Page 60 of Morfran, Dark Lord Reformed

“They’d burn you at the stake if they knew.”

She was being macabre, but she was right. He knew there was no chance they’d accept him if they knew. Brim had lost his wife. Tad and Toothless and Drezella had lost their home. Bronwen had lost her mother and her true love. They were all castaways drifting throughout this burned-out land, joining together like family and trying to create a raft large enough for them to survive on, and he was a shark in fish’s clothing, seeking refuge among them. Eventually they’d see his sharp teeth and boot him off the raft, thinking he might try to take a bite.

Hey, that wasn’t a half-bad metaphor. He made a mental note to jot that down and write a song on the lute about it.

“The only one who will accept you is me, dearest,” she said. “You know this. Though if you don’t come back to me, I suppose I could do the predictable thing and just threaten your little rebellion’s lives.” She smiled nastily. “I know where you all are, obviously. I have three times the manpower you do. I could just sic them loose on your ragtag band of merry men.”

Panic instantly lurched through his gut. He shook his head roughly. “Ravana, please—”

“I always liked it when you begged,” she responded, tipping her chin back, her eyes half-lidded. “But I won’t be harming your rebellion, at least not yet. Because soon, and I think it will be very soon, when you’ve appropriately bonded with them and forged lifelong friendships and perhaps even found a new little vixen to play with, they’ll find out who you are. And that’ll be the day of your downfall. They’ll turn on you, Morfran, and gouge your eyes from your sockets and your tongue from your throat, and that’ll be more torturous to you than me simply murdering them. After that, you will only be capable of hearing their screams as I burn every last one of them at the stake.”

As she’d spoken, she’d drawn closer to him, and he could see her overly powdered face, white as bone. “All I ask is your return as my evil lord and husband, in name only, if that’s what you’d prefer. But come back to me. I need you.”

She was so close. But she usually only got this close and personal when she wasn’t sure she could back up the threats she’d made.

He stood his ground and made a guess. “The reason this rebellion has been successful is because you’re hoarding all the firepower in Warshire.” When a flash of anger hinted in her gaze, he continued, half smiling. “You’re afraid. And even without my help, I’d bet these rebels could reach Castle Atrago and find you. Didn’t one already, once?”

The sheen against her skin was rippling. A sign of the magic fading, all too soon. Before she vanished, however, she drew even nearer, and if she’d been physically present they would have been touching. “They’re not coming just for me, Morfran. And if they breach the walls and invade the castle and I’m dragged out, that’ll mean they’ve already learned who you are and have strung you up and beaten your body cold and bloodless. Because, dearest, when you married me, you vowed to leave me only when death do us part…”

22

Duel Against a Duelist

Day three hundred and thirty-eight

Dear Diary,

It’s been three hundred and thirty-eight days since we began this journey together. In that time, I hadn’t encountered my ex-wife once.

Well, now I can say it’s happened. Several nights ago she showed up in my bedchambers, as ex-wives are wont to do, and threatened that if I don’t return to her, she’ll expose me as the Dark Lord and send my past soldiers out to exterminate me. Also as ex-wives are wont to do.

My question is, what exactly do I do in this position? I defied her and have plans to help the rebels a little bit longer before I make my premier escape. Yet the longer I stay, the more likely they’ll discover that I am not in fact General Bernard or a devilishly handsome goat farmer, but their Dark Lord. The moment they find out who I am, they’ll seek to exterminate me. I’m not sure whether Ravana killing me or these people killing me would hurt more. Send help, and soon.

Signing off,

Morfran, Dark Lord

“Here. Try the cherry one.”

Morfran’s suggestion didn’t go unheeded. All three of the Fleet Foot Club children snatched at the pastry simultaneously, tearing off steaming chunks and stuffing them into their mouths.

“Yeah,” Tad garbled through his mouthful. “The cherry’s the best.”

“Nah,” Drezella countered, daintily licking the red jelly off her thumb. “The lemon is still my favorite.”

Morfran raised his eyebrow at the youngest child, Toothless, who was sitting beside him at a table in Sebastián’s Scrumptious Bakery. “Well?” Morfran asked. “Don’t tell me you don’t have a favorite. Each of these pastries is at least two hundred percent sugar. It’ll put you in a coma. You should be thrilled.”

He swallowed his bite, shrugging self-consciously. “I like vegetables more.”

Morfran blinked. What type of quasi-adult preferred leafy greens over unadulterated sugar? “Vegetables?”

“Like chickpeas and leeks,” he replied. “Like what Miss Bronwen grows in her garden.”

“Speaking of…” Drezella’s eyes glinted as she eyed Morfran, before Bronwen herself entered through the door. The little girl waved her over, and Bronwen slowed when she saw the battle zone of half-devoured pies and tarts atop the table’s surface.

“Did Bernard buy you lot the shop’s entire stock?” she asked, glancing at each of their syrup-stained mouths before meeting Morfran’s gaze.

“We earned it!” Tad announced. “We babysat Beni and her kids. This is us receiving our dues.”