Thronegarden by Andrew Dickerson (top rated books of all time .txt) 📕

Damselfly was focused on their current location: a place she was certain they had never been before though it felt familiar. A light breeze blew down the road, creating a whisper amongst the ripening foliage. Then they heard footsteps coming down the road towards them. A man emerged wearing a long coat for warmth.

“Uncle Abeldine,” Damselfly gasped.

“He looks different,” Buttons commented.

It was true, although the resemblance was unmistakable to the old king. It was a very different man who walked past them without acknowledging their presence. Abeldine’s hair was raven wing black with no sign of silver, his beard was well groomed, his back straight and shoulders broad beneath his wrappings.

“I don’t think he can see us,” the princess revealed. “What are we doing here?” Buttons questioned.

Abeldine strode purposefully towards his target which appeared to be the largest of the apple trees, an ancient finger of nature that stood over twelve feet tall and had been alive for centuries.

“What can I do?” Abeldine asked the tree.

“Why is he talking to a tree?” Buttons queried.

“We should get closer,” Damselfly urged.

As they neared the giant tree, Princess Damselfly realised that her uncle was not speaking directly with nature, an old friend was perched high in the branches.

“Phoebus.”

The wise owl also looked different from the last time they had spoken in the Magicgarden: his plumage was brighter and his wide eyes clearer.

“You, Abeldine Thrane, have been chosen to represent Fable against the tyrant,” Phoebus pronounced.

“How can I hope to defeat the greatest sorcerer alive?” her uncle posed.

“You will be given the means to fight this battle, if you prove yourself worthy of nature’s gift,” Phoebus stated.

“I am not worthy,” Abeldine confessed. “Choose someone else.”

“There is no one else,” Phoebus sentenced. “Without you, the Fairy King will remain undisputed in his claim of this kingdom and Fable will slowly die to feed his ambition.”

“I am no soldier, no hero,” Abeldine argued.

“You are chosen,” Phoebus decreed.

“What must I do?”

Damselfly could not bear to watch any longer. Seeing her uncle torn between doubt and destiny, she came forward to assure him, only to find he could not see or hear her.

“Your love for the Lady Claravel is the purest in all of Fable it alone can create a shield strong enough to protect the realm from the Fairy King’s magic,” Phoebus explained.

“I must sacrifice my betrothed?” Abeldine was visibly shaken. “Ask me anything else, but do not take away my true love.”

“It is the only way,” the owl taught.

Abeldine wrung his hands, showing his inner turmoil, as he weighed his love for the Lady Claravel against that of his duty to Fable.

“How do I know that doing this will stop the Fairy King?” he asked.

“You must believe in this as you believe in love.”

Abeldine looked back down the road he had travelled, no doubt considering his options and what awaited him back home.

“What must I do?” he questioned.

“You have to let her go,” Phoebus answered.

Abeldine walked up to the tree where he stood protected in the shadow of that great pillar. One of the branches had a deep groove where the future king’s tears pooled as he sacrificed the one thing most important in the world to him. When the final tear had been shed, they formed a bell, powerful enough to stop a magician.

“Guard this well for in the wrong hands it can do great harm,” Phoebus warned.

Abeldine clutched the bell in his hand; it shimmered briefly as if weeping and then released a sound so beautiful Damselfly thought her heart might break. It brought a swift wind that rushed down the road in a funnel, whispering secrets to the trees and carrying Abeldine away. Princess Damselfly walked up to the tree where she could see Phoebus perched on his throne.

“What happened next?” Damselfly requested.

“You already know. The Fairy King was defeated and Fable saved,” Phoebus replied haughtily.

“What you really want to know is what followed,” the sage owl corrected.

“After ascending the throne, Abeldine lost his purpose. Unable to replace the love that he had sacrificed, his heart began to grow cold and black. Power may have corrupted him like so many others if something or someone had not shown him the light.”

“Was it Lady Claravel?” Damselfly guessed.

“No, what happened to that young lady is an altogether different tale,” Phoebus responded.

“When Abeldine’s brother had a daughter, his niece, Abeldine was finally capable of feeling love once again.”

“I want to help him,” the princess pleaded.

“You must continue the journey he began.”

“Will I end up like him?”

“I am wise,” Phoebus stated. “Yet even I cannot tell the future.”

Damselfly felt even more confused than before. Questions about her family and her mission threatened to overwhelm reason. Phoebus, sensing the child’s distress, offered her a sign which would have severe ramifications.

“King Abeldine was afraid the bell in his possession would be stolen or lost, so he decided to keep it somewhere safe, with the person he loved and trusted the most. He hid the bell inside his niece’s crib one night, only to discover later that the baby had swallowed it and lost her ability to speak. The king cursed himself bitterly, beginning his road to madness, while a helpful owl managed to retrieve the bell. It was not the last passage in this saga.”

“The owl decided to look down the girl’s throat. It was very dark but deep down he could see a bell. Before it could sound a note, the owl hooked it out like a worm from a well,” Damselfly quoted.

“Very good,” Phoebus praised. “You have a gift for remembering stories.”

“Where is the bell now?” the princess asked.

“That is the most important question of all,” the owl announced.

“It is a