The Accident
THE ACCIDENT
I t was his eighteenth birthday, but no one cared.
That wasn’t exactly true. Elda had pulled him into a tight hug the moment she saw him. She whispered a heartfelt “Happy birthday, lad” before pressing a round of sweet bread into his hands.
In the castle, the morning routine had been the same as always–hardly a glance from Father, a lofty sniff of disdain from Alistair when they happened to pass in the hall, and a jeering comment from Lucien, who said he hoped Tabian would show up dressed appropriately to the royal ball so he wouldn’t bring more shame on the family. “Just because you choose to spend your time amongst peasants doesn’t mean you have to dress like one.”
Tabian took that opportunity to point out that the royal gardener and his family weren’t exactly peasants, but Lucien only smirked and said, “You would do well to remember your place.”
His place?
That was the problem. Tabian had no place in the castle. No place amongst those who shared his same blood. No place amongst the ones who should’ve loved him the most.
He was eighteen years old and was no closer to fitting in with his real family than he’d ever been.
“Come on, let’s go,” Hans urged as he took off running through the meadow.
“Patience, Hans,” he called. “The forest isn’t going anywhere.” Tabian lifted his face to the bright sun overhead, enjoying the warmth mingled with the crisp breeze. He needed this today. Teaching Hans to hunt pheasants was the perfect excuse to break away from the commotion of the castle and his father’s foul mood. Another golden apple had been stolen this morning, and King Roderick was on the warpath. A shiver ran down his spine. Even in the splendor of nature, thoughts of the stolen apples cloaked him in a shadow.
Poor Garrin had gotten the brunt of the King’s vitriol. It cut to see Garrin so distraught after Father’s harsh reprimand. This morning, when Tabian went to the cottage, he found Garrin wringing his hands and trembling all over, muttering that if another apple were to get stolen, he feared the King might take action against him.
Tabian tried to soothe Garrin with calming words. He even offered to talk to Father about the situation. Garrin was appreciative, but Tabian could see in the older man’s eyes what he wouldn’t say aloud … Tabian had no sway with the King. Father barely acknowledged Tabian’s existence. It was highly doubtful that he would listen to anything his youngest son had to say.
As the royal gardener, Garrin was tasked with the grueling job of going to the King and relaying the bad news—just after dawn, shortly after the apple had fallen to the ground and turned into gold, someone had stolen it. Today marked the fourth apple that had been taken during the past two weeks.
Determined to catch the thief, Father ordered guards to keep watch over the tree. When the guards failed to catch the culprit, Father had enlisted the help of his two older sons–Alistair and Lucien. Father loved and trusted them in a way that Tabian used to envy … that is, until he came to terms with the hard fact that Father was never going to value him. Even Alistair and Lucien were unable to figure out who was stealing the apples.
Tabian’s gaze followed the blanket of tawny grass swaying gently in the meadow until it reached the border of the forest. Fall was in full swing, and the leaves were ablaze with fiery reds, yellows, and oranges. This was normally Tabian’s favorite time of the year, as it was the time when the golden apples started falling from the tree. Even though Tabian had never met his mother—she died giving birth to him—the apples were a reminder of her.
The King rarely spoke of his late wife, even though the grief of losing her was a heavy burden that he carried every day of his life. Mourning the loss of Zyrella had made the King jaded and bitter. While his father had never come out and said it, Tabian suspected that King Roderick blamed him for his mother’s death. Perhaps that was why the King had so little to do with Tabian—why he couldn’t even look at Tabian without remorse and resentment.
While Tabian was cheerful by nature, he felt the sorrow of having never known his mother. Also, it hurt to be estranged from his father and brothers. He’d often wondered why he was so different from Alistair and Lucien. They were both knights of great repute who fought in the War of the Cliffs that ended four years ago. Tabian, too young to serve, was forced to stay home. Spending four years away from his older brothers during such a formative time in his life made him feel even more disconnected from them.
Tabian learned at a young age that it was better to keep his mouth shut and stay out of his father's and brothers’ paths. Tabian loved being outside and would often frequent the royal gardens when he was a lad. He’d found love and acceptance in Garrin and Elda's cottage. Tabian learned from the older couple that his mother had been close to both of them. It made sense as she loved to garden. Garrin took Zyrella under his wing and taught her all that he knew.
With an affectionate smile, Garrin would often remark , “It didn’t take long for Zyrella’s skills to outmatch mine. She was a natural in the garden.”
Tabian got the impression that the reason why Garrin and Elda loved him so much was because they’d dearly loved his mother. Being around the couple made Tabian feel as though he’d gotten a tiny part of her back.
Zyrella had planted the apple tree and spent many years tending it. Some believed that Zyrella was close friends with an enchantress who imbued the tree with magical qualities that caused it to produce golden apples year after year. Others viewed the tree as a sign that providence was smiling down on the kingdom.
When the apples were on the tree, they were of the yellow variety. Starting in the fall during the harvest, one apple would fall from the tree each day at the break of dawn. The moment the apple touched the ground, it turned to gold.
The tree would yield golden apples—only one per day—until the first frost. The tree had come to symbolize the wealth and prosperity of the Kingdom of Verdermere. This tree was a rare treasure appreciated by all.
The tree was revered by the King because it was a tangible reminder of Zyrella.
According to Elda, King Roderick had been very different when Zyrella was by his side. “Your father was once a kind and compassionate man. He loved your mother so much that her death left a huge hole in his heart.” She would look at Tabian with sympathy. “I wish you could’ve known the man he used to be.”
Tabian’s heart twisted. He wished for that, too.
When Hans reached the border of the trees, he turned and yelled back to Tabian, “Are you coming?”
A smile tilted Tabian’s mouth. “A little patience goes a long way, lad.” Hans was the only son of Garrin and Elda. Well into their middle-age years, the couple had given up on ever having any children. Then Hans surprised them and came along. Tabian was pleased with the new addition. It didn’t take long for Tabian to love Hans like a brother.
Tightening his hand on the bow, Tabian quickened his pace to get to Hans. The lad was now pacing back and forth, his cap of golden hair flopping with his every impatient step.
Tabian chuckled under his breath. For days, Hans had been begging him to take him hunting for pheasants.
“Can I go on ahead? I could meet you at the twisted tree by the river.” He looked across the meadow, his expression pleading. “Please.”
Tabian waved his free hand. “Sure, go ahead.”
With that, Hans bolted into the forest.
When he reached the edge of the trees, the sharp tang of fallen leaves and the earthiness of damp soil invaded his senses. He looked up at the canopy of tree branches where pops of sunlight peaked through. As he ventured deeper into the cool shade of the grove, his boots crunched over brittle leaves.
His thoughts turned to tonight’s royal ball. His pulse quickened as an image of the Maiden Arabella flashed through his mind—hair the color of freshly fallen chestnuts, brown eyes with a perpetual sparkle, red lips as enticing as a ripe strawberry in the height of summer. Her laugh was infectious, and she had a gift for conversation. Also, Arabella possessed a keen wit and intelligence. Arabella’s father was an honored member of the royal council. For that reason, Arabella was given special permission to attend lessons with Tabian and share his tutors. It was unusual for a maiden to aspire to higher education. At first, Father balked at the idea of Arabella studying alongside one of his sons. It was Tabian who convinced him that the competition from having a fellow student would only serve to sharpen Tabian’s skills.
Tabian and Arabella became close friends. However, as the years passed, their relationship deepened into something more. He was looking forward to holding her in his arms as they danced the night away. Perhaps afterward, he could take her to the garden, where they could share a few kisses.
When he heard the sound of flowing water, Tabian knew that he was almost to the river. Somewhere deeper in the woods, a creature rustled through the underbrush.
He reached the clearing and glanced around, looking for Hans. Not spotting him, he called his name. “Hans! Where are you?”
“Up here.”
He looked up the length of the tree with the twisted trunk and saw Hans crouched on one of the slender upper branches. Tabian’s heart lurched. “What’re you doing up there?”
“Trying to spot pheasants,” Hans replied, grinning.
The branches at the top were dangerously small. The one Hans was on dipped beneath his weight. Even though Tabian’s first impulse was to demand that Hans come down at once, he knew better than to alarm the lad. He kept his voice even. “You’re too high up. You need to come down. Be careful.” Blood beat against his temples with frantic wings as he swallowed. Holding his breath, he watched as Hans scrambled down to the next branch. “Easy,” he warned.
Hans lowered himself onto the next branch, and then it happened. It broke with a loud crack. Hans screamed, and Tabian gasped as Hans fell from the tree and hit the water with a loud splash. The current seized him instantly, pulling him under.
His heart in his throat, Tabian rushed over to the riverbank and yelled Hans’ name. He scoured the river—there! A small hand broke the surface, fingers flailing before vanishing.
Tabian didn’t hesitate. He dropped his bow, tore off his quiver, and plunged in. The cold shocked the air from his lungs. The current was stronger than he’d anticipated, grasping him with unseen hands. He fought against it, kicking hard. His gaze locked on Hans, whose head bobbed above the water. His mouth opened in a silent scream before the river swallowed him again.
Tabian lunged. His fingertips grazed Hans’s tunic. A surge wrenched the boy away. With a final burst of strength, Tabian managed to grasp Hans’s wrist. He pulled as he kicked furiously with his feet. He wrapped an arm around Hans’s chest and maneuvered them towards the shore.
His limbs burned. Just a little farther.
His boots scraped the riverbed. With one last push, he hauled them both onto the muddy bank and collapsed. His chest heaved as he fought to get a good breath.
Hans lay beside him, unmoving.
Tabian rolled him onto his side. "Come on, Hans. Breathe."
A terrible moment passed. Then Hans coughed violently, spitting out a mouthful of water. He gasped, drawing in ragged, desperate breaths.
Relief crashed over Tabian, draining the remaining strength from his limbs and leaving his breath unsteady. An ache of lingering fear shot through him. "Are you hurt?"
Hans shook his head weakly, but his eyes filled with tears. "You saved me."
Tabian let out a long breath and scrubbed a hand over his face before pulling Hans into a firm embrace. "That’s what family does.”
Hans clung to him, shoulders shaking. "I—I thought I was going to die."
Tabian tightened his hold. "Not while I’m around, lad. Not while I’m around."
For several long moments, they sat in silence. The murmuring of the river was an unspoken reminder of how close Hans had come to losing his life. Finally, Tabian stood, helping Hans to his feet. "Come on. Let’s get back before your mother wrings my neck."
Hans sniffled but nodded.
Together, they made their way back to the cottage.