Page 36 of Feathered Thief

Gaze lowered, she said, “The apple will prove or disprove my prediction, sire. Any attempt to deceive you would be . . . well, fruitless.”

Prince Dominik snorted. “Good one.”

“You’re willing to stake your life on a random guess?” Prince Marek asked.

“It is not a random guess, sir.”

A shimmer passed through the tree as she spoke, and an instant later Prince Dominik shouted, “Look!” pointing at the apple.

Utter silence followed. Nearly doubled in size, the fruit gleamed gold in the sunlight.

Prince Marek turned a suspicious glare on Lenka. “Are you an enchantress?”

“I don’t think so,” she answered honestly. “The tree is magical, not me. It understands everything we say and was trying to help me.”

“If a tree chooses to ripen its fruit at your suggestion, you must be a mage,” the king stated. “Perhaps a low-level mage, but still magical.” He stepped forward and plucked the ripe apple, which emitted a lovely scent.

Was it possible to be an enchantress without knowing? She looked at Papa Hrabik, who shrugged.

“Which apple will be next?” Prince Dominik seemed more curious than suspicious.

Papa caught her gaze, then widened his eyes. Having no idea what he was trying to communicate, she answered the prince’s question by indicating a green apple a few branches to her right.

“They usually ripen overnight,” the king pointed out. “Will that one ripen tonight?”

She looked at the tree, which didn’t respond. “I don’t know for sure,” she admitted. “This is the first time I’ve known it to produce more than one golden apple per day.”

The king rounded on his two sons. “We dare not take the chance. One of you must stand watch tonight. If the thief makes another attempt to steal an apple, you must capture or kill him.”

The princes both offered at once, which evidently pleased the king. “Marek, as my heir, you are hereby granted the honor of safeguarding our greatest source of treasure and apprehending the perpetrator.”

Although nothing unusual immediately followed the business about the apples, that day’s labor in the king’s garden passed like a strange dream while Lenka’s mind focused on the mystery. Someone or something had stolen a golden apple during the night without leaving so much as a footprint. The tree claimed the fruit was taken by a friend. That mysterious woman? Or a bird? Many songbirds visited the garden every day. But why would a bird steal an apple it couldn’t eat? And what songbird could carry off a solid-gold apple?

It was all so confusing!

That evening, just after she said goodbye to the tree and turned to leave for home, Prince Marek returned to the hilltop wearing a breastplate and helmet. He carried a bow, a full quiver, and a small sword, plus several daggers at his belt. “Before you go, point out the next apple to ripen again,” he ordered sharply.

Lenka recognized the fragile pride of the man. He was handsome to the point of beauty—with pale skin, glossy dark hair, silvery eyes, a strong build, and chiseled features—yet he lacked respect for himself or anyone else.

“Yes, sir. You can triangulate the apple’s location using the rowan and hawthorn trees.”

The prince was too busy scorning her to glance at the other trees. Since she couldn’t make him pay attention, she simply did her duty. “This is the apple to watch, the one with a dent right here and the two tiny leaves on either side of this large leaf.” She pointed out each distinctive feature. “You see how it hangs on its own twig just below these two smaller apples?—”

“Like a dozen others,” he muttered. “Run along now.” He waved her off, and she was happy to go.

Papa Hrabik and Lenka were halfway to the cottage before he asked: “What are you thinking?”

She glanced at his craggy profile. “I think the crown prince disdains even the idea of magic.”

He grunted—his version of a laugh—but said nothing.

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

“I’m thinking Mama Hrabikova would’ve had my hide for letting you talk to that prince. Did you bag any rabbits today?”

“No, only three pigeons who were decimating the cherries in the king’s favorite tree.”

“They’ll roast nicely,” Papa said.

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