Page 14

Fear, hope, and speculation whirled through her mind while she made her way through the dispersing crowd and began climbing the terraces and steps that made the castle’s hillside accessible.

Once at the top, she hurried to the royal flower gardens, but as soon as she passed along a path between sweet-scented roses, lilies, and lilacs, the path that should lead away from the castle, she seemed instead to get closer. What in the world . . .?

She stopped to regain her bearings. There was the castle, bristling with battlements. Could anyone see her from its windows?

In the other direction, tall though she was, she saw only more hills beyond the gardens.

Surely, if she walked directly away from the castle, she would find an end to the winding paths, gazebos, fountains .

. . Maybe she was on the wrong path? She couldn’t even find a gate to exit the gardens, much less a magic doorway to a meadow like Kazik had described to her.

Worry and fear seemed to dog her steps. She felt . . . watched.

Hearing unfamiliar voices from somewhere behind, she thought of asking for directions but instead slipped into an alcove, hoping to go undiscovered. Empty chat with strangers was the last thing she wanted just then. Tears burned her eyes, though she couldn’t have said why.

Screened from the world by vines and flowers, she sat on a handy bench. Maybe the world would make better sense after she rested for a few minutes.

The voices drew nearer. She closed her eyes as if that might make her invisible.

“She is an awkward creature,” a woman’s voice stated, laced with amusement. “So very tall! Nevertheless, it was cruel to annul their betrothal only days before his fifteenth birthday.”

Another voice responded: “But what else could His Grace do? The boy’s grandfather, our Royal and Imperial Highness, would never allow the royal heir of Wroc?aw to marry so far beneath him. The boy must marry a cousin to keep the family line pure.”

The first gossip sighed heavily. “I almost feel sorry for that hapless princess they used and discarded for no discernible reason. I expect His Grace will manage to avoid paying the cancellation fee to King Ryszard?—”

“Of course he will. And the archduke will guarantee his only living grandson’s rise to power, one way or another.”

“The cousin chosen to marry the boy is reckoned a great beauty. She will lead him around by the nose.”

The gossips tittered.

Scarcely able to breathe for the pain in her chest, Helena burst from her hiding place.

Seeing no one nearby, she ran blindly through the gardens, never looking back to see the source of those gossiping voices.

Something invisible snatched at her. She flung it aside and ran faster, aware of nothing but speed and .

. . and magic? When she could run no farther, she staggered to a stop and doubled over, nearly sobbing for breath.

The very air she breathed seemed heavy, and a wholesome yet mystical aroma wrapped her in a comforting embrace.

Sorrow.

The voice murmured inside her head.

Curious, she stood upright. Tears blurred her vision.

She blinked twice, then again. Slowly turning in place, she beheld an old brick wall overhung by leafy, blossom-covered branches.

Peaceful music seemed to play yet had no visible source.

A round doorway in the wall beckoned, and the loveliest of scents freshened the air.

Helena stepped into the walled garden, blinking in wonder at an apple orchard, fresh, wholesome, and peaceful. The sky provided a clear blue background for frilly pink blossoms and fat green apples peeking between vivid green leaves. Here and there amid the foliage, a glint of gold teased her eye.

Powerful magic shimmered everywhere, yet she was unafraid.

Sadness .

Again, the sweet voice spoke into her mind, more a feeling than a word.

As she stepped in among the trees, they welcomed her.

She somehow knew which tree had spoken to her and approached it.

Dropping to her knees, she wrapped her arms around its trunk and burst into fresh tears.

Loving arms seemed to embrace her, soothing her heartbreak.

Boy loves girl.

In her mind she saw dark-lashed puppy-dog eyes and a freckled nose. Her heart gave a bound.

But no, she was forgotten.

Remember boy.

Remember what boy? She recalled only sadness. Betrayal.

Helena wept and rested among the worried trees until a deep raspy voice disturbed her. “Why are you here in this magical orchard?”

She peered around the tree at the vague outline of a hooded robe. Yet another form of magic shimmered around the man . . . Why must there be so much magic?

Or did her tears cause the blurriness?

“Who are you?” she asked, wiping her nose with a spare handkerchief. Looking at it, she recalled tying a similar cloth to the tip of . . . what?

“I am called Bogumil. I was assigned by the World Magic Council to help you and others who suffer in this broken land.” The deep voice wavered, and the speaker cleared his throat.

“What council?” she asked.

He shifted on his feet, which she noticed were bare.

“The WMC—World Magic Council. It is only recently being revived after centuries of encroaching magical chaos. I was called upon to restore order in this part of the world. Under my purview, stability and peace shall soon return to Wroc?aw and all of Illyr.”

“Oh.” She nodded, unwilling to appear ignorant, but he saw right through her.

“Illyr is the continent in which this pocket world is currently located.” He sounded amused.

“I grew up in Trinec, a wonderful country where everyone is honest, fair, and kind. Sadly, a politically ambitious archduke rules over Wroc?aw, one of humankind’s many political constructs, and he placed this pocket world in Ostrów, a grand duchy. ”

“What pocket world?” Helena asked, having decided she must be dreaming.

“This one.” The mage held out his arms, making his sleeves billow dramatically.

“The one in which you and the golden-apple orchard are held captive. The wicked duke holds a great many magical creatures captive in these unlawful magical gaolhouses. Once I complete my appointed mission, I shall return to right several long-standing wrongs.”

“I see,” she lied. She recognized most of his words, yet no combination of them made sense to her. This had to be a dream. “You talk like a politician, but they aren’t supposed to have magic. Are you a fairy godfather?” she asked.

The hooded figure stiffened. “How did you know? Who are you?”

It had been a guess, but she wasn’t about to admit that. At least she no longer felt entirely out of her mind. “I’m nobody important. I’ve never sensed magic like yours before.”

Was she confused, or were several kinds of magic jumbled up in this orchard?

“Are you afraid of me?” he asked.

“Should I be?”

Bogumil waved off the question. “Certainly not. I do have some fay blood, but I was born in this world. I have no desire to invade, devour, or destroy anything.” After a pause he added, “And I never drag mortals into the fay dimension.”

Helena’s brow creased. “Good to know.” She had never dreamed of anything as monstrous as his comforting assurances suggested. “I thought fairies were tiny people living in flowers, not interdimensional fiends.” Obviously, her magical education was lacking.

“Oh, those are only one kind of fay creature.”

She suddenly wanted to see his face. Then again, if he was one of those fiends . . . No, she really didn’t want to know.

“Are you sure I’m not dreaming?”

The hooded figure’s head tilted. “Why do you keep asking useless questions? Next time you wonder if you’re dreaming, pinch yourself.

” He nodded as if approving his own suggestion.

“Now, please tell me”—his voice became gentle and persuasive—“why were you weeping in this orchard of golden-apple trees?”

“Golden apples?” As if in a dream, she looked up, and for the first time she noticed an apple gleaming as gold as Solara and Geoffroi. “Ohhh!” she sighed, remembering her magical friends.

Then . . . not. “My betrothed forsook me to marry a great beauty from a powerful family.”

“And your heart is broken?” Bogumil inquired in a businesslike tone.

“Yes. I thought a boy loved me, but he gave in to his father’s will.”

What a tragic story! A fresh tear burned a pathway down her cheek, and others quickly followed. The tree’s concern wrapped around Helena even as she wondered what girl had been jilted. Remember truth, the tree spoke into her head. Remember his love.

“He loves me,” Helena stated with confidence. “I love him too.”

The mage scratched his head right through his hood. “You seem confused.”

“Oh, but I’m not.” She was quite sure that she had a clue. Somewhere.

“Do you know his name?”

“Whose name?”

“Hmm. Do you know your name?”

She tried to think, but it hurt. “Um . . . no. Does it matter?” She pressed closer to her tree, who soothed her.

Bogumil nodded sagely. “Someone has enchanted you to forget. It will wear off someday. I can’t counteract the spell, but I can remove you from this tangled nest of evil and enchantments.

Would you prefer a simple life of productive work in a kingdom filled with good, honest, hardworking people? I grew up there.”

“Maybe.” It did sound tempting, but she couldn’t lose her only friend. “I need my tree. Do they have magical gardens?”

“Oh yes, everyone will welcome you and the tree. So, do you choose to be free of your painful past?” Bogumil’s sympathetic voice encouraged her to trust him, and her kind apple tree held her close.

“Yes.”