Page 31 of I Ran Away to Evil
Keith and I had talked about it, and everyone had started calling me Henrietta, and it’d been nice figuring out whoHenriettawas.
Which was why I’d decided to visit Gerda on my day off instead of exploring some of the more exciting locales around the Dark Enchanted Forest.
“A kingdom without people,
A desert without sand,
An ocean without water,
What land is in your hand?”
“Oh, Gerda, that’s a lovely riddle!” And it really was. I thought long and hard. “Is it … a map?”
“Your Highness is so good at riddles; I will have to try harder next time.” The troll laughed and invited me into her home under the east bridge.
Bridge troll magic made for a lovely cottage in the space between the water and the stone arch. There was a cute door with a flower motif seemingly carved into the under arch, and when you reached up and held the doorknob, gravity turned you sideways so you could walk right inside. The first time had been terribly disorienting, but now it was just magical.
“I always look forward to your riddles, Gerda, butpleasecall me Henrietta,” I said, embarrassed. The pale-green woman laughed, and we both puttered around her kitchen, preparing for afternoon tea. I got out the cups and she boiled water. I plated the table while she brewed a berryleaf blend that smelled wonderful.
I had grown to love afternoon tea in the Dark Enchanted Forest.
“And I look forward to your baking.” Gerda tucked a dark green braid behind her ear as she leaned closer and breathed deeply, appreciating the smell of ginger, cinnamon, and cloves wafting from the basket. “What did you bring?”
“Gingerbread cookies and cinnamon buns.” I pulled the kitchen towel off my basket to reveal cookies shaped like trolls, knights, treants, and dragons. Separately wrapped in killer-bee wax paper were two sticky honey butter cinnamon buns coated in whipped sweet cheese. When I saw the recipe inOut of This World, I’d had to stop myself from outright begging on my knees for Panlith to order the ingredients. He’d been happy to procure what I’d asked for, no groveling required.
I’d needed citrons to add to the thick cheese topping, and flour milled from soft red wheat to make the dough chewy and light.
We sat down at Gerda’s table and dug in happily.
“I don’t know what else to say, Gerda,” I said between licking my fingers drizzled in icing. “I’m just so happy here, but things aren’t going so well.”
Gerda frowned over her tea. “Is it the Dark Lord? I heard he had you locked up in the dungeon.”
“No! I love spending time with Rufus in the dungeon,” I replied. “It’s the fact that St. Veralyn’s Day is only a month away, and if I don’t do anything by then,myfather will.”
“I would pay money to get locked up in a dungeon with General Rufus Triever,” Gerda sighed passionately. She shook herself and asked, “What will your father do?”
“Declare war?” I sighed, exhausted. “If I die, then it’ll be a war out of revenge. If I live, he’ll declare war because I’m supposedly being held hostage by the Dark Overlord.”
“Wait, aren’t you being held hostage by the Dark Overlord?” Gerda asked. “Last I heard, he didn’t want to fight you until his necromancer returned and could clean up the mess, so you’ve become a magical test subject for his evil experiments while you wait for your death, all the while baking for his pleasure. That sounds pretty ‘captive princess’ to me, Princess.”
She emphasized the lastPrincesswhile raising an eyebrow.
“It’s not like that at all!” I slapped my palm to my face, instantly regretting doing so because then I had to stop and wash icing off my face. “I volunteered! Keith wanted to know how I got past his gate golem, and I couldn’t go home without fighting him or dying. He was really nice and let me stay in the Nightshade Rooms when I wasn’t in the dungeons. It’s just—it’s not as bad as it sounds, alright?!”
Gerda laughed so hard she hit the table, which creaked under the blow.
“It’s not funny!” I protested.
“You’re right,” she agreed. “It’s hilarious. But with all the mix up and kingdom gossip and war, there is one thing that’s pretty clear.”
“What?”
“Drendil isn’t your home anymore, so it’s time to let it go.” Gerda shrugged. “When I came here, I left my family and my home behind, and I never looked back. My husband was a very mean troll, and not in a good way.”
I settled in to listen.
“Sometimes, you spend your whole life trying to make your home a better place. You plant bioluminescent mushrooms to make it shine, you convince yourself your bruises are proud battle scars, and you take the job of protecting others from the ones you love,” Gerda said sadly, her brown eyes distant. Her gaze grew firm when she turned suddenly to look at me. “But their choices are not your choices. And the only troll’s—the only person’s actions you need to take responsibility for are your own.”
