Chapter 38
With the folded note tucked inside her corselet, Marigold fled into the forest with a basket of cakes, cookies, and comfited
pumpkin seeds. They might’ve jumbled as she ran, but she couldn’t slow down. Not with Kevin threatening to force her return
to Crispin and accuse Bram, known to all of Harvest Hollow as Jask Bone-Cracker, of kidnapping her.
They’d believe it, too.
Why else would a princess betrothed to the—yuck—winsome Prince Crispin live at Grimroot Farm? Saints, she had to get to Grindlethwack first. Tonight was the full Hunter’s
Moon, and upon sunrise, the autumn sprite would slumber until next year’s equinox. It was entirely possible for Crispin to
ask the sprite to unmoor Bram from the farm so the guard could throw him into Dreadmoor. The prison was known to break spirits
as well as backs. She couldn’t allow Bram to rot there.
She needed to free him from this curse.
Impossible? Maybe. But she’d accomplished a lot of impossible things since she’d been in Harvest Hollow, so honestly, what
was one more? She jumped over the brook rather than run upstream and cross at the bridge. Her ankle rolled under her as she
landed. Not exactly a hero’s leap, but she’d limp on.
“Princess, on the prince’s orders, stop.” A stranger’s voice reached her at the goldcap tree, along with the unmistakable
sound of swords being drawn.
Crispin’s knights had infiltrated the Windfall Wood.
Stop? Never. She didn’t slow, nor did she look back. Halfway to the Lantern Oak was no time to be snatched up by these ruffians.
Princess Marigold Ashford was far too busy.
With a flick of the fingers, she snapped herself small again.
“Dammit,” the knight swore.
Hidden in the tall grass, she caught her breath. Small as she was, she’d evade the knights. Except . . . small as she was,
it would take a week to get to the Lantern Oak. Perhaps she hadn’t thought this through.
The grass swayed with the movement of a skulking stalker.
Shite, shite, shite, she really hadn’t thought this through.
“Princess, you’re surrounded. This is foolish.”
The ground underneath her vibrated as steps grew closer.
The swaying grass in front of her parted. This might be how things end for her. The size of a mouse in a forest on the way
to bargain with the autumn sprite. She cowered against a rock as a pink nose surrounded by white-and-orange fur emerged from
the grass.
“Fuzzle!” she squealed.
The cat twitched his ears as he nosed her small basket.
“I’ll give you treats if you get me out of here,” she whispered.
He crouched to allow her to climb on his back. With firm grips on his fur, she whispered, “Take me to the Lantern Oak.”
Fuzzle was off like lightning.
She’d never been accused of being an expert horsewoman, so it was no surprise she was having difficulty keeping her seat on
the cat’s neck. Though his stride was smooth, she clamped her fists and legs tight.
Soon, Fuzzle slowed before the glowing golden orbs within the Lantern Oak’s branches.
It had shed more leaves since she’d last been here, revealing more of its trunk and limbs.
At daybreak, the autumn sprite would disappear.
They’d have to wait until the wheel of the year cycled back to fall to break the curse on Bram.
At the base of the tree, she snapped herself back to full size.
From within the basket, she withdrew a cream tart, then tossed it to Fuzzle.
“Good man,” she said.
As the orange tabby happily dined on the treat, she shed her cloak and scrambled onto the lowest bough. If Bastien got the
sprite’s name wrong and she tried true-naming him first, he might be too irritated to give her a chance to solve the riddle.
But if she tried to solve the riddle first and failed, she had the true-name option as her last arrow in the quiver. And if
both failed . . . well, she wouldn’t entertain that possibility. Positive thinking only from this point forward.
As she heaved herself upward, she sang a tune to calm herself.
“Bram and Marigold, sitting in a tree.”
Heave, grunt, plant her foot, and—shite, she slipped and banged her knee.
“K-I-S-S-I-N-G.”
Twist, bend, hook her arm around the limb and . . . yep. There was the kink in her neck again. Hopefully Bram could massage
and melt it like butter later.
“First comes love.”
She stood on her tiptoes, then stretched for the next branch.
“Then comes a curse.”
Her grip slipped, and she whirled her arm until she caught a branch and her balance.
“Then comes grief.” She heaved herself up another branch. “And isolation, melancholy, the grayness. Then love again while
navigating class-system oppression. Typical girl-meets-boy story.”
She breached the surface of the canopy.
“Grand tune, Red.” The autumn sprite appeared at her side. “Didn’t think I’d see you again. Tell me you’ve brought more of
those cakes?”
“I have.”
“Well now, don’t be shy.” The autumn sprite rubbed his hands together. “I’m hard pressed for time.”
She yanked the basket away before he could get under the lid. “Ah, ah, ah. First we talk. Then cakes.”
The autumn sprite pouted and held the hand she smacked. “Be quick about it, then, will you?”
She cleared her throat. “It’s about Bram.”
The autumn sprite sat on a branch. “The green fellow, aye?”
“Cut the shite. You know who he is, and I’m here to break the curse.” She shifted her seat on the branch as she reached for
the note. “‘List all that true love does, not swears; the quiet works, the patient cares. Miss but one, and thorns shall scrape;
speak them all, and free the face.’ Is that right?”
“Not my finest rhyme, I’ll admit. But yes, that’s the loophole.”
“Great. So, I’m to tell you all the ways my true love is wonderful. Is that it?”
The sprite shrugged and spread his arms. “Can’t help you there, Red. The rhyme’s open to interpretation. Interpret it wrong,
and I get to throw a curse your way, too. Something along the lines of what I dished out to your man Bram. For the fun of
it, I could add a twist where he’s orc by day, human by night, and vice versa for you.”
“That’s diabolical.” She tucked the note back into her corselet. “I’m trying to undo a curse, not bargain with you.”
“I get it’s fierce unfair, but that’s the nature of the exchange. This here’s a magical pyramid scheme.”
“A what?” Marigold asked, baffled.
“Oh, Red, you need to get yourself out in the world a bit.” The sprite waved his hand. “But I want a cookie, so let’s have at it.”
She boosted her shoulders and mentally adjusted her crown. Listing Bram’s qualities was no challenge. It was a delight.
“My love for Sir Bram Duncan, also known as Jask Bone-breaker, is limitless. It’s impossible to sing all his praises before
your season concludes, so I’ll summarize. From the moment he wakes, I am in his thoughts and he in mine. We are not a fabled
couple full of sunshine and tranquility—we argue. We disagree. We debate. But we are rich in repair and always return to each
other.”
“Is that the lot?” the sprite asked.
Marigold shook her head. She was cooking now. “My true love sees the whole of me, flaws included, and still cherishes me.
He believes in me more than I do myself and cheers me on when I succeed, especially in those moments when I misperceive my
achievements as obligations. I want to spend eternity in his company in whatever form we take. Whole, bruised, or broken,
he is mine and I am his.”
The sprite fluttered in front of her like a hummingbird.
Below them the earth thundered. Through the branches she made out Bram’s shape carrying a lantern. His noise must have attracted
the attention of the knights. “Marigold, stop! Come down from there!”
“It’s too late, Bram. I’ve already started.”
He sank to his knees. “I tried to save you from this fate.”
“Life with you is all I want,” she said. “This is how we achieve it.”
The sprite rolled his eyes. “The drama of the two of you. Red, you had me at ‘rich in repair.’ Well done. I’ll break the curse,
on one condition.”
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Not for you—for himself. Hey, lad,” the sprite shouted to Bram. “This one’s a hoot. She’s mad about you. Do you believe you deserve her love?”
Please let him believe it.
Bram’s eyes gleamed on the orb glow. “Yes.”
“You’d better.” Marigold’s cheeks were wet with her own happy tears.
“That’s it, then.” The sprite rubbed his hands together, and glimmering gold sprinkled and swirled toward Bram. He fell to
his knees, hidden from view.
“Bram!” She scrambled to descend.
“Which would you have him be? Bram or Jask? Hand on heart, I can’t tell if the human or the orc is the truer form. He’s found
the advantage to both.”
“That’s not my decision.” She dropped to another branch, and ouch, shite, that scrape through her kirtle would need a bandage.
“No matter his form or face, I’ll love him.”
“You hear that, lad?” the sprite shouted. “Pick which you want to be.”
The swirl intensified, raged, until it seemed to connect to the heavens. Then, with a snap of the sprite’s fingers, the gold
shimmer disappeared. Marigold’s feet thumped against the gnarled roots of the Lantern Oak in front of her kneeling true love,
but her heart thumped harder. Sir Bram Duncan was restored to his human self. Older, with a firmer jaw, laugh lines, and longer
hair. The clothes she’d laundered sat loose on his body. He turned his unmistakable gold-flecked gleam to her.
He caught her hand. “Hi.”
“Hello,” she answered. “So you chose this version of you?”
“It’s the only way to see my mother’s eyes again, and my father’s face.” A dimple punched Bram’s cheek as he smiled at her.
“Is this all right? You’ll still love me in this form?”
“In every form,” she said. “Always.”
He lifted her hand to his lips, then withdrew a wooden ring from his breeches pocket.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“A long-overdue ring. I whittled this from the heartwood of the Hollowsnap tree. Encircling it, I’ve carved a channel and
filled it with the last of my acorn gold.”
“Whose acorn gold, now?” the autumn sprite asked.
“Hush,” Marigold said.
Bram, whose blue eyes shone brighter than the golden moon above, asked, “Marigold Ashford of Thornwick, will you marry me?”
“Yes.” She nodded. “Tonight, if possible.”
He slipped the ring onto her finger.
“It’s a perfect fit,” she marveled.
“I took the measure of your finger as you slept.” He trailed kisses from her wrist to her elbow, onward and upward until they
rose and landed on her lips.
One point in favor of his human form—she needed to be less careful of nips from his under tusks.
The sprite cleared his throat. “Hate to be the one to interrupt, but—the cakes?”
Now that the curse was lifted, she could safely try the true-name solution. From the basket, Marigold tossed a pumpkin cream
puff to him. “Enjoy, Grindlethwack.”
The puff bounced off the sprite’s chest.
“You know my name?” His orange hair dimmed. “How?”
“That’s my secret to keep.” She had the sneaking suspicion that outing Bastien as her informant might rain trouble on the
small boy’s head. “You’re under my direction now, is that right? If so, I have a command.”
“Ah, here we go.” He picked up the cream puff, tossed it into the air, then gulped it. “Let me guess, now. You want gold? To rule? The adoration of all and sundry? Out with it. I can take it. Humans always use me for my magic.”
“I don’t need yours—I have my own.” She snapped her fingers and shrank herself and Bram to the sprite’s size.
When she negotiated, she preferred to look directly into her opponent’s eyes.
“I feel sick.” Bram bent and rested his hands on his knees.
“Oh, sorry.” She rubbed his back. “I should’ve warned you that the magic makes your stomach a little spinny. It’ll pass.”
“Well now, Red.” The sprite’s eyes widened.
“Here’s my command.” She laid her hand on the sprite’s shoulder. “Never honor another human request you don’t agree with.
In fact, if there’s anything you’ve done at Crispin’s behest that you didn’t want to do, go ahead and undo it.”
Grindlethwack’s glow brightened. “Are you . . . are you releasing me?”
“Yes.” She nodded. “I don’t believe in servitude without compensation of any kind. Also, if you want to come back to Grimroot
Farm, the Goldenmoon Festival is still going strong.”
He circled his index fingers around each other. “You’re inviting me to a party?”
Next to her, Bram found his feet.
“You seem surprised,” she said.
“No one’s ever invited me to a party.” His lips spread in a smile. “Tell me there’ll be cakes?”
“Many.” She snapped and returned herself and Bram to full size. “I do have a request, though. Not a command.”
“What’s that?” Grindlethwack cocked his head to one side.
“Crispin’s knights stand between the Lantern Oak and the farm.”
“And you’d like me to kill them?”
Marigold covered her mouth. “Saints, no. Let their eyes not see us.”
“Blind them, then?” Grindlethwack rubbed his hands together.
“No,” Marigold huffed. “Don’t hurt them at all. Render us not visible to them.”
“Oh, sure, that I can do.” Sparkles swirled around them. After a brief shimmer, they saw through each other to the magical
wood surrounding them. The sprite flew ahead, wings fluttering, and his glowing body lighting the way.
“He’s nicer than I remember.” Bram’s warm hand found hers.
“Because I fed him treats.” She squeezed his hand. “Always take treats.”