Fairytales Slashed, Volume 2

by Megan Derr

  Levaughn glared after him. "Is he really always like that?"

  "Yes," Calder replied, grinning, feeling like himself for the first time in a long time.

  Even if he was going to kill Goulet for being an interfering, smarmy little bastard. But, Goulet had also brought Lev. Maybe he'd let the bastard live after all. Though he would still exact revenge.

  Outside, Goulet stood in conversation with the stranger Calder had briefly noticed before—someone Levaughn knew, obviously. He was an interesting fellow, with terrible burns over most of his face, other small scars and burns on his bare forearms, along the bit of chest he could see where the loosely laced shirt gaped. Handsome, despite the scarring, and he had something of the magic user about him…

  "Oh," he said suddenly, drawing everyone's attention. Just as he was about to speak, a sudden idea for revenge occurred to him, and he said, "You're Goulet's 'stupid, know-it-all alchemist'."

  Goulet narrowed his eyes at Calder, as the alchemist narrowed his eyes at Goulet.

  Levaughn rolled his eyes at all of them. "So the dwarves found the last corpse?"

  "Yes," the alchemist replied, glaring at Goulet a moment longer before finally directing his attention to Calder. "Hullo. My name is Marcum. I am Master Alchemist of Roseberry Castle. It's an honor to make your acquaintance. I am happy to see you are looking fit again, it was quite the trick healing some of your wounds even with both Lev and myself to do it."

  "An honor to meet you," Calder replied. "Thank you for saving my life."

  Marcum waved the word aside. "It was worth it to see Levaughn act—oof." He rubbed his stomach and glared at Levaughn. "When we're done with saving the day, I'm going to poison both of you and run away with the handsome Huntsman myself." He winked at Calder, then turned away to pick up a book set amongst other items and tools on a rickety table.

  It reminded Calder all too forcefully that they still had a problem on their hands—and that he had a great many questions. "How did you find me? Goulet, when did you leave and isn't your clan going to be furious with you? What is all this about corpses, and where is Snow White?"

  Levaughn lightly touched his back. "The forest was doing its damndest to save you, and we followed its power to where you lay at the very edge of it. You had obviously been thrown into it; I am certain anyone cursed by the Queen has a hard time going near the forest right now. It's wild—pure—magic, and ancient. Even the Queen must loathe being so close to it; that is no doubt why she wanted so badly to control you. Control the Huntsman, control the forest."

  "Snow White is asleep," Marcum said. "She was rather upset by the first couple of corpses we brought in, but fighting it. I finally dosed her. She should wake up in a couple more hours. That gives us time to discuss what to do about her…" He exchanged a look with Goulet and Levaughn.

  Calder sighed and stole one of the few chairs available, too tired to keep standing, annoyed that he had no idea what was going on.

  Levaughn's hand rested on his shoulder, squeezing. "We are collecting the corpses of the men and women the Queen killed. She has barricaded herself in the castle, no doubt to heal. What few readings we have been able to obtain from you and the castle, I believe you injured her quite badly."

  "She drained the corpses of their beauty and vitality, but did not destroy them. Instead, she kept them," Marcum explained. "Probably because there are still some useful things in them, for emergency purposes like she is attempting now. We have been stealing them, both to keep her weak and to better study her."

  "I assume you found the one here in the forest?" Calder asked, grimacing when they nodded. "I took her heart, to stall…"

  Goulet nodded, and sat down in one of the other chairs. "We figured as much, after the Princess told us what the Queen wanted you to do." He grimaced. "Witches."

  Calder frowned. "Goulet—you're going to be in a world of trouble, for disobeying the clan and breaking Seal. You should be holed up in your cave with all your various and sundry amusements."

  "Amusements," Marcum said with a snort, nose buried in the book he'd picked up.

  Goulet frowned at him, eyes pensive, but said nothing. He turned back to Calder and said, "It was more important I go fetch your wizard. If that Queen takes the castle, she'll find a way to burn the forest next, and without the forest the caves are only so safe. If my clan wants to yell at me for that, let them. They can get themselves a new inker. I wasn't going to leave my brother to die at the hands of a witch."

  Calder smiled. "You just wanted an excuse to ink me more."

  "That too," Goulet replied. He reached into the pouch always attached to his thigh—when he bothered to put on proper clothing—and pulled out a small sketchpad. "This is what I was thinking, though I'll need—"

  "Shouldn't we be focusing on things more important than your drawings?" Marcum asked coolly. "Calder, the girl you buried—did she have something on her? In her hair? Like a ribbon or a comb?"

  "No—yes," Calder said, and immediately reached for the pouch where he had put it. He fumbled briefly, then drew out the red ribbon he had taken from Carol's hair. He held it out to Marcum, who took it eagerly.

  He set it down amongst others like it—a comb or ribbon, Calder realized, for every woman killed. There were also a couple of half eaten apples. "What…?"

  Marcum pushed his glasses up his nose and explained, "It's how she killed and drained them. The ribbons and combs were laced with poison, just the sorts of things girls of that age would like and take should they find them, or buy from a kindly peddler woman, something like that. The apples were how she killed the men."

  Calder nodded again. "This will tell us…what? Where are the dwarves?"

  "We had one last corpse to find," Levaughn said. "They have been hunting them out. They are astonishingly adept."

  "Tell a dwarf to dig for something, and he'll dig until he finds it," Calder replied dryly. "I do not suppose there is food that is actually safe to eat, around here somewhere?"

  "Yes," Levaughn replied. "I'll be right back."

  A silence fell once Levaughn had gone. Calder glanced between Goulet and Marcum, and could not help but notice the way they were trying very hard not to look at each other, especially when one might catch the other at it. Had Goulet actually met his match? That would amuse Calder vastly.

  He kicked Goulet's ankle, to draw his attention, and pointed to the sketchbook when Goulet glanced at him. "So what are you putting on my chest?"

  Goulet brightened at being asked, and opened the sketchbook, flipping rapidly through hundreds of sketches before he reached the one he sought. He thrust it into Calder's hands.

  Calder whistled, impressed and honored. "Goulet--this will take you days to do. Never mind the amount of ink. You shouldn't be doing such intricate work on me."

  Goulet scoffed. "You've done more than anyone else to save the kingdom. Besides, what is the point of having a non-goblin brother if I cannot take full advantage of his pale flesh?" He leered playfully.

  Calder laughed. "Save a few children, and what do I get for my troubles? Turned into your personal canvas."

  "Your wizard definitely approves of my work," Goulet said with a smirk. "Especially the rose." He laughed. "Look at that, the mighty Huntsman is blushing."

  "I'm going to kill you," Calder said, trying not to think about Levaughn seeing all his tattoos and how much he would not mind showing them off while he was actually awake.

  Goulet only smirked.

  Calder ignored him. It was hardly the time to be thinking about such things, anyway.

  Levaughn appeared then, drawing his attention, and he could no more look away than stop breathing. Ten years looked good on Levaughn—all the potential he'd shown as a youth had come to fruition, and whatever he had faced as royal wizard had given him definition of a much deeper sort.

  "Here," Levaughn said, smiling and pushing a bowl of soup into Calder's hands. "Drink it slowly. You've only had what broth we could get down you the past week." />
  "Week?" Calder repeated, dismayed. "I was down that long?"

  "You are lucky it was so short a time," Levaughn replied. "She hurt you badly—worse than you probably realize. Your body was also so overwhelmed and burnt out by negative magic, it didn't want to accept any magic at all. It took us a long time to heal you."

  Calder nodded, and lifted the bowl, sipping slowly. "Thank you."

  Levaughn smiled again. It caused the scar on his face pull a bit, and Calder was deadly curious—

  "Hey, ho!" Mick called out, leading the rest of the dwarves as they came from the forest and across the clearing, moving slowly under the burden of the body they carried amongst them, wrapped in a filthy linen sheet.

  "Excellent," Marcum said, and strode to join them around what Calder realized was a fire pit—the kind meant for burning bodies.

  The dwarves dropped the body into the pit, then after touching and muttering a bit around Calder, went off to get cleaned up in the house. Leaving Marcum and Levaughn to kneel by the body, muttering and discussing and doing arcane magic and alchemical things. Calder stood with Goulet, feeling vaguely lost.

  After a few minutes, Marcum unwound a ribbon from the dead woman's braided hair, and handed it to Calder with a word of caution. Calder examined it; the ribbon was emerald green, made of extremely high quality silk, embroidered with tiny flower made from silver and gold thread. He saw there were also tiny crystals set in the center of each flower.

  It was too fine and costly a ribbon for a servant girl. It was the sort of thing a young noble girl would wear. But the Queen hadn't killed any noblewomen, had she?

  The sound of feet in grass halted his question, and Calder turned to see Snow White running toward them. He caught her up as she launched herself into his arms. "Cal! You're awake! I'm so happy you're alive and well!"

  "I'm fine, Snow White. I am sorry to have worried you—and glad that you are safe." He hugged her tightly again, then slowly let her go.

  She kissed his cheek, then stepped away and glanced at the ribbon he held. "Oh…I…I gave that to Betty, the night before she vanished." A stray tear fell down her cheek, and she wiped it irritably away. "The Queen gave it to me. I thought it was to try and soften me, and refused to be moved. I gave it to Betty—my maid—as a gift, thinking she would like it more, and not…not fall under the harm of the Queen." She closed her eyes, shoulders slumping.

  "You could not have known then," Calder said. "Save recrimination for better things." He turned to Marcum and Levaughn. "So what have you learned, from all these bodies?"

  "Much," Marcum said, wiping his hands off on a towel as he stood up. "For one, she uses very old magic. The sort of stuff not used since before the Blood & Magic wars. I am beginning to suspect she is that old, or very close to it. Unfortunately, that means her power is immense. A witch of her caliber has not been seen since the Blood & Magic wars, and if she has been around that long…"

  "She has an All Seeing Mirror, too," Levaughn said grimly. "If I did not know better, I would swear we are dealing with the Bloody Beauty herself."

  Marcum looked troubled. "That should not be possible. The Bloody Beauty was burned at the stake; nothing remained but her iron shoes. The ashes were then scattered around the world. Her belongings…" He trailed off, frowning thoughtfully. "Her belongings," he said again. "They were supposedly destroyed, but the All Seeing Mirror is intact. What else did the Bloody Beauty possess, that might not have been destroyed?"

  "I certainly would have no idea," Calder said, "but I remember the strange iron box she made gave to me in which to place the Princess' heart. It seemed old and magical." He described the box, repressing shudders at the unwanted memories which rose up, steadied only by Levaugh's presence, his hands warm and solid on Cal's back.

  "It would have kept the heart fresh, practically alive and still beating," Marcum said. "That was definitely amongst the Bloody Beauty's possessions, along with the grimoires necessary to understand its use. I think that someone stole the belongings, instead of destroying them, and we are dealing with a new Bloody Beauty who has managed to escape notice all this time. She might even now have gotten away with it, except that she underestimated the power of a Huntsman. She also never counted on you having that spell-break talisman. Such magic predates even the Blood & Magic wars, by well over a century."

  Calder jerked, surprised, and glanced at Levaughn. "Why did you give me something that important, Lev?"

  Levaughn smiled faintly. "I wanted you to have it, nothing more or less. I liked you wearing something of mine."

  "There's time enough for that later," Goulet interrupted, but he looked so insufferably smug and amused that Calder positively itched for a chance to get in a good jab about the alchemist clearly driving Goulet mad.

  Snow White stirred, voice low and solemn. "So what are we going to do? We have to kill her, but how?"

  "We need to draw her out to where she's vulnerable," Marcum replied, "and then burn her. The first part of that is making her weak and desperate, so that she will take a chance on whatever we tempt her with—figuring that out will not be fun."

  "Executing it will be even less fun," Levaughn added. "She needs energy, she needs to replenish herself. We need…" He trailed off as he was drowned out by the tolling of bells.

  Gold bells. Oh, gods. Calder closed his eyes in pain. The Gold bells were only rung when a member of the royal family died. The King was dead. Opening his eyes, he strode over to Snow White and pulled her close, soothing her as best he could manage while she sobbed into his chest.

  The King dead, the Princess stuck hiding in the forest—the Kingdom was all but lost now. What were they going to do?

  In his arms, Snow White just cried harder and harder, to the point he feared she was going to make herself sick. He continued to try and soothe, comfort, but what could he really do? Her father was dead.

  Calder had failed to protect his King. Snow White should hate him, yet she was clinging to him for dear life. He had never felt like such a fucking miserable failure in all his life.

  "Cal," Levaughn said quietly, and he looked up to see Marcum standing close to him, holding a small bottle made of red glass. Calder glanced from Marcum to Levaughn, who gave a slight nod. Turning back to Marcum, he motioned quizzically to the bottle.

  "It'll help her," Marcum said quietly. "Just wave the open bottle beneath her nose."

  Reluctantly Calder forced Snow White to stand up straight, wiping the tears from her face as he accepted the bottle from Marcum. "Here, Princess, drink this."

  Snow White laughed, hysterical and wretched. "I'm not a P-princess anymore, Cal. As soon as we get rid of her, I am Queen." She began to sob all over again, burying her face in her hands and leaning into him once more.

  He forced her up again, and thrust the bottle beneath her nose before she could say or do anything else. Only a second later, she passed out cold. He barely thrust the bottle back at Marcum in time to keep her from falling to the ground. Swinging her up into his arms, he carried her into the house and settled her in her bed.

  "Take care of her," he admonished the dwarves, then strode back outside to figure out how in the world they were going to find their way out of the nightmare in which they were mired.

  But, he realized, he was no longer alone.

  Outside, he headed back toward the group, straight to Levaughn, who pulled him into a right embrace that until then Calder had not realized he was seeking. "I'm sorry," Levaughn said softly. "I wish we could have gotten here in time to save him."

  "He was lost before he even returned to the kingdom," Calder managed to say. "He—I think he would be happier dead, and free, than to continue living under that horrible spell. Thanks to you, I am here to take care of her Majesty. Lev—" But he couldn't finish the sentence, only stared hard at the man he had missed so damned much, had never forgotten, would never stop loving.

  Levaughn only smiled, and kissed the corner of his mouth.

  Calder felt it all
the way to his bones, and wondered how in the world he was going to let Levaughn go a second time.

  *

  *

  *

  Part Five

  Levaughn sat staring at the lake, the moon reflected on its surface, letting his mind drift, not allowing it to settle on any one thought.

  Mostly because the only thought upon which he was wanted to settle was Calder. Merciful heavens, ten years had been good to him, even with all the damage inflicted by the Queen.

  And someway, somehow, Calder had not been stolen away by another. What was the world coming to when no one was smart enough to go after the heart of someone like Calder? Not that he cared, for it meant…

  What did it mean, and how selfish was he to be wondering if he could have Cal back when the King of Blodwen had just died and the Princess had to be kept sedated so that grief did not drive her mad? First thing was first—they must save Blodwen, and its new, young Queen, from the Witch-Queen who had overtaken it.

  He had a sneaking suspicion that Marcum had something in mind—something that none of them was going to particularly like. Marcum was entirely too devious for his own goods at times. All the time. Levaughn smiled faintly, thinking of his friend, which made him think of Castle Roseberry. Ten years he'd spent there, the King's favorite tool. Could he simply leave it all behind, if he had reason to move?

  If that reason was Cal, it was not even a question.

  And there he'd gone, right back to thinking about Cal.

  He sighed, and wondered if dunking his head in the lake might cool him off enough to do his job.

  Soft chuckles drew his attention, and he looked up to see Marcum sit down next to him. "Hiding from your goblin?"

  Marcum snorted softly. "My goblin. That goblin belongs to no one but himself. I came to see how you were doing. I think father would weep in despair if you left, but only because he'd have to find someone else to cozen into doing all his work for him. Wolfram would probably help pack your trunks." He winked, and took a sip of the beer he was holding. "These dwarves brew good stuff."