The Choosing

A moment after Great-aunt Agatha sighed her last breath, my father reached out to quietly close the Grimoire lying beside her. The ancient, pristine book glowed immediately, pulsing in the bright blue of our royal family colors. I’d never seen it do that before. I swallowed a lump in my throat and pressed the back of my hand to the tears on my cheek. Auntie Agatha had been my best friend, and now she was gone.

Father turned to the assembled family surrounding Agatha’s deathbed. “The High Sorceress is dead. There must be a Choosing. Don your mourning clothes and assemble in the library.” Nobody moved, staring at the spellbook, mesmerized. He frowned, annoyed. “Now.”

That got people moving. One does not disobey the King. At least, not this King. History books show that some monarchs are weak, but my father was not one of them. I did not hasten as some did- doing so was unbecoming of a princess- but my steps to my chamber were sure and marked with a confidence I did not feel. A servant had laid out my black gown, devoid of decoration save for a small silk rose at the throat. As I changed into the drab frock, I trembled on the edge between excitement and dread. We had known that Agatha was dying for several days, but this was the day I had waited for all my life. If I were Chosen as the new High Sorceress, everything would change. I would have agency over my own life, no longer a royal pawn. I would have power.

And if I were not Chosen… Well. My marriage to the eldest son of the Duke of Ranmafort, a marriage I most definitely did not desire, was scheduled for five months hence. My life would be over, reduced to the never-ending cycle of childbirth and castle management. I don’t mean to say that Edgar would make a bad husband. He was handsome and gracious, and had never treated me with anything but respect. He was everything a girl could wish for in a husband. But I didn’t want a husband!

As the layers of gown settled neatly into place, I wished there were some way that I could have eliminated my rivals for the position. It wouldn’t have mattered if I had. The Choice ran in the blood from birth; it couldn’t be altered. The High Sorceress had to be the daughter of a monarch. Ah, but which daughter of which monarch? That’s what the Choosing would determine.

I’ve always loved the library; it’s my favorite room in the entire castle. As soon as you step through the great doors, the aromas of polished carved oak and paper, new and ancient, envelop you in warm comfort. It was two stories high, with vaulted ceilings and skylights of the finest glass, and a lamp with its cool magical flame sat on each table to provide even more illumination. You can’t see the walls; they’re lined with bookshelves from top to bottom. A spiral iron staircase in each corner allowed access to the upper half of the library. And the books! Thousands upon thousands of them, on every subject known to man. As far as I was concerned, the library was heaven.

Auntie Agatha loved it too. I had spent many an hour there with her, poring over books on science and medicine and history and art. Once she had let me look at her Grimoire, but the markings on its pages were illegible scribbles. She’d laughed and ruffled my hair, saying that they would become clear if I were ever Chosen.

The Royal Librarian’s grand desk sat at one end of the chamber. He wasn’t present, and my father sat behind it, brooding over his wine. The glowing Grimoire lay before him. Word of the Choosing had apparently spread quickly; even those nobility who hadn’t attended at Agatha’s death bed were entering the library, all clad in black. They’d been arriving at the castle ever since it was known that the High Sorceress was dying. After all, a royal funeral was not an event to miss. I even spotted Edgar and his father in the crowd. Murmurs of conversation made a level of noise I’d never heard in the library before, and it annoyed me. I estimated that only about half of them were assembled when I arrived, so at least I could not be accused of dawdling, but that only meant the noise was going to get worse.

To accommodate the gathering worthies, servants in their starched uniforms moved through the crowd with refreshments. I beckoned for a cup of tea and approached my mother, who was seated at a table near Father. She sat stiffly, and her smile was tight when I kissed her cheek. “Claudette,” she greeted me. “Now, don’t you worry, dear. The odds are it won’t be you, and, well, worrying won’t help anyhow.”

I wasn’t surprised by her attitude. Historically, most royal women prayed they would not be Chosen for High Sorceress. It was a position of great responsibility, and being Chosen meant forsaking marriage, even if one were already married. As well, many courtiers looked upon the High Sorceress with suspicion. The political power she wielded, the soldiers she commanded, and her powerful magic added up to something they couldn’t quite trust. It was a lonely life, Agatha hadadmitted to me. But it was, I told myself, a life.

So I just smiled and took a seat beside my mother, giving her hand a pat. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

It seemed to take forever for everyone to arrive. Certainly I needed a refill on my tea by the time my father ordered the library doors closed; my mouth was dry as the minutes ticked down.

Father rose from his seat, calling out, “Your attention, please.” The room fell into blissful silence. “I hereby confirm that High Sorceress Agatha passed away peacefully not quite an hour ago. Therefore we are here to witness the Choosing of her successor.” He scratched at his ear. “I must admit, I had to look up the details of the ceremony. After all, the last one occurred before I was even born.” He chuckled, and a ripple of quiet laughter echoed it. “So. Each candidate, from the eldest to the youngest, shall, one at a time, lay her hand upon the Grimoire. If she is not Chosen, the Grimoire will stop glowing until she removes her hand. The Chosen, on the other hand- no pun intended- will take on the glow herself. And we shall have a new High Sorceress.” He looked around the room. “Will every living daughter of the monarch or the previous monarchs step forward, please.”

Auntie Agatha had been the only princess of her generation; that meant only five candidates lived to test for her position: my father’s three sisters, my older sister Amelia, and myself. Our brother Robert was safe; even if he had been born female, he was the eldest sibling and therefore Heir to the throne, and the Grimoire never Chose the Heir. I think we all took a deep breath as we set our drinks aside and rose with whispers of black silk to form a half-circle before the desk.

“Jane,” my father intoned, and his oldest sister stepped to the desk, looking pale. She was in her early forties, happily married with two children. It was a safe bet that the last thing she wanted was to abandon them to be High Sorceress. Her hand trembled as it hovered over the book, and her eyes were wide with fear when she gingerly touched its cover.

The Grimoire’s glow disappeared. I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until it did. Jane broke out in a wide smile and scurried back into the crowd to join her family.

The glow reappeared, and Father said, “One down, four to go. Catherine, your turn.” Oddly, Aunt Cate had never married. Rumor had it that she’d had a child out of wedlock when she was young and spoiled her chances on the marriage market. She spent most of her time with her elderly mother, weaving and doing needlepoint. Cate looked more annoyed than anything to be participating, and when the Grimoire’s glow dimmed to nothing at her touch, she smirked and retired to her wine.

That brought us to the last of my aunts. “Elizabeth.” Father nodded to his youngest, most timid sister. She’d been married, but her husband died young, leaving her with three children. She stayed in the background most of the time, quiet with an air of perpetual sadness even at high feasts. I don’t think that anybody was surprised at her relief when the Grimoire didn’t Choose her either.

That left just my sister and me. Father didn’t look very happy about that. But hope, even exultation, began to overcome my anxiety. Surely the Grimoire wouldn’t Choose Amelia! She was two years married, heavily pregnant, and, quite frankly, not too bright. Her primary concern in life was looking beautiful. She was indeed beautiful, as well as sweet and gracious. But those last two qualities and her lack of guile made her completely unsuited to the cutthroat position of High Sorceress. I loved her, but for most of our lives I’d had to look out for her as if I were the elder.

“Amelia.” Father’s voice was gruff. She looked back at her husband, a Prince from an allied land, and he gave her a nervous smile and a ‘go ahead’ gesture. Obviously he was hoping she wouldn’t be Chosen either. Perhaps he even loved her. He had that look in his eyes. Amelia gulped, took two steps forward, and rested her palm on the Grimoire.

The spellbook’s glow went out. Father picked up her hand with a smile- the glow reappeared- and kissed it. “Go to your love, my dear.” And happily, Amelia did so.

I was equally as happy. Probably moreso. I was the last one! It had to be me! I was to be the High Sorceress! I only managed to hide my excitement because Father’s eyes turned sad when he looked at me. He drained his goblet and motioned for a refill. “Your turn, Claudette.”

I stepped forward eagerly, just as a servant girl came forward with a carafe of wine. As she leaned over the desk to refill Father’s glass, her free hand rested on the Grimoire.

The magical blue glow of the book brightened and surrounded her.

I stared. Father stared. Everyone stared. The servant girl, blissfully unaware, topped off the goblet and stepped back respectfully, The glow around her and the book faded to nothing.

Silence reigned for a few seconds. Then Father said, “The Grimoire has Chosen. We have a new High Sorceress.” The room exploded in chatter.

“No!” I cried out in despair. Father turned a look on me, startled and shocked, the former for my outburst, the latter for my disappointment at not being Chosen. “I’m the only one left! It has to be me!”

“I… I don’t understand,” he managed to say. “What happened, I mean. I don’t-”

I burst into tears and whirled to run from the library. I ran all the way to my chamber and threw myself onto my bed, sobbing. Grief flooded over me. Grief for Agatha, absolutely, but mostly grief for myself. I don’t know how much time went by before I heard my door open and close, and felt a weight sink into the bed.

“Claudette?” My father’s voice, sad and uncertain and overwhelmingly loving. “Please talk to me. What’s wrong? Why would you want to be High Sorceress?”

I couldn’t help it. I flung myself into his arms, babbling all my hopes for my life, my dreams. All gone now.

He held me, and rocked me, murmuring soothingly. When my tears finally slowed, he smiled down at me. “Silly girl. Why didn’t you tell me you didn’t want to marry? I would never have engaged you to Edgar if I’d known.”

My jaw dropped. “Really?”

He laughed. “Really. Claudette, fathers want to make sure their daughters will always be safe and happy. We find husbands for them that we hope will make them so. But if you won’t be happy married, I’m certainly not going to force you into it. You can be anything you want. Well, other than High Sorceress, apparently. I suppose I should have told you that before. What do you want to be?”

“A scholar,” I said promptly. “A historian, and a scientist, and a builder, and a teacher, and so much more.”

“Then a scholar you shall be.”

So that’s how I became a scholar. I travel the land and beyond, seeking knowledge. I work with Flora, the new High Sorceress, in our quest to bring more learning to the kingdom. It turns out that when my mother’s pregnancies were difficult, she gave her blessing to Father to take comfort with other women. Nothing in the lore says that the High Sorceress has to be a legitimate daughter of the monarch. Flora has a keen mind, as sharp as mine. She was wasted as a servant.She’s my best friend, and we make a great team.

And I am happier than I ever imagined I could be.