Impostor's Crown

Prologue

        It all started when a farmer on the farthest edge of the kingdom sent word that he had come down with a frightening disease. Deep purple and blue spots appeared on the backs of his knees and elbows, hallucinations were too constant for him to sleep, and his muscles were stretching so tightly it felt as though they were ripping apart inside his skin. He died one week later.

The disease slowly grew closer and closer to the Inner Cities. Of course, the Royal Ring, the innermost ring housing the rich, including the King himself, were far from being affected. But the Inner Cities, the divider between the Royal Ring and the Production Circle, were in more danger. The Production Circle, where the potato and wheat fields were tended to and where the cattle and sheep were raised, had already lost three major provinces to the Dolens Plague.

It was only a matter of time before it built up against the stone wall and flooded over into the Inner Cities. Since it was much more populated, there was no telling how long it would take for it to burst through and finish off the entire kingdom.

Helen tried to shake off the thought. This was why everyone pretended. They pretended that the life they had now was not one running on borrowed time. That the incoming deliveries of potatoes, wheat, cotton, and meat were not decreasing every month. That they would not, could not possibly be the next person to be claimed by the jaws of death. They pretended that some of them could not count their remaining days on their two hands.

--

Helen spent her mornings behind the counter of a booth in the village center selling the thread and fabric that the children in the orphanage wove. Ivory, the only other girl there her age, would trade places with her at lunch time. Then Helen would walk back to the orphanage with the money she had made that morning to be put away to purchase food later.

The quaint little system had been her routine for more than a year now, but it had never been enough for her. Yes, she had her best friend, children like siblings to help look after, and sufficient care for most of her life, but one clue to her past--a red jewel in the shape of a teardrop with a thin golden chain threaded through it--kept her constantly asking questions and wanting more.

Ivory, on the other hand, was perfectly happy with her life. This couldn't have angered Helen more. The children at the orphanage loved her, and she helped them dress and prepare breakfast. At night, she would sit in the middle of their dining hall and read them a story before sending them off to bed. Ivory had no desire to go anywhere or to make anything more of herself. She was content. This was where the two differed most.

To pass her time behind the booth, Helen day dreamed about the day that she would get to race over the crest of a hill on horseback, the sunset behind her, her golden locks flowing wildly, and three or more bandits galloping after her. She, of course, would have no trouble losing them before camping somewhere in an unexplored portion of the forest with her horse as her only companion. With another day of travel, she would reach her main campsite where she had gathered a group of only the best thieves and show them her spoils. They would cheer for their brave and valiant leader and spend the night celebrating.

Then, from her tent, a handsome man--the largest of them all, of course--would emerge and greet her with open arms, saying--

"How much for the blue fabric?"

"Huh?" Helen shook herself from the daydream and looked up.

The woman repeated her question sharply. "How much is the blue fabric?" She wore a faded green dress with a pale yellow apron over it, the basket on her arm lightweight and empty.

"Six coppers per meter," she replied. The woman harrumphed, but went back to examining the fabrics. Again looking over the bland outfit, Helen thought to herself how drab the woman's life must be. "But," she blurted, "I think our pink would suit you much better, madam." Although it pained her to force herself to be polite to the impatient woman, she knew she could get a better profit from the pink.

She looked taken aback. "You think?"

Helen had her hooked. With an energetic nod, she added, "Oh yes, see with your skin tone it will radiate a youthful spirit to everyone around you, show them you can have a little fun every once in a while."

The woman admired the bolt of pink fabric. It truly did compliment her skin tone and give her a more youthful glow, and Helen knew it would also mean she could bring back more money for food. She made quick work of the sale, and soon the woman was heading off with a pleased smile.

Several hours and sales later, Ivory returned to assist Helen in packing up the booth. They both took bolts of fabric, and Helen took the thread while Ivory hooked the basket carrying their profits onto her fingers. As they made their way through the streets, Helen recounted her sale with the pink fabric woman.

"Everything about her just bled mundane. So I told her the pink would be better, which it really was, and..."

Ivory listened in silence, her brown curls bouncing slightly at her lower back as they walked. She knew how much the stories they had been told as children had influenced Helen, and while she enjoyed listening to her talking about how she wished she could be elsewhere on a grand adventure, Ivory was content to stay exactly where she was. The children at the orphanage needed her there, and she enjoyed the work. Because there was little to no chance of an orphan being married off, she had learned to accept it and be content with helping the other caretakers watch over the children.

Behind the girls, among the chattering and shuffling of feet on the stone street, came a shriek of surprise, followed quickly by others. The two turned to see what the commotion was, and from the cluster of townspeople behind them leaped a hooded figure racing at full speed toward them. As his feet carried him past Helen and Ivory, he thrust his hand into the basket and ran off with a fistful of their coins, barely giving them any time to react. The basket and several bolts of fabric tumbled from Ivory's arms and onto the street.

The remaining shoppers behind the girls turned to each other and instantly began talking about what had happened, hushed conversations filling the air. One man with a black, twisted beard spat on the ground next to the girls.

"Watch where you're going, filth."

"Hey!" Helen yelled, but Ivory grabbed her arm before she could do any damage. They both knew it was useless to try and stand up for themselves when everyone who had families thought orphans were a burden on their existence.

"We still have more than enough for tonight, thank the Lord, and there's no use going after him. Come on, this fabric won't sell well if it's dirty."

After glaring at the man and then the spot where the thief disappeared, Helen bent down to help pick up the fabrics and coins.

"Someday I'll be able to stop scoundrels like them," she growled, snatching up the last spool of thread.