It might be impossible. Because undoing the potion would undo the peace, and I was a hero, unable to cause chaos. But I had to try.
Setting my jaw, I channeled the perseverance of a lactose-intolerant person who consumes dairy anyway. Then I threw back my shoulders and headed toward the city.
I sneaked past the skeletons, even though I was beginning to suspect Greg the mouse and his minions weren’t as evil as I oncethought. Still, I wasn’t sure what his role in all of this was, and it was best to play it safe.
Entering the city through the same conveniently unguarded side gate we used the day before, I plucked a long brown cloak off a clothesline and flipped the hood over my conspicuous hair, Jedi-style. The streets were mostly empty, thanks to the early hour and the looming threat of the dragon, but I still kept my head down.
When I reached the castle, I waited by a side door until a servant opened it. At the last moment, I shot from the shadows and jammed my foot in front of the closing door.
I slipped inside—
—and immediately ran into the real Evil One and douchebag extraordinaire Amy. The king stood at his side, flanked by half a dozen guards.
“One of theimposters.” Spittle flew from Amy’s lips as he pointed one gnarly finger.
I opened my mouth to scream at him. My muscles coiled, ready to tackle him to the ground, but I couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. The potion kept me rooted to the spot, judging me guilty, forcing me to stand there waiting for my arrest.
A brief silence ensued, during which we all exchanged looks, waiting to see what the others would do.
The king waved an apologetic hand my way. “This is one of the traitors involved with the poisoning of our oldest and most respected historians.” He nodded at Amy before turning to his guards. “So, well, I suppose, if it’s no bother, you ought to seize her?”
Inside I was freaking out, but on the outside, I asked, like I was making small talk, “Historian? Amy, you’re the castlehistorian? I thought you were something cool, like a wizard.”
Amy shook with anger. “How dare you impugn my wisdom?”
“But how are you so old if you’re not magical?” I asked.
“Superfoods,” said Amy, like it was obvious.
“Seize her,” the king said again. Evidently, he’d had a taste ofpower, and now he wanted more. What an untimely moment for him to grow a backbone. “She shall be hung for treason.”
The soldiers stormed forward, barking orders, their boots stomping and armor jangling, flashing light into everyone’s eyes as they jogged around, looking serious and generally accomplishing very little for several moments. Finally, they got their act together and formed a tight circle around me.
“Excuse me, sorry, one last thing.” I held up a hand, and the guards paused. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot, and I’m like eighty-two percent sure it’shanged.”
“No, no,” the king said. “It’s neverhanged.”
“I think this is theonlycase when it’shanged.”
“Mmm, yes, she’s right,” Amy murmured thoughtfully.
“Oh,” the king said, crestfallen. He perked right up a second later when he remembered he was in the middle of realizing he had massive amounts of power to abuse. “Seize her!”
And that was how I found myself in prison.
The dungeon was dark and damp because of course it was. A fantasy world where anything was possible, but god forbid it have bright, cheerful prisons or disco prisons or, at the very least, not-moldy prisons. But no. The unoriginal medieval world had unoriginal, dank, dreary prisons with big burly guards and rusting iron bars.
Bending, I picked up a flake of loose cobblestone and turned it over in my fingers. It made me think of Bryce. He’d surely noticed my absence by now. I imagined him waking up and finding half of the bed empty. Guilt ravaged my insides.
No one would be coming to rescue me. Bryce would assume I didn’t want to come back. Too late, I’d finally accepted the truth he’d been shouting at me this whole time; he never did have expectations for me.
I wouldn’t have a chance to explain why I’d left, or apologize for it. He’d never suspect I’d been captured.
Wrapping one hand around a cold prison bar, I leaned as far as I could into the aisle and chucked the rock at the guard standing down the hall. The pebble fell short and skittered across the floor, stopping by his feet.
The guard looked up and, predictably, smirked, all mean and guard-like. “Much good that spunk will do you while you’re standing on the gallows with a rope around your—”
“Come on, man. Lighten up.”
