Fairy Tale: Winter's Bite

Chapter 8: Wrath (Part 2)

Whereas most palace staff performed their duties quietly, obediently, and industriously as far away from the queen as possible, Ursa did as she pleased, and tended to gravitate toward power and influence. With the clever use of appropriate cleaning implements, closets and shadows, and spectacular excuses, she had made an art out of avoiding punishment for her unconventional behavior.

Just outside the Strategy Room, she was casually dusting every nook of the grand marble statue of a fairy goddess. And if she kept her wings silent and her steps light, she could overhear most of what was said inside. On this particular night, she expected admonishment to be met with much groveling.

And Ursa was usually right.

But, as always, her older sister, Lyra, kept interrupting her concentration. "Ursa, the furniture in the West Wing does not dust itself!"

Lyra's disgustingly beautiful golden ringlets bounced off her back in the breeze of her departure. Ursa continued to dust the statue and would never understand why her sister felt inclined to try so hard all the time. Lyra was tall and slender, and had a pretty smile and weepy blue eyes. If she was at all resourceful, she'd make better use of those assets. Her rag and dust mop would only get her so far.

Ursa, however, would never be the angelic kind of beautiful, but she knew how to catch more than just the eye. Plus, she paid attention and spread information to the proper audience. She always had a way of being in the right place at the right time. Her skills served her well and kept her entertained, and perhaps they might enable her to escape the lowly working class of her forefathers someday.

The Strategy Room doors suddenly snapped open. "I'm in need of assistance," said the queen.

Ursa entered quickly and curtsied. The fat general's blood was all over the floor, the walls, the doors, and there was even a streak of it across the queen's cheek.

"Find me Lieutenant-General Chevalier this very instant!"

"Yes, Your Majesty." Ursa curtsied again and fluttered out of the room to relay the message.

As she waited for Crux's arrival, she pondered her next move. She had seen and heard many foul things in the palace she had worked in all her life, but the general's execution was something else entirely. Still, she decided, spreading the news could wait. There was an even better story about to transpire.

Ursa was dusting the statue again when Crux Chevalier entered the East Hall. As he approached, she backed against the wall where the torchlight was most favorable, swept her copper-colored hair to the side, lifted her ample chest, and parted her lips.

Crux didn't even glance at her as he strode into the Strategy Room.

She released her held breath, and though she was slightly disappointed—Crux was a bulk of masculinity, with wings that could span the entire hallway, and he was filthy rich on top of that—she figured that it was just as well. Supposedly, if one believed the old fairies in the kitchen, Crux was a dangerous anomaly who preferred a challenge.

Ursa wouldn't say she was intimidated by "the Brute" and his boorish habits. But she was always true to herself and her style didn't match his. She hadn't earned her reputation, one she was quite proud of, by being meek and helpless.

The door to the Strategy Room creaked closed, but it didn't quite latch shut. Ursa then noticed a scuff on the marble floor right beside the door crack. She pulled a rag from her pocket and knelt beside it, scrubbing in soft little circles while the queen was giving Crux her orders.

"For the time being, you are in charge," she muttered indifferently. "Your first order of business is to clean the mess your commanding officer left for you." Andromeda gestured to the heap on the floor, but she clearly meant "mess" in a broader context. "Have the body beheaded and post the head on a spike at the main gate. Let it serve as a warning that I do not tolerate blunders of this magnitude. Burn his residence to the ground, leave no survivors, and finally, see that Canis Major returns from the Academy. He will lead the next mission when he arrives. And, my dear Crux. . ."

As the queen rose from her throne, Ursa disappeared into the supply closet across the hall, though she made sure the closet door was slightly ajar.

"Do not fail me," the queen said as she pulled open the Strategy Room door.

Andromeda turned to glance down at the body of General Gustave. And then she peered into Crux Chevalier's eyes as he crouched beside his dead superior.

Fear was not a sentiment in his repertoire. Even so, for a moment, there was a flicker of something that resembled it.

"Yes, Your Majesty," Crux responded, his voice clear, his expression chilling to a spectral cold.

The queen buzzed from the room. Judging by the time it took for a door to latch shut, Ursa knew the queen had retired to her bedchamber.

Then, with an expression that Ursa could only describe as pleasure, Crux began to carry out his orders with three sword strikes to the general's thick neck. Once severed, the head dangled from Crux's grip by a tuft of hair. It left a trail of blood as Crux made his way to the door. "I could use a hand in here!" his booming voice echoed.

Hidden and content where she was, Ursa watched Lyra fly to him.

"Get this cleaned!" Crux roared. "Not a drop of blood is to be left on this floor! Do you understand?"

Lyra's complexion matched that of the general's nearly bloodless head, but she managed an obedient nod and curtsy.

Crux departed as well, and Lyra tentatively knelt beside the blood with her pitifully little white rag in hand.

At that, Ursa decided the show was over and slipped out of the supply closet. I must start my chores in the West Wing, she thought, grinning internally as she passed Lyra by. But first she would stop in the kitchen and give those busybodies something new to talk about.

There was one piece of information, however, that she would keep to herself and cherish.

Canis Major was coming home at last!