Tears of Adamas: A New Old-Fashion Fairy Tale Short Story by Su Williams Page B

in the land. At first, she feared his former rage, but over weeks and months he slowly won her affections. And the need to empty her phial grew farther and farther apart, until she almost forgot what it was to cry.
                  On the night Adamas and Poneros became engaged, she cried tears of joy, pink-tinged jewels she secreted away in the cuff of her gown. But her joy was short-lived, for when they went to the King to seek his blessing, his response was unforeseen.
                  “Father,” Poneros said with a beguiling smile. “I wish to make Adamas my wife, and we wish your blessing.”
                  The King roared with mirth. “What, Poneros? You would marry your sister? No. No. It is unseemly.”
                  “But Father,” Poneros objected. “She is not kin through blood. Surely you remember this.”
                  “No. No. What would the commoners think if I allowed siblings to wed?” And the King waved them away with a jovial chuckle—a secret jest for his heart only.
                  Adamas fled to her bedchamber and flung herself upon her downy quilt. Poneros climbed to the highest balustrade and peered down into the inky chasm at the reflections of light that bounded from Adamas discarded tears.
                  “I will have her as my own, old man. With or without your blessing,” he swore to the night.
                  Poneros planned and schemed, searched out a way to convince the old King and make the girl his own. But with every petition, he was waved away like a troublesome fly. The seed of his greed grew and abounded, a twining canker that weaved its way into the deepest, darkest part of his soul. His greed festered until not only did he crave the wealth of Adamas’ tears, but he craved the throne as well.
                  One evening, a fortnight after the King’s refusal to grant his blessing on their union, Adamas placed a cup of wine at the King’s right hand. Only scarce moments after the dark, rich juice passed his lips, the King’s eyes grew wide, and his breaths choked to a silence. The prince and Adamas rushed to his side, but it was already too late. The poison in the cup had hit its mark. The King was dead.
                  “Poisoned!” shouted Poneros. “The King has been poisoned.” He lifted his father’s cup to his nose and sniffed. “The poison is in his goblet. Who brought him his cup?”
                  Adamas’ face blanched white and her delicate hands trembled.
                  “She…” whimpered the scullery maid. “She, adopted daughter to the King, killed him.”
                  “No. No. I didn’t, Poneros. I swear to you upon my life. I loved him. I could not do this thing.”
                  “Who gave you the cup?” demanded the prince.
                  “It was the King’s steward, beloved. He gave the drink and bade I give it only to the King,” the maiden explained in a tremulous voice.
                  Guards brought their swords to bear on the trembling steward. “No! I did nothing. I filled the Kings cup as always, Sire. I put nothing in his drink.”
                  “Guards!” commanded Poneros. “Take this man to the guillotine. He shall pay for the King’s life with his own.” The guards scrambled to obey their new King. “And this one,” he continued with a wave at Adamas, “take her to the dungeons for her hand in the demise of our beloved Father and King.”
                  Amidst screams and protestations, Adamas and the steward were dragged from the dining hall. “So mote it be,” mumbled the new King with secreted smile.
    *          *          *
                  Despite the gloom in the maiden’s cell, what small light from her single sallow candle cambered from her