Kingdom of Crowns and Glory

by Laura Greenwood et al.

  Cub seemed a more likely moniker, and Wren guessed by the flush in the little boy’s face as he felt around on the ground of the hut for his glasses that it was the correct name.

  “Chill out, Wolf. You’re going to break his glasses again.” This from a tall, thin boy who stood behind Cub. He was obviously the calm in this storm, with his easy smile and relaxed demeanor. She guessed he was about her age, which would make him older than the rest of the boys.

  Wolf glared at him. “Now she’s awake, we have to take her to Pan.”

  “She asked for water,” said the tall boy, crossing to a table where a glass pitcher and cup sat on a gilded tray, the items strangely out of place in the hut. They would have looked better in Captain Hook’s quarters, but the thought of that place and her brush with death at the pirate’s hand sent a shiver down her spine.

  “She has the chills,” another boy piped in, this one small but round, with a disgracefully dirty face. “Is she sick?”

  “No, Toots,” the tall boy said. “Don’t worry about it.”

  Toots. Wolf. Cub. “What’s your name?” she asked as he handed her the glass. The water was chilled and crystal clear.

  “Archer.”

  Wren gulped down the water as quickly as she could without being rude and letting it dribble down her chin. When she was done, Archer collected the cup and helped her stand. Her blue dress was dirty and tattered from her time at sea, but she tried to smooth it down anyway. She put a hand to her hair and cringed at the matted mess of knots she found there. It was no use even trying to run her fingers through it.

  “Who is Pan?” she asked.

  Wolf scowled at her. “It’s His Royal Highness the Never King, to you.”

  “My, that’s quite the title.”

  Archer winked at her. “He’s quite the king.”

  “And what does he want with me?” she asked.

  “It’s not your place to ask questions, girl,” Wolf said.

  Archer rolled his eyes but took her by the arm and moved her to the side. She noticed he also did not answer her question.

  Cub lifted a hatch in the floor to reveal a ladder leading down to the ground below. She was right, then—they were in some kind of treehouse. Before she could make a move toward it, someone darted past her, another boy with a head of dark curls.

  “Wait, don’t—”

  But she was too late. The boy realized the hatch was open too late and fell through, arms windmilling only briefly before they disappeared. She gasped, a hand pressed to her mouth, but to her left, Wolf only rolled his eyes.

  She dropped to her knees and peered to the ground below, expecting to see—well, she didn’t want to imagine it. Instead, she found the boy standing and dusting himself off.

  “I’m OK!” he shouted up to them.

  “We call him Nine,” Archer said from behind her. “As in ‘nine lives.’ He always seems to land on his feet.”

  Her heart still pounding, she followed Nine down using the ladder nailed to the trunk of the tree. When she reached the ground, she paused and looked around. They were in the middle of the jungle, and it brought to mind the island she’d found herself on in her dream. Everywhere she looked, there was thick, green foliage. She stepped out from beneath the treehouse and looked up. She was surprised to find not just the house she’d been in, but a whole neighborhood overhead. There were dozens of treehouses, all of them connected by rope bridges and ladders winding between the tree trunks. And, she noticed, all of them were tall enough so as to be inaccessible if the lower ladders were raised.

  She followed the procession of boys, bringing up the rear with Cub. “Is Cub your real name?” she asked.

  He scowled but it wasn’t threatening in the least. “I’ve been trying to get them to call me Bear for years.”

  “Years? How long have you been here?”

  “A long time,” he said with a shrug.

  “And this is Never Island?”

  “It is.”

  “Stop talking,” barked Wolf from a few paces ahead of them.

  They had been following a creek, and now they reached a rickety bridge that spanned it at its widest part. She heard a waterfall, though she couldn’t see it. They traipsed on until they came to a small village. She paused to watch a group of boys pull a small boat into the marina. In the bottom of the boat was a net full of glossy-eyed fish. They passed a tailor’s shop, and a market, and a cafe. Wren noticed that everyone was very young, and even stranger, everyone was a boy. Some even stopped to stare at her openly as she passed, as if they didn’t know a girl when they saw one.

  Wolf stopped them outside a swinging door and grabbed Wren by the upper arm. “The rest of you wait here.”

  In spite of his orders, Archer followed them inside what was undoubtedly a pub. It was dark, and had a sharp, wooded smell. There was a boy behind the counter where she imagined a man typically stood. He was wiping down a gleaming bar. There was only one patron, a boy at the bar who turned when they entered.

  “You!” Wren gasped.

  Wolf tightened his grip on her arm and gave her a little shake which she knew meant she was supposed to be quiet, but she’d never been very good at following orders. Especially not when she was meeting—for the very first time in real life—a boy who had haunted her dreams for the better part of a decade.

  “You’re the Never King?”

  The boy stood, unfolding himself from the bar stool and moving toward her. “Known to some as the Dream Thief, I suppose,” he said.

  Wolf cleared his throat. “You said to bring her to you when she woke.”

  The Dream Thief’s eyes flicked to Wolf. “Yes, thank you, Wolf. Please wait outside.”

  Wolf obeyed without hesitation, the door swinging shut behind him. Even the bartender disappeared through a back door. But Archer hesitated.

  “Yes?” the Dream Thief asked. He and Archer were similar in height and age, but the Dream Thief had about twenty pounds of muscle on him.

  “I just want to make sure she’ll be safe,” Archer answered, clearly not intimidated.

  The Dream Thief spread his arms out to his sides, an unkind smirk on his lips. Wren took the opportunity to appreciate him in real life. He seemed even younger than the captain, about her age, maybe, give or take a year. He wore a belted green tunic, fitted brown pants, and leather boots. At his belt, he wore a sword in a leather sheath. It was a look of another time, but she didn’t begrudge him the style, not when it fit him like that.

  “Is there anywhere safer than with the Never King?” he asked.

  “Perhaps I could take your sword,” Archer offered. “So she doesn’t feel threatened.”

  The Dream Thief did not take his eyes off of Archer as he undid the belt and passed it to him, sword and all. “Better?”

  Archer nodded and turned, passing back through the doors and leaving her in the dark with the Dream Thief. She’d been alone with him before, but only ever in dreams. This felt more real because it was real, and perhaps dangerous, she was realizing for the first time.

  “We meet at last,” he said, closing the distance between them.

  Wren forced herself to stand her ground and not take a step away from him. She had never cowered from him before. “Yes, we do.”

  “It’s finally time for you to give me some answers.” He was very close to her, and even though they weren’t touching, it felt like an electric current ran between them.

  “I’m afraid I don’t know much,” she said. “I was escaping an arranged marriage when I was kidnapped by pirates.”

  “So that they could gain access to the island.”

  “Yes, that’s what he said.”

  “I will ask you one time more, and this time you will answer me.” A dagger appeared in his hand, and he flipped it nonchalantly in his fingers. Archer had not taken all the weapons, then. “Who are you?”

  She had faced his sword before, but always in dreams, when she had been able to summon both a sword to match his,
and the skill to fight him. Wren stepped back but he matched her, not giving an inch. Her back hit the door and it gave way, sending her stumbling back, landing on her butt in the dirt road. The Dream Thief was on her in an instant, straddling her waist and pinning her down, the dagger against her throat.

  The boys were still outside, but none of them made any move to help her, not even Archer, who she could see just over the Dream Thief’s shoulder.

  She summoned what little false courage she could muster. “Get off of me.”

  He smirked. “Tell me who you are, and then I will decide.”

  The captain had told her that her grandmother had created this island, but he had not said if the Dream Thief appreciated that fact. What if she told him her name and he flew into a rage? What if he wanted to use her blood for some other nefarious purpose?

  Something occurred to her then that she had not thought of before. This whole time, she lamented that they were not in a dream, and that things did not work as they did in a dream. But they were in a type of dream, weren’t they? A place that her grandmother had made from a dream. So who was to say that the same rules didn’t apply?

  That was all it took for a sword to appear in one of her hands. She brought it up and the Dream Thief met it with his dagger just before it sliced off his ear. There was a collective gasp from the boys around them. She shoved the Dream Thief off of her and scrambled to her feet. She did not know how to use a sword, but her dream-self did, and she channeled that hidden bit of knowledge now, brandishing the sword at the boys, daring any of them to come closer.

  “Tell me,” she said, her eyes leaping from one startled face to the next. “How do I get off this island? How do I get home?”

  “Is that really what you want? To go home and marry some snot-nosed prince?” The Dream Thief was picking his nails with his dagger, pretending that he hadn’t just been scared for his life—or, at the very least, his ear—a moment earlier.

  But he had a point. It wasn’t what she wanted before she’d been kidnapped, and it still wasn’t what she wanted. She’d needed to go somewhere to escape the reach of her father and Astanrog, and maybe Never Island was the answer.

  “Tell me who you are,” the Dream Thief said, “and I’ll tell you about the island. Then, you can decide what you really want, and if it’s to leave, we’ll help you make the arrangements.”

  He must have seen her wavering, because he pocketed his dagger and took a step forward.

  She brought the sword back up between them.

  This time, it was Archer who stepped up, pressing the tip of the sword down. “It’s a good offer,” he said quietly.

  “How do I know I can trust him?” she asked.

  “You don’t, not really. Though, we don’t have much on the island, except our honor. To betray you after giving his word in front of his boys would be in bad form, and he really hates showing bad form.”

  She thought back to all the times they had faced off in her dreams. It was true that he had never, not once, tried anything underhanded. A sheath appeared at her hip, and she tucked the sword away. “Fine. We’ll exchange information, and then decide what to do after that.”

  The Dream Thief spit in his hand and held it out to her.

  Wren scowled at it, appalled.

  “A spit swear,” he said with a smirk.

  Reluctantly, she spit in her own hand and grabbed his. They shook on it, and with the deal sealed, he pulled her back inside the dark bar.

  Chapter 5

  He sat her down on a bench that was pulled up to a long table and then disappeared, leaving her dangerously to her own thoughts. She wiped her hand on her already-tattered skirt. Was a spit swear really worth anything? Maybe on this wild island, it was, or maybe she was just a fool with her head still in the clouds.

  Her eyes flicked to the door, and then back to the bar, where he was rummaging around in the bottles, not paying her a bit of attention. She could leave. But then she thought about what Archer had told her, about how the king wouldn’t show her bad form. She could at least afford him the same respect.

  He returned moments later with two tumblers, setting one in front of her. She sniffed at its contents and it nearly made her eyes water.

  “Oh, dear,” she said, leaning away from it.

  The thief sniffed at his and made a face that was the equivalent to a shrug. “It will at least dull the shock.”

  “The shock of what?”

  “Of whatever we are about to undoubtedly learn about each other.” He took a long gulp from his cup.

  She followed suit, resisting the urge to hold her nose as she did so. The liquid inside burned her throat on the way down and made her cough into her fist. She was surprised she didn’t spew fire when she did.

  When she’d quieted, he leaned forward. “Your name, then. Shall we start with that?”

  She looked down at her cup, twirling it between her hands. “Wren Darlington,” she finally said, looking up at him.

  He went still, his tumbler of ale halfway to his lips, before he let it thunk back onto the table. “Wren. Darlington,” he repeated slowly. “Of course.”

  “What?”

  “I was so stupid not to realize it before. It makes sense now.”

  “Does it?”

  “I should have guessed.”

  “Yes,” she agreed, “you should have.”

  He smirked at her, and she was surprised to find it endearing instead of threatening. “Do you know, then? About her history with this island?”

  “Only that she created the island to visit a friend of hers who had died.”

  “Yes, she did.”

  He seemed a little lost in thought, so she added, “And that you stole everyone’s dreams and closed the island.”

  “Also true.”

  “Why?” She took another sip, this one smaller. The drink was warming her empty belly and she felt slightly lightheaded and more than a little daring all of a sudden. “Have you any idea what it’s like to grow up in a world with no dreams?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “I’ve no idea what it’s like to grow up at all.”

  She cocked her head to one side. “Well, I envy you that.”

  “Why? You’re here now. Your future is in your hands.”

  “Is it?”

  He raised his cup and clinked it with hers. “It is.”

  She took another long sip as the drink became more bearable. “What do I call you?”

  He shrugged as if it didn’t matter a bit to him. “Pan. It’s what your grandmother called me.”

  “Did she?” Pan. She liked it better than both His Royal Highness the Never King and the Dream Thief. It made him less threatening. And to think of him as friends with her grandmother—well, that made him even less so. “Were you very close?”

  “Yes, we were, once.”

  “You know she . . .” She trailed off, suddenly not sure she wanted to be the one to tell him.

  “Died?”

  She was relieved that he at least knew. “Yes, last year.”

  “Yes,” he answered. “I saw her, in your dreams, and I knew.”

  When she lifted her cup to her lips, she was surprised to find it empty. “I’m sorry you had to find out that way.”

  “It was a good way to find out,” he said, taking her cup and standing. “Knowing that she was loved.”

  “Why did she ever leave the island?” she asked his back as he slipped behind the bar again.

  Instead of refilling the cups, he left them in a wash basin. She was glad for it. Her head felt light and she wasn’t even sure she’d be able to stand. “Wendy never intended for Never Island to be a place to live,” he said, leaning on the bar, his eyes focused somewhere far away. “She only wanted a moment to say goodbye to . . . her friend, and in the end, she wanted more than he could give her. A family, children. A life.”

  Wren pushed to her feet, bracing herself on the table. “Couldn’t she have brought him back with her?”

  T
he Dream Thief—Pan—came around the bar and put a steadying hand on her arm. “No. She could do many things, but bringing someone back from death was not one of them. Come on, let’s get some air and I’ll show you around the island.”

  He tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow and she was glad for it, because when they started walking, the room spun wildly around her. She gave him a light squeeze and he patted her hand, not otherwise acknowledging her state.

  Outside, she sucked in a deep breath of cool salty air. The boys had all left except for Archer, who sat perched on a railing like a giant bird. He hopped down when he saw them.

  “Still here?” Pan called to him.

  “I wanted to return this to you,” he said, offering his king the sheathed sword he’d taken from him earlier. Then, he smiled at Wren. “It seems you were more evenly matched than I anticipated.”

  Pan took it and buckled the sword belt around his waist. “Always looking out, aren’t you, Archer?”

  “I try,” he answered. Then, he turned to Wren, making it a point to look at her hand through Pan’s arm. “And you’re OK?”

  “I’m in good hands,” Wren said, trying not to slur her words. It was hard, though; her tongue felt too large for her mouth.

  “I’ll leave you, then,” Archer said, nodding his head and taking a step back so that she and Pan could move away.

  When they were out of earshot, she said, “I like him.” Then, after a moment of silence, she asked, “Where do they come from? The boys?”

  He steered her down onto the waterfront dock. “Sometimes a boy will pass through and not want to leave. My Lost Boys are the ones who have a heart for adventure, or some talent that suits me.”

  She looked down at the water below them and focused on putting one foot in front of the other, and on the warmth of his arm against her side. She had an uneasy feeling that they were being watched, but there didn’t appear to be anyone else around. She chalked it up to paranoia from the drink and made sure to keep up with him as he guided her through the village that he told her was once occupied by the pirates.

  “And you banished them?” she asked.

  “I did,” he said, puffing up his chest like some kind of Never bird. “And we took over the village so it would not fall into disrepair.”