Page 72 of Down from the Tower

“Yes, shadow boy.” I glare at him when Ray laughs. “She wanted to show you something.”

I sigh, turning to wave at Rapunzel before moving back towards the office. She frowns briefly before Ray makes his way over and her frown turns into a brilliant grin. At least she won't be bored while I’m gone.

All the rumors floating around Mystica are creating contradictory stories. Some claim the princess is dead, some claim she’s in a love affair with Death, others claim she was dead all along and the royals pretended she was among the living. None of them are quite right, and if our luck holds, no one will figure out how to put all the pieces together until we leave the tavern.

It might have to be by tonight if things get any worse. I’ve had Rapunzel keep her things ready to go for a couple days, itching to leave but not ready to take her from the first place she seems happy. Back on the roads in Sherwood, we’ll be in danger again.

I pat my breast pocket as I knock on the office door. Ray gave me some more pixie dust, but the stuff is in short supply. Who knows when another Lost Boy will willingly betray Peter to pass along more. This is all I’ll have for a good long while.

“That you, Zarev,” Dahlia calls from inside, and I push open the door. She’s in the middle of some reorganizing, one side of her desk clear for once as she looks at a thick stack of envelopes.

I give her a soft smile when she looks up. “Ray says you want to see me?”

“Ah, yes,” Dahlia replies, shifting through the stack of letters. Some have yellowed with age, others look pretty new. It reminds me of the traveler's log. “Your Rapunzel-”

“She isn’t my anything, Dahlia.”

The old woman looks up, giving me a bemused grin. “Uh, huh, sure. Rapunzel read the log recently, as you know. She mentioned one story…” Dahlia trails off as she continues flipping through the stack. “She said it was about a woman who was a mistress.”

“It’s not that uncommon,” I say, surprised she’d point out a detail like that. Mistresses are common across Mystica, and more recently I’ve heard of kept men who play with the wives outside of relationships too. It sounds messy, and I have more than enough to deal with to not care to be involved in a mess like that.

Dahlia waves a hand, grabbing a few envelopes from the stack. “It got me thinking.”

“About?”

From the stack she hands over three envelopes she pulled, sliding them into my hand. They don’t have a name on them, they are just numbered 1 to 3. “These. I remember a woman once who wrote these during various stays here at the tavern.”

I blink. “I’m not following, Dahlia.”

My second mom sighs, looking at me like she sometimes does her own children. “Give these to Rapunzel to read. She mentioned a Lady Tremaine, and I know it’s been many moons since that woman traveled through but it got me thinking. Sometimes people leave letters or documents that are separate from the log, so I store them in case someone comes looking for their loved ones. Writing has power, it tells the story when we cannot. And that Tremaine woman was someone’s mistress.”

“Charming.”

She looks one step away from slapping me in the head. “Listen to me, Zarev. That woman was stark raving mad when she came through here. It was almost three decades ago when the tavern was just starting to take off. She looked starved, her cheeks hollow and her eyes sunken, but I remember her clothes. For being so frail she wore a cloak spun with golden thread, and when she couldn’t pay for the rooms she gave me a golden ring without question. That ring paid for our food and mead for a solid three months.”

My eyes widen. I don’t remember ever hearing about this woman, but depending on when the timelines add up I might’ve already been bitten by that point. I really didn’t associate with any friends directly after the attack, and my family died so soon after that everything is a blur. “You think she was from Tressa?”

Dahlia leans in, grasping my hand over the scars. “I’m positive. It was after the wall, but some citizens from Tressa escaped. They all ranted about the tyrannical rule of Midas. But this woman seemed to bask in the tales of the Murder King. She loved those stories. Her eyes would glow, and I remember she’d spend long hours sitting in the tavern at night trying to eavesdrop on some of the stories that came through. I think she even slept with a few of the men to gain more information from them.”

“You think…” I shake my head, the idea seeming preposterous. “You think this woman slept with Midas?”

“I think there’s a good chance she was close to the Golden King,” Dahlia corrects with a shrug. “She kept to herself, so I didn’t do much digging, and I was bitter about Tressa at the time. I didn’t want to hear anyone praise the king who would torture with gold.”

That sounds right. Dahlia usually has nothing nice to say about Tressa. She remembers the kingdom before the wall, and even though she’s told all of us many times that she never visited the kingdom, Midas’ torture was legendary. People wanted to flee from the kingdom before he made that impossible.

That was part of the push to go check on the kingdom when the dead didn’t rise. It didn’t start immediately when the wall went up, but over the years less dead appeared until they stopped altogether. That isn’t natural.

“Rapunzel’s words got me thinking is all,” she continues, dropping the rest of the envelopes back on her desk. “I’ve never seen the woman since, and I think she might be gone from this world. If she did have a connection to Midas, and the princess had no idea she exists…”

“She’s dead,” I agree. “Or sent away from the castle. Many kings mess around and banish the mistress when they are through.”

Dahlia gives a sharp nod. “I’m aware. But Rapunzel felt for the woman. If she’s from Tressa, maybe there’s a connection that the princess can resonate with.” She shrugs, dragging a hand over her face. “It might not do any good, or it could be beneficial. I think I read these once, but so many people leave so many letters and notes it’s hard to remember. And this was long ago. She’s lucky that Tremaine stuck out to me.”

Nodding, I slide the letters into a pocket opposite my hand blade. I’ll hand them off in the room. People might not come up and talk to the princess, but she draws a lot of attention. If there’s someone out there who recognizes her, or someone who is following her for the King, then we should be careful. I don’t need anyone assuming these letters are recent and jump to conclusions.

There’s enough of that going around.

I’ve just turned back to the door when the triplets rush in, carrying between them the youngest baby and a chubby, sleeping toddler. “Ma!”

---