Handrus the smith had never blamed the half-daft charwoman for the loss of his son. Shortly after, though, his daughter, fair Iren, had been selected by Prince Rivulan; and shortly after that Chara's hut had accidentally burned to the ground. Handrus had given the aged woman space in his house. It kept out the ghosts and the emptiness, and sometimes transformed the place back into a home. She washed his clothing and cleaned, and spoke with dreamy eyes to the children she chanced to meet on the street.
Her hair grew sparser and her wrinkles grew thicker. She moved more slowly, but refused a cane. Her hearing began to fail, but her eyesight remained keen. And rumors began to reach Antrahil; rumors that were all too swiftly confirmed.
The kingdom was heading into war.
Not a very big kingdom to begin with, it was being eyed by a neighboring kingdom. Now, Rivulan III was neither a harsh nor a benevolent king -- the people paid their tribute in grain and manpower and the occasional mistress, but this was no better nor no worse than under other rulers in other lands. It was the thought of war and the bloodshed and the potential desolation and the loss of family and friend impressed into service that worried the people of Antrahil. That, and that a known ruler is better than an unknown.
Men, some boys really, were conscripted and sent to be trained. Handrus muttered, "Well, at least I know my son will not be slain on a battlefield." An undercurrent of bitterness.
It was late that week the coach rode into town.
A mere coach would not have caused such a stir. It was the retinue that followed and preceded it; and it was the woman who stepped out of it. Two women and a man, actually. All but one pair of eyes were on the tall, dark-haired woman who carried the diadem.
The herald chanted, "All bow for Princess Katarina."
Handrus recognized the other woman. She seemed fairly lost in these rural surroundings. Older and transformed from the child he'd known. He stepped forward; remembered that he had to bow to the princess before speaking to Iren.
"Father!" Her call was demure, yet affectionate. He looked up; saw the princess beckon him closer. The princess was tall and slender; otherwise she was homely of feature. His own daughter Iren outshown the princess. His own daughter!
They clasped each other tightly, ignoring stares from others.
"Are you home to stay?"
Iren looked around her with tears in her eyes. "I am here as the princess's lady-in-waiting. She came here to seek someone. We are here only so long as to fetch her."
"I have all of your letters." Iren smiled at that.
The man caught his attention.
"Fetch us the woman named Chara."
Chara? He knew better than to voice his confusion. "As you wish."
He found her in his house, baking bread.
"Everyone in town must be outside. The Princess Katarina is in town. A retinue like this is something to see. You should not be baking bread at a time like this."
Shrugging, Chara continued on with her work.
"They have asked me to bring you. They wish to speak with you for some reason. Do you know what it is? Are you in trouble? No, surely you could not be in trouble."
Wordlessly, she followed him out, licking flour from her fingers. There had been no time to find her dressier linen with which to impress the Princess. Once, he'd opened her trunk while she was out. Old, fancy brocades -- eaten by moths and stained by time.
Iren greeted her kindly, and she allowed herself a smile in return. The man accompanying the princess, introducing himself as Jaeris Plaice, dismissed all townsfolk within earshot. Handrus walked off with regret in his step, pausing to wait a street away with other onlookers under the tanner's sign.
The princess addressed the ancient woman.
"You were once a sorceress, Iren tells me."
"Yes," began Chara in a puzzled tone of voice. "I danced in the air. I killed a basilisk. But that is all in the past."
"Once a sorceress, always a sorceress. We have need of sorcery."
The man was shaking his head. "She can't do anything for us. A waste of time."
"I have all the time in the world, Jaeris," said the princess, very coldly. "She will remember for us."
"The magic is all dead," insisted the man. It seemed to be an old argument.
"No," said Iren. "It killed my brother. I am sure of it."
"She can remember for us," insisted the princess.
Chara shivered.
Over her advisor's recommendation, the princess decreed that Chara would ride with them inside the coach on a journey back to the palace.
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