Azurite (Daughter of the Mountain Book 1) (13 page)

              “Enough!” the Warden bellowed out angrily into the forest, and the earsplitting screams were gone.  It took a moment for the glowing display of color and power clinging to the forest’s wall to dissipate, but when it did, the Warden gasped in surprise.

              A new tree had appeared on the path before him, black and charred like used coal.  It was sick and twisted around on itself, as if some giant had turned the trunk like a screw in the ground.  Masses of roots popped out from the earth, while branches stuck out at the sides like splinted wooden arms.  The Warden looked from the tree to the sky where the lightshow of his power had subsided.  His hands and fingertips were still tingling with the remnants of Ithillium, and the welcome weight of Sariel’s connection could still be felt in his mind as the Guardian followed closely behind him.

              “What is it?” Sariel asked, indicating the deformed tree that hadn’t been there before.  The Guardian had his sword drawn too, and he looked concerned.

              “I honestly don’t know,” the Warden mumbled, looking from the tree to Sariel’s stone-carved face.  “I’ve never been attacked so severely before.  Did you witness all the thoughts that were being forced into my head?  It was horrible.”  Sariel nodded somberly.

              “I don’t understand either, but it’s our duty to investigate the source of such power and terminate it.”

“Well, what are we waiting for?” the man asked as he reached out his hand and pushed against the invisible wall separating the forest from the tundra.  He was expecting the resistance of an intact, invisible wall, but instead he stumbled head first onto the forest floor and cursed.

              “Blasted web has receded!” he growled.  Sariel stepped lightly over the line and peered at the man.

              “I thought you said you’d just secured it last week.”

              “I did!” he exclaimed, standing back up.  “This cannot be possible.”  He looked at the twisted tree again, trying to make sense of everything, then angrily stalked towards it.

              “Warden, be careful!” Sariel called out behind him.  “Don’t be influenced by this power!”  But the man was ignoring him.  He grasped the hilt of his sword in both hands, lifted it over his head, and with a yell hammered it down on the tree’s twisted branch with a thud. 

A momentary scream of pain echoed through the air again, followed by a dark liquid that began gushing out of the branch when he removed his blade.  Immediately, an acrid, metallic smell filled his nostrils.  He wrinkled his nose in disgust then reached out and placed his bare hand on the branch.  He felt the thick slickness of the warm liquid on his fingers then brought it to his face to get a better look.

              “Sariel!” he said alarmingly.  “I think this is
blood
.  The tree, it’s bleeding!  Something is wrong.  Very wrong.”  The gushing gore from the laceration was surging viciously now, flowing over the grooves of the trunk and falling to the rock-covered floor.  A red pool had formed and was quickly seeping its way towards his feet.  The man took a couple of steps back as the blood drew closer and closer to him.  In the blindness of night, the Warden thought he saw something rippling across the dark red puddle as it gained substance and momentum, coming closer to the border of Samaria.

              “Sariel, draw back!  We have to secure the web!  This thing cannot get through.  Help me!” 

He turned his back to the tree and sprinted out of the forest and over to the tundra. With the help of Sariel’s Bond, the man began expelling his energy, layering it over the border of the forest like a thick wall.  The tendrils of energy spread across the expansive space like a spider web; several fibers of Ithillium in a myriad of different shapes all interconnected by a common core. 

The Warden fashioned the web with swift movements, but every time he created a new layer, the previous one would disappear.  He scowled in frustration.  The pool of blood was moving quickly now, slopping around on the dark forest floor, coalescing into a single, indeterminable form that seemed to be heading straight for him.

              “This isn’t working!” Sariel cried through the buzzing of Ithillium being fluxed through the air.  “Whatever is in the forest is fighting back.  I need more!” 

              “I don’t have any more!” the Warden yelled as power flew through his hands.  The man gritted his teeth and reached down even further.  He closed his eyes, allowing his other senses to direct him.  He drew, channeled, webbed, layered, and repeated, feeling Sariel’s Bond the whole time, keeping his strength from depleting.  Despite the cold, he was bathed in sweat and his arms burned with exhaustion.  He felt the last bit of the web as it was woven into place and the resistance where Ithillium coated it.  When he was done, he opened his eyes and laughed. 

The whole open space in front of the forest was glowing with a blue web.  Thousands of small orbs clung to it like burning stars, and heat waves radiated from the center.  It was done.  They’d repaired the web and the wall was intact. 

Sariel and the Warden watched for several minutes as the vibrant barrier they’d just formed slowly faded away into darkness, still intact but invisible, like it was meant to be.  The man sighed, his head throbbing with adrenaline and his body prickling with the effects of Ithillium.  He was relieved.  Looking down at his hand, the Warden noticed the blood from the tree had dried on his skin and begun caking.  He rubbed it off on his pants before glancing over at the Guardian whose expressionless face also had an air of relief. 

“Have you ever seen anything like that before?” he asked Sariel.

“Not for a long time.  But it was a disturbing image indeed.  I am not human, but even I felt the seductive pull of whatever evil lay within that forest.  You should certainly present this information to your Captain when you seen him.  The sooner the better.”  The Warden had been thinking the same thing and was glad Sariel was there to voice his own thoughts on the matter.

“Thank you for helping me,” the Warden said.  “I couldn’t have done that so quickly without you.”  Sariel sheathed his sword.

“It is my duty.  We make a fair team.  Would you prefer I accompany you back to Alumhy?” 

The man was temped to say no.  He didn’t need an escort, but the image of the dark red pool of blood advancing faster and faster towards him over the forest floor made him go cold and caused him to reconsider.

“I guess,” he muttered.  The Guardian dipped his head and began walking back towards the city as if repairing the invisible wall was completely effortless, whereas the Warden felt exhausted.  Sariel was already several paces ahead of him, but something caused the man to turn back around and face the wall for a second. 

He took a few steps towards the now unseen web and pressed firmly on it to make certain it was secure.  It didn’t budge.  Gathering his courage, he cupped his hands on the translucent wall and peered into the forest where the skeletal tree still stood.  He noticed that the branch where he had angrily stabbed his sword was healed and intact.  He scouted for the ominous red pool and found nothing but dirt and rock on the ground.  The Warden sighed, truly vexed, and removed his hands.

              Without warning, a wave of dark metallic blood pounded against the newly fashioned web and another scream pierced the air.  The Warden stumbled backwards out of shock as the blood retracted back towards the rocky forest floor, unable to penetrate the barrier.  The Warden instinctually gripped the hilt of his sword till his fingers cramped, breathing heavily and waiting for another attack.  None came.  He glared into the forest.  All that was left behind was a bloody handprint dribbling to the floor as it tried to claw its way through the impenetrable barrier.

Chapter 9

              When Zora returned with Arianna back to Mizra, twilight was already spreading its blue and purple fingers across the Samarian sky.  Zora felt reluctant to let Milo stay behind with Madame Fae.  She had a million questions about what she had seen and experienced there, and considering Milo was such a close friend of hers, it seemed feasible he’d be able to offer her some sort of answers. 

When the two women finally reached Zora’s bedchamber at the top of the tower, they were met, unexpectedly, with two of Evangeline’s Guards blocking the entrance to her room.  Escorting them was an irate looking Queen who was clothed head to toe in bright purple fabrics and her jeweled crown clearly intended for the celebration that was soon to commence.  When she saw Zora, she stopped her pacing in front of the door and glared at her with a look full of venom. 

              “Where have you been,” she hissed, her beautiful facial features twisted into a ravaged visage.  She stormed over to Zora and leaned in till she was eye level with her daughter. 

“I sent my servants up here
two
hours
ago to start prepping you for tonight, just like we discussed yesterday.  And where were you?  Gone, who knows where!”  She grabbed a handful of Zora’s flaxen hair in her fist and yanked it till Zora cried in pain.

“You’re an ungrateful bastard, Zora and I refuse, REFUSE to let you ruin this for me!” 

Evangeline was yelling in outrage, the veins in her neck throbbing in rage.  Zora was stunned speechless.  Never before had Evangeline cared about where Zora was or what she was doing, so why now? 

“Mother, I’m so sorry,” Zora begged.  “Please forgive me.  I lost track of time, but we can be ready…”

  As she spoke, Zora felt the full force of her mother’s hand make contact with the side of her face.  Her teeth smashed together in her mouth and she yelped like a beaten puppy.  Zora staggered backwards until she felt Arianna’s strong arms around her waist, the only thing preventing her from tumbling down the stairs.

Evangeline scowled at Zora one more time.  “Now, if I don’t see you downstairs in one hour, looking perfect!  You won’t live to see tomorrow.”  With that, Evangeline swooped past Zora and down the stairs, her two Guards following closely behind.

              Zora remained in Arianna’s protective embrace, too shocked to move.  She touched her cheek where the slap had made contact and winced at its tenderness.  She recollected being struck by Evangeline as a child, but she always told herself it was for justifiable disciplinary purposes.  This attack, on the other hand, was driven by Evangeline’s pure, unadulterated hatred for her. 

Despite the Queen’s public contempt for her only child and the open declarations she’d made that Zora would never claim the Samarian throne, the young noble still had faith that she held some sort of motherly affection for her.  But moments ago, when Zora looked into her mother’s cold eyes, she realized she was no longer looking at the nurturing fictional mother she’d longed for, but a callous, hard hearted human that cared for nothing other than herself.  At that climatic moment, the desire Zora had held on to for sixteen years to build a better relationship with her mother completely disappeared.  She hated her.

Zora brushed Arianna hastily off of her and stood back up with the full intention of not letting her mother’s selfish actions get the better of her.

“Come on, Ari.  Let’s just get this over with.”

              Shortly later, two of the Queen’s servants appeared outside of Zora’s door armed with supplies to transform Zora from something homely into something beautiful. 

After the Queen’s servants were dismissed, Zora stood in front of the dressing mirror looking at the changes that had taken place.  They had washed her waist-length, silver blonde hair till it was wavy and soft, and she was dressed in the most stunning gown she’d ever seen.  It was made out of silk and light pink in color, with a scooped neck and long, white sleeves that opened up at the wrist in long strands.  It was embroidered with gold thread along the neckline, and a gold sash was crisscrossed over her mid-section then tied in a bow around her hips. Throughout the entire dress, flecks of crystal were woven into the fabric that gleamed and glittered when the light reflected off of them.  Her crown was a simple circle of gold, plain and unembellished. She ran her hand slowly over her torso examining the smoothness of the silk fabric hugging her body.  Arianna came up behind her and smiled. 

“You look stunning,” she whispered.  She reached up and grabbed a strand of Zora’s blonde hair and repositioned it across her cheek and down her shoulder.  “Prince Spencer won’t be able to keep his eyes off of you.”

“Thank you, Ari,” she said genuinely.  A pair of sky blue eyes stared back at her in the mirror, their usual brightness intensified by dark shades of color painted around them by the servants.  Whereas anyone else would’ve thought she was beautiful, Zora was blind to the possibility.  In fact, when she looked at herself, the only things she saw were the permanent downturn of her small mouth and the faded circles of sleepless nights underneath her weary eyes.  

“I can’t deny that I see an improvement,” she said, “but in my opinion, I always look a little sad.”

“Are you nervous,” Arianna asked. 

Zora searched her heart for an honest answer.  To her, Prince Spencer still seemed like a fictitious idea, and until she met him face to face, it was hard to form such an opinion.

“No, I’m not nervous,” Zora answered truthfully.  “Tonight isn’t about my wedding.  It never was for me. Samaria is where I belong, and I’ll find my way home soon.”

Zora couldn’t see the look of pity that Arianna was giving her.  Even though the maidservant admired her friend for believing that such an outcome might be possible, she wasn’t going to tell her any different, at least not now.

  Zora reached up and traced the outline of the hourglass pendent hanging from her neck, remembering the last thing she had to do before the evening’s festivities began.  She looked at her friend. 

“Leave me for now.  I need a couple of moments alone.”  Arianna gave her a nod and a slight bow before slipping out of the room.

When she was certain Arianna was gone, Zora went to retrieve one of the glass jars of brew she’d brought from Madame Fae’s and set it upon on her dresser.  She opened the top drawer of the furniture piece and brought forth a square of coarse linen folded in thirds.  Opening it reveled three stems of thorn root that were vibrantly red and ripe.  Zora ran her index finger across all three of them feeling the fuzzy hairs tickle her skin.  The roots suddenly became animated, slithering and curling across the fabric, looking for something to inject its poison into.

“Don’t bite me,” Zora instructed then scooped up the roots confidently in her hands.

  Using a ceramic mortar and pestle, Zora ground up the thorn root aggressively till the white bowl was stained blood red from the residual juices.  Using a small vial that originally held sparse amounts of fragrance, Zora funneled in Madame Fae’s brew, then added in the ground up thorn root.  The red extract spun and swirled in the clear liquid till the vial turned vividly crimson then faded out till it was back to colorless; effects of the Liquid Hue.  Zora put the stopper in the vial and held it up to examine it, ensuring nothing looked out of place.  She smiled to herself. 

Zora had gone to Madame Fae’s for more than just herbs for her sleeping potion. She was desperate to know the reasoning behind why Queen Evangeline was marrying her off and exiling her the Borderlands.  Tonight she was going to experiment with a brew that brought forth the truth from even the most dishonest person.  Even if she would never claim the Samarian throne, Zora was entitled to some sort of closure the truth would provide.  After years of brewing and study in potion making, Zora knew the ingredients to the mind-altering brew she’d created today, but the truth telling brew needed only one additional ingredient. 

“And with a little bit of thorn root, mind altering brews become truth telling ones,” Zora said aloud as she wedged the vial into the corset of her dress where it would remain hidden until she needed it.

***

Mizra’s Great Hall had been successfully transformed overnight into a festive and lively banquet hall, all in celebration of Zora’s betrothal to Prince Spencer.  Even before the arrival of the hosts, Zora could hear the conglomeration of laughter and conversation flowing from the hall through the castle corridors.  All of the lords and ladies of the royal courts socialized merrily in anticipation of King Andre and Queen Evangeline’s arrival and the hefty feast to follow. 

Twenty long tables had been brought into the hall, each seating thirty guests. All of them were decorated with purple table linens and large blue and white floral centerpieces with burning pillar candles in the middle.  The table at which the nobles dinned was smaller, which allowed for a more private experience.  It was placed atop a raised platform over looking the hall.  A large, hand embroidered Samarian banner hung behind the nobles’ table, and it depicted the country’s national emblem.  It was an outline of the Anion Mountains and the Argent River that ran through them.

The House of Winnser entered the hall first. Queen Evangeline led the way accompanied by Brutus Bludworth, the General of the Samarian Guard.  The two pages stationed at the entrance immediately announced her arrival followed by the sharp musical notations of a bugle.  All the patrons of the hall silently stood up and gave a graceful bow to their Queen as she centered herself in the open square before the tables.  Brutus left Queen Evangeline’s side and went to seat himself at the table behind them.

Zora was paired with Arvil Pennington who escorted her with a tight grip on her elbow, as if Zora planned to flee at any moment, and he was the only thing stopping her.  Ambrose Cornwell came last, and Zora quickly looked around for Talan, hoping to have at least one friendly face among the crowd, but he was nowhere to be seen.  Arvil brought Zora to stand next to her mother who failed to acknowledge she was even there. 

Zora surveyed the room of people before her, which was full of wealthy landowners, and patrons of the court who were all dressed in their finest clothing and jewels.  The pair of Samarian pages formally stationed at the hall’s entrance were replaced by two Carian ones that proudly introduced the arrival of the Carian Court, one by one. 

King Andre DeVore led the group.  His masculine stature and bearded jawline were completely discredited by the layers of ruffles lining his waistcoat and the billowing sleeves of his silk shirt underneath.  His younger brother, Prince Percy DeVore, and his wife, Miranda, followed the King.  Until this moment, Zora had been acting like a puppet.  She was going through the movements of a royal princess without emotion or enthusiasm, but when she caught sight of Spencer DeVore parading towards her, she was unfortunately forced back into reality. 

He was sporting gaudy, ostentatiously designed garments in the Carian yellow and orange colors, including a velvet hat with exaggerated peacock feathers sticking out from the top of it.  A large fur coat was draped over his shoulders despite it being springtime and not the dead of winter.  Ropes of gold chains circled around his neck, forming the shape of a noose.  He stopped in front of her, expressionless, and examined her once over with beady eyes.  Spencer clinched his jaw tight when he reached her face then took her fingers in his hand and bowed low. 

“My Lady, Zora.  It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” 

Zora stared at his garish ensemble, more out of surprise than rudeness.  A few awkward seconds passed before she realized Spencer was waiting for a return greeting.  She quickly mimicked his public gesture and mumbled, “The pleasure is mine, Prince DeVore.”

The Queen had begun speaking to the crowd.  “It’s an honor, fellow Samarians, to host the noble DeVore House of Cara within our walls this evening.  We are pleased to announce the betrothal of my daughter, Zora, and Prince Spencer.  May an alliance be formed between our two great countries based on friendship, loyalty, and honor.” 

Zora felt a warm, moist hand reaching for hers and turned to watch as Spencer lifted her hand in his grasp above her head, as if she was some sort of prize he’d won.  The crowd clapped and whistled merrily.  When the crowd’s reaction subsided, they were told to take their seats for dinner, and Spencer moved Zora’s hand to the crook of his elbow as he escorted her.

Already, the serving men and wenches were bringing out the courses for the feast, which included roasted turkey and quail, boiled cabbage and beets with garlic sauce, fresh grapevines, apples, pears, and several loaves of rye bread.  The aromas of the freshly cooked food permeated the hall, and Zora’s mouth began to water.  A quartet of string musicians had set up between the crowd and the Queen’s table and began performing a cheery, upbeat number to keep the patrons entertained.  Zora had been seated next to her mother and across from Spencer, so she had no excuse but to make conversation with her future husband.  Evangeline was going to make sure of that. 

The King’s youngest brother was tall and lean, and the cloths he wore seemed almost two sizes too big for him, as if he was trying to feign a larger frame.  His face was narrow with an angled chin and eyes that seemed to be set too close together on his face.  His hair was flat brown and long and was pulled away from his face by a ribbon. 

After they were seated, King Devore, Prince Spencer, and the Queen’s advisors began a heated conversation about the dire affects the rainstorms had had down south, specifically on Cara’s infrastructure and agricultural systems.  Spencer hadn’t said two words to her since their initial greeting, and he seemed hesitant to even acknowledge she was there.  Lady Miranda sat next to the Queen, who was also blatantly excluded from the men’s conversation.  Zora noticed that Percy, the middle brother, was treating his wife with the same standoffish attitude that Spencer was using on her.  Lady Miranda must have been use to it, though, because she was sitting contently and commenting occasionally to Evangeline about how beautiful the feast looked.