…and when the princess woke up the next morning, she was dead. It could have been worse, Cordelia supposed. She could be in a coma or in the midst of a painful death-- perhaps by a gut wound. She had always heard those were grisly. Or worse yet, she could be married to that oaf Livingston. Still, being dead was rather disturbing.

Cordelia felt that she was missing a certain vitality. It wasn't an empty feeling, the hole was filled with...well, an unvitality. It wasn't quite the same, it didn't quite fit right. It was, however, close and that would have to do for now.

She sat up and stretched. Cordelia must have been lying there for quite a while; she was more than a little stiff. She had been lying on a slab of stone in the waiting mortuary of the family tomb. It was bleakly decorated as if to discourage potential occupants.

She began to swing off the slab when she saw her arm. She held the limb up in front of her face. It had a waxy cast and a smattering of sickly green bruises. Along her forearm, fragments of skin had been scoured away, punctuated by staccato gashes. Little pits pebbled her flesh, showing the muscle beneath. And it was bloated. Cordelia twisted her arm this way and that as if a different angle would negate the devastation. She made note to have Hildegard, her faithful maidservant, pull out only long sleeved outfits for the foreseeable future.

She heaved herself off the slab. Her left leg grated loudly and Cordelia fell on the floor. She frowned at the offending appendage. It was disjointed, the shin snapped and bent like a second knee. She pulled the leg straight, but it wouldn’t stay. It seemed silly to splint it; it wasn't like it’d be growing back together like it ought. It didn’t matter-- she needed a brace to walk. How could Cordelia Ruesdale, former princess of Eiklund, hop down the halls? Or, gods forbid, shamble and drag the leg? It would be a scandal. People would talk.

She looked about the room for a splint. Not a single one. Well, nothing for it, she’d just have to make do for now. Near the foot of the slab was a bucket of leeches, kept for emergency blood lettings on those not quite dead. In it was a stick that could be used by those of weak disposition to pull out leeches.

Cordelia pulled out the rod. It had a small leech clinging to the end. “Get off of there,” she said as she tapped the rod on the edge of the bucket a few times. The leech, knowing its standing in the world, dropped back into the bucket.

She had a support now; however, she had no way to bind it. She looked at the hem of her dress, then to the rod, her leg and back again. She readied to rip off a strip and then stilled. It wouldn’t be proper. No princess of Eiklund, deceased or otherwise, would run about with a torn dress, whatever the reason. No, she simply must find an alternative.

It was then she recalled she was lying in an area commonly frequented by doctors. There had to be some bandages somewhere, perhaps disgarded from those who would no longer need them. Soon enough, she found some, slowed though she was by her gimp leg and even more by her furtive looks towards the doorway, lest anyone see her hopping so. Once she bound the leg in place, Cordelia straightened her dress and hobbled, with dignity, out the mortuary door.

She didn’t get far before she realized she had no destination. She ought to inform her parents that she wasn’t dead. Or rather, that she was, but it wasn’t quite as the priests said it would be. Besides that, she had obligations. Cordelia wasn’t exactly sure what those were now that she was dead, but for as long as she could remember, she had something she was to do. Why would that change now? Cordelia had never before shirked her duties and had no intention of beginning now, especially with such poor reason.

First, she needed to change. She hadn’t forgotten how badly her arm looked. She’d have something done about that later, but for now a long, loose sleeve would have to do. Death seemed to involve plenty of making do. She disapproved.

Cordelia made her way to her quarters. She noted with some small satisfaction that her gait lurched less with practice and concentration. When she arrived, Cordelia heard some rustling from within her chambers and the low murmur of voices. She hesitated at the entrance. She shook her head and strode in. It was still her quarters.

A few dresses were strewn over her bed. Hildegard, her apparently faithless maidservant, was half inside a dresser, rummaging through Cordelia’s clothing. A slip of a girl stood in the shadow of the armoire, silent. Hildegard pulled out a green dress and held it against her body.

“It doesn’t look as good on you as it did on her,” the girl said.

“Everything looks better on me now,” said Hildegard. “Besides, it doesn’t suit my figure.”

“What figured?” asked the girl as she gestured at Hildegard’s sparse frame.

Hildegard scowled as she tossed the dress onto the bed. Cordelia stormed into view.

Hildegard froze. She gestured at the bed. “I was just, wait, but…you’re dead.” She paused. “Right?”

Cordelia frowned and folded her arms over her chest. She felt something odd and looked down. A rib was beginning to poke out from a hole in her dress. She sighed. “You were just, indeed. I don't have time to deal with you right now,” she said. “I have to make an appearance. I’ll need a formal gown, I think. Something with sleeves.”

Hildegard’s face was pale. She turned to the girl in the shadows. “Do you see her too? It’s my guilty conscious, right? Just in my head? I haven't even had that much brandy.”

The girl’s eyes were locked on the dead princess. She shook her head. “Sorry.”

Hildegard turned to Cordelia. “I saw you die. You can’t be here.”

“Where should I be then, but my own quarters?”

Hildegard stopped, her brows drew up in concentration. “In the mortuary, I suppose. That is where they left you.”

“I wasn't doing anyone any good just lying about. Tell me- how did I end up down there? I don't recall a thing,” said Cordelia.

“You fell. Off your horse, I mean,” said Hildegard.

The girl in the back stepped forward and smacked Hildegard on the arm. “Oh, go and leave out the good part, why don’t you?”

Cordelia turned to her. “And who are you then?”

The girl curtsied. “Lynde, if it suits you.”

Cordelia considered the girl. “One of the serving girls from the kitchen, correct? What are you doing here?”

Lynde curtsied. “I was trying to keep Hilde out of too much trouble, but it doesn’t seem to be going well.”

“Very well, Lynde, what’s the good part?”

“You see, mistress, you did fall off your horse. There was a river and instead of jumping, your horse reared. You fell off like a sack of grain, you did. Loud snap too, they say. Probably why your head is lolling like that.”

“Lolling?” Cordelia brought her hands up to her head and neck. Her head did have a tendency to rotate in an unconventional manner, but lolling?

“Yes ma’am, but that’s not all. Before anyone could get to you, you were awful far ahead, your body rolled down the bank into the river.”

“I imagine Captain Heinrich didn’t much appreciate having to fish me up.”

“Once you were in the river, they say you drifted into some rapids,” Lynde said as she mimed the body’s progress with one hand. “That’s when you smashed into the boulders!” She clapped loudly.

“I suppose that accounts for—”

“That’s not all either,” interrupted Lynde. “You were stuck on the boulders a while, but then you got loose, started floating again. At least, you did until you hit the waterfall.” The hand plummeted. “Then you fell. There were more rocks at the bottom of that, too.” A second clap at the end of the descent. “I guess that’s all the exciting stuff. You washed up eventually. They say fish ate at you while you were there. Looks like that’s true.”

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“Unfortunate,” said Cordelia. “Still, nothing to be done about it. Hildegard, have you got my outfit ready yet?”

Hildegard paled, except when she looked at Cordelia-- at her wounds anyway. Then she was more of a pastel green. “How can you both be so calm? You’re daft,” she said as she pointed at Lynde. She shifted the finger to Cordelia “And you’re dead. You’ve even got bones popping out everywhere.”

Cordelia’s hand drifted to the newly discovered rib. “One is not everywhere,” she said.

“Actually,” said Lynde, “there’s another on the other side.”

“-and in any case, what else should I be doing? Moping and groaning whilst shuffling about like some derelict?”

Hildegard frowned. “No, but…”

“Good,” said Cordelia overtop of Hildegard. “Now, where is my outfit?”

Hildegard still had not moved. Lynde gently herded the stunned woman to the door. Lynde patted Hildegard on the shoulder and said, “Don’t worry, I got this one.”

With the door shut, Lynde shrugged at Cordelia. “Hilde never could take any excitement. Please don’t mind her.”

Cordelia inclined her head in assent and waited. “My change?”

“Oh, right. Long sleeves, formal?” Lynde didn’t wait for an answer and pulled out a deep blue dress with flowing sleeves. The neckline erupted in a small fountain of lace. “How about this then?”

As Lynde set the dress aside on the bed, Cordelia fumbled with the clasp at her back. Lynde stepped forward to assist and gasped. Lynde took a quick step back and coughed.

Cordelia threw a look over her shoulder. “Yes?”

“You, uhh,” the maid worried at her bottom lip. “Might I suggest some perfume? A lot of perfume?”

Cordelia flushed. “If you feel it is necessary.”

Lynde nodded quickly. “Very necessary.” With that, she grabbed a bottle off the shelf and began the siege. First she circled Cordelia, ensuring no stench could escape the cordon. Then she started the barrage. Lynde hit the worst offenders first to weaken the resolve of the survivors. Scarcely a breath after, the assault commenced.

It was brutal, but after the clouds of fragrance settled, Lynde stood triumphant next to Cordelia, breathing deeply. Her eyes narrowed momentarily, and she squirted once more to finish off one of the walking wounded.

Lynde grinned. “There,” she said as she undid the clasp.

Cordelia looked herself over. Splinted leg, two protruding ribs, scrapes, fish bites, her somewhat erratic head movements, and to beat it all, her hair was a disaster. No wonder poor Hildegard was troubled.

With Lynde’s assistance, Cordelia scrambled into the new dress. A high collar, surreptitiously reinforced, helped with the neck issue. The ribs, however, made for odd lumps even through the dress. She poked at one while she thought. She pressed it again, harder. It reluctantly diminished back in its proper place. She beamed at Lynde. When she let go to push in the second, the rib slid out with a sound of sandpaper on stone.

Cordelia’s face fell. She cast a forlorn look at the troublesome rib. Lynde studied her, brows creased in thought. “Can you hold each in with one hand?” asked Lynde.

“Yes, but what good does that do? I can’t walk around like that.”

“Of course not. That would be absurd,” said Lynde. In a low mutter, she continued, “This will look much better than hoops anyhow.” She grabbed a dark suede corset out of the wardrobe.

As Cordelia held her ribs in, Lynde tightened the laces. “Now that you’re dead, do you need to breathe?”

“Of course--“ she stopped. “Perhaps. One moment.” She held her breath.

A moment later, she said, “No, it seems I do not, though I do much prefer to.”

“Fashion has never been a thing of preferences,” Lynde said as she pulled savagely on the laces. A whoosh of air was expelled from Cordelia and Lynde tied off the laces.

Lynde stalked about Cordelia. “Now that’s an hourglass,” she said. “Who knew death would be good for the figure?”

“…,” gasped Cordelia.

Many a minute later, the two struck a compromise between air to speak and a waist so small even that wench girl from Talenholm would be envious.

“One last thing. I hear some ladies use beeswax for pox marks. Would you like to try it for the bites?”

Cordelia hesitated. “Yes, I think I would.”

As she hobbled towards her father’s study, those she passed stopped to stare. Some hid, some watched from around corners, a few bold ones watched in the open, jaws hanging slack. Chatter broke in great floods after she passed. No one spoke to her. Cordelia declined to notice.

At last she reached the heavy doors. Two guards flanked the door.

“Is my father in there?” she asked.

“His majesty is not to be disturbed. He is in mourning for…” The guard glanced down at Cordelia and trailed off. He looked at the second guard. The man shrugged.

“Way above our pay grade,” he said as he stepped aside.

Inside, her father sat next to the fireplace with his back to her. Without a word, Cordelia drew a chair up next to him and sat.

He quickly glimpsed over at her and stared back into the fire. “I see those fool doctors can’t tell the difference between death and a knock on the head. Perhaps I ought to show them,” he said, his voice tight. “Had me upset, girl.”

Cordelia shook her head. “I’m sorry, papa. It wasn’t a knock on the head.”

The king sighed heavily and stared deeper into the fire. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“It’s not your fault. I should never have taken Isa out as young as she is. Besides, it’s not that bad, just annoying.”

“It’s not that, Delia. You can’t stay here.” He rubbed his temples and mumbled, “No one in my family has ever walked around after death. Must be from your mother’s side.”

Cordelia stared at her father. “But why? I can still help the family.”

“Absolutely not,” the king said. “I can’t have you encourage people of our stature to gallivant about after death. Think of what it would do to the list of inheritance. Besides, it would destroy a thriving market- who would hire assassins when the targets are just going to get up again? No, if you leave now, we can still pretend you did the right thing and stayed down. We can still prevent the damage.”

Cordelia opened her mouth and closed it again. She stared into the fire. An uneasy silence settled between the two.

A door in the back slid open. “Sam? Are you in here?” It was her mother. Light steps moved toward the stationary pair.

“Oh, Delia! They told me you had- but why didn’t you tell me you were all right? Turn around and let me see you.” As she babbled on, Cordelia stood and turned.

Her mother shrieked. “Your face! What happened to your face?”

Cordelia lifted her hands to her face. Warm wax dribbled down her face. She pulled her hand back and examined the wax on her fingers like it was some sort of fascinating creature. She should have realized-- the fire. She chided herself as she swore loudly and with gusto. All that work spoiled.

Just then, there was a sickening pop. A rib burst through the corset. Cordelia’s mother screeched again and backed away from her daughter. The guards burst in through the study door. They leveled their spears and searched the room for a threat.

“Leave!” bellowed the king.

Bolting past the scowling guards, Cordelia ran through the castle. She attracted the attention of those she passed, but none were willing to interfere with a princess, living or dead. She didn’t slow until she reached the town outside.

She wandered the street for hours. She thought everything, nothing, one thing. In the end, there was that one thought, just two words repeated. What now? Waves of thought broke on a cliff.

She couldn’t go back, that was clear. So, what now? She couldn’t help her family or her people. In fact, her existence hurt them. She couldn’t remember a time when she had no responsibilities.

When she recalled herself, she was sitting in a dingy alleyway staring at the wall opposite her. The bottom of her dress was covered in street muck, and the top was water-stained. The pale rib still showed from the corset like a lone marble monolith in a sea of suede. Wax furrows ran down her face. It made her look like some deformed nightmare. What now?

Footsteps on the cobbles sounded from down the way. Lynde peeked out around the corner. She smiled at Cordelia. “On the bright side,” she said as she drew near Cordelia, “with a description like yours, it’s not as hard to track you down as it could be. Anyhow, there’s a problem.”

Cordelia sighed softly. “It’s nice of you to think of me, Lynde, it truly is. However, you’ll have to go to someone who can actually do something.”

Lynde bit her lip and thought. “I think you are the only one who can.”

“And the difficulty is?”

“There’re more-- more like you.”

Lynde led Cordelia to a downtrodden part of town, to the Old Crossroads Tavern. Inside there was a good dozen sullen faces huddled around the bar. One man still had slivers of wood lodged in the back of his skull and another tried to hide the dark bruise of a noose. A driver had taken an unfortunate tumble from his carriage during the midday rush. He was piled politely in the booth nearest the bar. The owner had died the night before-- sneak thief got a little too excited and added a murder to petty theft. It seems the barkeep didn’t mind sharing his space with the other unwanted.

“I fished it back out,” a late chef was saying. “They kicked me out then and there. It’s not like I wanted to drop it in!” There were scattered murmurs of agreement. Even those few were spiritless.

“This is why it took me as long as it did to find you,” said Lynde. “The first few times I mentioned the whole ‘dead walking’ thing, folks kept pointing me here. That’s why I found them at all. I guess a few of them were making a fuss.”

Cordelia raised an eyebrow.

Lynde blushed and said, “I followed you to make sure you were all right is all. Anyway, you have to take care of them. You can be a real Queen of the dead! Or at least a Princess.”

Cordelia stood in the back and studied the crowd. They were all sudden deaths; they all just wanted to get on with their lives; they all were tossed out with the night water by those who they had loved best. She smiled and said, “I think I can help. It won't be quick, but suddenly, we do seem to have time on our side.” With that, Cordelia strode up to the front of the tavern to introduce herself.

...and when the former princess woke up the next morning, she was still dead. It could be worse, she supposed, she could be stuck in that castle with her fool maid, Hildegard. Or, worse yet, she could be trapped there with those who cared for her far less than she had hoped. Still, she had found people who needed her, and, she was surprised to note- she needed them as well. They were in a bad spot, but it would do for now.