Chapter 5—Father’s Apples

He remembered his princess most fondly when he ate apples. When they had been small, she had insisted he let her eat slices of apple from his fingertips, and he could still remember the moist velvet of her lips with each bite. She had trusted him implicitly back then. What had happened?

He might never know. But should he meet his end before seeing her, he would finally ask a wish from the Genie: for the freshest, most delicious apple in the world. Then he could bask in the taste of his darling’s little lips against his fingertips as the Genie dragged him down to hell.

***

Again, the desert dancer appeared to her in a blaze of sunlight and heat. The unseen drums beat out a heartbeat, the keening horns a cry, and the zills a tinkling of breath. She flung her fire-red ponytail about her like a whip.

On meeting Kyanna's gaze, she slowed into a simple hip shimmy, her hands aloft of her waist.

"What is it that you wish?"

As before, Kyanna didn't even hesitate. "Jeremy."

The woman shook her head, her smile sadder than before. "That isn't right. Men aren't something to be wanted. They come as a part of any life."

Kyanna huffed in frustration. "What is it that you want me to say? I want Jeremy."

"And what would happen if you had him? After all that’s been done, would you want that?"

Kyanna faltered. The scenario played before her in a blink of an eye. Einar's broken expression; her father's heavy disappointment; her new truth as an adulterer and a liar; the loss of her people's confidence and the loyalty of her favorite servants; Hope's dismay, every bit as heavy as her father's disappointment.

The woman flashed her a bronze and alabaster smile, her gold eyes glittering.

"Come here, little princess."

And without seeing her move across the space, the woman appeared right before her, taking up her hands with burning fingers. She tugged Kyanna across the sand, pulling her arms up, pushing her into a spin—but Kyanna stumbled and faltered. She wasn't sure what the woman wanted of her, or what she was trying to do. If she meant to make Kyanna dance like her in the burning sun and expanse of sand, that was impossible. She'd faint from the heat, not to mention look like a floppy drunkard.

"Who are you?" she asked.

In response, the woman turned Kyanna towards her, smiling, and bowed her head to place a soft kiss upon the princess’s brow.

Kyanna woke in a sweat, as though the heat in her dream had been real. The cold of her bedroom said otherwise. In the early morning ray, she wondered what had woke her. A loud sneeze followed by a hacking cough answered her question.

Ignoring the chill, she slipped out of bed and crossed the space to the couch. Sure enough, a bleary eyed, blotchy faced Einar looked up at her, a handkerchief to his nose.

"I'm so sorry I woke you," he said. His dark wheat hair stuck up in a perfect rooster's crest on his head, and she couldn't help but smile.

"You look like a chicken, sir Hero."

His eyebrows scrunched up, as though to ask why, before he stuffed an explosion of a sneeze into his handkerchief. Without thinking better of it, she slipped her hand onto his forehead. She couldn't be sure with the chill of the room to contrast against it, but it did feel hot to the touch, and his rooster's crest vibrated with his shivers.

"I declare you sick," she said imperiously, "And thus you shall suffer the consequences of your stupidity. Rain can’t make you sick, bah."

"I'll be fine," he said thickly before blowing like a trumpet into the already soiled cloth. "I've got the immune system of a horse."

"A horse wouldn't have gotten sick running around in a storm all day."

"A horse wouldn't have been dumb enough to run around in a storm all day."

"Ah, he learns."

He pushed his legs out from the quilt to stand. "I'll find a guest room for today so you can get more sleep. I'm sorry I didn't leave sooner."

He stood but, using the brief spell of dizziness that hit him, Kyanna pushed him back into the couch cushions. No point now avoiding him now, she figured, she’d probably get sick anyway. He’d already contaminated the air with his breathing.

"You aren't going anywhere. What would the staff think of me if I kicked out my sick husband just so I can sleep? It’s unseemly to sleep in till late hours of the morning anyways."

He blinked up at her, rubbing a temple and sniffing. She resisted the urge to make another chicken joke and went to her bed to pull off the comforter, which she also threw over the snotty, miserable-looking war hero.

"Thank you," he said, sounding touched (though it could have just been his stuffed nose).

"The words you're looking for are 'I'm sorry.' I’ll most likely get sick now too and that’s all I need to make this trip even dandier. This better not be another habit of yours."

"It won't be," and that particular, tender thing of a smile, the one that said too much and made her insides tense, spread across his lips.

She clenched the fabric of her gown. She shouldn't do things to bring on that smile. She loved Jeremy, after all, and deceiving Einar into thinking otherwise would only hurt them both, even if they were married. She shouldn't mislead him into thinking he could expect more of her. It wouldn’t be honest of her.

Even so…the woman in her dream was right. She wouldn't—not couldn't—return to Jeremy now. She valued other things more than the dark knight-to-be, and that in and of itself made her sick. Jeremy had been right. She hadn't loved him as he had loved her; she had been selfish. He had always sworn to have her first in his life, and she had promised him the same, but apparently, she had been lying, just as Jeremy said.

She had been acting spoiled to think she’d had been in a place to give Jeremy her loyalty in the first place.

She tossed a pillow at that stupid, smiling face.

"I'm getting dressed. Don't look."

Downstairs in the kitchen, Hope was already at work kneading the sourdough that had risen over night. Kyanna's sweetbread sat wrapped in cloth in the corner. She took it up.

"Sleep well, my Ky?"

"Well enough, though I had some pretty weird dreams."

"To be expected. Big change in your life right now." Hope's eyes caught the covered basket in her arms and frowned. "You better not be planning on eating sweets for breakfast."

"No, actually…" she went on to explain Einar's state, and the frown of disapproval melted into sympathy. Thus, Hope slipped in a closed bottle of venison broth from the night before and one of the most beautiful, huge apples Kyanna had ever seen, with skin a swirl of sunset colors.

"The royal family keeps a private apple orchard here, did you know?" said Hope. "We got here at just the right time. Gorgeous things, they are."

"No kidding. Extra one for me?"

And thus two apples joined the basket, along with a small knife to peel them.

Just then, the little scullery maid from the evening before came in, yawning. She still had her bonnet in her hand, revealing the massive poof of tightly curled, yellow orange hair Kyanna had suspected. She froze on seeing Kyanna, skin pale beneath her abundance of freckles.

Hope let out an impatient snort. "Finally. Can you believe the princess got up before you, you lazy arse? I expect a dozen eggs in my hands by the time I've got these loaves set."

"Actually," said Kyanna, suddenly remembering something. "The fire in our bedroom has died out and I doubt that cold's good for Einar. Would you mind lending her to me to stoke the fire?"

Hope flapped her hands in a shooing motion to say, ‘Go ahead.’ “But I still expect those eggs, Dianne. One more late morning and I'm writing to your folks.”

The girl nodded fervently, which made a rather awkward sight as she was trying to stuff her hair back into hiding beneath the bonnet. She was still fumbling with the strings by the time Kyanna and she stepped onto the landing of the honeymoon suite. Kyanna was just reaching for the doorknob when she heard the girl speak for the first time.

"Wait, your Highness."

She squeaked more than spoke. Kyanna pulled back her hand.

"Yes?"

"I-I have something…for you…from a—a friend." From her smock she pulled out a crisp envelope with a featureless, wax seal. Kyanna's name was scrawled across the front in an uneven script. Even as she received it from her outstretched hands, her heart picked up and heated at the same time her blood ran as cold as rainwater.

Before Kyanna could figure out what to do with it, let alone ask how the little maid had gotten a hold of such a thing, Dianne curtsied and slipped into the bedroom beyond. Without thinking, Kyanna hid the envelope in her blouse.

Inside, Dianne scurried to the couch side, curtsied (or more like jerked her skirts up and her head down), and all but ran to the fireplace.

Kyanna followed her, settling the basket on the coffee table.

"I hope you feel up to eating," she said.

Einar didn't look like he had even bothered to try and sleep after she left. He had somehow procured another handkerchief, though, and had that held beneath his chin should he need to swipe it to his face. He still smiled at her, however.

"If you wish me to eat, I shall."

"Please, I'd rather not watch you force yourself." She pulled out the venison broth first and set it within reach of him. Then she set out a napkin, topped it with a slice of the sweet bread, and then settled down to work on the first apple. She tried not to be too aware of the sharp corner of the envelope digging into her breast.

"That apple," he said. "It's beautiful."

"Same thing I said. Apparently, there's an orchard here on the property." Even as she nibbled on the first slice of skin she had peeled off, she inwardly purred at the perfect balance of sweet and tart. When the storm cleared up, she'd make the most glorious apple pie.

Surprisingly, rather than reaching for the broth, he picked up the sweet bread and took a tentative bite. Then, eyes widening in surprise, he took another, bigger bite.

"Again, Chef Hope has blown me away. What is this?" He took another bite and chewed slowly.

"Just some bread I made last night."

His eyes went wider. "You made this?"

Despite the cold hard point of the letter, Kyanna couldn't help but smile. She lived for moments like these: when someone enjoyed her baking.

A sudden clanging and a cry like a large mouse brought their attention away from their breakfast. Dianne had snapped her hands from the fireplace, where an ember had popped and set the kindling alight. She had her fingers to her mouth.

"Oh, don't do that!" Einar threw the blankets aside, left his tart, and got to his feet. He stumbled a bit but made it to the tiny maid with random screws of her ginger hair popping messily around her bonnet. He grabbed a pitcher from a washstand besides the fireplace and kneeled down next to her. "Give me your hand. Do you have a handkerchief? Good, let me borrow that."

As Kyanna watched, the peel of apple in her mouth went bland. The discomfort only grew as she watched the blush spread across the girl’s face as he dipped her fingers and the handkerchief in the cold water and wrapped the later around the first.

"Your mouth is too hot for a burn and it’s a very dirty place,” he was saying. "Last thing you want to do is stick a wound in it."

There was no mistaking the faraway look in the girl's eyes as she watched him. Behind them, the newborn fire gobbled at the kindling and doubled.

But could Kyanna really blame her? No noble would display such kindness as to leave their sickbed to tend to an unthreatening burn, let alone that of a servant's. And many a greater woman had fallen for Einar, from the stories of his bravery and goodness, combined with his boyish handsomeness.

Kyanna put the knife and half-peeled apple on the table.

"Excuse me, I just forgot something."

Away from the scene and in the privacy of an unused storage room, Kyanna came to herself.

"Ridiculous," she hissed to herself. "You don't even like him."

No. She couldn't be jealous.

No. Worse.

She was afraid.

She clenched her eyes tight and slid down the smooth, plaster wall. The dim and silence of the storage room comforted her, but she clenched the heavy pendent through her dress.

I know of no husband who could wait forever for their wife to love them.

Either she lied about her feelings and handled that on her conscience, or she lost her chance to have any sort of loving marriage. She was already nothing that he wanted or needed, a known hot-tempered woman, a weak-willed, spoiled princess, pitiful enough to be jealous of a man she didn’t even want.

Jeremy had deserved more. Einar already did.

Trembling, she pulled out the letter from her blouse, warmed by her skin, to reread Jeremy's handwriting on the front. The yellow morning light from the cracks between the dusty curtains was just enough to read by.

The conflict became very real. She wanted nothing more than to read the letter, to hear the comfort of the lover she missed so much, but she knew she mustn't. It would be wrong.

She broke the seal and unfolded it.

Kyanna, All my talents flee When you aren't there.

My darkness is my lover, Not the sunshine princess.

And even though, to look Would damn me, I can't move on.

I can't.

And never will.

J.

She returned to her bedroom some time after to find Dianne gone and Einar asleep on the couch. Cold, hot, burning alive, she went to the fire like a zombie and tossed the letter in, telling herself the curling parchment would make the feelings go away.

"Princess…"

Inside she flinched, though her limbs seized up.

"Yes?" she prayed her voice sounded normal.

"These apples remind me of a story.”

She puffed a breath of relief and brushed her skirts out of habit before she stood.

“I’m not surprised,” she said. “You and stories.”

She returned to his side to pick up where she had left off peeling the apple, to find nothing but a core remaining. He gave her a sheepish smile of gratitude. "Sorry. I sort of, um, have a thing for apples."

"At least you left one for me." She took up her own. "Anyways, what's this story of yours?"

He raised an eyebrow. "You actually want to know?"

She shrugged, eyes to her apple. Anything to distract her from the sick squeezing in her gut.

He coughed to try to clear his gravelly throat, but it didn't do much to help, so he settled with what he got. “It’s a story my grandfather told my mother after my father died. She was pregnant with me at the time and needed all the comfort she could get. Though personally, I think it just reminded her how much he was gone every time she saw an apple tree after that. Not much help. But…” he sniffed and felt around the couch side. “Grandfather seemed to think so.”

"Here," she pulled a clean handkerchief from her pocket, which he thanked her for and blew his nose. Her first ring of apple skin broke and she took the chance to nibble on it. “These are amazing.”

“Aren’t they?”

“Can I hear it?”

The look he gave her was different from the times before. The smile was weak, and the bright blue of his eyes seemed dulled, maybe because he was sick. Perhaps she’d gone too far letting him tell her a story while he was sick, but before she could change her mind, he had started.

“There was once a couple who had the bad fortune to marry during a time of war. Due to this circumstance, only a month or so after they were brought together, the young husband was drafted into war and killed before she had even conceived their first child. They brought him home in a cart filled with flowers and buried him behind their small home. Her grief carried her away for weeks on end, shrinking her world down to the walls of the cottage he had built for her. She could never see herself falling in love again.

“Eventually, however, her elderly parents had had enough and urged her to pull herself back up. After all, he may be dead, but she was still very much alive, and even when the worst happens, it’s a beautiful thing that life can still carry on. As she allowed her mother and father to pull her outside, her eyes automatically flew to her husband’s grave. To her shock, a large, beautiful apple tree with shining silver bark and gold leaves had grown over his body, breaking his tombstone in two. The widow only had to wonder for a moment why no one else, including her parents, had caught sight of the ethereal tree before realizing the cottage and surrounding hedges her husband had planted for privacy had kept it hidden from view.

Awestruck, the little family’s gaze caught onto a single red apple hanging from the branches, skin like a glimmering ruby and as large as a small melon.

Her father plucked it down and handed it to her.

‘A gift from your beloved,’ he said.

No sooner had she bit into the flesh than she felt her husband’s love, washing away her grief and soothing her terrible loneliness.

“The widow refused her parent’s request to move back with them, finding new resolve in caring for the tree and cottage her true love had given her. Her will to live reborn, she threw herself back into her sewing and tapestry, soon displaying a remarkable gift in her embroidery that drew people from miles away to purchase from her. This way, she provided for herself.

“The season drifted by, and the golden leaves of the apple tree never left. Even in the dead of winter, when all the other trees had shed their leaves for the long sleep, the apple tree kept its coat of gold, and if the widow drew close, she swore she could feel the faintest warmth, like the touch of fingers, radiating from them.

“Nine months after she had eaten the apple, she gave birth to a little boy, who she knew, at a glance, was the son of her deceased husband. Still, in order to avoid shame on her head and his, she made it sound as though he were older than he really was so as to date his conception to the time when her husband was still alive. In that way, nobody questioned her, and nobody knew of her son’s miraculous conception.

“Yet later, in the Spring following the boy’s birth, the widow stepped out into her backyard to hang up some wet laundry and found her attention instantly snatched by yet another beautiful red apple hanging in the tree’s branches. Without thinking she dropped her basket and rushed forward to pluck it down, desperate to taste of her husband’s love once more…”

Einar had been making small, throat clearing coughs through his narrative, as inconspicuously as possible, but just then he broke into a fit of hacking.

Kyanna frowned from her seat, clenching her hands at the sound. She pressed her lips tight until he finished.

“Perhaps you shouldn’t finish,” she said, peeved though she didn’t want to show it. She wasn’t entirely sure why she felt so irritated. “If your cough was that bad, you shouldn’t have offered. A man should know how to take care of himself.”

He laughed, short and dry. “Perhaps I was hoping to receive some of your tender care.”

She stiffened. “The only tender care left to be done for idiots who get themselves sick is to leave them to sleep.” She stood.

But he caught her skirt as she made to pass him. “No, please stay. I can still finish.”

She sniffed. “What is there even left? She’s making babies with a tree.”

“Princess, how crude.” But his eyes were laughing.

She yanked her skirts from his grip, her neck growing warm. “I say it how it is.”

“Is this yet another scolding for not telling a proper love story?” he struggled to hold back a cough with his hand.

“Her husband’s dead. What love story could there be?”

“It’s coming, I swear. Just hear it out.”

The smile he gave her, now paired with feverish blotches and too shiny, sleepy eyes, was more goopy and puppy-like than ever, and she found herself groaning. To refuse him now felt akin to refusing to play with a lonely child. Besides, what else did she have to do? Wasn’t like she had ever been a huge fan of reading and the weather wouldn’t allow a horseback ride.

Besides, why should she be the one to care about his health or the state of his throat? He certainly didn’t.

Thus, she plopped herself back down in her armchair, arms crossed.

“Do as you please.”

He cleared his throat, not doing anything to hide his self-satisfied grin.

“Alright. Where was I?”

“Making babies with a tree,” said Kyanna flatly.

He chuckled, which made him cough a bit, but it calmed soon enough for him to continue.

“Nine months after she had eaten the apple, she gave birth to yet another son whose birthday was only a day after his elder brother’s. This time she wasn’t able to hide the sudden appearance of a child where there was no husband, and the village came to assume she had bedded a passing stranger, though unhappy wives in the village became known to accuse their husbands of siring the widow’s child should they so much as hint at being unfaithful. If the widow had ever had hopes of remarrying in the future, they were now dashed. According to the beliefs of the village and surrounding folk, no man would wish to marry a whore, let alone raise another man’s children.

“The widow had never wanted her children to grow up being titled as bastards. She had never wanted them to ever question who their father was either. But she knew telling of the apple tree would only ruin her and her children’s reputation even further.” Einar gave the princess a crooked smile. “’Making babies with a tree’ and all.”

Kyanna rolled her eyes. “You actually like that I said that, didn’t you? Filthy man.”

Einar chuckled, but didn’t deny it, which made her neck grow hot again.

“Thus, when the next spring came along with the appearance of yet another beautiful apple, the widow ignored it, fearing that as soon as she touched it, she’d be unable to resist biting in. But, fearing more what might happen to the apple should someone else obtain it, she plucked it down and quickly threw it into the fire. No sooner had she done so then she found herself mourning its loss. The apples were the only way she could feel the love of her husband, and having to raise two babies by herself with few friends to speak of, the woman was terribly lonely.

As though in answer to her grief, a month later, another apple grew in its place, this one a vibrant, emerald green.

Unable to quell her need and curiosity, she ate the apple, which was somehow even more sweet and divine than the reds had been.

Once more, she conceived and gave birth to a son, this one looking more like her than the first two, sired beneath a red apple. And in this manner, after five years had passed, she found her home stuffed to the gills with five beautiful, healthy, wonderful little boys that were all that a parent could hope for. Even at five, the eldest boy was eager to help his mother around the house and had the strength of one twice his size. She soon found her loneliness forgotten as the adoration of her children sustained her day in and day out. Soon her reputation as a whore gave way to her reputation as a wonderful mother as the beauty, health, happiness, and good behavior of her five sons became famous.

“The spring after her fifth son was born, the apple that grew in the tree was a brilliant gold. No longer fearing anymore children, she ate it happily and found the sickness that had been plaguing her for the last week vanished. To her surprise, no baby followed after, though her health remained perfect, and the lines and gray hairs stress had given her faded away for a renewed youth.

“Years passed and her boys grew up into young men renowned for their honor, strength, and handsomeness. Young women from all around sought them for husbands, even princesses from neighboring kingdoms. At first, the widow feared these suitors of her sons greatly, dreading the day one of her beloved children should leave her. She believed the moment the first one left her they would all leave, and she’d once more be alone in the little cabin, waiting each spring for an apple to thaw the ice of her heart. But the boys, ever aware of their mother’s wellbeing, sensed her unease and refused every love-struck maiden, turning instead to comfort their mother, who had aged little since the day of their birth.

“As time passed, however, and the youngest son came into his manhood, the brothers found themselves unable to stand the yearning in their souls to find a wife to cleave to. The ache within them sapped the strength from them and they found themselves too weary to work. When the eldest hinted towards such pain, their mother grew so deathly pale and faint the boys feared for her health. Her reaction frightened them once more into keeping their faces turned inward from the outside world.

“All of them but the youngest.”

Another coughing fit took over Einar, harsher and stronger than the last.

Shaken from the daze the story had casted over her, Kyanna groaned and pinched her nose.

“I’ve humored you long enough.” She stood, thinking of returning to the kitchens to pass the time with cooking. “Sleep.”

He ran a hand down his face with a moan. “But I’d just got to the good part.”

“You can tell me it later. Weird to see how much you enjoy telling stories. It isn’t like you don’t already know the ending.”

The corner of his mouth that she could see outside the palm of his hand curved up.

“Perhaps you should try it sometime,” he croaked before falling into another fit of coughing.

Not likely, she thought as she closed their bedroom door behind them. Any story I had to tell would only be depressing.