Chapter Sixteen
Daphne
The dwarves leave singing in deep, resonant voices that roll through the trees, weaving their newfound zest for life into the branches and the leaves of the forest. Seeing them find their new strength once they step outside their fated future steadies something inside me.
Magnus pauses long enough to bow his head to me. Not in submission, but in recognition. And then they disappear into the undergrowth. Seven ties cut loose. Seven threads rewoven into a destiny of their own making.
I lick my lips as the knights surround me with their love and devotion. The silence surrounding us isn’t loud—it’s listening for our next move. But I can’t give it any more attention until I have all my parts back.
The genie hasn’t moved from his position over the lake, his lower half skimming the surface like he’s waiting for the Idols to rise and swallow us whole.
I stroll to the edge to be closer to him while the knights remain at my back. “You feel it,” I say.
“I feel everything. That is the curse of proximity.”
The water shifts inward, the ripples reversing course, but not through wind or wildlife. I’m not reaching. Not this time.
The surface tightens as though the lake inhales. Hart’s hand closes around mine, and Nash steps closer while Malachi wades into the water, Excalibur drawn and ready to defend.
But this isn’t a threat. I know it in my bones.
The lake turns silver, a smooth, mirrored sheet stretching across its basin. But the reflection is not ours. Eron rises from the water, creating his own mirror extending from the center. His gaze flicks over us, taking stock as Sir Sweeps-A-Lot dives in and out of his eye sockets in excitement.
“Stop that. I cannot bear witness to my maiden if you blind me.”
The broom deflates and floats around him in a circle like a puppy who has misbehaved.
My sidekicks are a bunch of temperamental beings, and they all seem to be synched up with their moods. I miss my capons; they were the least complicated creatures, although their friendship choices with Prince Poopfloof are questionable.
Eron lifts his chin, clearly trying to look majestic, but the lake chooses that moment to ripple, and his reflection wobbles like jelly on a cart.
He scowls at the water as if it’s being disrespectful on purpose. “Mirror etiquette,” he mutters, then clears his throat like a man about to deliver a prophecy. “Ahem. Fairest Diane.”
“Is it me, or are his compliments less complimentary?” I grumble, even though his assessment is correct.
“Definitely a slippery slope,” Nash agrees.
“I’m reading off the approved compliment list,” he says. “Do not interrupt the system.”
The genie’s brows rise. “He has an approved compliment list?”
“I’m now interacting with a customer service mirror,” I deadpan. “Not the original guy.” Did they clone him?
Eron’s mouth tightens. “The Hallows demanded we standardize. Compliments must be consistent, forgettable, and non-incendiary.”
“That sounds like Gwyneth,” I mutter.
Eron’s eyes flick away, as if he can hear her shouting through the glass. “It wasn’t her idea. It is… a compromise with the others. Please do not interrupt again.”
I wave my hand in acceptance. What others? “Please continue with your mediocre compliments.”
“You are still most fair,” Eron points out. “But I never saw you as a needy maiden. I shall restart.”
The water splashes back into the lake, and he disappears.
I blink. “Did he just hang up on us?”
“I believe so,” Hart answers with a chuckle. Sir Sweeps-A-Lot dives beneath the surface looking for his friend.
We wait a tempo, and I start to give up hope for his reappearance. I take a step back. We don’t have time to waste.
The genie holds up a finger. “Wait.”
The water ripples inward before it twists into the air, and Eron appears twice as big. “Sorry, I went to the wrong lake. Scared the living daylights out of a couple making out on a rowboat.”
Malachi snorts, and the genie shakes his head. “My friend, this was your do-over,” the genie points out.
My broom tickles Eron’s cheek, making his eye twitch. I open my mouth to stop him, but he vanishes. Again.
“Nobody say anything this time,” I command. I point to Sir Sweeps-A-Lot. “And you get behind me so we don’t get stuck in this infernal loop.”
He does as he’s told. I don’t want to die of boredom while we wait for my mirror man to perfect his entrance.
Here lies Daphne Stone, architect of the realm, bested by boredom before she claimed her dragon in the bedroom.
Now that would be a travesty.
Third time lucky. Eron takes shape once more and focuses on me. “Oh, fairest delicious deliberate disastrous delicate dizzying dribbling Denise.” He blinks at me.
I take offence at the dribbling. Also, the delicate. Not my style. I give him the thumbs up. “That was top-notch. But why appear in the lake?”
He tilts his head down to the water beneath him. “You don’t have a mirror with you.”
He appears to be offended that I’m not carrying around his only communication method. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t very thoughtful. I’ll rectify that as soon as I can.”
The genie throws a circular object over his shoulder. Nash catches it and shows me the pretty jewel-encrusted mini mirror.
“Problem solved,” I declare. “Now tell me. Why the big entrance?”
“You’re late.”
If he’s been hanging around with that infernal white rabbit, I cannot be held accountable for my actions. Where’s the grace when you’ve fallen from the stars and been resurrected?
“I’ve been busy destabilizing destiny,” I reply. “But good morning to you, too.”
His jaw tightens. “You need to get a move on.” He goes quiet for a moment. “Yes, yes. I’m telling her.”
Who is he speaking to?
“Rescuing Theo is top of my list,” I say. “We ride at first light.”
“It should have been done diurnals ago.”
“I was caught up being dead. Adjust your expectations.”
A muscle jumps in his cheek. “You are needed at the Hallows.”
“Because of the fairy-tale chaos?” I wonder. “Sidekicks quitting. Princesses opening small businesses. Minor narrative rebellion. It will settle.”
His eyes darken. “That is an issue.”
“But not the issue,” I press.
The lake ripples once, then stills again. I think it’s when he’s swapping between mirrored surfaces.
“No.”
“What is the issue?” Nash asks.
Eron’s gaze returns to me. “There are four Idols in the Library.”
I suck in a breath. Four in one place? “Which library?”
“The Hallows.”
At least the Living Library is safe. “Is Gwyneth safe?”
“Yes. Actually, she’s a little violent. I never knew she had it in her.”
I do. My sister is fierce. I maim by accident. She does it on purpose. Much more premeditated. But I don’t like that many powerful Idols in her orbit. My pulse climbs.
“Violent how?” Hart asks, sounding impressed.
Eron’s expression pinches. “She threw a quill at an Idol.”
“A quill?” Malachi repeats.
“A quill,” Eron confirms. “It was symbolic. The pen is mightier than the sword. It became… effective.”
The genie coughs a laugh into his fist. “That’s my girl.”
“She’s not your girl,” Nash points out.
“I meant spiritually,” the genie replies, offended. “By chaos alignment.”
“Back to the Idols squatting in the library,” I say.
“They’re not passing through,” he continues. “They’re staying until the Stone sisters show themselves. The Hallows is in chaos as the Idols make ridiculous demands on The Hallowed.”
“Ridiculous demands,” I echo. “Like what? Please tell me one of them asked for a throne made of teeth.”
“Oddly specific,” Malachi says.
I shrug.
Eron’s stare goes flat. “Worse.”
“Worse than teeth?” I whisper.
He nods once and shifts closer. “They have rebranded the Hallows.”
Silence.
“Explain,” I demand.
“They hung banners,” Eron says, as if it pains him. “Large ones. Very loud ones. They read: WELCOME TO THE HALLOWS, HOME OF AUTHORIZED NARRATIVE.”
My stomach drops. “Authorized,” I repeat, tasting the word like the poisoned apple Snow refused.
“Yes,” Eron continues. “And they’ve instituted a new rule.”
My pulse thuds. “Go on.”
“No one may say ‘once upon a time’ without filing a request in triplicate.”
Hart makes a strangled sound.
“They’ve also posted a guard at the stairwell to the library with a sign that says: QUIRKY FOREST COLLECTIVES REPORT HERE.”
Nash goes still beside me. “They’re recruiting.”
“They’re sorting,” the genie murmurs. “They’re categorizing the realm like it’s a ledger.”
“Is the All Knowing unaffected?” I ask.
Eron’s gaze sharpens. “Of course. He is apart.” Not sure what that means. “But the rest of The Hallowed are in chaos as they react to their demands.”
“Time for a dose of their own medicine,” I mutter. It won’t do them any harm to understand how it feels to be treated with inferiority.
The genie swears as he floats back to form a line beside me.
“How settled are they?” Hart asks. “Like they are passing through?”
“They have moved giant beds into the library, and have a revolving line of servants pandering to their every whim. Also, the Key Librarian has vacated his quarters,” Eron replies. “He has moved himself and his family into the Living Library. But he has declared he’s in his element.”
That tracks disturbingly well. Knowledge is the Idol he prays to, and now he’s inside the inner sanctum.
“And the All Knowing agreed?” I ask.
“Reluctantly.”
Which means simmering resentment wrapped in parchment and restraint. He’ll get over it.
Four Idols in the library, but not in my library. That’s something. How long until they sacrifice people to get what they want? They don’t strike me as a patient bunch.
“What are they doing?” Malachi asks.
Eron’s expression shifts, and the water ripples as if he’s checking. “They’re reorganizing.”
A chill creeps across my shoulders. “Reorganizing what?”
“The classification system.”
I don’t see an issue that these idiots are busy trying to fix a system that makes no sense to me. It’s not like they can break it any more.
The genie makes a low sound in the back of his throat. “No,” he murmurs. “I thought we had more time.”
“Yes,” Eron says. “And as I already stated, time is running out.”
“What am I missing?” I wonder.
“They’re consolidating narratives. Streamlining redundancies. Merging archetypes.”
Replacement. Phase two. The words from earlier echo with a ripple of unease in my veins. “They’re rewriting,” I whisper.
“They’re positioning,” Eron corrects. “The rewrite comes after.”
I step closer to the lake. The cool water laps over my feet, and the surface trembles with the proximity as I reach for the part of my soul tethered to my dragon. Time has indeed run out. I need him. Now.
“How is Gwyneth dealing with this?”
“Holding the Hallows together.”
Of course, she is. I break things; she fixes. No, I can’t think like that. I write the stories, and the power to unwrite them is now in my hands. Gwyneth makes sense of the world and records it in a way that others understand.
“She told you to hurry,” he adds. “Not because of chaos.”
Because of siege. Because of strategy. Because if four Idols decide to align—
“Can they overwrite architects?” The genie whispers the fear just made known in my mind.
Eron goes silent and a frown forms. “I do not know.”
“Let’s not find out,” Nash snaps.
I blink at him. Where did that anger come from? I skim my gaze up and down. He seems on edge, more so than usual. What’s going on in his head?
“You need to rescue your dragon,” Eron says. “You are weaker divided.”
The truth slices clean.
“I know,” I grind out as my hands fist.
His gaze softens a fraction. “If they feel the shift you caused this morning—”
“They felt it,” the genie informs us.
Eron nods once.
How do they know?
“They will accelerate,” Eron finishes.
I stare at my reflection in the water. Architect. Rebel. Idiot with good intentions.
“They forget something,” I murmur.
“What?” Hart asks.
My mouth curves.
“They are in my world, not theirs.”
The lake surface fractures around Eron’s image. “Hurry,” he says. The water bursts into a spiral, and then he disappears in a fine silver mist.
Birdsong resumes.
The genie exhales purple smoke. “Well,” he says, adjusting his cuffs again. “That is inconvenient. I shall put my affairs in order. Holler if you need a wish. Otherwise, I want to remain undisturbed.”
He disappears in a puff of purple smoke.
I turn to the knights and point at the horses. “We ride now.”
Theo first. Sister next. Idols last.
But they are all connected. I can feel it. Somewhere in the Hallows, four divine beings are turning pages that do not belong to them.