Money was at the root of it, as far as she could deduce, which motivated most evil and greed. As to how the Storyteller had acquired his mastery of illusion and lies, none of them knew. They would have had to throw him through the reverso door to get the truth from him. After this, she drifted back into sleep, a somewhat deeper sleep than before.
The winds hummed and whistled but remained constant and blew in the right direction. Within two days they passed over the mountains and plains through which he and Po had so recently trekked.
It took another day to reach the palace at Grand Poncifer. When they landed in the gardens, their princess surfaced from her healing sleep to wave at the distraught palace guards and reassure them.
“No these are not an enemy. This is Xander and his brother, and so on. Hurt them and suffer the royal wrath.”
Then she went back to snoring.
She was hustled to the royal quarters. He, Xander, Ruth, and Shades were sent to the guest wing. Though guards were posted at the main entrances and exits, Ruff was allowed freedom. He spotted the creature frolicking about the green palace lawns, digging holes and annoying the gardeners, judging by how many of them shooed him away with garden rakes.
If only they knew what that critter could accomplish.
Everyone knew Xander was the royal fiancée, and so it worked out okay, as far as John could tell. Thank god. Once Po was properly awake everything should be fine.
He could no longer kill anything anymore, so he could only have fixed any holes the guards might make in them.
Even bugs weren’t swattable.
It was disgusting and wonderful.
He loved not being able to deal death.
On the airship, Po had been getting better at a good, if abnormally rapid, pace. He’d healed her but could not fix absolutely everything. There were limits to this healing ability he’d acquired by stepping through that door.
Two days passed, and he wandered into Xander’s room, knocking on the open door as he entered.
The man was difficult to find, but by the sounds of splashing and the humming, he tracked him to the bathroom and a bathtub filled with water and suds. John sat on the red-upholstered armchair and leaned forward, hands clasped.
Xander flicked the newssheet he was reading, folded it, set it aside. “You’re worried?”
It was still an enormous relief to hear the man’s deep voice. “Yes. I almost lost you.” The truth in that made him pause. “Now I’m wondering if we will lose our princess. I’m sure she has healed by now.”
“You know…” He tapped the paper. “Having read this, I appreciate her situation. This country fell apart without her. The stock market crashed. The ministers and advisors were absolutely nuts, for days. I’ve looked through heaps and heaps of the old ones printed after she went missing.” He waved a hand at a soggy pile of papers on the floor beside the bathmat.
“And so? What are you saying?” He frowned. “I’m not going to leave her just because… that happened.”
“No. Nor me. But we aren’t just fighting whatever she has going on, it’s an entire country full of ancient bureaucracy—a bureaucracy that we lost our place in when our parents lost their honor and their money. I will likely marry her anyway. But you are a problem.”
John grunted, glared. “She’s forgotten you too.”
“She has, likely, a list of crap to do six miles long. As well as a line of spies, ministers, agents, and advisors all playing interference.”
“Then we need to climb the wall. I did it once.”
“We wait. And when she summons us, we listen to her. It’s what I owe her. I will not lie to her, nor try to force a decision, though that was my inclination, once. And you also owe her, I think?” He peered at John. “Yes?”
He sighed. “Yes.” And ran his hands into his hair.
Love had sunk its nasty red throbby claws into him.
“I never did figure out what the Storyteller did to me. I thought I’d gone to Hell and fought my way out? That was a lie?”
“Yes. An illusion. Whatever you remember it wasn’t real. I still don’t understand how you shattered the illusion?”
“I remember breaking through the dirt of a hole going down to Hell.” The pavement stones sliding off his shoulders. He shuddered, stretching back in his chair. That had been some day. “How did I get out? I killed my way up. I can kill anything, even demons.”
“That would do it—an unshakeable belief in yourself.” Xander studied him. “How are you holding up now that you’re not great at killing?”
“Hmmm.” He thought awhile. “That I am a far better man than I was. It is a huge relief to not have to think hard when I meet people I dislike or might just want to…” He waved his hand. “… kill for some weird reason. I like being this man. I feel worthy of being your brother now. After all that happened, after Mom and Dad were killed, it has been a long hard road.”
“Yes.” Xander merely sat in silence, and it was this the ability to share without saying anything that John appreciated.
He smiled wanly. “Thanks for putting up with me. I did such bad things.”
“No. You didn’t. You kept yourself back, held that streak of evil in tight. And…” He sat forward in the tub, making the water slosh. “I know you killed our parents’ assassins. Went off and did it the next day.”
What? His mouth fell open a little.
“I never said anything
