Lymeria

By Kristina Coia

When a young girl finds a mysterious silver bauble hiding beneath a cabinet in her grandmother's house, a spellbinding, epic tale unfolds

Wynne, a humble kitchen maid, and her friends, Princess Avariella, Prince Jared, and Aric, a stable hand, find adventure and wonder in the world of Lymeria. The four friends are pulled into a labyrinth of riddles and trickery in their desperate attempt to stop the evils of the dreaded wizard Cepheus.

Kristina Coia, author of Falcon's Prey, has written a captivating tale full of twists and turns, in which four friends work together to outwit the forces of evil while discovering the power of love and the bond of friendship.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Aug 3, 2007
• ISBN: 9780595895830

Kristina Coia

Kristina Coia (www.AriaArts.org) has been writing since kindergarten and is the author of Falcon?s Prey. She is a motivational speaker for young girls, as well as an aspiring actress and singer. Coia attends high school in New Jersey and lives with her mother and four furry friends.

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Lymeria

Copyright © 2007 by Kristina Coia

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

ISBN: 978-0-595-45268-2 (pbk)

ISBN: 978-0-595-69347-4 (cloth)

ISBN: 978-0-595-89583-0 (ebk)

Contents

Acknowledgments

Prologue

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

Also by Kristina Coia

Falcon’s Prey

To

Frederick A. Coia (a.k.a. Pop-Pop). You’ll never know just how much I care!

Acknowledgments

I cannot give enough gratitude to my mother for making this possible yet again.

Thanks to Mike McCarty for the wonderful artwork.

I would like to thank Andrea Gingerich for yet another great author photo.

And of course, I have to give unending thanks to my Mom-Mom, who has done everything for me my entire life.

Thank you all from the bottom of my heart.

Sail on. Sail on, maiden, sail on. Sail on, for after each night comes a dawn.

Prologue

How many are there? he asked heatedly.

Too many, my lord, his advisor answered, as beads of sweat formed upon his brow.

The Great King stopped pacing the throne room to run his hands across his face.

Friemus, he said, his voice betraying his fear, there is no other choice but to take action. We will defend ourselves to the death.

Yes, Your Majesty. Friemus bowed his head and left the room with shaking hands and a heavy heart.

The Great King let out a long sigh and placed his hand upon his sword, which had only ever been used to decorate the mantle. There had never before been conflict in The Great King’s land while he was upon the throne. No one could ever have predicted the Monideks’s ride from the west. The Great King had not been informed of King Maldren, a rebel tyrant from the west, who sought to rule his neighboring lands to the east. He whose armies were riding fast toward The Great King’s domain.

With forced apathy, The Great King pulled the sword from its plaque, which was hot from the blazing fire beneath the mantle. But the cold sadness in The Great King’s heart was stronger than the heat in his hands.

He had always been afraid that the day of hatred would come, for he could not bear to suffer the pain of war again. It had once claimed his parents and thrust him upon the throne while he was still a child. To be plunged back into a whirlwind of revulsion was almost more than he could bear.

The Great King twirled the metal handle of his sword in his hands, acquainting himself with its smooth texture and winding gold handle.

The time of destruction was upon him, and he was ready.

1

The light of the candle wavered as an early spring breeze trickled in through the old, oak door of the cottage. A small, golden-haired, dimple-faced girl trickled in also, carrying a wicker basket.

Good evening, Grandmother! she chimed as she set the basket on the table beside my chair. Her curls bounced as she searched inside it feverishly. After a bit of frustration, she found what she was looking for: a loaf of freshly baked bread.

Mother made it special for us, Grandmother. It’s your favorite! she said as she ripped off a small piece and handed it to me. The sweet smell of emyht and lisab herbs wafted toward me as I reached out to take it from her tiny, soft fingers, as fair as a dove.

She turned and ventured toward a dusty, scratched, old, wooden cabinet and from it produced two clay dishes, too heavy for her small arms. She gasped as the plates slipped to the floor and shattered.

Grandmother, I am so sorry! I— Her lip trembled.

There’s no need to apologize, dear. Just clean it up. I offered a reassuring smile.

Her fingers went to work picking up the shards of clay spattered across the woolen, braided rug. Something caught her eye, and she reached under the cabinet. Forgetting the broken pottery, her fingers strayed across a silver, oval bauble attached to a chain as thin as string. As she walked toward me, she tried to brush the dust out of its crevices and intricate designs.

Grandmother, what is this? she asked, her eyes wide.

Come, sit beside me, I said, as whispers of memories grew from shadows in the back of my mind into images, clear as day, right before my eyes. I settled back in my chair and began.

Once upon a time, there lived a young maiden by the name of Wynne ...

♦ ♦ ♦

Come, Raine. It’s just a brush! Wynne argued with her horse in a desperate attempt to steady her. I’ve been doing this since you were a foal, and you haven’t ceased to struggle with me! I will never understand you!

Raine gave a snort of offense. Wynne giggled. Well, if you would let me brush you, I would give you a treat! But I guess you don’t want any, so— She turned to leave. Raine’s golden ears flickered up in alarm, and she nudged Wynne’s arm with her nose.

Wynne’s smile grew broader. Ah, so you do want your treat, then! Well, I guess you will just have to hold still! She brought the brush to the mare’s milky, gold mane once again. Reluctantly, Raine stood still until the task was complete.

There, said Wynne with a sigh of accomplishment. That wasn’t so hard, was it? Raine gave another snort of discontent, and Wynne laughed, a sound as sweet as water trickling in a brook.

After producing a sweet elppa fruit, which Raine gobbled up in seconds, she wrapped her arms around the mare’s shimmering neck, rested her head on her soft mane, and whispered in

her ear, You’re my favorite, you know. Just be sure that the others don’t hear it!

Wynne released Raine from her grasp and closed the heavy, wood stall gate. With a quick good-bye, she set out from the stable, singing a merry tune. Her voice was as beautiful as the sunrise peeking over the hills behind her. Every morning, stable hands and servants would awaken from their slumber to Wynne’s happy melodies.

This day was no different. Wynne made her way past sleepy cottages to the market, where she met with heavy-eyed bakers and butchers who placed mounds of goods to bring to the castle in her basket.

When she arrived at the palace kitchen, Wynne began preparations for the royal breakfast feast, as usual. The first to arrive that morning was old Ramona, the kitchen’s chief overseer. Her age-whitened hair was gathered tightly at the nape of her neck, and her bright blue eyes glowed with wisdom.

Wynne, Ramona said with a tender smile, you never fail. Whatever would we do without you?

Plenty, I’m sure. Ramona, the market gave me the first egn-aro fruits of the season. Isn’t that wonderful? You know they are His Highness’s favorite. Would you like me to start the pastries? Then we’ll have time to make jam.

Ramona sighed and placed her hand upon Wynne’s shoulder. "I would like for you to slow down a bit. You’re making me tired. Now, if you would like, you can start on the pastries, but don’t even begin to think about anything else until they’re finished, Wynne. I mean it.