Chapter Seven
Oren stomped through a patch of poppies in the garden where he normally met Livna. If she were with him, she would entreat him to be careful of the flowers, but he knew the festivities for the emperor’s last night in Carpatta would keep her far from him. A fallen branch lay before him, and he aimed a kick at its dried bark, much harder than he intended. Pain shot up his leg, and Oren hopped on his other foot, wincing and muttering curses through his teeth before finally sitting hard in the dirt among the plants.
Livna was leaving.
Livna was leaving, and Oren did not know at whom he was most angry. The cocky young emperor, who swept in and thought he could claim what was not his? King Ehud, who was so eager to pawn off the daughter he had long neglected? Queen Nava, whose jealous glower Oren had seen the moment Emperor Vandrus singled out Livna? The tribespeople, whose rebellious dissatisfaction weighed on Livna’s shoulders?
Livna herself, who would willingly surrender her life and leave him behind?
With a growl at the back of his throat, Oren ripped up a strangler weed from beside him as memories of the presentation flooded his mind. Livna, beautiful in her embroidered robes, walking with the emperor, then his announcement and the congratulations that followed. As the other women left to find their families and the emperor turned to speak to King Ehud, Livna had slipped to Oren’s side. He had tried to ignore her, telling himself it was best that she not be seen whispering to a Dwarven after the emperor’s announcement, but she had leaned toward him.
“This is for the best, Oren,” she had murmured. “I won’t abandon you here. I’ll petition the emperor for your freedom.”
Oren had simply ground his teeth and stared ahead until she gave his shoulder a quick squeeze and exited the hall.
Now, alone in their garden, Oren felt the weight of the words he had left unspoken and the injustice of the world he lived in. Livna believed she was doing him a kindness, using her new position of favor to ask for his freedom. It wasn’t her fault.
No, he was angry with himself and his own stupidity. Had he not often encouraged Livna to step forward and take action for what she believed in? Of course, he had imagined her confronting her father and demanding him to pay attention to her and her ideals.
He’d never in his wildest dreams imagined her being chosen by an emperor to leave forever.
Oren pressed his palm to his brow, ignoring the dirt from his fingers. Livna would truly go tomorrow with the emperor’s caravan. Even if Nava complied with Livna’s request for his freedom, which Oren doubted, he was no longer sure that returning to the Dwarvene Mountains was what he desired most. The removal of his wretched collar and the freedom to stand among his brethren in the mountain air where his full power and true appearance would be realized no longer held the same appeal . . . not when he thought about life without Livna’s smiles and quiet conversation.
“Aghhh!” Making a fist, he pounded an inoffensive poppy into the dirt. Livna had always been like a sister to him! Someone to tease, encourage, protect. But now . . . he hung his head. What was he to make of the feelings brewing inside him? All he knew was, even if his freedom came before Livna’s departure, he could not travel with her and watch her marry Emperor Vandrus. This prospect pained him more than the idea of never seeing her again.
“What is wrong with me?” he hissed. He threw back his head to watch the setting sun, drawing deep breaths in a vain effort to calm his tumultuous soul.
“There you are.” Thorus’s voice sneered behind him, startling Oren out of his thoughts. “Why am I not surprised to find you in the dirt?”
“Why are you here?” Oren ground out without turning. “Need someone to redirect Nava’s ire away from you?”
The older Dwarven circled in front of Oren with a sniff. “Her Majesty the Queen has need of your services.”
“At this late hour?” Oren stayed stubbornly seated, though his collar began to tighten, and he knew it would only grow worse the longer he delayed obeying the queen’s command. “I thought she refused to attend the farewell banquet. Surely she has no more engagements to primp for.”
The lines of Thorus’s face tightened. “You have another duty tonight, though I am loath to include you. But you have been so eager to see the new Dwarven at work; now you have a chance to join us.”
Oren frowned. Something drastic must have changed, for Thorus had always jealously guarded his secret duties from Oren. He studied the older Dwarven’s clenched jaw and pallid skin but found no answers. “Why?”
“We need more power, but the next shipment of Dwarven is late. Your magic should suffice even if your talents run more toward illusion than summoning.” Thorus sniffed. “Now. Queen Nava has demanded your presence immediately.”
Foreboding clung to Oren’s skin like sweat, but the collar at his throat and his own curiosity forced him to follow. He knew from over a decade of experience how impossible it was to resist Nava’s demands.
As they stepped from the garden into the shadowed hall, Oren strongly felt the lack of sun at his back and the chill of shadows inside. He followed Thorus to the queen’s elaborate suite and on into her sleeping chamber. Though the drapes usually hung long and flowing in the breeze of open windows, now the lattices were latched shut and long fabric shrouded every window, leaving only the light of a single torch to illuminate the dark room.
Blinking to adjust his eyes to the suffocating darkness, Oren perceived a pile of pale robes on the floor. Then a sleeve moved, and he struggled not to jerk back. Here were the captured Dwarven! No wonder they needed Oren’s power, for this group hardly looked strong enough to stand on their own. One stared at him with listless eyes while the others still concentrated on the floor at Nava’s feet.
The queen stood barefoot in a blood-red robe before her large bronze mirror. Its polished surface seemed to glow like fire in the torchlight. Oren blinked as shadows skimmed across its surface.
“Ah, there he is,” Nava snapped. “You know better than to wander off, Dwarven.”
Oren fought the fury burning within him like poison in this dark room. “As you recall, Your Majesty, you gave me the evening to myself after I perfected your face.”
“Don’t speak back to me,” she snarled. “We’re running late as it is, and I’ve forgone tonight’s banquet to be here. Thorus, take him to his place.”
The older Dwarven gripped his arm, and Oren leveled a glare at him. Thorus dropped his hand but said, “You will stand there, beside the mirror.”
As Oren stepped slowly to the indicated spot, Thorus began dragging the other Dwarven about the room, forming a semi-circle with Thorus opposite Oren, and the queen at the center of the group, facing the mirror.
The deep shadows seemed to slide and collect around her reflection. “He’s still there, in the divide, Thorus!” Nava said. “He’ll be displeased to have been left waiting so long.”
Oren marveled at the note of fear which crept into Nava’s voice. Clearly, they had summoned someone—or something—through the mirror. Its power must be dreadful indeed to instill any level of terror in the dauntless queen.
Thorus began chanting in a dark and ancient tongue, unfamiliar to Oren but dripping in malice and magic. Once he began, chilling pinpricks needled Oren’s skin from his toes to his temples. One of the figures on the ground near him groaned, and dark shadows emerged from the mirror, twisting round all of the Dwarven, one by one.
Suddenly Oren could see only the shadows caressing his skin. He could not tear his gaze back to Thorus, Nava, or the mirror, though he could hear Thorus’s endless droning.
“I have summoned you again, O Great One, to finish the spell which we began before.” Nava’s voice rang above the dull chanting, and an angry snarl exploded from the mirror. Oren struggled to turn his head, to glimpse something powerful, something dark, something . . . he couldn’t quite discern. Under the onslaught of twining shadows, he could not move.
“I apologize for the sudden end to our las
t session,” Nava continued. “We now have another Dwarven to fuel our spell, and you can finally give me all I’ve asked for. We can finish the ensorcelling spell, and Vandrus will desire none but me for his empress. Both he and Ehud will be under my thumb, and I shall be the Fairest One at last. As for that girl . . . She will suffer for trying to take my place.” Nava chuckled then, an ugly sound in her throat. “I do hope dear Livna enjoys her meal tonight.”
Oren felt as if a fist had slammed into his gut. He struggled to think as more shadows surged from the mirror, tightening the circle and filling his lungs like sand in a storm. A voice spoke from the mirror, but he could not focus on it with Thorus’s continued droning and Nava’s words still echoing in his ears. She meant to ensorcell both the emperor and the king, intending to somehow take Livna’s place at the emperor’s side.
More shadows began tightening around Oren and the other Dwarven like a mass of snakes. His knees nearly buckled as he felt his power being siphoned from him. Bile rose in his throat. He couldn’t let himself be part of this scheme! Enhancing her beauty day after day was one thing, but this? She said she would make Livna suffer! He couldn’t allow it . . . he couldn’t . . .
Thuds sounded as several Dwarven slumped to the ground, their power all but drained. What had Nava summoned? What kind of daimon could cast such terrible dark spells, harming Livna and enslaving those she held dear?
Again Oren struggled to turn his face to the mirror, but the shadows held him in place. The only way to break such a spell would be to break the circle of Dwarven, but his mistress had demanded his presence. Never had Oren despised himself so much for his inability to defy the queen.
An image flashed through his mind—a vision of Livna sprawled on the ground, even paler than normal, with a single slender arm outstretched.
With renewed purpose, Oren fisted his hands while the darkness oozed through his clenched fingers. Suddenly the shadows around him seemed weaker. Bracing his sandaled feet on the solid floor, Oren shoved back with all his strength. For a moment the shadows roped more tightly against his skin.
Then, with a sudden burst, he fell free in a heap on the hard floor. While he gasped for air to fill his empty lungs, he saw the circle still standing without him. Dark smoke surged around the Dwarven and blocked his view of the mirror.
Oren blinked rapidly, trying to understand how he had escaped the magic bindings. But the image of Livna, pale and lifeless, flashed before his eyes again, and he crawled from the dark chamber before Nava and the others could notice his disappearance.
In the hall outside the queen’s room, starlight gleamed through open windows. Far off, Oren discerned sounds of celebration and knew the farewell banquet had not yet ended.
Struggling back to his feet, Oren summoned his strength and raced through the empty halls, desperate to find Livna. He would not be allowed to approach her at the banquet, but perhaps she had retired already to rest for her journey tomorrow.
His feet pounded heedlessly against cedar floors and sandy courtyards, making for the women’s quarters. He did not know how he had defied and escaped the queen. But he knew he could not lose Livna. He would save her or he would die trying.
Chapter Eight
With Vandrus’s permission, Livna left the festivities early, before the more raucous dancers performed. The music and laughter still echoed in her ears as she checked to make sure her mother’s sash and her father’s comb were still in place after the long evening of celebration. Tightening the knot on the sash, she crossed the sandy courtyards then walked the vaulted corridors of the women’s quarters, a faint smile on her lips.
Though the prospect of leaving home made her heart ache, Father’s elation could not be disguised. Vandrus seemed a good man behind his confident, self-assured bearing. As she slipped away from the throng, he had caught her hand and whispered in her ear, “I have done what you asked. The Dwarven is yours to free.” Such joy had surged to her face that Vandrus remarked, “Here is an even more blinding smile. How honored I am to have brought it about.”
A blush had crept over her face, and she could not hold his gaze for more than a few seconds. How shocking it was to be noticed by such a powerful man! She had squeezed his hand in thanks and scurried away, knowing how flattered she should feel to be the object of his attentions. But in that moment she was more excited to share her news with Oren.
Now she rushed to the old garden in the hope that Oren might be there. The queen had been absent from the banquet, so neither of her attendants had been there. Perhaps Oren would be waiting to bid her goodbye.
At this thought, tears filled Livna’s eyes. Tears which she had been fighting to suppress for days, if she was honest with herself. But now the time drew near, the moment when she would leave. Leave and . . . never see Oren again . . .
She brushed hastily at her face, refusing to let tears escape down her cheeks. Oren would scold her for such silly sentimentality. What reason had she to cry, after all? Their dreams were finally coming true: Oren could return to his own people, and Livna would finally earn her father’s pride and respect.
Surely this ache in her heart wouldn’t last forever.
Not finding Oren in the garden, Livna hurried back to the women’s quarters. She felt oddly desperate, her pulse thrumming uncomfortably. Which was silly, she told herself as she neared her private room. If she intended to follow the emperor to his far-off home, she must get used to a life without Oren. She couldn’t keep running to him for comfort or wisdom as she had when she was a child.
“I’ll rise early,” she murmured as she stepped through the doorway into her chamber. “I’ll find him and bid him goodbye in the morning. And then—”
“Livna! There you are!”
With a gasp, Livna spun on her heel. Oren stood between her bed and the wall, his white features half-cloaked in shadow. Something in his expression worried her so that she forgot her momentary surprise at seeing him in such an unexpected place and rushed to kneel beside him. “What are you doing here? What is wrong?”
“Livna, I need you to listen carefully.” He struggled for a moment as though trying to catch his breath, then met her gaze, his eyes flashing with dread. “You are not safe here. The queen is casting a spell to place your father and the emperor under her thrall.”
Livna’s heart stopped. A mantle of fear crept over her shoulders, heavy enough to weigh her to the floor. At first she could not make sense of his words, couldn’t force them to form clearly in her mind.
Then she gasped, “Is Father in danger? Do we need to warn him?”
Through the deep shadows of the room, she saw Oren’s jaw clench. “I’m afraid it would do no good. I felt the strength of the magic.” Regret tore across his features. “She siphoned power from all of us Dwarven to summon some daimon and a dark spell. I’m sorry, Livna. Your father and emperor are as enslaved to her will as I am.”
“No.” The word left her throat like a growl as Livna sank to her knees in a maelstrom of loss, anger, fear, and confusion. Her eyes desperately turned back to Oren. “What does she even hope to gain?”
He swallowed. “Everything you have and more. She means to supplant you, to kill you, so she can take your place and your crown. She wants to be the emperor’s choice.”
Livna pressed her eyes shut, breathing deeply as she struggled to understand. “She would kill me to marry the emperor, but then she would have to kill Father too!” Livna shot to her feet. “I need to tell him!”
Oren surged forward and desperately clutched at the edge of her sleeve. “Please, Livna, you can’t! Don’t you understand? Her spell has begun. By now he could already be enslaved, and she could use him to kill you!”
“Then what can I do?” Livna’s voice broke on the last word, and she despised the tears fighting to escape her eyes.
“Run.”
“But Father—”
“Will be safe as long as you remain alive. She won’t risk her position as Queen until her title of Empress
is secure. With you alive, your father’s death would pass the crown to you and any man you marry.”
Livna nodded, her mind whirring. “So Father is safe if I run. But where could I go?”
“The Dwarvene Mountains,” Oren responded without hesitation. Livna’s stomach clenched at the thought of such a distance. “You can secure support there. The Dwarven Prince possesses great magic and, along with the Council’s power, it would surely be enough to sunder Nava’s spell.” A flicker of hope broke through the terror trying to suffocate her as Oren continued, “You must go. Find a caravan traveling to the mountains and plead your case. Please, hurry and gather your things.” His urgent words set her feet in motion. “They will have noticed my absence and surely will be searching for me now.”
Heart pounding, Livna rushed to her chest and placed clothing and coins into a large robe which she folded and tied securely. Pulling a cloak around her shoulders, her eyes flickered to Oren standing beside her with an expression of deep weariness and sorrow. “What will you do?” she asked, her voice a near-whisper.
“I’ll do my best to hold them back here, though I fear they may force me to use my magic against you. I still don’t know how I pulled free from casting the spell tonight, but perhaps I can find the strength to resist her.” He lifted both hands and raked his fingers through his hair. “If only I could travel with you! But it’s impossible—”
“No, it’s not. I know how you resisted.” Livna rose with her parcel and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Oren, you’re free. Vandrus did as I asked. You do not need to serve Nava here anymore.”
Oren blinked. “I’m free?”
“Yes, I’d hoped to tell you in our garden, but now—”
“This is perfect! I did not know how to protect you from afar, but now we can go together!” It was as if the sun rose across the horizon of his face, so brilliant was the smile he turned to her. One of his hands rose to grasp her arm. “What do you say, Livna? Are you ready to flee to the Dwarvene Mountains with me?”
Five Poisoned Apples Page 21