The Garden
THE GARDEN
N othing like spending the night sleeping on the cold, hard ground. Hugging his arms, Tabian shifted his body, trying to find a comfortable position. He was exhausted, but he couldn’t give in to the temptation to fall asleep. He had to stay awake and alert so he could catch any sounds or sights out of the ordinary.
As the dusk of the evening gave way to the deep embrace of night, stars began popping out in the velvety sky. He propped his arms behind his head and stared up at the bright yellow moon, almost full. It cast a pale glow over the royal garden, illuminating the graceful branches of the enchanted tree, shimmering silver in the moonlight. The tree was a quiet marvel, standing tall amidst the towering hedges and creeping ivy that traveled along the garden walls.
His thoughts turned to his conversation with Elda. Tabian still found it hard to comprehend that his mother chose to have him when she knew that giving birth would kill her. A shudder trickled through him. No wonder Father had a hard time even looking at him.
Elda’s words about him being extraordinary and destined for greatness kept running through his mind. What great or noble thing was he supposed to do? And how would it take place? He couldn’t imagine a scenario where Father or his brothers would ever accept him into their world. Tabian would always be relegated to being an outsider. He would never be able to escape the long, dark shadow of his father’s disdain and his brothers’ scorn.
A new thought occurred to him. Maybe he would do something great, but what if he had to leave the kingdom of his birth to do so? It would be liberating to start anew with no constraints.
His chest tightened as he thought about Arabella. In all of the craziness of the day’s events, he’d at least not had any time to dwell on her. But now, in the quiet, the hurt of her betrayal returned with a vengeance. Mingled with the hurt was a bitter disappointment. He’d thought that Arabella was too smart to fall for Lucien’s charm. So many times, the two of them had laughed together at the foolish maidens who were so smitten by Lucien. Couldn’t Arabella see that Lucien was superficial?
Maybe Arabella was setting her sights on Lucien because he was an accepted member of the royal family. Was that why Arabella kept pressing Tabian to ingratiate himself with his father and brothers? Perhaps titles were more important to Arabella than he realized. She preferred to be with a recognized prince rather than the discarded son who lurked in the shadows.
It struck Tabian that he didn’t know Arabella as well as he thought he did. His view of her had been tainted by his emotions. Perhaps he’d accepted the version she portrayed—the one she wanted him to see.
He’d brought his bow with him and his quiver containing several arrows. He touched the bow for reassurance, running his fingers along the smooth, polished wood. The weapon was a tangible reminder of his purpose. Never had he shot another person. The idea of doing so now was repulsive. However, he would use it if necessary to catch the thief. No matter what, he wouldn’t fail Garrin.
He didn’t know how much time had passed before his eyelids grew heavy. He flinched, willing himself to stay awake. There was too much at stake for him to fail. His eyelids were weighted in lead. He pictured Garrin in the dungeon. The tactic helped to push the need to sleep aside.
His gaze went to the trunk of the tree and then traveled upward, taking note of the yellow apples hanging on the branches. They were regular apples. At dawn, the magical transformation of turning one to gold would transpire the instant the apple touched the ground.
And when that happened, Tabian would be on full alert.
He relaxed back against the grass. The night stretched on, slow and merciless.
He awoke with a start, berating himself for falling asleep. A sharp panic raced through him as he glanced around. It was still dark. He let out a relieved breath and got up to walk around. He shivered against the cold air that nipped at his exposed skin. He couldn’t trust himself not to nod off again and would spend the rest of the night on his feet, pacing. The rustling leaves the distant hoot of an owl, the swaying of branches—every little sound set his nerves on edge.
Exhaustion gnawed at him as he forced himself to recount his purpose for being out here. Eventually, a peculiar stillness descended over the surroundings. It was now early morning. Dawn would be approaching soon.
A feverish excitement quivered in Tabian as he scoured the area, looking for anything that might be amiss. All seemed normal.
Eventually, the sky took on the muted tones of gray. And then the light from the unseen sun infused the horizon with gradual light. The world began to stir, and he heard the first chirps of birds singing through the trees. Tabian waited by the trunk of the tree for an apple to fall.
He blinked. The thief could be watching him at this very moment. In fact, Tabian might very well scare the person away by appearing too eager to defend the tree. Feigning a loud yawn, he stretched and sat back down on the ground. He waited several long moments before he reclined back and closed his eyes, pretending to sleep. Every so often, he would crack open his eyes just wide enough to see if anyone was approaching.
He opened his eyes and sat up when he heard a soft thud against the grass. An apple had fallen. It immediately turned to gold, shining its brilliance against the carpet of green grass. He resisted the temptation to go over and pick the apple up.
He waited—watching the apple—until the sun showed the tip of her fiery head in the pink sky.
Not moving a muscle, he sat where he was, hoping the thief would appear.
Finally, after the sun made her climb up into the sky, he rose to his feet and retrieved the apple. It was heavy and smooth in his hands. He looked down at it, thinking of his mother. Oh, how he wished he could’ve met her.
His body ached from lack of sleep. He picked up his bow and slid the strap of the quiver over his arm. With heavy steps, he trudged towards the castle to deliver the apple to his father.
One night had passed.
He only had two more chances to catch the thief.
After delivering the apple to Father, Tabian planned to get some much-needed sleep. He wanted to be fresh for when he came back tonight and repeated the long process of waiting.
The next night started out much the same as the one before. He returned to the garden, settling into his post beneath the tree. He kept his bow and quiver nearby. When the stars began popping out of their hiding places, Tabian took to counting them to pass the time.
Eventually, he welcomed the stillness that enveloped him, signaling the approaching dawn. He prayed to the Great Creator. Please let the thief show himself. He couldn’t bear the thought of failing and losing Garrin.
The wind picked up, rustling through his clothing and bringing chills over his flesh.
And then he heard the subtle sound of singing …
Tabian awoke to arms shaking him. He looked up to see a guard standing over him. His heart pounded as he looked around wildly. To his dismay, the sun was already high in the sky.
“The apple,” he gasped, his heart slamming against his ribs. He scrambled to his feet, searching the ground.
“It’s gone.” The guard spoke the words with sympathy.
Tabian pushed his hands through his hair. “Nay! H—how?” he sputtered. He tried to think. One moment, he’d been awake. The wind picked up. It was cold. He tried to remember what happened next, but everything was blank. All he could recall was the guard jostling him awake.
Anguish pressed a hard weight on him as tears rose to his eyes.
Two nights gone.
Only one more chance to save Garrin.
He couldn’t fail!
And yet, how was he supposed to do the impossible?
Later that day, a rash broke out on his tongue and inner cheeks. It was probably brought on by nerves. He forced himself to choke down a bit of bread so that he could preserve his strength for the upcoming night.
His stomach churned, making him want to vomit. He couldn’t let his frenzied state get the best of him. He had to be strong for Garrin. Taking in a deep breath, he willed himself to calm down. Then, he went to the cottage to seek solace from Elda. He needed to hear her compassionate voice. He needed her to tell him that everything would be okay.
It was selfish, he knew, to try and draw comfort from Elda when she was battling her own grief.
And yet, she was the only mother he’d ever known. He had no one else to go to.
They sat at the wooden table, discussing the matter. Elda had sent Hans on an errand so that she and Tabian could talk in private.
“I don’t know what to do.” Desperation cloaked Tabian as he looked at Elda, hoping that she might have some sound advice. “I was awake. I was watching. But then” — he shook his head— “but then I wasn’t.”
She looked him in the eye. “I need you to concentrate. Think back to the night before. What do you remember?”
“I was lying on my back, counting stars. The wind picked up.” He paused, a sliver of something coming back to him.
“What?” she asked eagerly.
He tried to grasp whatever knowledge was lingering on the edge of memory, but he couldn’t retrieve it. “I can’t remember,” he groaned.
“Close your eyes,” she directed.
He did so.
“Try to clear your mind. Think of the smell of the grass, the feel of the wind on your face. Were there any sounds?”
“Nay.” His heart jumped. Wait! “Aye,” he nearly shouted. “I heard a song floating on the wind.” He opened his eyes. “Someone—a woman—was singing.”
“So someone else was there,” she surmised. Her eyes burned with eager light. “Can you remember anything else?”
A dull pain pressed behind his eyes. He pinched his nose with his thumb and index finger. “If only I could remember.” The insides of his mouth started to itch again. “Can I have some water? I have this awful rash on the inside of my mouth. I’m sure it’s nerves.”
She squinted her eyes, causing deep folds to form. “You’ve never had a rash on the inside of your mouth before.”
“I’ve never been this distraught before.” He balled his fist. “I’ve only got one more night to catch the thief.” His eyes latched onto hers. “One more chance to save Garrin.” An overwhelming feeling of sorrow overtook him. He expected Elda’s expression to reflect the same, but her eyes were flickering with a new light.
Elda grabbed his arm. “Did anyone give you food or drink last night?”
He made a face. “I don’t think so.”
She gave him a meaningful look. “Something to make you forget? Whatever you were given probably caused the rash.”
His eyes popped open wide as he caught the meaning of her words. He spoke faster. “That could be what happened. Whatever I ate or drank could’ve erased my memories.” Hope kindled in his chest. “We could be onto something. Did Garrin get a rash?”
“I don’t think so; he never mentioned it.”
“I don’t believe anyone else who guarded the tree has gotten one either.”
“Maybe you’re more sensitive than the others.”
Or the rash could be just a coincidence. Tabian didn’t want to point that out and dash Elda’s hopes that they could be on the right track to catching the thief. Both of them needed something to hold onto right now.
“Tonight, if anyone offers you something to eat or drink, only pretend to ingest it.” Elda’s gaze cut into his. “You need to make the person believe that you’re eating and drinking.”
“I can do that.” A cheerful smile stretched over his face. He tried to sound more confident than he felt. “I’m going to catch a thief tonight.”
A note of motherly pride rang in Elda’s voice. “If anyone can do it, you can.” Even though her words were encouraging, her eyes held the weight of all that was hanging over them.
He scooted back his chair and got up to leave, but she caught hold of his arm. “Wait. I have something for you.”
Using the table to push herself up, she shuffled out of the room. She returned a few moments later, holding a necklace.
He frowned. “What is that?”
“When you were a babe in her womb, Zyrella asked me to give it to you on your eighteenth birthday.” Her eyes deepened with sorrow. “I questioned why she couldn’t just give it to you herself when the time was right. Zyrella only smiled and asked me to do as she requested.” Elda pressed her lips together as if to hold back emotion. “I should’ve realized then that something was wrong.” She held out the necklace to him. “I meant to give it to you on the day of your birthday, but then there was all the commotion of Hans falling into the river.” She paused, taking in a heavy breath. “And then everything fell apart after that. The necklace was the farthest thing from my mind.” Tears swam in her eyes. “I’m sorry. This is all just so hard.”
“I understand,” he uttered quietly as he looked down at the necklace. The interlinked chain was made of bronze. Suspended from it was a polished amber stone.
Clutching the necklace in his hand, he lifted his eyes to Elda’s. “Is there a particular reason why my mother wanted me to have this necklace?”
“I believe it might’ve belonged to the same enchantress who helped Zyrella plant the tree.”
Tabian’s blood pumped faster. “Is it magic?”
Elda shook her head. “I’m not sure. I only know that Zyrella wanted you to have it on your eighteenth birthday. Sorry I’m not more help on the matter,” she lamented.
He slipped the necklace over his head and tucked it beneath his tunic. The weight of the stone was a surprising comfort next to his skin. It meant the world to know that his mother cared so much for him. He would treasure the necklace, be it ordinary or magical.
The approaching night loomed over Tabian. “I need to go and get ready.”
More tears bubbled in her eyes. “Go with God, son.”
He nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I’ll do my best. Let’s hope it’s enough.”