"In the steel."

I gasped as another wave of power drained out of me. Dad picked up the sword as if it were made of delicate gla.s.s.

"Wait, whatever you were planning on doing, you can't. The Lady of the Lake is Blanc. And she's in Atlantis stealing the trident. And Verte said that whoever uses the sword to break the curse and bond will kill Dorthea. Which is exactly what Blanc wants, so we have to make sure that doesn't happen." I was gasping by the end.

"I made a promise." He nudged my boots. "The situation has changed, it seems, but I am a man of my oaths. And I swore to get these off you."

The power drain was coming faster, making it hard to move. I couldn't catch my breath. I tried to keep Dad from taking off my boots, but in the end, he slid them off with ease. Inky blackness spilled out, puddling and spreading beneath me.

"Ahh. Thank you. It was getting cramped in there."

"As a gesture of goodwill, I offer you a trade," Robin said.

"I'm listening," said Morte.

I tried to warn Dad not to make any sort of deal, that it wasn't worth it, but I was still weak-and too surprised that he could also see and hear Morte.

"It seems the empress no longer needs the sword, so I will give it to you if you call our debt square." He gestured toward the shoes. "And I get to keep the shoes as insurance."

"Dad?" I tried to see the con, the angle. The only one I could come up with was him double-crossing me. "You can't do this."

"It's the rogue's code: rob from the rich; give to the poor. Or sell to the highest bidder." Robin raised his pant leg. He too had black rings around his ankle. If he owed Morte a debt, that meant he'd died and come back.

"Yes," Morte answered my thought. "Blanc erased your father's name from the compendium. But everyone knows that the only two truly unavoidable events in this world are death and paper cuts."

Robin Hood disagreed. "Not if we have a deal. I give you Excalibur, and you cannot recall me to the underworld, ever."

"Deal. Keep the sword safe for me in the forest until I ascend. Oh, and I will need this little hero's body. Is that going to be a problem?"

Dad looked at me, his rakish smile gone, but I couldn't read the expression on his face. "You do what you have to, to survive."

Morte chuckled darkly. "We have an accord. I shall finish the preparations." The monstrous shadow shrank beneath me.

Dad turned to leave, shoes and sword tucked under his arm.

"You can't do this to your own daughter!" I shouted after him.

"You're right. There is no way I could ever sacrifice my own flesh and blood."

I let out the breath I was holding, waiting for him to reveal how he'd tricked the king of the underworld, the elaborate ruse of how he hadn't double-crossed me.

He shrugged. "But you are not my daughter."

"I'm not sure when I knew. Or maybe I always knew. But she loved me enough to lock me safe high in a tower. Even if she didn't give birth to me, Mother knows best."

-Rapunzel Lets Down Her Hair: Unauthorized Biography.

32.

Child of the Trees.

The room spun. No, the entire world flipped upside down.

I am a child of the trees, though the wind may howl. I cannot break. I will not break. Grimm, do not let me break.

"I know. I was disappointed too." Dad, er, Robin settled down in a chair, resting his chin on the hilt of the sword. "That whole Maid Marion story I told you." He held up his thumb and finger a little ways apart. "May have been a teensy tall tale. Marion was just a fling. She liked the fame that came with being a.s.sociated with an outlaw, but when it came down to it, she wanted no part of the forest. She had me chased out of Richard's court for borrowing a small trinket, and when I got back to the woods, I found you." He slapped his knee. "Even then, you had a big mouth. You were tucked so deep inside that ironwood's trunk, I would have walked right by you if I hadn't heard your squalling."

He jumped up, hefting the sword over his head. "Just imagine that though. An infant somehow surviving on her own, in the heart of Camlan, the great tree, sucking on glowing sap." His face lit up. "Boy, I thought I'd made the score of a lifetime." When he looked down at me, the grin was gone, replaced by hard set lines. "You were supposed to be magical. So I made up a name for you, and I put all that time and effort into feeding you, training you, telling you stories, expecting that one day that investment was gonna pay off big." He shook his head. "And you fooled me. Twice. What a waste."

"I-I don't understand."

"I'll spell it out. Sure, you glowed a bit as a baby, but you never developed a talent. There's nothing special about you. Not one remarkable attribute. I figured that out while you were a kid, bringing me useless pots and thing. So I traded you off to that Emerald witch as a tax payment. I'd written you off, but when you came back to the forest and couldn't die..." He whistled. "Man, I thought I'd hit the bull's-eye again. Marked by the empress. Marked by the King of the Underworld. Marked by the Girl of Emerald. You were my ultimate way into the easy life. But look at you now. You couldn't even hit a target that was right in front of you. You had a place at the Lady of the Lake's right hand and screwed it all up. Here I thought you were destined for greatness. Turns out you were destined to fail."

Any fight I had left in me fled.

The hero of the Sherwood Forest tied Excalibur and my boots to his back and perched on the window ledge. "In the end, you were useful twice, so I guess you weren't a total loss." Before he jumped out, he looked over his shoulder. "No hard feelings, eh, kiddo?"

Oh, there were feelings. I held them in until he was out of sight. Then I let my emotions seep out of every pore. I mourned the loss of Kato. I mourned the loss of the family I'd thought I had. I mourned the lie of the girl I'd thought I was. Not Rexi Hood, Princess of Thieves. Or Rexi of Emerald, or even Rex the Huntsman. I was n.o.body.

Something between a laugh and a sob escaped my lips as I realized the truth had been in front of me the whole time. "No wonder the Compendium of Storybook Characters didn't recognize my name. I don't have one. Morte was right. Except, instead of being born to be Forgotten, I was forgotten the moment I was born."

"I'll certainly remember ye." Mordred swung in through the open hole in the roof, agilely landing on a rafter, and front-flipped down. "That stuff that I said about you having more bark than bite..." He held up his b.l.o.o.d.y hand.

"Hex," I groaned, hiding my face. "Can't you just let me die? Go after your sword. I don't have it anymore."

"I know. I saw." Mordred bent down next to me. "Giving up, are ye?" He scratched the stubble on his chin and crinkled his brow. "I had you pegged for someone who could take a bit more of a hit than that."

"Are you counting all the times that you've threatened to kill me?"

"Aye. And yet you are still here. And you have two legs." He poked at them with his toe. "Though a wee on the blackened side. You should get up and use them."

"What do you know?" I said and rolled over.

"I know that we don't get to pick the folk that raise us." He turned my face until I had to meet his ember eyes. "But we do get to pick those we call family."

I thought of Dorthea and Kato, Hydra and Verte... They were my family.

"Don't they be needing ye to save the day?"

I narrowed my eyes. "Really? That's what you're going with? A pep talk? Your manipulation skills suck."

His lip curled. "Last part a wee much? I was thinking of going with 'what doesn't kill you only maims you a bit.'"

"We just watched Excalibur get walked out of here, and you are trying to cheer me up with rotted cliches. Just because I'm mostly dead doesn't mean I'm brain dead. What do you want from me?"

Mordred threw back his head and laughed. "I had to try. You have proven yourself my equal at most every turn, so I shall deal with you as such. For me, the beginning and end has always been the grail. After listening to your conversations now and back at the library, 'tis my belief that thou art my best chance at finding it. Plus, you amuse me, so I'd prefer you not to perish. However, I admit I care naught for your friends' welfare. The beasts dragged thine friend onto the sh.o.r.e, but she is fading. I would be willing to use the grail to save her before I go about mine business. Or I could use it to free thee from all those marks the thief spoke of, whichever you desire; it matters naught to me. Just deliver me the grail."

I had been betrayed, tricked, used, or abandoned by just about everyone, so I had no reason to believe anything Mordred said. Except he did seem to be right about one thing-the power drain had slowed, so Dorthea wasn't in the water anymore. She was so weak, I could hardly feel her presence. Which I might not have minded if that didn't mean she was near dying. And taking me with her.

I sighed. "Of course, it has to be one or the other, save Dorthea or release me. It can't be both."

"Aye. Would you prefer I lie to you and promise thee eternal life and that we shall share the grail? I am being honorable in my frankness. I am not a hero whose actions come out of the kindness of my withered heart. If you show me the grail, you may use it but once."

"And if I say sod off?"

He clapped his knees and stood up. "Then thy life, or what might be left of it, is thine own. 'Tis no skin off my elbow. I'll find the man pretending to be Merlin and offer him the same."

I considered his offer. At this point, I really didn't have anything to lose. Mordred was unapologetically exactly who he was, neither sinner nor savior. Or perhaps a little of both. Aside from misquoting lingo, he meant what he said and followed through, which was a far cry better than most. There was just one problem: I knew Blanc had the grail, but she could have left it at the Academy of Villains with the other magical artifacts, or it could be in the lake. And if she was carrying it, then we were going to need everyone in Story to take it off her.

"All right," I agreed. "I don't know exactly where the grail is though."

Mordred's eyes darkened nearly as black as his hair. "Then you cannot help me."

"Wait! I know that the Lady of the Lake has it."

"I had guessed as much." He knelt down and scooped me into his arms, hoisting me over his shoulder like a sack of flour. "For confirming that, I suppose I can deposit you into a chair. Hopefully that Merlin imposter knows better."

The idea of Mic getting the grail soured my stomach.

When Mordred tried to set me down on Gwennie's office chair, I kicked and squirmed until he let go of my legs enough that I could wrap and lock them around his waist.

He shook his head. "What is it with you? Art thou a monkey?"

"No, but I'm going to hang on until you listen to me."

"Fine, hang on as long as you can," he said and turned, walking out of the model castle. "You'll make an excellent shield or bait for the night mares when ye lose your grip."

He'd let go of me entirely, so I was hanging on with whatever strength I had left. "Look, I can still be helpful. I've spent some time in the lake, but I've never seen the grail. Or any cup for that matter."

"Common myth conception," he said. "Despite legends pertaining to the fountain of youth, the grail is not something as powerless as a cup."

"What is it then?"

"'Tis not the container that has power but the contents. And the lifeblood of any story will always be its ink."

"The grail is an inkwell!" I gasped and smacked Mordred on the back, grateful that I still had that memory. "I know where it is!"

"Rule #82: When you can't find the words to express your feelings, find a sunset or a lake to look forlornly at. A power ballad will smooth over that awkward moment and solve all your trust issues."

-Definitive Fairy-Tale Survival Guide, Volume 1.

33.

It Takes a Thief.

Mordred slowed, stopping his jiggling to try to get me to fall off. "I practically said as much. Thou art bluffing to save your skin."

With one hand, I showed him the size of the grail, how the pewter filigree scrolled around the edges. "And the ink is clear but shimmery."

Placing his hands under my armpits, he pulled me off him and held me out to dangle at arm's length. "You have seen it truly?" When I nodded, his eyes filled and threatened to spill over. "Finally, it will be over!" He crushed me to him.

"Um, what are you doing?" I wheezed.

"A thousand pardons. Oh, b.l.o.o.d.y box it all, we don't have time for this." With a quick shift, he cradled me in the crook of his arms, taking off at a sprint toward Avalon.

"I still wish I hadn't lost Excalibur," I said.

Mordred patted my shoulder. "'Tis all right."

I leaned back so I could get a good look at his face. He really didn't seem upset at all. "You have been very unscorched about this."

"Shall I tell you a secret?" He craned his head in close and whispered, "If you looked very closely along the blade, it was written: reproduction-Made in Nottingham."

"No hexing way!"

"Excalibur can never be tricked or gained by magic. It reveals itself when it decides it is ready for the king to return. And not a moment sooner. My wish was just a farce so all thought I had the rightful sword."

Even though it hurt, I roared with laughter. "After all that, Robin Hood ran off with a fake." I laughed so hard that tears rolled down my cheeks. Once they started, the tears turned to sobs and wouldn't stop. I was betrayed by a father I had thought loved me...all for a Nottingham p.a.w.n knockoff. The absolute ironic proof of my worthlessness finally made me snap.

Mordred shoved my face into his chest. "Please stop that. Such sadness is unbecoming of a knight in training."

"Im mrph a mrph in mrping." (I'm not a knight in training.) "When I have the grail and Excalibur, I will need people I can trust beside me." He squeezed tighter. "I want to change the history of Mad Arthur's war, not repeat it. Camelot will be better this time. Blind ideals won't have to be paid for in..."

His jog stopped as abruptly as his words. I wiped my leaking nose on his tunic and turned to see which glittery pony was about to skewer us. Instead, I saw death.

Much like in the clearing, Dorthea lay on her back, and the land around her for at least two dozen giant's lengths was completely drained of life. The gra.s.s, brown and brittle. The flowers, wilted and dried. The trees, barren and twisted. Several small critters lay next to piles of glitter dotting the otherwise desolate circle of destruction.

Kato paced on all fours, just skirting the edge of the kill zone. When his paw got a little too close, Verte scolded him to stay clear.

Kato swiped his tail through the crumbling reeds. "This is ridiculous. She'd never hurt me."

"Maybe." Verte stepped on his tail to hold him still. "But Dot ain't really home right now. And the curse likes you just fine too, as a snack."

Mic was still in beast form and seemed to have no trouble keeping his distance from the boundary. Gwen was nowhere to be seen. Only Oz was in the circle, tending to Dorthea.

"How come the curse doesn't eat him?" I asked.

Kato perked at my voice, his muzzle turning up until he saw the condition I was in and who was holding me. He growled. "What's he doing?"

At the same time, Mordred asked, "What is that?"