A kings witch episode on.., p.1
A King’s Witch Episode One, page 1
A King’s Witch Episode One
Odette C. Bell
All characters in this publication are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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A King’s Witch
Episode One
Copyright © 2021 Odette C Bell
Cover art stock photos licensed from Depositphotos.
www.odettecbell.com
Contents
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Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
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Chapter One
“Oh no, everything is getting wet again.” Melinda rushed up the steps to her rickety old loft, stared in abject horror at the rain running rivulets down the window and through the cracks in the ceiling, and raced onto her sodden rug.
“Drat,” she spat.
As an enormous gust rattled the old, warped window from outside, it snapped the hinge. It yanked it back in a calamitous roar.
Melinda sprinted over, her best pair of shoes now thoroughly ruined, the silk buttons waterlogged by the time she reached the window, grabbed the latch, and pulled it back before it could be yanked off and thrust up into the tumultuous clouds above.
While she’d known it had objectively been bad weather most of the day, she had been ensconced in the shoemaker’s basement, going over the molds for a new set of clogs. Yes, she’d heard some of the wind whistling through the old cracks in the bricks and stones, but no, she hadn’t thought much about it.
Until now.
Her blond locks – objectively the most interesting part about her – now stuck to her face in clinging lumps. With a mighty harrumph, she managed to slot the window back inside its frame. But she certainly couldn’t leave it there. Holding on to the old wall latch that fixed it in place, she leaned back, her skirts almost tripping her up. She slid her small fingers along the table to her left, and she picked up a ribbon. The very same ribbon she’d been lucky enough to find on the street outside. Perfect white and without a single stain, she’d intended to put it in her hair. Saving her house would have to come first.
Sorry, loft. And it wasn’t as if she owned it. Melinda owned little in this world.
Wrapping the ribbon around the latch, she managed to yank it over to a hook in the wall. Then she fastened it as tightly as she could.
She turned. Melinda owned one other thing. A pack of old tarot cards that had been given to her by her grandmother. And right now, in a great gust of wind, she heard one of the tiles fall off the roof and tumble onto the pavement beyond. Immediately, it allowed water to rush down like somebody stabbing you in the back of the hand.
“My cards,” she shrieked.
She lurched over. They couldn’t get a drop of water on them. It would affect their magic.
So there was only one thing to be done.
Melinda broke all the rules, the very same rules that had seen her travel to the capital city of Haldenthorpe, even though she was much more suited to the mountains. The same rules that had kept her wasting away in the bottom of this shoe factory for months on end. And the same rules that, if she broke them in public, would see her handed to the King forevermore.
Melinda was a water witch. There were many different practitioners out there – and they wielded elements from fire to wind. But by far the rarest were the water witches. For the King wanted them all.
In all her years wandering the royal lands, Melinda had never come across another just like her. And she quite wondered if that was because the others, just like her, knew to keep their heads down.
Melinda didn’t even bother to turn – there was no one behind her. Nobody to see the magic that suddenly picked up from her hands. It looked like reverse rain or evaporation. It shimmered there just above her pale skin for a few seconds before it shot up toward the rain. Then it surrounded each droplet before they could ruin her cards. It held them there in a suspended net of twinkles like she’d dragged the very stars from the sky.
Skidding over and almost slipping in the water that covered the old rickety boards, she plucked up her cards. No water from her skin dared stain them. No water on her skin would dare do anything she did not please.
“Oh Lord, look at all this mess.” She stared morosely at the water covering everything – including her bed.
She bit her bottom lip. She could just… whisk it all away. She could dry the water up with a single thought and a flourish of her hand. Gosh, she could carry it in a suspended cloud of magic and put it down the sink. But what she’d already done was bad enough.
Moving a step back, glum that she couldn’t take the easy path, she flicked her hand to the side, and the rain she had suspended in the air finally dropped. More had joined it, so it rang out with a wet splash like a seal thumping down onto a stone for a sunbath.
She swallowed, her shoulders descending with a twitch. The exact dresser where her cards usually sat was one she’d carried around with her for two years ever since coming to the capital. Now it would be ruined.
Along with most of the other things she owned.
At least her cards, her most treasured objects, would be safe.
Melinda clutched them to her chest as she turned. There was a tap-tap on the window. She knew who it was long before a sharp, glistening yellow beak and a stunted set of wings blocked out what little light was coming from the tumultuous storm beyond.
Though she had little reason to smile, one still curled her lips. She rushed over, splashing more water everywhere. “Cicero.”
He tapped on the window again pointedly. If an owl could look aggrieved, he certainly managed it.
She shrugged. She got as close to the glasses she could so she didn’t have to scream through it. “The latch is broken. I can’t open it.”
“I’m your witch familiar. It’s viciously cold out here. Open the window.”
“I can’t.”
“Is that your pack of cards? Why are you holding them? Why aren’t they getting wet? Oh, you didn’t, did you?”
She winced. She turned. All of the fabric she had lovingly used to hide the numerous faults of this old barn loft hung in raggedy wisps. She’d once plucked up a piece of lace from the street outside, and she’d been so terribly fond of it. As light as a cloud, it came from a land far away. She’d only ever seen its like adorning the Royal Family.
It might be nothing more than a tiny handkerchief-sized scrap, but it had been something that had given her so much joy. Now it lay in a bedraggled, unloved pile next to the kitchen sink.
She sighed. She sucked in a breath and pushed it against her equally limp fringe.
Then she tucked her tarot pack carefully underneath her top, set up a defensive position against the storm outside, unwound the latch, and let Cicero in.
He flapped past her face, and he splattered more water everywhere.
A few droplets flew in Melinda’s eyes, but she didn’t begrudge him.
Nobody begrudged Cicero. Not unless they wanted their eyes pecked out.
It took her an enormous amount of effort to close the window again. Just as she tried, the storm screamed. What a wretched day. There was a flash of lightning not too far away. Melinda had to yank an arm up and hide behind it. As the bright flash petered out across the horizon, it showed there were yet more storm clouds to come.
Why was that always the way in Melinda’s life? Whenever she found hope and peace, it was snatched up. Whenever she found something to treasure, it was taken away.
Oh yes, no need to search far for the answer to that conundrum. It was plain as day. It was the very magic that ran in her blood. You might think it was better to be rare than normal. You would be wrong.
Chapter Two
Melinda rushed down the stairs the next day, her damp skirts clutched in one hand so she didn’t trip, a sour frown marking her lips.
The shop bell was ringing. It was so loud, Melinda thought it would wake every ghoul in the city. That said, she’d never met one and she never wanted to. Not the point. After her night, she didn’t need this.
She just wanted another good lie down, a cup of tea, and preferably, a bed that wasn’t covered in mold and damp.
But we can’t always get what we want.
As she rushed across the cobbled yard that led to the shoe shop, sh e paused, tilted her head around, and frowned up at the sky. It was brilliant blue this morning – not a hint of clouds, even far off on the horizon. She thought she even heard giggling shoppers walking down the street, glad to be out, spending money in this fine weather.
Each to their own.
She took another step and paused. She whirled around, narrowed her eyes, and stared at the clouds. She stopped just short of lifting her arm and shaking her fist at the sky. It might look as if it were tame, but yesterday had proven what she already knew. You could take nothing in this city for granted. There was far too much magic in the roots of Haldenthorpe for a smart witch to ever turn her back on. And though last night Melinda had done something atrociously bad by using her powers, she still included herself in the group of smart witches.
She made her own way in this complicated world, and she’d never made a contract with some unscrupulous soul, which could not be said for a lot of the other mountain witches who’d come to Haldenthorpe.
As she rushed into the back of the store, grabbed her apron, pulled it on, and tried to pull her tousled hair to the front to hide the fact her collar was wet, she saw one of the aforementioned witches who’d made a deal with some rich but unethical soul.
Melinda worked for one of the most prestigious and oldest shoe stores in Haldenthorpe. It was situated on the top of the hill, and if there was one thing that could be said for her loft, it could have an utterly beautiful view, but the window was on the wrong side. It stared across at the sprawling towers and old stone homes of the central city. If you squinted, you could even see the side of the palace. Behind it, however, was the best view of all. The hill they were on ran right down to the ocean. If you were stupid enough to trip and your body was good at rolling, you’d end up headfirst in the bay. Melinda always heard the sound of gulls squawking, and if she caught the wind blowing in the right direction, the cries of the sailors below were like far-off bells.
She paused now just before closing the door to breathe a little of the sea air in. As a water witch, large bodies of water always calmed her mind.
She would need a lot more calming today.
She flashed her gaze over to the witch in question. She’d walked in in a subservient position beside her master. That would be Dame Marlene Kilkenny – one of the richest women in all of the city – aside from the Royal Family, of course. Jewelry dripped off her fingers, throat, and wrists. Any part of her that could display her wealth did so. She might as well have painted her net financial position over her forehead.
She was dressed in mounds of silk, but while it was certainly fine, it didn’t match that poor little handkerchief piece of air-silk Melinda had lost in the rains last night. Another reason to be sour, though she was careful not to let her ire mark her lips. Not in front of the Dame.
“Called you into the shop at the last moment, did they, dear? Where are the usual shop lasses? They are much prettier,” the Dame said. Did she lower her tone? No. Did she lower her gaze? No. She was the kind who, when she was insulting you, which was most of the time, wanted you to know that she could get away with it.
Melinda finished tying her apron and nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
What exactly was she agreeing to? Everything that the Dame had said? Or the fact that she could get away with anything she wanted?
Melinda mistakenly made eye contact with the witch. A pretty little thing, though quite gaunt. The Dame wouldn’t keep her around to feed her. Just to protect herself from things unseen. Melinda had heard things about this particular witch, too. Ex-Royal. That did not mean she was part of the Royal Family – just part of the King’s own collection.
Melinda shouldn’t have thought about that, as her shoulders tightened and nervous tension zipped into her stomach.
She bit her lip. She knew it was best not to engage the Dame in conversation even though the old mistress who owned this shoe store was always telling Melinda to talk to customers incessantly to distract them from how much they were spending.
The silence allowed Melinda to think. She cut her gaze over to the windows. There wasn’t a cloud in sight. What a jolly day. For those who could enjoy it.
All night, Melinda had thought about the same thing. Her worries had hurtled around her head like an untamed cart. What if… what if one of the King’s witches had been nearby when she’d practiced water magic last night? While Melinda could get away with practicing other forms of magic subtly, water magic was easily traceable.
You would have required someone who knew what they were doing and someone who was terribly powerful to detect her short display. But it was still possible, right?
If Cicero were here right now, while he’d tell her off for being so stupid to practice in the first place, he’d also laugh with a hoot at the fact she could be so terribly pathetic. If someone had felt her practice water magic last night, she wouldn’t be here right now. The King would’ve found out about it immediately, and she’d be… taken away. What exactly happened to the King’s collection of witches, she didn’t know. Very few, aside from the witch right in front of her, were ever let out. And even then, they couldn’t leave the capital city.
“Do you have anything new in? Everything here is just so terribly boring. I want something that suits me. Why can’t you find something that suits me?”
Melinda, not thinking, almost opened her mouth to say the only thing that suited the Dame was a self-righteous snarl, but they weren’t known for keeping one’s feet warm.
“I believe we have some new stock coming in today. But—”
The Dame’s eyes flashed. “What was that word you just said?” She picked up her fingers like she was politely sipping tea. Her rings glinted like tiny little swords. “It better not have been but.”
At least Melinda did herself the dignity of not gulping. “I will just go and see if they’re ready.”
She turned. Technically she wasn’t meant to leave customers alone in the store, but the fact of the matter was that if the Dame wished to steal something, she could, and there’d be nothing Melinda could do.
As soon as she walked out of the door into the back room, she let the frown that had been fighting her lips claim them.
“What—” she froze. She could snarl all she wanted at the Dame’s wretched routine, but she had to be careful. No doubt though it was illegal, the Dame used her witch to eavesdrop.
So Melinda swallowed her insults.
The new stock would not be ready until the afternoon. And Melinda couldn’t rush that. But she could recycle old stock.
She found an old set of sturdy heels with an outrageously large pink button shaped like a rose on the top. They hadn’t sold a single pair.
Melinda could take a chance and assume that the Dame hadn’t seen them when they’d been in the store previously. Or she could get creative.
She searched around. She found another shoe from the same set in a different color and picked it up.
They didn’t match. That would be the point.
She walked out, a proud smile on her face. “I’m afraid these new shoes aren’t for the faint of heart.”
“I need a pair to try on, my dear,” the Dame said, her tone dropping in warning. That would be all you’d get. If you thought Cicero was bad, then you hadn’t met someone who would really skin you alive.
Melinda smiled wider. “I’m afraid this is the current fashion. One shoe of one color and one of another color. Most things only come alive when in contrast with their direct opposite, don’t you agree? It’s true of love, and true of shoes, too.” This was rich coming from her. It wasn’t like she’d ever had an odd pair of shoes, nor an odd lover. “It’s very popular in the eastern cities, I’m told.”
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