Authors: Marissa Burt
Snow wanted to believe her mother, wanted what she was saying to be true. But she kept her arms at her side. Tears or no tears, she didn’t want her mother’s hugs or her apologies or excuses. She wanted those thirteen years back.
The room all of a sudden felt very quiet. No sounds of vampire and leprechauns bickering came from the kitchen. Only silence. Snow’s mother froze. “Someone else is here.”
As they whirled around, they saw that Archimago was already at the fireplace. With a shout of triumph, he snatched the Scroll of Fire from its hiding place. “Oh, how touching,” he sneered, as he twirled the Scroll through the air and slid it under his raggedy cloak. “Mother and daughter reunited at last. Just in time, too.” He withdrew a slender wand and pointed it straight at Snow. “Say good-bye to Mummy, puppet.”
Snow stood frozen to the spot, but her mother had no such problem. She leaped in front of Snow, and a web of glistening light shot out from one hand. She spun Snow around and propelled her through the room toward one of the doors. “You have to believe that I did what was best for you, Snow.” She pressed her hand against the door, releasing a lock, and shoved Snow through. “Just like I’m doing now.”
Snow didn’t know what kind of spell her mother had thrown at Archimago. Whatever it was, it hadn’t stopped him for long. The sound of an explosion rang out behind them, a rush of heat whistling over Snow’s shoulder.
“We can’t leave the Scroll,” she cried. From behind them came a sound like a roaring fire followed by the pummeling of a driving rain. “If he takes it to Fidelus, he’ll have all three Elements!”
“That is the sound of our hideout’s alarms.” Her mother pushed Snow through the dark tunnel. “Archimago has not come alone. The Scroll is lost to us for now. We need help to stop him.” Her mother paused at a tangled crossroads. Passageways snaked off in every direction. With only a moment’s hesitation, she chose one.
“But what about Archimago’s promise?” Snow asked. “Won’t something bad happen to him now?”
“Something bad already has happened to him.” Her mother was sprinting. “Poor Archimago. He is beyond the hope of second chances. He has given himself over to the schemes of the Enemy.”
U
na leaned back in the leather armchair. The heat from the fire in front of her weighed her eyelids down and made her sleepy. She missed her mother already. A servant had appeared with an urgent message only moments after their arrival in the cozy room.
“Wait right here for just a minute,” her mother had said, and now Una was alone in the castle library. A chair that matched her own was across from her, its leather surface reflecting the shadows cast by the flickering flames. Lit sconces affixed to the wall revealed floor-to-ceiling empty bookshelves. Una wondered where all the books had gone.
Mother said that Father had been waiting to see her, that Una had been one of the first things he asked for when he was set free. But now Una wasn’t so sure she believed her mother. Una’s head felt strange, like it did when she was recovering from a cold and parts of her that had been stuffed up popped open. This was all wrong. She should be able to remember things. How she got here, for instance. Una looked down at her lap. A scrap of fabric sat there, covered with a knot of badly done stitches.
Embroidery? Is this
my
handkerchief?
Una stood up and shoved it into her pocket. Her fingers touched something hard and cold, and she pulled it out.
The gold on the ring looked dull in the firelight. The thick band met in the middle of a flat square panel. She felt a flicker of interest. Someone had given this ring to her. For a specific purpose. Una slid it onto her index finger so that the panel faced up, and it warmed with heat. A shimmer ran across the surface. As Una watched, a tiny tree blossomed with white light. The dull metal was transformed into golden brightness, and, in that moment, Una remembered everything.
I’m in Duessa’s castle.
She spun in a circle.
Waiting to meet the Enemy.
The events of the morning flashed through her mind. Why hadn’t she punched Elton in the face when she had a chance? Was that really her, sitting beside her mother and begging for her smiles? While all of Story was in danger, she had been busy with a
sewing lesson
? Una ran to the library door, and pulled fruitlessly on the handle.
Locked!
She let go of it as though burned. The next person who would come through that door would be her father, the Enemy himself. Una felt light-headed. They would know. As soon as they saw her, Duessa would know that her enchantment had worn off.
Wait.
Maybe she could play along. She wished she knew more of how soppy she had been when under Duessa’s enchantment. Had she really hugged the Red Enchantress? Would she have to fake-hug the Enemy? Una looked at Kai’s ring. It had stopped glowing.
I can do this
. Now was her chance to learn something useful. She didn’t know how she’d escape, or if she’d be able to, but she would be ready. And when she returned to Bramble Cottage, she would be armed with information that would help the Resistance.
The low desk in the corner was surrounded by stacks and stacks of papers. Una crept over and sifted through some of them, but all of them were smudged and blank, as though someone had written a Tale and then erased it. She was reaching for a second stack, when the sound of footsteps echoed outside the door. She scurried back to her chair, spread her skirt beneath her, and tried to slow her breathing. The next moment a figure appeared at the doorway. Even before he stepped into the room, Una knew that it was him.
Fidelus brushed past her and sat down in the chair opposite without a word. He looked at her with gray eyes. Una stared back at him. A square jaw and firm chin framed a handsome face. His skin was lined, but he didn’t look old. His hair was dark like her own, and it shone in the flickering light.
He didn’t smile. “Una,” he said as he stretched out his hands to clasp her trembling hand. “I’m so glad you’ve found us.”
Una did her best not to flinch at his touch. She kept the hand with the ring hidden under a fold in her skirt. “Me, too. Mother said you were resting.” She tried to imagine what this reunion would be like if she didn’t know what her father had done. If she didn’t know that he was the Enemy. It wasn’t hard. Part of her had been waiting to meet him for her entire life. She took a deep breath. “I’ve wondered about you both for so long.”
Fidelus patted her hand and released it. “We’ve missed you, too.” He leaned back in the chair and put both hands behind his head. “And what do you think now that you’ve found us? Now that you know my Tale?”
Una forced herself to look into his gray eyes. “I want to know how the story ends. What happens next?”
Fidelus laughed. “Those who are with me have nothing to fear. We’ll get our happy ending.” He had none of Duessa’s softness, none of the lilting words that made Una forget who she was. Instead, his voice was hard, and he was looking at Una as though she were a piece of food he was about to devour. “Are you with me?”
“Of course I’m with you.” Una twisted her mouth into a bitter smile. “I freed you.”
He folded his hands across his stomach. “A good answer.”
Una needed to take control of the conversation. Her mother’s voice had enchanted her. Who knew what her father could do? “What’s all the paper for?” she asked.
“Some Tales need a lot of revising.” A slow smile crept across his face. “Especially the drivel that pathetic old King wrote for the land of Story. Once I rewrite Story, I will get the ending I deserve.”
“Rewrite?” Una willed herself to remember the details. The slightest turn of phrase could be valuable to the Resistance. “Wouldn’t that change all of Story’s past?”
“You
are
a clever thing, aren’t you?” Fidelus watched her like a hawk. “The new Story will be mine. Those who oppose me?” He snapped his fingers. “Unwritten. Those who serve me”—he raised one eyebrow—“I think they might come to a good end.”
Una’s mouth went dry. She thought of the legend of the beginning of Story. “Can a Muse really unwrite someone?”
His laugh came out low and menacing. “Don’t worry, Una. It won’t be painful. It will just be over. They won’t feel a thing. Because they won’t have existed at all.” His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “The more obliging characters will remain and be my happy subjects.”
“Oh?” Una tried to make her voice casual, as though it was the most normal thing in the world to have a fireside chat about an evil plan that would make everyone she had ever cared about unexist. “So will you use the Silver Quill to rewrite Story?”
Fidelus didn’t say anything. He rubbed his index finger and his thumb together in tiny circles.
Una tried a different approach. “You must have all the Elements if you’re crowning yourself King tonight.”
He gave her a polite little clap. “Very good, Una. I knew you weren’t a fool.” His voice grew unpleasant. “But then, neither am I. You think me a stupid Villain who would disclose his whole plan to anyone who wants to listen? You test my patience, Daughter.”
“I don’t think you are a fool,” Una lied. She wanted to shout the truth in his face. Only a fool would betray his family. Only a fool would break his oaths. Only a fool would come back to try again.
“We shall see.” Fidelus leaned forward and let his hands fall between his knees. “You might be a simpleton, of course, not to realize after you read my true Tale that I stole the Ink.” His eyes were calculating. “But I don’t think so.” He gave her a hard laugh. “Dissembling doesn’t become you, my dear daughter. You should try truthfulness.”
Una looked into the fire. “And betrayal doesn’t become one whose name means ‘loyalty.’ Why did you do it? Why couldn’t you have just listened to the other Muses?” Una had a momentary flash of the way things could have been. Her father wouldn’t have broken his oaths. He would have been a faithful Muse, one who welcomed the King’s return instead of fighting against it. He would have been like the other Muses, excited to finally have their own Tale. Then the King of Story would have written a Tale for them all. Her mother, her father, and her, together in Story from the beginning. Happy. “Why didn’t you just let the real King write your Tale?”
Her father struck her then, and her eyes watered with the sting of it. “Do not speak of him in my presence,” he said.
“Fidelus?” Duessa’s breathy voice came from the doorway.
Una lifted a hand to her cheek. It didn’t matter. She couldn’t rub away the shame of it. Duessa floated into the room in a cloud of red, but she didn’t come over to Una. She draped herself across the back of Fidelus’s chair, and kissed his forehead. “Things are going according to plan. Elton has commanded the characters to attend you here at nightfall.”
Fidelus stood and grasped Duessa by the shoulders. “And my brothers and sisters?”
“Sleeping soundly. I sealed their dreams with my blood. When they next wake, they’ll have horrible ends in the new Story. Or perhaps they won’t be there at all. Aren’t you pleased?”
He gave Duessa a low laugh and wrapped his arms around her. “How could I be anything but pleased with you?”
Una sat very still in her chair. Maybe they had forgotten her.
He rested his chin on Duessa’s head. “The only thing that would please me more is to begin writing now.”
Duessa pulled back and stared up at him. “Didn’t I tell you? I sent that old fool Archimago to spy on one of my”—her tongue flicked out over her teeth—“uncooperative prisoners, and he stumbled across the Warlock’s Apprentice. She wasn’t in a Tale at all, the clever thing.” She gave a hard little laugh. “But all her cleverness won’t do her any good now. Archimago sent word that he is bringing the Scroll here tonight.” She traced Fidelus’s jawline with her finger. “Too bad I’ve already found my true love.” She kissed him on the mouth.
Una looked away. When she was a little girl, she had dreamed many things about her parents. That they had been crazy in love with each other. That they were rich. That they were royalty. That there was some tragic, secret reason they had disappeared. Now that she knew all those things were true, it only made her feel like throwing up.
“And Elton? It would be useful to have a WI present. Someone to come up with the right turn of phrase. A muse to inspire the Great Muse,” he chuckled.
“Elton is tiresome. He cares too much for the old Story.” Duessa tugged on Fidelus’s collar. “But I have a better idea. Have you forgotten that our little daughter was Written In? She lived for many years in the Readers’ World and could prove a valuable assistant.”
“No,” Fidelus said in a bored voice. His eyes found Una’s. “This girl may be our flesh and blood, but she is no daughter of mine.”
Una sucked in her breath. It didn’t matter that he was the Enemy of Story. It didn’t matter that he was a horrible man. He was still her father, and the sting of his words was worse than when he had hit her.
“Ah, I see that I have been gone too long. Our Una has come to her senses.” Duessa’s laugh was like a song, and even though Una knew she was an Enchantress, she still felt the overwhelming urge to please her. She twisted the ring on her finger for courage and tried out a weak smile.
It seemed to work.
“Look how pliable she is. So naive. So trusting.” Duessa looked up at him with a coy smirk. “Nothing like her mother, hmmm?” She walked toward Fidelus. “With the old Story’s End, the new Story can begin with the three of us. One happy little family.”
Una kept the empty smile pasted on her face and stared past her parents while they embraced. The only thing she could think of worse than being unwritten with her friends was being doomed to a lifetime with these two. She had to figure out a way to escape. What had she been doing while she had been enchanted besides acting like a complete idiot?
Sewing!
She fumbled in her pocket for the handkerchief and pretended that her mess of stitches was the most interesting thing in the world.
Her mother seemed to remember that Una was in the room. She snapped her fingers, and a cloaked figure slid into view. Its hooded head bowed before the pair across from Una.