The Dead Man’s Palace
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Blind
Cecilia could sense it now,
like a trickle of water seeping
through a cracked rock.
All her life there had been a pond
of magical energy that had quenched her
without her noticing.
But for fifteen months
the corpse man had been swimming in it,
letting it soak through his pores as she
sat there in ignorance, letting him steal
what made her special.
The pond had been empty
but the small steady flow
was there, dripping back in and
offering a few patchy puddles.
Havana felt like Lidea now,
a bottomless hole that her magic would
fall forever in, so Cecilia focused
her gaze on the corpse man.
His very being hummed with her essence,
beating around his body and releasing an aura
of authority and loyalty.
‘You were so greedy,’ Cecilia tutted.
‘You drunk me up without hesitation.
I thought you would have recognised
this type of magic and be repulsed.
But I guess a leech doesn’t
care who it latches onto and drains,
as long as it tastes good.
The corpse man frowned at her,
but slowly his eyes widened in dawning horror.
‘But Lidea promised…’ His gaze fell
to the body on the floor, shaking his head.
‘I can’t. I can’t go through that again.’
He sprang forward like Havana had with Lidea,
but Cecilia was prepared,
she still held the knife.
She felt rather than saw his hands
on either side of her head, ready to
snap her neck. A predator most
could never contend with.
The moment he touched her
she focused every last drop of power
and looked into his eyes.
All his resistance, thoughts and personality
died, leaving an empty, powerful toy to play with.
‘Now,’ she purred, holding the knife out to him.
‘Protect me,
and give back what is mine.’
Sacrifice
Havana was watching the scene
unfold but was finding it hard to focus.
She felt severed from reality, unable
to touch emotions or remember why
she should care about stopping Cecilia.
For three months she had felt thankful
to the half-starved creature who had bought her.
Now Havana had a bubble-void
around her, blocking all influence, but
still not enlightening her to the truth.
The dead witch, Lidea, was Cecilia’s mother?
And Havana had helped kill her,
falling further into the depths of monstrosity
for Cecilia’s sake,
to then be proclaimed a mere sacrifice?
Her thoughts were halted when the
most enticing scent filled the air,
a scent she’d grown familiar with.
She snarled as her husband lifted
his bleeding wrist to Cecilia’s mouth,
his face nothing but adoring.
‘Mine!’ Havana challenged,
springing forward, ready to snatch
back what was hers.
Her focus had stayed on Cecilia
and so the only warning she had
was a sudden movement before
pain took over her world.
The kitchen knife Cecilia had
given the corpse man was now
buried in Havana’s chest.
‘I will protect Lady Cecilia,’
her husband announced,
‘No matter what it takes.’
Control
Cecilia found it difficult to
swallow the thick liquid, repulsed
by its taste and texture.
But she could sense her own magic
contained in it and forced herself
to retrieve a full teapot amount.
She then flung his arm away,
fighting the urge to gag as
she observed Havana’s frozen
state of shock and pain.
Cecilia was impressed she was still standing.
‘I guess monsters are tougher to
kill than overconfident witches.’
Cecilia said, voice choked as the taste
of blood still overpowered her mouth.
She’d have to be careful,
be better than her grandfather,
to ensure she kept the corpse man
under control and unable to turn her.
Just looking at Havana
made her decide immortality wasn’t worth it.
She’d find another way to achieve that,
she was sure.
Her queasiness faded as she felt her
magic growing stronger,
the puddles now growing into a shallow
layer at the bottom of the pond.
It wasn’t ideal, but she would
recover more in time.
She just had to have enough
power to influence the corpse man,
who had his people’s devotion.
‘Okay,’ Cecilia chirped, pulling the
knife from Havana’s chest and commanding
her puppet to hold Havana upright.
‘This is what we’re going to do.’
Ash
The celebration was still underway,
the throne room filled with music and bodies.
Havana’s vision was swimming,
a confusing view of blinding white
and flashing colours as she was
forced to walk to the front of the room.
The music stopped and concerned murmuring began.
Havana was dropped onto her throne
like an unwanted package, the lack of motion
allowing her to focus on her surroundings better.
The guests were staring,
noting the blood covering her dress,
but also for the first time able to see
her lack of beauty. Their auto-adoration
was gone, leaving them suspicious and unsympathetic.
They looked at Cecilia, curious,
but not enchanted, her magic still too weak.
Their gaze then fell on their king
and they smiled lovingly, falling
quiet so they could bask in his voice.
‘My loyal subjects, I have a question for you.
As you know, I was in a deep sleep,
unable to revive myself unless someone
watched over me for a year, three months and seven days.
Now this fair lady watched for a year and three months,
then bought a slave girl to keep her company.
Exhausted, this beautiful maiden went to sleep,
and the deceitful slave failed to awaken her.
I woke, saw this slave girl, and married her.’
The room was silent, transfixed.
Havana saw Cecilia roll her eyes and
begin a low ‘booo’ sound.
The room echoed it, growing louder in volume
when they saw the smile it produced from the dead man.
Havana tried to focus, tried to understand
the void-bubble around her and extend it.
But she could not touch it or control it,
it was wrapped around her but not
directed by her, just like Cecilia’s power had been.
The dead-clan could borrow magic,
but could not control it.
‘Now,’ her husband continued,
‘Who deserves to be my real bride:
the one who watched a week,
or the one who watched for fifteen months?’
Again, the crowd didn’t react until Cecilia
shouted ‘Fifteen months!’ and they chorused
her like a parrot imitating unknown sounds.
Havana was too tired and hurt to protest.
She had been given a name, a purpose,
but it had been a cruel one,
and as a nameless monster
she didn’t have the will to fight her fate.
No one wanted her,
no one needed her.
‘Tell me how this ugly deceiver should die.’
her husband commanded.
Cecilia was giggling,
her gaze locked on Havana, winking like
it was all a funny joke.
‘Burn her.’
Rebirth
It took less than an hour for the pyre
to be built in the still dissolute town square.
Cecilia would soon fix that,
unlike her grandfather she would
make the kingdom flourish,
expanding her influence and allies
until all were under her control.
Although, she might make an exception
with her father. He deserved to die
after his years of lies.
‘We should marry straight after this,
the archbishop is still here after all.’
Cecilia told the dead man, who
smiled as though the thought
brought him endless joy.
Four guards tied Havana to the
centre of the pyre, her body sagging
so much Cecilia wondered if she’d
already fallen into a death-sleep.
She began clapping, jumping about as men
holding lit fire torches came forward.
‘This is the happiest day of my life!’
she squealed as the corpse man nodded
for them to proceed.
It took a few minutes for the pyre
to fully catch alight,
and for Havana to begin screaming.
‘I guess she wasn’t asleep after all,’
she mused, swaying slightly to the sound,
like a dancer enchanted by a song.
The smell was awful,
but she decided to bear it with dignity.
‘Goodbye, my sweet naïve Havana.’
She was crowned right after the marriage,
eager to secure her position
before her magic left her husband.
Even if there was a slight delay
of her full strength returning
his subjects wouldn’t act rashly
against her while their king
was under her control.
She would never repeat her grandfather’s mistake.
‘My loyal subjects,’ she began,
the feel of her crown secure and just.
‘I am no longer Cecilia.
Instead, I am Queen Anastasia,
reborn and ready to rule.’
I guess I win, Mother.
Scribbled Thoughts 