12 Zarev
We hunker down in a decent sized cave a few hours later when neither of us can go further. Rapunzel looks stunned by my choice, but this isn’t the castle that turned into her prison. These are dangerous woods, perhaps not as dangerous as the Red Woods, but the creatures here will devour more than just her innocence and beauty if given the chance.
Building a fire is easy with the pixie dust and very little effort, though Rapunzel’s questions about that give me a headache. When the bite of cold night air no longer surrounds us I hold my hand out to her. “Let me see.”
She hesitates before shifting closer on the stone floor, pressing a hand over her chest. She’s been breathing heavily for the past half hour, and if I had to guess the dress is too tight. I felt it in the pull of the corset when I pinned her to the ground when sense abandoned me.
Not my finest moment. That hunter within me is long gone, and there’s little I can do to curb the hunger anymore. My body doesn’t require much nourishment in this form, but that doesn’t mean a craving doesn’t hit from time to time.
And unfortunately for her, Rapunzel is a craving like no other. Her kindness calls to the monster clinging to my soul, and all I want to show her is what kind of monster I can be.
She’ll scream, but for it to never end, not for help.
She twists her body so I can study her arm, and the spine sticks out of her flesh, reminding me of the problems at hand. The blood is mostly dry now, and it’s stuck in there good.
“I told you it’s a Gryffin spine,” Modred says, and I glance towards the cave entrance. But Rapunzel nearly jumps out of her skin, and the fact that she can see him still unsettles me.
She isn’t touched by death. She’s well acquainted though, and can see the things only a Reaper should be able to.
Something’s given her the ability to see the dead. Is it because of her power or something else? Perhaps Midas has more than one reason for hiding the dead in Tressa.
“Does that make it poisonous,” I ask him, and Modred lifts his brows as I study the spine. I glance up at him, and when darkness flashes through his eyes I realize I need to send him on as soon as my powers let me. Evil already clings to his soul, and it won’t take too long to corrupt him. “Come now, spirit. You’re dead, not inept. Is the spine poisonous?”
He bares his teeth at us, but the effect isn’t as gruesome as he wants it to be. His skin may have melted off in life, but in death you cannot tell the difference. Whatever evil swirls around him isn’t set in stone yet, and his personality is still part of his spirit. “Yes. I hope it kills the bitch.”
I turn back, flicking my fingertips, and some pathetic shadows dance free to shove at Modred. It’s a weak effort, and tells me how low I’ve allowed my reserves to get, but Modred still stumbles back in shock.
“So you can touch me,” Modred cries, and if the living could see him he’d be the reason someone found us out here. “You’re the hand of Death, aren’t you?”
“That’s a touch morbid,” I reply, turning back to her arm. She’s paler now, looking between the two of us. “I’m a Reaper, Modred. My job is to usher you into the afterlife.”
“Well you’re doing a shite job at it.”
“Yes, that happens when my magic is running on empty. The sooner I can heal, the sooner I can send you away.”
“I don’t deserve to be dead,” Modred whines, and I use the distraction to poke at Rapunzel’s arm.
She hisses, and I shrug in response before speaking up. “The princess thinks so. She delivered the punishment. Your disrespect has no place in court.”
“I didn’t know I could do that,” she says quietly, moving to grab fistfuls of her hair again. “I’ve never hurt someone before with my magic.”
“Lucky me. Think you could turn back the hands of time and put me in my body?”
She flinches, spinning to glare at him. “I - I melted you! I killed you. I don’t think there’s anything to put back.”
Pursing my lips, I think she’s right. I saw the flames in the castle as we flew over the wall. There’s a good chance Midas chose to burn the evidence of Modred’s murder, and possibly the rest of the Court of Camelot if he could get away with it. I wouldn’t put it past him to eradicate a threat for self-serving means, but killing Arthur is a direct blow to Camelot, and it could start a war Midas doesn’t want to be a part of.
“So glad I could be your test dummy,” Modred growls, and Rapunzel’s attention is entirely on him. I use the opportunity to grab her arm and tear the spine free of her skin. She screams, and I slide a hand up to press over her open lips.
Leaning in, I breathe into her ear. She stiffens the closer I get, her breaths turning rapid. “Shh, Princess. We don’t need any more beasties joining us tonight.”
She snarls behind my hand, and I can feel the slight dampness against my other palm from the blood. She squirms, though I’m not sure what she thinks she’s going to get away with as she shoves against me. After a moment I let go, and she falls forward along with her momentum.
Growling, she shoves away the curtain of blonde hair covering her face. That hair is something else, and the slight sting it left on my skin is jarring. I’ve never seen hair do anything like that before, anywhere in Mystica. “Don’t do that.”
“They have to come out. Poison will spread until the cure is given.” I pause, tapping a finger at my chin. We have no medicines on us, and it’s not something I bother with since the shadows claimed me. But Rapunzel is still very human, and poison can kill her just like anyone else.
Unless…
“Have you ever used that gift of yours to heal?” I ask her, crossing my arms. Surely if she can heal enough to reverse age, she can heal wounds too.
She shakes her head, glancing away. Her fingers twist into the dirty skirt, eyes looking towards something I can’t see in the darkness. “Just for youth. De-aging. I’ve never been asked to heal a wound before.”
That sounds like a waste of potential. “Well, no time like the present. Give it a try.”
She frowns, her blue eyes darting back to me. They seem to gleam in the light of the fire, and for the first time I notice a small, golden ring circling her iris. I never noticed it before, but maybe it’s just the glow in the cave. “I don’t know how to start. Midas showed me the way to use my power.”
That’s a strange thing to say. Midas destroys with his golden touch. His daughter heals. “Do whatever it is that you do when you restore a person’s youth. It’s the same process I’d imagine.”
“There’s a chant that goes with that!”
“Is there?” I tilt my head, and her eyes narrow at the movement. I remember the works she recited to Arthur in the parlor, but they didn’t sound magical. They sounded transactional, like something she was prompted to say but didn’t mean. “Or did your father tell you that?”
She shakes her head, her brows pinching. “Well, yes-”
“And you’ve never tried to see what else you can do?” I go on, a frown tugging at her lips. “Magic isn’t just one thing, Rapunzel. Your abilities are only limited by you. Midas can touch people, turn them to gold, and throw golden weapons out of thin air. You think your only purpose in life is to be the youth potion to a bunch of old bastards?”
She jumps up, pointing a finger at me. “You don’t know anything about me!”
“I know you’re a sad little damsel,” I taunt, watching her cheeks burn at my jab. Her golden hair seems a little brighter, so perhaps that magic within her is fueled by emotion. “Locked in a tower, all alone with a cat. Forgotten until you’re useful and then locked away again.”
“Stop it,” she growls.
“I bet I know more about your kingdom than you do,” I go on, stepping closer to her. She balls up her fists, and I’m probably in danger of getting slashed with her hair again. That’s a trick I’d like to study, but I have a feeling she knows very little about that ability. “Have you ever walked to the marketplace, or checked the nonexistent graveyards in your kingdom? The rivers and small fountains and ponds that flow freely at all hours of the day?”
Something nags at the back of my mind, but I’m too focused on our dispute at the moment. The pains in my chest distract me, and the thought slips away as quickly as it came.
“You don’t know anything,” she snaps, balling up her hands. “The people love Midas.”
I snort. “Do they? They tolerate a tyrant King because they don’t know any better. The walls around Tressa are impenetrable, and the only people who breach the city are allies or enemies of Midas. They don’t know anything about the rest of Mystica.”
“Not everyone is as hidden away as I was,” she grumbles. “People could know about the other parts of the country.”
“Yet they hide behind a wall of gold?” Pacing towards her, I watch those pretty eyes ignite with rage, and she tilts her chin to glare up at me. “Those walls are new, Golden Girl. They have only existed for half a century. And the Midas I met last night isn’t nearly that old in appearance, but he’s the only one to ever hold the Golden Touch. So explain that to me.”
She wets her lips. “I don’t know-”
“So if Midas lies about his age, his kingdom, his daughter , you don’t think he might lie about what you can do?”
“He wouldn’t-”
“Stop protecting a man who would strike you in front of company,” I tell her, shaking my head. It makes the beast inside me growl, and I stamp the feeling down. The beast already tried to come out when he wasn’t invited, and those killer instincts need to disappear. “Midas cares about you only because you can do something for him. If you were a basic princess he would marry you off and never look back.”
She screams, and my shoulders tense wondering what kind of beasts she’ll call to us. But as the rage leaves her, her hands glow and her hair shines that golden hue, before the ends lift and splinter, flying through the air.
A slight sting in my cheek tells me she struck me, her eyes widening as the hair stretches and twists like rope around her. She grabs at the strands, ignoring her glowing hands, and I watch as she struggles with herself.
There’s so much untapped potential in this girl. She could probably strangle and hang the King and Queen if she set her mind to it, be she offers them blind loyalty instead.
Rapunzel gasps, and I watch as she pulls at her own hair until it falls limp again. Her eyes are wide and confused, like she’s never seen this side of her magic before. But I don’t believe that, not by a long shot.
Reaching up, I flick my fingers over my cheek. They come away black, and that’s the second time she’s drawn blood on me tonight. Midas is no surprise, but Rapunzel is something completely different. Tressa’s Golden Princess is more than a pretty face.
I trace my lips with my tongue, licking the blood from my fingertip, and she stops fussing long enough to look over at me in shock. “Your power is only limited if you allow it to be. That hair of yours has a mind of its own. If it can cut, why can’t it heal?”
Her eyes drift down to stare at her hands, wrapped through her hair as her shoulders loosen. I really don’t think she ever pushed the limits of what she could do because no one ever gave her a reason to. She was bored and alone, but for the most part relatively safe. There was no push to be more because no one cared if she learned something new. They only cared about what they could get from her at the time.
Her eyes glance at mine then away, and I turn to deal with my own wounds as she puzzles it out. Pulling the second spine out of her other arm will hurt as much as the first, and I have no idea if there’s any merit to what I’m telling her. For all I know, she’s going to be unable to do anything much with her gift aside from reverse the aging process and slice through skin with those locks.
But age is time, and wounds are something inserted into the skin. Reversing time should remove the injury. It should give her the ability to heal. Just like her anger seems to fuel the power in her hair.
We’re going to be together for a few days traveling. Leaving someone this powerful in Sherwood is an accident waiting to happen. I have no idea what to do with her, but now that we’re over the wall we’re stuck together until she figures out what she wants to do.
I make quick work of my shirt with the smaller sickle blade I keep tucked into my cloak. It rests opposite the reserve of pixie dust that I carry, and I’m worried we will run out before we reach the tavern at this rate.
There’s nowhere else I can think to take her. The other kingdoms are too far, and the woods are too dangerous to send her off on her own. The Missing Shoe is a haven amongst hells, and she can decide what to do next.
Staring down, I can see the spots where the gold is still stuck in my flesh. It’s hooked in, Midas may have been able to control the gold in the dining hall he sure as hell can’t at this distance.
Flipping the sickle around, I start digging into my skin beneath the edge of the gold. Black blood bubbles up as I do so, and I grimace as the knife slides deeper and starts to pull the gold where it digs into my skin.
It’s not going to be fatal, not for me, but it hurts like hell.
“Midas sure has some mean tricks,” Modred says, and my brow twitches as he appears in front of me again. His soul is struggling, wanting to mourn his loss of life while needing to find me. The call of Death drags his soul back to me, wanting to be reaped so he can pass on. Even if Modred doesn’t realize what’s happening, I’ve experienced this enough times before. “Striking a Reaper is quite difficult according to the Red Queen.”
My lips tighten before I speak. He’s got lots to say. “She goes by the Mad Queen now.”
“Oh, right. I forget that sometimes.” The spirit tilts his head, a little too far to the side, and seems to catch himself as he straightens himself out again.
“Does Camelot do much business with the Red Woods?” I ask, pulling at the gold. It hurts, like it’s becoming a part of me, and I grit my teeth as I pull the blade back.
“Hardly,” Modred replies, and I chance a glance to check on the princess. Rapunzel wrapped some of her hair around her arm and pivoted mostly away from us, so I can’t see the expression on her face but I get the feeling she’s testing out my theory. “We occasionally speak with the people of Wonderland, though.”
“Wonderland is dead,” I snap, glaring at him. “The Mad Queen destroyed it when she started murdering the citizens. If Arthur allied with the Mad Court then Camelot stands against the rest of Mystica. No one wants to support her eternal reign.”
“Camelot doesn’t support her. But Arthur doesn’t want his citizens used for hunting in the Red Woods,” Modred goes on, ignoring half of what I just said. Spirits sometimes get chatty, especially during times of great stress. He’s only been dead a couple hours and I doubt the reality of death has truly set in. This is still an oddity in his mind, one that can’t truly be real. He’s going to speak his peace, even if he doesn’t mean to. He folds his hands before speaking again. “I’ve heard of her lover, too. The one she strung up on the wall.”
“In pieces,” I remind him. The only knowledge anyone has of the Red King are rumors at best. He died long ago.
“Yes, dark magic that.” Modred rubs his hands together, and I notice that he briefly gets distracted watching as they pass through each other. Hopefully he won’t be a spirit for very long and won’t learn how to keep his hands from falling through each other. “You know, I swore I saw a Cheshire Cat in the castle in Tressa.”
“Cheshie?” Rapunzel asks, and when I look up her hair is glowing. It’s a dull gold, not like the times I saw her magic at work in the castle, but it’s doing something nonetheless. “A Queen left him in the castle years ago. He ran off and got lost in the halls. They didn’t find him before she had to leave again. He’s my cat now, he has been for a long time since I was a little girl.”
Modred chuckles in amusement. “I wondered where I last saw a Cheshire cat. Wonderland is abundant in them. Those shifters have their own town within the land,” Modred muses, turning his attention back to me.
I glance at Rapunzel, who looks confused by his words. “Cheshie is a cat, not a shifter.”
“Some of the Cheshire cats are shifters,” I say with a shrug, and her grip on her hair loosens a little. One more piece of her life is getting called into question, and I don’t know if she can handle much more today.
“You don’t know anything about Cheshie,” Rapunzel says with a scoff. “He’s my friend. A fat and loyal palace cat, but he isn’t some visitor from another land. And if he is, he was just a kitten when he arrived here. I would know after all these years if my cat was a shifter. What would that make him, human?”
“Don’t doubt the magic that can come out of Wonderland,” Modred snaps, and I shoot him a glare. He might be stuck in limbo until I help him pass on, but he doesn’t get to keep making jabs at her.
Rapunzel shrugs, and the golden tint to her hair disappears. When she doesn’t focus, the magic doesn’t seem to work. “I’m just telling you, spirit, there’s nothing mysterious about my cat. He’s a friend, unlike you.”
“Keep telling yourself that, Princess,” Modred scoffs, glaring at me once more. I hiss as the gold finally slides free of my flesh, taking a shuddering breath as the nugget leaves my skin.
It’s a bigger chunk than I realized. I didn’t really stop to consider what size the pieces of gold were when Midas struck me, but this one is several inches long and at least an inch thick. If I were human, this would kill me on impact.
But I’m not, and there can’t be any question in Midas’ mind now about that. He has to know the repercussions of the magic he wields. I survived, so I’m not an average man. I didn’t even stop fighting him.
Surely he can assume I’m a Reaper. Tressa might be locked behind golden walls but Midas’ reach is far.
Modred mutters again, floating senselessly around us. He’s going to be too much of a burden if he keeps bringing up things to confuse the princess.
Shifters… that’s a whole different thing to discuss with the Golden Princess. I’m not going there, not while our lives hang in an uneven balance while we struggle to get out of Sherwood.
She doesn’t understand the danger we are in, not yet.
“That looks bad,” Rapunzel mutters, abandoning her side of the fire and catching my attention again. She crawls over, tangling in her dirty skirts, and it isn’t until she sits and brings her feet around that I notice they are swollen and bleeding in spots in the firelight.
Before I can ask, she moves and the last bits of the hair tied around her arm falls free. I reach out and grasp her arm, staring.
There’s still dried blood, but the spot looks like it’s healed. Sliding my clean hand up, I prod at the spot. Her eyes widen but she doesn’t wince, and I meet her gaze after a moment.
“It… it worked?” she asks, wonder and surprise in her voice. Even Modred has stopped talking to observe the healed skin.
“What did you do,” I prompt, wanting to know her process. This is a type of magic that people will kill for.
She can heal, and she can reverse time. No wonder the Golden Flower of Tressa stayed locked in her tower. If Midas knew the extent of her gift, he would never want to chance her escaping.
Yet here we are.
“I’m not sure,” she says, rubbing the side of her head. “I just wrapped it and started envisioning the magic. I whispered the chant Midas taught me to use to reverse age, but it didn’t do anything. It kind of heats my skull when it happens. The chant is usually what I focus on and the magic works, but this is different. Bringing back my own youth doesn’t really work on me. I’ve never needed to cast the magic on myself when I use it so often. I’ve maintained my youth through the years. I should be older than this.”
Yes, I remember thinking the same thing when I first saw her. She’s spiraling, and I do nothing to stop her as my curiosity grows. “Did you create a new chant?”
She shrugs, unperturbed that I switched the conversation back so quickly. “No. I just tried to focus on the flow of the magic. I hummed, does that count? I didn’t know what to chant and I suck at rhyming. So I just… thought. And the magic flowed. And now…”
She gestures to her arm, which speaks for itself. The flesh is healed, and as she twists it around and flexes her fingers it doesn’t appear like she’s in any pain. She managed to heal it without having to weave some sort of complicated spell or know how to reconnect ligaments, skin and blood vessels.
It’s inherent. Whatever sired her magic is something that I’ve never seen before.
I glance at her other arm, where there’s still a spine sticking out and the blood coating her sleeve. “Now do the other side.”
Rapunzel frowns, twisting her fingers through the golden hair. “But, your chest-”
“I’m half alive,” I say, watching her eyes widen. “I can deal with this for now. You need to heal the other arm to fight the poison in the spines. Lean over, I’ll help pull it out.”
She hesitates, and I get the feeling she isn’t used to putting herself in front of others. Her parents used her for her magic, and anyone who visited did the same. Telling her to take care of herself looks like an almost painful task, but I wave her in closer and grasp the spine.
When our eyes meet, I lift the opposite hand and slide it over her lips. Hooded eyes stare back, trapping me in those ocean blues. “On three.”
She sleeps not long after. I had her try to wrap her feet and heal those too, and despite all her arguing she managed to do that before she started swaying. She’s using too much magic, and the adrenaline high from escaping the castle wore off. She’s too tired to continue.
I wave her off, removing the last of the gold myself. I hand her my flask of water, her eyes narrowing when I produce it from my cloak. I didn’t mention it this entire time, but I was more concerned with putting distance between us and the castle before healing her. Despite her curiosity, she seems to forget I was a wanderer in the castle. I didn’t have a room, and I carried what I needed with me. The flask was always there, and it came in handy since we ran from the tower.
Once I know she’s mostly asleep, I pull out the seeing stone. I can share that magic with her tomorrow, but I’m more worried about checking in now.
“You’re not going to help me,” Modred whines, and I glance up at him from across the fire. He grew quiet while she worked, resigned to watching us since there’s nothing he can do. “You’re not going to send me on?”
“In time. Your soul isn’t in jeopardy of becoming turned. You’ll be fine for a few days. And since you’ve already latched onto me, you’ll keep returning until the journey is over.”
He shakes his head. “What do you mean, turned? In Camelot we talk of the Reapers like demons. The Grim have no pity for those they cross paths with.”
I offer him a slow smirk. “We are not the Brothers Grim, Modred. They passed long ago. Their legacy lives on though. Reapers are very selective on who we show mercy, but we aren’t the judge of your final destination. We’re simply here to ensure the souls pass on from this world and don’t get stuck in limbo.”
It’s much more complicated than that, since the Reapers didn’t exist for years before we were created, but Modred doesn’t need to know that.
He continues to complain beneath his breath before he turns back to the trees. His soul is getting into the habit of wandering, something that all spirits do after death. The separation from his physical form leaves him feeling lost and confused, and wandering is common. He can’t help himself.
I wait for several long minutes after he disappears into the trees before activating the stone. My magic is down, but the dark of night will help me recharge if I let my body rest. I still have enough to make the stone work, and after several moments Raymundo’s face flashes across the screen.
“Zarev,” he says, his image shifting around. He appears to be walking, and with the lights illuminating the background I’m willing to bet he’s at the tavern. “Escape Tressa yet?”
“You could say that,” I reply, glancing towards the princess. “I brought a Golden Flower with me.”
“Flower?” Raymundo continues, and he shifts around until the background is darker. “Zarev, you did take care of the princess didn’t you?”
I roll my eyes. “No. She isn’t the danger, Midas is.”
“But does she have magic? We need to find the dead hiding in Tressa, not help to keep them trapped. Something doesn’t let the souls leave. That’s what you were supposed to figure out.”
I chew the side of my cheek. I was in Tressa for nearly three weeks. “I never felt a soul passing until tonight. It was a visitor from another land.”
“Tressa takes visitors? I thought that a shrewd king like Midas wouldn’t allow that.”
“He holds court with Camelot, like we thought. Midas has his fingers in too many pools, and he’s going to be the problem.”
“But not the princess?” Raymundo questions, leaning closer to the stone. “If she can control life-”
“I think she is life,” I tell my friend, and his eyes widen. “She does something with her magic. Even she doesn’t seem to understand it. But she controls age and we just learned she can heal.”
“We?” He drags a hand through his hair. “Where are you? If she can play with life-”
“That’s not what this is.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, willing myself to stay calm. “There’s something unusual about Rapunzel. The King kept her locked in a tower and only brought her out when it was convenient for him. She had bars on her windows and locks on her doors. When he did bring her out, she held audience with his guests and used her magical hair to reverse the aging process.”
Raymundo blinks slowly, and I know it sounds as wild as it feels. “You’re speaking in past tense. Is the Golden King dead?”
“Hardly. We escaped the castle after she accidentally killed Modred from Camelot.”
Silence. My Hell Brother’s mouth falls open, his eyes widening almost comically. Going over the wall was supposed to reduce problems, not create more.
Finally, he licks his lips and speaks again. “She - Rapuznel , she killed a member of Camelot?”
“Yes.”
He purses his lips. “When I spoke to Lucius last, he said a ship bearing Arthur’s flag sails past Thornton Palace. It’s small, discreet, but noticeable if you know what to look for. The Mad Queen could have allies in Camelot. I don’t see a small vessel taking on the Endless Sea to Ander Son’s Way.”
“She possibly has allies in Tressa as well,” I mutter. My hand moves to my chest when I shift the wrong way, and Raymundo’s keen eyes follow the movement.
“There’s blood covering your tattoos.”
I blink, glancing down. A mix of dried red and deep black blood covers the back of my hand, obscuring the slashes through the spade symbol. I guess some of the princesses' blood stained my hands. “We were injured during the escape. King Midas kindly shot me with gold.”
“And he attacked his daughter?”
“No, Modred did that before she killed him.”
Raymundo drags a hand across his face, gesturing for me to go on. I give him a brief recap of the last few weeks. I guess Lucius didn’t pass much along when we talked weeks ago.
When I finish, he presses his hand to his forehead before staring back at me. I briefly catch the image of the clover carved into his palm, but it disappears from view just as quickly. “The gold could corrupt you or poison you. You know how Midas treats his prisoners. The torture can last for years.”
“Yes. Raymundo. I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”
He nods, pursing his lips. “Mother should be able to watch the tavern for a night or two alone. I don’t like to go back out this soon after I’m back, but she’ll understand if I’m helping you. I think the others can assist for a few days.”
“We’re to the eastern side of Sherwood,” I tell him, and he simply nods. “Can’t be more than a couple hundred yards from the wall. But Midas has his chaos in court to deal with tonight. I doubt he’ll send guards over the wall just yet.”
“It won’t make the path any easier,” Raymundo responds. “If I head out in a few hours I can meet you in the evening tomorrow. There’s been little activity from the ogres on that side of the forest. I haven’t seen any bones the last few weeks. I did hear about some rogue mimics though. The gardens are overflowing again and flowers are escaping.”
I glance over at Rapunzel. She’s too pretty to drag through the woods like this. There’s plenty of evil hiding in the underbrush, and beauty is a curse when others will kill for it. That magic hair of hers will be a liability with all the branches, and it would be easy for someone to grab her by the ends as we walk. Mimics love pretty things, and if any of the Flowerborne are this far south they won’t be much more than demons by this point.
Even if she plaits it at her nape, Rapunzel’s going to stick out. Her features are strong and she certainly resembles her father. Anyone who knows of the Golden King could pick her out and that will be an issue if we run across travelers and once we reach the tavern. The fewer people who can place where they saw her, the better.
And if the ogres are prowling around looking for a snack that’s one more problem to deal with. Mimics and Flowerborne are a whole other matter, not to mention other wanderers or soldiers from the Red Woods or Camelot.
“Keep the princess close,” Raymundo goes on. “She may be useful.”
I tense my jaw, but there’s no response I can give for that. My interests in the princess go well beyond the scope of my mission.
After a few minutes we disconnect the stones, and it goes dull and lifeless in my palm once more. Looking back at Rapunzel, I raise an eyebrow at the sleeping girl.
She does look young, but then, so do I. Time does funny things when you’re playing with magic, and she certainly wears the effects like a coat. Her youth is profound for someone that’s been the gossip of Mystica for nearly thirty years, yet she looks so young and at peace when she sleeps.
A bit of a disaster really, tangled up in her hair and snoring slightly. Her dress is dirty from the ground, the cinched purple and gold pressing on her torso and making her breaths short. There’s two more days of walking ahead of us, and maneuverability is critical in Sherwood. Even if we meet Raymundo partway, he’d have to shadow hop with her to The Missing Shoe for us to speed up the journey, and that’s only if she’s well enough for that.
The dress has to go. At the very least the corset top and probably three inches off the hem so she doesn’t trip. If we rip enough fabric she may be able to do something about her hair too.
Glancing around, I don’t spot Modred. If he’s smart he’ll stay nearby, but not near enough to cause more problems. Tomorrow or the next day I should have enough energy to open the gates and guide him onward. His spirit won’t pass on its own if he’s still loitering this many hours later.
Leaning back against a tree, I force myself to close my eyes. It’s going to be a long trek through Sherwood, and we need all our wits about us if we might have to face the Flowerborne.