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Chapter Forty

A t her whispered pronouncement, his face stretched into an ugly smile, and he sketched a mock bow.

“It has been centuries since I have been allowed to use that name, thanks to my hag of a wife, but yes. That is my real name.”

That explained all of it, then. How his hate for the queen seemed so personal. Why Nerida had never mentioned the king before Serena had come out and asked her about it.

“Are you reinforcing the wards yourself? What about the King?”

Emotion flashed in the queen’s eyes .

“His Majesty faced an unfortunate accident shortly after we lost Arcana,” she said, her voice heavy with grief. “He has not been himself since, and so the burden of ruling has fallen solely on my shoulders.”

That was certainly one way to put it.

“That bitch sealed me in that book as punishment for a crime that was her fault, ” he sneered. “And now I will make sure she regrets it. Just as soon as I’m finished with the two of you. ”

“When you summoned me from the book the first time, the seal was broken, and I have been slowly regaining my strength ever since. Unfortunately, the curse has decided I cannot access my full powers or enact my revenge until the tales are all complete. But once the final tale is done, Nerida and the Spirits will rue the day they crossed me.”

He focused his bloodshot eyes on them and gave a grotesque grin.

“Come, children! It’s time for our Seventh Tale.”

A door appeared behind them, and they looked at each other. Clasping their hands together, they crossed its threshold.

Instead of taking them home, the door took them to a place that looked disturbingly familiar.

“Isn’t this—”

“The place that was mimicked in the room behind the Arcana door?” he finished grimly. “Yes.”

“Where even is this?”

Grim didn’t respond, and she turned to find him staring at her, his face bleached of color.

“What is it?” she asked.

When he didn’t respond, she crossed over to a small stream nearby, peering in. The sight made her gasp, for her hair had turned the color of a raven, falling in tight ringlets around her face, and her eyes were now cornflower blue .

“This is so strange,” she whispered.

“It can’t be,” said Grim hoarsely. “This is just like—”

“Welcome to the final tale, where your journey ends,” came Lore’s voice, interrupting whatever Grim had been about to say.

They turned to find him lounging against the tree next to the weeping willow. He twirled the dagger in his hands once again, and his eyes glinted with malice.

“You know, for someone who has been beaten six times already, you sure do have a lot of confidence,” snarled Grim.

Serena expected Lore to rage, but he responded with an unsettling smile. “Oh, but this time is different,” he purred.

“And why is that?” asked Serena, her voice slightly shaking.

He turned the full force of his gaze toward her. “Have you not questioned why you look like that, little rose?”

She refused to answer, and his smile grew.

“With your hair in those pretty dark curls, and your eyes that fetching shade of blue…you’re the spitting image of Arcana.”

She inhaled sharply, and Grim gripped his sword hilt.

“To answer your first question”—he paused dramatically—“I know you will fail this tale, because I have already lived it.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Grim, with narrowed eyes.

“Look around you,” he said, spreading out his arms. “We are currently in the enchanted woods of Faerie. At the scene of my worst memory, but also home to some of my best. You are standing in the very place Arcana died.”

“Here?” said Serena, looking around. “But how…”

“Shortly before her death, Arcana was working on a project with Nerida to reunite the Scepter of Wishes. To do so, they created a Wishing Stone, one that held the powers of the crystal, and what little magic the Spirits were willing to lend of the Spirit Wand.

“My wife swore her to secrecy, but Arcana ended up spilling the secret to me one night.

I was against it, of course—it was a mockery of all our traditions.

The Queen of Faeries tinkering in a laboratory like a human!

I persuaded Arcana to bring the stone to me, so I could dispose of it, however—well, I cannot spoil the ending just yet I suppose.

Not when it’s your turn to live the tale.”