“I did no such thing. Love lost doesn’t have to stay that way. I can’t give it back, of course, but these things have a way of growing on their own if cultivated properly. But that might not be what you wish.”
Ambrose gaped. Love’s Keep was the place where he had been happiest, but love was too fragile a foundation. He would not subject himself to that. Judging from the repulsed look on Imelda’s face, it was clear she felt the same way.
“What do you want?” Imelda asked the witch.
“I’ve run out of my favorite potion, unfortunately.” The witch opened her feathered purse and took out a little gray vial. “Dead useful. Turns people to statues!”
Ambrose took one step backward.
Imelda took one step forward.
“I need you to fetch me a new vial. It’s not a fast job. It will take you at least a week. You see, the potion is kept on the person of a queen in a faraway kingdom. Honestly, it’s not too far from here if you’ve got an enchanted road in your pocket”—she patted the side of her bright purse—“which I do! Sadly, this kingdom is throwing a wedding, and I tend not to be very popular at those sorts of celebrations. You see why I need you to go, don’t you? You know how it is. ‘All kings and queens from far and wide are invited to celebrate the nuptials of so and so.’ You could easily gain entrance. Then you just have to figure out how to bring me one of those vials.”
“We’re no longer king and queen,” Imelda said. “And I’m sure the rest of the world knows that by now.”
“Letmehandle what the rest of the world thinks they know by now, my dear. And in return, I’ll give you what you want most.”
“Why should we trust you?” Ambrose asked coldly.
“I figured you would ask that.”
Once more, she dipped her hand into her purse. Only this time, she drew out an apple with a peel studded all over with rubies. The fruit gave off a curious fragrance, not a smell so much as an emotion. One whiff of its nectar, and Ambrose’s eyes fluttered shut, his whole being filled briefly with a sense of calm. As if he were exactly where he needed to be.
Imelda gasped. “Is that…is that from—”
“That dead tree in your little courtyard? Yes.”
Ambrose stared at the jeweled fruit. The tree of Love’s Keep supposedly bloomed with the rare fruits only when a couple in love had taken the throne. It was said that the fruits could show you the truth of things. But it hadn’t bloomed in centuries, and so there was no one to verify the tale.
“Take a bite,” the witch coaxed. “See what I can promise. The fruit always speaks true, you know.”
The witch pulled a paring knife out of her purse and, with two deft cuts, handed Imelda and Ambrose each one-half of the apple. Ambrose frowned at it. It could be a trap. It could be poisonous. It could be—
There was the sound of someone chomping into an apple.
Imelda had sunk her teeth into it. Her eyes fluttered shut, and a look of bliss passed over her face.
Fine, thought Ambrose.Here goes.
The moment he closed his eyes and bit down, magic swept through him.
He saw a kingdom of his own, the details blurry, but the feeling precise:belonging. An ache went through him. He felt the carved wood of a throne’s armrest beneath his fingers, a warm certainty in his chest that this would not be taken from him.
His eyes flew open.
“I’ll do it,” Ambrose said breathlessly. “I’ll find your potion and bring it to you.”
With the aid of your trusty, noble steed.
“I’m coming with you,” Imelda announced.
“Absolutely not.”
“Absolutelyyes.”
Ambrose raised an eyebrow. “Then that will likely require you to wear shoes, which I realize you are incapable of—”
The witch cleared her throat. “I have a solution for that.”
