“We have to get back and help—” Rapunzel starts, only to see the root that lifted them up here turn cold with silver. It reels back. “Watch out!”
Eugene grabs her waist and swings her out of the way as the root whips toward them and slams into the ledge inches away. They stumble back, his hands firm on her sides. “How are we getting down?”
A sail sweeps past them, moving fast enough now to trail a breeze behind it. Rapunzel squints at it, thinking. “On the count of three?”
“You know I love how your mind works, but there arezerohandholds on those,” Eugene starts.
A crack and boom sounds from the audience hall. From here, they have a terribly clear view of more silver roots punching through the roof, ripping holes into the shingles.
At the same time, the root reels back, waiting for a gap between sails to strike, and Rapunzel makes an executivedecision: She threads her arm through Eugene’s and yells,“Three!”
They leap as the root crashes down again and shatters the ledge where they stood. The sail’s iron frame shakes with their impact, yards and yards of crystals jingling a discordant melody. Rapunzel scrambles for a grip but lets it loosen when the sail dips into its downward arc, and slides down to the very end—where a cluster of fraying tendrils still dangles listlessly. They wake at a touch of gold, and as Eugene skids down to join her, she tosses one to him, then wraps her fists around another and swings off the end of the sail.
The broken courtyard careens too far beneath them, even though their root-ropes frantically grow to close the gap—fifty feet—thirty—ten—
Rapunzel lets go and hits the ground running. Eugene lands with anoofbehind her, and together they sprint back for the audience hall. The rest of the palace is in chaos, the corridors clogged with fleeing servants, Enver’s guards fighting other soldiers with verettes pinned on their chests like medals, roots flickering with pearl and silver and fleeting gold as they pass. Around one corner, they see Maximus absolutely obliterating a very perplexed squad of guards, while Leona and Sulian and Torch nab anyone who squeaks by. Down another hallway, Teophine and Ruvon are evacuating staff and guests.
The ruined hall, when they stumble into it, is nearly unrecognizable. Mangled decorations and upended tables are strewn like shipwrecks in a sea of rubble, broken glass, and twitching roots scattered over the cracked floor. Hughes and Cressienshelter behind a heap of debris, sweat glittering on Cressien’s face as he sits against Hughes’s shoulder, his eyes closed. Enver and Verette are still locked in struggle in a cage of roots.
Rapunzel rushes to Cressien’s side and drops to her knees. “I’m here,” she tells him as he cracks an eye open. “I—I think I know how to fix this, if you can hang on a little longer.”
“Certainly not running away anytime soon,” he breathes with a wince. “Need to bill Enver for this waistcoat.”
“If we make it out of this, I’ll mend it for you,” Rapunzel promises, and pushes herself back up. Cressien only huffs something that might be a laugh, an unfortunate testament to how much blood he’s already lost. Ruvon said the apple could only buy him time, and as the tree is weakening…
The whole hall flickers and dims—then floods with starlight once more as Enver lets out a guttural, furious yell. “Do you really want me to die, Verette? Is that what you want?”
“No! I want—”
“Just because I wouldn’t give you the throne before you’re ready, you want me to die,” Enver accuses.
It’s time to end this. Rapunzel turns to Eugene. “Can you stay with them?”
“Of course.” He squeezes her shoulder.
She strides toward the writhing cage of roots, anger rising in her throat. Gothel used to blame her the same way when she was upset, and now—Rapunzel has outgrown it.
That pale gold starlight washes over the roots. She tears the cage open, roaring,“ENOUGH!”
Enver and Verette gawk at her. He sputters, “But—how—”
“Your apple’s gone,” Rapunzel tells him. “Your tree is dying. It’s time to let go.”
Enver reels back. This close, Rapunzel can see a strange texture stealing over his skin, almost like…tree bark.
“No,” he insists. “This isn’t how this was supposed to be. You were supposed to heal me—ifyouhadn’t given up the sundrop’s power, you could have saved me for good and I could have brought the tree down myself. The ships were only supposed to be a last resort, butyoupushed me to this!”
He wants to guilt her, to make her feel like it’s her fault hehasto hold her prisoner.
Rapunzel spent eighteen years playing that game against a much, much better player.
She refuses the bait. “I think I can try to heal you now. But only if you give your word—”
“I don’t need it!” he interrupts, drawing himself up as if being taller somehow makes that true. “You’d know better if you just listened to me! We can take turns—I’ll kill the tree here once the one’s grown in Kourenne, let the Starlight Spring recover, then cut down the tree in your kingdom and plant one back here! It can be a cycle!”
“Crop rotation is not an excuse for invading another country,” Eugene calls from behind the rubble heap.
“He’s right.” Verette reaches out a hand. “Father, please. You’re going too far—not just with the plan, with this magic.Lookat yourself.”
