A Wintertide Spell by Jody Wallace

 
     
    Chapter 1
     
    The last hair of the King’s tawny
fur coat disappeared around the corner. Queen Geneva maneuvered herself out
from behind the flower seller’s cart before she lost sight of the sneaky
bastard who called himself her husband.
    Maneuvering herself was no simple
matter, all things considered.
    The saleslady shot her a knowing
look. She selected a bouquet of small purple blooms, a Kingdom Foresta
specialty even in the cold, infertile season, and offered it to Geneva. “Might I
interest you in a posy of heartsease?”
    “Thank you, no. I’m in a rush.”
Normally she would converse with her citizens, but right now she was both angry
and incognito. Her lower back ached, and dirty road sludge weighed down her
nondescript cloak and gown at the hem.
    “I would be in a rush, too, were my
babe due any day,” the seller observed. “Luck to you, madam.”
    Geneva tugged her hood closer to
her face and hurried past, her fury increasing with every cold, miserable,
plodding step. Wind gusted down the streets of the capital city as if blown by
giants, funneled by the tall buildings on either side. Wintertide was one day
away, and the Wintereve Feast was tonight. By all rights she and her husband
should be warm and cozy at the castle’s hearth, toasting one another with
mulled cider, stringing cranberries and awaiting the birth of their third
child.
    Due any day, indeed!
    She was far too pregnant and
exhausted to be trailing Reginald as he skulked toward his latest assignation.
Her feet had bloated over the tops of her sheepskin-lined boots. False
contractions hardened her womb so frequently, it stole her breath. Yet here she
was, lumbering along as quickly as she could, because there was no one else she
could trust with such a delicate mission. Not even Nurse Binny, home with
Princesses Susannah and Calypso. Instead of enlisting the older woman’s help,
she’d told her she had to purchase last minute Wintertide gifts. Binny, bossy
as an old fairy, had threatened to call the court healer to prevent Geneva from
going.
    But Geneva was Queen. She was the
Queen of Foresta, the pregnant Queen of Foresta, the pregnant and cranky Queen
of Foresta, and by the Dragon, her will would be done.
    Her will would be done by everyone
except her sneaking, cheating skunk of a husband.
    Geneva reached the corner of Flower
Street to see Reginald whip into the little alleyway where she’d nearly caught
him the first time. Her heart lurched at the sight of him, and she resisted the
urge to call out. To beg him to stop whatever he was doing, to renounce whoever
he was seeing, and come home with her. Instead she waddled down the sidewalk,
her huge abdomen earning her more space as men and women made room for the
pregnant lady with the scowl.
    At least Foresta was a polite
kingdom. If anyone had given her trouble on one of her unhappy scouting
missions, she might have had to retract the law currently in place that forbade
putting criminals, or people who annoyed the King and Queen, to death.
    Geneva walked faster, hoping to
finish this. Yet once again, when she reached the alley, there was no sign of
the man.
    Damn and blast. Where could he be
going? The narrow passage led straight to Sundry Street. No detours, no doors,
no ladders, not even any garbage. The cleanest alley in all of Kingdom Foresta,
and her husband managed to hide in it.
    Next time, she would bring the
magic sniffing pig, if she could coax the animal out into nasty weather like
this. Not as inconspicuous, alas, but more effective than her human eyes.
    Geneva squeezed between the
buildings, the press of bricks on her body icy through her thick, woolen cloak.
She inspected every brick and cobblestone, again, desperate for an explanation.
She longed to put an end to the King’s deception, but she was not a woman to
accuse without proof. Seeing him disappear in an alley wasn’t enough.
    But she would find evidence. And
once she had it, she would wield it like a