Astryn & the Golden Goose - Chapter One

Astryn Runethorne

Laughter carried guilt. It came with emotion so morose that it defied containment, so it was better not to find humor in anything, not even that which was good and light and beautiful and brought joy to others. It was that simple for Astryn, honestly, but it was not, unfortunately, the same for her father.

Astryn traced her finger down the windowpane, following a particularly wayward raindrop in its slide toward a doom it had no way of anticipating, a deadly drop from her tower room to the mote below. Thank goodness raindrops had no breath of life, no beating heart… unlike her mother, who’d had enough heart for them all before her death.

Guilt and grief, how intricately woven the two emotions were, and how they destroyed Astryn’s will to do anything but watch the rain and the people moving about in the village. With a heavy sigh, Astryn turned away from the window and glided toward her dressing table, where Sarah had laid out her new dress. If Father still thought he could buy her smiles with pretty dresses, ponies, and books even after all this time, then perhaps he deserved to spend all of his wealth on such frivolous things.

Skin pale as winter, Astryn’s complexion could use a few days of sunshine, which had been in short supply in Carthage as of late. Even as the rain pelted the window, she could think of nothing but escaping her tower and disappearing into the forest at the edge of the village.

“Come, miss. Your father is growing impatient,” Sarah said, waving a brush in front of her. If she hadn’t known the woman all of her life, Astryn would have thought it quite rude of her. But as she had known her since she was toddling, she rolled her eyes and accepted her fate.

She pursed her lips and sat on her stool, ready to have her ebony hair brushed and braided up for yet another day of sulking while Father fussed at her for doing it. How could she not when it rained constantly, her father was always too busy for her, and no one wanted to visit the boring princess? The motherless princess.

“Chin up, love,” Sarah whispered. “Couldn’t you try?”

“I still miss her. There isn’t anything wrong with that.” Astryn folded her hands on her lap and tried to at least appear content, if not happy.

“It’s been sixteen years, Astryn. We all miss your mother, but soon, your father will seek a worthy man for your hand.”

Another sigh. Yes, it had been sixteen years since the Plague of Carthage ravaged half the kingdom, but it didn’t take anyone else nearly as long to adjust to the loss. Speaking her thoughts aloud would only bring on more pursing of Sarah’s already wrinkled lips, so she spoke to the prospect of marriage instead.

“Yes, yes. Must all girls who come of age marry?”

“You are two years past your age, my lady,” Sarah reminded her. She never missed an opportunity to mention that.

“I’m only twenty, for Heaven’s sake. It isn’t as if I’m an old maid.” Her hands found their way to her face as they always did, hiding her shame and disappointment. Concealing her burning cheeks and tear-filled eyes.

Sarah’s soft humming and the way she rubbed Astryn’s arms put her back in a decent mood within a few breaths, but it wouldn’t last. It never did.

Once her hair was finished and she’d been pushed, prodded, and practically sewn into her black dress, Astryn resumed her window gazing. Just as she focused on the people mucking around in the mud outside of the courtyard gate, her father knocked on her bedroom door. His knock was always heavy and loud, bursting with authority like a barked command from a general. Or a dog. Often, it was difficult to tell the difference between them.

“Come in, Father,” she whispered.

King Erewin Runethorne pushed open the door and nodded toward Sarah, her order to leave at once, before crossing the distance and standing at his daughter’s side. He was not an unkind man, but his frustration with his daughter grew with every frown and tear she shed for her long-departed mother. He’d moved on. He had not remarried, but he had accepted that his beloved wife was gone. The staff had moved her things to an abandoned wing of the castle, and no one spoke of Lillianna Runethorne any longer. It broke Astryn’s heart. There were so many things to admire about the woman—her brutal honesty, impeccable penmanship, and the glorious way her paintbrush moved over a canvas. They were all things others had told Astryn about, of course, because she’d been far too young to remember her mother with such vivid detail. No, she remembered her in imagined memories, those she’d concocted from tales gathered here and there, cobbled together with her own traces of hugs, kisses, and cuddles.

“Darling, I have made a decision. We shall host a ball in your honor.” He tipped her chin up, forcing her dark eyes to connect with his. He smiled and brushed his thumb over her chin. “My heart breaks to see you this way, Astryn. If any man in this kingdom can make you laugh, he shall be your husband. I pray he might do for you what I cannot.”

Her eyes fluttered back to the window, longing to walk in the forest where it was quiet and lonely. No one bothered her there except the woodland creatures, and as long as she fed them, they didn’t bother her for long. All but that odd goose that never stopped following her no matter what she offered it.

King Erewin dropped his hand with a frustrated groan. “Are you even listening to me?”

Astryn nodded. “I am, but I doubt there is a man in this kingdom who will want to marry me, let alone go to the trouble of attempting such a feat as making me laugh.” Truly, no man had ever made her feel anything but annoyed, frustrated, and even more lonely than she felt when she was alone.

Her father inhaled deeply and went to the door, taking all the air with him. He didn’t try to be cruel and hadn’t intended to hurt her, but he never understood his daughter. She cried every night, longing for her mother, desperate to feel some loving and warm touch she couldn’t quite explain but knew she missed. How could she smile, let alone laugh, when there was no one who eased the pain? Of course, many in their household had tried, but Astryn was unable to convey precisely what forced her heart into depression every morning before she even rose from her bed. Astryn simply opened her eyes, and the day was already lost.

At the door, he cleared his throat.

“You may take a walk if you wish. Perhaps the time outside will do you some good despite the rain.” He shut the door behind him, leaving her alone again.

Astryn gathered her long dress and hurried to her wardrobe. Inside, her outdoor shoes were still a bit mud-covered, but it didn’t matter. They would only gather brambles and more mud during her walk. She’d go to the church first, say her prayers, then go for a shorter walk in the forest than usual, if only so she might avoid that troublesome goose on her way home. Without it pecking at her, she could go to the bakery before dinner. Convincing Mr. Hartford to sneak her an apple pastry was never too difficult, especially with the large haul of apples he expected this season.

In the hallway, servants bustled about preparing for this and that, likely overworked now that her father had ordered an entire autumn ball for no reason whatsoever. The poor dears scarcely had a week to plan such an event if they were to celebrate on the first day of harvest, and to know they worked their fingers to the bone for her benefit did nothing to ease the worry and sorrow in her heart. They passed her without really seeing her, hardly nodding their heads in acknowledgment that their princess even existed.

Astryn’s lips turned down into her usual frown, and she stared at the floor, watching her feet as they took the distance as daintily as one might with heavy work shoes beneath a billowing dress. Left, right, left, right… Astryn counted her footsteps to the end of the hall—one hundred thirteen. She turned right to take the next hallway, another seventy steps, then a left turn, and twenty steps until she finally escaped the drafty palace.

Often, her father would send a guard along with her, but he would grow so bored with her during the walk that he’d slip into silence and follow behind her so he wouldn’t have to attempt conversation. The silence was always better when one was alone, so she slipped through the hedges along the ragged side of the garden where the guards wouldn’t see her—or pretended not to—and jogged into the trees. A short walk into the forest would bring her to the little church where she might lay her troubles out for God again and pray He would ease her pain.

This church was not her father’s, not meant for royalty to attend at all. It was for the citizens. It was well-kept and clean, but it always brought out a feeling of home in her heart that the sweeping cathedrals and floor-to-ceiling murals in the palace church did not.

Frigid droplets speckled her coat and dress, but her face and hands were kept dry by her hat and gloves. It was already cold for Carthage. The trees had only just changed. They had no qualms about giving up what was dead and moving on. Despite their brilliance, they were not any inspiration to Astryn to do the same.

The church with its long-dead tower bell stood in the distance, dim and black from the constant rain that pelted its granite stonework. Even so, it was beautifully crafted with stained glass depicting Bible stories and a trail of stairs that led to brightly painted red-arched doors that opened into a tranquility she often longed for. No one bothered you when you prayed, even if you were solemn and quiet and unsmiling.

“Princess Astryn,” one of the clergy’s apprentices nodded as he passed her, then allowed her to surround herself with the peace of the sanctuary without further communication. At least he was kind enough to leave her to her grief.

The gaggle of children learning to sing carols for the Christmas pageant later that year, however, were not as accommodating. They were adorable, though, so Astryn listened to them while admiring their cherub-like faces, cheeks flushed with excitement as they stood on a stage screaming the chorus at the top of their lungs. This, she assumed, should make her smile, but it simply did not come.

Thunder rolled in the distance, promising another night of storms that might inundate their small kingdom with woes far worse than a questionable heir to the throne. Half of the kingdom was already so muddy the carriages bringing food and wares to the markets couldn’t travel the roads. Soon enough, those who lived farther from the main square would have to walk everywhere, and that was only until their property flooded them in.

The chorus was interrupted by a crash and banging on the front door.

“Heavens,” Astryn cried, startled by the sudden, misplaced echo through the church. Even the children jumped a bit and squealed.

“What on earth?” The choral instructor pursed her lips and stomped from the stage, nodded toward Astryn as she passed, and continued down the aisle to the front door. She threw it open and prepared to scold whoever had interrupted her training, but instead, she was met by one of the king’s messengers with a proclamation from the king.

Astryn couldn’t help but roll her eyes again. Father worked quickly.

“I know you must do your work, but do try to keep quiet in the future. There is no need to go about banging down doors, especially in a house of worship.” The instructor scowled and shut the door, then clapped her hands. “That will be all for today, children. You are dismissed.”

Twelve smiling faces bounded down the stairs and out the front door, giggling and squealing like little pigs the whole way. It warmed Astryn’s seemingly cold heart and brought some kind of emotion forward, but it wasn’t enough. It was never enough.

Distraught that even the happiness of innocence was not sufficient to bring her pleasure, Astryn said her prayers, gathered her damp dress, and exited the church, ready for her long walk in the forest. This particular patch of woodland circumvented the capital village of Carthage, separating it from its northern fishing towns, the rocky eastern lands, and the rambling farmlands of the south. The church was far enough into the forest to offer quiet but not so deep that it was dangerous for a princess to travel.

It drizzled a bit harder now. She would be drenched by the time she returned home, but at least her presence wouldn’t trouble her father. When the church door was closed, Astryn spied the proclamation nailed on the front door.

Her eyes trailed over the words, bringing a deeper scowl to the princess’s face. Her father had gone and done it now. An autumn ball was intended to find her a husband, as he had said, but any man who tried and failed to make her laugh would receive three lashes. Why would any man attempt such a feat when the cost of failure was so steep? A lashing was no small thing, but as her gaze settled on the final line, her heart fell.

He who made her laugh would win her hand… and inherit the throne. Her throne.

Father planned to take her birthright from her, and all because she couldn’t utter a little laugh.