There's been no news for several hours, now.
Callis looks, again, at the other two girls in the room with her. They both look uncomfortably back at her.
Hours ago, there had been fifteen of them. Now, there was three.
When the news that the Queen was giving birth had broken, the fifteen hopefuls for the position of nursemaid had been herded into an antechamber and promptly abandoned. Presumably, they were to be chosen from once the child had actually been born, not that anyone had said that to them. Or much at all.
But yes, fifteen.
Callis tries to count off what had happened to them.
Number One had gotten bored and announced, suddenly, that she didn't like babies much anyway, and she'd get better pay being a housekeeper. She'd left, and about half an hour later, they'd gotten the news that the child had been born. A princess. Healthy, they thought, apart from the fact that she seemed oddly warm. They worried she might have developed a fever.
Number Two and Three left the second they heard that. They weren't prepared to deal with a sickly child, apparently. Number Four followed them.
No news. Number Five left, claiming she'd got another job lined up. The maids coming down from the royal suites carried whispers;"the Queen", "furious" and "dark hair", and Callis knew, then, that the girl looked just like her mother. Or, rather, how her mother used to look.
Numbers Six, Seven, Eight, and Nine left then. Callis didn't blame them, much. Being responsible for a child the Queen would probably resent wasn't the cushy job they'd expected.
Hours went by. More rumours. The Queen was fighting with Prince Stefan, the Princess was still feverish, the doctor and the midwife were baffled, the Princess looked exactly like the Queen used to, no hint of Stefan at all-
Numbers Ten, Eleven, and Twelve slipped away. Trouble was brewing, it was obvious. They didn't want to be involved. The older maids and staff told them that when Vanessa was born, her father came triumphantly down to pick a nursemaid almost immediately.
Something was wrong. Something is wrong.
Callis glances at the other girls. They're both younger than her. One can only be fifteen or sixteen, hands shoved in-between her knees, staring warily at the door. The other is skinny and slight, and Callis is sure she's one of the maids who cries when the housekeeper shouts at her.
Neither of them are equipped for what this job seems to be shaping up to be.
Is she?
Callis stares absently at the fire in the grate. They've had no news for hours, now. This job won't be easy.
If there's a job at all.
The youngest girl voices her concerns.
"She's… she's not… um... well, they said she was feverish, and we haven't heard anything, so she's not…?"
Callis gets the gist.
"I think we'd know if it had gone really wrong." She says, but she's not sure. Would they know? If Vanessa wasn't happy…
Well, there was no if about it. The girl looked like Vanessa used to, and she was probably sickly. She was doomed.
Callis feels a pang of anxiety for the girl. Barely in the world for half a day, and already condemned…
She doesn't value Queen Vanessa highly, she'll openly admit. She'd been silently doubtful when the announcement she was going to be a mother had come through. Vanessa had been accepting ridiculously expensive gifts and buying all sorts of elaborate baby clothes, even commissioning a painter for the day, to paint a portrait of mother and baby…
Of course, the painter was dismissed earlier. They'd looked out the window and seen him scampering out of the entrance hall hours ago.
Callis grits her teeth.
She glances at the others, again. They're staring worriedly in different directions. The youngest girl's stocking is falling down. The other's curly hair is escaping from her cap.
Callis stands up almost instinctively.
The other two girls- yes, they're girls, but isn't Callis, too?- stare at her.
"I'll go and see what's happening." She says.
"But they'll assume-" the second girl stops herself, but it's clear what she was going to say.
"I want the job." Says Callis. When the two of them stare wordlessly at her, she says it again;
"I want the job. I'll take it." She pauses. "God knows that girl is going to need someone to take care of her."
Slowly, they nod.
The palace is eerily quiet, so the sound of Callis's servant's clumps on the stairs is especially jarring. She gets the impression everyone is trying to keep a low profile-
An impression that is confirmed when she meets Honora on the stairs.
"Don't go up, she's raging." Hisses the kitchen maid.
"I'm the princess's nursemaid." Says Callis. She leaves out the bit about her being the only willing candidate.
Honora glances nervously over her shoulder.
"Well, she won't be happy to see you. She's been screaming at Stef- er, the Prince."
Callis doesn't comment on the slip. Vanessa has always liked to snatch things that were someone else's, first.
"I gathered." She says. "But the Princess, aren't they worried that she's ill?"
"Yes, the Prince is… um… I mean, they both-"
Honora is cut off by the sound of screaming, echoing from the tower above.
Callis looks at Honora. Honora looks at Callis.
"To hell with Vanessa." Mutters Callis, and runs, taking the stairs three at a time.
She rushes up the stairs and gets into the royal suites disturbingly easily- they dismissed the guards?- and finds that the screaming is coming from the end of the hall.
She hurries down the corridor, not sure what she's expecting to find. Vanessa being attacked? Vanessa fighting with Stefan? But there's only one person screaming, female, so that doesn't make sense…
Then the sound of a baby crying reaches her ears, and she's sprinting.
She reaches the source and shoulders the door- it's unlocked- and bursts into a large, well-lit room, painted pink.
The nursery.
Callis spins to find Vanessa cowering in the corner, clutching at wailing maid who appears to be the source of the screaming. What are they doing-?
Behind her, there's a splintering sound, and the crying worsens. There's the smell of smoke, too, acrid.
Callis whirls.
The cradle is in flames, blackened and scorched, and the bars are collapsing inwards as they burn, and, and-
And somewhere from within the whirling flames and collapsed, glowing embers of wood, is the sound of crying.
Later, Callis would call Vanessa a thousand obscene names. Now, she doesn't think.
Callis lunges and plunges her hands into the embers, sweeping away the burning bars and snatching the princess from the flames. Adrenaline roaring, she doesn't stop to think-
Not, at least, until her pain receptors catch up.
Clutching the sobbing princess, Callis crumples to her knees, hands and arms searing, eyes watering, gasping for breath-
"Give her to me!"
Vanessa descends on her. Callis, thoughts muddied by the pain and the adrenaline, stares blankly at her.
"What-"
Vanessa snatches the girl from her, elbows the maid out of the way, and rushes from the room. Callis slumps against the wall, shaking, holding her burnt hands away from her best she can. The frightened maid, the one who'd screamed, scampers over. Callis thinks her name is Lillibet.
"Do you want some aloe-"
"What happened?" croaks Callis. "Why didn't either of you do anything?"
"It- it just happened. I don't know. We came in, and it was on fire. Maybe it was too close to the fireplace, maybe it was a spark-"
"Why didn't you grab her?" interrupts Callis harshly. "Why didn't either of you grab her?"
Lillibet shoots a terrified glance at the door, then leans forwards, eyes wide.
"She wouldn't le-"
The door flies open, and Vanessa is back, alone.
"Lillibet, go and inform Prince Stefan of what's happened. I think he's speaking to the… the well-wishers, outside."
Lillibet shoots Callis a frightened look, then curtsies and rushes out. Vanessa turns to Callis, who stares blankly back.
"Who are you?" she demands.
"Callis Netherwood, my lady." croaks Callis.
"Position?"
"I'm currently working for the physician, but I applied to be the child's nursemaid, my lady. I came up to ask what was happening."
Vanessa stares at her for a minute. Callis can practically see her weighing up the pros and cons.
Then she says;
"Well, you'll do. I suppose. Get your arms seen to. I'll send for you later."
She turns and shuffles out, scowling.
Callis stares unseeingly after her, because she's just realised what Lillibet was going to say.
She wouldn't let me.
Agatha wakes up struggling to breathe.
Chest burning, she scrabbles to sit up, and finds herself dizzier than she expected. Still, she struggles out of bed in search of a handkerchief, trying not to wake anyone else up. She hopes this isn't going to be like last time.
Maybe it's just a cold. A chill.
Not that she's ever had a cold or a chill. She's not sure she can.
But a cough, or something. Dust. It's an old ship.
Holding her breath, she rifles through drawers, battling the urge to cough, leaning on the bedpost to stay upright. The floor's swaying slightly, but she got up pretty quickly. Besides, she's on a ship, so that's to be expected…
No.
No, that's too much for the ship.
It's like last time.
She goes down so quickly and so violently, that her head catches the corner of the chest of drawers.
And then she's on her hands and knees on the floor and all thoughts of any other pain are forgotten; she's heaving, chest spasming, coughing so hard she can taste blood. Gasping, she claws at her chest. Her throat's burning, lungs aching, and she- she-
Agatha retches and hacks burning embers across the floorboards, and suddenly, she can't stop. She hunches on the floor, coughing and retching, embers and cinders and sparks scattering across the floorboards-
Something floats past, a dark mass in her tear-blurred vision, and it's smoke now, she's coughing up smoke, she can smell burning, and she thinks she might be setting her nightgown on fire, not that she really cares, or maybe it's the floorboards, her hands are always the hottest part of her, someone help her-
Something catches, and for a merciful few seconds, she manages to take a shuddering breath, and she thinks it's passed, slumping on her back onto the floor… but no, she's retching again, more smoke, more… more...
Familiar callused hands close around her shoulders, and Callis has arrived.
"Help me." Chokes Agatha, clutching desperately at Callis's skirt. But she's already prepared. This has happened before and Callis knows how to stop it, now.
Agatha realises slightly too late.
"No, no, not that, please-"
"I'm sorry, sweetheart, I have to, it's the only way, come on-"
"No-" moans Agatha, but Callis is determined. She has to practically drag her, but she gets her into the bathroom, wrestles her into the bathtub and under the taps- Agatha sobs-
Callis turns the faucet on full blast.
Agatha shrieks in pain and scrabbles back against the deluge of icy water, but Callis is stronger, especially now, and holds her under it for what feels like eons, but can only be ten seconds-
Callis snaps the water off.
Agatha gags, turns over, and throws up. Sobbing, she vomits until there's nothing left to give, and she's retching dry. Only then does she realise she can breathe again. There's no more smoke, no more cinders, nothing.
A hand closes around hers, and Agatha collapses back into Callis's arms, soaked and shaking. Everything is burning and itching and aching. She thinks Callis might be saying something, but she can't hear her-
She realises Callis is trying to pull her out of the tub, and scrabbles vaguely in the correct direction, until she's lying on the floor and Callis is trying to towel her hair dry-
"You've cut your head." says Callis.
Agatha had forgotten about that.
"Fell." she says faintly. Carefully, Callis probes the cut, but it must not be too deep, because she doesn't seem worried.
"You'll have a black eye." she tells her, smoothing her fringe gently back over it. Agatha lifts one shoulder.
"I know, the veil covers it." sighs Callis. "But, still."
There's a pause. Agatha is starting to shake harder.
"I'll get you a change of clothes." Callis gets up, and Agatha puts her throbbing head against the floorboards and closes her eyes.
When she comes back to her senses, she realises Callis is prying her soaked nightgown off of her. Shakily, she attempts to help, but there's nothing much she can do, so she just shifts when required and lets Callis replace it with something dry.
"That's so dangerous." Callis says finally, sitting down on the soaked floor next to her. "If there was a better way, I'd do it, but I can't find one-"
"It's fine." mumbles Agatha. Callis is petting her hair absently, and her voice sounds steady, but Agatha can feel her hands shaking. "I know."
"There has to be a better way to cool it down." Says Callis firmly. "I'll find one. I will."
Agatha doesn't have the strength or the inclination to argue with her, so she doesn't say anything. It's times like this when she realises how young Callis actually is. She was only 18 when she was appointed as Agatha's nursemaid, and won't be 37 until October. She's younger than Vanessa, and much prettier, even though she looks wan and tired in the vague glow of the oil lamp, and her hair has always looked too harshly black.
Finally, something occurs to Agatha.
"I'm not burning you, am I, I've got to be-"
She tries to sit up, but Callis stops her.
"No, it's fine, you're not. Don't try and move on your own."
She's obviously lying, but Agatha can't really stand up on her own, so she doesn't do anything.
She can feel Callis's skirt scorching under her hand, though.
When Agatha finally gets back to her bed, Sophie is hovering in the doorway, staring anxiously. She must have heard Callis get up. Or maybe she heard Agatha crying.
"'m fine." Says Agatha quickly. Sophie shoots an anxious glance at Callis, who raises her eyebrows at her, and creeps across the room to clamber onto Agatha's bed with her. Callis finishes kicking the ash under the chest of drawers, and comes to join them.
There's a long pause. They watch the sea skim by out the small window.
"I hope he's handsome." Says Sophie suddenly. Agatha rests her forehead against the cool glass. It won't stay cool for long.
"I bet he's not." She says.
"They've always said he's very handsome." Says Callis braiding a tiny piece of Agatha's hair. Agatha shoots her an incredulous look.
"You didn't tell me that."
"I didn't think you cared."
"You mean you know whether he's a bald old man or not?" Demands Agatha. "Of course I care!"
"He's seventeen, Agatha."
"He's younger than me? Why didn't you tell me?"
"I thought you were entertaining yourself fine with your fatalistic fantasies." Says Callis, amused. "No, he's not some bald old man. He's seventeen, he's very handsome, and everyone is very jealous of you."
"Oh." Agatha frowns. "Well, I never saw a portrait of him."
"No, I don't think the Queen wanted you to."
"Not that you ever asked for one." Says Sophie.
"Never thought to!"
"Didn't care to." Mutters Sophie. But Agatha is scowling, now.
"Actually, that's worse. He'll be a peacock. A brat. Or maybe he's mad, or sickly. Or a murderer or something. No way Mother would marry me off to him if he was perfect. She'd probably try and get him herself. Why should I have a handsome rich, perfect husband?"
Callis snorts.
Sophie looks scandalised.
"Who cares if he's sickly, Aggie? He's rich and handsome!"
"Who's supposed to stop me hacking my lungs up if he's bedridden?" Demands Agatha. Sophie and Callis both make disapproving noises, which Agatha ignores. She flops back onto her bed, scowling. "Come on. You know there has to be a catch."
Callis doesn't correct her, which means she agrees. Sophie doesn't say anything, but that usually means she disagrees and just can't think of how to argue with her.
Agatha prepares herself for a vaguely insulting topic change in three… two…
"Why do you wear these ghastly old things?" demands Sophie suddenly, leaning forwards to pluck at Agatha's shapeless black nightgown. "Don't you have any proper nightclothes?"
Agatha shrugs, ignoring how Sophie is pointedly trying to show off her own silken nightgown.
"Just for sleeping, aren't they? Don't need to be anything special."
"What about when you're married?"
"Pretty sure that will be relatively low down on his highness's list of problems with his shiny new bride." says Agatha.
Sophie frowns.
"What on earth could be above proper fashion?"
"Uhh, facial scarring? Being ugly? Not knowing how to shave my legs? Ooh... the fire magic?"
Sophie glances back at Agatha's face, and Agatha dislikes how similar it is to the short, unimpressed looks that Vanessa tends to shoot her way whenever she's unveiled. Ah, facial scarring. Another sin to add to the why Vanessa hates Agatha list. Not that it was Agatha's fault that the cradle collapsed on her face. Not as if she told the universe to cut her face so it pulled her mouth down slightly and slashed the side of her already-crooked nose.
"The scarring isn't that bad." Sophie says, unconvincingly.
"Mm." says Agatha.
"Besides, if he really loves you, that shouldn't matter."
Agatha barks out a startled laugh and sits up.
"Loves me? It's an arranged marriage!"
Sophie sniffs.
"Some people are believers in love at first sight."
"What sight?" gripes Agatha. "He won't see my face until he's legally obliged to snog me at the wedding."
"Well, maybe, Agatha, if you make a bit of effort, he'll fall in love with your personality."
Agatha laughs so hard she falls off the bed.
"You shouldn't be so hard on yourself." says Callis, later, after Sophie's retreated to ensure she doesn't get dark circles or puffy eyes. Priorities.
Agatha looks at her out of the corner of her eye.
"I consider it a warm-up for Camelot."
"No one can say things like that to the Queen's face." points out Callis. She leans over to her. "Just wait until you're married, then off everyone who's mean to you."
Agatha cackles.
"What, you get torn apart by horses if you say I'm nothing less than absolutely radiant?"
"Make it a scale. You get flogged for saying you don't look like Vanessa, and you get torn apart by horses for mentioning facial scarring."
"Oh, I thought you were quoting from the Gavaldon laws for a moment, then." says Agatha. Callis smothers a snort and Agatha grins at the ceiling, watching the lamp swing to and fro. Slowly, her smile fades.
"The King can still say that sort of thing, though." she says.
"He won't." says Callis. "I won't let him."
Agatha opens her mouth to laugh it off, but finds that she can't. Instead, she looks over at Callis, who's leaning against the window.
"He's just some kid." says Callis. "No matter how fancy he looks, he's young. Younger than you, even. He'll just be some pretty kid playing a game too big for him."
She looks down at Agatha.
"Maybe that's the catch." she says. "Maybe he's a puppet."
"Maybe." Agatha murmurs.
There's a pause.
"You should go to bed." says Agatha. "You're tired."
Callis doesn't argue, just nods slowly and slides past Agatha's legs, smoothing her hair back in farewell as she does so. Agatha sits up to let her pass, and, almost absentmindedly, slides her hand into the lamp, and plucks the tiny flame from the wick, letting it roll across her palm.
Callis stops at the door.
"Agatha?"
Agatha looks up, winding the flame between her fingers. Callis is staring at her hand.
"Use it against him. If you have to."
Then she's gone, padding back down the corridor to her cabin.
Agatha looks down at her hand, and flexes her fingers.
The flame leaps, twists, and spreads, sliding down her wrist and across her forearm. As she manipulates it more, the veins in her hand and arm slowly begin to glow, shining rich and orange through her skin, making her skin look papery and translucent.
Agatha gazes at her arm for a moment.
Then, slowly, she constricts the flame back down, and returns it to the lamp. The glow in her veins dies down, as it always does when she stops using her power, and they return to normal.
She flops back onto her bed, and, as she does so, she notices that Callis has left both Agatha's door and her own open.
Just in case.