“Poor Cerené,” Shew said.
“It’s her fate. We all have to face our fate someday, and only you can save her,” Alice said.
“I’d do anything for her,” Shew said. “Tell me how.”
“The Queen will look for Cerené in the Waking World to get the clue to the mirror out of her,” Alice said. “Who knows what the Queen would do to her? Cerené’s only hope is you, Shew. You have a choice to make.”
“I have to wake up by killing Loki.” She said what Alice already knew.
“It’s the only way, Shew. It’s also part of proving you’re the Chosen One, to sacrifice everything that means something to you and save the world, even if it’s the one you love.”
“Can’t you see I don’t want to be the Chosen One, Alice,” Shew said. “I want to enjoy my life as a teenager like Cerené does. I learned so much about life, spending time with her. I want to ‘follow my bliss’ like Charmwill used to tell Loki. I want to find my Chanta. I want to free myself from foretold prophecies, and I want to find my own Art.”
“But you are the Chosen One, Shew,” Alice said. “Even if you forget it, your enemies won’t. They will come after you and kill you. Now, we’re seriously wasting time.”
The bathhouse’s door sprang open suddenly. Shew found herself standing in front of Cerené, who was peeking her head in from behind the door.
Shew and Alice watched her partially hide behind the door with her blowpipe ready to attack. Her eyes darted sideways before she asked, “Are you alright, Joy?”
“I am, Cerené,” Shew smiled, sniffing her tears away. “You could come in, you know.”
“A lot of blood had been shed in this room,” Cerené said. “I hate it. I should clean it.”
“But you’ll be safe with me,” Shew said with open arms.
“You mean you’ll be safe with me,” she said closing the door behind her. She had another long case with her. It looked like it had a long musical instrument in it along with a small bag. It looked too heavy for her.
“Let me help you,” Alice said.
“No, not you,” Cerené’s face knotted then turned to Shew, “are you alright? Did this girl hurt you?”
“Not at all,” Shew laughed, glad her best friend sensed her uneasiness with Alice.
“How so?” Cerené eyed Alice from top to bottom. “She is one of Loki’s huntsmen.”
“She isn’t, trust me,” Shew said. “So were you looking for me or did you just think you’d eavesdrop on what was going on in the bathhouse?”
“Of course, I was looking for you,” Cerené said. “I just finished cleaning and thought you must be hungry so I stole you food from the Royal Kitchen,” she giggled at the accomplishment, and handed her the bag. “Here, you look pale. You need to eat.”
Alice and Shew exchanged looks, trying not to smile.
“I’m the princess, Cerené, remember?” Shew said. “I don’t need to steal food from my own kitchen.”
“Oh,” Cerené said. “I forgot. Honestly, I didn’t steal it. A boy in a green hat helped me.”
“A boy in a green hat?” Shew squinted. “Are you referring to the thief who steals from the castle and gives to the poor? The Queen surely would want to catch this one.”
“His name is Jack Madly, but don’t tell anyone,” Cerené whispered. “I met him in the fireplace,” Cerené winked and bit on her lip.
“A match made in the fireplace—I mean Heaven,” Shew said. She remembered Jack, not that she’d known him well. He was the notorious sixteen-year-old thief who stole from the Schloss, only because he loved to make the Queen mad. Some knew him from Jack and the Beanstalk, a famous story about pissing off a giant and stealing his gold.
“You think he likes me?” Cerené wondered. “But nah. Not my type. I like the prince, or maybe—” she was going to say Loki but stopped, remembering what he’d done in Furry Tell. “Jack stole the food, but I stole this,” Cerené pulled out a box of liver, property of the Queen of Sorrow. “Don’t be embarrassed. I will look away while you indulge in your monstrous cravings. It’s like going to the bathroom; you don’t want to see anyone see you poop.”
Alice let out a laugh, unable to hold back. Shew found herself giggling at her warmhearted friend.
“What are you laughing at?” Cerené snapped at Alice, waving the case in the air. “This is between me and my friend. You’re not friends with her. Are you, Shew?”
“Alice? Of course, not. Alice is not my friend. She is only helping.”
Cerené smiled. Shew was worried if she’d told her otherwise she’d burn Alice in the furnace.
“So what’s that in the long case?” Shew asked.
“This is my gift for you,” Cerené looked happier than a woodpecker with a handful of trees. “I made it myself,” she knelt down, laid her blowpipe aside, and opened the case.
Something glittered from inside the case, something long and shiny, a handmade sword.
“See?” Cerené, still kneeling down, held the sword with both hands, presenting it to Shew like a Samurai swordsmith to a king.
Shew and Alice were both enchanted at the beauty of the sword. Cerené had forged it from her molten glass, using the Heart, Brain, and Soul. Shew couldn’t avoid thinking this sword had Cerené’s breath in it. It had part of her life in it. Shew had been given emeralds from across the ocean before, diamonds from the heart of Africa, and even exclusive mirrors and masks from Venice. But never had she been gifted with such a valuable sword. The glittery blade looked as if Cerené’s breath waved upon it. She wondered if she’d be holding a piece of her best friend’s life in her hand if she held it.
“Beautiful?” Cerené wondered, afraid Shew wouldn’t like it.
Shew nodded at a loss for words, her eyes shiny.
“Friends!” Cerené squeaked like happy doe-eyed girls in a Manga. The word ‘friends’ cut through Shew again. It made her want to stay in this dream forever, and slay dragons to take care of Cerené.
Shew held the sword by its grip. The Pommel was glass. She held it in front of her, feasting her eyes with its beauty, feeling spiritually connected to Cerené.
The blade was made of glass, not any glass, but Cerené’s secret ingredient glass. The edges were sharp enough you could feel a light cut in your eyes if you stared at it too long. The glass itself wasn’t transparent. It was white, milk white.
“You used Mermaid’s Milk on it?” Shew wondered.
“All of it,” Cerené bragged, standing up. “It gives it incredible strength. I wanted the sword to look like you.”
“Like me?” Shew wondered.
“Black hair, white skin, and blood red lips, so its grip is black and the blade is white.”
“But I don’t see any red?” Shew wondered, carefully flipping it around in case she missed something.
“I thought I didn’t need to add red. That will be your part,” Cerené giggled. “The red on the sword will be the blood of your enemies.”
“But I’m not going to use this sword,” Shew said. “I don’t plan to kill anyone.”
“I think you will,” Alice said, her eyes reminding Shew of Loki. “The perfect sword for the perfect ending,” she whispered behind Cerené’s back. “We’re wasting time.”
Shew realized that this was part of her memory when Cerené designed the Chosen One’s ultimate sword. She had once heard her father say ‘if you’re going to show me a sword, you better use it.’ Suddenly, she remembered all the training her father gave her. She’d been trained to ride horses and kill with her sword. Her father had prepared her for war.