In the Crystal and the Cards
Prompt: Lady Claire believed in crystal balls and tarot cards. Rum makes a deal with Belle's mum.
Props to the lovely Old Romantic, who beta'd this while also working on her fict, Far Beneath the Bitter Snow. Which you should read. Yeah. Totes.
Enjoy, and please review. Questions are always welcome.
Lady Claire believed in crystal balls and tarot cards. When the gypsies approached their village, they were oftentimes welcomed-something few other towns did-and ushered to the fortress in the center of town. Lady Claire would seek the fortune-tellers among them, hoping for vital premonitions. She saw a connection to the supernatural as her duty to her providence. With the seventh Ogre Wars on the horizon, Lady Claire wanted desperately to be…on top of things.
So, when she was told by a one-eyed palm reader that the child she bore-the only one she and her husband had successfully managed to carry so near to term-would be a girl, Claire was ecstatic. Three years later, after the babe was born (and it was, indeed, happy and healthy Belle), the dark-skinned southerner said she might very well marry the neighboring providence's heir, Claire made preparations to meet the boy. Six months after Belle came into the world one toothless hag guessed that she would have an adventurous disposition, and would find her true happiness in the most unlikely of places-the dark. When Belle was thirteen, a showman predicted a broken leg. He was right, and she spent most of the winter on crutches after an ill-spent afternoon during which she stole her father's mightiest stead and rode through the rough, newly-ploughed fields. But the most significant prediction came shortly after her birth. A month after the child was born, the old woman reading Claire's tea leaves declared this babe would lose her life in the now-looming wars. Claire was on the ready.
No child of hers would die in any wars. Not if she might prevent it. And she could.
There had long been rumors of a masterful sorcerer to the north. One with skin like a snake's scales, eyes that could see all, a temperamental disposition, and tricky nature. And they said, should one summon him, he was nearly always willing to spin a deal.
Deal-spinning was exactly the thing Lady Claire was set out to do. Though it took her months to find a person who knew how the trickster was summoned-it wasn't common knowledge by any means-she was successful. It took a good attempt at bribery, plus some more…shady…arrangements. To the young mother, any sacrifice was more than worth it. Her soul, her life…whatever it took. For Belle.
It was an unpleasant evening, the night the sorcerer was called to Maurice's sparse castle. A dark storm, filled with rolling iron clouds, and a wind that sliced. Baby Belle had taken over forty-five minutes to put down. She lay in a low cradle in one darkened corner of Lady Claire's boudoir. It was a great relief to the noblewoman that her babe could rest so easily on such a night. Her handmaid, a spry thing with a nervous shake, had reluctantly agreed to join in. They sat together before a black marble bowl (just one of the many items required in calling the trickster, according to her informant). The maid had wafted sage smoke from the tightly wrapped smudge stick purchased from the last gypsies troupe that had circulated through the providence. After the scent settled, Claire whispered the foreign words reverently, fingers skimming across the faded black lines of text, working her hardest not to miss a single syllable. As soon as the last tones died, mist filled the center of the bowl. A rumbled began echoing through the room. The mist rose, forming a lithe figure. It solidified as the rumbling increased. Lady Claire quickly knew she was in the presence of someone powerful. Infinitely powerful.
He was not quite what she expected.
His hygiene was simply appalling, as was his grey-green complexion-"Like a toad!" Claire thought-then his dark eyes were clearly crazed. Crazed and intelligent.
"So…" he purred, extending the "o." There was a pregnant pause. "You called me, dearie? The sweet Lady Claire, whose voice is of a meadowlark, who skin is velvet and hair silk, the fairest of the land-calls upon a simple dormouse such as myself? I, a mere speck?" The imp straightened, yellowed teeth flashing. "How may I be of service?"
The handmaiden had slowly shifted backwards. Every limb quaked. It was clear to all that she saw great darkness and great foolishness in this summoning. But both the imp and the lady ignored her. Claire eyed the trickster coolly, which a composure she was maintaining on a spider's thread, her hands folded. Inside, she was as fearful as the maid.
"Trickster, let it be known that I am honored by your attendance-"
"Oh," he made a fluttering gesture, scoffing loudly. "Lady, let us not play with formalities and pretty words. Honor would be an invitation before court. But clearly…someone is a little appre-hensive!" A sliver of cockiness coloured his tone. One finger was switched before her nose, a tsk. "You're doing this on the sly. Mustn't be seen with the likes of me."
Lady Claire swallowed. He was correct, naturally. Yet, she needed to trudge on.
"So, what's your trouble?" the imp inquired casually. "Broken heart, missing lover? Ill-behaved handmaid—" he eyed the girl cowering against the wall, "-perhaps lonely? Or is it bigger? Your kingdom in shambles? Husband in shambles? Need me to…" at this, his eyes lit up. "Find a babe? A wee one, to warm your breast?"
"No, thank you," Claire breathed. "We're quite well-stocked on babies." She nodded to the cradle and the sleeping Belle.
In a flash the imp was beside the cradle, crouched over the wee thing. His back was to the noblewoman. Judging from his posture, she got a keen sense of… uneasiness from about his stance. Over his slim shoulder, she could make out Belle, with both of her chubby arms upraised, fat hands clenched into tiny fists, pearly-pink mouth wet and slightly open. Her chest rose and fell beneath the white cotton-and-lace shift the maid had dressed her in after dinner. She was positively darling, dripping of innocent baby charm, impossible to resist.
Hesitantly, she went on as the trickster stood and turned back toward his hostess. "I received a-a premonition, several months back, in regards to Belle-that is her name-"
"I know," the imp interjected quietly.
Lady Claire paused briefly, startled, then resumed her explanation. "The gypsy said that she-Belle-was destined to die."
He snorted faintly. "All are destined to die," he said, voice low and strangely choked.
"But you see," said Claire patiently. "They told me she was set to die in the Ogre Wars."
All was silent. The trickster stared long and hard at the noblewoman who stared right back. A full minute passed before someone spoke.
"You know this already," Claire said softly, faint and weary. "You…know."
"Yes."
"Then please-"
"What would you have me do?" This was said savagely, in a dull roar. A pain was evident in his stance, his shaking hands, darkened eyes. "Stop the wars? Prevent the natural course?"
"Could you?"
"It's not a matter of 'could.'" He spat. "It's a matter of 'should.' And the odds for the answer you seek are not in your favour. Some things simply must happen. Magic might do its best, but time will fix all in the end to its liking. I cannot meddle much more than changing the colour of one's dress, or perhaps enchanting a bow or two. It cannot be prevented. It cannot be done."
That being said, he turned again to gaze upon the child, then strode to the window as if set to depart. Claire rushed forward, words spilling from her lips in a haze of desperation.
"No, no, please. She's my daughter. This mustn't…I can't…I'll do anything."
"There is no price, for there is no deal."
In one motion, the babe was swept up and pressed to her breast. Belle grumbled slightly at the intrusion. Claire bowed her head. "No. There must be something you can do. She cannot be fated to die. Not like this. Please, trickster."
All muscles in his thin frame tensed. He still faced the window, frozen, thinking. Claire waited, breathless and silent. Against her chest, Belle made scrunched-up faces of discontent, and murmured whimpers. Then-
"I can save her if she is not there," he whispered, whipping around sharply, eyes burning. "I can protect her. But tell me…what are you willing to pay?"
"Anything," said Claire honestly. "My life."
"And what of hers?"
The noblewoman blinked. "But-"
"I can keep her safe only if she is away from the wars. I can keep her with me."
"When? Now?"
He inclined his head. "Preferably. I cannot say when the armies will reach your borders."
Claire clutched the child closer instinctively. "No, not until…not until then."
"Very well. Your choice."
"And…for how long?" she ventured.
The imp blinked. "Forever, of course. I did say her life."
"But..."
"She would be safe. Alive." For the first time in this meeting he spoke gently. "Just as you wanted."
Claire considers, staring down at the small bundle of warmth nestled against her breast. The dark-haired, blue-eyed babe that would be a belle no matter how she turned out. The painfully restless child would always give her pride. She was Claire's first and only. Their heir. Their beauty. And, most importantly: her daughter.
Her daughter.
"Very well," Claire finally managed. "When the war comes…just before it reaches the city…you may take her with you….forever."
It was spoken with such a finality. Forever.
His expression was impassive. "Very well," the imp repeated. "Deal struck. Just before. You have my word."
"Thank you...oh, thank you."
Without further terms or comments, the imp turned back to the windows. He spread his hands wide, and the latches, shudders, glass and all, parted to give him exit. And then, quite suddenly he disappeared. The lady ran to the open window. A rush of icy air slapped her face, and she pressed Belle closer still to her chest. All that met her bright blue eyes was pelting sheets of grey, glittering daggers of rain, and a vast depth of iron-coloured clouds, twisting in the sky above. All in the world outside was dark. The wind and sky roared, seemingly furious with Lord Maurice's providence. Pure sound rushed through the room. Claire shuddered. Little did she know in mere months those skies would be saturated with the rusty colour of newly-lost blood.
Her handmaid joined her minutes later, and together they worked the windows closed, then returned the babe to her cradle. Tucking her blue woolly blanket about her, the exact one Claire's own nursemaid had embroidered with roses, peonies, and poppies, the noblewoman breathed again. Though the price had not been what she anticipated, it was done. She was safe. The Wars would still come. Their people would languish and some would surely die. But Claire had saved her daughter from a brutal death by the ogre clan's hands. And for that…she could not lament.
My headcanon thought this made sense…yay, nay?
Review? Please?