A Price to Pay

By Jason Hubbard

What if the villain in a fantasy epic won?

And what if she then lost her very identity?

When the sorceress Melindra awoke in a cold castle bedchamber, she looked into a mirror and saw the face of a stranger. With her identity erased from memory, all she can do is move forward, reclaiming her role as a duchess and deciding what path her nation should take.

But when the pieces of her past come together, she uncovers dark alliances, dirty deals, and an insatiable thirst for power that led to calamity.

With countless souls lost, Melindra must fix her mistakes to prevent another tragedy. But will she be willing to pay the ultimate price?

Inspired by the 2017-2020 U.S. Presidency, "A Price to Pay" is about how one person can steer history and bring about sweeping change . . . whether it's for the common good or not.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Feb 5, 2021
• ISBN: 9781098358549

Book preview

One

It began with a dream. A man stood behind her, inflicting pain with a switch. She couldn’t make out his face, recall his name, or hear his blathering, but she could clearly remember what she thought.

The last time … this will be the last time …

Once the dream ended, her eyes rolled beneath the lids. She slowly opened them and met resistance from a layer of crust around the lashes. She licked her dry lips with a coarse tongue and raised her right hand, the elbow bending uncomfortably from disuse. The fingers pressed against her forehead, and she grimaced from the throbbing ache within her skull. She then carefully wiped away the eye crust with her other hand. She had to rise eventually, but for now she wanted some time to catch her breath and have some peace from that awful dream.

But that peace was shattered when she heard a pair of feet stomp on the floor, followed by approaching footsteps. Mistress? spoke an elderly male voice that strangely came from below. Oh, mistress, you’re awake! Thank the Matriarch, you’re finally awake!

The woman rose a little from the bed and instantly regretted it, as every joint in her body ached. She dropped her head back on the pillow and groaned in misery.

Allow us a little more light, the strange figure said, and he set about lighting candles and lanterns throughout the room. The woman heard the patter of small feet and wondered what kind of curious thing her companion was. She got her answer when the room was well illuminated and she picked herself up again: He was a small monstrous creature, no taller than the waist of an adult human, with triangular ears, large yellow eyes, and wrinkled dark green skin. His mane of hair was black with silver streaks, and his hands had three broad fingers with manicured nails. He looked dreadful albeit well dressed, with a white frilly shirt and a small red waistcoat. He appeared very pleased to see her … a little too pleased, by her reckoning.

The woman broke into a coughing fit when she tried to speak, her throat filled with too much phlegm. Once she got herself together, she croaked, Where …?

Ah, This is Lord Vincent’s castle, the little creature said. He’s taken such good care of you. Oh, he’ll be so delighted to see you awake!

A castle, yes. She could see that, from the walls, ceiling and floor made entirely of smooth stone. It was quite cold, but she felt warm enough under a woolen quilt and cottony sheets, and there was a flinty scent in the air from an often-used hearth.

She groaned again, prompting the creature to apologize and hurry to a table, where he poured some blue liquid from a flask into a drinking glass. He followed it with water from a decanter, stirred the contents, and presented the glass to her on a brass tray. H’rfez was told to give this. It should help with the pain … er, if it pleases my mistress.

The woman took the glass with both hands, a little frightened at how weak she was. The mixture had a strong herbal smell, and its taste made her react in disgust. It was like drinking spinach and turnips with a few pinches of red pepper.

Mistress should drink the whole thing, the creature named H’rfez said. His confident demeanor then suddenly changed as he widened his eyes in fright and shrank away. That is, unless mistress doesn’t wish to. Oh, I am sorry, mistress, I did not mean to presume …

She narrowed her eyes at him, thinking it suspicious that he should so enfeeble himself so quickly. What was he not telling her about this drink? Was it actually poison? Would it make her remain weak so she could be controlled? Part of her wanted to demand answers … but her throbbing head and dry tongue brought the glass back to her lips, and in two long gulps the mixture was gone.

H’rfez took the glass back and grinned apologetically, showing two rows of sharp teeth. Mistress should be right as rain! And H’rfez should tell Lord Vincent. Yes, I am to tell him right away! Oh, but mistress can take time to get ready—as long as mistress needs. H’rfez will wait when mistress is ready, yes … The pitifully subservient creature then hurried out of the room, taking the tray with the glass and flask with him.

The woman gingerly climbed out from the bed covers and threw her legs over the side, her body clad in a decorated white shift. With a sigh and a small prayer to whatever god would listen, she stood and precariously took her first steps. Her muscles supported her and nothing buckled, but she ached in every joint. It was best to take it slow for the time being.

On an adjacent wall was an armoire and a vanity mirror in a standing brass frame taller than she was. She stepped in front of the mirror …

And the face of a complete stranger, wrapped in firelight and shadow, looked back at her in confusion and dread.

She must have seen this face countless times for she was a fully grown adult, yet there was nothing about her round blue eyes, thin lips, and long dark hair she recognized. As strange as this room was, she was more of a mystery unto herself.

Who was she? Where did she come from? What was she doing here? She searched her mind for answers, and to her surprise some things did come up. Within her memory, she recalled faces and locations, but they were muddy and incomplete—mere ghosts that wanted to remain unknown.

She groaned and shook her head in frustration. She had to know these things, there was no choice but to!

Because being left in the dark was more frightening than she cared to admit.

Well, instead of fruitlessly wondering what she didn’t know, perhaps she should focus on what she did know. She was in a castle which was presumably the home of this Lord Vincent. She had a servant—who she believed to be a goblin—whose duty was to wait in this bedchamber for her to awaken. She was expected to be in pain since a potion was at hand for it. And lastly, the servant was in awe of her and scared of her at the same time.

From this, she could draw a few conclusions. She was someone of importance, currently in the residence of a friend who had kept the hearth lit at night. Something terrible had happened to her, causing her to sleep for a long time. And whatever happened was so jarring, so impactful, that it left her mind nearly a blank slate.

It wasn’t much to go on, but it made her feel a little better. If she could collect more pieces and make them fit, she’d have a better understanding and act accordingly.

But there was one more thing about her, something she didn’t put much thought into because she didn’t know what to think of it. Within her torso, near her heart, something was burning. It wasn’t painful nor uncomfortable, but she felt it as an oak’s heartwood would feel a flame. At first she thought it was the symptom of some disease, but since she left the bed, it felt more like an unseen accessory—a compliment to her body’s inner workings. Whether it was beneficial or not, she couldn’t tell, but she was certain that it made her unique from most other people.

If only I can remember …

* * *

When she stepped from the room, her hair was combed and she wore the single gown she found in the armoire. The gown was a simple yet beautiful thing of black linen and silk, with a white collar and sleeves of intricate dark lace. Though her hair was unwashed and oily, she felt refreshed since her headache was nearly gone and she felt strong enough to support herself. She met H’rfez in the hallway, who led her downstairs. Castle servants made sure to bow to her as she passed, and she wondered if her inner burning flame had something to do with their reverence.

In the dining hall, she met a man who looked every bit like a castle lord. His streamlined eyebrows were held high over his hard brown eyes, and his pouty lips gave a warm smile over his pointed chin. His raven dark hair was parted down the middle, the wavy strands reaching his shoulders. He wore a black jacket over a brocaded brown waistcoat, and his shirt collar was left open. Melindra, it is so good to see you up again, he said with soft affection. How do you feel?

I—

She stopped herself. She nearly said she needed his help, for she didn’t remember him nor anything else. But some part of her—something deep inside—warned her against confessing to this man. As warm and inviting as he appeared, there was more to a person than first impressions.

And this face … it gave her mixed feelings. She was fairly sure Vincent was among those who floated in her hazy recollection, and it was not one that brought much fondness.

Her memory may be lost, but it seemed her intuition was still strong. She decided it was worth listening to in this time of uncertainty.

She chuckled and said, I feel like I just woke up from the dead. How long was I out?

Three days, my dear. It is now Tuesday.

Three days, she mused. No wonder she felt so awful. A body needed to stay in motion to keep from being like a creaky hinge.

You must be starving, but before you eat, please do me a courtesy. Lord Vincent got down on one knee and lowered his head. Please grant me your forgiveness. The accident was my fault. In my rush to prepare, one of the gethone crystals wasn’t properly coordinated, causing an overload upon activation. It was foolish, it was preventable, and I cannot take it back. Please forgive me.

She looked at him in wonder, unsure how to answer. On one hand, he was the reason why she had lost her memory, which was as good a reason to be angry as any. On the other hand, accidents do happen, and Lord Vincent seemed sincere in his pleading. Still, was it really necessary for him to kneel? How did he expect her to react?

She was hesitating to respond, and H’rfez nearby was looking anxious. Rather than give a straight answer, she was suddenly inspired to give a roundabout reply. Sounds like you were careless, she teased as she stepped in close. "If you can promise never to be so again—especially when I’m around—then my forgiveness you may have."

Thank you, Melindra. ’Tis a great weight off my shoulders. Vincent rose and led her to a seat at a dining table, where he said his kitchen staff would tend to her shortly. If you’ll excuse me, my dear, I need to go check on something. He smiled and added, It’s so good to hear your voice again.

She politely smiled as she watched him go. He certainly knew how to lay on the charm at an opportune moment. Why then couldn’t she trust him? Judging from his candor, the two of them had a long history together; surely their relationship was built on trust?

She noticed H’rfez standing stiffly close by. Have you eaten yet, H’rfez?

He stared at her as if she was a charging bull before snapping out of it. Y-yes, mistress, H’rfez ate today! H’rfez very full!

The dining hall was mostly empty, with only a handful of sharply dressed people having supper. Then why not have a seat she asked. Rest your feet a bit.

Now the goblin servant looked flummoxed and undecisive. Just when his mistress nearly asked if she had said the wrong thing, he went to the table and sat on the bench a few meters away. He looked as uncomfortable as a hen around a fox.

Human servants soon came with a meal of roasted chicken with herbs and spices, buttered bread, radishes and carrots, and glasses of water and wine. The rush of saliva was divine as she chewed on the fowl, and the water that chased it down was exquisite. She may not have been following proper dinner etiquette as she stuffed food into her mouth, but her hunger pangs wanted swift satisfaction.

H’rfez meanwhile sat as still as a gargoyle, his little hands folded in front of him. He was being polite as he avoided staring at her, yet she found his stiff posture unnerving. Would you like something to drink? she asked. I can have them bring some water.

The goblin’s mouth dropped open like a trapdoor. Oh … no, mistress, H’rfez shouldn’t. ’Tis not his place, no … not his place …

She frowned as he resumed his previous position. What was wrong with him? She was just trying to be nice, but he was too concerned about his place. Despite his reply, she ordered him a water, which he took one sip of then never touched again.

His behavior worried her. She assumed the goblin was her own personal servant who came with her from her own residence. He was happy to please but held a great amount of fear in his heart. There could only be reason for this fear if there was justification for it. Had she truly been mistreating him so? Did she have good reason to? Was there something about him being a goblin that required an iron fist? Thanks to whatever accident that happened, she couldn’t be sure.

And then there was Vincent. He had done her a favor by giving away her name as Melindra (which sounded respectable and sophisticated), but if she couldn’t trust him with the truth about her, he might prove to be more of a hindrance than an asset. Already he gave a cryptic clue, mentioning some sort of overload with gethone crystals without revealing any context. She wished she could ask him for more details, but that would ruin the illusion that she still had her memory. Vincent had assumed she knew what he was talking about, and according to her intuition, she should keep things that way.

But why? What would he do to her if he found out? Was he truly so terrible that he would violate their apparent bond of trust and friendship?

Melindra shook her head in frustration and chased down some carrots with water. She hated living in uncertainty, always unsure of what to expect and what to do. Well, at least she had done one thing right with that reply she gave earlier. Teasing Vincent like that somehow felt natural, and to be honest it had stroked her ego a little. It was probably normal behavior for her past self, so she should keep it up if it felt right to do so.

After a bite of chicken, she reached for her water but picked up the wine glass instead. She took a sip, and her taste buds were quite pleased. That could also be said for her mind, for a ghost of a memory surfaced. She had drunk a lot of wine in her lifetime, and she had fashioned herself a bit of a connoisseur of vintages. Through its dryness, she could detect the taste of berries and orange peel, and she believed she had at least one barrel of this selection in her personal storage.

All it took was one sip, and it activated a memory, she thought. If this happened once, it can happen again. I just have to keep looking for new sensations.

When she was nearly finished eating, Vincent returned and sat nearby. How was the meal, my dear?

Couldn’t have asked for better, Melindra replied. "Well, perhaps I could, but my belly isn’t complaining."

Vincent laughed. Well, I must ask for your forgiveness once more. I know you’ve only just woken and still need recovering … but the portal is bound to close soon, so if we are going to use it, it must be tonight.

The portal? she asked, not in a questioning way but a meaningful way, making it sound as if she knew what portal he meant.

I activated it, Vincent said guiltily. I know I should have waited, but I wanted to be sure I hadn’t ruined the frame. It’s been open for the past two days, and it’s now low on energy. If you don’t feel up to it, I’ll understand, but I know how much you’ve looked forward to seeing Earth. Do you want to go tonight or cancel?

Earth. A funny name that held no meaning for her. She wished it would spark another memory, but nothing came. Portal, however, did make her memory jump. Yes, there were portals across the land which took people from one place to another in an instant, even if it was hundreds of leagues away. They were sustained by stone archways that held crystals … yes, gethone crystals that fueled their magic.

She was pleased at her new recollection, but something didn’t make sense. Portals could usually be turned on and off on a whim with no problems, but Vincent was making this portal sound as if it worked differently.

How long do we have before it closes? she asked.

Roughly two hours.

So we can only see Earth for under two hours?

Vincent grinned. No, as a matter of fact. Time runs differently on Earth than it does here. We can spend a few days on Earth, and when we come home, only an hour will have passed.

Melindra blinked at him. That’s … well, that’s awfully convenient.

"Sounds too good to be true, but it is. I tested it on both my trips there. I wanted it to be a surprise for your visit, but it seems fate had other plans."

Melindra fell silent and flexed her fingers. Although she felt refreshed, she still wasn’t whole yet. Staying active in a strange new place might be just the thing for her, but only if she didn’t strain herself. She smiled and said, Yes, Lord Vincent, let us go. Why in the hell not?

He was taken aback. It’s ‘Lord’ now, is it? And here I thought you were your own woman.

Shit, she shouldn’t have said that. She only wanted to be polite, but at least it confirmed what she’d been suspecting, that she was a lord herself.

Lord: a title that carried heavy responsibility. Just the thing someone with memory loss could do without.

Sorry, it just slipped out, she said. Everyone else is ‘lord this’ and ‘lord that’ around here.

I’m sure you wanted to make me feel good, Vincent said with that amused and damnably charming smile of his. On Earth, I’ll be sure to return the favor. As soon as you’re done with dinner, I’ll take you to a change of clothes.

She raised an eyebrow and gestured to her dress. New clothes? What’s wrong with this?

It’s lovely, and I wouldn’t want to change a thing, but in the place we’re going, it’s not very fashionable. It’ll be better to blend in.

She shrugged and went back to her meal with a slight frown. She wasn’t sure why, but already she was opposed to a change of clothes. She supposed it was just a futile stubborn streak in her, so she decided to let it go and trust that Vincent knew what he was doing.

* * *

He took her to a guest room and invited her to change inside. I’ll be in the next room if you need me, he said. I’ll need to look the part, too.

Melindra thanked him, locked the door, and threw open the room’s armoire. As strictly limited as her memory was, she was sure that hanging inside was the most bizarre set of clothing she’d ever seen. The more pieces she tossed onto the bed, the more she couldn’t believe her eyes. Vincent expected her to wear this? Was he mad?

On closer inspection, she was impressed by the fabric, for it was tightly woven with a high thread count. Not even her current gown could compare. And what was that color—some sort of grayish blue?

Before she could even think of trying something on, she grabbed two items and stormed over to Vincent’s door. She knocked on it hard and demanded to see him. He answered with a bare upper body, his chest and abs covered with hair. She blushed a little and held up a rosy pink velvety strap with what appeared to be two flimsy bowls attached. What is this? she asked with hard eyes.

Don’t like the color? he asked, bemused.

Forget the color, what the hell is this?

It’s called a ‘bra,’ and it is exactly what you think it is.

Oh, really? And why the hell would I want to wear something like this?

He shrugged. Support? You would know better than I.

Support … She took a deep breath to help her drop the growing urge to wipe the smile off Vincent’s face. And this? she asked, holding up the second item. Is this also what I think it is?

If you think it’s a skirt, then yes, it is.

"It’s too short! And it’s not connected to anything! How could I sit while wearing this?"

You cross your legs while sitting. It’s what I’ve seen the women on Earth do.

"I see, I could do that … or I could keep my gown on and not worry about crossing anything. Hell, what do you call this outfit, anyway?"

It’s a ‘suit,’ and I’m putting one on, too.

Will you have to cross your legs?

Regrettably, no.

Then I’m not wearing this.

Melindra, Vincent cried as she headed away, believe me, once we’re on Earth, you’ll fit in with those on. No one will even look at you funny.

She turned to him in a huff. You swear it?

I swear.

On your dear mother’s grave?

If I must, then yes.

She pointed at him for good measure then returned to her room. She couldn’t believe she was giving in, but she had to admit that she was curious as to how she’d look. She began by taking off her boots and knickers, then slipped on an incredibly small piece of cloth around her midsection. Wherever this Earth is, people have a peculiar sense of modesty, she thought as she felt along her hips.

She next took her gown off and tried on the so-called bra. As she looked at herself in the room’s mirror, she could understand the need to cover herself but not for support. All a lady needed to do was wear a bodice with two or more layers and she could avoid strange looks; what she didn’t need was what would be a torture device if it wasn’t so soft and somewhat pretty.

Five minutes later, she put on a pair of brown leather shoes (which she could amazingly just slip into) and entered the hall. Vincent was there with an appreciative smile. You look elegant, he said, eyeing her frilly white satin blouse and steel blue jacket.

She frowned and hunched her shoulders. I will never get used to this thing.

"You think I want to wear this?" he asked, gesturing to his own gray suit. It’s comfortable enough, but it’s too simple for my taste.

"I … what is that thing? she asked, pointing at the strip of red cloth dangling from his collar. Is that to hang yourself with?"

He laughed and said, I thought the same thing. And before we start, here is one last thing to complete you … He handed over a small handbag which was far from ordinary, for it was made of black leather that was remarkably tough and shiny. As Vincent led Melindra down the hall, she opened the bag and discovered a small booklet with intricately printed paper … and on one paper was an image of her face.

How … how did you get me on this? she asked, holding up the booklet.

Remember that day when I used a device to make a bright light? That’s where your image came from.

That doesn’t explain anything. When he didn’t respond, Melindra shrugged it off and produced another oddity from the bag: a number of paper strips of different colors and sizes. The print job was similar to the booklet’s, and she wondered what kind of magic spell could create it. She studied the symbols on the papers, and while some seemed to form words, she didn’t recognize any of them. This frightened her, for she wondered how deep her memory loss went. She decided to make light as they climbed down a stairwell: Are these some sort of party favors?

"They’re … well, that’s a good guess, actually. Some do use them as party favors, but most use them as money."

Money? That’s absurd, they’re too frail for that. If I tore them apart, they’d be worthless.

So don’t tear them.

My point is that coins are sturdier and thus last longer. But these things—as pretty as they are—wouldn’t last a year in people’s hands.

You’d be surprised.

Melindra lifted a corner of her mouth, then put away the money and set aside questions for the time being.

You haven’t said anything about your home, Vincent noted as they reached the ground level. I had informed your castle about your condition, so your bailiff is handling matters of law without you. I hope that is to your liking.

She sighed at this, though not for the reason Vincent would think. She had suspected she had her own castle since she and Vincent were equals, but she didn’t look forward to going there. Having a castle meant having servants, and if she couldn’t allow Vincent from knowing about her memory loss, then none of her people could either. And who else would there be? Nosy siblings? Elderly parents to care for? They would be the first to sense that something was amiss.

It is, she replied. I trust you sent a missive to let them know I’m awake; I wouldn’t anyone to needlessly worry.

It’s one of the first things I did after your nubbin told me you were up, he said, gesturing to the goblin servant following them.

Melindra glanced back at H’rfez. Nubbin? What a rude nickname. Are all goblins called that?

They came to a thick wooden door with steel plating and two locks. Vincent opened it and led his guests down another stairway, grabbing a lantern to see by. The temperature lowered, and Melindra wondered why Vincent didn’t offer a coat or cloak as she crossed her arms. They reached a dark hallway, and their footsteps echoed loudly against the walls along with the chattering of H’rfez’ teeth.

Melindra was about to ask how far their destination was when she saw it: a doorway with bright light spilling through. As they drew near, she felt tremors in the air and the floor, and she wondered why this portal was built underground when most were aboveground so vehicles could pass through. Perhaps this Earth wasn’t the sort of place one could travel to with a convoy.

As she entered the room, she had to hold her hands up so as not to be blinded, but after a moment her eyes adjusted. The room was large enough to be a jail or torture chamber, but it had been converted into a room for a temporal entry point. In the center, amid