Chapter Ten Eugene
Ten
Eugene
The first and last time Eugene got caught picking pockets was when he committed the cardinal sin of trying to rob an old lady.
Old ladies were universally understood to be off-limits, but like many teens, he simply assumed that meant people were missing out.
They didn’t want the outrage robbing someone’s angel-faced nana would evoke.
So Eugene picked a mean-faced old crone instead.
He learned two very important lessons that day. Unfortunately for him, neither was “Don’t judge a book by its cover.”
His first lesson was that mean old crones made it to a mean old age by having a firm command of every trick in the book. Including a few he thought he’d invented.
The second was one she imparted when she was done hitting him with her purse.
“Give up thieving while you can, boy,” the woman scolded.
“For one thing, you’re no good at it. But even if you get good, then you’ll start thinking you can swindle anything and anyone.
And it’ll be too late when you realize you went and robbed yourself. ”
Like most practical, heartfelt advice, Eugene proceeded to ignore it until the consequences didn’t so much catch up to him as land a sucker punch.
And that’s the worst part, really. He should have known better. He knows how a con works: You sell someone a fantasy. (A family that could make him good enough.) You tell them they can have what they’re missing. (A future with the princess he loves.)
And when they think they have it all…you leave them holding the bag.
That’s the problem with dreams. They end when you wake up.
Eugene now knows two things about his immediate future:
First, he is going to make the most of every minute he has left with Rapunzel, because “pardoned ex-con” was already bad enough before tacking on “son of traitors.”
And second: No one is going to get the drop on him again. Not even himself.
Morning finds him reverse-alphabetizing a bookshelf in the guest wing parlor, trying to ignore the red ripples left on his wrists by the brief chafe of manacles last night.
He, Rapunzel, and Cressien are supposed to have breakfast in their own dining room, but Cressien’s mysteriously absent, so Eugene’s industriously fidgeting while Rapunzel works on fashioning what looks like a miniature coat for Pascal.
He must not be doing that great of a job spackling over his dented mood, because Rapunzel finally says over her stitching, “Do you want to talk about it?”
“I…I wish I didn’t have to?” Eugene runs a hand through his hair and turns to face her.
“I thought…” Maybe now isn’t the time to throw out I hoped I might be secret royalty, because otherwise I think we’ll have to break up.
As if Rapunzel’s stress crafting wasn’t enough of a tip-off, she’s got pigment under her nails, a sure sign she was up late stress drawing.
“I thought I’d never find out about my parents,” he haltingly shares. “And now I almost wish that were true.”
“I don’t think the manacles helped either,” Rapunzel suggests carefully.
Only then does Eugene realize he’s been rubbing the red marks on his wrists.
Trust Rapunzel to spot a tell like that. He admits, “The last time I was shackled was…before the execution.”
He leaves out that last night, every dream started with him walking down the aisle of what should have been their wedding, only to find himself standing at the gallows.
Maybe that left a deeper dent than he thought.
Eugene feels like he’s hitting his cap for personal disclosure. And he’s not the only one still rattled. “How are you doing?”
Maybe he should have asked about the weather, because Rapunzel’s needle punches through the fabric with excessive force.
“Fine,” she grumbles, then caves. “No, not fine. Did you know Minister Cressien is sending reports back to my mother? I already feel like I can’t do any of this right, and it’s even worse now that I know he’s telling her every time I mess up. ”
“But you’re doing great,” Eugene objects. “You even got Verette to open up! You bonded over weird worms!”
Rapunzel’s nose wrinkles. “They’re not weird, they’re a vital part of the cycle of—”
She stops as voices seep through the parlor door. An unsurprising knock follows, but the door swings open to admit Cressien before Eugene can reach for the doorknob.
Then…King Enver enters after Cressien, somber.
Eugene and Rapunzel both still.
Enver’s hands knot together, regret sinking his shoulders. He draws a deep breath. “Princess Rapunzel. Lord Fitzherbert. I wish to apologize for my outburst last night.”
Outburst? Eugene thinks but doesn’t say. When he has an outburst, it doesn’t usually involve having someone thrown in a dungeon and then trying to fix it by adding a title to their name.
King Enver’s not quite done. “My actions came from a place of fear, anger, and grief, and they were unfair to you. After speaking further with my daughter and Minister Cressien, I have decided that at the very least, I owe you the truth.” His head bows a moment, and Eugene isn’t certain who the words are meant for when he sighs, “Especially because it can’t be used against us anymore. Will you please come with me?”
Enver sounds remorseful. Resigned. Sincere. All in the precise quantities he ought to display.
And maybe, before last night, Eugene would have bought it. Now…
He catches himself once again rubbing at the red bands on his wrists.
Something else Eugene learned as he got better and better at stealing: Desperation reveals who you really are.
And the man who nearly threw him in prison for the crime of a family resemblance—that was pure desperation. A man who’s lost so much, he’ll do whatever it takes to keep what’s left.
Eugene needs to know exactly what kind of loss that is before Enver uses it against him again.
“Lead the way,” Eugene says.
The king ushers them through the palace, this time away from the royal wing. Now that Rapunzel’s pointed it out, Eugene can’t stop seeing the scars in the architecture, and Eugene’s got a hunch that they’re related to that “worst night of his life” Enver was ranting about.
“Princess Rapunzel.” Enver’s voice rolls back to them as they step into a broad courtyard, headed for the base of an enormous tower at the far end.
No—not a tower. It’s the silent, still palace sunmill.
“Legend says that a drop of sunlight fell to earth and became the flower that saved your mother, and granted you—well, your hair—healing powers.”
Rapunzel glances to Cressien, who nods near imperceptibly. “Yes,” she says, hesitant, “but I told the truth yesterday. I don’t have that power anymore.”
They reach the tower doors. Something creaks above them. Eugene looks up at the glittering crystal sails, eerily motionless.
Enver pushes the doors open. “Ours,” he says tightly, “was a drop of starlight, not sun.”
Eugene sees Cressien’s head tilt from the corner of his eye. He himself is somewhat perplexed; “I guess they’re just handing them out” earns him a mild elbow in the side from Rapunzel.
“Like yours, it fell centuries ago. But the drop of starlight fell into a spring.” King Enver waits for a guard to touch a lit torch to a groove in the wall.
A pale gold flame races around the circumference of the sunmill’s interior, catching unseen fuses, and then dozens of lamps within ignite at once.
They shed more than enough light to reveal a strange, shallow stone basin that covers nearly the entire floor.
In the basin’s center stands a familiar statue: a robed figure holding a cluster of dull bronze stars. Just like the ones Eugene saw in the city plazas, albeit twice their size.
“This is—was—the Great Starlight Fountain,” Enver says heavily.
He begins to pace around the edge of the basin.
“Below us is the Starlight Spring itself. Our ancestors found that anyone who drank directly from the spring would be cured of most ailments and injuries, and as time passed, our sailors would return from other lands and swear Asterans lived longer, our food tasted better, everything was just a bit more alive. It was as if the whole island were touched by starlight.” Enver slows to a halt.
His voice shifts. “And a gift like that had to be protected.”
Rapunzel’s hand tightens on Eugene’s. She says slowly, “That’s what my…That’s what someone said about me.”
“They were very wise,” King Enver says, eyes on the dry stone.
“Many generations ago, the royal family realized the Starlight Spring’s many visitors were draining it faster than it could replenish itself.
They built this fountain and connected it to others all over Astera.
Once a year, during the Fountain Festival, this sunmill would activate, and the fountains would flow for a day, free for everyone to take what they needed, while leaving enough in reserve for the starlight to still spread naturally through the land.
We knew outsiders would want that power for themselves, so we guarded the secret dearly.
” He laughs bitterly. “And yet our downfall came from within.”
Eugene’s voice comes out just as bitter. “I assume this is where you think my parents come in.”
“I don’t think. I know.” Enver resumes walking around the perimeter of the fountain.
“A group of insurgents formed a few decades ago, calling themselves the People’s Dagger.
They believed the royalty were restricting the fountains solely to give ourselves power and control over the rest of Astera.
Marietta and Herbert were indoctrinated into their ranks, even though they were close friends of the queen.
They asked us to give the People’s Dagger an audience so they could plead their case.
We granted it, but…they came armed.” Enver absently flattens a hand to his stomach, as if the memory aches.
“It’s known now as the Night of the Poisoned Dagger.
I believe the insurgents intended to force us to permanently activate the fountains.
When it became clear they were outnumbered, they went on a rampage, killing the queen and poisoning the spring so no one could have it. ”
“The Dagger’s leaders could have lied to them.” Eugene didn’t plan to interrupt, but it flies out of his mouth nonetheless. “If—if these people even are my parents, maybe they didn’t know—”
“I saw Marietta Fitz standing over my wife’s body.” Enver points to the base of the statue. “I watched Andreas Herbert bleed out right there, on that stone. The poison may have come from his own hand.” After a moment he adds, “I’m sorry, boy.”
Rapunzel’s wrapped her arm around Eugene’s, and it may be the only thing keeping him from running into the sea right now. She asks, “Have you tested the spring water?”
“Every day,” Enver says. “It’s been over twenty years.
The spring is gradually purging the poison on its own, but it’s taken its toll.
You may have noticed everything seems…stretched thin.
Asterans have been a little sicker, our crops a little less abundant—even the shells you like so much, Princess, they’re not quite as lustrous now. ”
“Is that why you decided to allow foreign citizens on the mainland now?” Cressien breaks his thoughtful silence.
Enver shrugs dejectedly. “Indeed. The damage has already been done. It seems if Astera is to make a true recovery…we may need help from beyond our shores.”
And if these people really are—were—his parents, it’s all their fault.
“You’re sure they were my parents?” Eugene can’t help asking.
Enver’s stony expression erodes a fraction. “I didn’t know they had a son. Still, you are almost exactly like Andreas. He’s in your eyes, your voice, even the”—he waves a hand—“motions. But…I daresay you have your mother’s nose.”
Eugene feels it, then, as decisive as the gallows: The dream is over, and he can’t deny reality anymore.
He thinks he might throw up.
When he ventures a look at Rapunzel, she’s frowning—but not in the shocked or dismayed way he expected. There’s a telltale tip of her head, the one she gets when she steps back to assess a painting’s composition.
“Thank you for your trust,” she says carefully. “I know how important a secret like this is, and you can count on us to protect it.”
“Including Fitzherbert.” Those are perhaps the last words Eugene expected from Minister Cressien, but he says them nonetheless. “Whatever his parentage may be, it has no bearing on his upbringing.”
“ ‘Whatever’ isn’t the ideal word choice there, is it?” Eugene grumbles.
Cressien gives him a So help me, I will turn this defense of you around look and continues, “Is the guards’ surveillance truly necessary?”
Enver rubs his brow. “I suppose…not within the palace. If the boy wishes to go outside, Hughes will still supervise. We didn’t stamp out the entirety of the People’s Dagger, and if they recognize him as Andreas’s son, they may attempt to make contact.”
They’d have to get in line, Eugene thinks grimly.
Then—he remembers the brief glimpse of Torch’s hand as they wrestled with the bag.
The tiny tattoo at the base of their thumb: a dagger.
Your parents didn’t abandon you, Eugene.
My stars, but the resemblance is uncanny.
The People’s Dagger doesn’t have to get in line. Not when they were the first in the door.
“His Majesty’s compassion is without peer,” Cressien says. Then he gives Eugene another sharp look.
Eugene gets the message loud and clear. The words still stick in his throat. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
Enver just nods, curt. He leads them toward the door. “Verette goes into the city with Councilor Savary once a week to provide aid to Asterans still suffering the long-term impacts of the Night of the Poisoned Dagger. If you wish, I can ask for you to join them so you can see for yourself.”
“Whatever you need,” Rapunzel says immediately, because that’s just who she is. Eugene hides a wince. It’s not a bad thing that she never hesitates to throw herself into fixing someone else’s problems. And he knows it’s an instinct she learned in Gothel’s tower.
He just hopes that someday soon, she sees that people love her for more than what she can do for them.
“Eugene, do you want to come with?” Rapunzel asks.
He starts to think of an excuse not to go—then it occurs to him that, if he can shake Hughes, this could be an opportunity to return to the storefront.
There has to be more to the Night of the Poisoned Dagger. Maybe…they can clear his parents’ names. It’s a foolhardy idea, but Eugene knows exactly who he is when he’s desperate: a relentless, single-minded fool.
“You know what,” he says slowly, “I would love to.”