Milady’s Wiles             by: Brandy Dewinter, with the invaluable assistance of P.J. Wright

 

Chapter 2 - A Maiden’s Lover

Even his own impending doom could not contain my brother’s humor at the path the Fates seemed to have selected for me. His laughter rang out with a too-loud energy that betrayed the tension within him even as it gave him a way to relieve it.

"Why, Deak, old boy, uh, girl, I think you may have the greater sac-rifice to make at that!"

"No, for I will share the same end as you. It is impossible, and when Kragdle finds out his vengeance will make his current threat seem the greatest of mercies."

"Deacon," at the word of our mother, all other voices ceased, "if there were a way, one that would work for long enough to rid our land of this pestilence, would you do it?"

"Of course, but your premise is impossible." I gave an easy, hollow agreement.

"I tell you that it is not. I tell you that this can work, if you will commit yourself to it as fully as your duty requires."

Her tone was strange. There didn’t seem to be any emotion in it at all, but it left not the slightest room for any alternate concept. What had been impossible now became the only possibility. I found myself nod-ding, as did everyone else in the room. For a long moment she sat quiet-ly, the only motion in the room her fingers idly stroking Greyshadow’s fur.

"Leave me, please, all except Deacon." Her order included the King as casually as it did the lesser soldiers who guarded him. They filed out in silence, remarkable silence no less so because it seemed absolutely unremarkable at the time to all of us.

"How often have you used the white-cold mind?" she asked when they had left.

"Excuse me?" what was she talking about?

"As you did with Drayson. I saw it in you as surely as I saw his submission to your strength."

"Never," I replied. "I just couldn’t accept his insult, at least, not any longer. I mean, what could he do to me that wasn’t going to hap-pen already?"

"Why do you suppose he didn’t react?" she continued to probe.

"I don’t think I really considered it. To begin with, I was so angry that I didn’t care, and when it was over, we had other things to worry about."

"Were you angry? Describe your anger."

"It wasn’t one of Father’s smashing rages, if that’s what you mean. It felt focused, white-hot yet cold beyond anything imaginable. I just knew that my will would prevail."

This was too intense, not supported with the fuel of anger from Dray-son’s insult, confusing to a degree that made me very uncomfortable. I had to lighten the mood.

"Or else he would have killed me," I defined the acceptable alternative with a smile. "There was no middle ground."

Mother ceased her questions and began to explain, "What you have described has been in our family, that is, my family, for untold genera-tions. Your description is apt. We have always referred to is as the ‘white-cold mind’. It is a means of focusing our minds so intensely that we can compel other minds to do our bidding. Yet it is a dangerous gift, or curse, for there are limits. It is a battle between our will and that of our target, and if our will is insufficient, well, don’t attempt it lightly. It is easiest of course, when the target’s will aligns with your own. Intense anger such as you felt provides great power to your will, but it is a dangerous source of strength. It will burn you out as surely as a true fire of equal intensity."

I nodded, not really sure what she was talking about though her de-scription certainly matched my experience. My lack of comprehension must have been apparent, but when she continued she added yet another layer of confusion.

"Yet it is the reason you can succeed in your duty. If both partici-pants are willing, the white-cold mind can allow them to share knowledge without coercion; to merge wills in an alliance rather than dominance and submission."

Where was she going with this? What did this have to do with re-gaining our realm? And how did it make the impossible become inevitable?

"Will you merge your mind with mine, Deacon? In a matter of minutes I can provide you with a lifetime of knowledge on how to act like a woman. The other aspects of your masquerade are clothes and artistry that are secondary. You will be convincing. In fact, with your fine features you will probably be appealing, but that is also secondary. You will reveal yourself, or confirm yourself, with every gesture of your hand, with every glance of your eyes to be either man or woman. I can help you learn what you must know to succeed."

"With this white-cold thing?"

"Yes. But you must be a willing participant. If you fight me, I will not be able to sustain the intensity of emotion it would take to force you, especially since you have the power yourself. Yet this is how you can do your duty to our kingdom and to our people."

I could not claim to understand any significant portion of what she said, not truly understand. On another level though, I could not deny what she said. I had felt that intensity, that . . . power. It was as real to me as the breath that sighed in and out of my lungs as my mind churned.

In the end I had no more option than Bareth. Duty is a hard task-mistress when she provides no choices at all. Even death was not mine to choose if there were a chance that we could restore our kingdom through some other sacrifice. Yet what a sacrifice this would be!

Still, I nodded, "What do we do?"

"Sit here," she pointed to a low stool near her own chair. When I was in place she took my hands in her own and caught my eyes with her own. The blue jewels that had always seemed so much like my own were now so different, somehow. Larger, it seemed, and deeper in more ways than I could measure. I found myself moving forward into that depth as though swept in a current of smooth water, at first quite slowly and I knew I could draw back, but with gradually increasing speed until I knew just as surely that I had no control at all.

Images, impressions, sensations beyond senses began to match me on my journey. They melded with me until no seam existed and I could not tell which were external and which had always been part of me. The first images were of Father and I thought to study them, but I felt a pull in another direction and knew that Mother would hold these to herself.

The sensations that next sought me out were like, yet unlike, my own memories. The scenes were the same, the people were familiar, but these impressions were from Mother in those same situations, impressions that focused more and more on things she did because of her femininity. Clothes seemed initially overwhelming in variety and purpose, but as they were absorbed into my knowledge their complexity seemed childish next to those of action within the clothes. I saw her as a young maiden captivate suitor after suitor with a lift of an eyebrow, a glance, a flutter of a wrist, or of an eyelash. I saw her win Father with a smile, while that same smile transformed a rival into incoherent rage.

The intensity of that long-ago rival’s emotion cast me from her mind. I blinked and the merging was lost. When I looked again at Mother’s eyes, I saw only the clear blue gems that had always comforted me. They crinkled in the corners with amusement, a surprise on this most devastating of days yet perhaps understandable.

"So, Deacon, do you still think this is impossible? Or should I say, ‘Cherysse’?"

The voice that answered her was not my own, though it came from my mouth. This voice was lighter, more musical, more full of life and energy. The register had not changed, my own voice had never dropped much, but in all other ways it was as different as night from day. Or, as man from woman.

"I would not have believed it, but now I cannot imagine we will fail. At least, not because of someone penetrating my masquerade," that strange, musical voice replied.

This phrasing seemed to bother her. I saw a note of discomfort pass her face, quickly suppressed, but less deniable now than even in our previous closeness. Before I could ask about it, she had risen and gone to her door.

Opening it, she bade the servant request the attendance of the King and such others as he desired.

"Cherysse, you will find that after you have fully absorbed the impressions I have shared, you will be able to choose between the man-nerisms as you wish, but for now the feminine will be dominant. I’m sorry for the abruptness but we have no time. Remember always, your duty is as vital and as inescapable as Bareth’s own."

By this time the King had approached. I still sat on Mother’s stool, dazed by the flood of thoughts that had assailed me. Lost in my thoughts as I was, I absorbed without registering the conversations around me. Finally, Bareth’s voice grew loud.

"Deacon. Deacon! Wake up, brother!"

I jerked to attentiveness and swiveled on the stool to look at him. His eyes wore a very strange expression, one that seemed to indicate that I was the source.

"Yes, Bareth? I mean, Majesty," that strange voice replied from my mouth.

All sound in the room ceased. Bareth’s eyebrows made an attempt to disappear into his neatly trimmed hairline. The voice from his mouth, though still his own, had wonder in it that I had never heard before.

"Deacon?" he asked again.

"Yes?" I replied, a bit petulant at the repetition. I tossed my hair over my shoulder and stood up.

Why was everyone looking at me so strangely? I just stood up, for God’s sake. I could feel a most unattractive frown forming on my face and I fought to keep my features smooth. A glance at Mother from both Bareth and I stirred her to explanation.

"I have instructed Deacon in skills he will need for his masquerade. In support of that, from this moment forward, this is Cherysse, my daugh-ter. Deacon never existed. I wanted you to understand this before the transformation is complete so that there is no doubt that Cherysse is in-deed Deacon."

"Your pardon, my Queen," Hugh, the Chamberlain interrupted, "but that brings up a point that we need to address. It would be best if the suc-cession of the crown were uninterrupted and unambiguous. If we allow Kragdle to crown himself without our own anointed monarch, his claim might be more difficult to unseat at a later date."

"What do you advise?" Queen Selay asked.

"If King Bareth were to abdicate, in favor of, um, Deacon, and Deacon were crowned before Kragdle could anoint himself, then we would have a much more compelling rallying cry for our people."

Bareth smiled in a self-deprecating sort of way and replied, "That would be acceptable to me. I was never destined to wear the crown for long, it seems. Let Deacon carry the weight of it forward."

He removed the simple circlet of gold that symbolized our nation and moved to place it on my head. The priest interrupted him.

"Your Majesty, that should follow the anointing," he reminded us all.

From the folds of his robe he drew forth a small vial and approached me in his turn. Once again, the ceremony was completed quickly. A drop or two of oil and then the cold weight of the crown. Bareth was right, it was heavy. And I knew it would not get lighter for some time to come.

Once again Mother controlled the situation. The advisors wanted to draw me off and begin to involve me in the affairs of the realm, to no good purpose that I could see, but she swept them up with her glance and made them pause.

"Cherysse," the emphasis was unmistakable, and the command just as clear, "has further preparations to make. You must leave us alone. What is Kragdle’s deadline for our response?"

Bareth replied, "If we do not surrender by dawn, he will execute the next dozen peasant families."

"Very well. Bareth, we will attend you later." Her words contained the dismissal of the staff and of the so-briefly-reigning King.

When they were gone she turned again to me. The expression that briefly clouded her face when I talked about none penetrating my disguise had now returned in even greater measure. She paced about the room for a moment, then sighed with a glance at me that made it clear she was not happy with what was to come.

"Cherysse, are you familiar with a ‘maiden’s lover’?" she asked.

"No, not that I kno . ." and then I paused as her words triggered a memory that had not been there a few hours ago.

"No! Mother, you cannot! I cannot! It is too much!" But the very memories that horrified me were linked to the portion of her memories that justified the terrible device.

She waited for my protestations to dissipate. When I ran down, she smiled a sad smile that conveyed her personal knowledge of the price she was asking.

"It can be survived," she declared.

Not for the first time I wondered if Bareth’s part were indeed the easier one. Not for the last time, either. Yet this was duty no less demanding once the full price was established.

"What do I need to do?" My sigh of resignation brought an even brighter shine to her eyes, and a warm embrace.

"I’m sorry, Cherysse, you know that I would not do this if there were any other way."

"Of course," wistfully I replied, with a tremor in my voice that would have shamed me, once.

"You will need to disrobe, of course, and we had better arrange a bath before you dress in your new attire," she said with brusque effi-ciency as she summoned the servants.

A bath was drawn with scented oils to smooth and protect my skin. At Mother’s suggestion a fine blade was used to remove all my body hair, not that there was much of it. I would have savored the luxury of the bath for a very long time, but as the water began to cool Mother brought forth my tormentor.

"This one was my own. We don’t have time to have another one made more to your form. It is a good thing that you are slender."

A ‘maiden’s lover’ was so named because it had the sole purpose of preventing any other lover from approaching her virtue. It looked like a vest of chain mail woven of the finest steel our land could produce, drawn down to fine thread but no less strong than an equivalent thickness of plate. In extent, it was designed to cover me from my nether regions to the bosom that I did not have. In between the woven steel formed a tight-fitting corset, sized as Mother had explained to the shape she had posses-sed as a maiden.

Unfortunately, that was not my natural shape, especially in the lower portion that was led back between my legs. This portion of the garment was rigid plate, providing enough room for a maiden’s treasures but requiring my own to be compressed most uncomfortably. A flexible rod perhaps the thickness of an ordinary bootlace trailed from the tip of this part of the device, trailed for a surprisingly long distance.

The first step in donning it, though, was to slip a soft silken garment up my hips to cover the same area. It was woven continuously without seam or fastening, yet in some cunning fashion it provided suf-ficient stretch to allow it to pass my hips. The bottom of this tube of silk was closed off sufficiently to provide some cover for my most inti-mate areas while leaving openings that I knew would be only too necessary when I wore the controlling steel device for days at a time.

When the actual maiden’s lover was slid up my hips and into position the corset portion began just above my hips and had eyelets for conven-tional laces, though they were set into the rear of the ‘lover’ on remova-ble flaps. Mother drew other laces, ordinary string, through these eye-lets and began to bring the edges together. It took a while. When the tension would become too tight for her to pull (well past anything that I could willingly accept) she would pause and require me to raise my arms, or lower them, or breathe (as though I could) or move as well as I might. After these exercises, she would draw on the laces again. Eventually the purpose of the long wire leading from the nether guard became apparent as she began to thread it through interlocking loops on the back of the gar-ment. This would only work if the back were fully closed, a condition that the young Princess Selay no doubt found much easier to achieve than I did. The reduction in my waist was so intense that some of the flesh actually worked up into the cups in front, giving me a surprisingly realistic bosom, especially since these cups were themselves stiffly formed. When she was done she unlaced the long string and removed the lacing flaps, leaving only the thin rod to hold the back together.

The purpose of a small loop in the end of the rod became apparent as Mother drew a final part of the diabolical device from the chest that had held the garment. A small lock, jeweled and intricate to rival the most precise of timepieces, bound the loop in the wire to a corresponding loop in the back of the garment.

"What key opens that lock?" my maiden’s voice gasped.

"You will not know that, now or ever," she replied. Something in her tone let me know that she had once asked the same question, and re-ceived the same reply. I turned to look at her in surprise, but my own protest was stifled by the view displayed in a tall mirror behind her shoulder.

Whatever else that device might accomplish, it had transformed me into a woman in body. It appeared Mother, as a maiden, had been a most shapely lass. Now, whether I wanted it or not that shape defined me as well. My long golden hair did much to complete the picture. It reminded me of my earlier comment.

"Well, Mother, it is certain that no one will penetrate my disguise now." I tried to chuckle for her sake, but the device left me too little breath for more than a whispered comment.

"Yes, dear, that was my concern when you mentioned it earlier. The only justification for this garment is that it has that virtue, even when the maiden may not."

She continued, "Now, let us get you dressed. It is impossible for a princess to dress herself, and it would be too suspicious if I took care of everything for you with my own hands. Once you are dressed in your ‘lover’, others can aid you. However, only I will ever release you from your protection. That has been our way for generations and will be our justification now."

She summoned servants and opened her own dressers to find the proper gown for me. While she considered choices that I would eventually have to make on my own, others attended to my hair. A woman’s rank was displayed in the combs and pins she wore in her hair anytime she was out of her own chambers. Those of a princess were many and varied and it was clear that Mother was again correct. No woman could place them all properly by her-self. By the time they were done a gown had been selected, along with stockings and shoes. It was clear that this was again a chore that would need assistance, for while wearing the ‘maiden’s lover’ I could not bend sufficiently to place stockings on myself, nor shoes.

The final assistant was a cosmetician skilled in arts imported from far off Araby and even further lands to the East, more legend than real yet none the less artistic. He transformed my face so that all remaining vestiges of Deacon were removed and only Cherysse remained.

In the hustle and bustle of so many attendants I had not had time to look again into the mirror. As though at a signal, all drew back and an aisle was made from me to the looking glass.

If I had still possessed the breath to do so, I would have gasped. As it was, I grew light-headed with shock and had to be steadied by several pairs of hands. Like all court gowns my dress was ornate, yet the decoration in this gown complemented the shape displayed, not distracting from the flow of waist and swell of bosom. Only the full, wide skirt de-parted from the curves beneath, providing security against a too-intimate revelation of a lady’s limbs. Mother had selected a gown of a deep, rich blue, highlighted with gold. The combination picked up the colors of my hair and eyes, colors which Mother displayed as well.

"That was the gown I wore the day I met your Father," she explained, the bright shine back in her eyes.

A dismissive wave of her hand sent the servants scurrying, all but one she called by name. "Amy, send to Bareth’s chambers and see if it would be convenient for him to receive us at this time."

The woman was gone in an instant, returning in barely more time with his reported assent.

"Mother," I whispered, "why not have him come here?"

"We need to maintain the fiction of his reign until at least the dawn," she explained. "Besides, it will do you good to get out and about."

Taking my hand in her own, she led me down the corridor to Bareth’s apartments. At the rap of his guard, his door opened. He stood there himself but did not move back into the room to allow us to enter.

"Dea, uh, Cherysse?" he stammered.

"Yes, brother, it is your sister," I replied. My voice, still strange to him though I was becoming accustomed to it, caused him to start out of his stupor and finally move back in to the room.

"I would never have believed it. Even after the transformation Mother called us down to see, I would never had credited any report of this miracle," he chattered. "You are not merely feminine, you are beautiful!"

"Thank you," Mother’s imprinted mannerisms brought out the demure response without conscious thought.

Bareth’s eyes had lit up with pleasure at the sight of the pretty maiden that I had become. It overshadowed, for a moment, his own fate. Still, it was clear that this had been weighing heavily on his mind for it sobered quickly.

"Can you do this, Deacon?" he asked.

"Yes, my brother. I can. I will, for our realm, for our people, and for you." As I said it, I felt an echo of the white-cold mind in my voice and saw conviction greater than my own appear on Bareth’s features. And peace. His honor was such that his own sacrifice was not an unrealis-tic price for him to pay, but it gave him peace to know it would not be in vain. Would I be able to keep the promise I had just made? I wished my own mind were as certain as I had caused his to be.

 

(continued in Part 3)

 

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Milady's Wiles © 1998 by Brandy Dewinter. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.