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The Fairest Beauty

By Melanie Dickerson

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Pinnosa passed through the town square and the cobblestone Marktplatz. Straight ahead loomed Hagenheim Castle. Once she passed the guard at the gatehouse, she would need to find her way to the young lord.
A chill passed over her thin old shoulders. This fever, which had come on her after walking in the rain, would probably kill her, but if she could only make it to the castle, could only tell them that Sophie was still alive, Pinnosa’s life would not have been in vain. Perhaps God would forgive her for helping the duchess deceive the village.
She plodded forward, wanting to hurry, but she could only force her swollen feet to take slow, mincing steps. Sweat dripped from her eyebrows even as she shivered and fought back the urge to drop where she stood, close her eyes, and sleep.
“Who goes there?”
Pinnosa stopped, then leaned her head back as far as she could. When she parted her cracked lips, no sound came out. The guard’s face began to blur, her knees trembled, and the ground quickly came up to meet her. Strange how she didn’t … even … feel it.

Chapter One

Sophie kept her head bowed as she waited for the duchess to speak. She started to clasp her hands together but stopped herself. Clasped hands presented an image of idleness, the duchess often said, and the gesture sent her into a rage every time. Sophie made them hang limply at her sides.
Carefully, she peeked through her lashes at Duchess Ermengard. The woman’s skin was an unnatural white, her hair dyed black using black hickory hulls. Her lips were stained red from berries, and her teeth were so white they made Sophie want to shade her eyes. Did she ever think of anything besides looking beautiful? The irony was that she was already beautiful and would look better if she didn’t try so hard.
The duchess stood unmoving, not making a sound. The silence seemed to crowd against Sophie’s ears. The duchess liked to draw out the waiting, knowing that it only increased her victims’ apprehension. Having to stand and wait to hear what the punishment would be was enough to make most people tremble from head to foot.
At long last the duchess addressed her, and her hoarse voice sent a chill down Sophie’s spine.
“So this is how you repay my kindness to you? You, only an orphan, and a girl at that. I could have let you starve by the roadside. Others would have done so in my place.”
No one but you would be so cruel. Her breaths came faster—she was dangerously close to speaking—but she forced the words back down.
“What audacity makes you think … when I rightfully punish one of my servants … No. No, I want you to confess what you have done. You seem to enjoy prayer. Surely you enjoy confession as well. Now confess.” Sophie’s skin crawled as the duchess spoke in a slow, quiet, chilling whisper. “What … did … you … do?”
Sophie almost wished the duchess would scream instead. A dark feeling of oppression, of an evil presence in the room, came over her as it often did when the duchess was interrogating her. Jesus, help me. Take away my anger.
The oppressive feeling subsided.
Following the rote formula required by the duchess, Sophie began, “Duchess Ermengard, your servant, Sophie, confesses to sneaking food to your servant, Roslind, while Roslind was being punished in the dungeon.” Sophie curtsied humbly. Oh, God, please, please, please let it be enough. Let my confession be enough to appease her. And let me appear meek before her.
Silence. Again. Sophie waited with a churning stomach for the duchess to speak. Her hands trembled but she dared not hide them behind her back. The duchess had a rule against that as well.
Sophie waited so long for the duchess’s next words that her mind began to wander, imagining what her friends, the other servants, would be doing now. But she pulled herself back, bracing herself for what the duchess would say or do next.
“You confess as though you’re not truly sorry for what you did.”
“Please forgive me, Duchess Ermengard.” Sophie suppressed a shudder. This was not going well. It was no longer a matter of if she’d be punished, but how severely. She bowed her head lower, hoping to appear truly sorry.
“And there is more, isn’t there?” Once again, she let the silence linger.
What would the duchess accuse her of now? Sophie searched her mind for things she had done that the duchess may have uncovered. She had given some extra food to a starving little boy and girl who had come begging at the kitchen door, but that had been days ago. She searched her memory for something else …
Then she remembered. Yesterday she had followed a guard into the woods, and after he’d heaved a sack of squirming puppies into the river, against her better judgment Sophie had dived in. Dragging the heavy cloth bag from the bottom of the shallow river, she dumped out all five creatures on the river bank, wet but alive.
“You know what you did. You defied me.” The duchess’s voice sounded like the hiss of a snake. “You followed the guard to the river in order to save those worthless, mongrel puppies. You are a disobedient, deceitful, horrible little wretch.” She spat out the words as if they were venom.
Sophie’s mouth went dry. How did the duchess know? She couldn’t read minds. Could she?
Duchess Ermengard hated dogs, especially lap dogs. Anything small and helpless incited her hatred. And these puppies would never grow anywhere close to the size of hunting dogs, which the duchess sometimes gave to Lorencz the huntsman to use in the fox or deer hunts.
“I expect my orders to be obeyed. I don’t expect my scullery maid to defy them.” She said the words scullery maid the way she always did, as though they were a curse.
Sophie thought about the tiny dogs she’d saved, and remembered their soft fur and the way they whimpered and licked her hand. For a moment she could almost feel the little brown and white one snuggled against her cheek. The feel of his furry little face against her skin made her feel loved, as if he knew she’d saved him.
“You are a wicked …” The cold, hard edge of the duchess’s voice tore Sophie out of her pleasant memory of the puppy’s affection.
Sophie closed her eyes. I will not listen, I will not listen …
“… rebellious, disrespectful girl. You will learn to respect me. You were nothing, a changeling orphan, an ugly child. You wouldn’t even be alive if it weren’t for me.”
I am not wicked. I am not ugly.
The duchess was snarling now, her voice growing louder. “You will learn not to treat my rules with contempt. You will be disciplined.”
Sophie didn’t have to open her eyes to see the malicious glint in the duchess’s eyes, her lips pressed into a tiny, pinched, cold smile, the smile she always wore when doling out punishment.
I am not wicked, I am not rebellious …
She longed to touch the wooden cross around her neck, to squeeze it and feel comforted by the thought of her Savior’s suffering, his compassion and forgiveness. But she didn’t dare. If the duchess found the cross hidden underneath her dress, she would tear it away from her and destroy it.
“For your wickedness,” the duchess went on, slowly, as though savoring each word, “you shall spend the next two days and nights in the dungeon with no food or water.”
Two days and nights. Sophie’s heart seemed to stop beating. But at least, maybe, the duchess was finished with her.
Sophie curtsied, keeping her head low. She focused on replying according to the duchess’s rules. “Let it be as you say, Duchess Ermengard. I am your servant, Sophie.”
Two soldiers came forward and grabbed her by her arms.
Just as she relaxed slightly, Sophie heard, “Wait! Bring her here.”
Her stomach dropped. What would the duchess do now? Sophie determined not to show panic as the two guards dragged her forward. Expressions of fear in others also caused the duchess to work herself into a frenzy of cruelty.
“Look at me,” the duchess ordered.
Sophie lifted her face, preparing herself for the black emptiness of the duchess’s eyes.
When their eyes met, the duchess lifted her hand and slapped Sophie across the mouth.
Stunned, Sophie closed her eyes against the sting, tasting blood on her teeth. Her eyes watered but she would not cry. She took deep, slow breaths to drive away the tears as the duchess kept up her cold stare. She mustn’t show weakness.
Time and silence hung heavy in the air. Then Duchess Ermengard ordered, “Take her away.”
The guards pulled Sophie, stumbling, across the stone floor toward the dungeon.
~ ~ ~

Gabehart hurried down the corridor with his father, Duke Wilhelm, the slap of their boots on the flagstones echoing against the walls. An old woman had been brought in the day before, feverish and unconscious. Their healer, Frau Lena, sent for Gabe and his father, saying the woman had awakened and was telling a tale they needed to hear firsthand to believe.
Of course, if his older brother Valten hadn’t broken his leg a few days ago, keeping him confined to his chamber, she wouldn’t have sent for Gabe at all.
Gabe and his father entered the healer’s tower and strode across the room to the sick bed. An old woman lay still, her white hair plastered to her head, her wrinkled eyelids closed. Her lips were white and her cheeks gray. Was she dead?
Frau Lena, their tall, red-haired healer, curtsied to Duke Wilhelm. “Your Grace,” then with a nod to Gabe, “my lord. Thank you for coming.”
“Are we too late?” Gabehart glanced from the healer to the old woman on the bed.
Frau Lena smiled. “She’s only sleeping.” The healer’s expression grew thoughtful as she stared down at her. “She’s been mumbling since she was brought in, but her words make no sense—something about saving someone before the evil one kills her.” Frau Lena shrugged. “She was so feverish I didn’t pay attention. But this morning, she awoke. Her fever had lessened and she begged me to send for ‘the young lord who is betrothed to Duke Baldewin’s daughter.’”
What? Gabe glanced at his father. Duke Wilhelm’s forehead creased.
“Go on,” Duke Wilhelm said.
“When I told her Duke Baldewin’s daughter died as a small child many years ago, she said, ‘No, it’s a lie. She lives. Tell the young lord to go to her, posthaste, and save her from …’” Frau Lena hesitated.
“From? Save her from whom?” Gabe found himself leaning toward her.
Frau Lena let out a deep breath, then whispered, “From Duchess Ermengard.”
Gabe sank back on his heels. Visiting merchants often told stories about the queenly duchess, claiming she never left her castle in Hohendorf, dabbled in black magic to the extent of placing curses on those who crossed her, and even poisoned people.
If Duke Baldewin’s daughter were still alive, it made sense that she could be in danger from the shadowy Ermengard; Duke Baldewin’s daughter would be sixteen, maybe seventeen years old, making her a threat to the duchess’s rule. Though surely someone would have corrected the erroneous report of her demise by now. The truth would surely have leaked out and spread to Hagenheim. Or so one would think.
And if Duke Baldewin’s daughter was still alive, that would mean Valten was still betrothed. His brother was going to be awfully surprised to find out he has a bride.
A strangled croaking sound came from the bed. The old woman’s faded blue eyes opened and locked on Gabe’s face. She lifted an emaciated hand toward him, beckoning him closer with a crooked, skeletal finger.
“Come here.”
He looked back at his father, who nodded, so Gabe stepped forward, dropping to one knee by her bedside.

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