Twinchantment

by Elise Allen

  “That’s the thing,” Sara said. “After Rouen helped me and gave me the amulet, he pretended he’d been blinded by fairy flame, just like Kravein and the others. I don’t think the Keepers want to help us at all. I think Rouen does. In secret.”

  Flissa furrowed her brow. “So…you think Rouen’s…with the Underground?”

  Sara shrugged. “Maybe. Katya is, and he mentioned her. He said Katya changed the plan. And he knew about Dorinda—he said we should meet her after we get Gilward instead of before.”

  “Right, but…do you really think he’s on our side? I mean, you’ve never liked Rouen,” Flissa said. “You’ve never trusted him.”

  “I know,” Sara admitted. “But I kinda do now. I kinda feel like we need to.”

  “Best be going,” Klarney said. “Gus is on the move!”

  Flissa and Sara held on while Klarney led them farther into the Twists. They clomped through woods with red leaves that chimed like crystals, past farmland with melons as big as wagons, and even trudged through silvery swampland that smelled oddly like fresh-baked cookies.

  “Some things here are so beautiful,” Flissa mused as Klarney tromped through the shiny puddles. “You really think there’s a way to bring the good parts of this to Kaloon, and not the awful parts too?”

  “I don’t know,” Sara said. “But I think we have to try.”

  Flissa noticed something up ahead: a small, wood-slat cabin with a wide porch. The cabin sat in the middle of the swamp water, and as Flissa looked closer, she realized what she thought was a porch wasn’t that at all.

  “It’s a balcony,” Flissa said out loud. “It’s the second floor. The first floor’s underwater.”

  “Flash floods,” Klarney said. “Happens all the time in the Twists. If there were other houses here, looks like they didn’t make it. I’m guessing you’ll find out, though. All you have to do is ask.”

  “Ask who?” Sara asked.

  “Whoever lives here,” Klarney said, coming to a stop in the knee-high water. “Gus has stopped moving. Looks like this is your destination.”

  “So…how do we do this?” Flissa asked.

  Sara looked at the cottage, the green moon shining down on the silvery swamp water. “We just walk, I guess. It looks like there’s a little bridge from the shallower water to the balcony.”

  “No, I mean the Rule of Three,” Flissa said. “If Gilward’s in there, he’s one. Galric needs to be two….”

  “I’ll go with him,” Sara said quickly. “I’d like to.”

  Flissa frowned a little. Sara blushed, though she couldn’t say why.

  “Okay,” Flissa said. “But how do we tell him the plan?”

  “That’s easy,” Klarney said. He reared back on his hind legs and splashed his front hooves in an ornate pattern on the swampy water.

  “Whoa!” Sara cried, gripping desperately onto Klarney with her legs. “What are you doing?”

  “There are ways to work around the Rule of Three,” Klarney said. “Gus and I happen to have exceptional eyesight, so we’ve gotten quite adept at nonverbal communication.”

  Klarney squinted his eyes and leaned forward for what seemed like an eternity.

  “Ah,” he finally said. “Message understood. Galric will meet you at the start of the bridge. The bird will stay with Gus.”

  “Thanks, Klarney,” Sara said.

  The horse walked her to the shallowest spot he could find, then with Flissa’s help, Sara slid off his back and splashed down in the silvery water. It came up to her knees, and she expected it to feel cold and clammy against her skin, but it didn’t.

  “When you see Gilward, make sure you’re wearing your hood,” Flissa said. “He was just in Kaloon. He might recognize you.”

  Sara nodded, then started wading through the swamp. It was like walking through smoke. It didn’t feel wet, just warm, and the movement of her body made the water dance in swirling patterns.

  Sara had a long way to wade until she got to the end of the bridge, but was it far enough? When she reached Galric, would they be too close to Klarney and Flissa for the Rule of Three? Would they be too close to Primka and Gus? What if Nitpick accidentally moved to the wrong spot and he broke the rule?

  Sara tried to see below the waterline for any danger, but the silvery swamp was completely opaque. She couldn’t even see her own feet. It was far too easy to imagine an unseen underwater creature wrapping a snakelike tentacle around her ankle and yanking her below the surface, then dragging her deeper…deeper…

  Sara shook the thoughts away. Instead of thinking, she counted her steps and concentrated on her balance. She focused her eyes on the end of the bridge, which turned out to be one in a series of floating wooden discs that led to the house’s balcony. She was so deeply inside her head that she didn’t even realize she wasn’t alone until she was only a couple feet away from that first disc.

  “Hey.”

  Sara looked up. Galric stood there, calf-deep in the silvery water, glowing in the green moonlight. His hair hung in his face, and when he pushed it away, he met her eyes, and smiled, and Sara’s heart leaped. She hadn’t even realized how alone and nervous she’d felt tromping through the swamp until she was back with a friend. She threw herself in his arms and hugged him. He squeezed back; then they both quickly pulled away.

  “Sorry,” Sara said. “I guess I was a little scared.”

  “Me too,” Galric admitted. He nodded to the cabin. “So I guess this is it. At least, that’s what the amulet says.”

  “I guess so,” Sara said. She watched him shake out his hands, then run them through his hair. “Are you okay?”

  “Just a little nervous, I guess,” Galric said. “I mean, what do you say to the guy who left you when you were two years old? I mean, I know what I have to say. I have to get him to come back and take the curse off your mom, but…”

  “Whatever you want to say is good,” Sara assured him. “I’m right here with you.”

  “I kept thinking about it on the ride here, you know? The amulet. My father had to think about that in advance. Like, he knew he was going to do something and get taken away from me. He thought about that part, and he was still okay with it…you know?”

  Every part of Sara wanted to tell him he didn’t have to do this if he didn’t want to, but she couldn’t. All she could do was reach out and squeeze his hand.

  “Whatever happens, it’ll be okay,” she promised him. “I know it.”

  Galric nodded. Then he ran his hands through his hair again and looked at the bridge.

  “Guess we should go,” he said. “You first. I can help you on.”

  Sara nodded. She took his hand, and he helped boost her onto the first floating disc. It was as big around as the top of a well and floated on the silvery water like a cork. She crouched low when she first got on, expecting it to wobble horribly underneath her, but it was actually steady, like a rooted stepping-stone. She stood tall.

  “It’s good,” she assured Galric. “Easy to walk on.”

  She stretched her legs long and stepped onto the next disc, which was just as well rooted, and heard Galric clamber onto the first behind her. Ten steps and they were at the balcony rail.

  It was strange. This was clearly the second story of the cottage. Sara could see windows and what would have been the first floor below the balcony, disappearing into the water. Yet the front door was up here, with a large window next to it. Sara also noticed that while the cottage itself was covered in old, peeling paint, the balcony and door were bare wood. Sara could imagine what happened—a whole neighborhood of houses like this, wiped out in a massive flood, only this one left standing. Then Gilward, probably displaced by some other horrible Twists storm someplace else, found it and magicked up a new way in, just so he’d have someplace to live.

  Still deep in the daydream, she climbed off the last disc and onto the balcony. The curtain over the big window was closed, but it was thin and diaphanous, and Sara could see the glow from an ins
ide lamp. She leaned close to the windowpane.

  “I see him,” she said.

  At least, she imagined it was him. A shrunken old man huddled over a weathered wooden table in a nearly empty room that looked like it was his kitchen. With a dull blade, the old man tried to slice the mold off a hunk of cheese, but he lacked the strength. The knife kept slipping and slamming into the table.

  “He looks so old,” Sara said. “Is he that old?”

  Galric joined her at the window, and Sara watched his face. It was unreadable, but when he spoke, his voice was soft and low. “He wouldn’t be that old, but that’s what they say the curse did, right? All the stories. They say it bounced back and aged him.”

  Sara nodded; she remembered that too.

  Gilward tried and failed again to slice the cheese, so he simply picked up the entire hunk and took a small bite.

  “He seems so sad,” Sara said.

  “He should be sad,” Galric said. “He messed up his life.”

  Sara heard the edge to Galric’s voice and knew she should be feeling it just as much. Gilward had tried to kill her mom—twice. He’d probably meant to kill her and Flissa too. She should be furious at the man.

  But he just looked so pitiful. And so helpless.

  “I don’t understand,” she said. “Why can’t he cut a piece of cheese?”

  “The spell,” Galric answered. “He’s old and weak.”

  “Yeah, but he was strong enough to sneak out of the Twists, curse my mom, sneak back into the Twists…and now he’s so weak he can’t use a knife?”

  “Maybe he had help,” Galric suggested. “Or maybe his body is weak but his magic is strong.”

  “Then why didn’t he use his magic to prepare his food?” Sara asked.

  “I don’t know,” Galric said, pushing away from the window. “I don’t need to know. If we’re gonna do this, let’s do it.”

  He knocked on the door. Sara remembered Flissa’s warning and quickly put up her hood.

  No one answered.

  Galric knocked again.

  Nothing.

  He looked at Sara and shrugged, then tried the doorknob.

  It turned easily.

  The door opened, and Galric and Sara walked inside. Without the curtains in the way, Sara could better see the cottage. The whole upper floor was just one room, sparsely furnished but clean. A tidy bed on a thin wooden frame sat in one corner, a pump basin and some dried hanging herbs signified the kitchen, and a faded tapestry blocked off what had to be the privy. Gilward remained seated at the wooden table, the only major piece of furniture in the room. He hadn’t heard the knocking, but the door opening got his attention. He looked up, and his eyes locked on Galric.

  The hunk of cheese fell from his hand and thunked down on the table. Gilward’s eyes widened. His mouth worked, but no sound came out.

  “I think he recognizes you,” Sara whispered.

  “I recognize him too.” Galric’s voice was raspy, and his skin had gone waxy-pale. “He looks like me.”

  Sara frowned. She didn’t think Gilward looked like Galric at all. The man was a million times older, and stiff and stooped, while Galric was tall and loose and gangly. Yet as she looked more closely, she started to see the resemblance. Galric and Gilward both had the same angular face, the same ever so slightly hooked nose, and exactly the same deep, dark eyes.

  Galric took a step closer to the old man. He held the amulet in his palm so the dragon head pointed directly to Gilward, and glowed with blinding light.

  “I…I think this is yours,” Galric stammered.

  Gilward slowly rose to his feet, gripping the table for support. His eyes filled with tears. “My son?” Then he laughed, and the tears rolled down his face. “My son!”

  He staggered across the room and squeezed Galric’s upper arms again and again, as if feeling to make sure he was really there. Then he wrapped himself around Galric in a tearful hug that Galric allowed but didn’t return. “My boy…you’re here…it’s really you.” He pulled back from the hug and smiled tearfully. “I always knew you’d learn the truth one day and come find me, and you did…and you’re here.”

  Another hug, but this time Galric frowned and stiffened in the embrace.

  “My boy, my boy, my boy…” Gilward chanted it like a spell.

  Galric cleared his throat and gently but firmly pulled out of his father’s embrace. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s me.”

  Gilward looked around and for the first time seemed to notice Sara. He beamed, and fresh tears rolled down his face. “You’re from the palace, aren’t you?” he asked. “You’ve come to pardon me. Does that mean you found the mage who actually cursed the queen? Is that why you’ve brought me my son?”

  For a second, Sara was confused. Had he recognized her as the princess? Why else would he think someone younger than his son had come from the palace to pardon him?

  Then she remembered her face was covered by the hood. He probably had no idea how old she was. And since Keepers didn’t always wear their yellow robes in the Twists, he probably assumed that’s what she was—a Keeper who accompanied Galric on his journey to the cabin.

  But why would he think that? If he was working with the Keepers to plan a second Dark Magic Uprising, shouldn’t all his questions be about that? Sara was very confused, and when she didn’t answer Gilward right away, he got confused too.

  “That is why you’re here…isn’t it?” he asked.

  “We’re not here to pardon you,” Galric said. “You’re the mage who cursed the queen. And now you’ve cursed her again. So we need you to come with us to undo what you did.”

  Gilward shook his head. He staggered back and sat heavily in his kitchen chair, then looked up at Galric, utterly baffled. “I cursed her…again? How?”

  Looking at this weak, withered man, Sara believed him. At least, she wanted to believe him. But she kept hearing Flissa’s voice in her head. Flissa would say this is exactly what a crafty mage would do—put on a show and act feeble so they’d take pity on him, when actually he was plotting their demise.

  It was possible, and maybe Sara was being completely gullible, but she didn’t think so. She believed Gilward had no idea what she and Galric were talking about. But she had to be sure.

  She took off her hood.

  Gilward furrowed his brow, so obviously perplexed that Sara felt sure she’d been right—he hadn’t expected the person under the hood to be eleven years old. She sat across from him at the table, and spoke slowly and clearly so he’d have to understand. “Gilward, someone cursed Queen Latonya yesterday morning. A mage ambushed her in the woods. Now she’s dying, and the only way to heal her is if that mage who cursed her removes the curse and saves her.”

  “But…why me?” Gilward asked, and again, the question in his eyes seemed real.

  Still…they had proof it wasn’t.

  “It has to be you,” Sara said. “I saw the green mist. Your magical signature. Just like before.”

  Gilward stared at her.

  Then, impossibly, he started to laugh. A deep, rolling laugh that made him lean back in his chair as it went on and on and on.

  Sara glanced at Galric, but he looked as alarmed as her.

  Finally Gilward stopped. He looked at them, red-faced and teary. “That’s it, then!” he said through a grin. “This is my pardon. Because the green mist is not my magical signature. It never was!”

  Sara frowned. “But it is. Twelve years ago, people saw you cast a spell with green mist. Everyone in the throne room saw it.”

  “Did they?” Gilward asked. “Or did they see me cast a spell, then get blinded by a bright light and look away, then see the green mist only when they could finally open their eyes?”

  Sara shook her head. “I don’t understand the dif-ference.”

  “Ah, but I do, because I’ve had twelve years to do nothing but think about it, so I can tell you in intimate detail. And, Galric, please sit. I’ve made terrible mistakes, and I want you to
learn from them.”

  He patted the chair next to him. Galric hesitated but obeyed. Sara, meanwhile, couldn’t stop staring at Gilward. The man was so fired up by this turn in conversation, he looked like he’d dropped ten years from his age and he practically thrummed with energy. It was strange.

  Gilward patted Galric’s knee. “Good, good. Now here’s what you have to know. I believe I am a good man. But I was not always a good man. I had a little magic in me, but I knew the rules and I kept it hidden. I had a respectable position as court jester in the palace, and no one knew.”

  Then he turned to Galric. “No one except your mother.”

  “My mother?”

  Galric looked like he’d just had ice poured down his back, and Sara realized she’d never heard him mention his mother, not once, and she suddenly wondered if this was the first time he’d ever heard anything about her.

  Gilward nodded and smiled dreamily. “A young woman from one of the outer villages. I met her during a local celebration—the king and queen and their entourage had come to join the celebration. It was a very big deal for the town. I fell in love at first sight, and I thought she did too.”

  Then his smile hardened into a grimace. “Turned out she was in love with the idea of someone from the palace. She thought I was royalty, some cousin or other of the king. The next morning, when she found out I was only the jester…she wasn’t happy. She kicked me out, and I never saw her again.”

  He fixed his eyes back on Galric. “Nine months later, I leave the throne room and go back to my quarters and you’re there, in a basket on my bed. With a note, of course, telling me not to look for her, that by the time I read it she’d be long gone, off to another kingdom, and that she wouldn’t ruin her life by being tied down to a lowly court jester and his offspring.”

  Sara scanned Galric’s face to see how he was handling this. He didn’t look hurt, or sad…just stunned. Sara wondered if he could even take it all in. Gilward seemed to be wondering too. He leaned closer toward Galric, as if waiting for a response, but Sara could tell Galric wasn’t ready to say a thing.