Fall: Scheherazade retold

Seven

From a falling down shack to falling down towers – yet it was an improvement, Zoraida decided. For one, there was no snow in the keep's courtyard. And while darkness had fallen in the frozen northern wastes, here the sun still lingered above the horizon, though not for long.

"We're home," Hans breathed, touching the stone wall as if to reassure himself that it was real. His other hand tightened around hers. "Right. Time to make good on that promise. You shall have a true Yule supper."

He strode across the courtyard, towing her along behind him. "I have returned!" he bellowed. "And I brought a guest."

Doors opened, letting light and people spill out.

"The baron is home!"

"He brought a lady."

"She looks half-frozen, poor mite."

"Fetch that leg of pork, the baron's hungry!"

"Come, my dear, we must find you something to wear."

Zoraida blinked, finding her hands held by a kind-looking older woman whose hair was neatly tucked under a white veil. She was suddenly conscious of her shredded clothes and unbound hair. She swallowed. "I would...be grateful," Zoraida said.

The woman led her inside to a chamber full of chests, with a bed that didn't look like it had been slept in for some time. A trio of younger women crowded in behind her, bearing cloths and jugs of water. Zoraida almost cried in relief. Between the soot and dragonfire, she was badly in need of a wash.

The older woman pulled various gowns from the chests as the girls helped her remove what remained of her dress. Each time, she glanced back at Zoraida, then shook her head, muttering to herself. After perhaps the fourth gown, Zoraida finally caught a few words: "The colours are too dark!" the woman said.

"White," Zoraida offered. "I usually wear white. It is the mark of a fairy godmother."

"Fairy godmother, hmm? I thought only royalty got those. The baron's father and mother never told me he had such a thing. And you don't look old enough to have been born on his name day." The woman's eyes seemed to read Zoraida's very soul.

"I'm not his godmother," Zoraida said swiftly. "I'm only the godmother to small children and foolish youths who seek to challenge dragons they haven't the wit or courage to fight. Hence..." She grimaced at the remains of her gown. "I think he was some kind of prince, but not all of them are royalty. Some have blood that is destined to become royal."

The woman nodded shrewdly. "So not the baron, but his daughter, perhaps. The queen has just given birth to a second prince, and word is that she might not have long to live. If one of the baron's daughters were to marry a prince..."

Zoraida's heart sank, though she wasn't sure why. "Hans has daughters?"

The woman snorted. "No, nor has he found a suitable woman to bear them. He worries so about restoring the castle, so he has a home to provide for his family. Seems to me he'll do all he can to make the home that he'll forget to find the family."

Zoraida relaxed. "He is a good man, and a kind one. Any woman would be lucky to be his wife."

"I do believe you mean that." She passed Zoraida a shift. "Put that on, while I find you a suitable gown to celebrate Christmas Eve. Tell me, do fairy godmothers take husbands?"

"Sometimes," Zoraida said, pulling the shift over her head. It was made of fine, soft wool. "There is magic in our blood, so for there to be magic in the world...we must have daughters. Husbands can be quite helpful for this."

The woman laughed. "I'll wager they are very helpful. The baron has no family left. No one. It would be a blessing for him to have companionship. 'Tis Christmas, and I thought..."

"He offered me hospitality for the night," Zoraida reassured her. "I shall stay, and true to the season, I will offer him a gift. What he chooses...will be up to him." And limited by what she could give, but as long as he didn't ask her to cook, she considered herself quite capable of granting his wish. Whatever it might be.