The Gypsy Queen Read online

  THE GYPSY QUEEN

  a novel by

  Samuel Solomon

  TheSolomonPress.com

  © 2012 Samuel Solomon

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  ________________________

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you so much for buying my book. I hope it is as much a joy to read as it was for me to write. Thank you for taking some time with me.

  Please, if you enjoy the story, recommend it to your friends!

  Word of mouth is what I rely on most. If you liked it, pass it on! Send your friends a link to my website, and get my other books at:

  TheSolomonPress.com

  Also, please do leave me a book review! Leave a review on Amazon, BN, Goodreads, or anywhere else you like. Book reviews really help! They help me to keep writing great stories, and help to feed the kiddos.

  If this book is pirated, please at least come to my website and donate to one of the charities that benefit from my book sales. Each book has its own designated charity, and I’d hate to see them lose out, whether I do or not. Find out more about the causes my readers and I support at

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  Again, my children and I thank you.

  Table Of Contents-

  Chapter 1 – Tracked

  Chapter 2 – Follow

  Chapter 3 – Reach

  Chapter 4 – Ride

  Chapter 5 – Request

  Chapter 6 – Hall

  Chapter 7 – Pixie

  Chapter 8 – Tatu

  Chapter 9 – Shipped

  Chapter 10 – Storm

  Chapter 11 – Kaffa

  Chapter 12 – Pinned

  Chapter 13 – Caved

  Chapter 14 – Wildflowers

  Chapter 15 – Unrest

  Chapter 16 – Stone

  Chapter 17 – Dream

  Chapter 18 - Servant

  Chapter 19 – Anticipation

  Chapter 20 – Two

  Chapter 21 – Crown

  Chapter 22 – Gathering

  Chapter 23 – Undiscovered

  Chapter 24 – Secrets

  Chapter 25 – Broken

  Chapter 26 – Solace

  Chapter 27 – Fight

  Chapter 28 – Treason

  Chapter 29 – Undone

  Chapter 30 – Bond

  Chapter 31 – Ride

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Cover art done by Molly Walker.

  Special thanks to Kari Cartwright, who not only made this book possible, but made it fun to write.

  And now, on to the story.

  _______________________

  The Gypsy Queen

  The Gypsy Queen- CHAPTER 1- “Tracked”

  Yana set her bare feet up against the hot rocks that adorned the edge of the fire pit. She stirred the embers with the black tip of her stick, and watched it smolder. She pondered her fire, as she breathed in the countryside air. It was warm, even as it dwindled. It was something she could always count on, no matter where she was. As she scattered the ashes and sparks from the glowing remains, she felt that she was just as scattered herself, sometimes. The fire was freedom, but it was also chaos. Only the stones kept the fire from streaking across the meadows, and held in its warmth. It was always a comfort, even for the few times she had been burnt. She touched her wrist lightly, remembering.

  Yana was born a gypsy girl, and survival itself was a journey. She couldn’t imagine living any other way. She slipped her feet back into her boots, as the moonlight took over and the dim light flickered at her feet. She looked down the gentle slope of the hill. The rest of her caravan was lower down, and she could see they were about settled in for the night. Yana had come up here with her wagon alone. She knew there were good berries further up, but really, she was just restless. Something was afoot.

  She wandered up a bit, towards the crest of the hill, when she saw them. There were five of them. They were making very little noise, which was remarkable for five horsemen, but it communicated to her immediately what they were up to. Stealth. She peered into the dark as much as the moonlight would let her. Was that him? It couldn’t be. Chills raced across her skin.

  She could sense him without seeing his face. It had been ages since she last saw him. Yana was not sure where they might be going, but at this hour, dressed so black the faint light revealed almost nothing, and surely armed, there was only one thing they could be. Assassins.

  She had heard of them. Men who travel under cover of darkness. Not even the jingle of weapons or supplies could be heard. They had been naught more than a campfire story to her, until tonight. It was early spring; the air still chilled with the melt of winter, and the wet ground was cool from the thaw.

  Excitement shot through Yana as she pulled her hood over her head and ran back to her wagon. She slung her quiver of arrows across her shoulder along with her bow, and tucked her dagger into the loop on her makeshift belt. She went to grab a pouch full of coins, just in case- but then stopped. The clink of the coins would give her away. She would have to go without. Yana untied her horse, Kuta, who was stirring, knowing her friend was restless. Yana had all sorts of trinkets and gear for her horse, but thankfully, it was all removed for the night. She would go bareback, with only leather reins to guide her. Kuta would have to be quiet too.

  She slid up deftly onto her horse, and prompted her in the direction she had seen the horsemen. Yana was an excellent tracker, and knew these hills and meadows well. She stayed off the worn trails, and quickly picked up their path, staying a good ways behind them. It occurred to Yana that she may be a fool, just then- that she should turn back immediately, and pretend she had seen nothing, and say nothing. If they really were assassins, they would not want to be tracked or spied. If they caught her, it could go badly. She was convinced, however, that she knew one of the men in the group. She didn’t know how she knew... she just knew. While she was using all her senses to track the riders, her intuition was acutely tuned as well. She could sense him. Maybe that was what had been making her so restless.

  She followed them deeper into the hills than she wanted to be, but she did not care. She knew her people would tend to her wagon, and her curiosity was getting the better of her. She wanted to know what they were up to, and she wanted...

  she wanted to see him.

  Light began to crest the distant eastern hill, as daybreak would soon be upon the land. The riders ahead had descended into a gulley she was not familiar with, but if she was going to remain undetected, she would have to dismount, and go ahead on foot. Her stomach tightened in anticipation. This was dangerous. Without hesitation, she slipped off her horse anyway, and tied her up to a little scrub oak.

  Yana crept silently down into the narrow path. There were many dark shadows and corners, and predators could be anywhere. Her senses were fully alert, and her footsteps...

  Turn back, Yana. Her mind spoke out against her, as her instinct to pursue them conflicted with her instinct to flee- a small internal voice that was always right. She stopped. She should turn back, she thought. Light was slowly invading the sky, and she would not be unnoticed much longer.

  Suddenly she heard shouting, a clash of metal, and then another. It was them, up ahead! A fight! She ran directly for it. She drew nearer, as she heard more men shouting, a language she barely knew, and then a voice she knew quite well. She cursed her luck. I knew it, Yana thought.

  It was him.

  She peered around a rock, as she was very close to the commotion. There were two groups of men- the black-cloaked riders she had been tracking, and another group she guessed to be Moldavian, from their language. The Moldavians had ambushed the black rider assassins, and two of them lay still on the ground. The other three were hostage, as the Moldavian
s menaced with their weapons. They were shouting commands, and the hostage in the center was shouting back. The leader. The one whose voice she recognized.

  She realized that she had drawn her bow without thinking. She had to help! Now this really was crazy. This was not her battle, and she would only bring problems for her people, the gypsies. She could not let harm befall them... but there was no way she was going to leave and let the black riders be killed, either. It would not be the first time she helped him.

  One of the Moldavians was holding him at sword-point, and the absurd conversation they were attempting sounded like it was going badly, because no one understood the other... and the two men were still on the ground, presumably dead.

  Yana decided that she had to act.

  She pulled the cord taut, arrow already knocked, and aimed it. She was an expert with it, but she had never put an arrow into a man before. She gauged the situation, to see if she could turn the tables without any real bloodshed. She made her decision, and let the arrow fly.

  “Yahhh!” screamed the man holding his sword to the leader’s throat, as he stooped down to clutch the arrow she had drilled into his calf. Before anyone could even turn to see what had happened, she stroked another arrow into the next closest man, the one who had an arrow aimed at the riders. His arrow went careening off and his bow dropped, as he shouted at the arrow lodged halfway into his hand. Yana ducked out of sight, and hoped she had been so quick that perhaps no one had even seen her. The light was still poor in the shadows of the gulley.

  The leader of the black riders had not wasted the opportunity, and they clashed into full battle again. He took up the sword of the one with the arrow in his calf, and ended that man promptly. His two accomplices were engaged as well, as the remaining Moldavian men rushed in.

  Yana gritted her teeth. She didn’t want to get further involved. Maybe what she had done would be enough. Maybe she could still escape without attracting trouble. She looked out from the rock again, knowing she shouldn’t.

  He looked her right in the eye.

  Still battling, slashing and clashing with the last two men, just for a split second, he looked her right in the eyes. She cursed her luck again, pulled her hood down further over her face, ducked out of sight, and fled. Back up the winding trench, across the rocks, leaping over the little stream- nearly stumbling into it, she ran frantically, full of panic and speed. She got back to her horse in what seemed like no time, yet still took an eternity. She could not go fast enough to flee this place. She hesitated for a moment, looking back, before she leapt back onto her horse. No amount of running was going to help her now. He would be coming to find her.

  She tore off anyway, her horse seeming to sense her urgency, as she prodded Kuta to her highest speed. She flew across the meadows, headed back to the caravan. Her thoughts flew even faster. She would have to break camp. Everyone would have to break camp- or maybe she could go into hiding alone. She didn’t want anyone to be in danger for what she had done. Her thoughts raced- had the black riders prevailed? Had she saved him? Why was he on an assassin’s mission? For all her fury at herself, her speed and desperation to get away, she also realized... she still wanted to see him again.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  The black riders did battle with their ambushing enemies, and finally defeated them. The leader took off his mask, and addressed his men. “Is that all of them?” he asked, trying to catch his breath.

  “I believe it is,” the one closest to him replied.

  “Stand guard,” the leader ordered, as he went to check on his companions. He found the two men on the ground slain, and his face showed the sadness of it. These were good men; they had all trained together at length. It was a terrible loss, as they were intending to be the ones doing an ambush. He stood up, surveying the scene. These Moldavians were the very men they were hunting, so his mission was otherwise a success, except for their loss.

  The third survivor approached him with a grimace, as his arm had been cut in the fight. They quickly tended each other, and prepared for what they must do. The leader directed them. “Get these men hidden,” he instructed, pointing to their slain enemies. They were not where they intended to be, since the whole mission had gone awry, but it did lend them some privacy. They had to preserve the greater operation. They found a gash in the dirt wall that had been washed out from flooding, and dragged the Moldavian attackers into it. They were heavy, and the man with the slashed arm was not much help. Once they were finished, they stripped down the horses of the enemies, that they had found not too far away. The enemy had set a pretty good little trap, the leader realized. For all their skill and stealth, they would have failed and met their end right there, had it not been for her.

  He looked closely at the arrows he had retrieved from two of the dead men. There was no doubt they were gypsy arrows, but he was all the more certain of whose they were. She was the last person in the world he would have guessed to have seen, since he had not seen her in years, and this was not her affair. Unmistakably, however, he had looked into the eyes that once haunted him, and sometimes still did, when he dreamt. He could feel an echo of the power that had almost killed him.

  No question. He had seen Yana.

  He tucked her arrows into the sling on his horse, as they finished up. They removed their black clothing, exchanging it for ordinary brown burlap clothing from their packs- the kind peasants would wear. This mess would take some care to cover up. Their team was best known as a myth; they could not just walk around in broad daylight or leave such a mess. Once they had settled the scene and cleaned up everything they could, kicking dirt on the blood and moving loose brush, they made arrangements to get back. They found an excellent spot to hide. One man was to take the extra horses from their enemies and travel west, as far away from Moldavia as they could get, and set them free. They couldn’t just turn them loose in this region, or someone would piece together the facts. The man with the injured arm would wait until nightfall and take a roundabout route through the dark, back to the great city, bringing along their horses and the bodies of their fallen warriors. The enemies they had defeated deserved an inglorious fate, but not their own.

  “We must not fail,” the leader told his men. They nodded agreement. “Travel two days west, and get them across the Sardica river, before you free them,” he instructed. He addressed the other, “Get back to the city through the King’s passage, once you have the cover of dark. I’m going to track the spy.”

  He prompted his horse and departed, in the direction he knew that she must have gone. It was well into the morning now, since they had taken a good bit of time to conceal the evidence of the skirmish. He already knew what direction to head, as he was well aware of the general vicinity of the gypsy camps. They were ever-changing, of course, but they did have their tendencies and trails. He wondered how she found them- they must have passed by too closely. He chewed on a piece of flatbread from his pack, as he traveled east.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Yana pulled up to her wagon quickly, and began gathering her things. “Yana!” she heard the voice of a child. “I caught one!” It was her young friend Luba, an orphan that had joined them two summers ago. “Come to the fire and see!” Luba called. Yana smiled, forgetting her hurry for a moment.

  “You did? What did you use?” Yana asked.

  “I set the trap with the herbs you gave me!” Luba exclaimed, running up to her. Then she paused.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked. Yana’s face was giving away her preoccupation.

  “We have to break camp,” Yana said, no mirth in her voice.

  “Why?” Luba asked. “We were going to wait two more days,” she protested.

  “We just have to,” Yana said. No way was she going to explain herself.

  “Well,” Luba hesitated. “Can you come see the rabbit I caught first?”

  Yana smiled. “Yes, of course,” she said.

  “Come on then,” Luba shouted, already bounding toward the
rest of the caravan, where the people were stirring, and the smoky smell of campfires and hot tea graced the morning air. Yana figured she had some time. It seemed unlikely she would be immediately pursued, or immediately found... but she could not stick around either. She walked into the camp to Lyubov’s wagon.

  Lyubov was a kind old lady, and Yana loved to hear her speak. Luba, while very young, had taken to her as well, and the two of them traveled together. The wisdom of little Luba seemed far beyond her years, as though she had come from the stars... though she was still just a little girl trying to survive. She fit well with Lyubov, the brilliant and wise lady who Yana herself loved to sit next to, and hear her tales. They were so alike, Luba and Lyubov, they almost seemed like the same person, but for their great age difference. They were truly family, to Yana. Yana had been teaching Luba what she could- how to trap rabbits, and her favorite gypsy dances.

  Lyubov had already cleaned the rabbit and had the fire going. It was unusual to cook this way in the morning, but Lyubov wanted to do something special, so excited was Luba for her accomplishment.

  “Here,” Luba said, handing her stick to Yana, with some meat on the end. Yana obliged and took a bite. She didn’t eat meat too much. She liked to be light on her feet, though she always enjoyed a good pastry when she could. The rabbit, however, was tasty, and Yana nodded in approval.

  “Well done,” Yana said. There wasn’t that much meat; it was a scrawny little animal. “Will you save the hide?”

  “I already salted it!” Luba answered enthusiastically.

  “What troubles you, Yana?” Lyubov asked her. Bosh, Yana thought. How did she always know? No one knew Yana as well as she did. Yana leaned in close.