Into the Garden

by Joelle Charbonneau

  The Kingdom of Adderton had been a refuge for the Bastians after they were struck down from the Throne of Light. From that moment on, every resident of Eden was taught to consider the former ruling family as traitors—enemies. Betrice’s uncle had risen to his position as High Lord because of his backing of the current king in the battle against the Bastians. The Bastians’ refuge would be the last place her uncle would look to find her.

  Excitement and anxiety mixed together as she made her decision. She would head south—despite the stories her father had told her, stories of the creatures that roamed the marshes and abandoned villages there.

  They were only stories, after all. Yarns spun about a no-man’s-land created by a war long ceased. If no one dared to settle the land, there would be no need to war over it. And if men from both kingdoms feared the land, they would not settle it again.

  Betrice had convinced herself. Her chosen path was the right one. She turned her attention with ease when the bell rang again.

  One chime for the wind they strove to harness. Then one each for the rain, earth, and fire—elements seers in other parts of the world could control. Then finally four more strikes of the bell to appeal to the stars. With each toll aspirants and seers alike turned to the east, then to the south, to the west and finally north.

  When the sound of the last bell faded, Seer Zachar spoke. “The lights above have shined from the first day of this world. They have watched forests grow, waters go dry, mountains collapse, and worlds shift. They are the keepers of the past, present, and future. Tonight, we call on them to shine bright as we open our minds and hearts and search the skies for a glimpse of the wisdom they keep. Blessings on all who seek the truth. May your search be fruitful.”

  “Blessings on all who seek.” She added her voice to the others, giving the practiced response.

  The bells sounded again. Once it was quiet, everyone moved toward the center of the circle. There, sustenance waited to see them through the night. At dawn, the seers and aspirants would take to their beds until noon arrived and time for study began once again.

  Betrice’s stomach rumbled. She would need strength. That meant she needed food.

  Quickly, she wove through the others, keeping her gaze lowered, fearing her plan would show in her eyes. She slid two apples and a small hunk of cheese into her pockets, then grabbed a loaf of bread. Her hand hovered over the table as she thought about the darkness beyond the boundaries of the Village. It might be hard to find food. But if she took more, people would notice. She would just have to have faith she would find more food once she was on her own. After all, didn’t Kiara’s vision tell her she would succeed?

  Her stomach rumbled again. The woman next to her laughed and handed her a piece of chicken, which Betrice took with a smile of thanks. Biting into it, she hurried across the stone circle and stepped through the archway.

  “Lady Betrice.” Seer Zachar’s voice made her stop in her tracks. Did he know?

  He couldn’t, she assured herself. Stay calm, smile, and it would all be okay.

  Betrice turned and the smile died on her lips as she saw two men dressed in leather and steel standing in the moonlight behind Seer Zachar. Even in the shadows she could make out the crest of Derio on their chests. The escort had arrived earlier than the message had said. Her uncle had trapped her against a wall—again.

  2

  She pulled back the curtain and peered out the window. The other three were in their cots asleep. One of Kiara’s hands was under the pillow, touching the beaded slippers she’d hidden there. But not everyone in the Village of Night was asleep.

  Betrice shifted the curtain back into place as two boys in white trudged past—heading for their cots. She knew from experience they had probably already been sleeping somewhere on the hill. Most nights the stars—even those here at the Village of Night—did nothing more than twinkle in the sky.

  Seer Zachar had blocked her escape when he insisted Betrice join him in one last meal and invited the three men to join them. But now, as everyone finally took to their beds, she might have another chance to slip away from the village and her guards.

  One of them was familiar to her. He was the head of the High Lord’s sentinel and completely loyal to her uncle. The other was taller and younger, new to her uncle’s service or she would have remembered his unusual height, his dark hair, and his almost stone-like demeanor. He stared at her as Master Zachar explained to the men about the nightly ceremony they had just missed and asked for news beyond the Village gates since rarely did anyone who wasn’t invited come to this remote area. When Seer Zachar gave her leave to meditate for the rest of the night, the young guard insisted on escorting her to a place on the hillside not far from where she’d hidden her bag. He then moved to what he called a reasonable distance and watched her every move.

  So instead of fleeing along the back of the hillside, she pretended to contemplate the stars while coming up with another plan. Kiara’s vision firmly in her mind, Betrice shifted the curtain again and this time no one was outside.

  Quietly, she picked up the bag she’d had Kiara retrieve and slipped out the door.

  Everything was still. It would be hours before everyone in the Village of Night would rise for the day. Swallowing hard, she kept her eyes fixed firmly on the trees far to the east of the village. She was halfway there when she heard a twig snap and whirled around.

  The taller of her uncle’s men from last night stood fifteen paces behind her, outlined by the early morning sunlight. Thick, dark curls framed an angular face that was younger than she’d assumed. He appeared to be only two or three years older than she, and his expression was just as unreadable as it had been in the light of the stars.

  “Are you following me?” she asked.

  The man wearing her uncle’s coat of arms looked at the bag that dangled from her hands. “My lady, I took an oath that I would see you safely to Charity Keep. I do not take my oaths lightly.”

  “And I do not take being followed like a common street thief lightly.”

  A hint of a smile appeared on his face and lit his dark brown eyes. “Lady Betrice, if you were common there would be no need for me to follow you.” He gave a slight bow. “Our Captain gave orders that we were to set out for Derio as soon as you awakened. He’ll be delighted that we will get so early a start. As you remember, it is a week’s ride back to your home.”

  No matter how long it took, it would never be long enough.

  “Would you like to continue your walk, Lady Betrice, or should we find the Captain and tell him it’s time for us to be on our way?”

  The way he looked at her bag told her that he knew she wasn’t just on a walk. He had her trapped. For now.

  “The sooner the better,” she lied. “I appreciate you coming to escort me home, Guardsman—I’m sorry.” She smiled up at him. “I don’t know your name.”

  “Oben, my lady.” He bent slightly at the waist and bowed his head before looking back at her with eyes that no longer showed any humor. “Oben Tyndale of Lussuria, although it has been years since my family called it home.”

  “Did they decide they preferred a different virtue to emulate?” Not a surprise considering her uncle and his men appeared to go out of their way to break Lussuria’s virtue of chastity at every turn. Oben and his family were no doubt like them.

  “No, Lady Betrice,” Oben said flatly. “They died.” Before she had a chance to apologize or offer her sympathies, he said, “I will show you where Captain Tarak and the rest of the escort are waiting.”

  He matched her stride as they walked. A neat trick considering Oben was almost two heads taller than she and his legs seemed twice as long. If she ran, he would most assuredly catch her with ease despite the mail shirt he wore. It was something that she would have to consider, she thought as they crossed the colorful tall grasses around the village toward the main gate.

  “Your uncle must care for you a great deal,” Oben said as they climbed a small hill.


  She tensed. “Why do you say that?”

  “Why else would he send a dozen of his best-trained swordsmen to act as your escort?” They reached the top of the incline and he pointed to the gathering of men dressed in black leather, red capes, and steel. Several were already on horseback. A quick count said Oben didn’t exaggerate. Eleven men, some faces horribly familiar even at a distance, were waiting near the gate. Oben brought the count to twelve. All to make sure she was delivered straight into her uncle’s roving hands.

  “And he also sent you an age day gift.” Oben pointed to a beautiful white mare tethered not far from the group. The leather saddle and halter gleamed like bronze in the sunshine.

  She was now sixteen. Old enough by law to wed and bed. And this time, he would not stop himself when he barged through her chamber door.

  “Lady Betrice,” Captain Tarak bowed so she could see the bare spot in the center of his ash-blond hair. When he stood back up, his eyes settled on her chest, and he smiled. “High Lord Xavier will be gratified to hear how eager you are to return to Charity Keep. He will also be delighted to see that his pretty ward has turned into a lovely woman.”

  She fought to smile as she shivered.

  “Would you like help with your horse, Lady Betrice?” Oben asked.

  Gratefully she nodded then hurried to the cream-colored mare. She could feel Oben’s eyes on her as she tried to pull herself into a seated position. Her father had taught her how to ride when she was little, but after he died, her mother insisted that they both ride in carriages on the rare occasions they left the confines of Charity Keep. Once her mother died, Betrice never left the keep’s stone walls until she traveled to the Village of Night.

  There was a snort from someone behind her when she boosted herself up, failed to reach the saddle and ended up back on the ground. The snickers turned to full-blown laughter when she failed again. Captain Tarak’s laugh was loudest, and she lowered her head so they couldn’t see the color heating her cheeks.

  “I can do this.”

  “Get a better grip on the pommel and don’t hesitate before pulling yourself up.”

  She jolted at the hushed words spoken amidst peals of snide laughter. It was Oben. He was holding the horse’s bridle, staring straight ahead as though he had never spoken at all. Taking his advice, she put her foot in the stirrup, stretched up and grabbed the pommel as firmly as she could, then pulled herself up onto the white horse that hadn’t so much as shifted a hoof.

  Oben handed her the reins and waited for her to get a firm grip on them, then turned to store her bag onto the back of the saddle before heading to his own mount. It was then that Betrice saw the dozens of figures dressed in white standing shoulder to shoulder at the edge of the village. Together they each placed one hand on their heart, then lifted the hand up to the sky. A farewell from the only home she had wanted—the one that had rejected her.

  Captain Tarak yelled, “We ride.”

  Betrice dug her heels into her mount and hung on for dear life as she passed under the stone archway etched with constellations. Captain Tarak rode in front of her. Several men brought up the rear and the rest were positioned twenty feet on either side of her horse. In the center of men carrying broadswords and bows, there was no escape. She worked to stay on her horse as they traveled the King’s Road through the district of Irea, the southwestern most district of Eden and the district representing the virtue of patience. A week of riding to the northeast would take them to the heartbeat of Eden—Garden City and the Palace of Winds. Instead they headed north where her uncle waited to control her life.

  They rode hard. The hills and flowers gave way to scraggly trees that grew taller and thicker and the road narrower. The men didn’t talk much at first. But their chatter grew as they continued to ride. She listened to them brag about rock wolves and fanged foxes they’d gutted or how the bones that they had broken on the practice fields sounded when they snapped. Some boasted about how many Bisog men they had bested in recent raids. And more than one man yelled to Captain Tarak that he must be setting a fast pace in order to get back to the warm bed of his new wife.

  Oben said nothing. Not a word of banter or bragging as they rode or when they stopped for food and rest. He silently appeared when it was time for her to remount her steed in order to hold the horse steady. The only time he spoke was when she asked, “Oben, does my horse have a name?”

  He paused before saying, “Her name is Snow, my lady.”

  By the end of the first day, Betrice never wanted to see Snow again. Her entire body ached, but as tired as she was she couldn’t just go to her blankets and sleep. Instead she pretended to be fearful of every snap of a tree branch and asked if members of the escort would be standing guard throughout the night.

  “Are you scared, Lady Betrice?” Captain Tarak asked, amusement coloring his voice as he tethered his horse to a tree. All the other men were busy tending their own mounts and setting up camp.

  “It’s not that,” she said, looking off into the forest and biting her lip. “It is just that I have gotten used to knowing that someone will be awake until the last star disappears from the sky.”

  “You can rest assured there will always be someone keeping watch to make sure no harm comes to you,” Captain Tarak said, turning his back toward her to survey the men.

  The hilt of a knife protruded from the opening of his pack. Quickly, she reached out, grabbed the knife, and hid it in the folds of her gown. “That is a tremendous comfort. I cannot imagine being out here on the road alone.” She hoped soon she wouldn’t have to imagine it. She would live it. She just needed to find the right moment, no matter how much each animal howl or shriek in the night made her shiver deep in her bedroll.

  By the third day her muscles were still sore, but she was able to mount Snow on the first try and didn’t have to hang on for dear life as they rode. But she was sure to bite her lip, clasp her hands to her chest, and let out small yelps whenever someone else came into view on the road. By the time they reached the northern Irae plains filled with wheat and corn, she was fairly certain her escorts believed she was the least-brave female in any kingdom.

  This allowed them to relax their attention to her when they made camp for the night. A girl so scared would never run off into the darkness alone.

  Oben was the exception. She’d studied him as he rode, but his long, sharply featured face was still unreadable. All she knew was that he never drank the way the others did and always insisted on taking first watch. Each time he stood in the shadows as others slept, she’d seen him turn and study her and she could swear he watched her even when he himself appeared to be asleep since he sat up each time she made the slightest movement in the night.

  Buried deep into her blankets on the forth night, she listened as one guardsman talked of an inn in a town called Jule where they could spend tomorrow night. “The food and wine tastes terrible, but the bar maids don’t.”

  Several men laughed.

  “We won’t be stopping in Jule or any other town until we reach Derio,” Captain Tarak said quietly. “You’ll all have to wait for service until then.”

  “I don’t see why we have to go without a little fun just because Lord Xavier has an itch he’s wanting to scratch,” a gruffer voice said.

  “I will arrange for you to personally tell Lord Xavier that you think having a bar maid scratch your itch is more important than arriving back in time to guard King Adham when he comes to celebrate Prince Ulron’s betrothal and the peace treaty with Adderton.”

  She gasped. The King and Prince were coming to Charity Keep.

  Swallowing hard, she listened to the men shifting around the fire and strained to hear their conversation. For a long time after Captain Tarak’s words, there was silence. When the men began once again to speak, it was in murmurs too quiet for her to hear.

  She waited for Oben to take first watch and fought sleep until he woke the next to look for danger. When he turned to his own sleeping place, he
did so without looking toward her. And when she sat up in the darkness, he stayed quiet in his bedroll. His strange interest in her seemed to have faded. With that last obstacle out of the way, she vowed that tomorrow night she would make her escape.

  Her sleep was fitful and filled with images that made her jolt awake but faded before she opened her eyes. Each time she went through the meditation exercises the seers had taught her to keep the nightmares at bay. Still, the next day she found herself wishing she could just curl up and sleep as the summer sun beat down while they rode. More than one guard complained about the heat. Betrice said nothing, but was grateful when Captain Tarak took pity on them all and led their party off the King’s road toward the forest to the northeast.

  The cool shade of the trees was a relief. Captain Tarak led them at a slower pace than they had traveled on the open road. Between Snow’s rocking gait and the cool shadows, Betrice’s eyes were growing heavier. The men behind her laughed and she jerked her head up before she could be pulled into sleep. She shook her head and out of the corner of her eyes noticed the reflection of the sun glinting off metal.

  Before she could scream a warning, there was a twang and an arrow buried into the back of the blond guard riding ten feet in front of her. He made a gurgling sound. Her uncle’s men shouted warnings. The scrape of swords being yanked from scabbards rang in the forest as the blond guard toppled off his horse to the ground. Then the world went wild.

  Men charged from the trees carrying their swords. Snow reared and Betrice clutched the reins for dear life. An arrow streaked a breath away from her head. She screamed and squeezed Snow’s flanks with her thighs.

  Snow darted forward. Betrice grabbed a fist full of the horse’s mane as a man in black leather came charging from behind a tree with an ax. Suddenly, one of her uncle’s men was there. A sword bit into the attacker’s neck as Snow stormed past. Metal clanged against metal behind her as she dug her hand into her pack, trying to find the stolen knife.