Now, where the pool had been, a pavilion stood as if waiting for her, its white lattices rising to an arched roof. Flowering shrubs and climbing roses grew around it, their buds not yet appearing. But she could easily envision what it would become by late summer, verdant, alive, and heavy with the scent of flowers. A place of joy and laughter. And of love, so clearly revealed in the care Damien had taken to remake a place once tainted with nightmares.
“It’s amazing,” she whispered. “I would never have imagined this place to be so . . . so . . .” Words failed her as memories of what it once had been tried to crowd in and replace the stunning beauty.
But that desperate time was past and gone. The witch had been destroyed. New life and healing had come to her, to Damien, and to all of Tiborne.
“Aye,” Damien agreed, drawing her close to him. “Things can be made new again.”
A former audiologist, Jenelle Hovde decided to take the road less travelled and return to a love of all things creative. She currently juggles many hats as a pastor’s wife, a homeschooling mother of three, and a writer in her spare time. She lives on the windswept prairies with her family and one very large Great Dane who insists on being a lapdog. Her favorite pastimes include sketching characters from books, reading historical romance and YA fantasy, and exploring the Great Outdoors.
Visit Jenelle at www.JenelleHovdeAuthor.wordpress.com
To my family:
Mom – Thank you for everything!
Heather – Little sis, I look up to you!
Nathan – For loving this genre first!
Dad – You’re a “real” fan!
Soli Deo Gloria
Chapter One
Snow fell the day Princess Livna was born, the same day on which her mother died. Snow never fell in the low country of Carpatta, yet this snow covered every inch of the sand-filled land. Those daring Carpattans who trekked through the knee-high powder called it an omen for change—whether for good or ill, they could not determine.
Eight years following that miraculous occurrence, Livna could not imagine anything so strange. No matter how many times she heard the story, she never found it easier to believe. She shivered now, as she cautiously stepped out of the shadow of the limestone wall, at the thought of so much white covering the sun-baked ground of the courtyard. Heat immediately pressed against her skin like an embrace. For a moment she closed her eyes, pretending she felt the arms of her dear mother whose love she had never known.
Squeezing her hands into little fists, Livna opened her eyes and barely dodged the sandaled feet and long white robes of a group of scribes whose heated discussion left them oblivious to their surroundings. One of the last men though, a lad scarcely old enough to grow a beard, turned his head in her direction, and Livna ducked behind a pillar of the portico to her left before he could spy her. Hot sand sifted through her sandals in her rush for cover, and her heart pounded, though she knew he could never have guessed the real reason for her lurking in the courtyard instead of in the women’s quarters where the walls would forever shield her pale skin from the assault of the sun.
After a few unsteady breaths, Livna peered around her makeshift hideaway and through the jostling crowd of scribes and servants in long robes and dirt-coated sandals to the far side of the courtyard where the East Tower rose to the sky.
If she ever hoped to capture her father’s love and attention, she must reach that tower.
It was tall and imposing, with its white walls and ornate doorway around which colorful images of peacocks, bulls, and salamanders seemed to dance in vivid tiled glory. Amid the azure, violet, and verdant hues, one other creature captured Livna’s attention: a phoenix, one of the mythical firebirds, glaring at the world with a noble and defiant eye even as flames flowed across its wings. Staring at its crimson-and-gold plumage, Livna straightened her posture and tightened her mother’s sash at her waist for a boost of courage. She would be as brave and bold as that firebird, unafraid of the roiling crowd before her. After all, she was a princess, the daughter of Ehud, King of Carpatta and newly-appointed Governor of all the United Tribes.
Livna had taken two steps into the courtyard before the bustle tore her gaze from the fiery bird. All around her, frenzy mingled with heated air and hissed complaints. Almost she fled back behind the column, but then she realized no glares were directed at her. The servants’ ire was not aimed toward the forgotten princess cowering in her robes and ornamental scarves. As she discerned words of conversation here and there, she realized they were upset about the empire, the war, Father, and his new bride. Nothing pertaining to her.
Recapturing her courage, Livna hastened past the distracted crowd and its tense atmosphere to dive through the shaded doorway of the East Tower. Black circles speckled her vision as her eyes adjusted to the dim hall. Slowly the cedar beams, tiled walls, and colorful curtains solidified, but Livna’s feet did not stir as she breathed deeply through her nose, savoring the scent of her mother’s sweet desert-rose perfume which lingered still, eight years after her death.
Dust danced in the draughts, but a new odor in the dry air clamored for attention, crisp and tart, like apples: Nava’s perfume.
Livna had stood beside the woman who would marry Father enough times to recognize the smell of the fruit grown by Nava’s tribe. Livna shivered. These long-shrouded rooms had been opened only for servants to carry in the first of Nava’s belongings and to clean her bedchamber so she would have a place to rest before the wedding.
Livna knew she should not be inside the Queen’s suite, and fear of detection ushered her toward the shadows. The whisper of her robes across the cedar floorboards kept her glancing back with every step. She had never intentionally disobeyed a rule before, and she knew she would be unwelcome in her mother’s suite now that it had been re-opened for Queen Nava. Normally, her desire to please Father kept her obedient, silent, and exactly where she was supposed to be. But now she found herself slipping along the main hall and peeking through every open doorway.
“I have to be here, though,” Livna murmured, urging herself to continue step by step. “Father is always so busy ruling, and I’ve heard the servants talk. They say he cares for no one, not even me.”
She rubbed her fist over her damp lashes before leaning around a corner and spying another room, bare except for a few engraved chests and the curtains fluttering in the breeze through the window. A dull thud sounded from the corner, accelerating Livna’s pulse to an alarming rate, and she froze like a coney until her eyes perceived the jeweled base of a curtain tapping against the carved scrollwork of a trunk. Slowly she uncurled her fingernails from digging into her palms and continued her trek and her murmuring: “They call Father heartless, but I know better. He loved Mother, and he must love Nava too, because of their beauty.” She’d overheard gossip often enough to know this must be true. Of course, she’d heard other servants counter that King Ehud was remarrying not for love but for power, but Livna chose to ignore this opinion.
She turned down another hallway, her eyes searching in the half-light for another room, the one which held her heart’s desire. She still did not fully understand why the Tribes were so upset at being united under Father’s rule. Of course, he would only be a governor for the emperor they had been fighting, and the kings of the other tribes would now be beneath him, but even Livna knew the Tribes had once been together. They had all grown from the seven sons of the same patriarch. Livna shook her head as she tiptoed down another hall, one with a much brighter light at its end. Hope pressed against her chest.
“Father can’t be marrying Nava just because she is the queen of another tribe.” Yes, marrying the queen would solidify Ehud’s rule in the emperor’s eyes. But his decision must be about more than that. Nava was the most beautiful woman Livna had ever seen, the most beautiful woman in the world, perhaps. How could her father not love her?
“Surely,” she whispered, “Father will notice me too if I’m beautiful.”
Livna inhaled deeply as she neared t
he bright doorway, last in the hall. Like every girl in Carpatta and the surrounding tribes, she knew the prophecy of the Fairest One, the maiden who would one day rescue all the United Tribes from a terrible menace. With this hope engraved in the hearts of the people, beauty was prized above all else in her homeland.
But Livna would need help if she hoped to be beautiful enough to make Father notice her amid war discussions, negotiations, and marriage treaties. Which was why she now crept through these forbidden halls.
She needed to find Nava’s Dwarven: the strange, stunted little men who were said to wield magic and the ability to change a person’s appearance. Like other wealthy women, Nava must have bribed nomads to capture them from the Dwarvene Mountains at the far edge of the United Tribes.
The loose hair about Livna’s shoulders tickled her chin as she cast a final backward glance along the empty hall. Then she pressed her feet onto the cedar-plank floor of the next room, which seemed to glow like gold in the sunlight falling through its tall west window. A raised cushion piled high with embroidered pillows lay in the center of the large room, and curtains of burnt orange, cerulean, and red danced in the breeze from another window which overlooked a private garden. These must be Nava’s sleeping quarters, for the bed was fully made and various trunks and chests lay scattered about, some closed, others displaying their bounty of jewels, perfumes, and silks. Turning slowly, Livna halted and felt the blood drain from her face. Along the wall stood a young girl in royal robes.
The girl gasped and covered her mouth in terror identical to Livna’s. Livna blinked rapidly, hoping the girl would vanish like a mirage on the desert. The girl blinked back at her. Livna lifted a hand to her face. The girl did, too.
“Oh,” Livna chuckled and slid closer to inspect the largest mirror she had ever seen. She kept a small mirror in her own room but nothing as fine as this. Polished bronze shone in the light of the sun setting beyond the fluttering curtains. Livna stared into her own dark-brown eyes and considered her unusually pale skin and the black hair coiling down her back. She leaned closer, wondering what made a person fair or not.
Father may have prevented the War with the Empire by arranging to marry Queen Nava, but Livna still heard the unhappy complaints of the people. They did not want Nava for their queen.
They, like Father, wanted the Fairest One.
“I simply don’t understand what these people expect!”
Footsteps approached quickly along the hall, and Livna’s eyes tore across the room’s flowing curtains and scattered cushions. Her soon-to-be-stepmother could not catch her skulking in here! The breeze in the curtains made them impossible to hide behind, and Nava might sit on the bed. An upright wooden chest of robes snagged Livna’s attention, and she dove inside among silken folds of fabric as Nava swept into the room, two Dwarven trailing close behind.
What strange beings the Dwarven were! Livna had never seen one up close before. Their white skin and sky-blue robes clashed with their stark leather collars. As Nava stalked to the window, fingering a bejeweled, coiled whip suspended from her embroidered sash, Livna peered out from the chest for a better view of the little men whose power was said to have made Nava as flawless as she appeared.
Livna clutched a fold of silk tightly in her fist. If Queen Nava left the room soon, then Livna could confront one of the Dwarven. She would ask—no, demand that they give her beauty too. After all, she was the princess. Shouldn’t she be the one to save Carpatta?
This thought had scarcely crossed her mind before she shivered and shook her head. She could never be brave enough to be the Fairest One, no matter how she looked. But perhaps the Dwarven could make her beautiful enough for Father to be proud of her.
Pulling back the embroidered sleeve of a fine robe to better see into the room, Livna met a pair of curious, pale eyes. She nearly jolted out of the chest and tumbled onto the ornamental rug. A Dwarven had spied her! Surely he would report her to his mistress! Livna would be dragged from Nava’s suite in front of everyone in the courtyard. Father would be informed, and—
“Well, Oren? Why do they despise me?” The queen spun in a rainbow of embroidered silk, and the Dwarven watching Livna slowly turned and raised a white brow at Nava.
“Speak, you oafish half-man! Your mouth is usually full of ‘wisdom.’ What is your diagnosis now?”
“Does Her Majesty truly wish to hear my opinion?”
The queen stalked closer, arm raised as if to strike him. When he did not flinch, she turned and flung herself across the cushions of her bed instead and threw a pillow at him. The other Dwarven, who appeared older, eased away from his compatriot to lurk along the wall.
“Would I have asked if I did not wish for an answer?” the queen demanded, propping her chin prettily on one slim hand.
The Dwarven bowed his head as if in deference, but Livna sensed a hint of sarcasm in his attitude. Despite his white hair and short stature, Livna guessed him to be fairly young, scarcely of age. Lifting his head once more, he stared straight into the queen’s eyes and responded, “Very well, Your Majesty. The people despise you because they consider you a traitor. Your last husband is hardly in his grave, and you’re marrying King Ehud simply to raise your status.”
“The United Tribes could be wiped out by Emperor Terminus,” Nava growled, dropping her hand from her face. “If I don’t marry Ehud, the emperor will give the Tribes to one of his generals. Benham, Carpatta, Soria, Hanada, and the other tribes would rebel at once and be crushed beneath his thumb. The Empire is too strong for us. The Tribes are safer as a region under the Empire’s control.” Her long nails dug into one embroidered cushion. “It is only because I, Queen of Benham, am marrying Carpatta’s king that the emperor sees him as a suitable ruler for the region, over all the Tribes. Our marriage should be uniting the people, but they’re only more defiant!”
“If I may, Your Majesty?” the Dwarven by the wall interjected.
“What now, Thorus?”
“I simply want to point out, the people don’t complain to you. They do nothing but compliment your beauty, your loveliness, your—”
“To my face, yes.” Nava’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “But I hear them behind my back, their accusations and hatred. They may praise me, Thorus, but they don’t love me. Though I save them, no one sees me as the Fairest One. Perhaps I need to do more—”
“More?” the young Dwarven called Oren exclaimed. “By the Dwarvene Mountains! They distrust you because you’ve already done too much! You were the daughter of a fisherman until the king of Benham fell for your beauty and made you his queen. Still you were not satisfied! You stole us Dwarven from our homes because you wanted more. Your first husband died at a very convenient time for you. Now you’re marrying the man who will be governor over all the Tribes, stepping into a role above all the other kings. You would not stop even if all seven of the United Tribes hailed you as the Fairest One. Nothing will please you. You could be the most beautiful in all the Empire and beyond, and you could hunt down all the Dwarven and drain our powers to enhance your appearance to outshine the very stars in the sky, but you’ll never be fair, not where it counts.”
Crack. Crack.
Livna cringed as a barbed whip slapped through the air again and again. Queen Nava stood wild and beautiful on her bed of crimson cushions, her chest heaving and the black waves of her hair swinging in motion with the whip she had drawn from her sash and now lashed again and again at the young Dwarven. Despite its jeweled handle, it was obviously no mere decoration.
Livna bit her lip to hold back a whimper with each snap of the leather. Her limbs ached to race forward and shield the bowed Dwarven, but she feared she would only earn a beating herself.
Oren collapsed to his knees as blood streamed across his white skin and clothing. No sound escaped his clenched jaws. Tears pooled in Livna’s eyes, but she could not tear her gaze from the unyielding young Dwarven. Her fingers twisted deep into the garments around her.
At last the que
en lowered her arm. “There, insolent creature.” Dropping the whip, she straightened her vibrant robes and, balancing gracefully, stepped down from the bed. Livna ducked deeper into the chest as the woman tossed one outer robe over Livna’s head and snatched another to her left. “Thorus!” Even muffled by the robe, the queen’s voice cut imperially through the room. “We’ll try the new mirror tonight.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“You’re dismissed until then, but send some of the serving girls to attend me at the bathing pool. And, Oren?”
Livna strained to hear a response from the beaten Dwarven, but no sound reached her ears.
“Clean up this mess.”
Footsteps padded from the room. Had the queen and her elder Dwarven gone? Livna held her breath and strained her ears. Several moments passed, and she weighed the dangers of being caught against the possibility of escape.
“She’s gone now. You needn’t stay lurking in that box.”
Livna gasped at the growling voice from the floor. She slowly pulled down the robe Nava had tossed over her head, her heart thudding in her throat.
“Yes, I saw you before, little maid. You’re quite safe. I won’t call Her Majesty back, and I’m sure she’s in for a long soak and several hours of perfumes and oils after her outburst.”
Slowly untangling her limbs and parting the rich robes, Livna stepped out onto the cedar floor and looked around. The little white man still crouched where he’d fallen when the whip tore angry red strips into his skin. His teeth clenched, but his silver eyes locked on Livna. For a moment she was not sure what to do, but a dripping noise drew her attention to the blood pooling around him.
“Oh!” she cried and rushed closer. “You need something to stop that bleeding!”
“Yes, but I don’t think Her Majesty will be pleased if I use some of her silks to sop up the blood. I can make it to the mutabikh, and the servants there should be too busy cleaning up after their preparations for the king’s meal to notice me.”
Five Poisoned Apples Page 17