Page 35

Chapter

Thirty-One

T he night presses in around us, cold and thick, as we trudge through the dense forest. The only sounds are our footsteps crunching against frost-covered leaves and the occasional sniffle I refuse to acknowledge.

Eron is gone. My mind repeats it over and over, as if forcing the words into reality will somehow make them easier to accept. It doesn’t. It never will. My constant companion, my cheerleader, friend, confidant... extinguished from this world.

My numb legs move forward, but I feel hollow, like some vital part of me was ripped away the moment he fell. The warmth of his presence, his quiet humor, his unwavering belief in me—it’s all gone, vanished into the same darkness that swallowed him whole.

The centaur lifts his hand, pointing out the shimmering portal nestled between two gnarled trees. It should be a sign of hope, an escape from the nightmare we left behind, but instead, it feels like a door slamming shut on everything we’ve lost.

I stop, my breath hitching, my fingers curling into my palms so hard my nails bite into my skin. “Genie,” I croak, my voice barely audible over the rustling wind.

He appears instantly, arms crossed, looking uncharacteristically solemn. “Daphne,” he whispers, a rare note of gentleness in his voice.

“I want to make a wish.” My throat is raw, my body trembling from something beyond the cold.

“Daphne, no,” Gwyneth shouts, rounding on me. “The consequences?—”

“Damn the consequence,” I snap. “He risked everything for us. Who are we if we don’t return that level of dedication?”

“You aren’t thinking straight, Calamity,” Hart says, grabbing my elbow and spinning me to face him. “Any of us could lose our lives. This is a slippery slope you don’t want to venture down.”

I shake my head, endless tears freezing on my cheeks. “I wish to bring him back,” I croak.

Everyone sucks in a breath. The genie exhales, shaking his head. “I can’t do that.”

My heart clenches, a sharp, brutal ache that spreads through my entire being. “Why not? You’ve been pestering me to make a wish, and now I have.” My voice cracks. “You can undo things. Fix mistakes.”

He crouches down in front of me, his usual sarcasm replaced with something far too knowing. “There are rules, Daphne. Even I have limits.”

My breath comes in short, shallow gasps. “That’s not good enough.”

Sir Sweeps-A-Lot gently nudges against my side, his bristles brushing along my arm in what I assume is an attempt at comfort. The absurdity of being comforted by a magical broom should be funny, but all it does is make my chest ache more.

I squeeze my eyes shut, my body trembling with the encroaching weight of grief. The loss is suffocating, a black hole pulling me deeper into its grasp. “He’s supposed to be here.” My voice is barely a whisper. “He was always supposed to be here.”

The genie sighs, placing a hand over his heart. “For what it’s worth, if I could change this, I would.”

A sob forces its way out of me, sharp and ugly. “I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can,” he murmurs. “He believed in you. Now it’s time to believe in yourself.”

The words hit harder than I expect, because he’s right. But I don’t want to. I don’t want to fight for a world where Eron doesn’t exist. Where I have to move forward without him.

I swallow the lump in my throat and take a breath that doesn’t help. “Fine. Whatever. Let’s just go.”

The centaur gestures to the swirling mist as Theo leads the group through.

The centaur catches my hand in his, making me pause.

“Not all loss is forever, not all sacrifices are what they seem. Don’t lose hope, Daphne.

Hold your head high and claim what is yours, and one diurnal this will all make sense. ”

I tug my arm free. “There is no world where this will make sense.” I stride through the portal with Nash at my side, while Gwyneth and Charming follow us.

The world shifts in a blink, the cold of the forest replaced with the scent of fresh soil and herbs. We emerge into a garden bursting with vines and vegetables, the air warm and filled with the hum of bees as sunshine beats down on our faces. But the chill in my heart remains.

Two men stand amidst the verdant rows of crops, their sturdy arms burdened by woven baskets brimming with freshly harvested carrots.

They work with an ease born of familiarity, plucking the vibrant orange roots from the earth as if oblivious to the world staging a grand unraveling around them.

One man, the elder of the two, looks weathered and wise, his deep-set wrinkles mapping a lifetime of toil beneath a broad-brimmed hat.

As he lifts his gaze, a sudden stillness envelops him.

His stoic expression shatters, crumpling into a mask of concern, and his gnarled fingers reflexively tighten around the carrots, as if attempting to grasp not just the harvest but the very threads of stability in a changing world.

“No,” he whispers. “Eron…”

The other man straightens, glancing between us before his expression hardens. “Come inside. This isn’t a topic for little ears.” I scan the garden, but don’t spot any ears. Maybe they are invisible.

The weight of their power curls around us, deep knowledge humming in my veins. These are the Grimm brothers, the answer to all our prayers, yet I would give anything to reverse course and save Eron.

They lead the way into their roomy cottage, the warmth coming from the crackling fire a direct contrast to the icy grief weighing down my chest. There are books stacked in every corner, their spines cracked and worn. The scent of parchment and spiced tea lingers in the air.

I barely register sitting down at the large wooden table. The others talk, their voices distant and muffled, as if I’m hearing them from the bottom of a well. I stare at my hands resting in my lap, useless. The weight of Eron’s absence presses against my ribs—suffocating, crushing, and inescapable.

Theo places a cup of tea in front of me, but I don’t look up. He kneels and tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear. “Drink the tea, Daphne. It will help with the shock.”

Tea won’t help bring him back.

“How did it happen?” the younger of the brothers asks.

A sob gets caught in my throat. How? “He died saving me.”

They need to leave me. I’m dangerous.

“He’s triggered the transfer,” the younger one says as he rubs the back of his head. “He knew what he was doing.”

If he did, then he failed to tell me.

“What does that mean?” Gwyneth asks.

“A sacrifice had to be made, an unselfish deed for the Grimm bloodline,” the older guy answers.

Nash holds up his hand. “Just confirming you are who we think you are?”

“I’m Jacob Grimm,” the older one declares. “And my brother is Wilhelm.”

Gwyneth clears her throat, drawing my attention. “We came here for a reason.” Her voice is soft but firm. “Daphne is caught up in the Lady of the Lake’s legend. We need your help to disentangle her.”

I blink at her, my brain sluggish to process. “What if I’m exactly where I need to be? What if this is my fate, and my fighting against it is costing others their lives?”

Gwyneth exchanges a glance with Theo. “No, that is not the way this works. We fought our way here because it’s your destiny to live for a long time.” She gestures toward the brothers. “They understand how stories work and how legends are shaped.”

Jacob nods, his gaze filled with something I can’t quite place. “You think fate is unchangeable, but that’s not entirely true.” He links his hands together and leans forward. “You have more power over your own story than you realize.”

I frown, my mind still stuck in the past. “What does it matter?” My voice is hollow. “What’s the point if we can’t change the things that really matter?”

Jacob sighs. “Because you’re not just part of this story, Daphne.” I barely hear him. The ache inside me is too loud. He takes a deep breath. “You and Gwyneth are our descendants. That’s how you claimed the living library and why the All Knowing sent you to us.”

The room falls silent, and my heart stutters. How can that be? Does that mean my mother or my father is a Grimm?

“You,” he continues, “carry the ability to shape your own destiny.” Jacob’s eyes hold mine. “Because we, the Grimms, hold the unique power to rewrite fate itself.”

“Why hasn’t that happened before? With our mother or father?” Gwyneth voices the question in my mind.

Wilhem shakes his head. “The potential is in each of the Grimms, but to claim the power there has to be a pair of siblings whose hearts stay true.”

The words settle over me, heavy with meaning. For the first time since Eron fell, something shifts inside me.

Hope.

“You are like the Idols?” Malachi asks.

Wilhelm slams his fist on the table, making everyone jump. “No, not even close. The Idols are our creation.”

“Abomination,” Jacob adds.

My forehead creases as I try to make sense of their declaration. “You wrote the original narratives?”

“That’s correct. And those characters were then charged with keeping their world alive.”

“So they became Idols?” Gwyneth checks.

“Some,” Jacob concedes. “But others wanted the freedom to create their own realms, ones scattered throughout the worlds. Some have multiple narratives, while others stayed small.”

“And what about you?” Hart asks. “Don’t you get involved?”

Jacob swipes a hand down his face. “We are tired. Our power is a weight neither of us wishes to bear any longer. We’ve been biding our time, waiting for a pair of descendants, strong and true, to take over.”

I’m also tired. Exhausted, really. I don’t want to take over anything in this cruel world. In my current mood, I’m more likely to burn it all to the ground.

“You are already affecting the narratives,” Jacob says as Theo coaxes me to swallow some of the sweet tea. The burn slides down my throat. “But we have to complete the transfer of power if you want to alter something as fundamental as the Lady of the Lake legend.”

Power? My lashes lift. I could rewrite history? “What do we need to do?”

“I see you’ve been gifted the broom,” Wilhelm notes as he strokes Sir Sweeps-A-Lot’s handle.

“Do you have the quill?” Jacob asks.

Gwyneth frowns. “Not on me. I left it back at the Hallows.”

Jacob nods. “No matter, the transfer can happen so long as it’s been bestowed on you. If the All Knowing deemed you worthy, that’s all that matters.”

“What do they have to do with the power?” I wonder. I need to make sure I understand this.

“One of you is the story maker, who forges the world to her will. The other records the narrative with the quill, embedding it in history and the fabric of the realm.”

“Daphne is the story maker,” Gwyneth declares.

“Why do I have a broom?”

“He’s special. Making history and changing fates is a messy business. You’ll make mistakes,” Jacob says with a tilt of his head. He’s right—I’ve made the biggest mistake of my life. “The broom possesses the unique ability to undo those mistakes.”

All eyes snap to Sir Sweeps-A-Lot, who backs into a corner. Can he undo death?

“So once we have the power, we can undo Daphne’s fate?” Gwyneth checks.

Jacob’s gaze catches mine. “Once you embrace your destiny, your power will know no bounds. Just be mindful of what you do with it, because there are consequences you cannot control. It’s how the fairy tales were twisted with darkness. The more you meddle, the more unpredictable they become.”

Unpredictable is acceptable.

“The Idols will revolt against your influence, as they’ve been left unchecked for far too long,” Wilhelm warns.

I swallow the tea, determination settling in my soul. I can deal with revolt. There’s only one fate I want to change, and it’s no longer my own.