Five Poisoned Apples

by Skye Hoffert et al.

  Still, her heart pounded at the thought of returning.

  “Lead the way,” Oren answered in a strong voice despite his grimace. Glimpsing his anxiety lent Livna courage. She gripped his hand, envisioned a shady corner of their secluded garden back home, and stepped.

  One moment, Livna stood with her feet sunk in chilly snow and her hand tightly clasped by Oren’s. The next, she found herself enveloped in a wave of heat and sand with Oren still beside her but once again shorter and faded.

  Livna swallowed a moan at the sight of him forced back into a form that was less than his full self. She began to kneel beside him. “Oh Oren, I did not realize—”

  His proud eyes seemed to beg her to stand as he stepped back and spoke in a tight voice: “Don’t worry about me, Livna. My full power and appearance will be restored as soon as I return to the Mountains. Now we must follow your plan.”

  For several seconds Livna returned his stare, longing to make everything right, to tell him how much he meant to her no matter how he looked, and how deeply it pained her to see him suffer. Then he blinked and the moment passed.

  “You’re right, of course,” Livna murmured as her eyes flickered over the sun-lit vegetation. “We can’t stop now before we begin.” She laid a palm against his shoulder. “Stay safe, my friend.”

  His fingers pressed over hers, and a frown furrowed his brow. “Are you certain you wish to split up? Nava could be in her chambers . . .”

  Birds flew, and voices sounded from another part of garden. Livna’s pulse sped as she nodded. “Yes, we must. If the Dwarven are caged, you must be the one to help them. They will trust you before a human like me, and we won’t run the risk of Nava trying to siphon your power again. I must go alone to find and destroy her mirror.” Livna discerned the low voices of several men as their footsteps drew nearer. “Go now,” she urged, and Oren sped along the wall toward the nearest entryway.

  “What was that?”

  Livna’s breath tore from her chest as she realized one of the men garbed in the tunic and sword of a guard had glimpsed Oren. Two more guards charged with him toward the doorway.

  Trying not to consider what new dangers now caused guards to patrol the palace’s private gardens, Livna instead bent to seize a rock from the ground. With a shaking hand she tossed it directly into the back of one of the men. It struck with a thud, and he grunted.

  “Over here!” she called.

  The trio swiveled. She waved her arms until they saw her. One glanced back at the doorway Oren had passed through as if considering whether to pursue the visible rock-throwing maiden or the unknown trespasser inside.

  Unwilling to risk Oren’s safety, Livna hefted another rock, and the men charged toward her.

  Dread gripped Livna’s chest, but she forced herself to stand in place until they were several feet away. With her free hand, she tightly gripped the satchel with the Dwarven powder. Then she dropped her rock, closed her eyes, envisioned the luxurious cushions of Nava’s bed, and stepped.

  Just as Livna felt the rush of air from the guards around her, the sandals transported her into Nava’s golden room, where the scent of sulfur struck her nose.

  From her new position behind Nava’s bedcurtains, Livna blinked at the change of light and tried to look around. Her breath hitched at the sight of her stepmother, holding a knife, bent over a young Dwarven Livna had never seen before. The queen had not yet noticed Livna’s appearance.

  Breathing as quietly as possible, Livna considered slipping away, but when the hair on her arms stood up, she leaned closer to observe the scene beyond the curtains. The air around her thrummed with the dissipation of the young Dwarven’s power as Nava’s knife pressed into his palm. Livna could almost see it coursing through the air toward the massive bronze mirror beside which Thorus stood, channeling their power into a summoning spell. More Dwarven filled the room, writhing on the floor or groaning in agony.

  Livna inhaled deeply and kicked off her sandals. She would not let herself run away or back down now.

  “Nava.” Livna parted the curtains and stepped to the floor, forcing a commanding tone into her voice. “Let them go.”

  The Queen jerked her head back but did not release her grip on the Dwarven. Her eyes shone wildly but not with surprise. “Ah, my wayward stepdaughter. We knew you would arrive today.” She reached back to the whimpering Dwarven on the floor but only to wipe her blood-smeared knife against his ragged robe. “And where is Oren?”

  As Nava rose, Livna reached into her satchel and pressed a hand against her pouch. “I told you to release the Dwarven.” Though unbound, they remained on the floor, twitching as if in severe pain.

  “I’m not holding them down.” Nava swept around the Dwarven to a small table and lifted an apple. Like the air between the Dwarven and the mirror, it shimmered with magic. “Dear child, I have a little gift for you: an apple, one of the finest of Benham’s crop. Surely you enjoy apples.” Her feet daintily avoided the crumpled Dwarven on the floor as she slowly approached Livna. “Didn’t that lovely comb you wore to the presentation have an apple on it? Vandrus did adore your comb.” A smile snaked across her face. “Here, take a bite.”

  Her slender arm lifted the fruit, but Livna’s journey had opened her eyes to Dwarven magic, which shimmered from both the apple and Nava herself. The woman was saturated in it from years of use. But Livna sensed something more besides, another whiff of sulfur.

  She frowned, trying to recognize the scent and wary of Nava’s behavior. “What will happen to me if I do?”

  “It will be worse for you if you do not. My good advisor will be here soon.” Nava nodded toward an image forming on the bronze mirror. “He warned me you were returning before our power ran out, and we had to attempt a blood-fueled summoning. He prefers to keep you alive now, so he had Thorus prepare this special treat for you.”

  Livna kept one eye on the mirror and turned in a half circle as Nava inched closer and closer. “And why does your daimon wish to keep me alive? Don’t I stand between you and ruling the Empire?”

  “I suggested as much to him, but it seems you created quite a stir among the Dwarven Council, and your death would anger them. He means to keep you nearby to alleviate suspicion, especially now that we finally have enough Dwarven for him to cross the divide.”

  With a bolt of sudden terror, Livna recognized why the growing scent of sulfur felt so familiar. “That smell—it’s from the volcano where the Council meets. And the divide—” She breathed through her mouth as the odor saturated the air. “Oren said the Dwarven can’t cross their border without losing a part of themselves.” She stared in horror at the Dwarven magic oozing from the apple. “Your daimon is no daimon. It’s a Dwarven from the Council trying to evade Dwarven rules and leave the mountains!”

  “She’s cleverer than I expected.”

  The low voice poured from the mirror, and Livna turned to see a face she knew. “But, human princess, I’m not simply a Dwarven from the Council, now am I?”

  “Prince Maor.” Livna groaned, her heart aching for Oren and the Dwarven twitching before her. “How could you?” Indignation burned within her as she gestured to the thrashing Dwarven, betrayed subjects of the monster she saw in the mirror.

  The prince cast a disdainful glance from the glass, only his face and his shrugging shoulders visible above a churning mass of black smoke. The obsidian of his crown seemed to gleam with an inner light. “Ah, them. It could not be helped. Our Dwarven ancestors were fools who could not see the good in spreading our rule across the lands. They encased us in the Mountains so we could not use our power against our neighbors. But a concentration of the Dwarven beyond the Mountains can slowly disintegrate that barrier.”

  “And I made it possible.” Nava stepped over several Dwarven to stand nearer to her mirror. “Thorus and I have been working for years, and we need only one more Dwarven to let the prince through. It’s a shame to lose so talented a glamourist as Oren, but Maor has promised me the throne,
crown, and Vandrus. I’ll easily afford new Dwarven then.”

  Livna clenched her fists, fighting the panic seeping through her as she considered how long it would be before Oren found the Dwarven cages empty and made his way here.

  “Tell us where Oren has wandered off to,” Maor demanded, and the mirror’s surface rippled like water.

  “He’s safe from you,” Livna growled and took a cautious step toward Nava, focusing on her instead. “Listen to me, please. Maor can’t give you what you desire. He can’t make the people love you, and I doubt he’ll even let you keep any real power once he’s released.”

  Nava slid closer to the mirror, but the magic clouding her eyes seemed to clear for a moment.

  Maor, sensing the queen’s hesitation, pressed forward in the mirror until its surface bowed beneath the pressure, and he pushed himself back into the discussion. “If you don’t tell me what I want to know, Princess, your people will suffer. I may not be able to cross the barrier yet, but it is weak now and cannot stop my power.” An arm of dark smoke slipped from the bent mirror, pouring onto the floor, and Livna shivered to feel its strength hum in the air. Maor gestured, and a tendril slithered to Livna’s feet before rising and curling before her eyes. She stumbled back a step and barely balanced herself before toppling onto Nava’s bed behind her.

  Suddenly, the smoke still on the floor widened like a black pool, and Livna gasped as its surface lightened and she saw the United Tribes spread like a map at her feet. More darkness swelled above the miniature mountains, deserts, and structures of her homeland. Images flashed across the surface of the darkness, sucking life from the earth, swiveling trees, and knocking tribesmen from their feet.

  “Tell us where to find Oren,” Maor’s frosty voice commanded, “or I’ll release my devastation. The images at your feet will become reality.”

  “But you promised the Tribes to me!” Nava cried from what seemed a great distance. “You can’t harm them!”

  “Foolish slave.” A vein of smoke twisted around Nava’s ankles, and Livna saw her fall to her knees. “You’ve welcomed my power, and in return you are now my slave. I did not promise you an undamaged kingdom.” His gaze moved back to Livna as the miniature returned to its view of her whole kingdom. “The United Tribes lies at your feet. I need only increase the strength of this spell, and the destruction I showed you will rain down like ash and pumice. Now will you tell me where to find the Dwarven?”

  “No.” Livna snatched her mother’s sash from her satchel and flung it like a blanket over the Tribes at her feet. Lifting the pouch of Dwarven powder, she poured half across the embroidered fabric just as the prince’s dark magic pounded down. Livna collapsed to her knees with a choked sob as the fabric disintegrated beneath its onslaught. Her chest ached as the proud phoenix faded to dust and the last token she had from her mother vanished from existence.

  But so did Maor’s magic. Livna blinked away tears as he roared from the mirror, his fingers gouging its inner surface as he realized her shield had blocked his curse.

  Ten new strands of darkness teemed from the mirror where his ten fingers shoved. The boom of thunder reverberated from the spreading cloud and echoed in Livna’s ears as she saw a new map appear, this one revealing all the Empire. Then the clamor silenced, and she realized the prince spoke to her again.

  “So they gave you some of their magic, did they? I should have known the Council could not be trusted! But I’ll not be stopped. The Tribes may be safe, but could you leave the rest of the Empire to the same fate?”

  Tendrils of red-black smoke threaded around the map, and Livna crushed the pouch of magic in her hand as fresh visions of death and destruction flashed before her eyes: Vandrus and his men returning from their journey only to crumble, choking, to the dirt.

  “No!”

  “They don’t have to die.” Maor’s voice slipped like ice through her distress. “You need only tell me where Oren is, and I’ll let them go.” A strand of his smoke pressed into her chin, lifting her face to see his smile. “You wanted to go with the emperor. I’ll let you. You can be his bride.”

  “No!” Nava cried. “You said—” A rope of burning smoke shoved Nava to the ground before she could interrupt further.

  “Ignore the old goat,” the Dwarven prince said with a silky sneer. “I can remove her easily, and you’ll rule with the emperor, spreading your ideals of love and peace.”

  New images flashed through Livna’s eyes of people cheering in the streets, Vandrus taking her hand, Father beaming in approval. Livna felt an aching desire deep in her bones at the thought of such a life, free from all fear, bathed in peace and sunlight.

  “You would be the Fairest One.”

  Livna ripped her face from the sulfurous touch, snatched her apple comb from her bag, and slammed it into the ground of the map. With her other hand, she poured out more Dwarven powder. The images around her shattered, but the smoke did as well. The comb’s tines tore through the darkness, bringing light back to the Empire at her feet. She dropped her pouch and twisted the comb with both hands, shoving it back toward the mirror and pushing away the prince’s power. Maor struggled, and Livna nearly lost her grip, but she refused to surrender now and endure a loss far greater than any she had ever feared. She shoved back, inching closer. From the corner of her eyes, she saw the Dwarven sprawled and pale against the floor, which spurred her onward.

  At last, the mirror and Maor’s livid face loomed just before her, and Livna snapped the comb against it, half-submerged in the bronze like a gate holding Maor back for good.

  Then Livna’s fingers slipped away from the treasured gift, and she felt her hands and entire body shaking from the effort and her loss.

  A wild scream tore from Nava, and Livna turned to see a Dwarven clutching the woman’s hem as he thrashed on the floor, his skin webbed black and his eyes shaded in darkness. Around the room, every Dwarven began flailing in agony.

  “I won’t leave empty-handed,” growled the prince’s voice from the mirror, one fist pressing against the bronze as beads of sweat dripped down his rage-filled face.

  “Let them go.” Livna pounded her open hand against the mirror, hoping to drive him back.

  The prince only laughed. “As my subjects, and still blood-bound by the spell which summoned me, they’re under my power. You’ll watch them suffer. Unless . . .”

  A chill of foreboding filled Livna as she turned and stared with sorrow at the pain-wracked Dwarven. A sense of duty pressed over her as the entreaty of the elderly Dwarven from the Council rang through her mind: Rescue both our peoples.

  “Unless what?” she whispered.

  “You take their place.”

  Livna glanced at the nearly empty pouch of magic on the floor but knew she had no belongings left to sacrifice. Seeing no other option, she asked, “How?”

  “Eat the apple. It holds my magic. If you bite it, it will draw my magic from them like a magnet to you.”

  Livna stared at the apple which had fallen to the floor. Even now, wisps of gray licked at the fruit from the nearby body of a Dwarven, and Livna did not doubt the prince’s power would surge at her if she broke the skin.

  She swallowed against the panic welling within her. A small part of her longed to give in to the fear, to exit this room and never look back. But her eyes could not leave the pale forms on the floor. They may not be her people, but they were Oren’s people, consumed in agony.

  Determination broke through the fear which sought to constrain her. Livna lifted the apple and took a bite.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Oren paused in the hall leading to Nava’s room. When he had found the cages empty, he suspected the Dwarven could be in her chambers for another scrying—exactly where Livna had gone. His heartbeat floundered as he sensed tremendous power humming through the air.

  He had placed so much weight on Livna’s shoulders, a girl armed with nothing but some powder and convictions. And now he stood practically shivering at the thought of
stepping through a doorway! Squaring his shoulders, he progressed down the passage on light feet so his approach could not be heard.

  A woman’s scream speared his ears.

  Livna!

  His heart lurched, and he slammed through the door. The pale skin of Dwarven on the floor caught his eyes first, but they lay peacefully in their torn robes. Some stirred as if slowly waking from a deep slumber.

  Then he saw Nava leaning back against the wall, her mouth still open from her scream, and terror written across her features. Following her gaze, Oren felt as if the ground had dropped from beneath his feet as he recognized Livna’s form sprawled on the ground, her robes and hair spread around her like waves. Rushing to her side, he bent over her face and saw thin black lines veining across her skin.

  “What is this?” he shouted at the queen who cowered across the room.

  The force of his voice seemed to shake her further. “Him!” she screamed, pointing to her bronze mirror, and Oren saw her daimon, the face of one he had never expected to betray him.

  He felt as though a knife had been plunged into his very soul.

  “Prince Maor?”

  “Ah, Oren, you’ve arrived at last. Be a good Dwarven and help me out of this mirror.”

  Oren rose, unable to defy his prince, and squinted at the mirror where Livna’s comb pierced the bronze. Despite his panic, he felt a grin cross his lips. “She trapped you. You were the darkness, and Livna stopped you.” Her body thrashed at his feet, and Oren growled. “Now you’re hurting her. Why would I help you?”

  The prince smirked. “Because you must. You feel it already in your bones. No Dwarven can defy his prince. It’s our law. If you don’t obey me, you’ll cease to exist entirely. Now, leave the girl.”

  Maor’s words were not false. Oren felt the draining deep within him. But he also saw the woman he loved, the Fairest One he had ever seen, writhing in agony because she had done everything he had encouraged her to do. If he obeyed the prince, her work would be undone and her suffering would never end.