

© 2018 by Heather L. L. FitzGerald

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, or recording—without the prior written permission of the author. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

ISBN: [[]]

Imprint: Independently published

Cover by Kendra E. Ardnek

Enjoy these other titles from author

Heather L.L. FitzGerald:

The Tethered World Chronicles

(click on the titles to read excerpts

from this award-winning YA Fantasy series!)

 The Tethered World

 The Flaming Sword

 The Genesis Tree

What reviewers are saying about The Tethered World Chronicles:

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"Some books are about magic, and some books ARE magic!"

Available online or ordered from your local bookstore.

✪

The books in this series have been a finalist or winner in the

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For Such A Time as This

By Heather L.L. FitzGerald

This book is dedicated to my wonderful readers!

An author without an audience is merely an introvert

with a large population of imaginary friends.

I truly appreciate each one of you, and I wrote this

book specifically to express my thanks.

Enjoy :)

ONE

"Deposed?" Queen Vashti the Fair spat the word at the eunuch who had delivered the message. Her dark eyes roved the small contingent of emasculated males standing before her. "Don't be ridiculous. I've done nothing deserving of such drastic measures. King Xerxes's tongue has lolled in his wine for too long. It has affected his brain."

Zethar the Eunuch stepped forward, gaze riveted to the floor. "Your Majesty, if only that were so. Unfortunately, the edict came from King Xerxes the Valiant after the, uh . . . the matter at the banquet." He extended a quivering palm. "You're to hand over your day-to-day crown and prepare to move to different quarters."

Vashti eyed the man coolly while taking a prolonged sip from the chalice of water she held. "I'll do no such thing."

She turned her back on the servants and strode to her holographic trousseau. A selection of three-dimensional images was projected onto a circular platform, ready to be virtually tried on. From brocade gowns inset with jewels to whispery-soft frocks, Queen Vashti had grown accustomed to having the finest apparel at her disposal. Lithe fingertips reached for the shimmering image of a bronzed bodice attached to a blood-red skirt. Mmm, this complements my olive skin. I'll wear it tonight and Xerxes will forget his little temper tantrum.

"Please, Your Highness." Zethar pleaded, palms pressed against his leather trousers. "I was told to bring guards for enforcement but wanted to spare your dignity."

"My dignity?" She spun to face him, splattering water across her platinum curls. "King Xerxes can't even discuss this to my face. Instead he sends a handful of-of," Vashti gestured wildly at the servants with the sloshing chalice, "castrated boys to tell me I'm being banished!" The eunuchs visibly withered as she stepped forward, teeth clenched. "Do not speak to me of dignity when you voluntarily gave yours away in favor of the king's delicacies."

"Your Grace," Zethar tried again. "I'm afraid I must insist. We've come to gather your things and—"

Crash!

The glass goblet smashed against the wall behind Zethar, nicking his ear as it whizzed past. The man flinched but stifled his surprise behind rapidly blinking eyelids.

Vashti had thrown it to keep from blasting them with an incineration spell—an undisclosed ability she dared not reveal, beyond one particular confidant. Besides, her sorcery skills had withered since she had wed six years ago. They had languished from lack of practice which made them dangerously unpredictable.

Zethar turned to his fellow eunuchs and, with a subtle nod, dismissed them. The guards would be summoned after all.

♕

Vashti paced the confines of her new, significantly smaller quarters. Tears sullied her cheeks, and she swiped them away with an indignant hand. How had she fallen so far so fast? Would Xerxes dare replace her—Vashti the Fair, of the royal pedigree of Sheba—with a mere commoner crowned at a beauty pageant?

So it was rumored.

A soft knock made her pull up short. "I wish to be left alone." Her ever-commanding voice did not betray her despair.

"It is, I, my queen," a familiar baritone sang through the intercom.

Vashti hurried to dry her tears on a silk handkerchief then squared her shoulders and spoke to the voice-activated security system, grateful she still possessed such an amenity. "Door, open."

The sleek, silver doors hissed apart, revealing Haman, King Xerxes's closest advisor. A tall, angular man, Haman was the kingdom's most desirable bachelor. His cool-blue gaze took in the room and Vashti's unkempt appearance. Raking a hand through his coppery hair, he strode into her quarters.

The moment the doors closed, Vashti launched at his throat. Fingers clawed wildly at anything they could purchase. She ground her teeth and snarled in his face. "This is your fault. Your fault!"

Haman stumbled back, gripping Vashti's arms. "Down, girl. Down."

He gave an amused-sounding chuckle which infuriated her more. When his grip relaxed, she renewed her efforts and struck his bearded cheek, yanking a clump of whiskers.

He swore and pushed her away. "Get ahold of yourself, Vashti. You'll survive this. If you'll give me a moment, I'll demonstrate that you—that we—will come out on top in this situation."

"We?" Vashti's glare was molten. "Why would I want to be a part of your plans when your philandering is the reason I'm in this mess? If I hadn't been trying to ward off your advances in the middle of Xerxes's banquet, I would still be queen."

Haman offered a devilish smirk, and spread his hands innocently. "You didn't seem to mind at the time."

"I had no intention of letting you have your way." Arms crossed, Vashti seethed at the man who was her undoing. She would not concede to his insinuations—never mind that her husband acknowledged her only when he might parade her in front of dignitaries.

His condescending leer knifed her conscience. "Then you are a cruel tease, Your Majesty. That's far from the impression you gave."

The pink flush on Vashti's cheeks hinted that Haman spoke the truth. "How dare—"

"But I've not come to discuss the past." He cut her off with the wave of his hand. "It's the future that brings me here. A future that will include the restoration of your crown . . . unless you prefer the concubines' wing of the palace?"

Vashti's nostrils flared against his insult, but she bit back her retort. If Haman could help her out of this humiliating pit, she needed him. "I'm listening."

A satisfied smile curled his lips. He closed the distance between them, a low moan purring in his throat. "Mmm. You know how much I appreciate your undivided attention."

TWO

Mordecai examined his blistered palm, the tender pink eruptions mirroring the blisters on his other hand. Grimacing, he gripped the axe and arced it up and over, splintering the squat log balanced before him. "Ugh!" He stepped back and shook his hand in pain. The axe stuck out from the chopping stump like a primitive antenna.

"Let me see!" Esther rushed to his side, heedless of the eggs catapulting from the basket on her arm. She stumbled to a stop beside him, one fugitive egg landing with a splat on her leather boot.

"Good grief, you're wasting half our breakfast," Mordecai teased. He shoved his hands behind his back. "No need to bother with the blisters, it happens every autumn. They'll be calluses soon enough."

Esther narrowed her eyes. "If you would rent a log splitter from town—like everyone else—you could spare yourself the pain. Why do you insist on doing everything the old fashioned way?"

"You know I won't contribute to the stranglehold King Xerxes has on our town. Modern conveniences are taxed to high-heaven solely to inflate his coffers." He huffed a brown lock of hair out of his eyes.

"Well, your stubborn protest is likely lost on him." Esther yanked one of her uncle's hands free and inspected it. "Meanwhile, you're beating yourself up." She probed the angry bubble of skin that swelled beneath his ring finger. The one devoid of a wedding ring.

Her conscience pricked at the reminder of the lonely sacrifice he had made on her behalf. Most women wanted children of their own—not someone's orphan. But Mordecai refused to seek out the few willing exceptions that had dropped hints over the years, claiming it never turned out well to mix a lovely maiden with a stepmother. Men, on the other hand, flocked to Mordecai's side—out of both respect for her uncle and the opportunity to glimpse the beauty he vigilantly protected. Until recently, she'd been thankful for his guardianship.

Until Benjamin the farrier's son came calling, anyway. Grant it, they'd practically grown up together—but when had he become so broad and, well, manly?

"Ouch!" Mordecai jerked his hand away.

"I was being careful."

He grunted as Jupiter, their mutt, came scrambling from the nearby woods, barking wildly. "What is it, Jup?"

The wooly dog lunged back toward the trees then circled round again.

"Jupiter, shush." Esther crouched and smacked her thighs. "Get over here."

The dog charged for her, tongue dangling from the side of his mouth like a short, pink scarf. Esther made to straighten but Jupiter jumped, knocking her backwards.

She yelped, raven hair scattering as the dog nosed her in the face. "Jupiter!" She shoved him away. He caught the scent of egg on her boot and began licking with enthusiasm.

Mordecai laughed. "That's right, Jup. Give that girl a bath."

"Excellent advice," said a commanding voice.

Mordecai and Esther gaped up at a soldier on horseback emerging from the woods. Jupiter resumed his frenzied barking and scrambled between the legs of the buckskin steed. The horse nickered and sidestepped.

Mordecai whistled at the dog, shrill and sharp, while Esther got to her feet. The soldier glared as Jupiter nipped at the stirrups, ignoring his master's command. With a swift, sharp movement, the soldier pummeled the dog's muzzle with the rifle butt. Jupiter yipped and ran to Esther, tail between his legs.

"Hey! Was that really necessary?" Esther glared at the erect, unsympathetic man.

Mordecai held up a silencing hand. "Why have you come? We live outside the matrix for a reason. I pay my yearly tariff and desire no further part of the king's business."

"The king's business is not for you, this day." The soldier let his gaze sweep over the disheveled, egg-sodden girl. "It's for your daughter. King Xerxes the Valiant, Lord of the realm of Susa, has demanded that all eligible young maidens gather in their town square a week from today. The loveliest will be brought to the palace for beautification—from which she would surely benefit—and the opportunity to wed King Xerxes."

Mordecai stepped between Esther and the mount. "King Xerxes presently has a wife, does he not? Why would he need another?"

The man's face revealed nothing. He reached into his breast pocket and handed a leaflet to Mordecai. "This explains the details. Although the announcement has been shared through all media outlets, I'm here to ensure that every maiden is aware of the culling. Participation is not optional."

Esther's vision blurred. What about Benjamin? What about her life?

Her uncle took the envelope. "Is there any way to claim an exemption? I've no family but Esther. All have sacrificed themselves for the king's service in one way or another. Must you take her as well?"

The soldier jutted his chin at Esther. "She's too beautiful to be overlooked, even in her primitive, unkempt state. No exceptions are allowed." He withdrew something from his belt, aiming a gun-like object at Esther.

She stepped back with a gasp, then realized it was a facial recognition scanner, a device used in all government transactions. A tracking chip placed beneath the skin contained basic information on each citizen—but the soldier would not find Esther in his database. After her parents died, Mordecai had committed himself to raising his niece in the remote woods, growing food, making supplies, or bartering for their needs. The denizens of nearby Parthia held no affection for the controlling king and his exorbitant taxes. They respected Mordecai for his self-reliance, happy to barter for his apples, firewood, and other goods.

The soldier's eyebrows peaked. "You're not registered?"

"It's not required until I'm seventeen." She lifted her chin. "I've two days until my birthday." Not that anything will change.

"True," the man said. "But most register at birth due to the benefits."

Her uncle stiffened. "Benefits? We've no need of anything the king controls. I've carved out a self-sufficient life for us here."

"And it comes to an end in two days." With a click of his tongue, he nudged the horse around Mordecai to Esther's side. He looked from uncle to niece. "I shall expect you at the culling in one week—I'm making note of your location." He punched a button on his scanner. "If you're not in the database by then, I shall seize this homestead in the name of King Xerxes. Good day."

Horse and rider turned back to the path from which they had appeared.

Esther buried her head in her uncle's shoulder and cried.

THREE

Vashti sat in front of her computer monitor. The gleaming surface provided a mirror-like reflection of her pale blonde tresses and sun-kissed face. She tilted her head from side to side, pleased with her fresh, heavy highlights and cascade of curls. Sarai, her new handmaiden, formerly worked at one of Susa's top salons; her eye for color and deft fingers had worked their own version of magic on Vashti's dark, coarse hair.

After a practiced pout, Vashti said, "Wake, Tesla."

The screen roused with a beep. A silver, vertical line scanned from side to side. "Greetings, Vashti the Fair," a male voice said. "Facial scan activated."

Vashti blinked at the immediate change in how the computer addressed her—the tech department had wasted no time removing her title of queen from Tesla's artificial intelligence. She sat unmoving as a horizontal line joined the vertical one, forming a crosshair that moved about the screen as if searching for a target. Once complete, a male avatar's face—that looked suspiciously like Haman's—gazed from the monitor.

"Good day, Vashti, you who are fairest of the fair."

Despite the fact that Tesla existed merely with bytes and bits, Vashti narrowed her eyes at the image. "You've been reprogrammed, I see."

Tesla frowned and lowered his gaze. "In my own digitized way I am grieved by the change." He looked up. "But my loyalty lies ever-true to the loveliest in the realm. How may I be of service?"

"I want photographs and information on every eligible maiden in our kingdom." Vashti flinched at the realization that calling it our kingdom was now a misnomer. "Filter through the photographs. Delete anyone plain of face, widowed, or divorced. Keep only the beautiful virgins."

Tesla's image flickered in and out. "Already done. Haman ordered that information early this morning. Do you wish to view it?"

Vashti's pulse gained momentum. She wouldn't have to wait in suspense? Perfect. "Yes, I do."

A spinning, digital snowflake grew from pea-sized to coin-sized in the righthand corner. "The information is alphabetically in this file. Anything else?"

"No." Vashti touched the snowflake with a manicured fingernail. It swirled to life, engulfing the screen. A sweet, freckle-faced girl blinked at Vashti, a confused look on her face.

Vashti shrank back, assuming the girl could see her as well. In a flash, she realized the girl's image had been briefly recorded. Her two blinks and the shift of her eyes repeated in an endless loop. Alena, Everly, read the information on the bottom of the screen. Date of birth: 14 Decamoon, 23 Post Cataclysm.

Another touch on Everly's face thrust her into a three-dimensional hologram, pivoting in the space between Vashti and the computer. Vashti frowned, not wanting to be that close to anyone, real or otherwise, and touched the monitor so the face shrank back.

Vashti scrolled through hundreds of females. Some prettier than others, but—she noted with satisfaction—none as beautiful as she. These contestants would fall short in King Xerxes's discriminating eyes. He had made it clear that he prized Vashti's beauty to help him win the patronage of powerful dignitaries.

If she could regain his favor, then surely, as Haman believed, King Xerxes would see that his quest for a new trophy-wife would lead him back into her arms.

Few girls in the database were potentially her equal, and Haman had assured Vashti that together they would eliminate any competition. "With my cunning and your skills in the art of enchantment, we can ensure that the leftovers will be a disappointment to Xerxes. He won't lower his standards when he has a willing, beautiful woman waiting to be restored to his side."

For insurance, Vashti would promise the king his long-desired heir to the throne. She would no longer take precautions. If they could only be together again, he would soon be anticipating the birth of a son . . . or daughter.

After that, the second part of Haman's plan would be set in motion. One which left him in charge and Vashti a grieving widow. Or at least, that's what Haman schemed to accomplish.

But Vashti planned to use to both her lover and an heir to her own advantage—though she would only need one of them in her future.

FOUR

Esther wiggled her fingers into a frayed pair of fingerless gloves. The autumn chill lingered longer each morning, but picking fall plumberries was easier with her digits exposed. She grabbed a scarf from the hook beside the door and headed outside to find her uncle.

An unfamiliar flutter twisted her stomach at the thought of what she intended to do once she finished her chores. Esther had never deceived her uncle before and it made her insides shrivel painfully—like a salted slug. But what choice did she have?

Since the soldier's visit the day before, Mordecai had ordered her to stay close and—worst of all—refused to allow her to see Benjamin if he came to call. Benjamin! A boy she'd known her entire life. What unreasonable fear had crippled her uncle's sanity?

Shoving the infuriating thought away, Esther kept an eye out for Mordecai on her way to retrieve the eggs. A glance around the yard yielded no sign of him. Not at the woodpile, nor mending the fence where his horse Trammel had scrubbed himself so often that the rail had splintered beneath his bulk. In fact, Trammel was missing.

Hmm. Her uncle must have gone to town early if he left without saying goodbye.

Actually . . . if she went to town under the premise of looking for Mordecai, there'd be no need to sneak away. Though she would try to avoid crossing his path, he couldn't be too angry with a niece who was only worried about her beloved uncle.

Again, her stomach lurched. Regardless of her palatable excuses, she knew the truth. And so did God.

She hoped he would be forgiving.

♕

Mordecai eyed the arched doorway of Caleb's Cornucopia, a narrow storefront that had once been an alleyway between two larger, stone buildings in the oldest part of town. At some point, a roof and doorway had been added to the alley. The buildings on either side appeared to be squeezing out the squat structure so they could unite.

Inside, a menagerie of mysterious items were displayed on slabs of rock or severed tree trunks—a few of which Mordecai had supplied as Caleb had need. The ancient man ran the shop from his sliver of a house in the back of the store. Most of the locals referred to him affectionately as Abba, as he was old enough to be every citizen's father.

Mordecai glanced to where he had left Trammel, tied to a post at the park in the square. Most people drove a personal hovercraft, rode the tram, or simply walked if they lived nearby. Since the cataclysm, Parthia, like most cities within the realm of Susa, had become a conglomeration of the modern and the archaic. Though, admittedly, the only other people who rode horseback did so for lack of means. But Mordecai simply preferred the old ways. Like his father, he instinctively mistrusted technology. Especially when it linked his life with the government's database.

Big Brother is watching, thought Mordecai, catching a glimpse of a security camera. He recalled that saying from a book he once read—the government was always watching, waiting for you to mess up.

That thought brought him back to why he'd come to town in the first place. He started for the Cornucopia, but a glint of light caught his eye and he paused in the shadow of a scrawny olive tree. An official hovercraft, bearing the crest of King Xerxes, glided to a stop at the opposite end of the street. The door-hatch opened.

Mordecai flared his nostrils, fingernails pressed into his palms. What was Haman the Advisor doing here? Haman the Hated, Mordecai secretly called him. The two had served their four year compulsory militia enlistment at the same time, a dozen years before. Haman's conniving, obsequious nature had disgusted Mordecai and the two had often fought over politics and religion. Not that Haman served any god beyond his ego.

The sight of the proud man, flanked by two soldiers as he stepped from the craft, brought all of the negative emotions storming back. Although, Mordecai conceded, they both had gone on to live the lives they truly desired. Haman had risen to the second-most powerful position in the country, while Mordecai managed to disappear from the government database and live off the grid—a feat which took much effort to accomplish. A feat which he planned to avoid altogether with Esther.

Now . . . what was Haman up to? Parthia was considered the wart on the face of Susa. Snubbed by government funding when it came to repairs or improvements, the only people that did business in this part of town were older citizens, the farmers and merchant traders, or those with something to hide.

Caleb's Cornucopia could wait a bit, Mordecai decided. Between the branches of the tree, he watched Haman stride past vendors and shoppers alike, a haughty smirk on his face as each person dropped their eyes and dipped their head in his presence. Haman's bodyguards stopped in front of a nondescript door and held it open. Haman walked inside. The soldiers did not follow but stood guard in their leather and titanium suits, hands on the hilt of their laser-swords.

With a grumble of displeasure, Mordecai realized who Haman had come to see. It made sense that the most devious man in the citadel would do business with the most unscrupulous man in Parthia. Mordecai crossed from the tree to the alleyway behind the row of buildings which Haman had entered. Wrought iron balconies dotted the back of the buildings, some sporting potted plants or rickety chairs.

A fire escape clung tenaciously to the nearest wall, a dying parasite on the back of a stone giant. The rusty ladder screeched when Mordecai tugged it down. He dashed around the corner, certain someone had heard the racket and would inspect the alley.

All remained quiet. Since most of the business owners lived at the rear of their shops, Mordecai decided they must be busy in their storefronts and hadn't heard the awful squeal. He scaled the corroded rungs and dashed across the uneven rooftops like a scuttling insect. A few clotheslines swayed with dungarees and dresses. Large terra-cotta planters greeted him with a silent wave from their rooted inhabitants. He slowed, trying to guess his location along the buildings.

The stench of burning nicotine beckoned Mordecai to the ledge for an inconspicuous peek. He pulled back. Haman and Orrador, the man who sold all manner of tobacco as a front to less-than-legitimate practices, stood on the patio below.

Prostrating himself at the edge, Mordecai hoped no one would decide to retrieve their laundry from the rooftop. Smoke threatened to make him cough and he pulled his collar over his mouth and listened.

"You do understand how delicate this is, my friend?" Haman's silky voice grated against Mordecai's nerves. My friend. Those were Haman's favorite words when he wanted to weasel his way into someone's favor.

"I quite understand." Orrador rasped, his voice a desolate stovepipe from years of smoking. "You know my reputation, or you would not have paid me a visit."

"Of course." Haman cleared his throat. "And you are fortunate that the queen is your cousin. She's given you leverage over the years in your—eh—business, for which you are no doubt grateful."

"Leverage in exchange for favors. How is my dear cousin?" Orrador's voice dropped conspiratorially. "My sources tell me that the title of 'queen' is inaccurate of late."

Against the warm, stone roof Mordecai's heart pulsed at a rapid clip. Had Queen Vashti been removed? That certainly explained the king's upcoming pageant.

"You have excellent sources. Name them so I might cut out their wagging tongues." Haman gave a low chuckle. "Or perhaps your sourc-es have less to do with people and more to do with sorc-ery."

Silence.

"Indeed. I am aware of your family's mystical endeavors." Haman's tone was lighthearted. "Vashti and I are . . . close. But your sources probably mentioned that as well, yes? Which brings me to why I'm here. Vashti's title must be restored. Together we will bring down Xerxes and renew Susa's relations with the Wizards' Cabal—something we were poised to accomplish until Vashti's unfortunate demotion. Now we both need you—or, more precisely—your magic, to ensure our plans succeed. Plans that will benefit you too, of course."

Orrador rumbled a grunt. "Why would I want to help bring down Xerxes? Sounds like you need a scapegoat in case your little mutiny is discovered."

"Not at all. Without your powers, we cannot pull this off. There's no denying that each of us shall hang upon the gallows if caught—but if so, we shall go down together, my friend. 'All for one' and all that business. A team effort."

"Vashti is a sorceress. Why does she need my powers?"

Haman made a tsking sound. "She can't practice more than the occasional incantation or she'll be discovered, you know that. Xerxes thinks he and his father won the War of the Wizards. If he knew he'd actually wed and bed an enchantress he would do more than banish her pretty face. Which is why she needs you."

"I'm listening."

"Excellent."

Mordecai strained to hear Haman, whose voice plunged lower.

"You may have seen King Xerxes's announcement involving a beauty pageant of sorts?"

Another grunt. "Parthia's maidens speak of nothing else."

"Indeed." Haman gave a bored sigh. "So then, it follows that restoring Vashti to the throne means we must remove the competition."

"Oh really?" Orrador scoffed. "You expect me to perform some sort of mass kidnapping? That's subtle. Count me out."

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm no fool, and you're no kidnapper." Haman dropped his voice so that Mordecai only heard snatches. "Vashti claims . . . spellbind . . . most beautiful . . . then after that . . . for insurance."

"And if the parents of the girls wish to visit their daughters on occasion? Exchanging letters would be impossible to fake long term," Orrador whisper-shouted at Haman. "Then what? Have you thought of the suspicions such a plan would create? It would involve placating too many people. We'd never pull it off."

Haman made a shushing sound. "Lower your voice!" His voice was equally loud. "Vashti said there are ways to plant false memories and wake the victims. Said that would be phase two. She will share those incantations from your family's special—uh—book after phase one is accomplished."

Mordecai closed his eyes, sickened by the evil intentions brewing.

Orrador cursed. "That kind of magic is very dark. It's blood magic, not something I wish to delve into."

"Vashti promises to make it worth your time and effort. Once she's back in Xerxes's favor—and eventually in his seat of power—she will have opportunity to show you her appreciation to a greater degree, understand?"

"Fine! Fine!" Orrador sounded anything but. "Believe me, if I go down, I'll take you and Vashti with me. That's my promise to both of you."

"Of course. But that won't be necessary, my friend. You have our utter confidence, and we have a flawless plan." Haman paused and Mordecai heard shuffling. "Now then, further instructions—the where and the when and the incantation—are in this envelope. And this . . . is a vial of Vashti's blood, drawn with a prick of her enchanted dagger, to use in your bewitching ploy. "

FIVE

Rutted trails spiderwebbed a weedy field, connecting the cobbled streets of Parthia to the Founder's Forest where Esther and her uncle dwelled. Crossing the threshold from dirt path to rock strewn road, Esther considered paying Benjamin a visit on her way.

Since he often sided with her uncle's ideas on government, she decided against it. No sense him trying to change her mind. Besides, the registrar's office was in upper Susa, a good distance from Parthia. If she wanted to get back to the house without raising suspicion, she shouldn't delay.

Though she averted her eyes to avoid conversation and ensure a faster trek, people still called their greetings. Her alabaster cheeks grew warm at the shrill whistles from admiring men.

Great. Her uncle was bound to hear of her visit from someone.

Rather than following the cobblestones around the park, she strode across its grassy expanse, avoiding children who darted around their mothers like bumblebees. Skirting a large oak, she drew up with a start. Trammel stood not twenty feet away, tied to a post, nibbling a tuft of grass.

Where was her uncle? Esther shielded herself from view of the horse, using the nearest tree. She swiveled, back against the trunk, skimming the perimeter. Nothing.

She faced Trammel once more, her initiative faltering. I must stick to my convictions. If she and her uncle crossed paths, she would claim to be searching for him, as planned. Then she'd offer some excuse to stay in town and hope he wouldn't want to join her. Fat chance.

Movement beyond the horse caught her eye. The arched, wooden door of Caleb's Cornucopia swung open. Mordecai and the ancient figure of Caleb ambled into the street. Abba, as Caleb was called by most, was no bigger than a prepubescent boy. Small and shriveled in his bronzed skin, he seemed too diminutive for his colossal personality. As if his frail limbs might one day shatter from the life that brimmed inside.

Esther watched, more concerned about escaping notice—and avoiding the need to lie—than curious about her uncle's business. Most likely, Caleb wanted another sanded and sealed tree trunk to display his latest treasure. From maps of legendary lands, to relics rumored to possess mysterious properties, Esther had always loved to visit the Cornucopia.

Trips to the shop left her longing for adventure. Not to mention the way Caleb fueled her with chocolate and entertaining tales. Because of this, she secretly planned to escape Parthia and see the world, a promise she had made to herself years ago. One she was clueless how to accomplish—especially without the benefit of a tracking chip for normal transactions. She couldn't very well walk or barter her way to exotic locales.

That'll be one less obstacle out of the way, after today. That realization renewed her tenacity.

Mordecai crossed the street to Trammel. Esther pressed against the tree, stealing a peek from behind a bulging knot. With stilted steps, she kept the tree between herself and her uncle as he rode back toward Founder's Forest. By the time the swishing tail of the horse disappeared, Esther found herself on the opposite side of the trunk from where she began.

Two curious mothers stared, brows furrowed, as their kids chased each other underfoot. Her strange behavior would also get back to her uncle, she knew—nothing in this town escaped notice. But she was determined to soldier on.

Mordecai had sacrificed much on her behalf. Esther would not watch his home and livelihood taken away because of her. She'd never forgive herself for that.

No. She must register. More for his sake than for her own future plans.

She must.

SIX

Mordecai reined Trammel to a stop in the woods behind his cabin. A black hovercraft gleamed beneath the dappled sunlight in a clearing that had once sheltered his winter garden. No longer viable since the encompassing trees had grown tall enough to prevent the sun's rays from lingering long.

He cursed and slid out of the saddle. The king's crest announced the unwelcome visit of Haman. Haman the Hated. Had the man somehow learned of Mordecai's rooftop spying?

He made a beeline for the house. Haman had no business anywhere near Esther. Rounding the front corner, Mordecai froze. Haman and one of his bodyguards leaned against the porch railing, each gnawing a plump, crimson apple, obviously taken from the basket of fruit beside the door.

"Off my porch, Haman." Mordecai took the steps two at a time.

The bodyguard stepped forward, juice dribbling down his gnarled beard. "That's not how you address Haman the Advisor. Show your respect."

Mordecai cocked an eyebrow at the oversized oaf then narrowed his eyes at Haman. "Ask your lackey to back off. You're on my property, eating my apples."

Haman returned the glare. The guard shifted closer, his meaty fist curled.

"Let it be, Trig." Haman pressed his hand toward the man. "This peasant and I have a history. No worries."

"I want you off of my property." Mordecai hooked his thumb at the hovercraft. "I've no business with you."

Haman's face settled into a condescending sneer. "Oh, but you do. I've learned of several violations, serious violations, that you've committed."

Mordecai took a step closer. "Off my property."

"Boss, ya—"

"Shut up, Trig." Haman waved dismissively. "Wait with Glome in the craft."

Trig gave Mordecai a disappointed glower and lumbered down the steps.

"Now, Mordecai, old friend, I—"

"We're not friends."

Haman shrugged. "Semantics don't concern me. Still, I'm not here to write up your violations or leverage you with fines. No," he gave a magnanimous smile, "I don't mind overlooking indiscretions from a fellow soldier. As long as you register your niece and send her to Susa Prime the day after tomorrow, all will be forgiven."

"I've no intention of doing that," Mordecai said flatly. "First off, there aren't any violations to overlook. I don't live within the matrix of Susa Minor, nor do I receive government benefits. I'm completely self-sustained."

"More semantics." Haman leveled his gaze and pressed away from the railing, wiping his chin with the back of his hand. "Your violations will be what I say they are. Guaranteed. But I've no real interest in you. No. I'm interested in your niece, who I hear has grown to be a fine, female specimen. Yesterday, I believe my subordinate explained that King Xerxes requires the young maidens of the land to be at his disposal as he searches for a fresh-faced bride. When your backwards existence was reported to me, I figured it best to notify your niece of a change of plans in person."

Mordecai ground his teeth, nostrils flared.

"Plus, I had to see your little farm for myself. The hero who once saved the king now living like a hermit in the woods?" He gave a sarcastic laugh and gestured at the surroundings. "Voila! Mordecai the Woodsman in all his glory. But sadly, your niece isn't home. We checked."

Rage simmered across Mordecai's skin—its hot, prickly insistence readying his fists to react. For Esther's sake, he knew he must remain in control. He clenched his jaw to bar his tongue from lashing out.

Haman's smirk showed how much he relished his position. "So tell me, where is this pretty little girl of yours? My soldier raved of her beauty. I'd love to have a little taste—er—peek of her in person."

"You need to leave." Mordecai's voice dripped with warning. He pointed to the hovercraft. "Now."

Haman held his gaze, but a twitch of uncertainty flashed in his eyes. "My business here is not finished."

"I say it is." Mordecai stepped toward him.

"I'm doing you a favor, friend." Haman stood his ground. "Since you and your niece are not connected to our computer system, yet, you've forced me to come in person. I'm here to deliver a special invitation that the king is sending to a few, select young women." He retrieved a folded piece of paper from his cloak pocket. "I printed out the electronic correspondence to ensure your niece received it."

Mordecai glared, fingers itching to strike.

Haman crossed to the basket of fruit and tucked the paper behind a golden apple, plucking another red one which he polished against his chest. "Trust me, she needs to read it and comply, or it will come back to bite you both on your woolen breeches." He gave a flimsy laugh and popped off a bite of apple. "Your niece has been summoned to the palace early. The day after tomorrow she, and a few other exceptional beauties, will get a head start on the competition. It's a privilege not to be refused."

Mordecai fought the urge to snatch the apple and toss it squarely at Haman's head—especially since he knew the truth behind Haman's false invitation. But it would not do to bring down his wrath. The day after tomorrow left little time to make a plan for Esther's escape. Where was she, anyway? At least Haman and his henchman hadn't found her here by herself.

Haman sauntered past Mordecai and down the steps. "I'll see your pretty little girl in two days time. If the king doesn't want her, maybe I'll pay her a visit myself."

♕

Esther rubbed the back of her neck and traipsed out of the woods, heading for the chicken pen. She hoped to put off facing her uncle for as long as possible. Her visit to the registrar's office had been tedious; it had taken hours to wait in line, fill out forms, answer questions, take photos and a video, and have the tracer chip inserted into her skin at the nape of her neck.

Had she done the right thing? She couldn't say.

"Esther!" The back door flew open. Her uncle bounded down the steps, his face the color of some of the apples in their orchard.

She winced, certain this was going to be much worse than anticipated. Word had traveled fast.

"Come inside." Mordecai grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward the back steps. "Thank God you were gone today."

His words made her falter. What did he say? She scrambled to keep her footing, trying to harmonize his apparent anger with his proclamation of relief.

Inside, he sat her down and wrestled another chair around to face her, his hazel eyes as intense as she had ever seen them. The muscle in his jaw pumped in and out like the throat of a bullfrog.

"What is it?" Esther felt the sting of tears, though she didn't know why. "You're scaring me."

Her uncle swiped a hand down his face. "I'm sorry." He shook his head as if to clear it. "Listen, Esther . . . you must . . . you must listen." He touched her cheek as he always had when he wanted to calm her fears. When she cried because she missed her parents, his calloused hands would cup her face and he would assure her that it was good to cry, to grieve, and that he would always care for her.

Tears trickled over her lower lashes, certain that what came next would affect her life in some irrevocable way—and it had nothing to do with the chip in her neck.

Mordecai dropped his hand to her fingers, pulling back enough to give them both space. "I paid a visit to Abba today."

Esther willed herself to give nothing away in her expression. She blinked and another tear plunged down her cheek.

"I explained to him about our dilemma. That you're not registered, yet still the king—or at least his men—knows that you are here. Knows of your beauty and is demanding compliance."

Esther's heart rattled against her ribs. Should she tell him?

"Abba has . . . connections. He's offered to accompany us to the Hinterlands. To—"

"What?" Esther drew her hands away and gasped. "Surely not! The Hinterlands are teeming with beasts and magic. No way."

Mordecai placed a finger to her lips. "Shh. Hear me out, my Estee."

Esther pressed her lips together and stared in disbelief, eyes blurred and brimming.

"I shall accompany you. And I will not leave you there unless I'm satisfied that you shall be safe."

"Leave me where? Uncle! I can't believe what I'm hearing." Esther stood and wrapped her arms around her middle.

"Let me finish, please." Mordecai gestured at the chair. "Come now. Sit."

Esther merely looked at him.

"Fine, stubborn girl." He sighed. "One of Caleb's most prized possessions is a gilded dragon scale. A gift from Akkadias, the Great Dragon of the Vale of Eneglaam. The bearer of this scale is promised protection by The Seven Dragons of the Vale. Dragons, Esther! You will be safe beneath their wise and watchful care."

Esther shuddered. "You say that as if it's a good thing. It sounds dreadful." She sat with a humph. "It's not that I don't appreciate your desire to protect me, I am most grateful. But, would being taken to the king's palace—potentially marrying the king himself—be such a terrible fate? It's not that I desire any such future, of course, but it would surely be better than living in the Hinterlands with the likes of-of dragons."

"Please, hear me out." He leaned onto his elbows. "When your father died in the Wizard's War, he died fighting for promises that King Xerxes's father never upheld. Promises for freedoms that he never intended to give. In fact, the king took away many of the privileges we once enjoyed in the name of war recovery. And now his son, King Xerxes III, has become greedier and more tyrannical than his father. Although I cannot imagine a world under the rule of powerful wizards, I wonder if it could be any worse than the godless, merciless man who rules over us now. For you to be wed to such a man ," Mordecai closed his eyes, "I cannot abide the thought."

Esther touched the tender welt on her neck. Had she helped her uncle or had she only made things worse? "Listen, there's something—"

"You're special, Estee," Mordecai interrupted. "I know I've always said so, but there's more to it than sentimentality. There's . . . there is a prophecy concerning you."

Esther stiffened. "What?"

"Yes. A prophecy." His voice dipped to a whisper. "Which is why Abba is willing to give you his greatest treasure. Why he's willing to take us to the seven dragons and ensure your safety."

Esther felt the room constrict, making her feel small and shriveled like Caleb. Her uncle must be exaggerating.

"I've told you that you were rescued from the rubble beneath the old synagogue in Parthia. Its basement had been converted to a triage unit during the war. Your father—my brother—tended the wounded, tirelessly, even after your dear mother died birthing you. He hired a nanny but insisted on having you near, even in the chaos of a makeshift hospital."

"I've heard this," Esther said. "His body shielded my own, kept me alive after the bombing."

Mordecai nodded. "Yes, but it's what happened after that which I've never shared. In the basement you were as good as dead with an entire synagogue collapsed on top of you. But for God and Caleb, you would surely have died."

"Caleb?"

"Yes. At one time, Caleb had been a prophet in the service of our Lord. I no longer recall the name of the old priest he served alongside—I was a small child when he passed away—which meant Caleb ceased to be prophet. As you know, whenever God calls a new priest, he also calls a new prophet to work in tandem with him. Well, the night of the bombing, the current priest and prophet were killed, and the Lord spoke to Caleb once again. Told him that there was one survivor in the synagogue. A child that God's hand rested upon. A child that He would one day use to save His people."

A chill glided across Esther's scalp, descending her spine. "And Abba found . . . me?"

"Yes. He found you squalling your lungs out beneath your father. Caleb pulled you free and cared for you until I returned from the war."

Esther pressed her fingers to her temples, willing her brain to absorb the stunning revelations. "Why haven't you told me this before? How long did I live with him?"

Mordecai shrugged. "Maybe a month. Long enough for him to grow to love you and feel fiercely protective of you himself." Her uncle reached for her hand. "And I've been blessed to have you here for close to seventeen years now, my Estee. Which means I'm much more invested, much more protective, and feel ever so much love toward you—surely as much as any father would feel for his daughter. Which is why you need to trust me now. And trust Abba. We must take you away until King Xerxes weds a new bride. You are too valuable to be taken into his harem and treated like a mere accessory for his royal wardrobe. Will you trust me? Trust us?"

Esther swallowed. How could she argue with that? But what about the tracking chip? Should she tell him about her indiscretion or would traveling to the vale of dragons keep her out of tracking range? She closed her eyes, hating to wound her uncle with her betrayal.

"I will go. If that's what you deem best." Relief and trepidation warred inside as the words slipped from her lips.

Mordecai's face flushed and he exhaled loudly. "Give glory to God, this is good. This is right. I must go back to town and speak with Caleb immediately. We leave tomorrow, I hope."

"Tomorrow? Uncle, why the hurry?" Esther sprang to her feet. She must say goodbye to Benjamin. "That's my birthday!"

Mordecai scowled, anger tainting his voice. "I know, I'm sorry. But they've summoned a select group of girls to the palace early—the day after tomorrow. Apparently, those with exceptional beauty are being allowed to forego the mass culling to begin training straightaway. Which means we must make haste before they come looking for you."

Esther covered her face, regretful tears spilling between her fingers. Her secret suddenly crushing her resolve. "It won't matter if I leave, Uncle Mordecai! I've done something terrible. Terrible!"

"What do you mean?" Mordecai hugged her to himself. "If you leave you'll be safe."

She shook her head against his shoulder. "No. No, I won't." Esther pulled back and looked at his perplexed face. "I was afraid you would lose everything, and it would be entirely my fault. So today . . . I registered."

SEVEN

Vashti stood on the veranda outside of her living quarters. The heady, sweet scent of autumn jasmine wafted from the garden below. A chilled breeze, blustery and agitated, rearranged her silver-blonde hair in an anxious swell of curls.

The nip in the air felt good. Calming. She had spent the day pacing her room, awaiting Haman's return. Today, the first component of their plan was set in motion. How had it gone? Why wasn't he back?

Perhaps the king had detained him once he returned. Xerxes leaned heavily on Haman's wisdom, never suspecting that his closest advisor constantly worked to undermine the kingdom.

Oh, the king was a fool! Everyone in the palace knew that his title "the Valiant" was a poor fiction. Like a decorative chamberpot, it attempted to disguise the ugly truth about the king's character: he was an inadequate, apprehensive man that relied on others for the smallest of decisions. A handsome face and love of exquisite wine were his only virtues.

If Haman delivered on his pledge, Vashti's marriage to the king would be restored long enough to repair her position and reputation. After that, Xerxes's health would take a swift and mysterious decline thanks to an undetectable concoction of herbs she had hidden in her things. Herbs she wished she had put to use before now, thus avoiding her present circumstance.

Instead, she had selfishly bided her time, enjoying the perks of royalty. Besides, her fellow sorcerers had not given her their blessing to make a move just yet, though they hadn't expressly forbidden it either. She knew they were busy regrouping, gathering support, plotting the demise of several kingdoms, not merely Susa. Now Vashti had no choice. Given another opportunity, she must act.

But first, she promised herself, she would make sure she was expecting the king's rightful heir. That little detail Vashti kept to herself. If Haman became acting ruler due to the prolonged sickness—and eventual death—of King Xerxes, it would only be a matter of time before a distant relative was sought to inherit the throne. Did Haman imagine he could do away with all of the royal bloodline? An impossible task, though Vashti wasn't clear about the extent of cousins thrice removed in neighboring kingdoms.

However, the elimination of Xerxes after a forthcoming heir meant Vashti would rule alongside Haman until the child reached adulthood. She'd keep Haman around long enough to learn the ins-and-outs of protocol and power. Then . . . she could get on quite well without him or any other man by her side. For now, however, he was necessary.

The intercom buzzed and brought her back to the autumn afternoon. She returned to her quarters, closing the French doors, a task—she noted with a sour taste—that servants formerly took care of.

"Vashti? Let me in." Haman's voice demanded through the speaker.

Vashti bristled at the lack of title which Haman had so comfortably discarded. "Door, open."

In a moment, the two sat on the divan before the fireplace—faces close, voices low despite the lack of listening ears.

"King Xerxes suspects nothing?" Vashti asked after Haman shared about his day.

"Nothing, my love." He leaned in and brushed her lips, aware that her eyes stared straight ahead. "When the king's retinue gathers the maidens in five days time, they will find none as fair as you."

♕

Esther clung to her uncle on the back porch. "Must you stay behind? I only agreed to leave because you said you and Caleb would take me together." Her breath clouded in the frosty shadows of daybreak.

Mordecai kissed her ebony hair and tilted Esther's face to his. "I know. I'm sorry. I'd hoped to address a certain situation before we set off, but your early summons to the castle did not allow me time to do what I feel I must. You know I would never remain here unless it was of vital importance. Don't you?"

Esther gave a reluctant nod. Despite her betrayal of his trust and the many hectic preparations which had delayed her departure an extra day, her uncle had made time to celebrate her seventeenth birthday the day before. He grilled steaks and made baked, cinnamon apples for dessert.

His kindness only magnified the guilt she carried, though he had insisted he forgave her and "what's done is done"—they must trust the Almighty with or without a tracking chip. Mordecai went on to surprise her with an embossed saddle and the promise of a horse of her own when she returned. Perhaps he hoped his gift would soften the blow of his decision to remain behind, but she had cried herself to sleep the night before anyway.

"You're in good hands with Abba. There's no one I trust more." Her uncle glanced at the modest man waiting at the bottom of the stairs, a woolen, grey cape encompassed his small frame as he leaned on a carved staff. "Now, you must go. Time and distance are essential."

"But . . . but what if I never see you again? I'm afraid the king's men will come for you when I don't answer the summons today. What if they strip you of everything and throw you in the dungeon?" A hot tear warmed her cheek.

Mordecai grinned and rubbed the glistening trail with his thumb. "Do not fear, my Estee. God is near. With you and with me. If I didn't feel that He was compelling me to stay for certain reasons, I would not. Continue to trust me."

Esther nodded and flung her arms around him again, desperate to memorize his woodsy smell and the rough texture of his faded brown coat. She then grabbed her pack and bounded down the stairs, not waiting for Caleb as she traipsed through the sparse woods.

Jupiter clamored at her heels, tail wagging with abandon. At least she didn't have to leave him behind too. Since graduation the year before, the mutt was her only real friend. At least, that's how it felt living so far from town. He bounded into the clearing where a steel-grey hovercraft waited. Behind her, Esther heard the crunch of leaves beneath Caleb's feet, punctuated by the sound of his staff stabbing the earth between footfalls.

High above, the flush of dawn swelled against the cloak of night. Esther took it in, amazed that she would soon be ushered into that vast space and whisked away from home for the first time. Though she had always wanted to take to the skies, galloping on Trammel's back between rows of apple trees was as close as she had come to flying.

Caleb approached. Such an ancient man piloting modern transportation struck her as incongruous. Did he really know how to operate a hovercraft?

At the touch of the keypad, the door opened. Esther turned toward the trees, hoping her uncle had followed the trail to see them off. The path, the woods, and the porch which stood on the opposite end of the pathway were vacant.

A hollow dread expanded in Esther's belly. What was so pressing that it prevented Mordecai from waving goodbye?

♕

Mordecai knelt before the locked cedar trunk. His fingers shook, challenging his dexterity as he tried different keys, praying that he had not lost the one that released the padlock.

Click.

He sighed, wiping a ticklish bead of sweat from his temple. How long had it been since he had opened this chest? The hinges groaned, and the lid thudded against the paneled wall. Mordecai gazed down at the king's crest. The golden eagle head emblazoned on the purple cloak looked as dazzling and dignified as ever. He lifted it from where it had passed the years, nestled in the protective, cedar-lined box. The gold trim and tasseled collar, which swooped between his shoulders to double as a hood, remained pristine.

Standing, Mordecai shook the folds of fabric, unfurling the mantle. A long-suppressed thrill of adventure spread through him like an intoxicating drink. After his time in the militia, he thought he would never again have need of this token from his other life. He had hoped to forget it all together. Why had he bothered to keep it? He hated his connection to the crown that had cost him most of his family. But something had stayed his hand. Kept him from burning the one thing that could throw open the door to his identity again, the identity he had worked so hard to lose. And yet . . . he wasn't as invisible as he'd believed. Haman had found Mordecai easily enough, hadn't he?

Sitting on the edge of his bed, Mordecai clutched the cloak, unsure of who he was. Uncle? Woodsman? Homesteader? He only knew that he was loathe to return to the man—the soldier—he had once been.

But it was the right thing to do. Of that, he was certain.

EIGHT

Esther curled against Jupiter's body, thankful for his warmth. Molten embers were all that remained of the campfire that Abba had used to roast a rabbit for dinner. Now the sinewy man slept perpendicular to where Esther lay, snoring with a soft timbre.

The sudden upheaval of all she knew left her feeling like she would never rest again. Although riding the hovercraft to the far reaches of Susa provided a thrill and a distraction, it failed to soothe the uneasy coils in her stomach. It reminded her of a time in her childhood when she had eaten a wormy apple.

Hours earlier, the craft had landed at the edge of the province—as far as the vehicle could safely travel before encountering the threat of dragon fire. Esther had felt relieved to walk. The effort of trudging up rocky hummocks and picking her way across gurgling streams kept her mind occupied. And, she learned, Caleb was not nearly as frail as he looked. He kept a steady pace that left Esther winded at times, wishing to rest while he trudged ahead, breathing easily.

The day had been exhausting. But now, between worrying about what might happen to her uncle, and wondering what might befall them in the Hinterlands, sleep remained aloof.

Caleb appeared to have sensed her apprehension. The colorful, animated man spent supper explaining how he had come to possess the gilded dragon scale, his whispered words a torrent of excitement. He assured her that when the seven dragons of the vale saw the scale of Akkadias and learned of his identity, Esther would be protected and at peace.

Esther doubted it. Protected? Perhaps. But peace in the company of dragons sounded like an oxymoron. She had wanted to interrupt his ramblings with questions about her father, the night of the bombing, and the voice of God. The information Mordecai had shared only left her craving more. But her uncle had warned her not to ask Abba about it. "If he wants you to know more, he will initiate the conversation."

Jupiter twitched and jerked his head up, ears raised.

"What is it, Jup?" Adrenaline brought her senses to full alert.

The dog stood, hackles up, head tilted toward the sky.

Esther followed his line of sight to the waxing, nearly full moon. "That's just the moon, silly." She stroked his scruffy neck.

A low growl rumbled his throat.

Then, she saw it. A blackened silhouette shot across the sky. Expansive wings glinted, awash with lunar light, silent and swift. Its mouth—or perhaps its whole head—radiated a steady glow like a well-stoked furnace.

"A dragon . . ." whispered Esther, certain she would never sleep again.

NINE

Esther traipsed behind Caleb, amazed again at the old man's vigor. Several hours earlier, he had awakened her as streaks of lavender and gold kissed the horizon.

So much for never sleeping again.

In rushed silence, they had nibbled on leftover rabbit and collected their few belongings. Now, Jupiter trounced around their legs, threatening to trip the travelers on their leaf-strewn path through the woods.

The lacy, green canopy kept her shaded and chilled, and her meager breakfast was gone. Esther rummaged through her bag until she gripped one of a half dozen apples she'd brought from home. How long would it be before she could walk into their tidy orchard again and pick a fresh, crisp apple whenever she desired?

The fruit's vivid skin reminded her of a handheld sunset, aglow in red and gold. Her uncle's apples were prized for their plump size and sweet juice with just a hint of tartness. Perfect for pies and jams alike. Esther took a satisfying chomp.

"We're getting close. Up ahead we'll cross a bridge which shall take us into the boundary of the vale." Caleb slowed and looked at her, brow furrowed, as if to make a point. "It will be imperative to keep silent. I shall whistle the song of Akkadias to alert creatures that we are friends not foes, but even then we will need to stick to the path and tread with care."

Esther nodded, wondering what possible creatures lurked on the other side. She could only hope that his dragon song would keep the mysterious critters at bay. What she couldn't see couldn't hurt her, right?

Since Caleb had barely spoken this morning, his instructions to keep silent seemed needless. Steeped in quiet, her thoughts drifted to Parthia and the friends left behind. She knew the king's beauty pageant must be on everyone's lips. Though most resented King Xerxes's oppressive control, the possibility of becoming queen surely injected every girl with a thrill of hope and excitement.

Life PC—Post Cataclysm—had rewound the hand of independence for most of the female population. After a series of meteorites pummeled the earth, less than half the planet's population remained. Women were now given financial incentives to bear children—large families bringing greater benefits.

Although Esther believed motherhood to be the best opportunity given by God—the ache of having lost her own mother enforcing this conviction—she had many friends that wanted to go to university and pursue a career. But the University of Susa only admitted a select number of women each year. The top ten percent of female academic-school graduates qualified to be included in a lottery. Only ten percent of those names were drawn and allowed to pursue a higher education.

A parade of faces drifted like clouds. Which of her friends might be selected for the palace—and who else had been summoned early? Since only one girl would become queen, what might befall the others? With a quiver of disgust, she knew. Being a royal concubine was purportedly an honor, but Esther would rather die than be so degraded. It made her almost glad to be in the Hinterlands.

Except Benjamin was back in Parthia. Esther smiled to herself, picturing his dark chestnut hair and eyes the color of melted chocolate. He had an easy smile and an infectious laugh, one he used often when he teased her like a big brother might tease his sister.

That comparison made her pull up short. As often as she had tried to convince herself that Benjamin was interested, deep down she knew he viewed her more like a little sister than a potential love interest. Esther swallowed this truth with a grimace and kept walking.

The two had grown up together, his large family and her small one sharing holidays and work days. And, if she was honest with herself, her infatuation with him wasn't much to get excited about. He'd grown into a pleasant, good looking young man but, truth be told, a rather boring one. She needed an adventuresome soul, yet his ambition didn't reach beyond inheriting the family farrier business. How had she not seen this?

Benjamin was a crush. Merely one of the few boys—certainly the most handsome—with whom she had regular contact. Nothing more. She wasn't hoping for someone who could come rescue her from the dragons that lay ahead—that only happened in fairytales. But she knew with sudden certainty that she craved more than a familiar, albeit handsome, face.

Susa was an expansive land, and Esther couldn't fathom staying put in backwards Parthia for good. Loyalty to her uncle had kept her from acknowledging that thought, though it had tickled her brain from time to time. The upheaval of the past few days had awakened something inside which could no longer be silenced. She might not know exactly what she needed, but she felt certain of what she no longer wanted.

That realization brought a sense of peace, despite her perilous surroundings. Esther smiled to herself and wondered what other world-changing dilemmas she could sort through while out in the middle of nowhere.

Caleb trekked to where the trees plunged down an embankment to the creek below. Esther stood on the ridge beside him and tossed her apple core into the water.

He nodded at the wood-slatted bridge perched on helter-skelter footings. "That's the only way across."

"Lord, help us," Esther murmured.

Leaning heavily on his staff, Caleb picked his way down the hill and onto the rickety structure.

Esther followed, hoping the thing had enough integrity to support them. Jupiter dashed headlong, barking and frolicking forward and back, making the weatherbeaten wood shudder and groan beneath them.

"Heel, Jupiter!" Esther whisper-hissed and snapped her fingers. The dog stopped obediently.

Then, he bolted to the other side and up the embankment.

"Sorry," Esther said.

Several slats were missing and she stepped over them gingerly, imagining the worst. On the other side, she found it easier to breathe. Although she feared the Hinterlands, at least the ground was solid beneath her feet.

That thought had barely taken shape when Esther stumbled. The ground itself shook like a wet dog shedding water. She and Caleb fell onto all fours. He began to whistle—a desperate, screeching sound that soared above the rumble of the earth. Jupiter whimpered, tail between his legs.

"What's going on?" Esther called above the din.

"They know we're here." Caleb placed a protective arm around her shoulders. "Humans are not welcome in the Hinterlands. Most will retreat at such a violent reaction. Hold tight and it will stop. Hopefully." He resumed his desperate whistling.

Esther gritted her teeth and wondered if she might have been better off taking her chances with the king.

TEN

"Ouch!" Esther stumbled, catching herself on the heels of her hands. They still smarted from her earlier fall beside the creek. Now her feet were entangled in the undergrowth that crept across the narrow trail. The trees and vines seemed to close in on the travelers the deeper they walked into the Hinterlands.

Jupiter licked her cheek before she could get back to her feet. She tried to wipe away his slobber but found her wrist snagged in the vines as well. What was happening? She tugged her hands free even as she watched a verdant tendril coil around Jupiter's foreleg.

Esther yanked it away and gave a yelp as she was wrenched backwards by her ankles. "Abba, help!" Vines quickly encircled her legs and crisscrossed the path, slithering towards her and Jupiter who now barked and nipped at the plants. Somehow he wriggled free each time his legs were caught.

Caleb appeared on the path up ahead—or reappeared, as it were, since he had been leading the way through the narrow jungle, loudly whistling the song of Akkadias. His walking staff landed with a repeated thwack as he beat his way to where Esther lay in a twisted, tangled panic.

Thwack! A blow landed on a thick, green tentacle which had stretched across the path and wreathed around her forearm. The plant shuddered with the impact but didn't give way.

"Get back where you belong," Caleb commanded. "We are here under the protection of Akkadias the Dragon. Get back!" Thwack, whack. "Down, I say!"

Esther wondered whether plants had the capacity to hear—let alone understand—but didn't contemplate for long. Panic seized at her sanity, reinforced by each fetter from the diabolical plant.

Though the vines eventually released her extremities when battered by Caleb's staff, there seemed to be two new tendrils for each one that relented. Even Caleb's ankles had become encumbered, though so far Jupiter had managed to evade capture.

Esther believed her life was headed to a horrifying end. Screeching, crying, and writhing on the ground only wound the vines around her body further. She imagined her uncle meeting the same fate when he searched for her—as surely he would—which made her cry harder.

Caleb began to wield the dragon scale against the plants. The edge of the armor-hard, hand-sized plate sliced cleanly through the reedy flesh of the vines, causing them to ooze a murky, foul-smelling goo.

Esther coughed from the odor, watching in amazement as the tentacles released their grip and slithered back into the undergrowth on either side of the trail. She decided the plants must possess some form of communication since all the vines retreated when only a few had been severed; or perhaps each vine belonged to one, enormous mother-plant deep in the woods.

She did not plan on investigating the phenomenon but lurched to her feet, eager to run away despite her sputtering breaths. Caleb strode ahead, keeping Akkadias's scale in view for whatever they might come across next. Jupiter, who had stuck his muzzle into the goo, now pawed at his nose between spurts of sprinting to and fro.

Esther swiped at her tears and runny nose with the same irritation. She had never felt so helpless, and inwardly loathed the despair that had overwhelmed her moments before. Her life had always enjoyed a predictable rhythm, and she had never experienced anything that approached real danger. What had she gotten herself into by traveling to a place where one could be attacked by a plant, let alone something as fierce as a dragon?

Too late now. She was committed to this insane undertaking.

The path soon opened onto a meadow, much to Esther's relief. She had never considered herself claustrophobic, but the jungle-like trail had felt suffocating, even without the greedy vines. A mossy boulder invited the threesome to rest and regroup, and Esther gratefully gulped some water, proceeding to pour it over her wrists where the vines had lassoed her skin. Red, itchy bumps had blossomed on their pale surface.

"That was close. I honestly thought we were going to be strangled to death by those things." Esther shook her arms, letting the water drip onto the spongy, green moss.

Caleb gave a slow, sober nod. "Strangled and then eaten, most likely."

Esther looked at him, open mouthed. "What? Those were man-eating plants?"

"I've heard rumors of such." His gaze told her he was more certain than speculative. "The Hinterlands are full of vegetation and creatures that are unlike anything we have in the wilds of Susa. Last time I traveled this way, I had to outrun wasps the size of morning doves. Thank the Lord that we have Akkadias's scale to help us today."

"Indeed. Though whistling that dragon song didn't seem very helpful on its own."

Caleb looked at the ground and stabbed at the dirt with his staff. "No, no it didn't. It would seem the Hinterlands has forgotten the music of one of its most majestic rulers." He glanced up, taking in the expanse of sky. "The atmosphere has shifted since my last trek through these parts. Not surprising, I suppose, since it's been nearly twenty years past. The good news is that we shall arrive in the vale within the hour."

Relief revived Esther's draining determination. Surely she could manage another hour. But this respite, she realized, might be her last chance to hear the story of her infantile survival—who knew when she would be alone with Caleb in the future?

"Abba . . . I've something to ask of you. A favor. I-I hoped you might share about the night you rescued me from the synagogue." Esther stared at her fidgeting fingers, aware that she had discarded her uncle's caution on the subject. "I'm curious, that's all."

A sigh, heavy with resignation, made her hopeful.

"It is your right to know," he conceded. "I'm sorry you had to ask."

Esther's heart surged and she offered an understanding smile.

Caleb rubbed his finger and thumb along his stubbly jaw. "The fighting had been relentless. Parthia had watched its young men and women sacrificing themselves for the king's cause for nearly a year. And though I did not support how the king handled his affairs, I preferred kingship over the rule of wizards. The weeks prior to the attack on the synagogue had been brutal. Bombs continuously drew closer. The basement of the synagogue, where your father sacrificed many hours to help our wounded, should have been a safe place. Houses of worship were generally spared in warfare, and basements made for suitable bomb shelters. That night, however, the synagogue was targeted and the basement became a mass grave."

Esther felt the prick of resentful tears. She had fought them regularly all her life, though the frequency had slowed over the years. But she felt cheated out of her family, and at times succumbed to the salty satisfaction of a good cry.

"The disaster killed the priest and the prophet installed at the time—though I did not know this, of course." Abba looked past Esther, as if watching the story unfold in the distance. "Once the bombing ceased, I left the safety of my wine cellar, and looked upon the annihilation of Parthia. Overcome by despair, I cried out to God. His voice spoke to my mind as clearly as I'd ever heard it when I was His prophet. He said, 'Get up! You must deliver a child from the destruction in the synagogue, for she is destined to deliver others from a future destruction.' When I stood before the rubble I heard your newborn cries. With the help of a few others, I was able to retrieve you." His sinewy hand reached for hers. "And here you are, sweet Esther. And, once again, our Heavenly Father needs me to intervene on behalf of your safety—which could not please me more."

Esther's heart stutter-stepped against a swell of emotions. Incredulity that Abba heard the voice of God Himself. Amazement that the she would be mentioned by God and kept alive for some greater purpose. Grief at the loss of her parents despite the miraculous tale. She squeezed Caleb's hand and blinked wet lashes. "Thank you for sharing. And for rescuing me—I never understood the entire story. It looks like I am in your debt again, being taken to the safety of the vale."

"Not at all." Caleb smiled with his penetrating eyes. "We each serve our purpose in God's greater plan. If my purpose is to keep you safe for your purpose then I've only performed my obedient duty, as should each of us." He stood and pulled her to her feet. "To see you fulfill your destiny will be thanks enough. Now, let us continue our adventure—we may have more obstacles to face before we arrive."

♕

Within a quarter of an hour, an enormous winged creature could be spotted far downhill, flying above the trees. The threesome had just begun their ascent into the vale—a vast depression among a wide ring of mountains, dotted with trees and boasting a glassy lake in its depths.

At first glance, Esther wondered if the flying thing might be one of the giant wasps Caleb had mentioned. She soon realized how large the creature must be in relation to the distance, and it was quickly closing the gap. A dragon!

"Abba—"

"I see it! Head to those rocks." Caleb pointed with his staff and made a beeline for a pair of angular boulders while keeping his focus on the beast.

Esther, too, remained glued to the approaching apocalypse, only glancing away long enough to gauge the distance to the rocks. Smoke belched from the dragon's nostrils like the locomotive engines she'd seen in history books. She didn't know if they could reach safety before it came within striking distance. How far could a dragon spew its fiery breath, anyway?

Jupiter had caught sight of the giant reptile and swerved away, barking and challenging his perceived opponent.

"No, Jup! Get over here!" Esther shouted as she ran, adrenaline spiking with each footfall.

She careened past Caleb who now faced the beast with Akkadias's scale brandished high above his head, while he lurched sideways toward the boulders. The creature glided lower, as if taking aim. Esther gasped to see the thing had three amber, snake-slit eyes which glowed like hot coals. They blinked in slow succession as it charged closer.

With a yelp, she dove behind the enormous rock, certain such a maneuver was futile. Jupiter shot past her then whirled around to where she lay in the dirt. The dragon's shadow darkened the world for an instant. She threw her arms protectively over her head, convinced that incineration was imminent.

When the shadow passed and her flesh remained intact, she craned her neck, scrambling on her belly to do an about-face and see what had become of Caleb. The scrawny man stood there, waving Akkadias's scale and whistling his lungs out. Esther glanced at the sky to see the dragon circling back.

Caleb shifted closer to the boulders. He appeared calm and controlled despite his steady movement toward the shelter of the rocks.

Jupiter cowered alongside Esther's ribcage, beneath her protective arm. With his trusty but frightened body snug against her right side, and the slab of granite against her left, Esther's heart dared to slow its frantic fluttering. Wide eyes watched the dragon extend its thorny talons like an air-jet's landing gear. She guessed the creature's slow speed indicated its intention to land rather than snatch up the bony old man who stood before it. But what did she know about dragons?

Indeed, it stretched its bat-like wings wide, allowing the air to billow into their supple, charcoal sheaths and slow it considerably. The levitating leviathan eased to the ground about ten yards from Caleb, flattening its wings against its body. Though Esther dared not look away, she could see Caleb quivering, in her periphery, as he lowered Akkadias's scale.

The creature's three golden eyes were unnerving and appeared to take in everything at once, in panorama. Esther shivered at the scraping sound its curved talons made against a rock lodged in the dirt. The smell of sulfur stung her nose as she watched the ghostly contrails of smoke swirl into the air, escaping its nostrils with each heaving breath. Jupiter gave the faintest whimper as he quaked beneath her arm.

Time, breath, wind—and even Esther's fear—felt suspended while waiting for either Caleb or the dragon to make the first move. Her gaze darted from one to the other, praying the fire-breathing beast would not decide to cremate them on the spot. Even then, she felt more impatient than afraid. Something needed to happen or she might scream.

"State your business, favored one of Akkadias," said the triple-eyed giant at last. Sheer, sooty smoke escaped its mouth, dulling the gleam of pointy, yellow teeth. The sulfur stench hit Esther and she muffled a cough against the top of Jupiter's head.

Caleb did not flinch at the smell, though he stood much closer. His trembling body had calmed and he gave a slight bow. "I am here to seek protection for the life of this young woman. She has been set apart by the Almighty for future work. Her life is in danger."

Amber, reptilian eyes—all three—focused themselves on Esther. They seemed to take her measure before returning to Caleb. "Trespassing into the vale has further endangered what you seek to protect. Although you invoke the favor of Akkadias, further proof is required. I shall escort you to Nautilus, Warrior of the Hinterlands, for a hearing. We shall learn whether you both must pay for your transgression."

ELEVEN

Esther awoke, shivering. Why did her bed feel so unyielding and cold? Peering beneath sleepy eyelids she started, eyes wide. How had she forgotten?

She was not in her bed.

Smooth granite stones, each bigger than her own body, glistened on the ground. Enormous, glittery tiles covered the floor of the dragon's lair where she lay.

Esther pressed herself upright and shifted silently into the corner to view her surroundings. Jupiter snuffled in his sleep, his body curled against the wall. She drew in her knees, wrapping her arms around them for warmth. Her mind relived what had transpired after the three-eyed dragon—Troika the Watchful, they later learned—escorted the threesome to the vale. Curling plumes of sulfurous smoke had drifted from his nostrils as he guided them—a pillar of smoke leading them through the wilderness.

Once they'd traversed the barren landscape surrounding the mirror-like lake, the league of dragons had permitted Caleb alone to enter the lair. Apparently Akkadias's scale was an 'admit one' type of ticket.

Esther and Jupiter huddled outside the yawning maw of the cave which nestled into a stark, grey cliff. The chilling wind had pressed against her, fingering her cloak and chapping her pale cheeks. The vale spread before her, vacant and desolate. Only the steely ripples on the lake broke the monotonous view. Nothing about the landscape impeded the tsunami of wind that crashed against her, wave upon wave.

Jupiter had crawled onto her lap, offering his warmth in exchange for hers. Eyes closed, she had leaned against the sloping rock and pleaded with God for her uncle's safety, as well as her own.

When Caleb returned, she and Jupiter had grown stiff and miserable with cold. Esther felt certain her face would shatter if she dared to speak or smile, none of which would help to cultivate a proper first impression. As they trekked the long entrance tunnel of the cave, Caleb had assured her that the dragons were eager to fulfill Akkadias's promise; though such assurance had only come after an inspection of the dragon scale and a grueling round of questions.

The tunnel opened into a cavernous sanctuary with a soaring ceiling. Five armor-plated, winged giants had awaited them—two of the dragons were still patrolling the skies at the time. The sight of such powerful, fierce creatures sent Esther's heart lurching and turned Jupiter into a simpering scaredy cat. Thankfully, they kept to the back of the chamber, leaving a cushion of space for each group to grow accustomed to the other.

After a round of introductions—which gave Esther the impression of speaking with thunder personified—Troika allowed Caleb to climb onto his back to expedite his return to the hovercraft before dark. The gesture, Caleb whispered when he embraced her, was a way of honoring Caleb for the sake of Akkadias. Esther surmised it was Troika's way of admitting he had not shown Caleb the respect he deserved when they had first encountered one another.

The four dragons that remained must have sensed Esther's fear and thought it best to give her space. They kept to themselves, retiring shortly after Troika lumbered out of the tunnel with Caleb. Despite their distance, she had felt them studying her. Although she wished to investigate them as well, she had kept her gaze on the apple she'd dug from her pack. Looking at them unnerved her.

The two patrolling dragons had returned as she and Jupiter struggled to get comfortable on the cool granite floor. Explanations for her intrusion were made to the newcomers, followed by a brief introduction.

That had been many hours prior. Now, Esther studied the cave and her enormous, sleeping companions. The immense space appeared to be the heart of the lair; the mouth of the cave tunneled directly into the domed room. A gleaming circle of gold, no less than two feet high and nearly the size of a hovercraft, dominated the center of the shimmering stone floor. Was it a table? An alter? She couldn't guess.

Directly above the golden circle, the ceiling opened to the starry heavens, casting a silver, lunar light on her surroundings. Esther couldn't glimpse much of the heavens from where she sat; the opening was too distant. It was, however, big enough to permit one of the smaller, patrolling dragons to zoom into the lair from above earlier in the evening. The sudden appearance of the creature—hurtling down like a meteorite before extending its wings to slow into a graceful spiral—had startled Esther as much as anything they'd encountered that day.

Along the perimeter of the cave were seven semicircular alcoves. Each of the dragons was curled into one of the recesses, asleep. Esther's eyes were adjusting to the gloom and she studied the colossal figures, trying to recall their names.

Troika slept to her left, easy to identify with his three twitching eyelids. He must have returned from delivering Caleb during one of Esther's odd moments of sleep. On his left lay a sleek, serpentine dragon, tightly coiled with its snub nose tucked beneath one bat-like wing. Smooth, charcoal hide reflected the torchlight like polished metal. Esther thought this particular dragon seemed female, due to its melodic voice. Her name—if it was a she—was Azarian of the Four Founts.

Esther squinted at the shadowy shape in the next alcove. The torchlight and distance made clarity impossible, but this dragon was one of the two smaller beasts. She glanced along the remaining bodies and noticed that the smallest dragon, the one who had careened into the dome, slept to Esther's right. She could see this one clearly and remembered it as Quillow the Curious. Its long, narrow scales curled up on the ends, giving it the appearance of fur in a mixture of hues, from cream to brown. Among dragons Quillow might be on the small side, yet he or she was still twice the size of Trammel, her uncle's horse.

That meant the other small dragon must be . . . well, she couldn't recall its name. Ram? Yum? No. It had escaped her. His inky black scales were swallowed up in the shadows, but she recalled how thick and stocky his torso looked, like a bulldog grown to the size of their woodshed.

The majesty of the dragon in the central alcove, directly opposite from the entrance tunnel, could not be dulled by the shadows. Nautilus, Warrior of the Hinterlands, was clearly the chief of the seven dragons. This silver-scaled behemoth made the other dragons look insignificant and dull when he stood beside them, his pearly wings draped across his muscular flanks like a royal cloak. His elegant neck curved into a triangular face which glowed from within when he spoke; his voice was a deep rumble like a pounding waterfall. A singular, tightly spiraled horn sprouted from the dragon's forehead in unicorn-like fashion. Esther could see the gleam of the lustrous spike even now and shuddered at the thought of being impaled by such a weapon.

The final two sleeping dragons were twins, as far as Esther could tell. Zethyl the Iron-willed and Pelladyn the Shrewd argued incessantly, so that Esther had learned their unusual names from repetition. Chocolate brown with a ridged back and tail, these two were the quintessential idea of what she had imagined a dragon would look like.

Tall, narrow tunnels opened on either side of the alcove where Nautilus slept. Esther wondered where they led. Hopefully to a store of food, though she had no idea what dragons might eat.

She stroked Jupiter and gave an involuntary shiver.

Hopefully not people or small animals.

TWELVE

Vashti studied her reflection in the glassy computer monitor. A hint of crows' feet left the slightest imprint at the corners of her eyes. She recoiled. Had she been smiling or squinting unconsciously? And the skin on her neck looked papery, rather than supple.

She needed more beauty serum, that seemed evident. An unpleasant business indeed, acquiring and stewing the ingredients to make the tincture. But she needed every advantage to regain King Xerxes's favor. Besides, didn't the potion also make one more fertile?

"Wake, Tesla," she said. Her image dissolved and the facial scan tracked her features.

The disembodied head of Tesla appeared. "Good morning, Vashti the Fair."

"Bring up the maidens that Haman has scanned into the system for transfixing." Vashti tapped an impatient purple fingernail on the desk. Haman had left early that morning to "welcome" the maidens summoned with his false invitation.

"As you wish." Tesla's face morphed into a spinning snowflake while the computer searched the files. About a dozen thumbnail photos popped up.

Vashti raised an eyebrow. "That's all? Well, I suppose it's a slow process."

"No doubt, my liege," Tesla replied.

"Patience is not my strong suit." She sighed. "I'm being juvenile anyway. You've already compared me to those in your system and confirmed that even the loveliest virgins fall short. With Haman removing them from the official culling, Xerxes will soon entreat me to forgive his slight."

"There have been new registrants since the king's announcement," Tesla said. "Would you like me to run another comparison?"

Vashti bristled at the anxiety that constricted her throat. Did it matter if one as beautiful as she might be out there? She recalled the flaws in her reflection. "Yes, Tesla. Find the fairest in the kingdom."

The snowflake returned and Vashti willed her breathing to remain even. She was guaranteed to come out on top, afterall. Haman had it handled. He needed this plan to work for his own sake, as well.

For added security, she would brew more beauty serum. Once Orrador entranced the virgins, there would be an endless supply of hearts and spleens available for ingredients.

A face blinked at Vashti from the monitor. Creamy, porcelain skin framed by locks as glossy black as crow feathers—somehow more appealing than crow's feet—set off the young woman's frosty blue eyes and rosebud lips. A flash of awe, quickly displaced by jealousy, washed over Vashti as she stared at the short video recording. With narrowed eyes, Vashti read the girl's name. "Trillium, Esther."

One word flashed above the girl's face.

FAIREST.

♕

Haman snuffed out his cigar with the heel of his boot and studied the imposing, stone tower. Its turrets clawed at the low-slung clouds, a study in tonal grays. He wished he could have witnessed the shock on the maidens' faces when they arrived at this forbidding outpost the night before—a far cry from the palace which they were expecting. The network of dungeons provided an ideal place to remove tracking chips unobserved and allow Orrador to work his enchantment. Haman had spent the morning overseeing just that and now decided to head back inside before his men made sport of the girls.

He had checked the registrants early this morning and was pleased to find Esther Trillium in the system. After his visit with Mordecai, Haman had not expected such swift compliance. What a pleasant surprise to see the gorgeous girl blinking at him from her holographic video. He had wasted several minutes watching her, desiring her with an ache he hadn't felt in years.

Returning inside to the main chamber, his gaze traversed the frightened females clutching each other uncertainly. Where was that snowy-skinned girl anyway?

♕

Mordecai gritted his teeth and boarded the tram to Susa Major. He hated to condescend to modern transportation but time was essential. While Haman was occupied with his underhanded pageant, Mordecai needed to move. A hovercraft would have been faster, but getting on board a craft as a non-registered citizen was not permitted. Trams, on the other hand, only required tokens.

He settled beside a window, worn leather pack next to him, hoping to discourage anyone from sitting close. Small talk was not his forte. Besides . . . he needed to plot his way into the palace.

♕

King Xerxes paced the length of his private balcony. Free from the expectations of courtiers, noblemen, and advisors, he wrung his hands and took steadying breaths. King Xerxes the Valiant? Ha. That false title fooled no one. As a sickly child who once suffered panic attacks from all the public attention, he had never lived up to his name. The Valiant was but a mask disguising his scarred persona, created at the insistence of his queen mother. He hated it.

And yet . . .

And yet he wanted to be valiant. Wanted to live a life worthy of such a title. Instead, he had cultivated a safe and sophisticated life within the walls of his palace. Fine wine, fine food, and very fine women. His chiseled, dimpled face, olive complexion, and wavy, caramel mane had been his only natural assets, setting him apart in a population of bronzed skin and coal-black hair. And he knew how to use these assets, if only as a mouthpiece, whilst Haman handled the heavy negotiating.

Haman.

His advisor had been busy of late. Busy planning the search for a new queen, of course, which Xerxes could forgive. The culling would take place in three days time and would be an excellent opportunity for Xerxes to present a new persona to a fresh female face. He had come up with the brainchild himself after his latest humiliation with Vashti—one of the few original ideas he could claim.

Vashti had not produce an heir, and her head had finally swelled too full of its own importance to fit in her crown. Although the two of them made a striking couple—her beauty was beyond any he had seen in kingdoms near or far—loving her was like attempting to love a glacier. The woman was icy and intimidatingly powerful.

Xerxes stopped pacing and leaned against the balustrade that overlooked his private garden. Vashti's image obscured the flowers and the foliage. He missed her perfect, pouty lips and hair so silky that it resembled water in feel and form. He yearned for her even now and hated himself for it.

Ugh!

He shook his head to rid his mind of the plague of her beauty. A new queen would be found. A queen that would revere him. To women outside the palace he was King Xerxes the Valiant. And to that maiden, the one who wins the crown, he would reinvent himself.

If he could become the dashing, courageous ruler in her eyes, perhaps he could start believing in a better version of himself as well.

THIRTEEN

"Why is this vixen still out there?" Vashti jabbed her finger at the computer monitor while her gaze scorched Haman. "Should I call you Haman the Impotent now? Are you not capable of rounding up a handful of pretty girls whose whereabouts you can precisely track?"

Haman glared. "Belittle me if it makes you feel better. But you don't have a shot at returning to power without my help, so I suggest you watch that forked tongue."

Vashti backhanded his cheek. "How dare you! Without me, your hopes of deposing Xerxes will never materialize. I need to be restored as queen or you haven't got a shot. You're nothing but a commoner with clout. Now shut up and tell me what you're going to do about her?"

Red-faced, Haman turned his attention to the screen flashing FAIREST, with Esther Trillium's picture beneath it. Oh, he hadn't forgotten about this one. Not at all. Though she had registered, Esther was not among the girls assembled the day before. Now Haman had one day to locate Mordecai's precious, pretty niece before he must oversee the king's official culling.

"She obviously has a tracker." Vashti glared at the computer. "What's her location?"

Haman leaned on the desk. "Probably tucked away in her pigheaded uncle's farmhouse. I plan to pay them a visit today." He touched a few icons on the screen and stiffened. "What in the underworld?"

"What is it?" Vashti crouched toward the monitor.

"It . . . it shows her in the Vale of the Seven Dragons." Haman swallowed. "Surely not. Tesla!"

The avatar's face appeared in the lower right corner. "Yes, Sire?"

"Reassess the location of Esther Trillium."

The snowflake swirled over Tesla's face. In a moment, the same map appeared on the screen with a tiny snowflake flashing in the vale. "Current location identified."

"Simple enough." Vashti crossed her arms. "Find her before she shows up at the culling and gets snatched up by Xerxes's men. Her uncle must have learned of your deception and spirited her away until the pageant begins."

"I might agree if she wasn't in the care of dragons." Haman scoffed. "Seems to me he wants to keep her far from Susa. And one does not simply waltz into the vale and make demands of dragons. I'm flummoxed that she is there at all and allowed to live."

Vashti stepped toward him, hands clenched. "I don't care how you have to do it but you will do it. Blast the beasts with lasers if you must—but get the girl." She slid a fingernail across her throat. "And kill her. That's the best way to eliminate the competition, is it not?"

Haman flashed a wicked grin. "My . . . you are quite the ambitious handful, aren't you?" He dipped his head and kissed her before she could protest. "An irresistible quality. But why not take her to the dungeon with the others? There will be far fewer questions if there isn't a body."

"I want her eliminated." Vashti's fingertips trailed up Haman's arms to his biceps. "You can keep the others in a state of pseudo-sleep for now, but this girl must die. Kill her." Her nails dug into arms for emphasis. "Kill her and remove her spleen and heart. I need more serum and I may as well begin with her organs. You will return with both. Understood?"

Haman's face paled. "Surely you don't—"

"Her spleen," Vashti's fingers slid across Haman's shoulders and cupped his bearded cheeks, "and her beautiful . . . beating . . . heart."

♕

Mordecai watched King Xerxes approach the fountain in the center of his private garden. At Mordecai's feet lay the guard on duty, involuntarily asleep on the job. Having served as a bodyguard to Prince Xerxes before the war, Mordecai knew the palace grounds with a thoroughness which came from being stationed there for years of exhaustive training.

An hour earlier, he strode across the palace's outer greenway, scaled an enormous oak, and landed on the other side of the perimeter wall. Although the uniform had changed over the years, the royal mantle had not. The fabric and its insignia were the equivalent of wearing a coat of arms—a symbol that never wavered. It also prevented undue attention on the grounds.

The problem of his civilian clothing resolved itself when he came across a perimeter patrol. Although he only required one uniform, he had rendered a pair of soldiers unconscious and stripped them both of their clothing, donning one uniform while stuffing the other beneath a dense, thorny hedge. He also disabled their modern laser-swords, preferring to relieve them of their cutlass blades instead. The soldiers would eventually wake to find themselves uncomfortably positioned beneath the sharp, leathery leaves of neighboring holly bushes clad only in their underclothes.

Now, Mordecai hoped to approach the king with as much ease. He watched as Xerxes strolled to a tiered fountain, apparently lost in thought. Mordecai studied his profile. Tawny hair settled in waves around Xerxes's tanned face, but his beard eddied with tones of copper and silver—premature for a man who had recently celebrated his thirtieth birthday. Mordecai was struck by his furrowed brows and forlorn grimace. The king looked troubled.

And I'm about to add to it. He stepped from the shadows, but Xerxes remained fixated on the trickling fountain. No doubt the guards were such an intrinsic part of life that the king barely noticed them.

Mordecai cleared his throat. "Good day, your Majesty."

The king offered a subtle nod but continued to stare at the water. Mordecai wondered whether Xerxes would recognize him after their years apart.

"I wondered if I might have a moment of your time, my king." Mordecai stepped closer, knowing that to approach without being bid was unorthodox.

The king raised a distracted eyebrow and met Mordecai's hooded gaze. "I'm a bit preoccupied at the—" He broke off, probing the shaded face of the soldier before him, then opening his mouth as if he might alert the guards.

"Your Grace," Mordecai silenced the king with a raised hand while swiping the hood of his cloak back with the other, "it is your servant Mordecai the Bowman. Do you remember me?"

Xerxes squared his body and scrutinized Mordecai. A shock of recollection softened his features. "Mordecai? Is it really you? The man who plucked me from the tentacles of death so many moons ago?"

Mordecai gave a curt bow. "Indeed."

The king glanced about the garden. "Which of my men did you put out of commission to get to me? I'll have them flayed for failing to do their job." His eyes alighted on Mordecai and he grinned. "Or perhaps I shall thank them. I cannot tell you how many times I've recalled that horrible night and wished I'd properly thanked you for your protection."

"It was but my duty." Mordecai raised his hood to shroud his features. "And because I kept my old cloak, it wasn't terribly difficult to get to your private courtyard. If I may be so bold, I have a matter to discuss."

The king stepped forward. "Of course. But why not seek me in court? I would, of course, receive you and allow you to speak freely."

Mordecai shook his head. "My information is for your ears alone."

The king swallowed and shifted his weight uneasily. "Very well."

Mordecai pressed his lips, concealing his annoyance. After these many years, did Xerxes remain so insecure? "I wish to speak to you about the culling for your new queen."

King Xerxes arched his brows. "You object to my method of seeking a wife?"

Yes. And I object to your taxes, your heavy-handed rule, and your overbearing stranglehold on your subjects. Mordecai willed his features to stay neutral. "No, Your Majesty. My concern involves a concerted effort to derail your selection."

"What do you mean? The pageant has yet to begin."

"The pageant will be a farce, my lord. I'm here because I overheard plans to remove the most beautiful young maidens and leave you with the, uh, less exquisite specimens."

"Nonsense! We've sent announcements to the entire realm. What young maiden wouldn't want such an opportunity?" He stepped back and looked Mordecai over. "Are all the pretty virgins conspiring against me?"

"No. But your closest advisor is."

Xerxes scoffed. "Haman? Not likely. Though I do believe he feels slighted since I've not asked him to be a judge. The man is not selective enough for my palate. Any willing woman may find herself in his quarters after a pint of ale."

"Haman is an underhanded, mutinous pig that has rigged the pageant." Mordecai closed the space between them. "With Vashti's assistance."

"Surely not." King Xerxes blustered. "Why would he—they—do such a thing?"

"He would do such a thing to ruin you," Mordecai said. "In fact, he has already done this thing—yesterday. He's gathered the finest of maidens and employed a sorcerer to enchant them in some way. Vashti wants her queenship back and Haman is helping to remove the competition."

King Xerxes reeled as if punched. He blinked at Mordecai. "I refuse to believe this about Haman—though Vashti surely has the capacity for such underhandedness."

"I speak the truth." Mordecai removed his hood again, wanting his point to be clear. "After fighting alongside Haman, I know that he always, always strives to further his own agenda at the expense of others. Especially anyone that has more power, money, or clout than himself."

He leaned toward King Xerxes's pale, stricken face. "At this point in that sorry cretin's life, you are the only one that can claim such a unique place. Haman is not content to be number two."

FOURTEEN

Esther hugged her knees. The cold from the rock on which she sat had seeped through her leather breeches but she didn't mind. Sunlight glinted across the lake which stretched to distant hills flecked with the autumnal plaid of changing leaves. The scent of pine and soil soothed her.

"Are you cold, dear one?" Quillow traipsed along the water's edge, his taloned feet spatting water. Jupiter kept pace with the speckled dragon, nipping at the spray.

Esther smiled. "I'm fine. The cool air is invigorating after such a long night."

Quillow stopped and cocked his enormous head in puppy-like fashion. "I'm sorry you didn't sleep well. No doubt our accommodations are not what you're used to."

"It's not that." Esther shook her head, perturbed at herself for the ungracious comment. "It's the sudden change of everything familiar. Too much on my mind to sleep well, I'm afraid. Truly, I'm grateful to be here and appreciate your hospitality."

The dragon's pale green eyes reflected empathy. "It is our honor. But please do not hesitate to alert us to your needs."

"Thank you." Esther felt tears blossom. She blinked, aware of precisely how isolated her life had become.

Jupiter stiffened, nose skyward.

"What is it, Jup?" She caught the scent of roasted game, breezing in from the lair behind her. The immediate lurch of her stomach reminded her that two days worth apples were now long gone.

"Breakfast!" a voice blasted from within the cave.

Esther stood and Jupiter lunged across the scrubby ground. Quillow lumbered past Esther as Zethyl and Pelladin alighted from their morning trek across the sky. Even as the twins flew, Esther noticed, they kept up a banter which included spitting sparks and insults at one another.

Once inside, Esther pulled up short. A charred wild boar, tusks and all, lay on one of the granite tiles, skin flaking, ears shriveled, black as soot. She guessed that it had been roasted with the blast of a dragon's blowtorch. Sulfur, smoke, and crisped skin mingled at this close range, making her appetite wane.

The other smallish dragon, whose name she relearned as Yorum the Stout, bobbed his head at the lump of broiled meat. "For you and the pup. Take what you wish, then we shall divide the spoils."

"That's . . . very kind." Esther stepped forward under the watchful stare of the beasts. Other than Quillow and the twins, the dragons had kept their distance thus far with polite watchfulness.

Jupiter lurched forward. "Sit, Jup!" Esther snapped her fingers and he obeyed—mouth salivating, hindquarters twitching.

Lacking utensils, Esther knelt and gingerly peeled a layer of blistered skin from the belly of the boar. The smell of singed hair made her woozy. With a barbaric yank, she tugged free a large slab, tossing it to Jupiter who gobbled it in three greedy gulps. She peeled off another hunk for herself. Though she craved the protein, her queasy stomach caused her to hold off for the moment.

Esther took a few steps back and gestured at the boar. "My dog will be happy to gnaw some of the bones when you're finished. Although he might act otherwise, he's eaten plenty just now."

Yorum jutted his chin toward the barbecued creature. "The bones belong to Nautilus this time. We take turns."

Nautilus stood to his full height, brilliant in luster and strength, wings fluttering against his pearlescent body. Esther thought he might be dismissing her, or at least her dog, for being presumptuous.

"There are bones enough to share." His deep voice reverberated in Esther's chest like a timpani.

"Oh . . . no. Jupiter will be fine without them. Perfectly fine. In fact," she extended her hunk of meat upward then lowered it, uncertainly. "I-I can just try and catch a fish or something." Esther stumbled backwards and curtsied in an awkward show of respect. Nautilus was intimidation with scales and wings.

He arched his trunk-like neck, bridging the space between them. His fearsomely beautiful face hovered on level with Esther's. The twisted horn jutted so close that she could make out faint brown discolorations which stained the spiky end, like coffee. She stared, wide-eyed, certain this warrior did not use his horn as a coffee stirrer.

Blood.

Jupiter ran out of the tunnel.

The dragon's pale, leathery lips curled, revealing a glistening row of yellowed, dagger-sharp teeth. His deep crimson eyes—Nautilus's most unsettling feature at such proximity—narrowed at the corners. Had he changed his mind about allowing her to stay?

She blinked but held his gaze though her legs quavered like wet sand beneath her. Be brave.

"Catch a fish, you say?" A resounding rumble made her recoil.

Wait, was that . . . laughter?

Sure enough, Nautilus grinned around his bared teeth—a gesture which looked eerily similar to a snarl, but for his raised brows and dancing, red eyes. He emitted a rolling boom of a sounds that could only be construed as dragon laughter.

Esther attempted a smile. The other dragons shifted closer, chorusing with Nautilus in a strange, chortled symphony. She didn't understand what had amused the dragons so, but she felt relieved to be a source of mirth, rather than a source of protein.

♕

Haman flew the hovercraft low, hugging the treetops. It had taken him all morning to finish his duties and excuse himself to the hover terminal. After checking Esther Trillium's location yet again—and seeing that it continued to place her within the Vale of the Seven Dragons, confound it—he had ventured off with Mizen, one of his most loyal and dimwitted soldiers. The big oaf killed first and asked whether or not he was supposed to do so afterward. Handy.

The noonday sun made it hard to see the horizon, even with the dark tint on the hover's windows. Of course, the craft could fly on autopilot, but Haman liked to be hands-on. It scratched his itch for control.

A blur of fiery foliage amidst statuesque evergreens flowed beneath the hovercraft like fallen leaves on an emerald current. Haman consulted his Universal Navigation System, careful to follow the trajectory that blinked on the screen.

They were approaching Quandary Creek. Like a moat, the creek served as the demarcation between the wilds of the Susian province and the mysterious Hinterlands. Only the most adventuresome dared to travel this far. Filled with dangers, magic, and myths, civilization gave this untamed land a wide berth.

Haman certainly had, until today. Though he assumed that the Tales of the Vales—as the legendary stories were titled—amounted to superstitious rumors.

A cloud obscured the sun's radiance long enough for Haman to realize that there were no clouds in the sky. Something blindingly bright slammed into the hood of the hovercraft and sent it skittering across the treetops. Mizen cursed and clawed at the dashboard. Haman gripped the steering lever and wrangled for control.

Another flash engulfed the windshield adding to Haman's impaired eyesight.

Mizen cried out, "I'm blind! I'm blind!"

Haman ignored him, fighting to level the craft.

When his vision cleared, he found himself looking into the face of a levitating, three-eyed, monster.

FIFTEEN

Vashti cringed, fingers recoiling from the book with its flaking, filthy cover. Inside, its yellowed pages displayed a similar state—flecked with blood and smeared with all manner of ingredients necessary for incantations. Using her fingernail, she flipped the brittle pages. Although she found the beauty serum a beneficial concoction, the other spells in this family recipe book held no interest to the daughter of the Sorceress of Susa. Aside from the distasteful mess involved, she could not risk her secret being discovered. If Xerxes had known of this skeleton in her royal family's closet, he would never have taken her as queen.

Though she had brought a supply of beauty serum in her bridal trousseau, eventually she had needed to concoct more—an undertaking which involved a pretense of sickness and seclusion. Such stress!

The memory conjured up a shudder. Her cover had nearly been blown thanks to Zethar the Eunuch's insistent efforts to monitor her 'illness'. Fortunately, that had been the only time she'd needed to rekindle her relationship with potion making.

Until today.

Until Haman had returned to the palace the night before like a dog with its tail between its legs. He couldn't get past the dragons, he said. Couldn't follow Esther's tracking device and take care of business. Small wonder! Flying across the sky in a glimmering hovercraft was no way to steal into the midst of dragons.

And time was running out. Xerxes's culling was tomorrow. Esther, probably intended to cruise in on a dragon and make a spectacular entrance. Vashti could not risk that outcome.

No.

She would take matters into her own hands. Hands that had helped her mother perform many a spell and enchantment. Hands that now sought the incantations which would both transform Vashti into a poor dredge of a woman and transport her at once to the girl's dragon-loving door.

♕

The spell worked too well. Vashti's eyes were weak and watery, her knuckles gnarled and arthritic. The wrinkled, mole-ridden face that stared back from the monitor made her flinch. No doubt it would fool Esther—and everyone else whose paths Vashti might cross. But how would she overpower the girl in such a pained and weakened state?

She would need something more. Something that would make it easy for Vashti to prevail. A trap? Fetters? A potion to drink?

No. Too many variables. She needed guarantees.

Something simple.

Something irresistible.

Something sweet and juicy.

SIXTEEN

Jupiter's tail lashed at a persistent fly. Esther watched the repetitive routine play out while her dog napped. Touchdown, twitch, fly, repeat.

She shook her head at how boring life had become in two short days. There were no berries to pick, no apples to pluck, no herbs or eggs to gather. The Hinterlands were too distant and dangerous to explore, the vale but a wasteland of rocks sporting a few clusters of trees, and the forested cliffs surrounding it were too steep to climb—and probably off limits anyway.

Yesterday, six of the dragons flew off to patrol the skies, leaving Quillow in her company. Esther didn't know how far the dragons had traveled, but last night Pelladyn had returned with another boar while Nautilus hauled in a trunk full of money and jewels. The loot was an offering made by the gypsies who had stolen it—the only plebeians brave enough to travel these untamed lands—in exchange for their lives. Nautilus could certainly have taken both, if he so desired, but Esther got the impression that the gypsies had some sort of arrangement with the dragons.

Troika had arrived with news of a hovercraft that had dared to fly into the dragons' territory. It retreated in the wake of his attack, but its appearance indicated to the dragons that someone knew of Esther's whereabouts.

The revelation had felt like a punch to her gut. The tracker chip practically throbbed in mockery at the base of her skull. Theoretical danger had now materialized, thanks to her. Although the dragons were more than capable, she hated that they must fight battles on her behalf. And where did this leave her uncle Mordecai? She dared not allow her mind to drift in that direction for long or she'd make herself ill. It had been a long, restless night and had turned into a bitter, self-loathing morning.

Because of Troika's encounter, two dragons remained with her today. Esther spotted Yorum aloft in the distance. His thickset body looked unsuitable for the size of his wings, like a bumblebee's. Azarian had remained inside the lair but promised to join Yorum shortly. They had both urged Esther to keep to the cave, but passing a sleepless night in the shadowed, sulfury cavern was all she could take. She hoped the fresh air and open sky might resuscitate her drowning hope.

"Excuse me."

Esther jumped and tottered on the rock where she sat. A decrepit, ancient-looking woman approached, shuffling toward her in a tattered robe, leaning on a wooden staff. Silver hair grew in wild, wiry tufts, a mottled pink scalp showing in patches. Moles dotted her wrinkled skin and a boil bulged from a cheekbone.

"Oh! Hello." Esther attempted to mask her shock. What kind of wretched life had this woman lived? She must be one of the traveling gypsies.

Jupiter woke and looked at the stranger, ears pressed down uncertainly.

The figure hobbled closer, her form so twisted that she struggled to look up at Esther's face. "Greetings! I did not intend to startle you."

Esther smiled sincerely. "It's not hard to startle someone who hasn't spoken to another human in days."

"Days?" The hag's voice rasped. "Goodness, child. Are you lost like me? I had hoped you could help this old woman find her way home."

A low growl thrummed in Jupiter's throat.

"No. I'm not lost." Esther bent and scrubbed Jupiter between the ears. "Shush now, boy." She shook her head and gave an apologetic smile. "I'm . . . I'm staying with the seven dragons."

Something stirred in the woman's muddled, watery eyes—once green, if Esther had to guess. "A privilege indeed, child. And where are the dragons now?"

"Oh, off galavanting around doing dragony things, I suppose." She waved a hand at the distant hills. "I'm not allowed to leave the vale so I'm not certain. It's boring, to be honest, though a couple of the dragons have remained behind to keep me company. Sort of."

The old lady frowned and cast about as if hoping to spy one of the behemoths. Jupiter snarled again and she jabbed her staff at the ground, quick as a striking serpent, making Esther jump and Jupiter run away.

She gave Esther an innocent shrug. "Just you and the mutt, eh? Poor, lonely, dear." With her free hand, she rummaged inside the pocket of her cloak. "Here. Perhaps this will cheer you."

Esther looked at the brilliant purple-red orb extended to her on misshapen fingers. An apple! "Oh, thank you." Esther grasped it, aware that her mouth watered at the thought of something so familiar yet hard to come by in this place. "It's a gorgeous apple."

"That it is." She gave Esther a toothless, slobbery grin. "And it tastes even better than it looks. Especially if you have teeth."

Esther giggled. "I bet it does." With eyes closed and mouth open, she took a great, satisfying bite.

SEVENTEEN

"For the last time, where is Vashti?" King Xerxes gripped the eagle-headed armrests of his carved, gilded throne. His calm voice belied his pent up rage as he stared down at his former advisor.

Haman squirmed beneath the pressure of Mordecai's boot against his neck. "I told you, I don't—ahhh!" He cried at the stab of pain that suddenly pinched his spine. "All right! I-I think she went to the dragons' vale."

Mordecai paled and increased the pressure. Because he could. Taking Haman down after King Xerxes summoned the weasel to the private throne room—the one where the real business of the kingdom took place—had given Mordecai a fulfilling rush. With each thrust of his boot, he savored it a little more.

Haman had swept into the room with his typical swagger. The sight of Xerxes with scepter, crown, and cloak left him shuffling to a stop, asking, "Is there official business afoot?"

Mordecai had slipped from the shadows flanked by two generals whom Xerxes knew to be loyal to the crown.

Haman's bravado fell away. "What's going on?" His gaze had darted from Mordecai to Xerxes.

"That's what I wish to know." The king rose.

Haman had made the mistake of trying to run.

With deft movements, Mordecai had forced the turncoat in a submission hold, taking him to the ground and pressing a victorious heel against his neck. It had been too easy, actually. Mordecai longed to have drawn a bit of blood or loosened a few teeth.

"The vale?" Xerxes leaned forward. "Elaborate."

Haman coughed and Mordecai eased up to let him speak. "The Vale of the Seven Dragons. She"—more coughing—"she disguised herself to get to the girl."

Someone pounded on the heavy wooden door. "Emergency message, Your Grace!"

"Enter." The king gave Mordecai a look of consternation.

Zethar the Eunuch stepped into the room, breathless. He took in Haman's forced prostration but kept his face professional. "Your Majesty, dragons have landed in the courtyard."

♕

Vashti writhed in the taloned grip of the bulky, black dragon. He had swooped upon her as she held her dagger overhead, ready to plunge it into the unconscious lump of a girl on the ground before her. A shadow had darkened the scene, pulling her focus skyward. A terrifying eyeful of barbed talon and dragon belly had invaded her vision, just before snatching her away.

She had screamed and cursed and blabbered incantations to no avail. The talons held fast and the searing pain left no doubt they'd punctured her skin. Behind this beast flew another, cradling the limp body of the girl in its grasp—much more carefully, Vashti noted. Five more dragons had joined the caravan across the sky, and Vashti could only wonder, and dread, what punishment she would soon have to face. It had been a lengthy flight, and her imagination had plenty of time to concoct various painful scenarios.

Now, she squirmed against the confines of the dragon's pincers as it pressed her to the ground, the talons barring any possibility of escape. Despite the wicked pain in her back, she squirmed in order to view her surroundings.

The courtyard. I'm in the courtyard of the palace.

Panic ebbed as relief washed over her—the dragon had brought her home! The palace guards would recognize her and demand her freedom. She was safe.

A breeze lifted her stringy hair and a tattered shred of her dress. They fluttered tauntingly in front of her face.

Relief shifted to anxiety.

They would not recognize her; she remained trapped in an old woman's body. And if the spell wore off in public, her secret would be revealed, and she would be hung for sorcery.

This would not turn out well.

Shouts and screams surrounded her. Though her view from the ground was limited—worsened by the eyesight of a hag—she glimpsed bodies running and heard the zing of weapons being drawn.

"State your business, Dragons of the Vale," commanded someone.

"We seek the king," boomed the voice attached to Vashti's taloned cage. "We bring him the usurper."

Vashti's heartbeat thrummed in her ears, shrouding the distant voices in a pulsing static. Usurper? How did the dragon know her intentions? With an effort, she mentally shrank away from her surroundings and burrowed into her thoughts. If she could make trans-mental contact with Orrador, he might be able to intervene in some way.

Wait! He had custody of the maidens. Perfect. She would bargain with their lives. If the king refused to grant her mercy, Orrador would be commanded to kill them via her mental powers.

Their life for mine.

Hope dared to kindle.

♕

Esther moaned. A blazing headache muddled her senses. What happened? She rubbed her forehead and risked prying open her eyes. Pewter scales loomed above her, offering a shadow of protection from the daylight. But why was she looking at Azarian's belly?

The surroundings slowly presented themselves. Grass beneath her prostrate body, shouts and movement in her peripheral vision. Her mind swam against the savage throb of her head, grasping for a thread of memory.

She had been sitting by the lake. Jupiter had been asleep. And then . . .?

The hag!

Adrenaline riddled her body, intensifying the stabbing in her temples. She clutched her head and cringed, fighting to recall what had taken place.

The kind, arthritic hag had offered her an apple. Yes! And Esther had enjoyed several sweet, juicy bites.

Or . . . or maybe it was just one bite.

Had it been sweet?

The end.

She could remember no more.

"Esther! Esther!"

Mordecai? She rolled toward the sound. The motion sent fresh waves of pain coursing through her brain, triggering nausea. Her insides felt all wrong.

But the sight of her uncle—just knowing he was near—made Esther certain that everything would be all right.

EIGHTEEN

Before leaving the private throne room, Mordecai had cuffed Haman's wrists. Frantic about Esther's safety, he had half-dragged, half-shoved Haman through the palace—a cutlass pressed against the man's ribcage. The two generals had flanked King Xerxes, while a contingent of guards surrounded the group, forcing Mordecai to slow his desperate sprint for the courtyard.

Once outside, they faced seven enormous, reptilian monsters. Fierce and beautiful in their own way, they churned up a mixture of awe and fear inside Mordecai, adding to the confused panic that had sprung up minutes before. Why were the dragons here? What did this imply about his niece's safety?

When he recognized Esther, laying motionless at the feet of one of the dragons, his heart lodged in his windpipe.

Then, she moved.

"Esther! Esther!" He thrust Haman at the nearest general, sprinting toward her.

"Wait!" Xerxes commanded.

Mordecai halted.

"I'll handle this. It is my lack of attention which brings us to this crisis."

It took all of Mordecai's faculties to concede to a king in whom he had little confidence. But he knew his place. "Yes, Your Highness."

Haman glowered.

Mordecai ignored him, relieved that Esther was near—was alive—even as he gaped at the mountainous visitors not a hundred yards away. He noticed another body squirming in the claws of the darkest dragon, an inky bulk of a beast.

"We seek the king," boomed the voice of a slender, silvery wonder.

Xerxes whispered something to the general on his right and stepped forward. "I am he."

"I am Nautilus, Warrior of the Hinterlands, descendant of Rispian the Resplendent, Grand-dragon of Akkadias of Eneglaam, Protector of the Vale." The dragon nodded at the lump of rags held by his stout companion. "We've brought to you your queen, the usurper."

The queen? Mordecai studied the crone.

King Xerxes strode forward. The generals shouted warnings, but he silenced them with a raised hand. He crossed the grassy expanse, stopping a dozen yards from the dragons. "I have no queen. Why do you bring me this hag?"

The ebony dragon grasped the writhing woman and dropped her near Xerxes's feet. A shriek escaped her throat on impact.

"She is your queen," Nautilus insisted. "A shapeshifter clad with a wicked incantation. Dragons are not fooled by such glamours."

The scraggly woman moaned and lifted her head, mouth foamy with saliva. She looked like she might speak but suddenly through back her head. Back arching, gnarled fingers clawing at the grass, she twisted and screeched and coughed.

Xerxes stepped back a few paces. Mordecai sprinted to the king's side, gripping his blade. The two generals followed.

Before them, the old woman morphed into a pale and trembling Vashti, still clad in rags.

"Vashti!" Xerxes stiffened.

"That's right!" she hissed. Dark circles ringed her eyes and sweat slicked her pasty skin. "And I've got the girls. Your precious, pageant pretties." Spittle flew from her mouth with each word.

"Uncle Mordecai!" A desperate, weak voice brought Mordecai round to where his niece lay. She lumbered to her feet. "Uncle Mordecai!"

He rushed to her.

She flung herself upon him, crying. "What's going on? What happened?"

"I don't know." He embraced her, lifting her briefly in the air. "We're trying to figure that out. But you're safe, my Estee. You're safe."

The two shuffled back to where Vashti continued to spout hateful accusations at Xerxes. The woman clambered onto unsteady legs, arms gesticulating wildly.

"Stand with the guards and keep a safe distance." Mordecai pushed Esther toward the king's men. They, too, had shifted closer to the scene. "I'll be with you when this is over."

"I'm not leaving your side." Esther grasped her uncle's cloak.

He relented, relieved to have her near. "Very well."

The two approached King Xerxes. His gaze flitted their way and—before they could return to Vashti—his focus snapped back to Esther.

She froze. Eyes on his, she curtsied. "Your Majesty."

Vashti lunged at Esther, wielding a dagger.

Mordecai gaped, unable to react. He had never seen someone move so fast—it was unworldly.

"This one dies if anyone lays a hand on me!" Vashti pressed the blade against Esther's throat. "And I warn you, only I know the incantation required to bring the girls out of their stupor. You harm me and they shall never wake again."

Mordecai weighed his attack options. He would not look on and watch Esther suffer.

"I see how instantly attracted you are to this one, Xerxes the Valiant," Vashti seethed, obviously emboldened by her advantage. "I knew your weakness would surface when you saw her. A pretty face, a youthful body. That's all Xerxes the Lascivious requires. Forget brains. Forget aptitude. Those won't be necessary."

She pressed her mouth against Esther's ear as if to share a great secret. "Be careful with the king, little girl. You're but the latest pretty in his toy box. He'll soon forget about you and want the next shiny thing that comes along." She jutted her chin at Haman who stood openmouthed between his captors. "And then Haman will pick up your shattered heart for himself. He lives for the king's scraps."

"That's enough, Vashti." The king's eyes flashed. "Don't hurt the girl."

Soldiers inched closer. The dragons stood haunch to haunch, an observant bulwark of armor blocking Vashti's escape from behind.

"I shall do more than that!" Vashti's dagger pressed against Esther's neck. Red rivulets blossomed beneath the blade. "If you want your pick of females to replace me, you will let me leave with this one as insurance. If anyone—soldier or beast—moves a muscle in my direction, I will telepathically command Orrador to execute the maidens." She laughed maniacally. "Yes! I have that kind of power. And," her smile became a sneer, "if anyone lays a hand on me, this one dies by my blade. You may think me easily overpowered, but my reflexes are quick and my dagger is sharp."

Mordecai struggled for breath. How had it come to this? A raspy and weak "No," escaped his throat.

"That's not an option." King Xerxes's gaze shifted from Vashti to Esther and back. "There must be another way to resolve this. What do you want?"

Vashti gave another short, hysterical laugh. "It doesn't matter if there's another way. You're so ineffective at ruling this kingdom, you don't know how little your way has ever mattered. I've influenced Susa more than you ever shall. So has Haman. You don't even recognize mutiny when it's sitting beside your throne or sleeping in your bed."

"You're right." King Xerxes's words were calm and assured. "I have failed the kingdom in countless ways. I failed you as a husband as well, I confess. But you've kept your true identity hidden, and you've crossed a line that can never again shift in your favor. If you relent from this wickedness, I shall let you live. You're not ready to face what awaits after death. Maybe with time, like me, you can begin to change."

NINETEEN

Esther trembled against Vashti's chokehold. The woman had unnatural strength.

". . . with time, like me, you can change," the king was saying. She found his candor refreshing.

Vashti gave a bitter laugh, the woman's sour breath making Esther cringe.

"Touching, Your Grace. Or should I say Your Dis-grace?" Vashti cackled again. "Such repentance is overdue and underwhelming. But let me be clear: lay a hand on me and I behead this beauty. Meanwhile, all of your lovely maidens shall die. Even now, I'm in contact with Orrador."

Xerxes only stared.

"Let me leave with this pretty prize, and I shall command my cousin to wake the girls. They shall live. It's a generous trade." She cut a hateful gaze to Haman, a snarl escaping her throat like the sound of a rabid animal. "And the palace playboy here can tell you where they're hiding. He's the one who arranged this little escapade, after all."

With a practiced twitch of the wrist, Mordecai suddenly pointed his cutlass at Vashti's temple.

"No, Uncle Mordecai! Don't!" Esther said as loudly as she dared.

Mordecai kept his blade trained on Vashti, but his gaze darted to Esther's, a question in his furtive movement.

"This . . . this is why I was rescued as a baby. This has to be it."

He glanced at her again. Esther didn't miss his exasperated plea; he wanted her to quit talking and let him take care of business.

His dismissive gesture only emboldened her. "I'm supposed to rescue others from destruction. Exactly like Abba prophesied. Clearly, I was delivered—saved—for such a time as this! Don't you see?"

"Ah, so touching. So brave!" Vashti growled. "This child has more guts than you, Xerxes. You're not worthy of her."

"Put the dagger down," Mordecai demanded, teeth on edge.

"I'll put it down—down into her pale, perfect throat." Her eyes darted past the king. "Call off your soldiers. I see them inching closer."

"Enough, Vashti." Xerxes snapped his fingers. "Mordecai, I don't want either of these women hurt. Stand down. I cannot risk the other girls dying." He called over his shoulder. "Guards, halt!"

Esther could feel Vashti's body trembling against her own. Mordecai stepped back but his white-knuckled grip remained on the cutlass as he lowered it.

"It's okay." Esther swallowed, aware of the steely blade which pressed against her every movement. "God rescued me for this purpose and I accept it. I'm prepared for whatever awaits me, even if I-I don't make it."

King Xerxes gazed at her with unabashed astonishment and admiration. Esther looked back, fortified by a great sense of purpose. She respected the king's humble strength. Despite all that this woman—and even her uncle—claimed about Xerxes's shortcomings, he exuded the opposite in the midst of this tense, pivotal moment. Here stood the King of Susa . . . willing to admit his flaws in front of his kingdom, pleading for a peaceful outcome. Perhaps he was a valiant king.

Or at least, he could be.

"Oh, what a sweet, little martyr. Ready to die for others. Ready to meet her high and mighty God," Vashti scoffed. "Your type sickens me! So weak and meek and subservient. How I'd relish watching you die—but you're more useful to me alive. For now."

"Let her go." The command was felt as much as heard. A shock of thunder that shuddered across the courtyard from the fierce, shining dragon behind Vashti and Esther.

Vashti quaked and wrenched toward the sound, taking the stumbling girl with her. An involuntary reaction, Esther guessed, as she herself had startled in response.

She blinked up at the towering form of Nautilus but couldn't quite focus. Pinpricks of light danced in her vision. Esther felt strangely lightheaded, aware of something warm and wet soaking her tunic and dribbling onto her boots . . .

TWENTY

The dragon's booming demand had caused a collective jump throughout the courtyard. Mordecai instantly took a defensive stance, then relaxed as his brain caught up with his instincts. The pale-scaled giant kept its crimson-slitted eyes trained on Vashti and Esther.

Mordecai looked away from the two women long enough to register what had happened. When he glanced back at his niece, she crumpled against Vashti. Had she fainted?

He stepped toward them. Before he closed the distance, Vashti shrugged Esther away like she might be contaminated. Esther collapsed. Vashti stared wide-eyed at the blade of her dagger smeared red with blood, dripping down the hilt and onto her fingers.

Mordecai swore and lunged at the woman, flinging her airborne with a blow of his shoulder. He landed on all fours near Esther's feet.

Vashti's scream was cut short when she hit the ground, losing both her breath and the dagger. Before Mordecai could turn to assess Esther, Vashti was scrambling for her blade despite desperate, groaning gasps for air.

Xerxes scooped Esther up, solving one problem, as Mordecai moved to intercept the other. A tremendous blast threw him backwards and he found himself blinking up at the cloud-strewn sky, disconcerted. How he had gotten there?

A hellish screech brought him bolt upright, heart galloping against his ribs. Esther?

Not three yards away, Vashti writhed on the ground—her hair, her clothes, her skin ablaze.

Mordecai gasped and stumbled to his feet, cutlass ready—but ready for what? Anger thrashed his thoughts—anger at himself for being one step behind and constantly off balance. He cast about, trying to make sense of the flaming witch, the burning grass that radiated out from her flailing body, and the soldiers that stood impotent and dumbfounded wherever he turned.

His gaze shifted to the dragons. They appeared as impenetrable as the stone wall encircling the courtyard—stoic reptilian ramparts. The seven beasts stared with laser-like intensity at the woman who suddenly lay coiled and quiet upon her burning bed.

A swirl of amber kindled behind the dagger-sharp teeth of Nautilus, Warrior of the Hinterlands. Mordecai watched as twin columns of smoke curled ominously from the creature's nostrils, drifting into the clouds.

TWENTY-ONE

"If Esther dies, I shall lose my own will to live."

Esther recognized her uncle's voice but couldn't puzzle out his words. Die? Why would I die? She struggled to speak, but her mouth would not obey. Nor could she open her eyes. Her heart fluttered in a fearful staccato, why couldn't she move?

"I want Esther to live as much as you," said another, unfamiliar voice. "But I have a kingdom to rule and I cannot do it alone. Have you considered my offer to replace Haman?"

A kingdom to rule?

"I can't answer you now. As long as Esther lives, I shall care for her. If she does not . . ." Mordecai's voice trailed off and Esther yearned to reach for him.

Again, she wondered why he feared for her life. She was fine. The Dragons of the Vale had protected her. If she could only rouse and tell her uncle that all was well—though, she had to admit, being trapped inside her body might indicate otherwise.

"There's only so much you can personally do for her," said the other man. "If you both remain at the palace, she will have the best of care. And you can be with her as often as you wish whilst using your skills and wisdom to help the realm."

She was at the palace? Then this man was no ordinary man—but the king. Like a breached dam, memories flooded in. The hag. The queen. King Xerxes. A dagger.

Instinctively, she reached for her neck, and this time her body cooperated. Her fingers felt like they belonged to someone else as they fumbled against her throat, clumsy and uncoordinated.

Her bandaged throat.

"Esther?"

She heard her uncle rush to her side, and now her eyelids obeyed as well. She blinked against the sunlight. Mordecai and Xerxes congealed in a dark blur beside her.

"Esther!" One of the blurs grabbed her hand and pressed it to his cheek. "Oh, my dear, you're going to be fine. Yes, fine! God is good! He's heard my prayers."

She smiled weakly.

"Guards, fetch the doctor. Esther has awakened." Xerxes's voice now carried from across the room.

Esther squinted. The king's form coalesced in the doorway of the small, distinguished space. Tapestries softened ornately trimmed walls. Chairs flanked an inviting fireplace with embers glowing in its belly. She opened her mouth but Mordecai held up his hand.

"Don't speak. You've been through too much." He kissed her temple. "But I see the light in your eyes, my Estee. That means you've returned to me, bringing light, once again, to my life."

Such sweet words! And what a wonder that she was here, in the palace, reunited with her uncle, and a guest of the king. But . . .

Her eyes widened. If she was here, where was Vashti? And what had become of the other maidens? "W-what . . ." her voice rasped. Despite her pain, and the finger Mordecai pressed across her lips, she had to continue. "W-what happened t-to the girls?"

King Xerxes now loomed above. He knelt at her bedside and she flushed to think how disheveled and frail she must appear. Yet his gaze was kind as he searched her face. "You saved them," he said.

"Me? How?" Her throat blazed in disapproval. "Vashti said—"

"Vashti is dead." Uncle Mordecai brushed her hair from her forehead. "Nautilus incinerated her after you fell to the ground."

Esther grimaced. "But, the girls . . . were they harmed? I thought she ordered their murder."

"I believe she died before she had the opportunity—if, in fact, she possessed such prowess." Mordecai continued to stroke her hair.

"Then the girls are well?"

"Better than well," Xerxes said. "Thanks to you, their enchantment was broken and they've returned to their families."

Esther searched his face, handsome as ever—she couldn't help noticing—despite the sleep-deprived crescents beneath his eyes. "How did I do that?"

He grinned. "With sacrificial love, it would seem. We're still piecing the events together, but since arresting Orrador, Vashti's cousin, we've—uh—encouraged him to expound on the magic."

"Please," she whispered, "expound to me."

Xerxes slipped his hand into Esther's. "When your willing blood tainted Vashti's enchanted dagger, it caused the undoing of whatever spell it had been originally used to incite. Your bloodshed—given, rather than taken—saved the maidens and brought them out of their entrancement."

Esther let that sink in.

"You slumped against Vashti after Nautilus bellowed for her to release you. She stepped back, alarmed, and you collapsed," Mordecai continued. "I shoved her out of the way and King Xerxes whisked you to safety. Nautilus—uh—cremated Vashti before anyone could intervene." He exhaled loudly, shaking his head. "Judging by her reaction, we don't believe Vashti meant to kill you just yet. We believe her blade sliced your neck inadvertently—when she turned to face the dragon. By God's grace, she missed your carotid artery. The king put pressure on your wounds and took you to his physician straightaway."

King Xerxes's thumb brushed her knuckles. "And we have kept vigil with prayers and bated breath at your bedside."

Esther gripped his fingers and struggled to sit up. Her uncle propped some pillows behind her back, with a disapproving frown.

"Sounds like a fairytale ending . . . rescued by the handsome prince—or in this case, king." She blushed at her own insinuation.

"A king in need of a queen." Xerxes's gaze probed her own, soft and pleading. "A queen that knows how to put the kingdom before her own interests. A queen that will help me do the same."

Esther's throat throbbed against the rush of blood to her face.

Mordecai stood and looked out the window, hands thrust into his pockets.

"I'd like for that to be you." King Xerxes kissed the back of her hand.

The warm flush that Esther felt made her think of the glow which often radiated inside the dragons' mouths. Surely her embarrassment must be emanating in a similar fashion. She glanced at her uncle for direction. He had never been a fan of Xerxes, the palace, or the government. Would he give his blessing to such a union? And could she envision such a future for herself?

"I know what you're thinking." Mordecai crossed his arms. "But Xerxes and I have renewed our acquaintance, finding common ground in our concern for Susa," he turned and smiled with his eyes, "and for you. Truly, His Highness has renewed my hope in the future of the realm—and renewed my desire to contribute to that future."

She studied one man and then the other, aware that one held her heart and the other desired to do so. "This feels like a happy ending to a near-tragic story."

"No." Her uncle shook his head. "It's much more than that. It's a story that prophecy and Providence have been writing since you were born." Mordecai knelt down and placed his hand on top of their entwined fingers. "A story that has been preparing you for . . . how did you phrase it when we were in the courtyard?"

Esther furrowed her brow, not sure what he was referring to.

"Ah yes!" His eyes twinkled. "A story preparing you—preparing all of us—for such a time as this."

THE END

This book was published as part of the Magic Mirrors, a collection of seven unique and exciting retellings of Snow White. Check out these other titles, each showing a side of the tale you've never seen before!

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About the Author

Award winning author Heather L.L. FitzGerald writes from her home in Texas, while dreaming of being back in the Pacific Northwest, where she grew up. She is drawn to books that become good friends—friends you want to revisit—the kind you wish to keep close. Those are the type of stories Heather aspires to write, ones worthy of delicious coffee and a lingering relationship.

Heather's a member of ACFW, Realm Makers, Oregon Christian Writers, and her local writer's group Manent Writers.You can connect with Heather on her website/blog, Facebook, Pinterest, Twitter, Instagram, and Goodreads.

For Such a Time as This 114
