Five Poisoned Apples

by Skye Hoffert et al.

  Ava’s eyes snapped open. There, rippling in the darkness of the river’s flow, she saw Kara’s face take shape. Ava hardly dared touch the water lest it rebel a second time. Other sights flashed before her. She could make out the dim outline of a forest. Oh . . . there was more. A man walking alongside Kara . . .

  “It’s him,” Marius snarled, standing just behind Ava and peering over her shoulder. “That’s the one who took the princess.”

  She stared at the face of the stranger. He looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t quite place him. His dark hair hid most of his features but did not disguise the scar running down his forehead and across his cheek. He was worried; she saw him speak to Kara. Her stepdaughter’s heart-shaped face peered from beneath a hood. The vision wavered then revealed eight men riding single file, following a winding trail up a mountain where eagles circled high in the air. Hundreds of eagles.

  Where are they headed?

  “Stranger’s Pass,” Marius grunted as he peered over Ava’s shoulder. “It’s famous for the eagle nests in the area. That’s easy enough for us to reach, but after the pass they could head in any direction, deeper into the mountains or through the valley.”

  The valley would take several days to cross from one end to the other, and still she would not locate her stepdaughter without further guidance. I need more, she demanded. The spirits strained and moved in their quest. Something drove them into a frenzy she had never experienced before.

  Another image appeared in the rushing water. She saw what looked like low buildings surrounded by a wall and small trees. She was so close to discovering where Kara was headed. She could see the gate. What lay beyond the crumbling stone walls?

  We cannot see. We are bound, the strongest voice growled, and its fear extended into Ava, causing her to gasp as the images vanished into ripples of foam.

  Chapter Ten

  Kara found the packhorse to be a dependable ride, yet her every muscle ached, and her belly rumbled with hunger—the dried meat and fruit packed for the journey were only marginally helpful. For two days they had avoided cooking fires as much as possible, though Damien hoped once they traveled far enough from the valley they could safely light one without fear of discovery.

  He had led the group west, away from the Tiborne River, following a lesser-known route, one that cut a diagonal path, leading travelers past fir-covered mountains and steep ravines. Kara had lost track of time and distance, their pace slow along the narrow path clinging to the mountainside.

  Above her, layered rock stretched to snow-capped heights. The air was thinner, colder here. The sun was still high—it was perhaps late afternoon. They wouldn’t stop riding until evening. She was grateful for James’s leather clothes which made riding the horse easier, but she kept her cloak, needing its extra warmth.

  They saw no sign of man from the heights of the Avell Mountains. Birds circled above. Eagles, dozens of them, perched on rocks and the tops of trees, their wingspan as wide as a man’s height.

  Kara brushed hair from her eyes. She would not ask for rest, not when she so desperately needed to get to Vallhane and her uncle. The day before, Damien had explained the route they would take, using a stick to trace a rough map on the ground. He planned to ride through Stranger’s Pass and eventually stop at the Adienne Monastery, which lay close to the border of Vallhane. They would rest there and gather supplies. The names of the mountains were meaningless to her, but the monastery, that was intriguing.

  She had never heard of the Adienne Brotherhood, though it seemed Damien knew them well. The monastery was a small outpost of no more than six monks who had managed to remain hidden from the regent’s takeover of the Tiborne churches.

  “How do you know of these monks?” she had asked the evening before when Damien produced dried meat from his pack along with hardtack. Though she sensed he didn’t want to talk about his past, that night he had been more open, even sharing the fallen log she was sitting on.

  “James brought me to the monks following the attack on my father,” Damien had answered as he handed her a few strips of jerky. “Father Matthias knew the location and told us to hide there. The Adienne monks take in travelers needing rest before crossing into Vallhane.”

  Kara had wrapped her arms around herself at mention of the priest, her supper forgotten. Father Mathias had stayed close to her despite the risk. Closing her eyes, she silently prayed for his protection, though she had little real hope.

  “It seems Ava has destroyed all who would seek the truth,” she said. “Even if King Victor lends me support and an army, whom can I trust within the Raven Court? She has destroyed anyone who would support me or oppose her beliefs.”

  Damien watched her intently, his face earnest. “Your Majesty, there are still good men left.”

  “Not nearly enough,” she replied, disheartened. Hadn’t her own father’s selfish marriage to Ava brought about this evil? And what of the other weak men in the court who fawned over Ava and capitulated to her demands?

  “I had only a few men,” Damien nodded toward James and Scarborough, who were feeding their horses. He was silent, briefly lost in memories before he spoke again. “After my father was executed, I barely escaped with my life. The men you see with me now were once part of the Atwood household. They risked their lives to take me to the Adienne monks. The regent intended to kill me, but her soldiers failed. The monks brought me back with prayer and skilled healing. It was nothing short of miraculous.”

  “Miraculous,” she repeated, though inwardly skeptical.

  “Aye, though it didn’t seem so to me at the time.” He shifted his legs until he was more comfortable. “I begged my father to fight that night he was taken, but he would not. He must have thought if he left willingly, the regent would show some mercy to the Atwood household, but that was not the case.”

  Kara waited to hear more.

  “I was a fool, thinking I could save him. I attacked one of the soldiers holding my father and nearly lost my eye. In the tussle, a lantern was knocked over and the room set on fire. James dragged me out of there. Everything I loved was gone—lost in smoke and flame. Even so, it was miraculous that I survived.”

  He sighed and absently rubbed his arm as if an old injury still resided there.

  “I confess, I have wanted nothing more than to return and see my home, but I cannot go back. I heard rumors that the regent rebuilt Atwood Hall and gave it to another.”

  “Nothing is the same in Tiborne anymore. And if I can’t get to Vallhane, I will have failed my kingdom,” she answered. “With Ava’s power growing, it may already be too late.”

  Damien shot her a sideward glance. “You sound so hopeless. I remember a very different girl from the one sitting beside me now.”

  “I don’t. I remember the Raven Court of Ava Chaloner.” Kara’s voice cracked. “I remember feeling alone and forgotten.”

  “You were not forgotten”—His words sent a shiver through her—“any more than I was. There are greater forces at play with our destiny, if we but believe.”

  She struggled to reply. “I’m not certain divine help is enough. I pray, but nothing good follows. How can I stand against Ava when even my own father failed?”

  “You have taken a stand against Ava, and you’ve risked your life to make things right again,” he answered, his eyes seeking hers earnestly. “She couldn’t convert you, though she tried. I believe that when the time comes, you will be a stronger sovereign than your father.”

  “How do you know these things about me?” she asked, folding her arms across her chest.

  Damien’s neck reddened. “Father Matthias believed you would make a fine queen. He held high hopes for you as the Raven’s Heir.” Under his breath, he added, “We all do.”

  If she let herself think it, she might believe there was a note of admiration in his voice. She glanced at him, again noting the white scar on his face. “I should like to meet these monks of yours.”

  “And they will enjoy meet
ing you,” he said with a hint of a smile. “It is not every day a queen comes to visit them.”

  “How often do you see them?” The cold supper lay forgotten in her hands.

  He hesitated, rubbing his neck as if he couldn’t bear to look at her. “I have made the journey every year with my men. I was your courier, bringing your messages to King Victor. It was the only way your uncle could discover what was happening, since the regent would not allow visits or letters between the two of you. Father Mathias arranged the details. King Victor knew you would have trouble with the regent. It was only a matter of time.”

  Kara sucked in a sharp breath. The idea of Damien constantly endangering himself on her behalf, carrying every one of her secret letters to her uncle and bringing his responses back, brought tears to her eyes. “You did this for me?” she asked, her heart suddenly pounding.

  “Aye,” he answered slowly as though the answer were pulled out of him.

  She had wanted to ask him more, but he murmured something about taking care of the horses. And though he asked her leave to go, which she reluctantly granted, she was left with the unsettled feeling that the carefree Damien she had once known would never appear again.

  She suddenly felt very alone. What would happen to him after he took her to Vallhane? Had King Victor promised Damien some sort of reward? He certainly deserved to regain his title, but she didn’t want to be a duty for him to carry out.

  Truth be told, she would rather have a friend than a protector.

  The lurch and sway of her horse and the clatter of hooves on rock brought her back to the present. Ahead, Damien rode, always within her line of sight. Dark hair curling against his tanned neck. The bow and quiver of arrows slung across his back. A sword within easy reach.

  Even now he was on constant alert, his eyes ever in motion, searching the layered limestone. He reined in his horse long enough to point out a leveling in the landscape—perhaps a mile away— that sank down into a smaller, narrower version of the valley they had previously left hiding behind the Avell range.

  “Stranger’s Pass,” he called over his shoulder.

  There was nothing left of the playful boy she remembered. Yet the more time she spent with Damien and this motley band of men, the more her past came flooding back.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Your Majesty, let me go after the princess.”

  The statement startled Ava from her thoughts as she sat beside the early morning campfire. Two nights ago, when she saw the image of Kara, a terrifying sense of urgency had gripped Ava, robbing her of all sleep. Kara must not escape across the border. The spirits had revealed Kara as queen, and Ava would do everything in her power to stop it.

  But she had felt like a woman stumbling in the dark these past two days. What could possibly have frightened her spirits? She could not let these men know. Marius had visited the grotto pool and embraced her religion. For the sake of the power the spirits offered, he had been more than willing to submit to her will. What might he do if he knew of their fear? of her weakness?

  She raised her head to meet the steely gaze of the marshal and was about to respond when Marius added, “I can travel faster on my own. Send out other scouts. Eventually a trace will show.” He shouldered his bow.

  Ava folded her arms across her chest, mulling over the information. It made sense, yet she felt uneasy. “Do as you will,” she finally allowed. “I saw them traveling through that ravine where eagles nest. In three days’ time, if you find nothing, meet us at Widow’s Rock. I am certain she will head for King Victor.”

  He nodded, his face carved like stone. He gave her a slight bow and gave orders to two men-at-arms. As matters currently stood, he remained her only hope for finding Kara. Ava knew she could count on one thing: Marius Dupuis did not like to be thwarted.

  Marius and the scouts had left hours earlier. Ava and her remaining men continued along the riverbank, and the rushing water seemed to mock her. When evening approached, bathing the surrounding forest and mountains in shadow, Ava’s men-at-arms set about making camp in a small meadow. The men settled down for the night, leaving two on watch.

  Deep in the night, unable to sleep, Ava returned to the river’s edge. A waning moon shone through the valley, highlighting the water with touches of silver. She sank down onto her knees, longing for the familiarity of the grotto and the still pool. As she traveled farther from Raven’s Castle, she felt her power diminish. It was as if a battle were being fought amid the stars, one she could not see but could certainly feel.

  She pulled a knife from her belt and sliced her palm, hissing against the pain. Blood welled in crimson droplets, running down her wrist. Turning her palm downward to allow the blood to drip into the water, she rocked back and forth, her voice cracking as she pleaded into the night, “Show me if Marius will succeed. Show me where Kara is . . .”

  The river rushed along. She clenched her fist, now slippery, and sank against the bank, her head pressed against the damp grass. She had not come this far to fail. The night faded to a purple light signaling the arrival of dawn. In an hour or so, morning would break. Perhaps all would be lost.

  Marius will find her.

  She raised her head at the sound of that hideous voice and nearly sobbed with relief. “I will be queen!”

  But an image appeared on the water, the same mountain and low buildings she had seen before. “What is this?” she asked. This time she saw the image of a cross set defiantly on the peak of a roof. A monastery or church, small and remote enough to have escaped her previous notice. Then it vanished, and again she sensed a battle raging in the spiritual realm. Fear iced her heart, and fresh pain sliced her hand.

  The voice was a mere whisper: If you wish to be queen, you will destroy this place we hate and all who defy us.

  “I’ll do it,” she rasped, holding her aching hand.

  Chapter Twelve

  Relief flooded Damien at the sight of Stranger’s Pass. Every step Juniper took was a step farther away from the regent and her marshal. He felt he could breathe easier on the other side of the mountain range, as if somehow the air were purer, cleaner, the farther he travelled from Tiborne.

  He rubbed a hand over his stubbled jaw. What he wouldn’t give for a bath and a good meal. Perhaps they could risk a fire now. As Scarborough had predicted, taking a lesser-known path had lengthened the journey and they were low on food. Some of the men were eager to hunt. He knew of a little lake nearby where the water was ice cold but fresh, fed by melting snows.

  By the time they reached the lake and dismounted, the sky had clouded over again. The last thing they needed was more rain.

  James set off at a lope, headed for a rim of trees. Scarborough, not to be outdone, followed close behind with bow in hand. It was a race to see who could secure supper first, though the pickings would likely be slim. Fishing would be a better bet.

  Lewis and David also moved into the trees in search of dry branches to start a fire, while Constantine and Stewart tended the horses and set up camp. Damien sought the last member of the group and found Kara drooping in the saddle, her eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. She straightened when he approached.

  “Your Majesty, we will rest here.”

  “Rest sounds good,” she remarked, rolling her neck. “If only I could move my legs to enjoy it.”

  “Might I offer assistance?” he asked, after hesitating for the briefest moment when she didn’t move. “I seem to recall a similar situation where you were stranded high on a branch in the apple orchard.”

  Her eyes widened. “You are completely mistaken, sir. It was you stuck in the tree. Due to a bet, if I remember. You and the other pages wanted to know who could climb it the fastest.”

  “And you won,” Damien replied, remembering the sight as if it were yesterday. Kara racing through the orchard without a care for her gown, leaving her slippers behind and climbing the tree with little bare feet and a white-knuckled grip.

  “We pages all lost a coin and a supp
er and were threatened by our tutor with the thrashing of a lifetime for cavorting with the princess and teaching her to misbehave.”

  Kara laughed under her breath and leaned so close to him that her hair nearly brushed his cheek. “Don’t tell me it wasn’t worth it, Damien.”

  He reached out and gently lifted her from the horse. Her laughter stilled when he set her on the ground and released his grip. He had missed that smile and the dimples on either side of it.

  “You know, I always thought you let me win that day,” she said, tucking her loose hair behind her ear. Then her smile vanished as swiftly as clouds blot out the sun. “You would not recognize that orchard now. Not after what Ava has done to it.”

  Damien found himself wishing he could make her smile again. “It can be restored with time and care, and a little faith,” he said, reaching out to take hold of the packhorse’s reins. “As can the castle and the country.”

  “You sound like Father Matthias.” She darted a glance at him as they walked toward the lake. “He was certain Tiborne could be rebuilt to be what it once was. I confess, my faith is not nearly so strong.”

  “Nor has mine been,” Damien found himself admitting. “But I cannot give up hope. Not now.”

  She placed a hand on his arm, stopping him. “What if you could have your lands back? Would you return to Tiborne? When I am queen, I could reward—”

  “Your Majesty is most generous, but . . .” His throat tightened at the prospect of the Atwood holdings restored to him so easily. The world spun around him as he struggled with how to answer. Her eyes darkened with some unexplained emotion when he didn’t speak right away, and her hand fell to her side.