Foxgloves Are For Deception: Stand With Me, #1

By Clair Gardenwell

Magic always has a price.

 

The legendary kingdom of Lyquirz. A kingdom of life, magic, and death. Ruled by a queen with an iron hand so stiff that no one even dares speak her name, the people hide their magic lest they be recruited into an army and forced to fight in a battle that leads only to death. 

 

But there is one.

 

Regina Laelia, a girl cursed by birth, an herbalist in training, and the kingdom's only hope. Her magic is the darkest kind, shadow magic, capable of manipulating people against their will. Day and night, she hides her magic to avoid detection, but fate can't be avoided for long. Destruction, fire, and death throws her into a desperate race for survival, one that she has to win at all costs. 

 

She's not alone. 

 

Joined by her childhood friend turned doctor with an insatiable flirty attitude for the ladies, a blind ex-knight who seems determined to protect her at every turn despite his hatred for magic, and a baby dragon that can't stand her in the least. She has to learn that sometimes you have to be a little bad to be good, and that her past and her future is more mysterious than she knows.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Clair Gardenwell
• Release date: May 21, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201913427

Clair Gardenwell

Hi! I'm Clair and thanks for reading my work! I'm a total book nerd and awkward introvert. My favorite things are fairy tales, suspenseful fantasy, steamy slow burn romances, and fluffy dogs and cats. If you would like to keep up to date on all my newest works, please don't hesitate to sign up for the email newsletter. I hope to see you again soon! 

Book preview

~1~

Icould hear it.

The pain filled screams that split the quiet air so accurately that it was like a razor edged knife was slicing right into my ears. I let my gloved fingers drift over the heavily ruffled edge of a pale orange and sunset gold flower, trying to remember the exact ailments that the blossoms could treat once dried and crushed to be brewed into a flavorful tea, but the memory itself was slow to come. My eyes shuttered closed, trudging through the forest of my memories until I found the very one I was looking for. Marigold will slow cramps and stomach pain, I softly repeated under my breath, closing my eyes again and letting my fingers map each and every one of the frilly blossom’s many layers. When used as a poultice, marigold has properties to help promote proper healing of a wound. 

Then just as quick as they came, the horrifying screams ceased only to be replaced by a desperate pleading for someone not to do this, not to take away their livelihood and their son together. My fingers tightened, the thick heads of the Marigolds snapped from their frail green stems. Leaving a faint stain of sticky sap puddled on the thick leather of my gloves, I didn’t take time to wipe it off before I tucked the blossoms into my basket, scrambling to my feet and quickly leaving the small sun warmed space between two massive oak trees.

However, I wasn’t quick enough to escape the sharp crackle of searing fire taking hold in straw dried to a pleasant crisp in the sun, of someone’s hard work quickly melting in piles of smoldering grey ash, reducing months of back breaking labor into nothing more than a waste of both time and resources. I ran as quickly as I dared, thanking the One himself that I had the forethought to wear my old leather breeches today instead of the faded ankle length skirt that Grandmother usually liked for me to wear. The basket bumped into my knees with every stride, the medicinal herbs and plants that I had spent most of the morning gathering threatening to spill at times, but were quickly stayed by my hand for just a few moments more. 

No matter how fast and hard I ran through the forest I normally called home, I couldn’t escape the cries as someone’s life was once again burned into nothing at the heart of a fire. Tears beaded at the corners of my eyes, blurring my sight as the forest around me turned into a mixture of lush green and dirt brown, misery and dread pulling a painful knot tight in my chest.  Recruitment has happened so frequently now that it seems like there is a new victim every day whose screams float in the wind. Young, old. Sick, healthy. Rich, or poor. It doesn’t matter to her army. If you show an exceptional talent for magic besides basic spellcasting, then you are recruited for the Queen’s army to defend the kingdom of Lyquirz from the foreign invaders of the royal empire of Damask to our north. A bloody, endless battle over a stretch of worthless land that has value to neither kingdom but only for the sake of winning a long standing war.

And I hate it.

I hate the way that she makes them fight for a piece of empty desert land that’s been paid for by the innocent blood of too many lost lives. I hate the way that she wants the kingdom to show off its military might, but she refuses to protect the heart and soul of the people who live inside this kingdom. Does she not realize how beaten and broken they are? How their lives and livelihoods are stolen for the sole sake of swelling the ranks of an already massive army? How fabricating evidence of a rebellion is so common in the army that the soldiers are just as corrupt as the knights that govern the smaller day to day running of her areas? 

I guess there’s a lot of things that I would like to ask the queen. Especially why she gave up me, her only daughter by blood, to rule a kingdom that hates her.

I’ll probably never get the chance, she’d have her armies kill me on sight. 

The familiar shadow and sun dappled forest grown so thick with massive trees as old as the ages themselves parted to allow the wandering path of a small stream to cross through between the root gnarled ground, the crystalline waters burbling softly as they traveled over stones worn smooth with time and only split when the lazy strokes of a plump fish slowly swam in the direction of its choosing. I paused for a moment along its soft mossy banks, partly to allow myself a moment to rest my aching feet from the frantic race and the other to gather a small selection of oblong, many segmented leaves from a young Angelica plant that was growing in the partial shade of the streambank. I know that the plant had become quite a favorite of late by the ladies of our village of Martiss due to its nature to repel evil spirits, or so that’s what my Grandmother said each time they visit our herbal apothecary.

Sometimes I really do wonder if the herbs and plants that I collect daily are really as useful as she describes, or if it’s all just a yarn that she spins in order to tempt her customers into spending a few more pieces of silver or gold than what they had originally anticipated. But it’s our livelihood and I was trying my very best to learn every ounce of information that I could so maybe one day I could become an expert herbalist just like my grandmother.

By the time my wandering trip had returned me to our cabin, a thick thatch of the lavender branches that I had gathered yesterday was hanging from a wooden rack outside the cabin. The sweet scent of the freshly drying herbs perfumed the area with its unique relaxing fragrance, and I couldn’t resist sucking in a deep breath as I passed by, a small smile curling my lips as the scent tickled my nose. It smelled like happiness and cozy warm blankets on a cold winter’s night. Just perfectly comfortable.

The cabin itself was simple, sturdily built from hand sawn logs that could survive the worst mountain snowstorm, and a chipped stone chimney releasing a thin curl of greyish smoke into the air. It sat just beyond the border of the bustling city of Martiss and in the shadow of the imposing Stralk Mountains. Thankfully we didn’t frequently encounter the many bloodthirsty beasts that roamed the mountainsides, and lived mostly peacefully with only the frequent patrons from Martiss seeking a few medicinal herbs or plants for their needs. Unlike many of the farmers who also lived in the foot of these mountains who were such frequent victims of animal attacks that the local doctor had concocted a special treatment method to save the wounded, if he could get there in time.

Carefully balancing the full basket in my arms, my legs were weak and trembling like a newborn foal’s as I staggered against the door and bumped the handle with my hip. The door swung partially open, the lowest edge grating against the hard packed dirt floor and sweeping a small cloud of loosened dirt to float through the air. The familiar floral scent of plants both dried and still live assaulted my senses as soon as I breathed in the air, but the second underlying note that caught my attention wasn’t the acidic scent of the orange glowing embers burning low in the fireplace, but the bitter tang of blood that drifted on the air.

Grandma! The screech tore free from my lips, the basket hitting the floor with a rocking thump that spilled a few green sprigs immediately crushed into shreds underneath my boots. I rushed into the large room just off from the fireplace that served as my grandmother’s bedroom and I froze, my eyes staring at her frail body slumped over the side of the roomy bed frame, a small trail of scarlet blood leaking from the corners of her wrinkle lined lips. More blotches of blood stained a scattering of fabric that littered the room, handkerchiefs blown this way and that from the breeze that gusted through the single pane window beside her bed now propped fully open.

I rushed to her side, clapping my hand against her clammy forehead that wasn’t as cool as it should be, but burning hot with a newly blossoming fever. She mumbled something, her eyes darting back and forth beneath their lids, but I couldn’t make out whatever it was before another harsh cough wracked her body, leaving her already weak breathing even shallower that it normally was as she tried to breathe the air into her diseased lungs. Regina... She finally murmured, one watery grey eye flicking open to gaze up at my face. ... The tea.

The tea? I tipped my head to the side. Did she leave her peppermint and honey tea boiling in the kettle? The tea will just have to wait. First, you’re getting into bed to rest for a little while. What were you thinking? Sitting half on the floor, and with the window open like that? You know the cold breeze makes your illness worse. I braced my hands underneath her scrawny armpits, easily lifting her to rest on the full top of her bed instead of half draped over the side like an old blanket. Her bony legs stuck out from the ragged hem of her tattered skirt like the threadbare scarecrow we used outside to scare the birds away from the drying herbs.

I was... trying to finish... the Valerian root. She wheezed between bouts of rigorous rib shaking coughs, thick chunks of dark dried blood dripping into her hand between hacks. Grandmother had been sick for as long as I could remember, the long spells of breath stealing coughs were quickly increasing in frequency each day. It used to be just the occasional bout maybe once a week, but now it was steadily attacking her each day.

I shook my head, my lips pressed so tightly together to try and stop my tongue, but I couldn’t keep it in. "You can’t keep going like this! You have to take your medicine now or you’re going to bleed to death or cough up some of your lungs or..." I trailed off, trying to think of some other horrible disease that I had heard about from listening to my friend Ivo, the doctor’s assistant, chatter about during his rounds. Despite that threat, her shallow chin defiantly jutted out, a spark of stubbornness returning to her glassy eyes as she folded her arms across her chest and glared at me in silence. Of course she wouldn’t listen to me. I don’t know why I even bothered.  I sighed, hurriedly raking my fingers through the snarled strands of my long hair before I stalked over to the small wooden chest at the foot of her bed.

The wooden surface was scarred and gouged with age, no longer the beautiful cedar color it once was but now a dull tan mixed with streaks of grey. It easily opened with a flick of the half rusted latch, but the red velvet interior was still just as soft as if it was new. Holding all of my grandma’s spare clothes, underclothes, shoes, and even a few pouches of dried herbs, it took a few moments to dig through the layers of stuff until I found what I was looking for. Nestled right between a spare linen petticoat and a satchel of grated cinnamon flecks, the small glass vial looked almost ridiculously out of place, but it should have been filled with round white tablets except only two remained. Shit! Only two. I’d have to make sure that I saw Ivo for more tomorrow. Regardless, I pulled out the cork stopper and shook one tablet out in my palm. My hands were completely filthy, dark mud caked thick into every crease and fold of my palms, and my fingernails were almost completely coated in muck, making the little white tablet appear an almost creepy bone white against my skin. A little dirt was the least of my worries now as I stood up and started toward Grandma with the pill in hand.

She had concocted a special blend of peppermint and honey tea to help soothe the relentless ache in her lungs, but there was only so much that the natural herbs could do, and now they were barely working at all. These little white pills were the only thing that was helping her now, but they were just so expensive that she didn’t want to take them until I usually found her unconscious somewhere and choking to death on her own blood. Even with the doctor giving us his best rates, it was usually more than we could sell in a month and lately Grandma had refused to take the medicine at all except in her most dangerous spells. From the looks of it, she was approaching another one right now. 

The next challenge was actually getting it into her mouth.

She didn’t dare open her mouth to speak, but just sat there on her bed, arms folded and eyes glaring fist sized holes in my body. For an herbalist that had treated so many wounded people through the years, she was actually a horrible patient herself, refusing to swallow the pill and even spitting it back out at me at times. It was really just a tiny tad worse than trying to give a three year old a bundle of yarrow leaves to chew on for a toothache. Something that you needed to have great self-control not to strangle the living breath out of someone that was too stupid to listen, but I didn’t have that option for Grandma. She’d probably try to strangle me right back. There was another option, but she’d really kick my ass if I used it. Look, I know it’s expensive. But it also prevents you from upchucking your guts. So just get over it and take the pill already! I’ll get the money for another bottle. Don’t worry about that.

Don’t you tell me not to worry about that! I know what you do to get extra money –mphf! Whatever else she had been trying to say was abruptly cut off as I capped my left hand over her mouth and slipped the pill right between her lips, keeping her jaw closed with my right hand while my fingers soothingly rubbed up and down underneath the saggy skin of her throat, encouraging her to swallow the pill just like a little kid.

That’s it! I crooned softly, receiving an angry glare back from the watery eyes as she finally swallowed the pill with a large gulp. Now see, was that so hard?

The glare that came from her could have frozen boiling water into rock hard ice. Regina, I don’t want you risking your life for an old woman like me. You’re young with a whole life ahead of you, and not one that was meant to be a w- pickpocket! A pickpocket! She broke off with another spell of hacking into her hands, a thin trail of watery blood oozing between her fingers and dripping down onto the multicolored quilt below, but the ledge was still there. That word she almost said but replaced it with something else.

My hands flew to perch square on my hips, pinpricks of fiery rage needling against my self-control until I wanted to scream, but pure ice dripped from my voice as I spoke, "Why not? I’m better than any thief in Martiss, actually I’m probably the best since I have that touch. People don’t even know that I’ve stolen from them until hours later when they reach for their purse and it’s gone. I know, I’ve watched them."

Grandmother shook her head vigorously. It’s not right to steal from people! Not with that... that... magic! She spat the word like a curse, vaguely waving one bloodstained hand in the air towards the long leather gloves that covered the tips of my fingers to end at my shoulders beneath the sleeve of my blouse, disguising what darkness laid beneath. "I’ve taught you better than that, better than to allow yourself to fall to her standards."

I’ve heard it before. So many times that I should be immune to the pain by now, but it still hurts each and every time she says it. "Of course. I shouldn’t use my magic even if it does help someone. The One forbid that it might be used for something besides pain! " The words dripped from my tongue like scorching venom, my hands clenched into fists so tightly that the leather of my gloves creaked with the threat of tearing. Grandmother recoiled in surprise for the safety of her pillows, a garbled mishmash of words falling from her flapping lips, but I don’t stay to hear what she says next. I never do. Instead, I turned on my mud crusted heel and stomped towards my room, leaving a wide mixed trail of dirt and crushed plants littering the floor.

Our cabin isn’t big, barely three sectioned off rooms if you don’t count the small area that serves as the shop built on to the side of the cabin, but the center of the cabin had a fireplace embedded deep in the center like a heart and burned hot enough to heat the entire area. My bedroom was behind the fireplace, normally a very toasty warm spot but right now I couldn’t care less. The door slammed shut with a single swift kick from my foot, leaving me alone in the darker confines of my room. It’s not big, barely large enough to contain my bed, a wooden trunk filled with my clothes, and a small stand of drawers topped by a silver mirror. Still, I was restlessly pacing the entire length like a caged beast, raking the leaves and all other kinds of icky shit from my hair into a line of total crap to sweep up later.

Then I caught sight of something strange out of the corner of my eye, and I turned slowly. My eyes met a single figure reflected in the shimmering surface of the mirror. Long dark hair hanging thick and free to my shoulders save for one portion near my right temple that I had braided down and tied with a small violet ribbon. Green eyes, the color of dull emeralds, but ones that I’ve frequently heard commented on are too sharp, too distrusting, and too unnerving to be pretty. What remains of my skin that isn’t smeared with mud and the One knows what else substance is pale, but the color of someone sick instead of a healthy normal tone. My nose has been considered too hooked and my lips too pale and thin, in sharp contrast to my body that is thickened with muscle earned from scrambling around craggy mountain sides in search of the herbs and plants we needed to sell. My rather generous breasts were one of the few places on my body that had earned the eager gaze of more than a few male pursuers, until they caught sight of the owner of my body and scattered like dry leaves in the wind. That was fine with me, don’t associate with the strange herbalist girl. That just made it easier to hide my dreadful secret.

I reached behind my back to loosen the fastening buttons of my long sleeved cream colored blouse and the black corset, a simple toss sending both flying into some far corner of my room to be found and cleaned later. My filthy boots and long trousers peeled away next, puddling at my feet until I kicked them away. Finally, I peeled off the long gloves, my last protective layer from the outside world that left me standing in only my undergarments to face the reflection in the mirror.

In addition to the bare length of my body now exposed to the air, an endless sleeve of shadows stretched down both of my arms. Smooth and completely shining black from the base of my wrists to the top of my shoulder, it was almost as if someone had taken a quill and drawn across my skin for how suddenly it started and stopped. That was the same way with the circular patch on the inside of my left thigh, and the one on my right calf. Just a layer of darkness pressed into my flesh with no seams like it had always been there. The dark patches were almost as startling as the raised pink scar that encircled my throat, a final reminder of how my life had nearly been taken from me by someone who was supposed to protect me before I could even fight for myself.

A bitter laugh bubbled up in my throat as I looked at myself in the mirror. The supposedly dead daughter of a woman who the people called The Evil Queen. I would be killed on sight if they knew who I was and what I could do. What my magic was capable of doing.

Mirror, mirror, on the wall. I slowly chanted. "Who’s the most evil one of all?

~2~

By the time I had changed into a fresh dress, my anger had cooled somewhat. It was still most definitely still there, but it was better now. I slid on my extra pair of gloves as well, the rich earthy scent brushing against my senses as the comforting warmth of the gloves took their place. So far the dark patches hadn’t grown in the past few days, but I haven't used my oddities either. Especially around others since the queen’s soldiers were roaming the hills, as magic users they would be extremely sensitive to the use of magic, and I wasn’t quite ready to be recruited into the army just yet.

Grandma had recovered from her coughing fit when I stepped out of my room, sorting through the plants and herbs from my basket in silence. Her wrinkled, age spotted hands looked slightly out of place against the tender young stems, but easily sorted them into tidy little piles with a precise skill that was acquired from years of performing the same work. Carefully stepping across the floor so that I didn’t make a sound, I slid alongside her and helped sort the various greenery according to how it would be used as either fresh or dried. Most of them would be dried before then being crushed, flaked, or even brewed into tea. Sometimes all three would be needed just to obtain the benefit needed from the plant. 

It was dark by the time we finished, and my clean gloves were stained again with a combination of brownish-green from the sticky sap of the various stems and sharp thorns embedded deep in the palms. I sighed, scrubbing my jagged fingernails across the thorns to try and scrape them out, but they only sank in deeper into the fabric. Well, shit. It looks like I’ll have to get the honey out, and this was my last pair of clean gloves too.

I stood up, the roaring blaze of the fire on my back had bathed my skin in such cozy warmth that I could have fallen asleep. Now that I was leaving, the sudden absence left a chill prickling across my skin as I walked over to the cupboard to fetch the honey jar. I never quite reached it, an unearthly screech of pain that I wasn’t sure was human froze my legs in mid step. My heart leaped into my throat, the shrill scream now somewhere much closer, and proceeded to try and beat its way out of my skin. The pulse of magic surged against my control, the shadows around the walls pulsing in response to my panic, and ready to be unleashed on whatever target I chose. Abandoning the cupboard, I slunk over to the window and cautiously peered out into the gloomy darkness.

Even though it was a warm night, the glass was cool as I pressed my palm against the flat surface and peered out into the forest beyond. Lit by the pale light of the full moon, the grassy field outside was a mysterious shade between plum purple and midnight blue. The craggy bark of the trees beyond the perimeter glowed a pearlescent silver and the leafy treetops a thick layer of rustling dark teeth ready to devour their latest victim as it all melded into the tall jagged peaks of the Stralk itself. The shrill screams continued to rise in pitch, making my hands itch with the urge to cover my ears. The shadows leaped and twirled behind my back, phantom guard dogs ready to leap and tear the invader limb from limb. But there was nothing. I squinted, inspecting every inch of the surroundings for as far as I could see, but there was wasn’t a single thing. Not even a night squirrel or a firefly was- wait! I did see something!

A lone figure, hunched over in pain, staggered slowly with one leg dragging behind the other towards our cabin. A person, it had to be a person. The pale moonlight had washed out the person’s already pale features into a ghostly white, except for what was already covered by a thick coating of the richest colored crimson blood. I gasped softly, my lungs suddenly empty of all air as the person stumbled and fell face first into the grass to lie still. A shrill scratching noise grated against my ears as my fingers clutched tight against the stone frame surrounding the window, the shadows momentarily stretched thin before vanishing completely as I pushed them away. The person was so still... had they died? I wished they had, just so that they might have a little mercy because I knew what was coming. 

At the dark edge of the forest where the grass met the trees, a large sinuous figure drifted from tree to tree with a dancer’s grace on silent steps. A Suranther, a giant feline the size of a horse