Hero (27 page)

She returned to the table and put her hand over Peregrine’s own. For such a small thing, it was exceedingly warm. Or he was just exceedingly cold. “You’ve been gone a hundred years, milord,” said Gretel gently. “Elodie of Cassot is dead.”

Peregrine stood up fast, knocking the stool over in his haste. Elodie waiting, he had been prepared for. Elodie forgetting him, he had been prepared for. A hundred years passed and Elodie dead and gone had never crossed his mind.

“Pour our master a drink, Hansel.”

Betwixt righted the stool and Gretel guided Peregrine back to the table. Hansel handed him a glass—actual glass!—of a tawny brown liquid that burned his nostrils. Peregrine forced himself to take a swallow, and it scorched a path of Earthfire down his gullet. He handed the glass to Betwixt, who gulped the rest of the contents whole.

“Forgive me, but this is easier for me to tell as a story,” said Gretel. “You’ve only ever been a story to me.” Peregrine nodded for her to go on. “When Peregrine of Starburn vanished on the way to claim his bride, people across the country were devastated. Gossip began to spread that there was a curse on Starburn, that none who lived here would ever be able to find true happiness.”

“They weren’t far off,” said Hansel.

Gretel ignored her brother’s interruption. “Not long after, a young lady appeared at the castle, claiming to be a cousin of the Earl of Starburn, and thus its rightful heir. She was the most beautiful creature anyone had ever seen, possibly the most beautiful woman in the world. And because she was so beautiful, everyone believed her.”

“What did she look like?” asked Peregrine, but he already knew.

“Hair and eyes as black as the midnight sky, skin a dusky olive hue, and everywhere she went, it smelled like cinnamon.”

Leila, it seemed, had not simply cursed Peregrine to take her place at the Top of the World. She’d taken his place here in Starburn as well.

“She was not as kind as she was beautiful. She cared nothing for people, only power. She traveled the world in style, attending party after party, drowning herself in one extravagance or another until Starburn was bankrupt. When there was no blood left in these stones, she married a dark prince from a kingdom west of Arilland and was never heard from again.”

“It is said she lives there still,” added Hansel. “That her beauty never dies. Just like you.”

“The witch’s daughter,” said Peregrine. “Leila. She had that kind of power.”

“I would believe that now,” said Gretel.

“She only ever had us call her Mistress,” said Hansel.

“And how do you two fit into all of this?” asked Betwixt.

“Our birth was seen to be part of the curse on this estate,” said Gretel. “I was the first petelkin, and then my brother. Our mother died in childbirth. No woman was brave enough to bear a child in Starburn after that.”

“I’m sorry,” said Peregrine. “But I am glad that Leila didn’t force you to leave.”

“She couldn’t.” Hansel smiled proudly. “Because of the contract.”

Gretel explained. “Before Peregrine left these lands, he publicly gave power of his estates over to his steward.”

“Hadris,” said Peregrine.

“By virtue of that power, none could remove Hadris or his family from these lands, not even the dark mistress herself.”

“He fought long and hard, Great-Uncle Hadris,” said Hansel. “To the bitter end.” He raised his own glass in a toast and drained it.

Poor Hadris. He’d been a good, strong man, kind but strict, so much like the earl. Peregrine clapped Hansel on the back. “You’re a credit to his memory. I can’t think of two people I’d rather have in charge of Starburn.”

“Don’t you want to run the estate, now that you’re back?” asked Gretel.

“Yes. And no,” said Peregrine. “There are still some things I need to do first.”

Hansel elbowed Gretel in the side. “It’s a girl,” he whispered.

“You are not wrong, my good man,” Peregrine said proudly. “She saved me from a demon witch. I owe her my life.”

“Same here,” said Betwixt.

Hansel grimaced. “She’d have to be the sister of Jack Woodcutter himself to be worthy of our Peregrine.”

“Funny you should say that,” said Betwixt.

“Her name is Saturday Woodcutter,” said Peregrine.

Hansel stared at them.

Gretel smiled. “A fortunate name for a fortunate girl; I hope she is prepared to prove herself worthy. Peregrine’s story has been told at children’s bedsides for a century. Every pretty little thing for miles has fancied herself Elodie and dreamt that her own Peregrine, done with his adventures in the Vanishing Lands, would appear to sweep her off her feet and take her as his bride. You’ve been wished for upon more stars than years you’ve been gone, I’ll wager. I wished for you a time or two myself as a girl, I’m not ashamed to say.” Gretel’s blush convinced him otherwise.

“I’m honored.” Peregrine took her tiny hand in his and kissed the back of it.

“And here I am, no longer the pretty little thing I was, and here you are, Peregrine of Starburn, done with your adventuring and knocking at my doorstep. Who would believe it?”

“Not I,” said Hansel.

“Nor I,” said Betwixt. He snorted and magicked himself back into a pegasus, much to Hansel’s delight.

“I will be back soon,” said Peregrine. “We will refill the coffers and stock the cupboards and open the market and Starburn will live again.”

“Thank you,” said Gretel. “Thank you for coming back to us. To me.”

Peregrine bowed to the woman. As much as he wanted to stay, he desperately needed to catch up with Saturday and stand by her side for as long as she’d have him. “Thank you for telling me the story. In a way, Elodie will live on forever.”

“That she will,” said Hansel.

Gretel put out her arms and Peregrine knelt to hug the little woman. “From what I know, the real Elodie did wait for you, long past her prime, but a wandering knight fell in love with her anyway and followed her day and night until she finally accepted him. I don’t know how many they had, but there were children, and I believe her family still resides in Cassot.”

“I look forward to meeting them,” said Peregrine, “and sharing with them the rest of the story.”

Hansel crooked a finger and Peregrine leaned over to hear him whisper, “You might want to leave out the part about being a girl for a hundred years.”

19

“HE’LL BE BACK, love. Trust me on this one. I’ve seen enough besotted men to know.”

Love. The very word rankled, no matter what its use.

“Who, Peregrine?” Saturday asked Wolf nonchalantly. “Whatever. He’ll be back, or not. Who cares?” She glowered at the path in front of them. Even the trees of the forest they rode through didn’t make her happy anymore.

“You care, that’s who,” said Wolf. “You’ve been scowling for the past ten miles.”

“I always do that,” said Saturday.

Wolf looked skeptical.

“I’m just tired. This wagon is bruising my backside. And it’s too bright.” She held up a hand to shield her eyes from the glowing red sun setting through the leaves ahead of them. After spending so long cooped up inside a mountain, she still hadn’t acclimated to the light.

The wheels began to kick up sticks and stones. “Whoa, Sassy.” Wolf snapped the reins and guided the old gray mare back onto the path. “From what I hear, you could make our journey a lot shorter if you wanted to.”

It was true enough; her knapsack still held the ebony-handled brush Thursday had given her. She could throw it like the one she had thrown from the back of Betwixt, calling the Wood to them and Faerie with it. Assuming that the power would do as she willed. So far, there was no evidence that she could harness anything from the ether outside the mountain.

“I’ve had enough of magic shortcuts,” she said. In the back of her mind, Velius crossed his arms over his chest proudly. She wanted to slap that vision. She spun the ring-that-used-to-be-a-sword on her finger: once, twice, thrice. Stupid teachers. Stupid ax. Stupid sword. Stupid witches. Stupid gods.

“Suit yourself.” Wolf directed his attention to the road. It was a small comfort. “They call you Earthbreaker, you know.”

“They
who?
”

“Bards, minstrels, the usual folk. They all come to Faerie to play for the queen.” Wolf risked a glance at Saturday from the corner of his eye. “I knew Jack wouldn’t be able to lord his legendary status over his sisters forever.”

This time Saturday did smile. “I suppose not. So what is it they say?”

“Just verses about mirrors and swords and oceans, for now, bits about you taking over a pirate ship before trapping a giant bird that you rode to the Top of the World.” Wolf tilted his hat back. His sideburns covered most of his face; those and his long, wavy locks were almost every color Saturday had ever seen on a head of hair. Tufts peeked out from his tall collar and beneath the long sleeves of his coat. His hands were weathered and his nails were thick. His eyes were yellow shadows beneath bushy brows.

“I look forward to hearing the new tales, once word gets out about the witch and the mountain and all,” he went on. “Instead of batting their eyes at idiots, young girls will start taking up stick swords to slay a dragon and save the prince.” He chuckled at the idea. “Yes, I do look forward to that.”

“He’s not a prince,” Saturday grumbled. “He’s the son of an earl.” And unlike in Jack’s tales, Saturday hadn’t gotten to keep her prize in the end.

“‘Prince’ is more romantic,” said Wolf. “Give it a fortnight,
Hero.
He’ll be a prince. Mark my words.”

“If you say so.” Saturday took up the scowling again in earnest. It had been so hard to let Peregrine leave the abbey. Too hard. She had stolen an acolyte’s robes and watched him fly off with Betwixt. She spun the ring on her finger again: once, twice, thrice. She would not beg the gods to let him come back to her. She was done asking for anything, in rhyme or otherwise.

“Wolves mate for life, you know,” he said, apropos of nothing.

“Yes. So?”

“So I know love when I see it. No two people who love each other as much as you and that boy do will ever be apart for very long, so there’s no sense in you wasting life worrying. Besides”—he pulled his hat back down—“your sour face is ruining my evening.”

Saturday had half a mind to jump off the wagon and walk to Faerie. Everything Wolf said was gods-meddling rubbish. How could he be so sure that Saturday loved Peregrine if she didn’t even know it herself? All she knew was the hollowness in her chest and the ache in her head. Her mind didn’t seem to be able to focus on anything. She felt angry and empty and overly warm and slightly ill. Perhaps she’d caught a chill in their rush from the mountain, or the abbey’s rich food had disagreed with her. There was a madness inside her that wanted nothing more than to scream and cry its way out.

Oh no.
Saturday sat up. This was no malady. Wolf was right: this was
love.
She loved Peregrine, so much that it actually hurt.

Saturday stood in the wagon, raised her face to the gods, and vented all her frustration at the sky.

Old Sassy startled, and Wolf snapped the reins again to keep her in check. “Worked it out, did you?”

“Why?”
Saturday cried.

“Love works in mysterious ways,” said Wolf.

“No, why did he leave me?”

Wolf reached up and pulled her back into the moving wagon before she toppled out. “Look,” he said. “Some things you have to go out and do to prove to everyone else that you’re good enough, right?”

Saturday had worked hard the whole of her life to be as special as the rest of her family. The fey-unblessed sister had longed for years to leave the confines of her quiet, mundane life, until the day she finally did . . . wrecking half the countryside and blowing up a mountain to boot.

“Well, sometimes a man needs to go out and do something to prove that very same thing to himself.” Wolf drew Old Sassy to a halt. “We know just how amazing you are—in a month every child from Faerie to the Troll Kingdom will know too. This is not about you, love. It’s about Peregrine proving to himself that he deserves you.”

Wolf clicked his tongue to set the mare going again while Saturday brooded in the twilight. “That’s stupid,” she said finally.

Wolf shrugged. “I don’t make the rules,” he said. “You don’t think he’d actually go back to a betrothal after all you’ve been through, do you?”

“Yes, I do,” said Saturday. That was the trouble. Peregrine was stubbornly honorable enough to keep a promise made by someone else.

“Then let’s hope this Elodie is smarter than he is.”

Saturday and Wolf passed the next two days in companionable silence. They let the horse graze at intervals while they hunted for their dinner, and they slept under the stars. Saturday rested, letting the soul of the forest nourish her from the inside out, bringing her back to herself.

On the third day they stopped at a creek outside the borders of Faerie, and Saturday decided to test her magic once more. She took the ring from her finger and placed it in the palm of her right hand. The tiny circle of metal mocked her pain, symbolizing the loss of a sword she’d always wanted and a man she hadn’t, but loved all the same. Unbidden, a single tear fell from her cheek and landed in her palm.

Weight forced her hand to the ground. Saturday smiled down at her sword. “Hello, stranger.”

“Probably not wise to go flashing that around the halls of the Fairy Queen,” Wolf said from over her shoulder.

Saturday picked up the sword and examined it. Other than a dull sheen to the blade, it didn’t look worse for the wear. “I just wanted to see if I could still . . . if I was still . . .”

Wolf tossed down the bundle of firewood he’d been collecting. “You’re not going to get any less special, if that’s what you’re afraid of. You’ve burned that bridge. There’s no going back.”

There was a rustle of white feathers in the trees across the stream.

Saturday remained calm. She’d been jumping at birds the whole journey, and Wolf had teased her for it every time. None of them had been the pegasus. There was no reason to think this was either, until a silver-white horse emerged from the brush on angel wings.