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“I need to do it myself,” she snapped in frustration, straining her arms and shoulders to no avail.

He didn’t have to say a word.

“All right.” Abandoning pride, she couldn’t help laughing as she spoke. “Please do help.”

When he moved behind her, reached around, and rested his big hands over hers, she pretty much forgot all about shooting an arrow. His breathing was quick and shallow. So was hers.

Time slowed. When he drew the bow with ridiculous ease, her hands simply followed his, doing none of the work and staying out of his way. She couldn’t help but lean back into him, sensing his strength . . . and she heard him inhale sharply.

She had been here before. With him.

Without a word he relaxed the tension on the bow, but she was still trapped between him and the longbow, with her back to his chest. She felt his gaze on her, and every flaw she’d ever seen or imagined in herself seemed magnified. He must see how gawky and awkward she was.

She didn’t dare look at him.

“Do you want to try drawing it again?” His voice was deeper than before, and his warm breath in her ear sent shivers down her spine . . . “Oh, Helena, how I miss you!”

S he jolted awake, breathing like she’d just sprinted to escape an angry bull. Shivering on her cot in the chilly darkness, still feeling her dream man’s chest against her back, and . . . Oh! What just happened ? Where is he? Who is he?

She knew without doubt that she’d dreamed of an actual young man with a deep voice, thick-lashed brown eyes, and lips that naturally curled into smiles. Someone she knew, or had known, and . . . and loved. He’d flirted with her, no mistake about that.

But who was he?

Her earliest memories were of her apple tree and meeting Papa Hrabik.

No, she knew better. Although details were already fading, her part dream, part memory of leaning on someone strong and trusted was too clear to deny. She knew that he cared for her too. He’d called her Helena. Was that her real name? But who was he? Who was she?

She wanted to cry . . . but she couldn’t move.

Just as darkness faded into dawn, there was a sudden rat-a-tat on the door. Papa must have expected it, because he was already dressed when he admitted Prince Dominik.

Another golden apple was missing.

A short time later, as she followed the men up to the secret garden, Lenka deliberately fell behind while the prince told Papa his story. This stolen-apple adventure was somehow connected with her. There could be no doubt: she and the tree had arrived here together.

Where did that veiled woman she’d seen near her tree fit into this mystery? No one could sneak into the royal gardens.

Papa and the prince slowed their pace once they were inside the garden. The king, looking grim, waited for them at the apple tree.

Lenka listened from a polite distance while Prince Dominik gave the king a succinct summary, ending with, “I tell you; the last thing I heard was beautiful singing—enchanted music. These thefts are due to magic, but whether it is good or evil in nature I cannot say.”

He spoke the truth about the thefts; Lenka knew this without a word from the tree.

The two royal brothers were opposites in character.

Even as the king growled insults at his younger son, Lenka realized the time had come to step up and speak up, yet part of her balked while dozens of possible ways she could fail scrolled through her mind.

A flash of memory. Beautiful brown eyes in a handsome face . . . Eyes that twinkled, then narrowed, challenging her.

Quite shocking herself, she turned to the king and asked, “Sire, may I stand watch tonight?”

“Lenka, no!” Papa Hrabik moaned.

King Gustik stared at her. “You? A woman?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” She curtsied respectfully.

King Gustik’s mouth opened and closed twice in perplexity before he scowled again. “If you cannot identify the thief by morning, you will no longer tend my magical trees. Tending hogs will be your duty from that day on.”

Even as he spoke, the tree assured her: Friend meet friend.

Something like exultation filled her. “I accept your terms, Your Majesty.”

“If she identifies the thief,” Prince Dominik interjected, “I shall pursue and capture it.”

“Your brother will have first chance.” The king tossed the correction over his shoulder while walking away.

The prince gave her a closer look. “Where did you learn to curtsy like a lady?” he inquired.

Lenka opened her mouth, considered his question, and sucked in a quick breath before admitting, “I don’t know.”

One dark brow twitched before he gave her a slight bow. “I wish you all success.”

As he walked away, she looked at Papa, who shook his head in evident confusion.

That evening, while they ate a hasty supper, Papa Hrabik begged her to reconsider. “The king was once a kind and just ruler, but he has changed in recent years. It’s those apples.” He gave her a foreboding look. “He won’t hesitate to punish if you fail.”

“I know, but I’m not worried, Papa. I will see the thief, my tree told me so. Besides, backing out would be as bad as failure in the king’s eyes. Either way, I’m tending hogs.”

His eyes still begged, but his warnings ceased. “Since you ask me to trust the word of a tree, I will pray it is right.”

“Thank you.” She reached across the table to pat his hairy forearm.

“I could watch and wait with you,” he offered.

“No, Papa. I must do this alone. I think . . . I think it might be connected somehow with my past,” she admitted before thinking the words through.

“I am sure it is.” He sighed deeply. “Even the prince can see that you are a lady and a beauty.”

“You see me through the eyes of love, as I see you.”

At the cottage door she gave him a quick hug, slung her knapsack over one shoulder and her quiver over the other, picked up her bow, and set out.

When she slipped through the garden’s portal, the watchman scowled and shook his head.

She merely waved in return. Her tree welcomed her even before she climbed the hill.

Pink, white, and gold, the hues of apple blossoms, streaked the evening sky, and stars already dotted its expanse as she set up a little camp in a place where her view of the apple tree would be unimpeded and the ripest apple would be within easy bowshot.

Once settled, she softened a ball of candlewax in her hands, then molded it into plugs, which she stuffed into her ears. When she could barely hear the night insects and other creatures, she asked the apple tree, “Will you wake me if I doze off?”

Friend come.

Another non-answer. Lenka sighed.

Wake friend.

“Thank you.”

Trusting in her dubious understanding of tree speech, she grasped her bow and a ready arrow, then leaned back against the gnarled trunk of a linden tree from which she had an unimpeded view of the apple tree.

No matter how hard she clung to consciousness and duty, snippets of her archery dream kept appearing in her mind.

She woke abruptly to distant music and light glowing through her eyelids. Friend here, the tree announced.

Lenka squinted, striving to adjust to the radiance. Was it sunrise and she’d missed the thief? No, the sky was still black and starry. That brilliant light emanated from a magnificent golden bird perched beside the ripe golden apple.

She reached for her bow but let her hand drop. She could never shoot this creature. Its beauty stole her breath and all lucid thought.

Had she seen it somewhere before?

When the bird opened its beak, Lenka heard a distant sound like a trilling flute.

“Are you trying to enchant me?” she asked. “I have wax plugs in my ears.”

The bird simply plucked the golden apple and fluttered to the ground. Lenka clawed at the wax plugs, terrified of missing something important. As the fabulous bird left the glowing apple on the grass and paced toward her, its tail feathers shimmering, exquisite music played in her head.

“Stopping your ears and mind to enchantment indicates wisdom.”

Lenka succeeded in pulling out one plug. “I . . . I . . .” Pausing, she realized that the bird’s beak hadn’t moved. “Oh. I heard you in my mind.” The beautiful being had a rich feminine voice.

The golden bird stretched her neck to inspect Lenka’s yew bow. “Did you intend to shoot me?” This time she spoke audibly.

“I did until I saw you. I hoped to stop a thief, but my tree called you a friend.”

“Indeed.” The fabulous bird continued to pace, moving her head in jerks, just like Papa Hrabik’s chickens . . . Lenka’s lips twitched. The golden bird would undoubtedly resent being likened to a chicken.

The bird missed nothing. “You find me amusing?”

“I find this situation difficult to believe,” she prevaricated.

“Few humans are truthful. Yet the tree trusts you.”

“Are all golden birds trustworthy?” She regretted the sharp words as soon as they left her lips. “I’m sorry. You’re right about humans. About me, anyway.”

The bird’s tone softened. “Dear child, seek truth and mercy, and you shall prevail.”

Suddenly wary, Lenka sat up straighter. “I’m just a simple gardener girl.”

The bird tilted her head. “Truth and mercy are simpler than you are.”

Lenka’s mouth closed for a good minute while she thought it through. The bird was right—she was terribly confused about pretty much everything.

Light from its feathers shimmered about like sunbeams in the night while the golden bird studied her.

“You, child, are greatly loved by someone that I love. I remember you well, and now you shall remember my instructions. Give my feather to the greedy king. Follow the rising sun. Wisdom and guidance will find you. Again, let truth and mercy prevail.” In a whirl of wings and blazing gold, the bird mounted into the sky with the golden apple in her claws . . .

The next thing Lenka knew, morning birds were singing, pink streaked the starry sky, and she felt cold to her bones. Shivering and damp with dew, she sat upright, glanced around, then looked at her hand.

It wasn’t a dream!

She clutched the quill of a long golden feather.