Golden Apple, The

by Diener, Michelle

“Or?”

  He shook his head. Walked to the door. “What does it matter, now?” He looked over his shoulder, and she thought she saw a glimmer of moisture in his eye. “Take care, Kayla. The Forest…not many come out of it the same. If they come out at all. Especially these days.” The door closed behind him with a click.

  She stood, lost in thought, her hands plucking and pulling her laces, until her gown fell to her feet. Today changed the reality of the last month. Changed the way she looked at things.

  Nothing was as it seemed.

  The door to her chamber swung open, and she turned in relief, expecting Gertie.

  Rane De’Villier stood in the doorway. He had changed from his knight’s armour, and wore trousers as dark brown as his hair, a loose, white shirt over it.

  He looked like an adventurer.

  “I said thirty minutes.” He looked at her for a long beat, and it took her a moment to remember she was standing half-naked in the center of her room. Looking at him had chased all thoughts from her mind.

  Her body was remembering him, where her heart and mind would forget.

  She held his gaze, forcing all feelings of vulnerability away. “You also said I must dress as a man, and as it happens, trousers and shirts are not a staple of my wardrobe. I’m waiting for my maid to find me some.”

  She turned her back on him, she could not bear him staring at her that way any longer. As if she were merely an inconvenience.

  “Your highness?” Gertie stood behind Rane, her voice tentative. “I have found some clothes I think will fit.”

  Kayla looked over her shoulder, glared at Rane. “Bring them here, please, Gertie.”

  Gertie squeezed passed Rane’s imposing presence, and came to stand next to Kayla. She wavered, uncertain, the clothes in her hand. Looked back at Rane, looming at the entrance.

  Kayla kept all irritation from her face, and raised an eyebrow.

  He raised his own. “I will carry you out as you are if you do not dress right now. It is already past midday.”

  She ground her teeth and took the clothes, yanking on trousers of thick, dark blue cotton. The shirt was much like her newly betrothed was wearing, and she loved the cool feel of it.

  “I have three extra shirts and one extra pair of trousers, your highness.” Gertie packed them neatly in her cloth bag. “The kitchen is loading the horses’ saddlebags with supplies.”

  Kayla looked up from pulling on her riding boots. “Thank you.” She stood, and took a few steps in her new attire. It felt good.

  She smiled as sweetly as she was able to manage at Rane. “Ready to go.”

  Chapter Five

  Perhaps it would have been easier if he hadn’t slept with her. But Rane doubted it.

  Seeing Kayla of Gaynor in broad daylight in next to nothing had been bad for his heart. And when she’d turned her back—every inch the cool, haughty princess—he’d had the pleasure of a rear view.

  The same one he was looking at right now, this time covered in the taut material of the trousers her disapproving maid had found for her. The sight was only marginally less enticing than it had been earlier.

  She swung angrily down the passageway of her family’s small, quaint castle, as chilly and stiff as she’d been warm and pliant last night.

  She was all smooth curves and lean muscle. A fit, athletic woman. That was how he’d first hooked her. He’d seen her riding. Knew he could use it to come to her attention.

  He’d deliberately faked a riding accident, miles from the castle.

  She’d been quite alone. He’d seen how she rode out by herself, hard and fast, for hours on end. It had been a gift for a man bent on seduction and betrayal.

  He’d accomplished both quite nicely.

  Something akin to despair gripped him.

  Until this morning, he’d been able to look himself in the mirror with respect. He’d lost that today.

  Once Rane handed the apple to Jasper and Soren was free, his brother was on his own. No more rescues. If he wanted to continue his mindless campaign against Jasper, Soren would have to accept the consequences.

  Rane was going to make that very, very clear.

  “I thought we were in a hurry?”

  Rane snapped back to the present, and saw Kayla waiting for him at the head of the stairs. She bristled with hostility and hurt. But there was something more in her eyes. The same rising urgency to be off that was affecting him.

  He could do nothing about either.

  “We are.” Rane lengthened his stride. “I want to make some progress before nightfall.”

  “Something is driving you besides this enchantment. What is so pressing, De’Villier? Why the rush?” She watched him warily, her arms crossed over her chest. So different to her usual manner.

  His was the final betrayal, he realized. Her father’s behavior had puzzled and wounded her, she hadn’t been able to make sense of it. But he’d come along, and for a few days, she’d trusted him. What he’d done to her had closed the door on her open nature and thrown the bolt.

  He wondered what she would do if he told her his brother was being beaten and tortured every day he delayed handing that apple over. He doubted she’d believe him. Or care.

  Because he’d changed her future, upended her world in exchange for Soren’s freedom.

  “My business.” He stepped around her and ran lightly down the worn stone steps. “And it won’t wait.”

  “De’Villier.” Eric the Bold was waiting for him as he stepped into the bright sunlight of the rear courtyard.

  After the cool, dim light of the castle, he was forced to shield his eyes. Forced to stop a moment.

  He sensed Kayla behind him, just within the castle doors. She had stopped at the sight of Eric, had held back, withdrawing to the deep shadows.

  Rane turned to the sorcerer and waited.

  “I would suggest you leave my apple here for safekeeping.” Eric’s hand was extended.

  Rane waited another beat. Waited to see if he felt compelled to hand it over.

  He did not.

  Interesting.

  “Your apple, sorcerer?” He forced his face into a parody of confusion.

  “Slip of the tongue. I meant your apple, of course. It’s been mine so long, you’ll forgive my little mistake.” Eric flicked his hands as if ridding himself of a pesky fly.

  “I believe in safeguarding what is mine.” Rane did not move.

  “I’m glad we’re in agreement. I would not want Ylana to get her hands on that apple.” Again, Eric extended his hand.

  “I am quite capable of safeguarding my own treasures.” Rane turned and walked towards the horses. The king stood to one side of them, attended by his courtiers—a nervous huddle of brightly colored fish, their mouths opening and closing in shock at the speed and strangeness of events.

  Behind him, there was dead silence. Then the door creaked, and he heard Kayla step out.

  He turned, and saw Eric staring at her with the intensity of a snake at a mouse. She looked spectacular in her men’s clothing. But the expression on the sorcerer’s face was more than just lascivious. It was possessive.

  Rane’s heart gave a long, hard beat, an emotion he could not name rearing in his chest. He did not take his eyes from her as she came to him.

  “Don’t turn your back on that sorcerer again,” she murmured when she reached him. Her face was neutral, but her eyes were deep pools of fear.

  Rane had to swallow before he could reply. “Had a little difficulty accepting my rejection of his offer, did he?” He laced his fingers and offered her a leg up he knew she didn’t need.

  She slipped a booted foot into the cradle of his hands. “I’m quite sure if he hadn’t needed you to get his jewel, he’d have killed you.”

  * * *

  They were well-matched riders.

  He was not the inept secretary who couldn’t keep a seat on a horse. More like the knight who’d managed the impossible and ridden a thundering charger up a glass mount
ain.

  Funny, but she had a deep sense he was neither extreme. Or only the hard-bitten knight when he was forced to be.

  But what was forcing him, now?

  She was irritated she felt the need to get a sense of him at all. He wasn’t worth her time. Just a sideways glance at him as he rode alongside her was enough to remind her of how he took her, used her, made a lie of what she’d thought they’d had.

  She caught his eye, and her feelings must have been plain on her face, because he gave a slight grimace and urged his horse ahead.

  She set her teeth, and concentrated on ignoring his back.

  They were making good time through the open fields. The occasional farmer raised a hand to them as they thundered passed, but only Kayla waved back.

  Fragrant mid-summer grass scented the hot afternoon air, and the corn rippled and swayed lazily in a gentle breeze. Gaynor was not called the gem of the Middleland for nothing. It glowed green as an emerald.

  There would be a record harvest this year.

  It occurred to Kayla the terrible sense of panic, of desperation to do what needed to be done, had begun to ease. She felt it lift perceptibly, an indescribable relief.

  They must be getting closer to their goal.

  They were climbing all the time, though the gradient was barely noticeable. The road skirted most of the villages, giving them a clear run north, and if she narrowed her eyes, she could see the hills in the distance.

  The first touch of cool air flowed down to them from the escarpment, carrying the tang of pine and dark earth. She filled her lungs, lifted her hair off her neck and the breeze caught it and held it off her skin with soothing fingers.

  The Great Forest stretched along Gaynor’s north boundary, a natural fence, and spilled deep into Therston. Kayla recalled Jasper of Harness was from Therston—Rane must be, too. They may well be journeying near De’Villier’s home.

  “Did Eric tell you where this witch is to be found?”

  His head came up, as if she’d pulled him from his own reverie, and he eased his horse back. Gave a short nod. “He did, while you were getting ready for the journey. The heart of the Forest.”

  “Would that put her in Therston?”

  Rane shook his head. “Probably the southern tip of Klevan. Not that there will be any real way to tell.”

  He was right. The forest was so dense, the kingdom boundaries were no more than lines on a map. Unchanged for centuries.

  She glanced at the sun, sinking west to the left of them. “We should reach the forest by nightfall.” She was making conversation, unwilling to go back to the stony silence of before.

  The sound of the horses’ hooves on the hard-packed soil of the road and her own breathing were suddenly too lonely.

  “Have you ever been in the Great Forest?” Something in his question made her wary.

  “With my father. Three years ago.” She didn’t elaborate, or tell him they had gone no further than ten trees deep.

  “Things are very different there, these days.” He held her gaze, and she looked uncomfortably away. Her father had said the same thing.

  “We’ll stop at the edge tonight. Continue our journey in daylight.”

  She lifted a hand from the reins and brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes. “Too hard-going in the dark?”

  He hunched his shoulders, tipping his weight forward on his horse and urging it faster. “Too dangerous.”

  Chapter Six

  The urgency, the terrible, throat-clawing panic that had gripped him in Gaynor Castle had lifted as they’d reached the foot of the escarpment, leaving him light. Leaving him determined not to have it return.

  But as soon as they stopped for the night it crept back, insidious as fog. Rane lifted his head and took in the first line of trees against a dusk-darkened sky. He wished it was safe to continue.

  He knew it was not.

  The princess was just within the trees, he could hear her muttering as she tripped over the branches she was supposed to be gathering. She’d taken to the task of finding wood far more readily than he’d thought. In fact, she’d taken this whole trip in her stride. He’d expected more saddlebags, a request for a servant, and far more sulking.

  There’d been none of that.

  The small pile of wood he was coaxing into a blaze smouldered sullenly and then winked out in a choking billow of smoke. The wood was wet.

  He’d told her he’d get the fire going, but mere flint stones were not going to give them a fire tonight.

  And they needed one.

  Rane had not grown up in Therston, on the western edge of this same forest, without knowing at least that much. As it was, he knew a lot more.

  He heard Kayla wander a little further into the trees than he’d like, but he took advantage of the opportunity. He slipped his hand into the pouch at his belt and took out a thin black stick, only slightly longer than his middle finger. It tapered to a point at one end. He turned it in his hand and touched it to the wood.

  A flame leapt high, the suddenness of the heat causing a pop and crack as the wet wood was engulfed in fire.

  “That looks good.” Kayla stepped out from the trees, her arms loaded with branches. The light flickered wildly over her face and seemed to lean towards her. She looked fey and dangerous. “I thought it would take you longer with that wet wood.”

  Without any sudden moves, although his heart had lurched at her appearance, Rane calmly slid the stick back into his pouch and picked up his flint stones. Knocked them together so a little spark flew. “Practice,” he said.

  There was silence, and he thought for a moment she was going to challenge him. Call him a liar.

  Instead she dropped the branches she’d collected. “I went deeper under the trees and found some drier wood.”

  “Good.” He stood, going to the saddlebags. “Let’s see what the kitchens of Gaynor castle have given us.”

  She said nothing, easing herself down onto one of the rocks near the fire. She looked tired. Drained. But he knew it wasn’t the ride. She could probably ride double the distance they had done today with ease.

  “What’s wrong?” He regretted the question as soon as it left his lips.

  She raised her eyes, regarded him a long moment. Shook her head and swung back to the fire.

  He thought there might have been the sparkle of a tear on her cheek, and he turned quickly to the saddle bags and their dinner.

  It seemed his brother wasn’t the only idiot in his family.

  * * *

  The bite of panic was back in Kayla’s chest, squeezing her with relentless jaws, forcing her from sleep.

  Breathing hard, she came up off the thick pallet, and locked eyes with Rane De’Villier. He was sitting near the fire, and she had the feeling he’d been there a while, watching her.

  He said nothing, the fire glowing between them, but along with the regret in his eyes there was understanding. He wished he could leave now, like her. Run into the forest just to ease the terrible sensation.

  They shared the torment of the golden apple the same way prisoners share the privations of the cell, the indignities of confinement.

  They knew something about each other no one else could know.

  Of course, he knew more than one thing about her no one else did. She savored her bitterness a moment, then let it go. He had betrayed her trust, but she had given herself freely to him, with no promises between them.

  “Let’s break camp.” Her voice seemed over-loud in the still of deep night.

  “If we get lost, we’ll go completely mad. And in the dark, with no sun to guide us, we’ll get lost.” He spoke calmly, without inflection. If she hadn’t seen the look in his eyes she might have been fooled into thinking he had shaken the enchantment loose. “Besides, this…feeling…it’s better than running into—”

  He broke off suddenly, turned back to the forest, and for a moment she thought it was an excuse to stop talking, to shield her from what he thought they might encounter.
As if she didn’t know. Or thought she did.

  Then she heard it.

  The crack of a twig. Crushed under a heavy foot.

  Rane rose slowly, hand extended. The light caught his arm, and she saw he was holding a long-bladed, gleaming knife. But its gleam was not from a reflection of the fire. It seemed to have an inner light. It shimmered blue.

  He looked over his shoulder at her and lifted a finger to his lips. Made a motion with his hand indicating she should crouch down.

  She was suddenly very glad De’Villier was as large and as dangerous as he was. He looked formidable.

  She stepped away from the ring of firelight and sank down on her haunches. Behind her, the horses nickered nervously.

  She had not brought a single weapon. It hadn’t even crossed her mind.

  She’d been thinking like a princess, not a thief.

  Now her hands felt empty. She clenched them, and searched the ground, straining her eyes in the poor light. There was a branch lying within reach, and she leaned forward and grabbed it. The solid weight of it comforted her.

  She looked up at Rane, and blinked in surprise. He was gone.

  She held herself still, straining to hear him, but the only sounds were her own breathing and the crackle of the fire.

  She waited, crouching until her thighs quivered with the effort and her eyes watered as she searched the darkness for even the smallest movement.

  She felt strangely disoriented, as if she’d been spun around and had to cling to the earth to stop herself falling over. She rested her head on her knees and closed her eyes. Tried to see if her ears were the sharper for it.

  She could smell the sweet, green smoke of the fire, the strong perfume of dried pine needles, the musty, sharp tang of the stick in her hand.

  There was a crash, deep within the trees—the sound of someone falling into a bush or from a high branch to a lower one.

  She rose, the muscles in her legs shrieking. She held the stick double-handed, at shoulder height, and was surprised to realize she was shaking. She could not stay here and wait.

  She was still in her stocking feet, and she moved to her pallet to pull on her boots before moving into the forest.