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“ I curse you now, Oberon Stormheart, King of Faery, Herald of the Seasons, God of the Hunt. You shall be stripped of your powers and become a ghost, a specter. You have spent your life rejecting knowledge, sneering at the written word, mocking our sacred books, and so for your punishment you shall exist only within the pages of one.”

She waved the wand, and a book appeared.

The Tales of Arcana Fortune

“You can’t do this,” he roared. “I am your king.”

He threw a ball of flaming magic at her, which she deflected with her left hand before pointing at him with the wand. Sparks flew and then he was surrounded by a dense purple mist, choking him. He tried in vain to fight it, but it was no use, he was already being sucked into the book.

Arcana’s book.

At the very last minute, a tangle of vines shot out of his hand, yanking the wand out of his wife’s hands.

And then the King of Faery disappeared within the pages of a book, taking the Spirit Wand with him.

They reappeared once again in the silent glade they had been in, and Serena noted the shaken look on Lore’s face.

“Just so you cannot rewrite history,” said Nerida, her voice heavy with grief and anger. “And now, I believe Serena has won her challenge. Lift her curse.”

His face a ravaged mask of grief and loathing and anger, Lore spoke, each word sounding like it had been dragged out of him.

“Seven nights seven tales

You kept your bargain, And light prevailed

A tale I wove each night

You figured out what path to choose, what choice was right

A fight for your life, A struggle for your soul

A journey of strife, And you reached your goal

With this rhyme, with this verse

I now release you from your curse”

A burst of wind, and she looked down to see the rose disappearing from her skin.

No sooner had it happened, that Lore rose from the ground, shadows engulfing him.

“It’s not over yet,” he seethed. “I have replenished enough of my power that I can have my revenge on you, traitorous wife of mine. And once I am through with you, I am going after those useless crones next!”

Nerida rose as well, bolts of lightning surrounding her hands.

“I am not afraid of you, Oberon. Or is it Lore?”

He snarled, and a burst of black fire sped toward Nerida, ramming into the shield she conjured up. The two monarchs continued to fight, rising higher and higher .

“We need to retrieve the Spirit Wand.” said Serena, turning to Grim. ‘This is the best time.”

“How?”

“The weeping willow. It looks just like one in the Arcana room, right? And the clearing itself is similar to the one in Glenn, with the Oak Tree. It has to be another portal. I’m sure of it.”

Nodding, Grim sprung into action. Grabbing her hand he ran toward the weeping willow, pushing away the dangling fronds.

Serena placed her hands on the trunk like before, and asked the spirits to guide her.

She heard the telltale buzzing of her plea being answered and then the two of them were in Lore’s lair.

The red haze was even worse now, and it was hard for them to see anything when they crossed over to the corridor with all the doors.

Rushing to the Arcana door, Serena sliced her palm on Grim’s sword, and pressed her hand to the gold plate.

The door opened, and there it was. The Spirit Wand.

Grim stood guard at the door while she hurried in, wasting no time in going straight to the place the wand sat.

She approached it cautiously, remembering how it had had the curse’s essence all over it the last time.

To her relief, the malevolent presence was no longer there, and she was able to grab the wand.

Staring at the piece of wood in her hands, she was struck by how it had completely changed her life.

It seemed like such an innocuous thing and yet somehow immortals were battling to the death over it.

She was snapped out of her reverie by Grim hissing her name, and she quickly hurried back out.

To her consternation, grabbing the wand had triggered an alarm, and the place seemed to be undergoing some sort of distortion.

As the floor shifted, some of it falling through, Grim cursed and swung her into his arms. She laced her arms around his neck, and he broke into a run, managing to evade the parts of the place that had started to cave in .

They were almost to the door when a growl rent the air. One of the shadow creatures was right behind them. It lunged for them, and Grim pushed her out of the way, unsheathing his sword.

“Go through the door,” he shouted. “I’ll hold off the beast so you can pass safely through.”

Torn, she hesitated, and then headed to the door. Grabbing the doorknob, she pulled it open and looked back one more time. Grim had fought off the beast and was running toward her.

“Go!” he roared, and she complied, falling through the door, and back under the weeping willow.

“You have something of mine,” came a dark voice.

Lore stood a few feet away, breathing heavily, his eyes on the wand.

“This wand is not yours,” she said, her voice shaking.

“Don’t be foolish, girl,” he hissed. “This is not your fight. You have passed the trials, you are free to go. Just hand over the wand.”

“Over my dead body.”

His eyes narrowed. “Don’t be a fool like your aunt, Serena.”

“What do you know about my aunt?”

“Do you truly think it was a simple illness that struck her? One that no healer could figure out? Come now, you’re smarter than that.”

She was shaking now. Aunt Maeve had been sick, that was all. The monster was lying, he had to be.

“Just give me the wand and I will tell you who was responsible.”

She hesitated, and he flashed her a coaxing smile. “Give me the wand and not only will I tell you what happened to Maeve, I will let you walk away. This is not your fight, little rose.”

Her aunt’s name from the demon’s mouth was what decided it. Aunt Maeve would never want her to help someone like Lore, no matter what the cost .

“Fuck off, Your Majesty.”

Snarling, he threw a barrage of black darts toward her, and she braced herself for the pain that never came. For Grim had passed through the door, and had deflected the darts with a shield made of spirit magic.

“Just in time,” breathed Serena, and he gave her a quick grin, before charging at Lore with his sword, batting away the flaming vines that the king threw at him, with his blade.

Lore snarled and dodged the blade that Grim swung toward him, but his movements were sluggish and the blade left a small cut on his arm.

The battle with Nerida had taken a lot out of him, she realized.

Fucking Faery, she needed to find the queen!

“I’m here,” came a tired voice, and Nerida came into view, supported by an unknown faery with long blue hair.

“Give me the wand.”

She handed over the wand to the queen who called out for Grim to step aside.

Spotting the wand in his wife’s hands, Lore’s eyes widened. Before he could say anything, vines shot out from the wand, and he was pinned against the tree trunk.

“Fine,” he spat, “do your worst. I’ll simply come back again, just as I did this time. And I swear I’ll kill you, Titania.”

Nerida eyed him with a mixture of loathing and sorrow.

“No, you will not, husband. Do you know why I cursed you to be trapped in a book the last time? It was because part of me, the girl who fell in love with you, did not want to kill you. I honored that part and chose to spare your life. But not this time.”

She raised the wand higher, until it was pointing at this temple.

“Oberon Stormheart, King of Faery, Herald of the Seasons, God of the Hunt, I utter these words as a condemnation of the deeds you have wrought, of the sorrow you have been harbinger of. You shall cease to exist in the world of the living, but you shall not be permitted to enter the Valley of Somnia. Instead, your soul shall travel to Kurs, where you will be judged accordingly.” She hesitated, and then added softly, “May the stars have mercy on you.”

Oberon was still cursing at her when the jet of red light hit him, and he turned to dust.