The Kingmaker: The Kingmaker Series, #1

Everleigh

I AM SIXTEEN YEARS old and I will die on the morning of my seventeenth birthday.

As tradition dictates, I will be sacrificed and my life’s blood will determine which one of my two brothers will be King.

My blood will kill one and crown one.

My name is Everleigh, and I am the Kingmaker.

Lanorie

BECAUSE THERE’S LESS than a week till Everleigh’s seventeenth birthday, it’s the Kingmaker’s feast. It’s the biggest celebration I’ve ever seen, and I’ve been with her since I was seven and she was nine.

The food – more dishes than I’ve ever seen, and they usually have a lot. This is something else, though. There’s a cooked duck with all the feathers pushed back in so it looks like it’s still alive and a peacock with his tail all fanned out.

Everleigh is eating and drinking like she hasn’t a worry in the world. I think I’d feel too sick if I was her. To be honest with you, I don’t know how she does it; she’s never miserable. If I knew someone would slit my throat in less than a week’s time I wouldn’t feel like a feast.

Ah, well, that’s that – she’s the Kingmaker as her aunt was before her. She’s a princess too, so she gets the best of everything. Oh, you should see some of her clothes, the dresses and furs – fit for a Queen, never mind a princess. And her jewellery, you’ve never seen anything like it. One of the King’s favourites sent her an emerald the size of an egg.

She lets me have her cast-offs too – I’m the best-dressed handmaiden this castle has ever seen.

I mean princess is one thing, but Kingmaker is something else. Everyone loves her, no one can take their eyes off her. It’s like everyone wants to make up for the fact that she’ll die so young.

Look at Addyson. She’s a princess too, but no one cares about her. But then she’s got the curse on her, so maybe they would if she wasn’t cursed. We’ll never know that though, will we?

The curse? Oh, well, her mother died in childbirth. It’s so unlucky to start your life by ending another – it’s the worst thing. She’s cursed now. Of course, lots of women die during childbirth, so all those children can’t be cursed, but little Addyson killed a Queen, see. A Queen is sacred. The King himself can hardly look at her. Her brothers are nice enough, and Everleigh’s like a mother to her. But she probably won’t ever marry, nor have children of her own. What man would want to marry the cursed one? Poor Addyson. Of course, she doesn’t know any of that. She doesn’t understand why the King can’t stand the sight of her and bless her; she trails around after him, like a hound trailing around Cook for some scraps. Poor girl.

Hang on, Everleigh’s caught my eye. I bet she wants topping up – the amount of wine she can put away – oof.

I was right; wine.

Oh, it’s just so fancy and lovely here tonight. I topped up her drink and then Millard caught my eye – that’s her brother; you know – one of the brothers who might be King. I reckon it’ll be him – Macsen’s too soft. Kings need to be strong and powerful – and you should see the muscles on Millard.

So, I topped him up too. Oh, he’s awfully handsome. He’s younger than Macsen, but I bet it’ll be him. They don’t even look like brothers really, if you didn’t know you’d never be able to tell. Millard is more handsome. He is tall, with a mop of dark hair and dark eyes. Macsen is shorter and fatter, his hair is blonde like Addy’s and his eyes are a lighter brown than Millard’s. He’s not ugly, but he’s not as pleasing on my eye as his brother.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes – this feast. So, I’m standing on the side of the great hall and, oh, it is great. When you walk in through the doors, the throne is straight ahead of you, but so far it would take you five minutes to get there. It’s full of tables and benches now, but usually it’s a bit less crowded. The walls and the ceiling are painted with glorious pictures. It’s so beautiful. I’m on my tiptoes trying to see it all.

I’ve never seen a Kingmaker’s feast before and it is fancy. The main table’s enormous and covered in dishes of food and jugs of ale and wine, too much for any of them to eat – we’ll have a feast tonight in the kitchen, I tell you.

There are so many visitors here too – hundreds of people I’ve never seen before. A Kingmaker’s feast is something to behold, apparently. It makes me sad and cross. We’ve always known it was coming, of course, but knowing it and being here are different. I feel sick all the time. 

Everleigh’s face is flushed from wine, and she’s eating loads. She’s waving her spoon around as she talks to Macsen. She looks so lovely tonight. Lots of the King’s men have their eye on her, especially Brett. Not that there’s much point, though. Poor Everleigh, she’ll never marry. What would be the point? She’ll be dead soon.

Oh, when I say it like that, so matter of fact – which it is – oh, it still makes me shiver. How can she live knowing she’ll die at such a young age? It would kill me.

I think this feast is sad really, celebrating the last days of her life. Cook said there’ll be a blessing later, not sure who does it though, probably the wise woman. Wait till you see her, oh she is creepy.

Well, the entertainment has started, there’s singing now, and it’s wonderful. There’s the usual crew, three of them. They sing and play for the King’s entertainment, and it’s so good.

Hang on, summoned again.

Oh, cheeky Millard – he just patted me on my backside. He’ll be King for sure – I might not be Kingmaker, but you can just tell, can’t you?

Why not just make him King then? Indeed. It would spare Everleigh’s life, wouldn’t it?

No, the tradition of Kingmaker has been around forever. Every King is made by the Kingmaker. It’s always the first-born daughter that comes after at least two boys. That’s the one who holds the magic. Well, magic’s not my word – I’m not one for all that dilly dallying. But magic, they say it is.

So, King Henry had his two boys and then Everleigh, and then Addyson. So Everleigh will die and so will one of the boys.

Oh, I don’t understand it all really. Apparently, the Kingmaker has the magic blood of the royal line in her. So, when she dies, this magic passes on to one of her brothers. Whichever one survives drinking her life’s blood will be King. Ugh, I know – I love Everleigh but I wouldn’t want to drink her blood. They don’t drink much but it will kill one and crown the other.

Ah well. So, the singers have finished and now come the dancers. Soon they’ll all join in and well, to see Everleigh dance you’d think she hasn’t a care in the world.

I love dancing. We dance up a storm in the kitchen at night. I’m not allowed to dance here, of course, but I can’t stop my feet tapping.

I don’t sleep in with Everleigh – she likes her peace, so I leave her to it. It means I get to eat, dance and drink in the kitchen all night, so I’m happy.

Well, there’s something to see. The King is dancing. He doesn’t normally dance. In fact, this might be the first time I’ve seen it. And tonight, of all nights. He probably feels guilty.

Well, the mood’s a funny one. Macsen is his normal self; I can tell – nothing seems to bother him. Cook reckons he’s a little soft in the head, but that seems a bit harsh to me. He’s always smiling. And Millard seems happy enough too. He’s a born King, if you ask me. And our poor King Henry. Maybe he’s dancing to celebrate his last week as King. He’ll be shipped off somewhere when the new King is crowned. Not sure where they go, really. I must ask Cook.

Only thing is, he’ll have to go by himself. Oh, poor man, he never got over the Queen dying like she did. Everleigh looks so much like her, and Addyson probably will as well. No wonder he can’t look at Addyson. It broke his heart when the Queen died. 

What can I say? One daughter’s got the death curse on her, and the other’s the Kingmaker. One boy will die, and one will rule, and the King’ll be sent elsewhere, anyway.

Who would ever want to be King?

Anyway, he seems happy enough tonight. I enjoy watching him dance. He looks younger. They’re marvellous dancers, both of them. He adores Everleigh. Don’t know how he’ll cope when she dies, but what can he do? She is the Kingmaker. That’s what she was born to do.

I only asked her about it once – being Kingmaker, you know, and she was so matter of fact about it I didn’t ask again. There was no weeping or wailing, no tears. Not that I was hoping for any, of course. She just said: I am the Kingmaker, with a little shrug of her shoulders.

I suppose if you’ve known something since you were so young you wouldn’t even think to question it.

That’s what she said to Cook when Cook asked her too. She said, do you question why you are a cook and I’m a princess? Why one man is King and another a pauper? Why one newborn child will die, and one will live? How some can survive the black death and others will die almost instantly?

It’s true, though. This world is funny – I think I’d rather be me than her. Poor Everleigh – she’s too lovely to die.

Well, I’m glad I’m just her handmaiden. Maybe once she’s gone, Millard will give me a job in the new royal household. Aye, he’ll be looking for a wife too. You never know my luck.   

Oh, I can’t believe I even thought that. Don’t listen to me. I’m quite giddy with this wonderful night. The music, the laughter, the dancing – the spirits are high in everyone, not just me. Cook brought out a dish earlier and was dancing a jig with one of the stable boys, and she normally just hits them. The girls are grinning, and the boys are laughing. The would-be Kings are relaxed and smiling. The King is as happy as I’ve ever seen him. And I see him every day.

And Everleigh.

Well, this girl who will die too soon is something else. All eyes are on her. She’s so lovely.  

So, this is it. Less than a week to go. I can hardly believe it. It’ll fly by, I tell you.

Oh, hang on the King’s on his feet, Everleigh’s taken his arm. They’re going to the throne. Oh, he’s sitting down now. She’s kneeling in front of him. Hang on; I will stand on my stool. She’s still kneeling on the floor and he’s still sitting.

I can’t see – I think someone’s come in to the hall – everyone’s looking but it’s too far away. Curse me for being short.

It’s the wise woman.

Ooh, I can’t help but shudder when I see her. She scares the life out of me. I avoid her at all costs. Whenever I pass her, wherever we are, I can’t meet her eyes. I did once, when I first came here, and a shiver went right through me and I swear, all my hair stood on end.

She has the highest place in the court, except for the King and his children, but she’s a scary old thing, if you ask me.

She’s shuffling across to the throne. Her face is covered with the black hood she always wears. She’s stopped in front of Everleigh.

Oh, I hope she’s not the one who sacrifices her. She’s enough to frighten someone half to death without raising a knife to them. I don’t like to ask Everleigh anything about it, so I just nag Cook.

Everleigh’s head’s still down, her neck must be killing. The King is watching the wise woman. Her name’s Halfreda and I make it my life’s work to stay out of her way. I like the witch from the village better, Ginata. She’s so pretty. I try not to take much notice of Halfreda, to be honest. She looks at me like she’s judging me. I keep right out of her way.

She’s put her hands on Everleigh’s head. Ooh, I did – I shivered again – I can’t help it.

Everleigh’s standing up now, everyone’s looking at her. Millard’s eyes are so wide. He’s smiling too. I bet he’s thinking he’ll be King. 

Oh, what’s she doing now? She’s saying something, but I can’t hear it, I’m too far away. Everleigh’s kneeling again, and now the King is standing. He’s talking now.

I can hear mumbling, but I can’t make out the words.

Oh, Millard and Macsen are going to the throne now. One’s standing on either side of Everleigh. Halfreda has a hand on each head.

Everleigh just stood up. She’s got a hand on each of their heads now too. Ooh, they’re kneeling.

Oh, I don’t really know what it’s all about. Another question for Cook. No wonder she rolls her eyes when she sees me coming.

Ah well.

Now the singers are singing again and Everleigh’s hugging her father and her brothers.                

Oh, they’re coming back to their seats. I think it’s all over with.

Well, it was a bit exciting. The countdown begins now; I guess.

Less than one week until she’s dead. And then what?

1

THE FIRST TIME EVERLEIGH’S mother, Isabella, Queen of the Realm, explained to Everleigh her duty, her role as Kingmaker, her cruel fate, she couldn’t stop crying. She started with silent tears, trailing down her beautiful face, as she explained both the age-old traditions and the potent magic that combined to make Everleigh’s life so special.

Then the sobs came, her entire body shaking, as she told Everleigh how she would live a short but very special, very important life.

Finally came the deep shuddering breaths as she fought to regain some control while she tried to make her daughter understand that she would die so that one of her brothers could become King.

Her father Henry, the King of the Realm, took over, letting her mother’s lady-in-waiting take her away and call the doctor for a sleeping draught. She was heavily pregnant, and he wanted to spare her from too much upset.

Her father sat next to her; she was only five years old, and he told her about the magic that filled her blood, the sacred traditions that all Kings must follow, and the special, special little girl that she was.

When he asked her if she understood, if she felt okay with it all, she nodded, as she always did when her father asked her anything. She always wanted to please him.

He was the most important man in the entire Realm and he loved her. He sought her company. He tried to make her laugh. She had always felt special because of him and she wanted him to love her more. So, she always dressed prettily. She always tried extra hard at her reading. She practised sewing for hours, pricking her thumb repeatedly, just to initial clothes for his birthday. She didn’t really understand what being Kingmaker meant. But she nodded, because that was what her father, the King, wanted.

Her daily life didn’t change after they told her. She was only five, so she spent most of her days playing. A nurse looked after her and her two brothers, Macsen and Millard, and together they would splash in the river, trail through the forest and ride horses.

Her mother, Isabella, looked pained every time she saw her and didn’t spend a lot of time with the three of them, because of the baby; everyone in the castle knew she was hoping for another little girl to replace Everleigh. But with her days filled with laughter and play, Everleigh wasn’t bothered that much.

The three of them were extremely spoiled because they were the royal children. That was their privilege. If they wanted something, then they got it. Macsen didn’t want for much, Millard’s demands were extreme and Everleigh’s were somewhere in between.

Their father indulged them all completely, and Everleigh always got special treats that she hadn’t even asked for. First, she was the only princess in the Realm, and second, she was Kingmaker. She was doubly special.

A month after Everleigh turned five Queen Isabella had given birth to a perfect baby daughter and died after complications but, as it does, life went on for the family and on her tenth birthday her father gave her an important book, enormous and leather bound, called The Kingmaker.

Everleigh sat in her chamber and flicked through the pages. 

It had all the information behind the tradition of the Kingmaker and it also had a page for every Kingmaker through the history of the Realm, with their likeness and story, the date they were born and the date they were sacrificed.

On the last written page was her name, the date that she was born and the day that she would be sacrificed. 

She hadn’t known that word. She was only ten.

It was times like that she had missed her mother the most. Without her to turn to she asked Nurse, and she had told her: it was the offering of an animal, plant or human life, usually to please the gods.

When Everleigh asked what an offering was, Nurse got a little teary eyed and had run out of the room.

And then Everleigh asked her brothers.

She could still remember the look on both of their faces.

Macsen had looked wide eyed and frightened. He bit his lip, and tears filled his eyes. He took a step towards her; he was so much taller, almost grown at fifteen, and slipped an arm around her shoulders.

Millard’s reaction was different. His eyes were bright, but not with tears, Everleigh was only ten and hadn’t been able to read his expression. But she knew it wasn’t sorrow. He turned his mouth down and tried to look sad, but his eyes were shining with something else.  

With the sad look plastered on his face, he stepped between Everleigh and Macsen, You’re the Kingmaker. You are the offering. You will die and one of us will be King. Millard had been thirteen. 

And so it dawned on her.

And once it dawned on her, it became the very beat of her heart.

From that day forward her first thought upon waking was that she would die. Her last thought before going to sleep was that she would die – but not naturally or at the random hands of fate like other people. Her death was decided when they announced she was a girl born and not another boy. She would die at the hands of someone on the morning of her seventeenth birthday. It was decided.

Her role as Kingmaker coloured everything.

When her father disclosed the girls that her brothers would be betrothed to – should they live and rule, she couldn’t stop thinking she would never be matched, that she would never dance in the arms of the man that she loved while he gazed adoringly in to her eyes.

Her role and her duty defined her so completely.

And now the countdown had really begun, less than one week left of her short, special life.

Halfreda

I HAVE BEEN SLEEPING so much more than normal. I believe the dreams are sending me messages. I have such a powerful feeling about this one – stronger than I have ever had before; I think she might be the one.

I know what people think when they look at me, half of them revere me and half of them fear me.

I admit I exaggerate my persona but never ever my powers. My powers are genuine. I know things and I see things. I see things that haven’t happened yet but will happen. I know a person’s heart – I can see greatness and badness, trust or ill will. I know if someone is cursed before they tell me. I know if a woman is with child before she does. I know the private thoughts of people. Some people. Not everyone – some people are good at hiding their true self, blocking off the signals I pick up, but mostly I can.

My persona is something else. I have a little fun with the chanting – not all of which is strictly necessary. I enjoy staring at someone and then letting my eyes roll back in my head as if I have been overcome with some secret thing to do with them – that trick gets everyone in a fluster.

But I’m a good woman and a useful one. I help the King. I use my powers to advise him. I use my knowledge to guide him, and I have never shown him wrong. The Realm is peaceful and prosperous, and I know that I have helped with that.

But my actual purpose, the reason my teacher placed me here at the castle, has eluded me thus far. Through no fault of my own, I must add.

So, the blessing is over and here I am making up a future fire to see what I can see.

I’ve gathered the wood and started the fire, the flames licking upwards and warming my room. I’ve put all the necessary ingredients in to my bowl over the fire. The liquid is swirling. I’m trying to see if my hunch is correct. If I’m right about Everleigh.

Ah, I’m fed up of this puzzle. The fire will not show me anything, but does that mean I am wrong or that the future is too uncertain?

Where is my knowledge now?

Every time a Kingmaker comes to this final countdown in their life, I intervene. Everleigh is the seventh Kingmaker I have known. That may give you an idea of my age, I know, and yes, I am older than anyone I have ever met.

The teacher told me I will live until my life’s purpose is completed