"Ivy! You must run!" Aunt Maurie's pale green eyes shone with fear and the wrinkles stood out among the wisps of silver hair on her forehead—the look Ivy had feared to see these past nine years. "The king's soldiers know you are here. You must leave. Now!"
"Where are they?" Ivy's voice sounded foreign, even to herself, when it rose in pitch. With one hand, she pulled the packages she had purchased in the neighboring town tight against her chest, and used the other to lift her floor-length forest-green dress off the ground. She stepped onto the rickety steps up to the porch and jumped when the wooden stairs creaked beneath her laced boots.
"Searching the village." Aunt Maurie's gaze darted about and she ushered Ivy inside the little cottage that had been Ivy's home since her parent's death. "The blacksmith just came. He said the soldiers asked of me and my nineteen-year-old niece. They are on their way. You must hurry!"
Ivy rushed inside, set her packages on the table, and hurried into the room she shared with Aunt Maurie. She nearly tripped over her dress in her haste. She opened the cedar chest between their beds and rummaged through it until she found the velvet box that held her most prized possession: the sapphire broach—the symbol of her right to the throne. Though little light filtered in through the warped glass of their one small window, the broach caught it all and the circle of blue ovals sparkled brilliantly.
Memories—powerful and painful—swirled within its depths, but Ivy had no time to dwell on them. She tucked the broach safely in the secret pocket Maurie had sewn into the skirt of her dress for just that purpose, then raced back into the kitchen where Maurie had prepared a bundle of food.
"Take this, dear Ivy." Aunt Maurie handed the bundle to her and kissed her cheeks. "You have the broach?"
The tightness in Ivy's chest made it hard to speak. "Y-yes," she managed.
"Good." Maurie paused and searched Ivy's flushed face. "You look so much like your mother whose name you bear. Queen Gertrude would be proud of you, Gertrude Ivynona of Berryann. Now be off with you."
"What of you?"
"Do not fret for me. It is not me they seek. All they will know is that I found you as an orphaned child and took you in. I know not who you truly are."
Ivy swallowed. Would Maurie be safe? Surely the soldiers would believe her story and wouldn't harm her. But what if they learned that Maurie had worked at the palace?
As though reading her thoughts, Aunt Maurie replied, "They have erased every memory of your parent's reign. They will not know that I served for the true family of Berryann. Now go!"
Ivy threw her arms around Maurie, kissed her cheeks, then fled. She wiped at the moisture in her crystal-blue eyes—the only resemblance she bore to her father.
Without another word, she ran from her home and the woman who had become like her mother. The crisp wind whipped her copper-blond hair into her face. She brushed it out of her eyes and ducked behind the row of shrubbery that lined the edge of their property. Then she peaked through the bushes, grateful for the protection of the thick leaves that had not yet fallen like so many others. She had to know that Maurie would be all right.
Only a moment later, she heard boots crunch around the bend in the dirt and pebble road that led to the cottage. Seven soldiers appeared dressed in full Berryann garb and fixed their gazes on her home.
"That is the house." One soldier's voice drifted to her on the autumn breeze.
Another replied, but she couldn't hear his words.
Her heart beat a rapid thump-thump in her ears when the soldiers stepped onto her porch and out of view. She heard a sharp bang on the door and held her breath for Maurie's answer.
The door squeaked open.
"May I help you?" Maurie's voice asked without even a hint of a quiver.
"Where is your niece?" The soldier barked.
"I am afraid she is not here. She went to the market in the next town over earlier this morning and I have not seen her since."
Ivy smiled at Maurie's near-truth. She had gone to the market, but had returned to Akerton ahead of the soldiers. Thankfully it had given her enough time to take the sapphire broach and flee.
"Search the house," the soldier ordered.
Ivy heard banging, rummaging, and then a crash.
"What is the meaning of this?" Maurie cried.
No one responded, at least not that Ivy heard, but the sounds of destruction continued. The soldiers obviously took no care as they searched through Maurie and Ivy's belongings.
Three more soldiers appeared on the road to the cottage. A soldier on the porch called to them.
"There is no sign of her in the village," one of the approaching men called back.
"She is not here, either," another spoke from inside.
"You three," the officer on the porch called to the new-comers, "go to the next town and search the market. You four, remain here. Search for her in the area and take her if she arrives home. The rest of you, return to the village with me and we will gather the others who search there."
Ivy considered her options. It seemed Maurie would be well, so she should get away quickly, but with each step, the soldiers blocked her in. She couldn't run toward the occupied village, soldiers headed the opposite way to the neighboring town, and soon men would search Maurie's property and the forest beyond.
She watched the soldier's leave in contrary directions, then heard Maurie speak to the four in her house. She had to flee, right then, before they began their search.
She poked her head barely above the bushes and looked around. The soldiers on the roads had their backs to her and the others were not visible on the porch. She took a deep breath, lifted her skirts, then tip-toed toward the dark forest.
The safety of the trees loomed before her. Only a few paces left and she would vanish, swallowed up in the safety of the grove. She broke into a run.
"There she is!" A soldier's deep cry rang out from the cottage.
Ivy stumbled, but regained her balance and plunged into the forest. She knew the path well, and ran almost blindly along it. Trees whipped passed her, but she ignored them. Her pulse pounded in her ears, but even that she ignored and strained to hear the sound of pursuit. Then she heard it: heavy footsteps on the packed dirt of the trail.
"Hurry!"
"Do not let her escape!"
She ran on. A stitch tore at her side and a reaching branch smacked her face. She knew every turn in the path and every log that blocked the way. She leapt over them and did not slow for the bends, desperate to stay ahead of the men.
When she neared the stream crossing, she increased her speed, and jumped, though she knew full well she would not clear the stream. She landed with a splash right in the middle. Icy water shot up under her skirts and seeped into her boots, but she raced on, barely aware of the cold.
She sucked in great gulps of air as she ran. The path forked not too far ahead, with a rarely used—and nearly invisible—third path that turned off to the left. If she could make it there far enough ahead of the soldiers, she could take that path and hide. She slowed when the fork came into view, then stopped. To avoid disturbing the hidden track, she stepped carefully off the path and crept away to the left.
The sound of the soldiers grew louder. Ivy clamped her hand over her mouth to keep quiet. She had not yet reached the bushes to hide behind, but dared not run for fear of making noise. She crouched down and took the last five steps that brought her to a line of greeneries, then fell onto her belly and watched the men approach.
They paused at the fork. One called, "You two, take that side. We'll take this one," then they ran away from her.
When she could no longer hear them, she rolled onto her back and sucked in rapid gulps of air. She gazed up into the pine and aspen branches of the forest canopy and she forced herself to breath deep and slow to relieve the ache in her side. Then she closed her eyes.
Half of an hour later, she awoke with a start. For one panicked moment, she could not recall where she was, then she scrambled to her feet, brushed sticks and dirt from her dress, and checked that the broach remained securely in her pocket. All seemed well, so she stepped forward and picked her way along the sparse path. She had to move farther away before the soldiers turned back.
She walked for quite some time, the already dim light of the forest waning with each step. The path became harder to follow, and the deep animal sounds of the forest closed in around her. She had walked well beyond her familiar territory.
The shrubbery grew thick. It grabbed at her feet and snagged her skirt, and the terrain became steep. Pine trees surrounded her and blocked her path. Not to be halted, she ducked and squirmed her way around them.
Then the ground sloped suddenly away and her boots slipped on loose rocks. She pitched forward and screamed. Unable to catch her balance, her body tumbled and rolled end over end down a barren embankment, then plummeted off a cliff.