Sitnalta (Sitnalta Series Book 1) Read online

  Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Epilogue

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  © 2013 by Alisse Lee Goldenberg

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Pandamoon Publishing. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  www.pandamoonpublishing.com

  Jacket design and illustrations © Pandamoon Publishing.

  Pandamoon Publishing and the portrayal of a panda and a moon are registered trademarks of Pandamoon Publishing.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

  This book is for my dad:

  The man who reads and edits everything I write before anyone else,

  and the man who wanted to name our dog “Najort.”

  Prologue

  Princess Learsi stood at the entranceway to the great hall. She looked around at the hundreds of guests who had arrived for the celebration. She felt faint and short of breath. Her nervousness was threatening to overwhelm her. Every bone in her body was telling her to make a run for it, but she knew she could not do that. If she ran, she would bring ruin to her father and his kingdom. As the dutiful daughter she was, that was something she just could not do to him. On legs that were threatening to give out, she took the first few steps forward down the aisle. Left together, right together, left together, right together. She had to keep reminding herself to breathe, but the pearl-embroidered bodice she wore was tied far too tightly for the breaths to be anything but shallow. She peered at the hordes of people around her, as they whispered and wondered at her beauty.

  Her long peacock-blue hair, pilled high atop her head, symbolized an ancient and royal house, while a lace veil concealed her dark amethyst eyes. Her lithe, graceful figure was the envy of countless women, and even her apparent nerves did not mar the tall, confident posture of her back.

  Learsi remembered back to the months before this fateful day, when her father came into her chambers grinning with delight. She was thrilled at seeing him so happy. He had been close to illness with the stress and fear of the previous years. Their kingdom was a small one, and suffering from poverty. That day, he had come to her to announce that he had wonderful news. He had secured a match for her. Not just any match, she was to wed the King of Colonodona, the largest and wealthiest kingdom in the known world. This match would save her parents' small kingdom with all their financial troubles and outside threats from Colonodona. Princess Learsi had accepted the news with the calm submission expected of a princess. She knew what this match would bring to her father’s kingdom. He would have enough gold, jewels, and influence to pull his kingdom out of its recession. But on the inside, she was quaking with fear. She had heard that King Supmylo of Colonodona was much more than a tyrant; he had the reputation of behaving like an ogre, treating people with cruelty and disdain. He cared more for his fortune, and his ability to control all around him, than for anything else. In the entire world, there was no one crueler. His kingdom lived in fear of his foul moods, for when they occurred, which was often, many lives and limbs were lost. Learsi suspected he only wanted her for her looks, and she was not far off the mark. Despite the fact that she grew to live in dread of her upcoming marriage, however, she did not protest the match. She had been raised to obey her parents, and she did so in every aspect of her life. She loved them too much to hurt them by protesting.

  She had not met her future husband before her marriage, and still clung to the hope that the stories she had heard of him were just that—stories. Surely no one could be as cruel as he was rumoured to be.

  That day, as she walked down the aisle, she glanced at her husband-to-be. He stood well above everyone else in the hall. He was solidly muscled, which made him appear to be taller than he actually was. His eyes were steel gray, and he had a broad back. His large, domed head was bald, and he had a fringe of slick black hair that was gathered in a ponytail, and tied back with a black satin ribbon at the nape of his neck. A matching beard and mustache outlined his face, and his thin lips were pulled into a smirk. Learsi saw that his clothes were impeccably tailored, and of the latest fashion. His very person was neat and well groomed, but he had an aura around him that drew shivers from all who stood nearby. He gazed down upon her as if to say, “I own you.”

  King Supmylo stood at the altar, leering at Learsi. Her stomach turned at the thought of calling this man “husband.” She peered at her father, who appeared to be bursting with pride, so she continued the march, finally taking her place next to Supmylo at the alter. For her, the rest of the ceremony passed by in a blur. She did not even realize it had ended until well after the crowd’s cheering had ceased. Only then did she realize that she was now “Queen” Learsi of Colonodona, wife of King Supmylo.

  ~ ~ ~

  Far away from the castle was a cave, tucked away in a forest glen. It was the most secluded place in all of Colonodona, which made it an ideal home for the cave’s sole resident. His name was Najort, and he was a troll. He was short, and powerfully built, with a mop of unruly brown curls. No one could mistake the strength in his large hands. His face, though fearsome to behold, appeared as if a sculptor had been unsure of how to mold his clay, and had given up part way through the project. But the troll's eyes were warm and kindly, as was his heart. Unfortunately, for Najort, no one ever got past his misshapen face to see his eyes.

  On this night of Learsi's wedding to Supmylo, Najort was sitting in the entrance to his cave being lulled to sleep by the peace and quiet, when all of a sudden he heard footsteps, and they were coming towards him. This was an unusual sound in his hidden glen. Najort pulled himself to his feet and looked around in confusion. Who would be coming here? No one ever came to this part of the forest, he thought. Najort was unsure of what to do. Were the footsteps friendly? If not, what would he be able to do?

  Najort was no fighter—of that he was certain. He decided to try talking to them.

  “Who-who’s there?” he stammered. He got no response. He decided to try again, only louder. “Who is out there?” he called.

  A human figure stepped out of the darkness. Najort could see that it was tall and thin with a head co
vered in close-cropped silvery hair. His face was clean-shaven, and he had a hooked nose under a pair of steely eyes. Najort was fearful of this man, and he knew the man could see that.

  “Calm yourself,” said the stranger. His voice was soft in contrast to his appearance, and Najort could feel himself relax in spite of his every instinct. “I do not intend to harm you. I come in search of a favour.”

  Najort reclaimed his voice. “A favour—of what kind? Why should I grant you a favour? I have no idea who you are, how you know me, and how you know where I live. I will grant you nothing until I have my answers.”

  The man smiled. “Yes, of course. You have every right to be suspicious. I will answer you. As to who I am, I am Kralc, the Wanderer, and procurer of magics. I know who you are because I have always known. I spend my life searching for pure souls, and yours is the purest I have seen in a long time. That is why I have come to you to ask this favour.”

  In spite of himself, Najort was curious, if not the tiniest bit flattered. “And what pray tell is this favour?” he found himself asking.

  In response, Kralc pulled a pouch off of his belt and handed it to Najort. “This is the favour. I want you to guard this with your very life, if need be. Many people are going to want this, and I need it to be where no one will ever think of looking. That place is with you.”

  Najort held the tiny pouch in his enormous hands. He looked at it in confusion. “What is it?”

  “Inside, you will find a coin–a coin with phenomenal power. It will grant the holder any wish his, or her, heart desires. But in the wrong hands . . .” Kralc shrugged. “I trust I can count on you to do what is right.”

  “I swear to you, my Lord, I will protect the coin,” Najort told the wizard. “I will do what is right. I will not use the coin for my own benefit.”

  “I know you will not do so.”

  Najort looked quizzically at Kralc. “How do you know this for certain?”

  “I told you. I spend my life searching for souls such as yours,” replied Kralc. And with that, he turned and vanished into the night, leaving Najort standing dumbfounded at the mouth of his cave clutching the small velvet sack in his hand.

  ~ ~ ~

  One year later . . .

  King Supmylo could not stop pacing. The Queen had been in labour for hours. Did it always take so long? He was not truly worried about her—he was merely impatient with the desire to see his son. He never liked to wait for anything and the birth of his heir, his firstborn son, was not something he wanted to have to wait for. The fact that this was out of his hands—that he had no control over the situation—frustrated him to no end. He could not wait to see his child. His wife’s fine looks, combined with his physical prowess would certainly be a sight to see. His son would certainly be a formidable ruler. Supmylo would see to that. He would mold his son to be fearless, reckless, and above all things, a strong pillar of strength. With Learsi's looks and brains, coupled with Supmylo's ogre genes, their horde of boys would be a force to be reckoned with. He would raise him in the same fashion he had been raised: with a firm hand, a strong sense of discipline, and warlike precision. His father raised Supmylo to believe that strength was everything. If your people did not fear you, you were a weak leader and ripe for the picking. He had taken every lashing, and every word and lesson to heart. He would treat his son the same way his father had treated him.

  He remembered the day his father had died. How he had sat at his side, feeling his father’s great strength leave him in waves. His father had gripped his hand tightly and told him that he had seen his true destiny. Supmylo was to be the King of the most powerful land ever known. His wife would be from the oldest royal bloodline, and his child would do great things. This was the day that child was to be born.

  Pacing up and down the castle halls outside Learsi's door, Supmylo wrung his hands, growling under his breath. What was taking his wife so long? It was bad enough that she’d taken ill during the last months of the pregnancy—but now she was taking her sweet time delivering his child. It was not fair!

  Finally after what seemed like centuries to the expectant father, the midwife exited Learsi’s chamber. She was a tiny, woman named Aud. Supmylo could see she was pale, her graying hair was escaping its bun, and her features were drawn with exhaustion. She hesitantly walked up to the King holding a little bundle in her arms.

  “Sire?” Aud asked nervously.

  “Is it over?”

  “Yes. But I am sorry.”

  “What for?”

  “Well, I am not sure how to say this—you do realize that it was a difficult pregnancy for your wife, and the labour . . .” she trailed off.

  Supmylo was losing his patience. “What the devil are you trying to tell me, woman? Out with it!” he bellowed.

  The bundle in her arms began to squirm in fear at the sound of his voice. Aud clutched it closer to her breast to protect it from its father. “I am trying to say, Sire, that your wife unfortunately did not survive the labour. She died in childbirth. I am sorry, but the Queen is—dead.”

  Supmylo waved the comment away. “The child, however, is not.”

  “Yes, Sire. I am glad to say that before the Queen died she delivered a healthy baby girl. It was the Queen’s dying wish that the baby be named Sitnalta, after her grandmother, I believe she said.”

  Supmylo stared in horror at the bundle. A girl? No! How could his wife betray him like this? A girl! There was no way that the child his father had foreseen was a mere girl. This was not possible! This was his one chance to make his father’s words come true, and he could feel it slipping away.

  He glanced at the midwife in disgust. “A girl? Are you saying that my wife gave me a daughter? That deceitful woman gave me nothing but trouble all through our marriage, and after that, she had the unmitigated gall to leave me with—a daughter?” He jabbed his fist towards the baby, “Take that wretched thing out of my sight. Find someone in the castle to watch it.” He turned, and raged down the hall.

  “But, Sire, what of the name?” the midwife called after him. “Will you be respecting your wife's wishes?”

  “Call it what you will!” Supmylo yelled over his shoulder.

  Aud looked down at the tiny infant who gazed back at her through large, amethyst eyes—the very picture of her mother. “Very well—you shall be Sitnalta—as your mother wished. “

  Chapter One

  Years passed, and Sitnalta grew into a beautiful, charming young girl. She was now fifteen years old and tall for her age, with her mother’s lithe, graceful figure. She also had inherited her mother’s silky blue hair and sparkling amethyst eyes, making it clear to all who saw her that she was royalty. She had a straight nose, high cheekbones, and full red lips that gave her mouth character. When she grinned, it practically stretched clear off her face, and it was filled with pearly teeth so white, they were the envy of all who met her.

  The one difference between Sitnalta and her mother was a stubborn streak that she had clearly inherited from her father. Her maternal grandparents had tried to visit her as often as they could, but unfortunately, they both died soon after her first birthday. Without them around, she had been raised by the castle servants and tutored by Aud in the ways of the world.

  She spent her days listening to stories about her mother, and learning songs about far off lands and lost love. Her father, the King, wanted nothing to do with her, and she had no problem with that. She did not mind his absence from her life. Truth be told, she feared him—as did the rest of the kingdom. His hulking figure and stern face showed no trace of love and affection, and she avoided him as often as possible.

  One morning, as she did every morning in the castle, Sitnalta stared into her looking glass and watched Aud brush her long hair, readying the Princess to face the day.

  “Ninety-two, ninety-three, ninety-four—stop fidgeting, Sitnalta—I’m almost done,” Aud scolded, still counting every stroke. Every morning she struggled with the stubborn little princess. Aud had t
ried for fifteen years to teach the Princess the virtues of looking pretty, speaking softly, proper manners, and all things that every princess should know. Sitnalta had resisted every lesson. But at music, she had excelled—the Princess sang like a nightingale. Aud knew that this gift came directly from Sitnalta’s mother, Queen Learsi.

  “But, Aud, I want to go outside,” Sitnalta said. She kept squirming—every bone in her body crying out for the fresh air outdoors.

  “Ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one-hundred.” Aud finished the count and set down the brush. “There—now you may go outside—and take care you don’t get yourself filthy again. Remember, you’re a princess, and as such, you . . .”

  Sitnalta completed the lesson, “must act like a proper lady, which does not include chasing the stable boys, climbing trees, jumping fences, or anything else that is even remotely fun. I know, Aud. I love you to bits, but really, you can be a stick in the mud sometimes. You know that, do you not?” Sitnalta said with a grin.

  Aud sighed, and shook her head. Her heart went out to the girl. She had raised Sitnalta as her own, trying as hard as possible to protect the Princess from her tyrant father. It troubled Aud that one day she would no longer be able to protect Sitnalta. She banished such dark thoughts from her mind and shooed the Princess out of the room, knowing that Sitnalta, as usual, would soon return covered in dirt from all over the castle grounds.

  After what seemed like hours, Sitnalta gave up trying to be demure and ladylike in her promenade around the royal gardens. The breeze was cool, and fresh, and she longed to see what it felt like higher up. To her delight, she discovered that the apple trees were in full bloom. She soon succumbed to temptation, climbing to the very top of the tallest tree in the orchard. The view astounded her.

  From Sitnalta’s perch, she could see clear over the castle walls. The distant mountains to her right lay blue on the horizon; to her left stretched a green, velvety forest. Directly ahead, a sea of thatched roofs rolled over the land, making up the village. She longed desperately to be free from the walls of the castle, but she knew that this could never be. Sitnalta wondered if her mother had felt as trapped as she did now, and if, wherever she was, the Queen now felt free. With a sigh, the Princess chided herself for having such a melancholy thought and decided to leave the tree. As if she were part monkey, Sitnalta shimmied down the tree without ripping her dress. Skipping out of the orchard, and weaving a coronet of blossoms, she headed to the stables in search of a playmate.