More Mysterious Magic
Copyright© 2026 by Gina Marie Wylie
Chapter 7: The Wizard, the Princess, the Brat, and the Wise Woman
In the middle of the afternoon, Bridgette and Prince Damask’s party arrived at the king’s castle, which was a pile twice the size of Count Damask’s. Bridgette hadn’t stopped asking questions, but she had stopped offering opinions. She’d figured it out — the more adamant she became, the stronger Damask opposed her. There was no percentage in fighting city hall; he was never going to change his mind and was impervious to new thinking.
She was shown to a small room by a maid, and one of Count Damask’s men made two trips carrying her chests. The maid had told her what time dinner that evening was, an informal get-together where Count Damask was to be seated next to the princess. They were supposed to gaze into each other’s eyes, and the count would fall madly in love with her.
The princess was reputed to be a complete lesbian; she was supposed to spurn his advances and demand to be sent to the nunnery. Since the count’s ostensible purpose in traveling was taking his sister there, he was to take the princess there as well. Obviously, the King was hoping for a miracle. There was supposed to be a farewell dinner.
It seemed like a thin story to Bridgette, but there didn’t seem to be any threats.
It was ironic, she supposed. She was an honored guest of the count’s and had eaten at his High Table. She’d never attended a formal meal on Eleni’s world where she hadn’t been seated with the kings and other notables of the land. Here she ate with people she didn’t know, from places she’d never heard of. It was a valuable reminder of where she actually stood in the great scheme of things. She kept up her end of the conversation, but again all she did was ask questions and not offer opinions.
Early on, though, a burly minor noble queried her lack of a maid. “I am an oversight, sir. I am guesting with Count Damisk, intending on the nunnery as well. My aunt is an old friend of the count. His sister volunteered to be my maid, but we didn’t hit it off and I expect she’s ‘forgotten.’” The man promptly volunteered his wife’s maid in lieu of Glinda.
Bridgette didn’t require her services — a maid was there mainly to resupply drink and one goblet of wine was all that Bridgette was going to have. Worse, she had to ask directions to her room, suggesting she hadn’t paid close attention to where she was going.
She took off her own boots, not the ones that had been made for her and fit badly, and settled on the bed. A few minutes later, she realized there wasn’t a convenient servant to blow out the candles and she went to do it herself.
Halfway there, she heard someone stealthily turning the door latch. As it had squeaked when she’d lifted it before, someone had given it a shot of candle wax. She debated for a second whether she should try to hide, but she instantly decided that would be the wrong approach. She called for her staff, composed herself in the middle of the room, and waited.
The person who entered the room was a dark-haired woman, older than Bridgette by ten years and shorter by five inches. Her most remarkable feature was that she was carrying an ewer of wine and two glasses.
“Well?” Bridgette asked.
The woman grimaced. “Sorry for the intrusion, my Lady. I’m Prince Lewil’s wife’s maid. I brought an extra goblet, in case you wanted some wine as well. Maids don’t eat or drink while serving, and I’m parched.”
“Do you think I would drink wine from a stranger wandering the halls of the palace late at night?”
“It doesn’t bother me one way or another,” the woman said with equanimity. “I’d like a favor, though.”
“Do you have a name of your own? Or should I keep calling you ‘Lewil’s wife’s maid?’”
“Filya, my Lady. I was hoping to sit down, pour myself a goblet of wine, and relax for a bit. Ah well! No rest for the plotters of the world! Again, I have a favor to ask.”
“And what would it be?” Bridgette asked.
“That you be more circumspect in what you say. I have met your esteemed ancestor; she wouldn’t like your bull-in-the-china-shop approach. You aren’t home; things here aren’t like you’re used to.”
“What have I done now?” Bridgette asked with resignation.
“The king has demanded that Count Damask’s sister undergo a court of honor for refusing to serve you, being generally ‘dirty,’ and having possible ‘bad intentions’ towards her brother. Your dinner partner isn’t a fan of the count.”
“It wasn’t my intention,” Bridgette said forlornly. “What can I do besides keeping my mouth shut to help Glinda?”
“You are a foreigner. You don’t know all the words of the Valley. You never heard the word ‘talgatha’ before.”
“That’s one I’ve truly forgotten or never learned. What does it mean?”
“It is old-fashioned and means releasing someone from an oath of service. If you can say that you didn’t understand to the king, it will cure the problem.” Filya paused. “You won’t mind if I have some wine?”
“Of course not. Tell me of the person who you think is my ancestor.”
“She is a holy person. She has helped the order now for more than a hundred years. She has saved the lives of more women and children than the mind can imagine. The only thing she has asked of us is that we take you in and treat you as one of our own. The debt of every woman to her is unimaginably huge.”
“But you know she isn’t my aunt?”
“Our order believes in healthy relationships between people. Men with men experience much prejudice, but the other pairings are accepted.” She smiled slightly. “Count Damisk was her last partner, not her first.”
Filya sighed. “You’d never know it, but I was once a girl giddy and smitten in love, who gloried at the attentions of such a remarkable person.”
Bridgett’s reaction was automatic. “I’m not anything.”
Filya smiled. “That is neither here nor there. It is my understanding that you carry a staff that you profess that you do not know how to use and a technique of hand-to-hand combat that you profess proficiency in. There is a woman from the order here who will teach quarterstaff to the other two recruits. She can teach three as easily as two — although you would be the training dummy. Hand-to-hand — we will test you. The senior woman will listen to your ideas of how to fight as well.”
“Honestly, of all the things I can do for you, that and showing new ways to make iron — those will help you the most.”
“Your ancestor sent me a message that you were smarter than her. She said you have stopped a war, thrown down an evil prince — and many other things. Count Damisk tells the tale of you killing a man in full armor, armed with a sword. And you were bare-handed.”
“Armor is false protection if you’re on your back. Once I knocked him down...” Bridgette let her voice trail away.
“How did you knock him down, Lady Zen?”
“I had my staff. I tripped him.”
She smiled slightly. “Twice?”
“He was a dolt. Twice.”
The woman finished her goblet of wine and stood up. “The king will hold the Honor Court the first thing tomorrow. You should be able to get Glinda off. Then breakfast, and about an hour later, you’ll get a visit from some of my order. They may or may not have the princess with them. They will test you in the quarterstaff and hand-to-hand.”
“Filya, I’m like any other woman — I like to show off. Hand-to-hand first if possible.”
“It will be up to my sister,” Filya said, then hesitated. “My sisters snuck into the palace in the guise of prostitutes. The king gave his only daughter and her slave a special present the day before yesterday: the women made love before the family in a private viewing — then they were given to entertain the princess and her servant.
“Among our sisters, sex with a sister is a common practice. The princess has partnered with her servant. That would cause a problem if anyone outside of the family knew about it. We hoped the princess would partner with one of the free women we sent for that purpose. Your ancestor told us of how you handled a willful daughter. Perhaps you can succeed where we have failed.”
Filya smiled one last time and vanished. Was her story some kind of trick? Probably not; she was one of those Bridgette was sure told the truth. Bridgette got out of bed and extinguished all the candles and slept in a corner.
A maid came to wake her in the grey light of early dawn, scandalized because Bridgette had slept on the floor. She told Bridgette that the king had called for her and that Bridgette must go to him at once. She was led through the palace, mostly just getting started on a feast day. The king’s presence chamber was busy enough.
The king could sit on his dignity; most of the rest of the onlookers stood. There were a half dozen others who sat, but Bridgette suspected they were judges. She had worn another gown and stood in the back. Bridgette saw the man who’d been her dinner companion — now he looked like a poisonous toad. He was talking to two men with porky, beady eyes, although they were richly dressed.
There was a little stir when a woman swept in wearing what looked like Bridgette’s sorcerer’s robes, although the woman had something like a wimple, making her face look rather severe. She was older than Filya, perhaps in her early thirties. Bridgette looked around for Filya, but she wasn’t in evidence.
The king called things to order and had the poisonous toad testify first. His statement was a fair rendition of what Bridgette had said.
The king looked around, and a man whispered in his ear. The king gestured at Bridgette. “I’m told that your name is Lady Zenobia. Is that a fair account of what you said?”
“With the caveat that I’m not from around here, and the person who taught me your language didn’t do a complete job. I didn’t know what ‘talgatha’ meant — I heard Count Damisk use that word to his sister.”
“Certainly a convenient excuse,” the toad barked.
If that was a Priestess of Saint Agnes, she certainly ended that line quickly by simply saying, “Lady Zenobia is Our Lady of Hope’s granddaughter.”
There was an instant buzz of conversation, quickly hushed when the king glared at the women in the audience.
The king rose. “I’m honored to meet you, Lady Zenobia. We’re done here; there were no oaths broken.” He strode out of the room, and the rest of them were left to their own devices.
The same maid that had fetched Bridgette informed her on the way back to Bridgette’s room, “Breakfast will start in an hour and a quarter.” Then, once they were in her rooms, the woman touched Bridgette’s arm. “Lady Zenobia, I have a fine, healthy son and a daughter who are both alive and well. I am alive and well. Because Our Lady of Hope gave us the hope we’d survive childbirth. Praise your ancestor!”
After that, it was pretty close to a nightmare. Women knocked on Bridgette’s door to say thank you; walking down the hall, she’d be thanked. Tall women, short ones, thin and fat. No one sat with her at breakfast, but a lot of women kept coming up and thanking her. Then, the woman in the robe sat down next to her and raised her voice. “Do you think we haven’t thanked Lady Zenobia often and warmly?” she asked in a loud voice.
Bridgette was bemused, trying to figure out how a priestess doubled as a prostitute. The priestess turned back to her. “I’m Sister Aileen of St. Agnes.”
“You have been helpful to me twice. What can I do for you?”
There was no grass growing under her feet. “Spar with me and my sisters in a while. We can probably spare the princess from the quarterstaff sparring.”
“I know hand-to-hand the best,” Bridgette told her.
“You and Lady Glinda will be evaluated.” She stood up. “In a half hour; since Glinda was on trial for her life this morning, her appetite isn’t what it might have been until now. You need to wait longer after the meal.”
“I am sorry for the trouble I’ve caused.”
Aileen smiled. “You’ve caused? Lady Glinda was guilty twice. She should be dead.”
Bridgette gulped. “If it were up to me, she should have another chance.”
“She will come to St. Agnes with two black marks on her record. She will indeed get one more chance. That and no more.
“Come, I will take you to where the princess spars.”
That turned out to be an area actually inside the princess’s apartments, which were the equivalent of a penthouse in a ritzy hotel.
There were four women in a sixty-by-sixty area of raked sand. Two were spiritedly sparring with staffs, while the other two watched. Bridgette recognized Glinda as one of the watchers, and she assumed that the youngest girl present, one of those practicing, was the princess and the last person was another girl, but one who was bare to the waist. She would have been at risk of bruises if the sparring wasn’t measured. She was a little older than the princess, Bridgette’s age maybe.