“He fought long and hard, Great-Uncle Hadris,” said Hansel. “To the bitter end.” He raised his own glass in a toast and drained it.
Poor Hadris. He’d been a good, strong man, kind but strict, so much like the earl. Peregrine clapped Hansel on the back. “You’re a credit to his memory. I can’t think of two people I’d rather have in charge of Starburn.”
“Don’t you want to run the estate, now that you’re back?” asked Gretel.
“Yes. And no,” said Peregrine. “There are still some things I need to do first.”
Hansel elbowed Gretel in the side. “It’s a girl,” he whispered.
“You are not wrong, my good man,” Peregrine said proudly. “She saved me from a demon witch. I owe her my life.”
“Same here,” said Betwixt.
Hansel grimaced. “She’d have to be the sister of Jack Woodcutter himself to be worthy of our Peregrine.”
“Funny you should say that,” said Betwixt.
“Her name is Saturday Woodcutter,” said Peregrine.
Hansel stared at them.
Gretel smiled. “A fortunate name for a fortunate girl; I hope she is prepared to prove herself worthy. Peregrine’s story has been told at children’s bedsides for a century. Every pretty little thing for miles has fancied herself Elodie and dreamt that her own Peregrine, done with his adventures in the Vanishing Lands, would appear to sweep her off her feet and take her as his bride. You’ve been wished for upon more stars than years you’ve been gone, I’ll wager. I wished for you a time or two myself as a girl, I’m not ashamed to say.” Gretel’s blush convinced him otherwise.
“I’m honored.” Peregrine took her tiny hand in his and kissed the back of it.
“And here I am, no longer the pretty little thing I was, and here you are, Peregrine of Starburn, done with your adventuring and knocking at my doorstep. Who would believe it?”
“Not I,” said Hansel.
“Nor I,” said Betwixt. He snorted and magicked himself back into a pegasus, much to Hansel’s delight.
“I will be back soon,” said Peregrine. “We will refill the coffers and stock the cupboards and open the market and Starburn will live again.”
“Thank you,” said Gretel. “Thank you for coming back to us. To me.”
Peregrine bowed to the woman. As much as he wanted to stay, he desperately needed to catch up with Saturday and stand by her side for as long as she’d have him. “Thank you for telling me the story. In a way, Elodie will live on forever.”
“That she will,” said Hansel.
Gretel put out her arms and Peregrine knelt to hug the little woman. “From what I know, the real Elodie did wait for you, long past her prime, but a wandering knight fell in love with her anyway and followed her day and night until she finally accepted him. I don’t know how many they had, but there were children, and I believe her family still resides in Cassot.”
“I look forward to meeting them,” said Peregrine, “and sharing with them the rest of the story.”
Hansel crooked a finger and Peregrine leaned over to hear him whisper, “You might want to leave out the part about being a girl for a hundred years.”
19
A New Adventure
“HE’LL BE BACK, love. Trust me on this one. I’ve seen enough besotted men to know.”
Love. The very word rankled, no matter what its use.
“Who, Peregrine?” Saturday asked Wolf nonchalantly. “Whatever. He’ll be back, or not. Who cares?” She glowered at the path in front of them. Even the trees of the forest they rode through didn’t make her happy anymore.
“You care, that’s who,” said Wolf. “You’ve been scowling for the past ten miles.”
“I always do that,” said Saturday.
Wolf looked skeptical.
“I’m just tired. This wagon is bruising my backside. And it’s too bright.” She held up a hand to shield her eyes from the glowing red sun setting through the leaves ahead of them. After spending so long cooped up inside a mountain, she still hadn’t acclimated to the light.
The wheels began to kick up sticks and stones. “Whoa, Sassy.” Wolf snapped the reins and guided the old gray mare back onto the path. “From what I hear, you could make our journey a lot shorter if you wanted to.”
It was true enough; her knapsack still held the ebony-handled brush Thursday had given her. She could throw it like the one she had thrown from the back of Betwixt, calling the Wood to them and Faerie with it. Assuming that the power would do as she willed. So far, there was no evidence that she could harness anything from the ether outside the mountain.
“I’ve had enough of magic shortcuts,” she said. In the back of her mind, Velius crossed his arms over his chest proudly. She wanted to slap that vision. She spun the ring-that-used-to-be-a-sword on her finger: once, twice, thrice. Stupid teachers. Stupid ax. Stupid sword. Stupid witches. Stupid gods.
“Suit yourself.” Wolf directed his attention to the road. It was a small comfort. “They call you Earthbreaker, you know.”
“They who?”
“Bards, minstrels, the usual folk. They all come to Faerie to play for the queen.” Wolf risked a glance at Saturday from the corner of his eye. “I knew Jack wouldn’t be able to lord his legendary status over his sisters forever.”
This time Saturday did smile. “I suppose not. So what is it they say?”
“Just verses about mirrors and swords and oceans, for now, bits about you taking over a pirate ship before trapping a giant bird that you rode to the Top of the World.” Wolf tilted his hat back. His sideburns covered most of his face; those and his long, wavy locks were almost every color Saturday had ever seen on a head of hair. Tufts peeked out from his tall collar and beneath the long sleeves of his coat. His hands were weathered and his nails were thick. His eyes were yellow shadows beneath bushy brows.
“I look forward to hearing the new tales, once word gets out about the witch and the mountain and all,” he went on. “Instead of batting their eyes at idiots, young girls will start taking up stick swords to slay a dragon and save the prince.” He chuckled at the idea. “Yes, I do look forward to that.”
“He’s not a prince,” Saturday grumbled. “He’s the son of an earl.” And unlike in Jack’s tales, Saturday hadn’t gotten to keep her prize in the end.
“‘Prince’ is more romantic,” said Wolf. “Give it a fortnight, Hero. He’ll be a prince. Mark my words.”
“If you say so.” Saturday took up the scowling again in earnest. It had been so hard to let Peregrine leave the abbey. Too hard. She had stolen an acolyte’s robes and watched him fly off with Betwixt. She spun the ring on her finger again: once, twice, thrice. She would not beg the gods to let him come back to her. She was done asking for anything, in rhyme or otherwise.
“Wolves mate for life, you know,” he said, apropos of nothing.
“Yes. So?”
“So I know love when I see it. No two people who love each other as much as you and that boy do will ever be apart for very long, so there’s no sense in you wasting life worrying. Besides”—he pulled his hat back down—“your sour face is ruining my evening.”
Saturday had half a mind to jump off the wagon and walk to Faerie. Everything Wolf said was gods-meddling rubbish. How could he be so sure that Saturday loved Peregrine if she didn’t even know it herself? All she knew was the hollowness in her chest and the ache in her head. Her mind didn’t seem to be able to focus on anything. She felt angry and empty and overly warm and slightly ill. Perhaps she’d caught a chill in their rush from the mountain, or the abbey’s rich food had disagreed with her. There was a madness inside her that wanted nothing more than to scream and cry its way out.
Oh no. Saturday sat up. This was no malady. Wolf was right: this was love. She loved Peregrine, so much that it actually hurt.