Free The Fairytale Keeper: Avenging the Queen by Andrea Cefalo Page A

across from one another, dining on bread, cheese, wine, nuts, and an assortment of dried fruits.
    “She awakens,” Father bellows. I can tell he has had many glasses of undiluted wine for his cheeks are rosy and he is merry.
    “A miracle has befallen us, daughter.”
    I tilt my head to the side in wonder of what he speaks and sit beside him. I nibble on bread and cheese and pour myself a glass of good, strong wine.
    He places his arm around me. “I awoke to a room filled with shoes and supplies for all of my orders. And before me lay a plate of cheese and bread and a glass of spiced wine.”
    “A miracle for sure,” I say, reluctant to admit my role in the miracle for I know I am not to go to the market alone. Nevertheless, I am certain he is aware that I did.
    “I must admit, Father…” I pause for dramatic effect. He stares at me, waiting for a confession. “And please do not think me mad…”
    He nods.
    “… But I heard the most peculiar thing last night.”
    “What, pray, did you hear last night, daughter?” He goads.
    “It was a strange high-pitched singing of many voices, coming from your workshop.”
    “Why, that is very peculiar!” he says jokingly and I continue.
    “So I climbed down the stairs and spied something miraculous indeed. A dozen tiny men, elves I think, were making shoes.”
    “Elves! By God it is a miracle. ”
    I cross myself in jest and Father does the same.
    “They did however charge for their services,” Father continues, feigning disappointment. “Very inexpensive, though. It only cost me the price of the leather for fifteen pairs of shoes, but they cut out dozens more. Even the Aducht shoes were cut.”
    “They worked quickly and reasonably,” I conclude.
    “I checked the quality of the shoes and they were masterfully done. These mysterious elves cut and stitch just like you, dear daughter.”
    “Then they are master artisans for sure,” I reply and he laughs. It feels good to hear laughter again.

13 March, 1247
     
    My fingers shuffle around the crust of my bread as we sup. I have wanted to ask Father if we could have another funeral for Mother, but I’m afraid to say anything. He hasn’t mentioned the burial at all. What if something had gone wrong when Father returned to bury her? Perhaps wolves had taken her or the ground was too hard and he couldn’t bury her at all. If such a thing had happened, I wouldn’t want to remind him of it and I wouldn’t want to know of it. I split the crust and dip it in the stew to sop up the remaining broth. My mouth opens a dozen times throughout supper as I try to find a good way to ask.
    “Out with it,” Father orders.
    I give him a confused look.
    “You keep opening your mouth to speak, so speak.”
    Galadriel dips small ends of her bread into her stew and nibbles delicately, while Father lifts the bowl to his lips to drink up the rest of the broth.
    “I thought we could have our own funeral for Mother,” I finally say.
    “That is a wonderful idea,” Galadriel says. “Don’t you agree, Ansel?”
    Galadriel’s agreement pleases me at first. But the way she coaxes Father is too much like the way a wife would coax a husband, and suddenly my suspicion of her tastes like poison. She turns her back to look for Father’s expression as he rises to fill his bowl with more stew. My eyes narrow and I shake the assumption from my head.
    Father digs the spoon into his bowl and begins to eat. I am unable to see his eyes, to read his thoughts. My question hangs in the air and I almost want to take it back. I have upset him for sure. Perhaps, the burial had gone very wrong. My stomach twists and I have to swallow the broth hard for the lump in my throat has swollen again.
    “Friday morning,” Father says. It is all he says.
    Galadriel offers to give me my bed that night, but I refuse out of fear she shall sleep in my parents’ bed and ruin Mother’s side. I fear that somehow she and Father might share the bed. I should know my