Chapter 28 Ravana’s Armor
Ravana’s Armor
He knew where she’d be. But still, he visited every room in the castle for old time’s sake.
The guards were easy enough to evade. Morfran knew all the secret passageways and entrances and exits that they did, as well as a few extra he hadn’t even told Ravana about.
He visited the many rooms he’d lounged in during rainy days—his study, the war strategy room, the solarium.
He stopped by the gardens where he’d wooed Ravana, the ballroom where they danced together beneath the glass chandelier, and even the nursery he’d had decorated with tiny bear patterns the day after their wedding for the children that they both wanted but had been too busy wreaking havoc across the kingdom to have.
Finally, when he was ready, he ventured to Ravana’s trophy room. The only room in the castle he couldn’t stand, ever since it became hers.
He paused when he saw the double doors swung wide open, saw the shadows fluttering across the floorboards. He’d been right. She was on the opposite side.
He hadn’t been inside the room for years, and as he paused in the doorway and looked in, he knew he was justified in that.
It had always been a large, lofty room—two stories high, with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city.
The furniture was grand, too; there was a piano and a harp, and plenty of cushioned couches for lounging, and a fireplace large enough to fit three grown men inside.
The fireplace was lit with splendid flames, and the wine-colored curtains were drawn, further casting a sharp light into every corner of the room.
It was in this light that Morfran saw the extent of Ravana’s reign in the trophies she’d collected: there were the feet of course, sticking out from plaques where elk and moose heads ought to be.
Those plaques littered a great deal of the walls from floor to ceiling.
But there were also jars on shelving filled with all sorts of items: belt buckles, bracelets, rings.
A woman’s felt hat sitting atop a skull.
A collection of glasses filling an entire shelf.
A crimson vase of freshly plucked nightshade.
Spoils of war. Items that belonged to someone alive, once upon a time. He’d known she’d been eccentric in her obsession with feet. He hadn’t known it’d grown this bad, or that it’d branched to include all this.
“Morfran.” Ravana was sitting in a full-backed red chair by the fireplace, sipping a goblet of wine.
She was in her best dress—black lace with purple trim and a low neckline—and her ebony hair was in ringlets that delicately curled around his old crown.
She was also caked in makeup again, as if she wanted to appear at her most beautiful to taunt him.
She spread out her arms in a welcoming gesture, though her eyes spelled murder.
“Do come in. I knew you’d be visiting soon. We’ve been waiting.”
Gueldefore was sitting in the armchair beside her. He pushed himself to his feet, then tossed his new black cape back to sport Morfran’s leather pants. The corrupted knight’s grin had no humor in it. “I told everyone I knew you were no good.”
“So you ran straight to the most evil person in the kingdom to complain?” Morfran balked.
“It wasn’t planned,” Gueldefore sneered. “In fact, she found me.” He looked at her in adoration. “I’m glad she did.”
Ravana shrugged, still casually holding her goblet.
She said to Morfran, “You seemed restless here, dear.” Gueldefore frowned at this, but she continued.
“I couldn’t help but take a few precautions in case you slipped away.
I’m glad I did, for it helped me track you when you left.
And I’d enchanted the right item, too, because like I said before, you are one vain man. ”
It clicked. Morfran looked at Gueldefore’s legs.
“You enchanted my pants to track me?” Of course she did, and of course he was too egocentric to simply ditch them on the side of the road.
They could’ve avoided a lot of pain if he’d just done that.
As it were, Morfran was his own worst enemy. As always.
He shook his head and raised his blade. It was time to get this over with. “I’ve come to—”
“Kill her?” Gueldefore interrupted. “No, you foul wretch. It is I who will kill you.” He held up his own sword, a fancy new thing with a red bloodstone in the center, just like Morfran’s old one.
“All right,” Morfran huffed, out of patience with him already. “Can you wait? I’m trying to speak with my ex-wife.”
“Do move, Gueldie. I want to know what he has to say.” Ravana waggled her fingers.
Gueldie? Morfran mouthed, giving her a long-suffering look.
He’s a rebound, she mouthed back.
A terrible one, he replied, before saying, “Ravana, I haven’t come to kill you. At least not yet. Not if you agree to step down from the throne and pay for your crimes.”
The room echoed with her laughter. “You want to lecture me? Have you paid for your crimes, Morfran? All those heads you severed from their owners’ bodies, have you apologized to them yet? Sewn them back on, waved your fingers and told them to rise from the dead, and sent them on their merry ways?”
“I’ve been trying to pay for what I did.”
“Ha!” barked Gueldefore. “No, you haven’t. You’ve just been parading around with the rebels because you liked the attention they gave you. You liked the attention that Bronwen gave you. That made me sick, watching you flirt with her like a schoolboy.”
“I never did that.”
“It is I, Gueldefore, who deserved their attention—”
“Sit down, Gueldefore,” Ravana urged with a sharp tone. The knight’s jaw snapped shut, and he grumpily plopped on the seat like a three-year-old who’d been told he was to have no dessert. “Now, what were you saying? You were trying to convince me to become good?”
Morfran started up the dialogue again. “Look. The rebels have taken the majority of the kingdom back, all under your watch. They’ve taken Lestershire and Mestershire and are probably advancing towards Warchester as we speak.
You’ve proven to us and yourself that you can’t rule as I once did, and I’m clearly not coming back to join your side.
Step down, Ravana. You’ve already lost. I promise I won’t let you be killed when they come.
I might even be able to swing you a country estate to live on if you surrender now. ”
She smiled tightly, the makeup powder along her eyes embedding in her wrinkles. “I loathe the country. Far too much dirt. And the rooster crowing only makes me want to strangle it, and then myself.”
“An estate in the city.”
“The only ones worth my time are those with great shopping, and you aren’t going to let me stay in Warshire, are you?”
“An estate along the sea, then,” he replied, growing more irritated.
“Even just staring at the ocean makes me seasick, Morf. You know this.”
He lost his patience. “Then I’ll tie you to a firework and blast you to the moon!”
She blinked before fluttering her eyes up towards the ceiling with a smirk. “The moon? The moon doesn’t have catering, dearest.”
Morfran brought his hands up to his face. He’d forgotten just how annoying she could be when she got in one of her moods, which was all the time. “I’m giving you options, Ravana. To do something good again in your life. Don’t you remember being that person before? You were so kind, so generous—”
“—so silly, so naive, so powerless,” she finished, saying it in a low voice to mock him. “I love what I am now. Why’re you trying so hard to change me? Why’re you trying so hard to turn me good?”
“Because there is an entire army beelining towards the castle to come drag you outside and hang you, all right?” Morfran shouted. “I’m being good right now, trying to save your life. See how being good can benefit you in a roundabout way?”
She tapped her lips, accidentally smearing her lipstick. Then she dropped her hands. “You were so much more attractive when you were beheading people. Truly, it is a shame.”
“Ravana—”
“What’s next, Morfran? Are you going to use the power of friendship to make me regret all my horrid decisions?”
“Well, it—it worked for me—” he stammered.
“I’d rather be infected by anthrax than undergo whatever character-building transformation you went through.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“I’d rather have every one of my nails slowly shaved off with a blunt, rusty razor than ever call myself good again.”
“That’s…excessive.”
“So I hate to inform you, but you’ve wasted your time coming here. Please leave, preferably out the window. I always did enjoy a good splat.”
Morfran stared at her. There was no hint or sign in her eyes or body gestures that told him she was telling any lies.
Her smile bordered on a smirk, and she seemed to want him to attack her.
Something about it felt like a trap. And yet what did he have to lose?
Nothing. Bronwen knew his secret. She’d tried to kill him, and would have, if the hex hadn’t stopped her.
She’d tell Brim. She’d tell Grandfather Tortoise, and little Toothless Pete, and Rapunzo, and all the others.
All the friends he’d made were gone, and everyone in the kingdom would want his death now.
He raised his sword again, pointing it at her with a fierce glower. “I’m not leaving,” he growled. “Not until you’ve either stepped down or stopped breathing.”
She grinned viciously. “That’s the seductive man I know and love.”
Gueldefore popped up at this. “I can be seductive!” he shouted. “Let me fight him for you, my love! Let me take care of him for you!”
She gave him an irritated glance. “Like you took care of him with that crossbow earlier? Sit back down.”
“But dearest, I insist! I am a knight who swore to protect you. You must allow me to fulfill my vow, lest my honor—”
“I said sit down!”
“—be damaged, and woe be unto me. But I vow again that I will fight him and I will win this time. I will win your token of affection—”