Page 41 of Feathered Thief

Even as he spoke, the tree assured her:Friend meet friend.

Something like exultation filled her. “I accept your terms, Your Majesty.”

“If she identifies the thief,” Prince Dominik interjected, “I shall pursue and capture it.”

“Your brother will have first chance.” The king tossed the correction over his shoulder while walking away.

The prince gave her a closer look. “Where did you learn to curtsy like a lady?” he inquired.

Lenka opened her mouth, considered his question, and sucked in a quick breath before admitting, “I don’t know.”

One dark brow twitched before he gave her a slight bow. “I wish you all success.”

As he walked away, she looked at Papa, who shook his head in evident confusion.

That evening, while they ate a hasty supper, Papa Hrabik begged her to reconsider. “The king was once a kind and just ruler, but he has changed in recent years. It’s those apples.” He gave her a foreboding look. “He won’t hesitate to punish if you fail.”

“I know, but I’m not worried, Papa. I will see the thief, my tree told me so. Besides, backing out would be as bad as failure in the king’s eyes. Either way, I’m tending hogs.”

His eyes still begged, but his warnings ceased. “Since you ask me to trust the word of a tree, I will pray it is right.”

“Thank you.” She reached across the table to pat his hairy forearm.

“I could watch and wait with you,” he offered.

“No, Papa. I must do this alone. I think . . . I think it might be connected somehow with my past,” she admitted before thinking the words through.

“I am sure it is.” He sighed deeply. “Even the prince can see that you are a lady and a beauty.”

“You see me through the eyes of love, as I see you.”

At the cottage door she gave him a quick hug, slung her knapsack over one shoulder and her quiver over the other, picked up her bow, and set out.

When she slipped through the garden’s portal, the watchman scowled and shook his head. She merely waved in return. Her tree welcomed her even before she climbed the hill. Pink, white, and gold, the hues of apple blossoms, streaked the evening sky, and stars already dotted its expanse as she set up a little camp in a place where her view of the apple tree would be unimpeded and the ripest apple would be within easy bowshot.

Once settled, she softened a ball of candlewax in her hands, then molded it into plugs, which she stuffed into her ears. When she could barely hear the night insects and other creatures, she asked the apple tree, “Will you wake me if I doze off?”

Friend come.

Another non-answer. Lenka sighed.

Wake friend.

“Thank you.”

Trusting in her dubious understanding of tree speech, she grasped her bow and a ready arrow, then leaned back against the gnarled trunk of a linden tree from which she had an unimpeded view of the apple tree. No matter how hard she clung to consciousness and duty, snippets of her archery dream kept appearing in her mind.

She woke abruptly to distant music and light glowing through her eyelids.Friend here,the tree announced.

Lenka squinted, striving to adjust to the radiance. Was it sunrise and she’d missed the thief? No, the sky was still black and starry. That brilliant light emanated from a magnificent golden bird perched beside the ripe golden apple.

She reached for her bow but let her hand drop. She could never shoot this creature. Its beauty stole her breath and all lucid thought.

Had she seen it somewhere before?

When the bird opened its beak, Lenka heard a distant sound like a trilling flute.

“Are you trying to enchant me?” she asked. “I have wax plugs in my ears.”

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