Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Acknowledgments
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four k12
by
Christine Schumaker
Copyright
Copyright 2015 by Christine Schumaker
All rights reserved. This book or any part thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictional manner.
Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form without the prior written permission of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Book cover and formatting by coversbykaren.com.
Acknowledgments
First and foremost, I want to thank God, who opens doors that I could not. Special appreciation must go to several people for their critiques and their encouragement. To Jamie Harrison, PhD., for reading my first draft and seeing its potential.
To my mother, Lieselore Barnes, and my Daddy, Geoffrey Barnes, for their feedback and support.
Additional thanks to Irene Haseltine for her honest evaluation of an early draft. Special appreciation to Martha Margolis of Tampa Bay Magazine, for telling me the scary parts were visual and frightening.
To Renate Zerngast, whose networking led to my SCBWI Critique group. Thanks, in abundance to Penny Taub’s Clearwater SCBWI Critique group and its members: Joni Higgins-Clark, Miriam Gusdal, and Julie Augensen, for their honest evaluations and their unflagging support and enthusiasm.
Many other people shared their opinions of my early drafts and I thank everyone who helped to shape my story.
Dedicated to Amanda Kristin
Prologue
The silver-robed jeweler handled the opal on his work table with extreme caution. His elfin ears pointed forward in concentration while his auburn ponytail gave him the look of an eager fox. Fastening the enchanted opal onto the gold chain, he sighed, and then he straightened and stretched.
His back had ached but he hadn’t dared rest, not until his king’s order had been finished. Finally, it was completed. He could not resist staring into the many colors of the polished stone. Like a rainbow reflecting off of the water of a calm lake. But he knew the storms contained within its deceptively beautiful appearance. He knew he probably should not, but he uttered the incantation, “Reveal to me the mysteries within and I will keep them hidden. The daughter with the rose’s mark shall be the one to defeat the dark. The light-haired girl of kings has embraced the ways of the ghoulish wood. The violet rose shall defeat her and establish the way of good.”
The Argot castle loomed in his memory and he saw a tower nursery. The queen placed the opal necklace around her sleeping daughter’s neck. The child smiled, nestling in her covers.
The mother’s sigh implied that she suspected her youngest child would be the one the prophets chose. Sadness mixed with fondness shone from her eyes as she gazed lovingly at her beloved Princess Serese.
The jeweler did not witness anymore of the vision for the opal suddenly flashed and a violet mist surrounded him. His cries were silenced as he dissolved into a pile of ash on the marble floor.
Chapter One
Serese stared at the bars of her dungeon cell. Her throat hurt where a rat must have nibbled at her in the night. It stung like a riled bee had pricked it; not likely considering it was the dead of winter.
If only she had a mirror, she would peruse the throbbing area. If only she had not made a spectacle of herself at her betrothal feast. At the ripe old age of sixteen, she had not learned to control her wayward tongue. In hindsight, she could have agreed to the match and run away after it was settled. But the blight on her character was there for the entire court to see.
Princess Serese was a contrary girl who had argued with her king. It was her unfortunate fate to be born into the royal Argot line. Many times over, Serese had longed for different parentage.
Serese rubbed her neck and her hand came away bloody. “Dragon’s Breath! Father has never tried to force my hand before.” She muttered as she wiped her hand on her gown.
It was her lot in life to be bartered to a neighboring kingdom, to forge alliances, to leave her home forever. Serese understood that full well. “I know my purpose. But, Hades Breath, I will not marry that handsome man! He causes my heart to flutter like an ensnared bird when he turns those brown eyes on me. When will I learn to put a wadded stocking in my mouth?” Serese fumed as she stared out the bars of the window.
The blood-red moon peering through the same dreaded window illuminated her violet eyes. They mesmerized like the hidden depths of a mountain lake, like the first blooms of spring peeking out of frosty ground. They were angry as she stared at the glowing moon. “God’s teeth, the rays of moonlight glinting off my neck only increase the burning I feel!”
Serese heard rioting in the streets, filtered through the prison window bars. The townspeople were starving and there was no more grain. The sorceress had burned their crops. The window faced the sewer drain which emptied into the river. Truly, her nostrils ached with the foul stench which brought to mind the dying plague victims from last winter.
The princess threw another log onto the fire, watching as the flames consumed it. She moved closer to its warmth as snow drifted through the barred window, gathering on her shoulders like dandelion seeds.
The river carried faint shouts which echoed from the dungeon’s stone walls. Why are the villagers not seeking shelter?
Thankfully her cell came with a fireplace or else she would have frozen to death. If the snow never melted, her father would have no people to rule. They would all be black with cold, their silent lips blue and unable to protest.
If she stood on her tiptoes, she could see the outline of the swollen moon, hovering in the dark sky. It reminded her of a ro
tten orange about to burst.
Her own temper felt similar, as she recalled her earlier betrothal supper where she had said, “I refuse him.” The entire hall had grown silent as they stared, aghast, at her. Even her mother, the queen, had drawn in her breath, surprised at her daughter’s refusal.
Her father had turned as red as a vat of scarlet dye. He had choked on his ale and her mother had pounded him on his back. His dark eyes had glared at her as he said, “I know of only one place for you, where you may reflect on your obstinate nature. It is not for a daughter to question but to obey. Perhaps you will learn to tame that unruly tongue and rein in your wildness.”
Perhaps he should have had that son he always wanted instead of raising her up as a young knight. He was as much to blame for her strength, having encouraged it with archery, riding, sword play, hawking and hunting. If she was only to be auctioned to the highest bidder, he should not have let her believe her path might be another.
Her thoughts turned to the brooding man who was chosen to be her husband. His bearing was erect, his shoulders broad, his figure lithe, but his eyes alarmed her. They were as dark as ink, with no love in them.
“Deus! Lord Forn gazes upon me with the stare of an owl before it swoops to clutch a mouse. I cannot go through with it.”
Serese had struggled to no avail, when one of her father’s men-at-arms had carried her like a sack of grain, only to drop her in this very cell. It was the largest one, but it offered humble comfort compared to her tower quarters.
“If only I was a toad, enlivened by putrid dampness. Or a well-fed rat; they are in their element here. Or a blackguard or a thief or a drunkard. They are not required to marry men they are frightened of!”
Serese had been imprisoned two days. She hoped she would not lose her mind. For out of loneliness, she was conversing with herself. The first day, she had inspected every brick, seeking a loose stone with which to pry away the metal bars on the window. There were none.
The second day, she had dug at the mortar and stone near the gate enclosing her, but had only accomplished to break the chair legs.
Each day, messengers had been sent to seek her permission to the marriage and each day, she had refused. King Argot could send someone to beat her tomorrow. The fact that he had never previously beaten her did not mean he would never employ it as a means of coercing her consent. Serese did not know how she would remain steadfast in her stubbornness then. The thought of a whip slicing her skin made her shiver.
The princess had no illusions regarding the saintliness of men; she knew what weak creatures they were. The affairs at court kept her mother occupied as simpering ladies caught with child were hastily married off to the most suitable knight.
How could these misguided ladies surrender to such unscrupulous men? Surely the fairer sex was above the common passions which guided lusty men?
As the moon neared its apex in the night sky, Serese heard boot heels, descending the staircase to the dungeon. Her ears strained to listen as she braced herself in case it was another unwelcome messenger, come to steal a kiss. She had stabbed the last one with the poker. It had only been a glancing blow but the affronted man had acted as if he had a mortal wound. Until Serese had threatened to tell her father of his inappropriate advances.
Her jewel-studded girdle caught on the gate which walled her in; she hated this cage! Truly, she would relish mending socks under the watchful eye of her nurse maid. Even if she stabbed her fingers with the needle, providing her ladies in waiting with laughter.
She impatiently worked her girdle free, brushing aside her cloak which smelled like rot. A key scraped in the rusty lock as Serese turned to face her visitor, holding the fireplace poker before her like a club. She breathed a sigh of relief when she noticed her mother and set the poker on the floor.
The stern expression on the queen’s face revealed her displeasure with her husband’s actions. At last! My mother will set this misunderstanding right. Why, last week, Mother caught a stable boy molesting a serving girl and had the young man horse whipped.
Queen Annaliese Argot still drew the eye with her slim figure and her elaborately coiffed black hair. The sapphires in her blue gown glimmered in the candle light. Her abilities as an enchantress were widely known.
Her mother’s eyes spoke volumes about the condition in which her daughter had been placed. How does Father endure it? Surely, Mother’s anger will encourage him to relent. If ladies were sweet whispers, Mother is a thundering shout. Unfortunately, I take after her.
The queen prodded Serese to the barred window, “It is as I feared. The moon sheds her light upon your neck, revealing that you are the chosen one. Your father and I hoped it would not be you. He kept on insisting we may have another child, perhaps a son, who would bear the responsibility,” she said as she gently touched her child’s neck.
“You mean this sting I feel—is it the mark? Is there a rose there?” Serese asked, a note of terror creeping into her voice. Her eyes narrowed at the guilt she saw in her mother’s face. “I knew Father raised me as a knight for a reason! How could you have kept this truth from me? I ought to know I am sentenced to death!”
Her mother gently placed a necklace in her daughter’s hand, “I always said a career on the stage would be suitable for you, Serese. The ancients have singled you out. They believe you are capable of destroying Serpentine. This-” she paused and pointed to the jewel, “opal will guide you. Never remove it. Come, I have saddled your mare, she waits for you. Hurry! The Sorceress searches for you! She knows the moon has chosen her successor.”
“Why must I kill her? Besides, Lord Forn will find me; he is ruthless.”
“Serese, trust the opal. It has led our bloodline for hundreds of years. Far be it from me to argue with the ancient seers. They do not take kindly to women meddling in their affairs. If you do not defeat the sorceress, you will take her place.” The queen grimly regarded her daughter.
“I do not understand. Why should I inherit her throne?” Serese asked. But her mother would not meet her gaze.
I want to strangle those dusty bearded men who put this seal upon me. How dare they throw this on my shoulders? I will pluck their beards, trample their herb beds, and tear apart their spell books. Bats Breath! I will certainly die before I satisfy their whims.
The harsh reality that she would most likely die, in truth, did not escape her; Serese paled at the thought of the torture she would endure, if she did not kill Serpentine.
“Is this why Father insists I wed Lord Forn? Is the dark prince meant to be my guide? Is that the way of it?” Serese asked, her voice filled with venom.
The glare from her mother made Serese fasten the chain around her neck. When Queen Annaliese turned white, it was best not to aggravate her further. Still, Serese fumed as she stared at her mother. Let her take her magic out, I do not fear her. But Serese paled when her mother withdrew and clutched the robin’s egg sized diamond from her pocket.
“I suggest you hold your tongue. I will not be at hand to rescue you from your outspokenness. You will need your strength for what lies before you.” Queen Annaliese raised her hand before her daughter and spun her index finger while whispering, “Dear Learned One, please teach her well, many lives lie, under her spells.”
Serese flinched as her neck tingled as too many needles stabbed her like hundreds of icicles. The necklace tightened around her throat, causing her breath to catch. Her eyes widened in horror as her hands sought to remove the horrible chain. Instead, the gold links embedded themselves deeper into her flesh.
Her mother had cast an enchantment on her; Serese narrowed her eyes in fury, “Stop it! Rays of light, I dispel, simple moon, make me well.” The princess uttered the nursery rhyme while clutching the opal—it seemed natural to her. The stabbing pain instantly subsided as the necklace resumed its role as a harmless piece of jewelry. Then her eyes widened as she realized that all of her childhood poetry lessons had been spells in disguise. Perhaps she was not as defe
nseless as she feared.
Queen Annaliese smiled in triumph, “Well done, daughter!”
Serese grudgingly admitted, “It seems you have taught me spell work after all. Does father know I am the one?”
“He suspects. He will know for certain once I tell him. Now, come quickly Serese!” Queen Annaliese pushed her daughter up the stone staircase. They climbed until they exited at the stables where Sasha waited, saddled and well-provisioned. Leave it to her mother to be so thorough at such a short notice.
Unasked questions swirled in Serese’s mind but she could not gather her thoughts. She wanted to know which poems, or spells, would be most effective against the sorceress. Why had I not paid better attention to my lessons?
Her horse nickered in delight at the prospect of a night ride. The queen watched as Serese swung herself as nimble as a tourney rider onto Sasha.
The black mare was a suitable match, for the strong-willed horse was quick, loyal and impulsive. Many of the stable boys refused to ride her, for Sasha had thrown many an unsuspecting lad.
“Trust your instincts, my young enchantress. There are those who will aid you; let them prove themselves worthy first.” Queen Annaliese kissed her daughter’s hand. “God be with you,” she said.
Serese’s fur-lined cape had been strewn across Sasha’s back and a sack of food had been tied to the saddle horn. The princess quickly threw her cloak across her shoulders, fastening its tie in the front. A leather skin, likely filled with port had been included; she would not freeze too quickly then.
Glancing anxiously, Serese felt relieved when she saw that her bow and quivers and her jeweled dagger in its black case had been tied on, as well.
Serese frowned as she sheathed her dagger in the compartment her father’s cobbler had sewn into her boot. God’s teeth! The only killing I have done thus far has been a boar. How can I murder a woman, even a wicked one?
The mare trotted away with the princess as poised as an angry statue astride her. She had not said, “Goodbye” because she did not easily forgive. I will not scream. It would not be prudent.
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