CHAPTER FIVE: THE ORIGINS OF VERONIQUE
She was born the fourth daughter and sixth child of a fisherman near the Elbe River, on a date nobody remembered. She was a sickly child, and her parents thought she would surely die young, young and unregretted, because her family was poor and needed strong sons to live.
It was her oldest sister, Persia—who in the village's collective memory was beautiful, and kind, and one of the Dual God's own children, taken from them at the cruel age of sixteen—who kept Veronique alive, holding her and warming her and feeding her thickened broth made from what little food the family possessed.
Veronique's earliest memory was of being held by her sister at the pier's edge, Persia's long dark salt-spattered hair blowing into her face while on the horizon black seabirds wailed as they swooped across the sky.
A beauty, the town gossips always said of Persia, and a walking saint too. Pity she wastes so much time on that blind mooncalf of a child…
Veronique didn't know what the word "mooncalf" meant, and whenever she approached the gossips they would fall silent.
She wondered if it was something to do with the way the other children mocked her, teasing her for not being able to keep up with their games. She couldn't run as fast as the others, and she liked to sit still and dream.
I want to leave this place like the seabirds, she'd say to herself, and in her head she'd be swooping across the sky with them, until she'd open her eyes and realise that half the day or even more had gone past while she'd lain there dreaming.
The child's not too weak to help, her father or mother would say, and she'd be roughly dragged into their hut, told to keep her eyes open, and twist nets with the rest of her family, her and her sisters and her mother, pregnant with whatever baby was on the way.
She was four years old when she saw for the first time—she always thought of it like that, it wasn't like ordinary seeing.
"Persia, am I a changeling?" she'd asked her sister, after Pierre-the-carpenter's-son had thrown a stone at her and taunted her with the name.
Persia laughed, gently. "You're my sister, and that's what counts. Come and I'll show you something special."
She took Veronique by the hand, and led her to the stream that ran through the village, where they got their drinking water.
There was a still puddle not far from it—the first rain of spring had come the day before—and Persia told her sister to bend over the water, and look.
At first, Veronique saw nothing but blurred shapes in the water, and a dark pool that might have been her sister's hair. But she sat still, and saw shapes form in the cold depths.
She saw her sister's deep blue eyes and thick hair blowing in the wind, and noticed that beside her sister's beauty she herself was small and faded, though at the time the child had no words for it.
The water rippled, and Veronique continued to study the reflections through the moving surface. Her hair was a lighter shade than her sister's, a darkish indeterminate brown, but it was her eyes that were really different, a pale grey colour close to the colour of old Blind Johann's whitened eyes than Persia's stunning blue, and much larger.
"Do you see yourself?" Persia laughed. "Don't worry. You're no changeling."
Veronique wasn't looking at her reflection any more. She saw the pond's surface ripple again, and she felt she was falling into it, dropping beneath the water. She saw her father's boat as surely as if she was looking at it.
She felt a heavy wind blowing, and smelled the sea salt as though she was there on the boat with the fishermen.
A wave rose from the depths—taller than anything she'd ever seen before—and swallowed the boat, and her father with it.
She wanted to scream—Papa, where are you, help me—but in the wind's howling she had no voice.
"Veronique? Veronique?"
She felt Persia's hands shaking her, and she opened her eyes.
"There was a storm," she said. "Papa—where is he?"
"There's no storm, petit. You're safe with me. You just fell asleep, staring into the puddle." Persia wrapped her arms around her.
"I saw Papa swallowed up by a wave—" Veronique began, crying.
"Shh, little one. You're safe. Come home with me."
Veronique allowed herself to be comforted and carried back, though she did not forget her sight, and that night in her dreams she woke up screaming. Persia was there to comfort her.
The day after that, not long after the fishers' boats had left, the sky began to darken, and a harsh wind blew.
Most fishermen chose to return early that day, but the boat of Goodman Piscis was lost to the sea.
"Veronique—tell nobody what you saw, you understand me?" said Persia, her face wet with tears.
The Piscis family suffered with no husband to support them, and Veronique's two older brother hired themselves out to other fishermen while the rest of the family crafted nets, struggling to survive. The youngest baby died of cold and hunger, and her mother's hair lost all traces of colour as her fingers became gnarled and twisted, old before her time.
Gabrielle ran away to become a maid in Helmsbad, the nearest town, and Persia followed her, though Persia would come home each evening to take care of the family.
She gets her looks from me, her mother would say, white-haired and wrinkled, bent over another piece of netting.
Veronique was six when the second son of the town's wealthiest merchant took an interest in Persia, and she knew it before it happened.
A silvery glimpse, like a pond's reflection but brighter, and Persia's laughing tone talking about how handsome, how wonderful her love was, but Veronique was still too young to understand, and she'd known the vision of the boat had been something of terror.
Persia brought home a small mirror, a gift from her lover, and showed her family. Veronique glimpsed her own face in it—still pale-eyed, small and bony—and quickly handed it back, unwilling to see another reflection.
Her sister stood in the shadow of a tree, dark limbs stretching menacingly over her as tears filled the world, Veronique dreamed, but when she opened her eyes she saw her sister laughing.
"He promises we'll marry next spring," Persia said, and swung her little sister around in celebration. "In the town church with everyone looking on, can you believe it?"
Veronique knew what she saw, but did not interrupt her sister's joy.
It was nearly a month later that Persia began to lose some of her exuberance, and walked more slowly around the house. Her depression was obvious, and Veronique heard the gossips discussing her.
Betrayed her with sweet talk he did, cast her off, wedding some rich city girl from up north. She was a fool to trust him with that talk of marriage. Poor lass, nowhere to go, and her mother with seven already….
"You'll not stay under my roof, girl," Veronique heard her mother say. "We may be poor, but we're respectable, and I can't feed your bastard. Find the Spiegler boy and beg him for money, he has wealthy kin." With that, her mother swept her arm through the air as if the sheer force of motion could remove her daughter from her sight, and Persia's mirror fell on the ground and smashed into a thousand pieces.
Persia wept through the night, sobbing into a scrap of material. Veronique tried to place her arms around her sister, but Persia struggled out of her grasp.
The night after that, Veronique woke to find Persia gone from the hut, and screamed until the family all came awake.
"The tree," she wept, remembering her dream and knowing that something terrible had happened. "The rope…"
She led her mother to the woods near the stream where they found Persia's body, swinging from a large branch of an old oak.
Later, Veronique saw, Johannes son of Merchant Spiegler would kneel before her begging her for mercy for the sake of her sister, and she would refuse him, for the sake of that same sister, and like her he would perish hanging from a tree, and Veronique would not regret it.
Rumours flew about the town after that, how the child had known somehow of the death of her sister, and had led her mother to it.
Moonchild, changeling, Veronique heard, and still did not know what they meant.
She knew she was different somehow, knowing things that others did not. She did not wish to know—she remembered the water, and the tree, and the darkness, and still woke screaming some nights.
Six months later, when some of the pain had faded and she could forget for days at a time that Persia was dead she saw the Preston boat, returning loaded with the largest catch she'd ever seen. She saw Fisher Preston coming down the street, and told him he'd have a large catch soon. He was shocked when he came home the next day with a full boat, and told the whole village about it.
After that, people sometimes pestered her with questions, what is the weather going to be like, does Petra from next village love me, will I sell all my fish at marketday, and when she could she answered as best she was able.
She's odd, the gossips said, and has an uncanny eye for knowing things—it's those big pale eyes, the child looks almost blind—but there's no harm in her.
The priest asked her if she had a devil in her, and she told him no, and her mother looked shocked and warned the gossip henceforth not to tell others about her.
"She's a child of our village," her mother said, "and I don't want anyone gawking at her like some freak at a festival. She's done all of you good service at some time and I don't expect you to ruin that."
Veronique continued spinning nets, and in her village they still occasionally asked her something. She remained a local secret.
Strange child, but blessed. Can't be the Devil's work, she's a good girl, polite and everything. It's just that she's so quiet, and looks at you with those eyes… The gossip would make the sign of the Dual God then, and fall silent.
Veronique Piscis was fifteen when Lord Reinhard visited Helmsbad, and her older sister Gabrielle, who served in the home of the mayor, came rushing home to tell her family the news.
"They say he's the richest man this side of the Eastern Sea!" Gabrielle said excitedly, on one of her rare visits home. "He arrives this week, and Mayor Johansen's entertaining him and his men. Master told me that since I'm such an efficient worker—" Gabrielle gave a twirl of excitement; she was plain-featured and quiet, and did not often get a chance to dance and laugh—"he told me to return to my village and find extra staff just for the occasion, he asked me if I had any sisters I could bring."
"Mother needs me to prepare the nets," Aimee said, from a corner. She was two years older than Veronique, and did not like to go to places where there were too many people for her to feel comfortable.
"That's right. The prop of my old age," their mother said. She was permanently displeased with Gabrielle these days, who hardly ever sent money back or visited.
"Well then, Veronique can walk into town with me tonight," Gabrielle said.
"You want Veronique?" her mother said. "Lazy girl. Never pays attention to what you say, and makes people nervous the way she looks at them."
"I've heard she knows things, but that's just old gossip, Mother." Gabrielle laughed. "Veronique, can you do what you're told just for a few evenings? You'll be well paid for it…"
"I will," said Veronique, and it ended up being settled.
Gabrielle told her sister what needed doing in the big house, and Veronique found it easy enough to follow orders.
There were new gossips here, different ones. Lord Reinhard…they say he's the richest man in the kingdom but one of the oldest and nastiest, it's said the Princess Amandine ran away four years ago rather than marry him…I wouldn't have said no to him, no matter how ugly he is. There would be laughter at this point in the conversation, and then they would usually switch to different topics, the lace tablecloths need to be soaked in Goody Françoise's recipe, how many places should be set Anna, Monique von Friesler's daughter is marrying this spring, not a moment too soon at that…
Veronique, hiding in the shadows, caught a glimpse of Lord Reinhard as he arrived with his retinue, a tall silver-haired man, wearing dull black. He's not as ugly as they said, she thought, and was cuffed on the head and sent back to the kitchens.
There was a large feast that night, the mayor and the town doing their best to please the visiting lord, and when Emilie, one of the serving maids, fell ill, Veronique was given her duties, to wait at the table.
"Be polite and respectful," Gabrielle said, "be careful with the food and drink, don't you dare drop anything, and watch yourself around the noblemen, they could probably have you executed if they really wanted to. And remember that if you make a mistake it'll hurt me too."
Veronique nodded, and pulled on the maid's uniform. It was too roomy at the top though the skirts ended well above her ankle, and Gabrielle sighed at the fit and did her best to yank it into position before sending her sister out.
Veronique saw Lord Reinhard sitting at the head of the table, dressed in black that contrasted with the peacock colours of most of his sycophants, and turned her attention to serving the mayor and his fellows, at the bottom of the table. She scraped a finger over a splinter as she offered a plate to a woman in a long green dress, and saw a trickle of blood begin to make its way down her hand.
She laid a wineglass onto the table, glancing briefly at the red liquid inside.
Red as blood and fluid as water…
She saw a young man with a bland, smiling face take a vial from his pocket, and pour it into two goblets, passing one along to the silver-haired man a few seats along from him. The young man drank himself, and Veronique saw a red haze blur over him.
Poison.
The young man reached for another vial from his pocket, and carefully drank from it, draining it to the depths.
The red haze disappeared.
What was in there. That healed him,
The silver-haired man began to shake, and collapsed onto the table, and the red haze spread over him.
They're going to poison him, Veronique knew.
Bright colours swirled around her, the crimson of death.
It's another death I see.
She snapped back to herself with a demand for more grapes, over here, girl, are you blind or just stupid?
She served the grapes, and looked up to see the young man with the bland face grab the vial from his pocket.
I know what's going to happen. I know
"More drink—" someone waved a glass in her direction, and she hurried to pour the wine.
"This? Something from my estates, the famed brew of the De Bouisson family. The rarity of the grape does not permit more than a small amount to be made." The young man poured the liquid into two glasses. "It would honour us if you sampled it, my lord."
The young man passed one goblet along to Lord Reinhard before drinking deeply from his own.
Veronique turned, and saw Lord Reinhard also drink.
"A good wine," the silver-haired man said, holding the attention of the table. "To our host."
The tone of his voice was steady, and unlike a lot of the other nobles there he appeared sober.
While the attention of the table was focused on Lord Reinhard, Veronique saw the young man reach for the other vial in his pocket.
I see death, and this time I can prevent it…
Veronique ran towards the young man, and snatched the vial from his hand.
He turned angrily to her, and grabbed her dress by its cavernous collar. "You thief!" he said, distracting the gathering.
He tried to snatch the vial from her, but she held onto it, and he feared that it would break.
"Return my property to me, girl, and I won't have you hanged."
Veronique felt her voice was lost.
"Poison…" she stammered.
The young man shook her, fiercely.
"Give it back before your careless fingers smash it."
There was a sudden cry from the head of the table, and she saw Lord Reinhard begin to collapse as his court crowded around him.
"It was your goblet he just drank from, Bouisson," a hard-faced man wearing armour over his doublet said. "What is the girl holding?"
The armoured man easily took the vial from her, and the young man looked dismayed, letting go of Veronique.
"It is a tonic I prefer…I will drink some myself just to show it is safe…"
"It…heals the poison he placed in Lord Reinhard's glass," Veronique said quietly.
The young man turned a horrible shade of purple, and fell onto the table, reaching out a hand for his vial.
"Please…" he gasped out.
The armoured man ignored him.
"Pray that you're right, girl," he said, and cleared a path for himself to walk over to Lord Reinhard and force the vial between his lips.
Veronique saw the young man collapse onto the floor, and knew he was dead.
There was still death tonight, no matter what I did…
She gagged, and ran out of the dining room as quickly as she could. In the confusion nobody noticed her.
The poisoner is dead, she heard them say the next morning, but Lord Reinhard lives. Made a bargain with the devil himself, they say, to live so old, he's a lucky man. Still, they say he's not well, he'll stay here for longer, the mayor's not happy…
Veronique kept silent, and scrubbed plates in the kitchen now that Emilie had returned to take up her proper position.
She didn't expect to see the armoured man visit the kitchen, and pick her out of the other serving maids, to bring her in for questioning.
She's my little sister, Gabrielle protested, crying, a bit touched they say, not quite right in the head, but there's no harm in her, she'd never poison anyone…
"She's coming with me," the armoured man said, and Gabrielle fell silent.
The armoured man brought her to a small chamber, a partitioned-off bit of the mayor's attic, and motioned her to sit down.
"My guards interrogated the servants and associates of the late Pierre de Bouisson," he said, "and found that the poisoning plot originated with his father and was carried out by de Bouisson, acting alone. He would have needed no accomplices here, and was not quite foolish enough to allow anyone unnecessary into the plot. The first time you saw de Bouisson was upon the day of the feast, am I correct?"
"Yes. I have lived in the small village of Aquel-on-Sea all my life, sir, this is the first time I've come to town."
He nodded. "I believe you. I have spoken to others about you. Then tell me, how did you know that was the antidote?"
"I…saw it. All my life, I have sometimes…known what is going to happen."
The armoured man looked surprised. He bent over her, staring incredulously.
"Really? Are you sure you did not simply observe?"
"I knew, sir," Veronique said, frightened of the change in his expression.
"Stay there," he said, and returned in the company of another man, a dark-skinned man with a large moustache and an ascetic look to him.
"The girl claims to be a…strange one, Hassan. I'll leave this up to you," he said, and walked out of the room.
The man called Hassan reached out a hand, and lifted Veronique's head, examining her eyes.
"Perhaps, girl…there is little other explanation for your actions other than the knowledge." He released her, and stepped back. "Odd that a peasant girl…even so, I have orders to take you to his lordship in person."
The silver-haired man was resting in a large four-poster bed. Veronique noticed that he was still wearing black. He's not ugly, she decided, even if he is old.
"This is the girl, my lord," Hassan said, and bowed.
Veronique waited a moment, then realised she had to drop a curtsy and quickly did so.
"Captain Lukas tells me you are to blame for saving my life," Lord Reinhard said. "Come closer, girl, I don't bite."
She walked up to him, and he grasped her wrist in a surprisingly strong grip.
"You have the gift of futuretelling?"
"I know…some things, sometimes, my lord. The priest once said it was a devil in me…"
He laughed, dryly. "There are others like you. Not many, but some have giftings."
He didn't release her wrist, and looked at her thoughtfully, eyeing her up and down.
"And your face could be your fortune as much as your gift, girl."
He thinks I'm…attractive, she knew, stunned.
Lord Reinhard broke off into a coughing fit.
"Pardon me. I am still weak from the poison. I'll offer you a reward, girl. What's your name?"
"Veronique," she said.
"The saint who aided the Dual God. Appropriate."
He started coughing again, and Hassan looked worried.
"My lord, I'll take the girl away—"
"Yes, do so. Give her money for her family, and offer her the chance to leave with us. What would you say to that, girl?"
"I…thank you, my lord," she said, and remembered to curtsy again as Hassan dragged her out.
-
I could…leave with them. Leave the village, leave my family.
She ran to the puddle near the stream and looked at herself again, wondering if what Lord Reinhard had said about her face had been true.
She could see no trace of Persia in her features, none of her sister's wild beauty and stunning curves. She was skinny and angular—no flesh on her, she'd heard them say, skin and bones, one good breeze would knock her over—her skin as pale as a fish's underbelly, cropped darkish hair every which way, and large, staring, eyes that almost looked like she was blind. Who could like her with those eyes and that stare? And the knowledge? Uncanny, that's what she is.
Your face could be your fortune as much as your gift, girl….
I'm not pretty, she decided, but I can try to be. And I can do some things, and that'll have to be enough.
She saw something then, saw herself entering the doors of a castle larger than her entire village, clad in some sort of rich fabric that she'd never seen in her village, seated next to Lord Reinhard, his loyal servant. She saw great events, wars and battles and kingdoms, and saw herself observing, watching. Seeing.
I can fly away from here, like the seabirds.
"I'm more than willing to go with you, my lord," she said, and curtsied as best she could.
A/N: Feedback? Yes, please. (You shouldn't need reminding by now.)