to continue using the White Dragon, so that he could return Pandora’s Box to Avalon, and John, Jack, and Charles to London. Artus had decided that for the time being, the island would serve as an auxiliary to the Silver Throne on Paralon, reasoning that the seat of power was wherever the king wished it to be. “I’ve given the island a name,” said Artus. “Not that what it was called before wasn’t a name, but it’s rather unwieldy to keep calling it ‘The Island at the Edge of the World,’ don’t you think?” “Probably,” said John. Tell me what you call it, and I’ll make the appropriate changes in the Geographica.” “Terminus,” said Artus. “The name of the island is Terminus.” Aside from continuing to care for those affected by the Shadow-Born, the effort of which was being guided by Charys and the centaurs, preparing the ships for departure from Terminus was the last item on the allies’ agenda. “I think the High King may be angling for a queen,” John murmured to Bert, tipping his head in the direction of Artus and Aven, who were examining the repairs to the hull of the White Dragon. Aven was as sharp-tongued as ever, but when Artus spoke, she now looked at him differently, considering his words with gravity and respect—and something more. Not quite affection, but the whisper of it. And there was no mistaking the way that he looked at her, nor the familiar way he placed—and she allowed him to place—his hand around her waist as he guided her around the ship. “Yes,” Bert sighed. “I could see it coming several days ago. Still,” he said, “there are worse fellows she could have chosen, you know?” A bag dropped behind them, and they turned to see Jack striding away. “Oh, dear,” said Bert. “Do you think he overheard me? I certainly didn’t mean…” “I know you didn’t,” said John. “But I think of all of us, he’s had the worst of it.” Aven also noticed Jack’s abrupt departure. She gave Artus an affectionate squeeze on the shoulder and walked across the sand to find Jack. Among the supplies being loaded onto each of the ships were multiple copies of Tummeler’s cookbook, which he had managed to convince Nemo to bring from Paralon “just in case.” “Tummeler!” said Charles. “I’m quite impressed with your fortitude. I have no doubt your book will eventually become very successful.” “I’ve got a plan,” said Tummeler, proudly showing some designs he’d been scribbling on a sheet of parchment. “Th’ next one will be even better. Take a look.” “I don’t understand,” said Charles, peering closely at the parchment. “You’re going to publish the Imaginarium Geographica?” “Yup,” Tummeler nodded. “I discussed it with th’ High King. We decided that part o’ the problems caused by th’ Winter King were because of all th’ secrets. Secret lands, secret places, secret secrets. But if all the captains have their own Geographica, then no more secrets. And maybe, we can all just start getting’ along.” “Sensible thinking,” said Charles. “It certainly would have helped us out every time we lost ours if we could have popped around to the local shop for a replacement.” “It’ll look good next to the cookbook, too,” said Tummeler. “I still don’t understand the significance of the blueberries,” said Charles. “Simple,” Tummeler replied. “Blueberries is one of the great forces o’ good in the world.” “How do you figure that?” said Charles. “Well,” said Tummeler, “have you ever seen a troll, or a Wendigo, or,” he shuddered, “a Shadow-Borned ever eating a blueberry pie?” “No,” Charles admitted. “There y’ go,” said Tummeler. “It’s cause they can’t stand the goodness in it.” “Can’t argue with you there,” said Charles. “Foods is good and evil, just like people, or badgers, or even scowlers.” “Evil food?” said Charles. “Parsnips,” said Tummeler. “Them’s as evil as they come.” “Hang on a minute,” Charles said, thumbing through Tummeler’s recipe book, “you’ve got a recipe for Parsnip Pudding right here on page forty-three. If parsnips are evil, how do you explain that?” Tummeler looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. “Two reasons. One, because th’ Harpy sisters invented it, and they always come t’ market days in Paralon, and they found out about my book, and one thing led t’ another, and before I knew it, they wuz insistin’ that I put their recipe in my book. And believe you me, y’ don’t ever want t’ upset th’ Harpy sisters. “And second, just because parsnips is evil doesn’t mean that they won’t someday become good—or at th’ least, be part of a good recipe. “Mind you, I don’t think ol’ Tummeler will be th’ one t’ do it, but somehow it didn’t seem fair to pretend there’s nothin’ but good foods in th’ world. There has to be balance, y’ know? Do y’ understand, scowler Charles?” “Yes,” said Charles, “I do.” Aven found Jack at a window high in the cabin of the White Dragon, where he could watch the loading of the other ships. He didn’t acknowledge her as she entered, but the pattern of his breathing changed, and she knew he was aware of her presence. “Jack,” said Aven. “Will you be all right?” “I don’t know,” he replied at length. “Truthfully, I feel like I may never be all right, not truly, ever again.” “There was much at risk,” Aven said. “No one who fought in that battle was there without knowing the risks involved, or the stakes.” “Not true,” said Jack. “I didn’t know the stakes—or at least, chose not to believe them. And Nemo died because of me. Because he trusted that I knew what I was doing, and I didn’t, and I failed him, and he died.” “Jack,” Aven began again, “you hadn’t been in a situation like that before. Everyone knows you were doing you best.” “Don’t treat me like a child,” Jack shot back. “Don’t you think I knew what was happening? Don’t you think a man notices when he begins to lose his own shadow? And it didn’t happen last night—it wasn’t even because of the Winter King. I started giving it up on my own.” Aven was taken aback. “You mean on the Indigo Dragon?” “Of course,” said Jack. “And he saw it there, too. Th-the Winter King. Mor-Mordred. He knew.” “He knew you had the potential, Jack. That’s all he saw in you. And when it came time to make a choice, you chose to be with us, and that was what mattered.” “My choices killed Nemo,” said Jack. “You say what was in my heart was different than what I chose to do, but I think you’re wrong. I think what is within affects what we do. Sooner or later, we have to face that.” “And you did,” said Aven, looking at his shadow on the floor. “Yes,” he replied, looking at the shadow. “I just did it too late.” Aven’s face showed the conflict she felt in deciding what to say next. Finally, one side of the struggle bested the other. “Jack,” she said. “You…you could stay here, in the Archipelago.” He shot her a glance, and briefly, there was a light in his eyes and countenance that said he’d considered doing just that. But the light sparked and died, and he slowly shook his head. “I can’t. I—I don’t think it would help. I let my emotions, my passions, get the better of me,” he said, again looking fleetingly at her, “and that’s exactly what he knew would happen. And someone suffered and died.” He shook his head again and chuckled, a bitter, mirthless sound. “I won’t make that mistake again.” Jack turned back to the window and watched as Bert continued to guide the loading of supplies onto the White Dragon. Aven remained standing behind him, silent.
