You can find this image at Confections

The First Queen's Maid

By Deborah Walker

A crow flew into the stable yard.

A young queen sat on a wooden stool working at her needlepoint.
The crow found some interesting straw to peck at.
The queen looked up to watch her children vying for the attention of their father. The boy was named Sun. He was as bright as day; full of fun and wild tales. Moon was the daughter. She was as beautiful and mysterious as the light of the night sky.
A young maid walked into the stables. She was carrying a stack of wood for the kitchen fires. As she passed by, she stumbled and the wood scattered over the old cobbled stones. The gallant king rushed over to help her.
“Thank you, your majesty,” whispered the maid. A few strands of her auburn hair had escaped from the confines of her white cap. Sun picked up the fallen sticks of wood. Moon glanced over to her mother.
The queen called the children over to her. She laughed brightly at a small joke Sun told her.
The crow had seen enough. He rose up into the air, a black arch against an evening sky of slashed amber and coral. He wheeled his silhouette of unnoticed shadow, before coming to rest on the window sill of the tallest palace spire.
Inside the tower Arbela, the old queen's maid, was packing clothes. On the bed lay a mass of discarded silks and satins, brocades and richly embroidered damasks.
“Are you leaving, Arbela?” asked the crow.
“I am.”
“I thought you were going to stay and help the new queen,” said the crow.
Arbela looked up from her work. She was a tall, coarsely boned woman who had followed her mistress from her homeland.
“I've stayed for a year, Brendan.” said Arbela. Arbela voice was harsh as gravel. It had become tainted with bitterness over the years.
“I was surprised when you stayed,” said the crow, “after all that happened.”
Arbela looked thoughtful. “I was in the habit of service, and the new queen had done nothing wrong. I thought that she needed all the help she could get married to an old letch like him.”
The crow let out a squawk, “That's the king you're talking about. He's the limb of God.”
“Tsk. What of it?” said Arbela.
The crow noticed that Arbela's features had taken on a greenish cast.
“Er . . . Have you done something with your face?” asked the crow, somewhat nervously.
“I've stopped hiding, Brendan. For years I would put on a mask of paint every morning. For years, I tried to fit in here, just like my dear old queen did. It's not easy, you know, trying to fit in. It sent my sister crazy.”
Arbela started to select jewels from an inlaid case of horn and ivory. She placed the jewels in a clever contraption of leather, which would be bound around her waist.
“Your sister?” said the crow. “I've always thought you were her servant. Why didn't you tell me?”
Arbela smiled, showing off her strong yellow teeth. “Oh yes, my friend. I'm royal, too. What difference does it make? Royal and commoners, we all serve, in one way or another.”
“I suppose so,” said the crow. “So you're not going to stay with her. What changed your mind?”
“The new queen doesn't want me around. I'm a reminder.” Arbela stuffed the fine gowns into a large canvas sack. She sniffed the air, “I wasn't much help to my, sister either, was I? No, Brendan, it is time for me to go back to the old country where rats graze on the bones of foolish, unfaithful men.”
“Okay, right,” said the crow. He hopped from foot to foot. “But what about Queen Tahlia?”
“That sleeping beauty? I can't help her. She doesn't want to open her eyes to the faults of the king -- just like all you humans.”
“Excuse me,” said the crow, with some dignity. “I am not human.”
“You were a man once weren't you, Brendan? When does your curse end?”
The crow hung his head, “I am released already, Arbela. I only have to say a word. But, Arbela, to be truthful, I'm not sure if I want to go back, I was a bad king, but I'm a good crow. I am content.”
Arbela surveyed the room. She fastened the leather jewel pouch around her waist, “You're welcome to accompany me back to the Land of the Ogres. You might like it there. We have less respect for our kings.”
The crow looked out onto the stable yard. The queen had taken her children inside. The king was still talking to the kitchen maid. All the land praised the king and his way with the common folk.
The crow ruffled his feathers, “No, Arbela. You go. I wish you well. We all have our places. I believe that mine is here. I just need to find the courage to take back my responsibilities.”
“As you will,” Arbela shrugged. “Take care, my bird. When you decide to become a man again, remember what you have learnt.”
Then Arbela, who had been maid to the evil queen for twenty years (and sister for much longer), who had lived in this land and not found it to her liking, slung the sack of her sister's gowns over her shoulder and set off on her journey
Brendan the crow, flew from the window shill and wheeled, once again, within the palace skies, wondering when he would find the courage to return to his own kingdom.

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