Page 45 of Apples Dipped in Gold

“She is not a nun!” he snapped.

“She looks like a nun,” I said. “She is wearing a veil.”

“She is not a nun!”

“She ispraying, for fuck’s sake, Cardic! You cannot have a nun!”

“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t have, you self-rutting, churlish…bastard!” he yelled, and then he punched me in the face.

I heard the mirror sigh.

“I knew you didn’t read!” I shouted as I charged at him. He swung at me again, but I grabbed his arm with my hand and turned away from him, bringing my other arm down hard on his elbow.

Cardic howled.

I shoved my knee into his stomach, but he caught my leg.

“I fucking read!” he said as he bit my thigh.

I screamed and then shoved him away. He fell to the floor. I pounced as he tried to get to his feet, grabbing his ankle to jerk him back. He collapsed to the ground and rolled as I climbed over him, my hand going for his neck.

I didn’t even know if I could choke him with one hand, but I was going to try, and I didn’t know why—because he refused to acknowledge that the woman he wanted was a nun?

I started to laugh.

I laughed so hard that I could no longer fight, and when my brother pushed me off him, I didn’t care. I fell onto my back, still laughing.

“I’m glad my pain amuses you,” he said, which only made everything much funnier, and though Cardic pouted, it wasn’t long before he laughed too.

“I can’t believe you’re in love with a nun,” I said.

“I can’t believe you brought the woman you’ve pined after for seven years to my palace,” said Cardic.

“I can’t believe I have to bear witness to this,” said the mirror.

We both glared at the glorified windowpane, but as we settled into silence, a different sort of emotion consumed me. It was heavier than sadness, worse than dread.

It was sort of like grief because the moment Samara partook of the golden apple and wished me free, I would have nothing, and I was just starting to realize that at least loving her from afar wassomething.

Chapter Seven

The Curse of True Love

Samara

I woke to something tickling my nose.

When I opened my eyes, I found three pixies staring back at me. I startled for a moment, surprised by their presence, and rose to my elbows, but they also seemed surprised and darted back, their small wings whirring behind them. They had large eyes and long pointed ears, both seeming too large for their small, delicate faces. Each of them wore a tattered-looking dress made of oak leaves. One wore the cap of an acorn as a hat.

“Hello,” I said, though I was slightly apprehensive, wondering what sort of mischief they might intend, but before I could say anything else, the fox leapt into the air and captured them in his mouth.

“Fox!” I shrieked. “Let them go!”

I scrambled after him. I wasn’t sure what I intended to do, perhaps shake him until he opened his mouth. Igrabbed his tufted tail, but I wasn’t prepared for the bed to sway. I fell forward, and he slipped out of my grip.

“Fox!” I growled as I followed him over the edge of the bed, where I found him crouched down, his mouth vibrating, as if the pixies were fighting to get out. “Spit them out!” I said.

The fox opened his mouth, and out flew the three pixies. I could hear their high-pitched voices but understood nothing as they zipped around my head before darting off.

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