Page 51 of Down from the Tower

I bite my lip. This is a terrible idea.

“Look!” he goes on, digging into his basket. He pulls out a cookie, one beautifully done with the skill of one of the cooks in the kitchens of Tressa, the frosting perfectly rounded on the top of the snack. “I have one more on me. You can have it if you like, Miss. Might be enough until your friend comes along.”

I cross my arms. “Sir, I’m sure you’re very kind, but I’m not eating a sweet from a stranger in the woods.”

He bursts out laughing, tossing the basket over his arm before grabbing the cookie to break it in two. “There’s no danger, Miss, honest. Just a wee bit of a snack. Gran runs a… uh…”

His voice trails off, and he pinches his nose for a moment. “A tavern!”

I perk up at that. Isn’t that where Zarev said we’re going? “Is that the shoe tavern?”

He blinks, before a slow smile spreads across his lips. “The very same.”

“Oh.” I smile, wondering why Zarev talked about it like it’s so far away. I could swear he claimed two days, but perhaps it’s just because he’s injured. He can’t even send Modred on, after all. “I think we planned to arrive here. Do you know Zarev?”

Something flickers across his face, but it’s gone in an instant. “Of course I know Zarev! We’ve been expecting you. Come, why don’t we go and wait for him at the tavern?”

He takes a bite of the cookie, handing me the other half as he chews. I wait to see if something happens, but he only turns and heads off in the direction he came.

I glance back over my shoulder, but I see no way back up the steep hill. I’m impressed I’m not more cut up from the fall, but other than mild scrapes and wild hair I seem to be fine.

I jog to catch up to him, taking a bite of the cookie. “What did you say your name was?”

He chuckles. “Hansel, of course. I’m just passing through but I always stop in to see Gran.”

It occurs to me this kid might be familiar with Sherwood, and there’s a few people I know sitting in Tressa who likely spent a lot of time in the forest. Maybe I can try and relate to someone. “Oh, maybe you know Robin the Brave?”

His steps slow. “Robin the Brave?”

“Yes.” I wince, realizing it might not be common knowledge how Robin Hood died. “He, uh, I heard he went over the wall to Tressa.”

His eyes flash, and after a beat he smiles and turns back to the road again. “Ah, I heard that, Miss. Terrible place, Tressa. I’ve heard the False King and his heathen daughter kill anyone who enters the Kingdom.”

I don’t know how to respond to that, so I shove the rest of the cookie into my mouth to keep from responding. These are the rumors circling through Mystica about me? I glance over my shoulder, feeling self-conscious with this man who clearly despises my home, but there’s still no sign of Zarev. He’s really wrapped up in his argument with Modred.

“But don’t fret on that,” Hansel says after a moment, and soon we round the corner to a quaint house up ahead. It doesn’t necessarily scream tavern, but I’ve never been to one either. “Gran can whip you up something delicious to fill your belly while we wait for Zarev. He’s a quick one. I bet he’ll be here soon.”

“You know him well?”

“Oh, I know him enough. What was your name, dear?”

“Ra-” I cough, realizing that after his hate filled speech about Tressa he probably won’t like my name. “Uh, Zelle. I’m Zelle.”

“Zelle,” he mutters, looking at me again. “Such an odd name.”

“Oh, it goes with my odd personality.”

Smooth Rapunzel, real smooth.

As we approach, the door to the place opens and a burly woman walks out, her rounded body wide enough it grazes both sides of the doors. She’s got on an oversized chef’s hat and her cheeks are so red I’d believe they are painted on. Curls of white hair peep from her hat, and she’s got a radiant smile. Her face looks freckled, and she’s unusually tall.

“There you are my boy! And look, you brought a guest.”

“This is Zelle,” Hansel tells her, beaming. “She’s going to join us for a snack. She’s bringing Zarev. He’ll be here soon.”

“Zarev,” the old woman breathes, her eyes narrowing. “Well, this is a special day. Come along, dearie, let Gran fix you something good to eat. Would you enjoy a slice of pie?”

I shrug, trying to figure out what to say. That cookie was unusually filling, and my stomach feels like lead as I reach the porch.

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