Five Poisoned Apples

by Skye Hoffert et al.

  Yet again, a man begged her to leave her home and follow him to a land she had never seen. Though fear pounded within her at the thought of leaving her father and Vandrus in Nava’s thrall, Livna felt a strange tranquility overcome her worries as she met Oren’s gaze.

  “Yes.” She wrapped her fingers around his hand. “I’m ready.”

  The scuffing of feet echoed from the hall, and Livna tightened her grip on Oren’s fingers. While another woman could have chosen to retire early from the festivities, other possibilities flickered through Livna’s mind. Could someone have pursued Oren? Could Nava already be carrying out her plan to kill her? After several moments of holding her breath, the footsteps turned, continuing back the way they had come, as if searching for something in the dark.

  “We need to leave now,” Oren whispered as soon as silence returned. “I’ll place a glamour over us to disguise us as we leave.”

  Livna tensed as a tickling sensation pressed over her skin. Glancing down, she gasped to see nothing but shadow where her arm should be. She knew Oren wielded magic, but other than Nava’s prolonged and exaggerated beauty, she’d not witnessed this magic in effect before now. Realizing that her friend, for all his shortness of stature, commanded so much power, filled her with awe.

  She felt but did not see Oren’s hand at her elbow, and together they stepped from her room. As they exited the narrow hallway, Livna moved toward the main entrance of the women’s building, but Oren’s fingers lightly tugged her toward a servant’s hall. Of course, the deepened shadows there would aid Oren’s glamour even if their path was less direct.

  Quickly they crept through the darkest halls from the women’s quarters and across several courtyards and structures. Livna hardly recognized these less-traversed rooms but trusted Oren’s direction.

  “One more building to pass through,” Oren’s quiet voice startled Livna as they crept along the edge of an empty courtyard. They came to a room larger than most they had encountered so far, and moonlight poured from tall windows, illuminating tables piled with scrolls. This must be where the scribes kept records and worked.

  Oren pulled Livna to a halt, and they both peered through the door before stepping cautiously inside. While not so fine as a courtier’s chambers, the room appeared moderately ornate with mosaics covering the wall and a few decorations scattered about. As Livna crept across the floor, a long shadow fell over her path. She inhaled sharply and twisted her head toward its source but released her breath when she saw only a large vase atop a table. Slowly she set one foot in front of the other, moving toward the open doorframe of a shadowy hall beyond.

  Suddenly, a sharp pain rippled across her skin, and Oren’s illusion was ripped away, revealing her arms and skirt and Oren in front of her. Swiveling to grip her arms, he whirled them both behind the table with the vase. Livna tried to look around, but his hand pushed her down until she knelt on the floor. He whispered into her ear, “Stay here.”

  “Running away, are we?”

  Thorus’s voice cracked through the air. From her spot on the floor, Livna could see the Dwarven’s sandaled feet step into the room. Her heart pounded as Oren rose and moved back into the moonlight.

  “What reason have I to stay?” Oren said, his voice clear and firm.

  The older Dwarven’s feet paused as Oren stood before him. A cruel chuckle tickled Livna’s ears. “You know the queen’s plan. You left during her spell. I cannot allow you to stand in her way.”

  A flash of light jabbed toward Oren but bounced backward as Oren lifted a pale blue wall about him. More lights followed, stabbing at Livna’s vision as she struggled to keep her eyes on the pair as they moved about the room. Oren was steadily leading Thorus away from Livna’s hiding place. She longed to jump to Oren’s aid, but she had no magic.

  Oren’s onslaught forced Thorus back several steps, and Livna rose from the ground for a better glimpse of their struggle.

  Then Thorus’s hand slashed across a neighboring table, flinging a pile of scrolls at Oren’s face before aiming a punch at his head. When Oren ducked, the older Dwarven slammed into his back and caught him around the neck, his short strong arms squeezing. Livna could only watch helplessly, staying behind the vase as Oren had ordered. Before her eyes, both Dwarven lowered to the floor, and Oren’s breaths became fewer and weaker.

  Livna’s vision narrowed on the two. Panic rose within her. Something must change . . . now.

  Suddenly she was in motion. Her body had decided to take action before her mind quite came to a decision. She lifted the heavy vase, her arms strengthened by her own terror, and slammed it with everything she had against the back of Thorus’s skull.

  A great shattering filled her ears. Shards of broken pottery cut her hands as she stepped back, lost her footing, and landed in a heap on the floor, tangled in the hem of her robe. The bodies of the two Dwarven stirred, and she could not catch her breath.

  Then Oren pushed up onto his hands and knees, knocking Thorus’s body aside in the process. His chest heaved in great gasps of air. After shaking his head so that his pale hair flew about his face like a cloud, he reached out to feel the other Dwarven’s pulse.

  “Still alive,” he said, his voice thin in his bruised throat. He offered Livna a shaky almost-smile. “Thank you, Livna.”

  Her arms trembled as shock settled in. She was only vaguely aware of Oren hefting Thorus into an adjoining chamber without windows before moving to a large table. “Livna, help me with this,” he said.

  She rose on quivering legs and helped him drive the table against the doorframe. Then she leaned against the table, trying to get her shivering body back under control. “I thought . . . I thought I would lose you,” she whispered.

  “Not that easily, I hope.” Oren’s teeth were clenched and his eyes wider than normal, as if he too knew how close of a brush he’d had with death.

  The stamp of feet sounded from outside, and Livna gripped his hand.

  Oren pressed his fingers tightly around Livna’s and recast his glamour about them. Stepping lightly, they moved into the shadowed hall. The heavy footsteps still sounded behind them, but Oren’s eyes at last discovered what he sought: the final door out of the palace grounds.

  Livna’s pace quickened, bringing her nearer, and Oren poured more power into his glamour, adjusting their appearance from shadow to a pair of peasants as they slipped into the night. He heard Livna draw a sharp breath, her eyes wide and staring above his head where the glamour displayed a much taller man in the moonlight. Despite the chance of detection, he nearly chuckled. Livna had only seen him in his fallen state. No captured Dwarven retained his full height and appearance away from his homeland.

  How would Livna react when she saw him in his element? It was an interesting question, one he scarcely dared to consider. For now, he contented himself with the smile that lit her face in appreciation of his little trick.

  Their roundabout trip through the palace grounds had brought them to the less crowded side of the city where only a few streets stood between them and the desert. Together they slipped out of the city. Oren peered over his shoulder every step, but no one appeared behind them, so they continued quietly through the night. They kept to the well-worn road where the plethora of tracks would disguise theirs. When the wind blew sand from the surrounding desert, Oren glanced at Livna, ensuring her cloak was wrapped snugly around her shoulders and head.

  By the time the sun began rising in a crisp blue sky, their weary feet were difficult to lift. The heat intensified with every passing moment, but Oren did not mind. He could scarcely believe how his life had changed in a single night. Only yesterday he was a slave, forever separated from his people and soon to lose his only friend as well.

  Now he led Livna away from the trail until he found an outcropping of rock to offer them shelter and shade to hide them. He considered pouring some of his power into a distraction border, but that kind of effort would leave him weary for their trek. Besides, if Nava set Thorus on their
trail, he could sense that level of magic.

  Instead, Oren turned to Livna. “Here, sit. We’ll rest while the sun is high, for we need our strength and will be no match for the heat when it arrives.”

  She nodded. A few strands of her obsidian hair had fallen across her cheek. “Very well, but first . . .” She leaned down and tugged at the clasp holding his collar. Oren closed his eyes and inhaled at her sudden closeness as the collar sprang loose under her touch. His anticipation seemed to hum in the air around him, more potent than magic. He swallowed as her fingers gently pulled the leather.

  As the stiff material fell away, Oren felt a lightness he had not known in years. He opened his eyes to a world unbound and met Livna’s gaze. “Thank you, my friend.”

  Chapter Nine

  Livna had not known so much water could exist.

  After nearly a week of crossing the desert, traveling by moonlight, purchasing food from passing caravans, sleeping by day, and rising again to walk still further each afternoon, they finally reached the border of Carpatta where mountains soared to meet the skies. The sight had astounded Livna, but not as much as the storm clouds which hungrily claimed the heavens the next morning. Wind whipped sand into their eyes and tore at their blankets, cloaks, and hair, and soon water poured from the sky in heavy sheets.

  Though they slept only a few hours, Oren urged her onward through the mud and rising storm, warning the weather would only grow worse. They would need real shelter soon, even if it meant entering a town. Until now they had managed to avoid other travelers and given wide berth to all towns. Though fear of detection clung to them, they had not encountered any search parties.

  Livna wondered what was happening at the palace and whether anyone sought them. She prayed she and Oren would obtain aid soon enough to save Father, Vandrus, and the Tribes. Life in the palace seemed a distant dream, and this endless journey, the reality, especially as she recalled her last few days at home. Father’s approval, the attention of an emperor . . . had Vandrus truly chosen her? Would she really have gone with him to a place she had never seen?

  She had followed Oren, of course, but that was different. Lives had been threatened, and Oren . . . well, Livna trusted Oren. Even now, as they struggled through sudden rushing waters and slick slopes, as the rain washed away her vision of the mighty mountains and everything but Oren before her, she trusted him.

  At last they came upon a village large enough to support a tavern and stepped into the dry but odiferous main room. Others had been driven in by the storm: merchants, wanderers, and those too poor to afford their own roof. Oren led Livna to a dim corner where they would draw less attention. He had again conjured a glamour over them, but she found that each time he used it on their journey, it became easier for her to see through the disguise to the truth underneath. Oren had explained it was not uncommon for exposure to magic to make one immune to its ruse. She wondered how Stepmother would look to her now that she could see beyond the exterior of Oren’s glamours.

  After nearly half an hour of shivering in wet robes and listening to the sound of rain against the walls, a server brought them some tepid soup which they fell upon with enthusiasm. After the meal, Livna still clutched the warm bowl in her chilled fingers and wondered how long they would need to wait for the storm to clear.

  “I believe they have some rooms where we could spend the night.” Oren turned from his perusal of the dark room to pat Livna’s hand. “I’m going to speak with the owner. We haven’t used many of your coins, so we have plenty to spare.” He must have seen the panic in her eyes, for he added, “I will only be a moment. Wait here.”

  She nodded as he stepped away from their table and began listening to the other conversations in the small room. A merchant along the wall to her left complained about the damage the rain would do to his stock, and a pair of women several tables away snickered at his loss, remarking that only a fool would bring his goods through the mountains this late in the season. Across the room several families sat by the only fire, savoring its warmth and the contents of their bowls.

  “Do you think the emperor did it?” one of the fathers queried, capturing Livna’s ear.

  “His father had no qualms about stealing our land, so I see no reason why the son wouldn’t be to blame for taking our last hope,” his wife remarked bitterly.

  “But, Mama,” a girl said, tugging at the woman’s sleeve, “the princess can’t be dead, or the prophecy wouldn’t be true. She is the Fairest One, isn’t she?”

  Livna’s fingers tightened around her empty bowl, turning her knuckles white. The princess . . . the prophecy . . .

  They thought she was the Fairest One?

  The mother swatted her child’s hand away. “It’s a load of nonsense if you ask me. What should being beautiful have to do with saving a country?”

  Livna gasped. She had never heard someone question the ancient prophecy before. It was older even than the Tribes, spoken by the first patriarch to his seven sons after he consulted the Dwarven Council. Everyone knew it was true even if each Tribe had its own version. After all, everyone agreed with the core of the promise: A maiden, the Fairest One, would bring security and unity to all the Tribes in a time of dire need.

  “Ah, don’t be cross, Jezze,” another woman spoke up. “The girl’s right: If Princess Livna is the Fairest One, as we hoped, then she’s not dead, and she’ll still help before war starts again. After all, they haven’t found her body, and the emperor claims he’ll not leave until some clue is discovered.”

  Livna’s eyes widened. If Vandrus still sought her, then perhaps Nava’s spell had not ensorcelled him as she intended.

  Oren returned to the table, unaware of all she’d just heard. “We have a room with a small fire which we may retire to . . . Livna? Are you unwell?”

  Realizing her fingers still clung to her empty bowl, she set it aside and tugged Oren back to his seat. “I heard the families by the fire speaking,” she whispered. “They mentioned Vandrus.”

  She saw Oren’s jaw clench. “Oh?”

  “He’s looking for me. It sounds as if her spell may not have succeeded after all. What if he discovered Nava’s plan before she could harm him or Father?”

  Oren tapped a finger against his jaw, brows furrowed in thought. “I suppose it’s possible her spell failed. But we can’t know that and . . .” He looked at her, then away, and hesitated.

  She frowned and finished his thought, “And it would be too dangerous for us to return now, with no support.”

  “Even if Vandrus is trustworthy, we don’t know what condition the king is in. Besides, what if it’s all a trap? Or worse, what if the spell simply failed because I left? Nava could be gathering more Dwarven and preparing to recast it with more power even now.”

  Livna pursed her lips in thought. With people angry at Vandrus, more trouble could form. And surely rumors would fly if Nava had been apprehended. She nodded at last. “You’re right, Oren. Our best chance is still to beseech the Dwarven Council.”

  “But something still troubles you, doesn’t it?”

  Livna squared her shoulders and shook her head, but Oren leaned closer over the table, and she could clearly see his pale face beneath his glamour. “What’s wrong, Livna?”

  Though she rarely kept anything from Oren, reluctance filled her at the thought of telling him what the people thought of her. Their words had been shocking enough to her, and she could not guess how he would react. But at the concerned look in his eye, she sighed and whispered, “The people I heard, they called the princess . . . me . . . the Fairest One.”

  No surprise showed in his face. He simply lifted his eyebrow in challenge.

  “But I’m not! You know I’m not. They expect so much!” More than I could ever give them.

  Oren placed his hand beside hers on the table. “Livna, you’re capable of far more than you’re willing to admit. Look how far you’ve traveled. You’re not hiding away protecting yourself. You’ve come all this way to save the
se people, your people, and your father. Have you considered that, perhaps . . . they could be right?”

  Her jaw dropped. Livna could not blame the family in the corner, people who never knew her, for such a misjudgment, but Oren? Oren, who had seen her as a frightened and tearful child seeking her father’s approval? Who knew her every weakness and fear? Her pulse pounded in her ears, and she gripped the table.

  The door slammed as a new pair of men stomped into the tavern, jerking Livna from her jumbled thoughts. Oren looked as if he were about to say more, but the sudden commotion in the room smothered his words.

  “Gentlemen!” A boisterous fellow gestured to the two men, who still stood dripping in the entryway. “Have you come from the low country? Any news of the royal family?”

  The taller of the newcomers rubbed a hand over his wet beard. “The princess is still missing.”

  “I still say the emperor’s behind it all,” someone growled. “His kind would do anything to make us suffer.”

  “King Ehud was a fool to let his daughter fall into that man’s clutches,” someone else answered.

  Livna grimaced as agreement echoed from others around the room while others addressed more questions to the pair of newcomers. When she looked to Oren, his brows were drawn, and he stared at the quieter of the two men, whose head swiveled back and forth as if searching for someone.

  “Livna.”

  “Yes, Oren?” Livna kept her voice low to match his.

  “I need you to stand slowly and walk with me to our room. Make no sudden movements.”

  Fear trickled down her spine. Some Fairest One she was. “Is something wrong?” she breathed even as she rose from her seat.

  He gave a sharp nod and led her toward a doorway which she assumed led to the overnight rooms. “Don’t look back. The shorter man who entered is a Dwarven hunter. He can sense my glamour and will soon realize who is casting it.” They made their way down a dark hall, then Oren held the door to a small room. Livna hurried inside, careful not to stumble over anything in the half-light coming through the storm-shadowed window. Behind her, Oren closed and locked the door before crossing to the empty window frame.