all hail the underdogs chapter eight
Seven days. Seven days since Katharine had first arrived at Wolf Spring, and all she had done in that time was cry.
The carriage ride here? She spent crying.
Walking to the Milone’s home? Crying.
Greeting the members of the household? Well, she had actually managed to bite out a soft “hello” before her bottom lip began to tremble and the waterworks reappeared.
An older gentleman, who insisted upon being called Grandad Ellis, had looked startled at the noise, while his partner, Cait, immediately scooped up the frail queen in her arms.
Pulling away, her vision blurry, Katharine mistook her for Willa for a moment before she was hit with the potent smell of fish wafting from the pier which invaded every space in the town. That only sent her off more before Caragh took her up in her arms and up to the room she would now be sharing with Juillenne.
She spent three days lying around in bed before Cait stomped up the creaking stairs, mud caked boots squishing against the wooden floorboards, and dragged her out of bed, insisting, “So long as you are staying with us, everyone under this roof will be carrying their own weight.” She’d fixed her stern gaze on Katharine, “Including Queens.”
Four days passed before the man, Matthew Sandrin, who’d accompanied Caragh and Juillenne to Black Cottage, sauntered in through the door, loudly proclaiming his arrival, “Honey, I’m home!” A bright smile stretched over his face before he turned his head and he saw the small queen standing by the sink which dwarfed her, drying a plate. His smile faltered momentarily, reappearing as soon as she blinked. “Hello, my Queen. How are you doing today, beautiful?”
Beautiful.
Katharine wiggled her toes in the grass, letting out a content sigh as the sun warmed every inch of her skin exposed from the loose cotton pants and tank top she adorned.
Someone laid down next to her. Her sisters’ giggles sounded out from the side of the house.
Willa’s velvety fingers brushed against her cheek as she pushed loose strands of hair from Kat’s face. The little queen nuzzled into the touch, turning her head and opening up her eyes.
“‘You are so beautiful, my Queen. Small features, delicate bone structure, no one on the island will be able to take their eyes off of you in sixteen years.’”
Willa always called them beautiful. Always commented on their beauty, their brains, with a new compliment to tell them and make them blush every day, hearts swelling with happiness and pride.
Her eyes went glassy, lips wobbling as a fresh wave of tears began to form. Her hands shook, the dish towel and plate nearly falling from her grip. That was when Caragh swept back into the room, swatting Matthew Sandrin’s shoulder with a dish towel she held when she saw the distraught queen, whisking her back upstairs to the confines of her new room in her supposed new home.
The next two days had passed by, uneventful, with Caragh keeping that Matthew out of the house as she tried to coax any words from the queen. She hadn’t uttered more than three words since she had first stepped into the house.
Joseph Sandrin, the brother of Matthew Sandrin, made frequent appearances in the adventures Juillenne prattled on about at dinner time. He has caught fish with his bare hands - or so he claims, Julienne would laugh, rolling her eyes - and scared off all the bluebirds swarming the town when the two made a bet to see who could catch the most. He was Juillenne’s best friend.
To say they didn’t make a good first impression on one another would be an understatement.
Cait and Katharine sat in the living room, the graying woman knitting whilst the young queen, who’d attached herself to the woman rather quickly, watched from the other end of the small blue sofa. She was beginning to fall asleep, the gentle sounds of the raindrops hitting the cerulean shutters lulling her to sleep, when the door was thrown open in the kitchen, Juillenne’s voice ringing out, “Grandma Cait!”
“I’m in here. Shush, Jules. The Queen is asleep,” The rough rumble of Cait’s voice answered, hushed, as two pairs of feet trampled against the wooden floor and into the room.
Katharine’s eyes reluctantly open, blinking as a pair of soaked children her age appear in the doorway.
“Sorry, Grandma Cait,” Juillenne didn’t sound very sorry. Katharine sworn she saw peculiar colored eyes glance her way through the wet strands of hair covering Juillenne’s face.
“What is it, Jules?”
“It’s raining out! And Anne said we couldn’t go sailing in this weather.”
“Well, then you two best find something to do around here until the weather clears up.”
Jules’ shoes scuff against the wood as she turned towards her partner in crime, silently asking what he would like to do.
Joseph wasn’t paying her any mind, eyes on the young Queen curled up at the end of the couch. “Is that her?” He spoke up, pointing his finger right at Katharine.
Jules slapped his hand down, “Don’t do that! And yes, now let’s go upstairs.”
“She looks like the scrawny chicken Matthew and I put down last week.”
Beneath her curtain of hair, Katharine’s cheeks flare, the back of her eyes stinging.
A scrawny chicken?
She drew her legs in closer to her body. Her flat palms pressed harder against her midsection until she could feel their warmth through the light fabric of her shirt.
“Joseph!”
“By the Goddess, Joseph Sandrin, you best take that back right now before I feed you to the dogs,” Cait snapped from somewhere above Katharine’s head.
“I just don’t see how— she looks nothing like Queen Bernadine did.”
“Queens aren’t identical.”
“I know, but...,” there was a pause.
The couch shifted as Cait stood up. “Joseph Sandrin,” she warned, back towards Katharine, blocking the girl from seeing the look she shot the boy.
There was another moment of tense silence before a squawking sound from upstairs rang throughout the house. Cait sighed, “I best go see what that is. Be good, Jules,” she laid a hand on her granddaughter’s shoulder before briskly hurrying out of the room.
Katharine bit back the urge to bolt up, insisting she go with Cait and not be left with Juillenne and her rude friend, but Cait had already disappeared out of the room.
Juillenne glared at Joseph when Grandma Cait was out of ear shot, hissing, “This is our queen. What on Fennbirn were you thinking, comparing her to a chicken?!”
Joseph shrugged, shaking his hair out of his eyes. He looked almost bored, not at all sorry for his earlier commentary. “Look at her, Jules. Have you ever seen her use her gift before? She’s just another forgettable naturalist queen. The poisoners will sit on the throne forever at this rate.”
The brunette’s face was starting to turn red, hands balled into tight fists at her side. “You don’t know that! She’s strong! She is.”
“You are the one who said she bawls like a child every night,” he counters. “Not very queen-like if you ask me. Do you think Queen Bernadine did that?”
“She has been taken from her sisters! Wouldn’t you cry too if Matthew was taken from you?”
“Jules, she looks like the a heavy wind can carry her away. You don’t seriously expect her to outlast the poisoner or the elemental, do you?”
Katharine shut her burning eyes, burying her face further into the couch cushion as if that could help her escape this conversation. Weak. Weak.
She wanted to cut in. She wanted them to startle, Joseph blushing scarlet when he realized that she overheard it all. Katharine wanted to stand, mimicking the shoulders-back, head-held-high, proud, regal pose Willa taught them during one of their lessons. The one Mirabella and Arsinoe pulled off flawlessly, naturally, Mira bearing a stark resemblance to the Queens of Old from their pictures in their history books, and Arsinoe looking almost.. scary. Her resting glare and straight back sewing together the image of an intimidating and unapologetic queen.
“‘A Queen does not have to feel strong always. But if she can look it, and instill a confidence into her people, she is strong, even when she feels her weakest.’”
She is a Daughter of the Goddess. She is the sister of Queens Mirabella and Arsinoe. She is of queenblood, a naturalist, capable of making the prettiest flowers grow and the scariest animals cower at her feet!
But she couldn’t swallow the lump in her throat, she couldn’t blink the tears away, nor swing her legs onto the floor and will herself to stand. All she could do was lie there, face burning under tangled hair, and pale chicken legs present for anyone who walked into the room to see.
“Joseph Sandrin, you bumbling fool. You’re a traitor! How could you think that of your own queen?!” A furious voice snapped out, loud before falling back into an angry hush, as if the speaker reminded herself that the person she defended was sleeping just steps away. “She will put an end to the poisoner reign, and I know it!”
“Goddess, Jules! Why are you getting so pissed about this?! You know it’s true! No one in Wolf Spring has seen her once! They’re already whispering about her.”
“Becau—! You know what? Let’s just go upstairs. I’m surprised she hasn’t woken up already from your idiocy.”
Joseph let out an angry breath of air, crossing his arms. His eyebrows were drawn down, a large crease between his brows. “Fine,” he bit out, turning and stomping out of the room. There was a small pause, and Katharine began to stir. She flipped over onto her back, letting out a shaky breath, eyes glued to the ceiling. It was covered in old water stains and dirt around the edges. The bags under her eyes felt sore, her eyes heavy as she blinked back tears. She felt weak. Beaten, and battered, and out of breath. Her own people. Her own people didn’t have any faith in her. They didn’t believe she’d be a good queen. That she’d… outlast her sisters, whatever that means. She reached up, rubbing her chest before moving to sit up, determined to find Cait, or Caragh, for some comforting words and a cup of chamomile tea with honey. Lots and lots of honey.
The Queen sat up, head turning towards the door to guarantee Juillenne and her friend were gone before standing.
Sharp blue-and-green watched her silently from the doorway.
“Jules!” The boy’s voice cried, from far up, as she startled that the brunette had been watching her all this time, “Hurry up!”
Without a word, the girl merely blinked at Katharine, before turning and running off wordlessly. Her footsteps clomped heavily against the squeaky old steps. “I’m coming!”
It was later that night, long after dinner in which a bewildered Cait had recounted Aria’s odd behavior — squawking and flying around in wild circles, dive bombing towards Cait’s and the other familiars’ heads in a frenzy, that Katharine finally got time alone with Juillenne.
The little queen had already settled into bed, teeth brushed and soft night shorts and shirt on, watching curiously as Juillenne bustled around the room. One moment, she’d be throwing on her worn pajamas, the next her attention would be caught on the flowers on the sill. Katharine would watch, captivated, as the girl would brush her fingers against the yellowing leaves, the calla lilies bursting up into full bloom, the vibrant green and white standing out against the faded walls and dirty windows.
Finally, finally, when Caragh came upstairs to scold Juillenne to get into bed and stop lollygagging, did Katharine get her chance. She took in a deep breath, fingers curling around the cool sheets, eyes locked on a random inky spot of darkness above them. She could make out the faint outline of the rafters above.
“Juillenne?” She called out, timidly.
“Jules. Not Juillenne. Remember?”
There was a beat of silence, Katharine took another breath to steel herself before she began again.
She could hear the bed creaking, and the rustling of covers before Jules’ confused voice reached her. “What for?”
“I… I eavesdropped. Before. During your conversation with that.. that boy. Joseph.”
“Are you kidding?! I should be apologizing to you. No. I should be whacking that dimwit upside the head for saying such, uh, blas— blaz— blasp— mean things! Don’t listen to him, Kat, he doesn’t know what he’s talkin’ about. It’s all his dad, filling his head with dumb thoughts.”
Katharine blinked, too taken aback by the angry rant from the other bed to take into account the new, well, not new, but the new use of the nickname from anyone other than her sisters. “Oh,” she managed, flushing red. She didn’t.. she didn’t know it made Jules so mad. She didn’t understand why it did, but it made the little girl feel a bit better that Jules was being so kind to her, defending her against that Joseph Sandrin, her best friend, warm swelling in the bottom of her full belly.
Jules quieted down for a moment, “We… We never had a powerful queen before. Not from here. Not since Queen Bernadine and Queen Yasmin.”
“But you'll change that. I know you will.”
“How can you sound so confident that I will? All I’ve ever done is cry since my arrival… like a… like a child,” her voice lowered, Katharine shifting around in her sheets, ashamed. Her fingers fiddled with a loose string in the knitted quilt Caragh had gifted her during her first night at the Milone’s home. It was pale green, with petals and flowers sewn all over the edges and a big rose smack in the middle.
“Because,” she insisted, voice firm, “I’m going to help you, of course. We’ll show Joseph, and his dad, and everyone who doubts you. We’ll show them how wrong they are. And I’ll protect you from all of them until you can shut them up yourself, okay?”
Kat bit her bottom lip, high cheeks flushing pink as she listened to Jules’ squeaky, confident voice.
Jules yawned, “First thing tomorrow, I’m gonna show you around town. You need to know all the best places to go.”
“Go to hide in! Madge always give chase whenever we try and steal her clams,” Kat giggled at the girl’s disgruntled tone, and agreed.
Seven days. It took seven days before Katharine finally managed to sleep through the night, chest light, eager for what awaited her the next day. Mirabella and Arsinoe’s cries and yells didn’t shape her dreams that night, but rather the memories of them running around outside, laughing and trying to push each other into the riverbed. Arsinoe putting up quite a fuss when Katharine managed to trip her, falling face first into the cold water.
She couldn’t recall the exact time it reshaped itself into her and Jules laughing as they ran through the woods to the right of the Milone’s home.
A wet sob vibrates through her chest. The young girl’s arms cling tightly around her knees, face buried in them. Her head is pounding, drying tear tracks clung to her cheeks.
“‘“Queen Arsinoe and Queen Katharine . . . They are weak. Mirabella will kill them easily. Quickly. Certainly faster than any of these poisoner queens have managed to kill their sisters.’”
“You want me to kill my sisters?”
“Why worry about such dull, grown-up business? And now we have frightened you and ruined this sweet surprise.”
“A queen is to kill her sisters?”
“No.”
Rain pelts against the roof and sides of the house. It gets harder and harder, turning into hail. Thunder booms against the cliffs of Blackway. Bree, crying, covers her ears in fear.
Sara, reaching out for her. Screams, her screams, and then the flames flare from the candles, scorching the walls. Sara yells, “Put them out!”
Miles, teeth clenched, snuffing out the candles. The storm grows. They can’t stop it. They can’t stop her.
They want her to kill them. They want her to kill them. Her Katharine. Her Arsinoe. Her loving sisters, who begged her to braid their hair and play. Her sisters, who screamed for her when she was taken away from them.
The shutters are torn from the house, windows rattle. They threaten to shatter. The foundation shakes as lightning strikes. The electricity shoots through her feet, her gift swelling through her bloodstream.
“I will not!” Heat coils dangerously in the pit of her stomach, a blinding white beating back the pain that rockets through her head. She struggles to her feet, body straining and limbs trembling, protesting against her movements.
“I will never, I will never, I will n—,” her screams are cut off as a blinding pain shoots through the back of her head. Mirabella’s vision darkens as she crumples to the ground like a limp doll.
I will never. I will never.
“I will never,” she screeches, Mirabella’s hand shot out. The flames jump from her fingers, slicing through the air and slamming into the wooden furniture stacked neatly together across the blackened room. The room has a musty smell, cement floor cold and wet. Mirabella lays in the middle of shelves and boxes stacked with expensive furniture, clothing, toys, decorations. Her breaths come out ragged, though the queen is unsure if that is due to the heavy, wet air or from her own crying fit when she awoke, Miles’ and Sara’s words slamming into her full force.
She feels numb, words rotating and tumbling over each other in her head, feeling sick. A queen is expected to kill her sisters. The elemental feels her eyes prick once more with tears, recalling the Westwood’s words, the townspeople’s words, with startling clarity.
“What chance does a docile queen have, even with a gift as strong as hers?”
Her fingers grip tightly to the velvety skirt of her dress, an even farther memory pushing itself into the forefront of her mind.
The caretaker turned towards the soft voice, mouth open from where she was cut off mid sentence to face the small queen, frowning down at her book.
“Arsinoe!” Mirabella hissed, eyes narrowed on her impolite sister. Her eyes snake back towards Willa, who doesn’t look upset as she eyed Mirabella’s younger sister.
Arsinoe didn’t look like she heard Mira, ignoring her sister’s admonishment to meet Willa’s eyes. “Why don’t we ever learn about these queens’ sisters?”
Mirabella blinked, annoyance forgotten as she slid back in her seat, turning back over to Willa as curiosity filled her. Arsinoe was right, why didn’t they ever read about the queens’ sisters?
“Yeah,” Katharine piped up, so quiet the others had almost forgotten she was even there. The fact that she actually sat through a whole lesson without getting admonished at least once was a major accomplishment the others could help but feel a swell of pride towards her for. Normally the naturalist couldn’t stand sitting still, much less indoors, for lessons. “I wanna know what type of familiars the naturalist queens had! I’m so bored reading about Bernadine’s dumb wolf, and Yasmin’s doe.”
“Want to,” Willa corrected her instinctively. Mirabella’s eyebrows draw together, there was something off about their caretaker but she couldn’t put her finger on it. It was a minuscule change, a change the queen couldn’t pinpoint or see.
“Willa!” Arsinoe whined, pressing herself up against the side of the polished dark brown table and turning her head up towards Willa with big, pleading eyes. Willa could never deny Katharine when she pleaded with her to spend just a little more time outside, large eyes wobbling, the poisoner picked up on. It never failed for her either. Then again, none of them could deny Willa spoiled Arsinoe the most, letting her have the occasional sip of her may wine and choose what they baked for dessert.
The midwife’s lips pursed. Her girls were persistent. They wouldn’t take no for an answer.
“Well, there is no reason to. These are the queens that take the throne, the other queens end up moving to the mainland, living out the rest of their days happily until their sister comes to join them at the end of her reign.”
“But how do they pick who becomes queen?”
“Oh, it’s a trivial little thing. A little contest of gifts they perform at Beltane after their sixteenth birthday.”
It is a fight to the death. Queen pitted against Queen pitted against Queen. There is no happy ending for queens, Willa lied to them. Tears blur Mirabella’s vision as another anguished sob rips through her. Flames whip out from her fingertips, smoke coiling upwards towards the unseeable ceiling. Sparks crackle in the air, wood creaking as the furniture burns in the corner of the room.
Another outraged scream passes through her.
The elemental sinks down to her knees, skirt pooled out around her. The wet concrete presses uncomfortably against her burning skin.
Upstairs, the servants are deathly quiet as Sara Westwood instructs them to clean up the mess the queen made.
No one acknowledges the screams and cries coming from the basement door.
