by Lucy Tempest
He chuckled dryly. “Nice try. But the greater mystery isn’t who you are, but what you are. I’ve seen and heard a lot of strange things, but you are one of the strangest. You’re the last thing I expected to find when I decided to come here.”
“And why did you?”
“Because I heard that this castle had erupted in gigantic thorns. I had to come see what the fairies were guarding, or hiding, that could be of use.”
“How do you know it was fairies?”
He scraped the back of the knife against his unseen jaw, eliciting the rasp of a stubble. “Sorcerers don’t have this much sway over the earth’s magic, not to mention the concept of a thorn gate is very reminiscent of the Spring Court. Or so I’ve heard.”
Of course. The thorns must be another manifestation of the Spring Queen’s curse, a retaliation for having it amended, making it impossible for any savior to reach me. None of those sent my way had been able to bypass the thorny barrier.
Now this bandit had. The only one who hadn’t come for me at all, and probably the last man on the Folkshore who could be described as “the noblest of men.”
But he was the only one who could see me.
What did that mean for me now?
“You must be comatose from that fall off your horse,” he reasoned, talking more to himself. “But what could have made you a ghost, if your body still breathes?”
“I’m not a ghost.”
He leaned against one of the bedposts. “If you’re not a ghost, and you insist this is not your dream-self, then what are you? An apparition?”
“I’m not sure what I am, but we both know I’m not dead.”
“Maybe you’re half-dead?” he suggested. “A disembodied soul of sorts, halfway to the afterlife.”
A cold spill of horror drenched me. “Is there such a thing?”
“I’ve heard stories of lost souls, who either end up in a limbo between life and death, or linger here, in time becoming true ghosts, or worse, poltergeists.”
Every possibility out of his mouth blasted away whatever remained of the hopeless daze I’d been in since I awoke in this castle. I discovered it had actually been protecting me from utter despair.
It hadn’t occurred to me there could be a limited time for me to be asleep, that I could eventually become totally detached from my body. I could die regardless of the fairy godmother’s curse amendment.
Worse, I could become something eternally tormented, or even evil.
I should have never left Cahraman. I should have just let those ghouls eat me, or drowned in that flooded shrine in Mount Alborz. At least that would have been an active death, while I was fighting something, not stuck in this accursed state until I faded, or became a malevolent spirit haunting this run-down castle.
My body began to thrash in response to my horror, and he waved his hands in my face. “Hey, calm down!”
The urgency of his tone only furthered my slide down the spiral of panic. I squeezed my eyes, hands going to my neck, suffocating for the air I no longer breathed…
Suddenly, the world shook violently, and I felt something I didn’t think I’d ever feel again. The pressure of fingers on my arms.
Snapping my eyes open, I found the hooded man shaking my sleeping body, snapping me out of my descent into hysteria.
“Whatever you’re thinking, stop it,” he ordered tersely. “You’re giving yourself an anxiety attack.”
“A what?” I slurred breathlessly, running my hands over my arms, where I could feel the indirect touch of his hands.
“Like a heart attack, but less lethal, and spurred by your mind rather than any physical issues.” He carefully laid my shivering body down, adjusting my head on its pillow, then fully turned towards me. “It’s common among soldiers. I’ve seen many instances in the war.”
“You fought in the war? Which side?”
“Which side?” he laughed incredulously. “Do I sound Avongartan?”
“Accent is no indication of nationality these days. Many are encouraged to be polyglots.”
“Well, Mysterious Dreamer of the Woods…” He tapped my body’s limp hand. “…I’ll have you know that I, like any Arborean man between the ages of sixteen and forty, was off fighting in His Majesty’s army. I spent the war being sent back and forth between guarding the borderlands and fighting on the frontlines.”
“Oh.” I nodded slowly, calming down as I watched the gloved hand set over my own. I could feel it, like I still felt the echoes of his grip on my arms.
This was the most I’d felt in ages. Since that night I’d been with…
No. I wouldn’t think of Reynard. I couldn’t afford more confusion and frustration and hopelessness.
Shaking my thoughts back to this moment, I took hold of my incorporeal dress and curtseyed. “Thank you for your service.”
He snorted, bowing in turn. “It was my duty, milady. For King and Country—and all that nonsense.”
“Nonsense!” I exclaimed, mind snapping fully to him, ready to launch into a tirade on my father’s behalf. “It is an honor to serve the king, and to protect our land from our enemies!”
He huffed. “Indeed. And while thousands of us followed His Majesty to war, risking our lives for the safety and prosperity of Arbore, we left it in the hands of scum like Prince Jon, who oppressed the people, and almost destroyed the kingdom from within.”
It was treason to talk about any member of the royal family this way. But this was the second time I’d heard allusions that Uncle Jonquil had not merely failed to lead our kingdom in my father’s absence, but had actively abused his power.
And this man wasn’t alluding to it, but directly condemning Uncle Jonquil. So could this be a universal opinion of him? Had he been as bad as claimed?
Even if so, this man was a thief! He was the last person to condemn others.
“Who are you to judge,” I snapped. “You came to rob this place.”
“Who am I?” he scoffed. “I’m the man who spent years of my youth fighting to keep our kingdom safe, only to find out the man charged with protecting those we left behind was subjugating them instead.” He gestured to his bag of lethal loot. “And what if I’m robbing what hasn’t been of use to anyone in centuries, but will help save someone in danger? Tell me again how I compare to Prince Parasite.”
I gaped at him. Regardless of how corrupt my uncle might be considered, he was still a prince. And as regent, he’d had the divine right of kings. If he’d misused his power, so had many princes and kings across the continent before him, and would after him. He might have also had reason to, and I was hearing only one side of the story. The noblest of men couldn’t, and shouldn’t, be judged by the same standards as everyone else.
I folded my arms on my chest, glaring at him. “Say what you wish. People will remember Prince Jonquil, for better or for worse. They will not remember you.”
He laughed. “Oh, they will. They’re already committing my exploits to song and sonnets, ballads, and books, and I hope that, throughout the ages, I will always be the bane in Prince Jon’s narrative.”
And with those last words, that confusing familiarity I’d been feeling towards him finally crystalized. I hadn’t seen him before. But I’d heard enough descriptions to recognize who he was.
I stabbed a finger at him accusingly. “You’re that robbing hoodlum, the prince’s thief!”
He threw out his arms, as if to present himself to me. “I prefer Robin Hood, Prince of Thieves.”
Chapter Nine
After hearing about that robbing hoodlum for years, the conflicting reports of his appearance, actions, nature as man, beast, or a host of copycats, he stood before me in the flesh. Here of all places. Far more striking than the stories had ever portrayed. And so proud of his infamy.
I said so, and he only chuckled again. “A man takes pride in his accomplishments, and it is an impressive reputation—even if it doesn’t really do me justice.”
“You—you…” My offended
splutter made him laugh harder, which in turn made me sneer, “Of course, it doesn’t. You must have committed too many crimes to document. Like this latest heist that no one would find out about. Though you miscalculated your potential loot this time, since there’s no treasure here.”
He waved dismissively. “I don’t care for treasure.”
“Sure, that’s why you regularly robbed all those noblemen, clergymen, and the prince regent.”
“I did it to give money back to the peasants they overtaxed!” he growled, losing all nonchalance. “People lost their defenders to the king’s cause, which made them easy prey for that vulture, to do with as he wished. But I bet you didn’t hear that side of the story, did you?”
Even with no blood running in my veins, I still felt my face heating with chagrin. “I—heard of some missteps, but no true injustices.” Except vaguely, from Reynard…
“No injustices? That’s hilarious. If he weren’t the king’s brother, and just any old minister or duke, he’d be dealt the fate he forced upon all the men who tried to resist his tyranny.”
His fury silenced me this time. It felt personal. Had Uncle Jonquil done something to his family while he was away at war? And if he had, had my father done anything about it since his return?
Probably not. Returning to a post-war kingdom, and a cursed daughter about to expire, Father must have had other priorities over fixing Uncle Jonquil’s individual injustices.
Any urge to defend my family evaporated like mist on a sunny afternoon.
But his words reminded me of Cyrus’s future bride, who’d supplemented her wages by stealing. I’d seen that as further proof of her being the worst choice for queen, and a horrible person who coveted what others had, and robbed them of what they held dear.
But in my last days in Cahraman, Adelaide had revealed how she’d lost her mother, had spent her adolescence homeless and destitute, but had only stolen to survive. She would have never taken important things from those who needed them.
According to his claims, neither would this Robin Hood.
It seemed it was my own uncle who had.
I still wasn’t ready to accept his word on either claim. “Say I believe that none of what you took from the…most fortunate, was for yourself. Why do it for others? What did they give you in return—a cut of the proceeds?”
“The same thing you just gave me for serving in the war.”
“A ‘Thank you?’” I raised a skeptical brow at him. “And that’s enough?”
“It is for me.”
Since I couldn’t see his face, I couldn’t tell how he meant it. Sarcastically? Bitterly? Or, by some improbable chance, honestly, as his tone implied?
No. There had to be another motive for his actions.
“You consider redistributing ill-gotten wealth on the people the same as fighting those who aimed to invade us?”
He rolled his shoulders, an uncaring shrug. “Serving your people is serving your people, the specifics and the scope don’t matter. I do what I can, where I can.”
Those were words befitting the knights errant of centuries past. That rare breed whose lives endured into mythologized tales, who inspired chivalry long after their number had dwindled, and their function had been absorbed into the armed forces. Many had been knighted during the war, and sent back to oversee law and order throughout the kingdom.
But surely this man couldn’t have been one.
“Why not become a sheriff then?” I probed. “Protect the public as part of the police, or in any other lawful capacity?”
“Because the system was corrupted under Prince Jon, and anyone who wanted to do their job was bullied into going along with them, or ousted.”
“Why not—”
“Ghost Girl, any alternatives you’ll suggest, I’ve gone through. This was my last resort, and the only choice that had an effect.”
“I am not a ghost!”
“What else am I supposed to call you?”
I caught my retort in time to actually think it through.
Given his hatred of my uncle, and seemingly for everyone from my end of the hierarchy, I couldn’t tell him who I was. He could take his anger out on me. I couldn’t risk that.
“Well? Who are you?” He gestured to my body. “Judging from our conversation, you’re not some fabled sleeper untouched by the passage of time. You’re contemporary since you’ve heard of me, know the war is over, and you sound like you’re from the capital.” He leaned further over my sleeping form. “You look a tad foreign as well, and from the way you speak, I’d say you lived at court.”
Despite not directly breathing, I felt my breath catch in my tight throat.
If he could tell so much about me, from so little, I couldn’t provide him with any more information, or he would figure out my identity for sure.
Robin Hood of all people couldn’t know I was Princess Fairuza.
So I gave the only safe answer I had, “I don’t know.”
“Don’t know who you are? Or why you’re a ghost—sorry, apparition?”
I could hear the eye-roll in his voice. It was incredibly expressive—tone, pitch, and inflection undulating along each word, like he was singing them. I could transcribe the exact notes of his delivery on a music sheet. I still wished I could see his face, and watch the expressions he was sending my way.
He let out a heavy sigh. “Listen, I know you don’t like the idea of me, but you must trust me enough to tell me more about your condition.”
“Why do you think I know any more than I already told you?”
“Because no one blindly trips into magical situations. Whatever you did, whoever you crossed, I need to know the specifics.”
“Why? Why is that important?”
“Why?” He scratched his stubble with a scoff. “You must have hit your head harder than I thought falling off that horse. But to spell it out—if I’m to help you, I need to know what your problem really is.”
I was halfway to a resounding insult when the second half of his statement wormed its way past my burning ears.
“You—you want to help me?” I stuttered, the last two words rising to a squeak.
“I can’t just leave you like this, can I?”
“You can, actually,” I mumbled miserably. “Everyone else has.”
“I’m betting everyone else couldn’t reach you to start with,” he reasoned smugly. “Thanks to those gigantic briars that look like they’ve burst forth from the Underworld.”
The Underworld. I could be halfway to being dragged down there, leaving my soulless body well and truly dead.
Oblivious to my reigniting panic, he went on, “It would be helpful to find out why you were put here to begin with. Whenever I’ve heard of girls locked in towers, there was usually a covetous dragon or a deranged witch in the area. An active threat, so to speak.”
“I’m here for safekeeping, I suppose.”
He made an impatient noise. “Clearly. Any other information you’re willing to share? It could be vital.”
“Are you seriously going to try and help me?”
“I’m not saying it is my first priority, since I already have one, but I will come back to…” He stopped, reaching into his hood to scratch his head. “No. That wouldn’t work. You could be beyond saving by the time I return. Which means I’ll have to do something now. I need to figure out a way to get your body out of here, but with that infernal cage of briars, it will be tricky, to put it mildly.”
I was again stunned silent as he continued muttering to himself, trying to work out the logistics of my situation. This scourge of nobility actually seemed as invested in my predicament almost as my own brother had been.
He was serious about helping me.
“Maybe I should try to clear a way through those briars using my newly acquired loot.”
I came back to myself with a start, his words another rush of disappointment. “Don’t bother. No weapons have proved effective so far. In fact, the more anyone tried
to cut them down, the denser they grew.”
He patted his bag, clanging the weapons inside. “But no one had anything like these beauties. According to legend, either King Herla and his men took them to Faerie with them, and they were affected by the magic there, or they were originally from there. Either way, I bet they’d cut through Faerie magic, not to mention prove useful in my journey. Though…”
“What?” I rasped, even when I dreaded hearing his qualification.
He sighed. “Moving your body isn’t a good idea. I should leave it here where it’s safe, while I go in search for the means to wake you up.”
“You won’t find any!” I cried out. “Just get me out of here!”
He just shook his head. “Even if I do, I can’t possibly cart your body around Faerie.”
I gaped at him. “You’re going to Faerie?”
“This was my last stop before I headed there.”
And if he went into Faerie, with the way time passed differently from our realm, it might be ages before he came back. If he came back at all. I would literally be the fabled beauty sleeping in the tower. If I weren’t long dead and rotting in eternal torment in the Underworld.
My shoulders slumped under the weight of resettling despair. “I suppose you’re going there to pester their monarchs, and relieve them of their fairy gold.”
He snorted. “That’s not the goal, even if I’m not against the idea of picking up anything useful I stumble upon.”
“What’s the goal if not fairy treasure, then?”
“I’m going to pursue the Wild Hunt.” He slung the bag across his shoulder, clattering the weapons noisily. “They took someone from me, and I’m going to get her back.”
His words sank in among the debris of hopelessness.
But as they hit bottom, an idea started forming in my mind.
As it took shape, hope sprouted, grew so fast, so ferociously it punched out of me in a shill cry. “Take me to Faerie with you!”
Chapter Ten
Robin Hood exhaled heavily. “I already told you I can’t drag your body around with me. It’s dangerous for both of us.”