to go anywhere, in fact.

  He’d come and gone with the movements of his cohort, but had not really been in his country for years. News from his family and friends only told him he didn’t know them anymore; and, with his father and mother long dead no
w, he doubted anybody even missed him. The citadel was simply a goal. The goal he’d set out with all those weeks ago. Following the army on their return home, as he always had. But now that he was so close –

  “I don’t really know,” he replied. Then he laughed a little and nodded toward the yellowed proclamation. “I suppose I’d like to discover the princesses’ secret, and after that, become king.”

  The old woman gave him a hard look, though he’d been only half-jesting. Then she sighed, smoothed her skirts, and said comfortably, “Well, that’s no hard thing.”

  “No? Then why is it not already done?”

  “Because the princesses are very silly, foolish girls who are far more cunning than anyone supposes, and also very determined,” she replied rapidly. She drew a steadying breath before she went on: “And I will tell you what you must do. First, eat or drink nothing that they offer you.”

  “Why would they offer me anything?”

  “They are ladies, and hospitable. Drink nothing, I say, but then, when you watch them at night, pretend to fall asleep. And you had better take this.” She placed her package in his startled hands. “Open it. It’s just as well to be sure they’ve sent you what you paid for.”

  The rough cloth and wrappings of sealskin fell away to reveal a curious fabric unlike anything Toph had ever seen—dark gray pooling into black, soft, and strangely heavy though nearly as hard to grasp as spiderweb. He held it up to see that it had been fashioned into a short cloak, hooded, which might barely brush his knee. The card of parchment which fell from its folds read, “Customer satisfaction guaranteed. Delicate, handle with care. Woven of Wingshadows, by the Dune-folk.”

  “Wingshadows…?” Toph said, though that was the least of his questions.

  “You know—when the shadow of a bird crosses your own. The Dune-folk are fairies very skilled in the magic of collecting them. Wear this cloak, and you will walk unseen! Though not unheard, so take care.”

  “Thank you, it seems just the thing to defeat the princesses’ cunning,” Toph said, collecting his thoughts. “But why would you need such a thing, mother, in such an out-of-the-way village?”

  “Oh, I’m not from here! It was just a convenient place to have it sent, and now to pick it up as I pass through. Oh! And there is the coach now—a little early. Better wrap that up—it wouldn’t do to have it seen!”

  The coach almost didn’t stop. Toph nearly had to throw his stick in front of the horses before the surly-looking driver pulled them to a halt. Then, Toph helped the old woman and her three bags get settled.

  “What a happy chance we fell in together,” she smiled at him. “Though, really, nothing ever happens without a reason.”

  And Toph was left alone again, realizing how much she had not told him.

  At least he had a goal now, and a chance of reaching it.

  CHAPTER TWO

  the New Suitor

  ~

  STOcks or Hanging?

  Toph was shown into a busy hall to wait after presenting himself as a candidate to meet the royal edict. He was left with plenty of time to consider which of two fates was more likely to be his for his audacity.

  Since failing to discover the princesses’ secret meant beheading, he would likely be dead in a few days no matter what transpired.

  Court people came and went, hurrying about their own business. No one paid him any heed. Why should they? His once-sturdy brown tunic and trousers were worn, his cloak thin and tattered, he hadn’t shaved in weeks, and his beard was as shapeless as that of any other former soldier with no place to sleep but the side of the road. In any case, he had as little interest in these courtiers, in their velvets, corduroys, and lawns, with their scented hair, jewels, and ceremonial swords so ornamented that they were useless.

  So, the hall might as well have been empty. He may as well have been alone to contemplate whether he really cared if he saw another week.

  Suddenly, everyone stopped what they were doing or saying, rose if they were seated, and bowed. Toph scrambled up too, of course, though slowly since his wound had grown stiff from sitting so long.

  The king, with an entourage of several great nobles and counselors, passed through a moment later, his eye sweeping the hall.

  Toph knew King Victor well by sight. Many a time had he seen him making the rounds of the camp or riding at the head of a column, and he had followed him often enough into battle. He was a tall, broad man in middle age, his light-brown hair streaked with iron gray. As with any soldier, no matter the rank, battle had marked and wounded the king—though the only scar now visible was the long one he bore down the side of his face. The arrow that had lodged in his shoulder after the battle of Drynmar had done nothing to impair that arm’s movement. There seemed no memory of the mace that had crushed the plating into his leg at the sortie from Gratsig.

  But, then, the healers take more time and care to see the wounds of kings and lords and generals made whole again.

  Toph did not expect King Victor to note his presence and was therefore not disappointed as the royal party did not even pause in their course toward an inner room.

  Before he could settle back on his stone bench, everyone else resuming their normal activities around him, a page boy skittered out. He looked around frantically, then came and slid to a stop before him.

  “The king requests your attendance,” he piped. “If you will be pleased to follow me.”

  Toph followed, at a hobble assisted by his stick, keeping the page to a pace apparently far slower than his usual speed.

  “There’s still time,” the boy whispered suddenly, halting his hasty feet long enough to take in his ragged debilitation. “If you want to leave, you still can, and no one will blame you. That door over there will take you right out into the next courtyard but one to the gatehouse.”

  “When you grow up,” Toph returned, “do you want to be a great knight and warrior, boy?”

  “Oh, yes, sir!” the page said, wide-eyed.

  “Then remember—never give a man a way out when he has made up his mind to a task. It’ll do nothing but irk him.”

  The page nodded, then went blank-faced as they entered a large room. It was vaulted and hung with tapestries, but empty enough so that low voices carried and Toph could clearly hear the words.

  “—no other man has come forward in over ten days. Before letting the thing slip from public memory, best honor it a final time.”

  The lord who had spoken, a blond-haired man Toph did not recognize, leaned back with a rustle of velvet to look as much as possible like a disdainful shadow.

  “So,” the king said, barely glancing up from the scroll he held, “you’re the fellow who wants to take up the challenge of the edict, are you?”

  “Yes, your majesty,” Toph replied.

  “You do know what it entails, do you not?”

  “Only what is written in the edict.”

  “Yes. We were advised not to make public the nature of the princesses’ carryings-on, though it seems to have gotten about anyway. Tell him.”

  The blond man in blue velvet bowed to the king, smiled with something between pleasure and pity at Toph, and spoke.

  “Earlier this year, it seemed good to the court to hold feast and merrymaking to celebrate the cessation of war and the coming of settled peace after many years. Nobleman and royalty from many neighboring countries were invited. Naturally, their highnesses the princesses were expected to take part in all festivities—especially in the dances held almost nightly; for it was hoped that they would find good husbands among the guests.

  “But when dancing began on the third day, every one of the princesses begged to be excused—for their dancing slippers were quite worn through. New dancing slippers were ordered, but when new dances were held, the princesses still could not attend, since their shoes were already worn to holes. “Thus it happened yet again with another set. Even with magically reinforced slippers, it was not long before they wore out. There was no way of telling
how it happened, for their highnesses did not wear the slippers at any other time than to dances; and they steadfastly refuse to give account of their doings.”

  Toph almost laughed. He would have, in almost any other company. But he managed to keep a straight face and said, “I will willingly attempt to discover how the princesses wear their shoes thin, if your majesty permits. It seems an easy enough task.”

  “Hmm! That’s what the others thought.”

  “How many others?”

  “Six,” replied a scribe, as drily as if reporting a tally of lost cattle.

  Toph’s heart did an unexpected sick turn. The ladies were indeed cunning. “Well,” he said, making a brave face of it, “they hadn’t my persistence, perhaps. I am determined to find the truth, and capable, your majesty.”

  King Victor looked up at him glassily, as if he had forgotten he was there. “Yes. Very well, very well. You shall try if you like. This foolishness has certainly gone on long enough. Those girls are already wearing out their latest pairs of elf-made slippers, and there hasn’t been a dance in weeks. Yes—try, and good luck to you. Have you a name?”

  “Toph, your majesty.”

  “That name is fit for nothing but a dog. Come now!”

  He hadn’t a name. The most recent had been taken from him with his armor and tabard. So, he reached further back and found an old name, which belonged to a different man—to a youth full of rash decision, frustrated love, hope, ambition, and fire. It no longer fit him, but he had no other. It would do for now.

  “Christopher Mark’s son, of Stoneridge, your majesty.”

  “Yes, very well.” The king looked him over in cold disgust and addressed his attendants. “Have Master Christopher washed and arrayed in worthy clothes before he is presented to the princesses. Now, about these levies…”

  Two servants came forward, bowed to the king, and ushered Toph from the room.

  Toph went, stumbling and stunned that he wasn’t on his way to the stocks for impudence in making a claim on a royal challenge. Though perhaps a worse fate awaited him at the hands of the barber and the wardrobe-keeper.