"I knew it!" Klaribel burst out. Then she narrowed her eyes and rubbed her hands together like a greedy miser would do. "Come spring, I am going to teach you."
Calia looked around to the other servants and they all grinned back. Jos looked her in the eye and said, "Do not worry, just be as bad as me and fall off a lot and eventually she'll give up."
But Calia was excited. "No, I want to. I've never gotten to learn anything that did not have to do with cooking or cleaning or tending to my younger siblings."
Their smiles dimmed and they all seemed to turn inward. Calia panicked and kicked herself for killing the joy that had been in the room before she had entered. "I'm sorry," she pleaded.
Abelina patted her shoulder but it was Iago who spoke up. "No worries, dear. We all have our own painful pasts. It's just been a while since we've had a new one to incorporate."
Calia looked each of them over, taking in their ghost smiles and dull eyes. "Did all of you get chosen to come here?"
"Har!" Klaribel snorted. "I chose to come here."
Calia jerked her eyes back to the stable master. "I remember you said that. Do you regret it very much?" she whispered.
The stable master leaned over the table towards her until the braid hanging over her shoulder touched the rough top. "Never. Not once."
Calia frowned. "Really? Aren't you unhappy?"
"I am not unhappy now, I was unhappy then. I was lucky to be able to come here. Who knows what would have happened to me otherwise."
Curiosity burned but Calia bit back her questions. Surely the other servants had already heard the story and she did not want her to have to repeat something painful.
But Klaribel's eyes were already gleaming and she seemed to be gazing at a point over Calia's head. "I was eighteen. I should have been married already according to the shrew my father married after my mother died." Her eyes cut back to Calia's. "She was her sister. She knew how much money he was worth, the life my mother had lived. And she used every trick in the book, including making herself up to look more like my mother, to win him over." Klaribel scowled then continued her story. "I loved my dad. He had a horse farm in the valley. He let my brother's work with him every day but wouldn't let me no matter how much I begged. So when that did not work I just stole a pair of pants and followed him out to the barn one morning and wouldn't leave his side. It took a week before he finally stopped trying to shoo me away for my own good and began to teach me about the animals. I was eight."
Klaribel's shoulders slumped a little. "That was before my evil aunt came into our lives. By then it was pretty clear I wasn't ever going to marry, I did not want to marry and that I would spend the rest of my life taking care of my father's farm." Her lips twisted in a sad grin. "My own little happily ever after." Iago rubbed her shoulder and Klaribel leaned into him.
Calia could not help herself. "Then what happened?" she breathed.
"My aunt got it into my father's head that I should be a proper lady, a wife. We began to fight every day as she drove a wedge further and further between us. When they thought I was asleep I could hear her pestering him, saying that me being a farm hand wasn't what my mother wanted for me, that he was letting her down. It got to the point my father would throw me out of the barn if he found me in there. I thought about running away but it would kill him and my brothers if I disappeared and they never knew what happened to me."
Klaribel's smile returned and Calia found herself leaning forward, hanging onto every word. "And then the king came down from his mountain and demanded a horse master. Everyone was horrified, acting as though he had demanded the blood from ten virgins. The most terrified, though, was a girl much younger than me. She was going to be picked and she knew it. She was already taller than the boys her age and her hair was so fair you could almost see through it. And it really did not help she stumbled over every word she spoke. I remember seeing her in the square, bawling her eyes out, clinging to her mother who was bawling her eyes out."
"So what did you do?" Calia demanded even though she already knew the end of the story.
"So, I went home, packed my things, hid them in the barn and then waited in my room. My aunt came up the stairs, screaming at me to not even think about leaving and locked me in. I went out the window, picked my favorite horse and scattered the rest. And then I raced through town, breaking up their little meeting and pushed the horse as fast as it could run until I reached the castle."
Calia sat back, stunned. "What about your father?"
Klaribel shrugged. "He got his horse back. He tried to get me back as well but the king refused and I was glad he did. I still am." She saw the look on Calia's face and grew a little defensive. "My dad had his choice. And he chose her side so I chose mine. I could not live my life in anger and despair so he could make his new wife happy."
Iago smoothed a hand over hers and asked, "And how is your life now?"
She gave him a deep, genuine smile and leaned into his shoulder. "Happy and full."
Calia suddenly saw what she had been missing. The brash stable master and the slight, limping gardener were together.
"Were you locked in the dungeon as well?" Calia burst out suddenly.
Klaribel cocked her head to the side. "I was, for a short time."
"And yet you are grateful to our king? You … like him?"
"I do," Klaribel said stoically. "I owe him my life."
Suddenly Calia felt overly warm and confused. "Thank you for the story," she mumbled and shoved up from her seat. "Please excuse me."
"Calia," Abelina called out but Marchello interrupted her.
"Let her go. The first year is so hard, especially for one who did not choose this. Let her go and think."
Calia raced up the stairs, wiping her cheeks and found she had one more thing to thank the stodgy butler for.
She dove into her room, careful not to slam the door shut and stood with her back against it, tears streaming down her face. More comforts than she had ever had in her entire life at home were arranged before her. The fireplace blazed merrily just for her and the bed near it was also for her alone. The wardrobe was so full of clothes that it would barely shut. Even the bathing room was hers. All gifts from the king.
And she had friends, or at the very least people that were kind to her and did not pretend she did not exist-another thing she could thank the king for.
She had been terrified of him since the first day and while he wasn't friendly or particularly kind he was the one that provided all of the warm, good things. He could have worked her to the bone like her mother did and scarcely give her a nights rest before demanding she be back up and doing it again. He could have assigned her impossible tasks and berated her in front of everyone when she predictably failed. He could have never given a kind word but always a sharp, cruel one. But he didn't. Maybe the Cold King wasn't a lot of good things but he wasn't a lot of terrible things either.
Calia stood frozen against her door thinking these strange thoughts. She was a captive, a slave to the king. And all the merry people down stairs were slaves as well. "He locked you in a dungeon!" she hissed at herself, trying to bring back all the fear and uncertainty that had held sway over her since her first moment in the castle. But it wouldn't come back, not completely. And she still did not like the king, not at all. But everything nice and warm and comfortable in her life had come after he had entered it. Everything she had was only because he had chosen to give it to her and he had given her more wonderful things than she had ever known possible while living in the village-even as he took her freedom.
Calia shook and shivered and finally made her way over to her bed to wrap herself in a thick fur. She wasn't stupid. Happily ever after's weren't meant for girls like her, they were meant for the pretty, privileged girls who had families that loved them.
But maybe she could have her own small happiness. Maybe she could have a life with people that were kind and did not ignore her, who did not care what she looked like. She could have warmth and clothing and food and never have to worry or work so hard she broke. Calia fell asleep before her tears dried on her face.