The idea was fragile and shattered the moment I got within view of the encampment. There were no campfires, none of the raucous merriment that had given the gang its name. Ladders still hung from the trees, but the vines were tattered and rotted through. Pieces of the tree house’s boards lay scattered around the forest floor. The trees themselves were twisted; some looked like they were snarling, with their branches reaching high into the sky as if cursing it. Others bent low, almost as if they were weeping. The only things living here were wingding bats. They mocked me from their perches with their red, shining, beady eyes.
Anger toward Dorthea surged through me, and for a moment, I tried to pretend that she was to blame. Her carelessness had thrown the entire magics of Story in disarray, had brought the trees to life, had broken all the rules of Fairy Tales, so wasn’t it possible that her wish had ravaged this place? But even I’m not that good of a liar. The smell of decay alone told me that the forest had reclaimed this little piece of land from the merry men a long time ago. I doubt Dad had been here for years. Or that he was ever coming back, for that matter.
Hope is so much crueler than terror or fear. I despised myself for allowing it to sneak back under my defenses.
Kato was right—I was a fool.
“Fool’s errand indeed.”
I hated hearing Morte, yet a shot of adrenaline coursed through me as my shadow grew again from the light cast from a lantern nearby. A branch snapped near the light. Even as I looked, I knew better, knew it wouldn’t be him.
Grimm, I hated being so cynical. Yet I hated being right even more.
Mordred stood near the lake, holding the lantern and reins as if he’d just watered his horse. He dropped both of them in favor of his ax when he saw me.
“Oh hex, really?” I said to the universe that was bringing royals back into life just to pix me over.
A frown tugged on the lips of the legendary dark prince. “Nay, I am not a practitioner and have not a spell, but an ax to blind. Explain fast why you follow me or meet it up close.”
“You have a talent of being too literal, and I have an epically bad talent of being at the wrong place at the wrong time.” I rolled my eyes and threw my arms out. “Come here and get it over with already.”
“Eager to see me again, little hero?” Morte said in a deep, mocking lilt. “I’m flattered.”
“You wish, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Demented.”
Mordred’s frown deepened, and though he had been coming toward me, he stopped. Perhaps he was unsure if it was fair to slice open a crazy person. Normally I’d encourage that sort of thinking, but I had a plan. Ish.
I needed him to come forward…oh…about four more feet. I also needed the trap Will and Tuck had laid there to still be active.
“Are you speaking to me, lad?”
I sighed, having second thoughts about leading someone so dense into a trap.
He took a slow step and leaned forward, examining me up and down again. “You have an unusually high-pitched voice and are fair of face. If ye were naught as flat as a scabbard, I’d think thee a maiden.”
Second thoughts gone.
“Iron and ashes,” I swore, trying to mimic Kato’s curse and gravelly tone. “I never thought to see the dark prince simper like a damsel.”
That did it. His hesitant steps lengthened to a purposeful stride.
Three. Four.
Snap.
A vise sprung up from the ground and closed around Mordred’s foot. The mechanism had a rope trailing off it, and the springs were tight, yet not sharp. No more than a nuisance, really.
“Twill take more than this,” Mordred growled and raised his ax, ready to hack at the rope.
I whistled high and sharp to stop him. “I wouldn’t do that.” I pointed to the rest of the trap. The one that would fire a poisoned arrow a second after the rope went slack.
He altered the course of his ax right as it brushed against the first strand of rope. “A devious trick.”
“Eh. All’s fair in disdain and war.”
He furrowed his brow. “That is not how the saying goes, I believe.”
“Duh.”
His jaw ticked back and forth. I couldn’t tell if he was fighting a begrudging smile or grinding his teeth. “Dare I hope that there be a way to disarm such foul trickery?”
I sat down on a nearby rock. “Feel free to hope, but if you want my help, there’s a price.”
His eyes narrowed. “A goodly man and noble hero would never demand ransom to spare a life.”
I could only imagine that my grin looked as wicked as it felt. “Who said I was a hero?”
“Rule #32: If perchance you run afoul of wolf or bear, never fear. Hold on to your cape and help yourself to a wee snack and wait for a huntsman to come to the rescue.”
—Definitive Fairy-Tale Survival Guide, Volume 3: Enchanted Forests
10
Wet Behind the Ears
I expected him to hurl curses or maybe even his ax at me. I didn’t expect deep, rumbly laughter that echoed through the forest like thunder.
“I suppose it was too much to hope that someone like you wouldst be a naive charlatan aspiring to become one of the great knights of legend.”
“What do you mean ‘someone like me’?” I folded my arms, trying to hide the discomfort his statement gave me.
“’Twas meant as a compliment. So-called heroes are oft martyrs with flawed ideals who sacrifice themselves and take their followers with them. I can’t abide such idiocy.”
I snorted and rolled my eyes. “So says the villain of his story. I know who you are. I know you killed Arthur and died trying to take his throne.” I watched Mordred’s face set into hard lines. But he didn’t dispute what I’d said.
“The ends justify being mean.”
The means, I thought but didn’t poke him further. Every tense muscle in his body was battle worn and screamed trouble. I could have, should have, left him. He was smart and agile enough, he might have been able to get out of the trap unharmed—mostly. And if he didn’t make it, not my problem. He likely deserved it. But if he really was the Mordred from legend, he’d already been entered into the compendium. Despite that, he was standing before me, and he was death impaired, like me.
I couldn’t go back to Dorthea. Dad had abandoned me again. I had been delusional if I’d thought being away from the House of Emerald meant I could get clear of Morte’s shadow. Verte’s prophecy rang in my ears. Rexi will cease to exist. The feeling of slowly losing my memories and myself to Morte…
I needed to be free from everything that bound me, and I was starting to be far less picky about how I got there. “If you want me to disarm the trap, tell me how you came back to life and why.”
“Then I suppose my blood shall run twice upon this ground, as I cannot tell you what I don’t know.”
I bent down and flicked the trap rope menacingly. “Nice try.”
“Truth is truth. Thou hast the upper hand, so a wise man would tell all he knows. All I can do is tell mine story and let it be judged if it be worthy.” He waited. Watching me.
I huffed and crossed my arms. “Fine, but I don’t have all night. And try talking normal. Your wordy drivel makes my brain hurt.”
“As thou…you wish.”
I grimaced at the w-word but waved him on.