Juliana charged out onto it. It was several stories high, and Hawthorn wasn’t much of a climber. Had he really slunk down the building?
A building made entirely out of a hollow tree.
Juliana banged her head against the side of the giant redwood. The boy could manipulate plant life. He’d have enchanted a branch to carry him down or moulded himself handholds—
Several of which she now saw in the trunk.
Is he trying to kill himself or me?
She returned to her room to gather Briarsong, and then swiftly climbed down the building.
“You there,” she said to a nearby citizen, “where is your closest, seediest tavern?”
Even in an unfamiliar town, it didn’t take her long to locate him. Once she’d located Merwood’s downtown, she simply found the rowdiest tavern and waltzed right in.
A glass smashed against the wall a few inches from her face as she entered, making half the place roar with laughter. A shard slid across her cheek, but she paid it no heed.
If an assassin doesn’t kill him, and I don’t, I’m sure his own poor decisions may.
It would be a truly terrible ending to the tale of the Cursed Prince if he died in an unfortunate bar accident, but Juliana was tempted to let that be the conclusion when she discovered him on a table, dancing and breathing fire into his goblet.
“Juliana!” he declared, leaping off the table and misjudging the distance so that he hit the tree trunk in the middle of the room. He cackled with laughter as he righted himself, oblivious to the cut in his eyebrow. “You decided to join me!”
“I came toretrieveyou, not join you!”
A ‘boo’ sounded round the room.
“Oh,please,Juliana. Stay for just a little bit! It’s more fun with you!”
“You really do delight in tormenting me, don’t you?”
Hawthorn grinned, thumbing the spot between her eyebrows. “You have just the loveliest scowl. I find myself quite enamoured with it—”
“I find you’ve had far too much to drink.” She grabbed his arm and steered him away from the crowd, lowering her voice. “There’s been an outbreak of faerie fever,” she told him. “We need to get back to the inn.”
Hawthorn’s eyes widened, sobering. It had swept through Acanthia once when they were children. It was one of the few illnesses faeries were susceptible to, robbing them of their old, infirm, and their young. The death toll had been mild but significant, and the effects were… unpleasant.
“All right,” he said. “I’ll come back.”
The sobering effect of her words quickly wore off by the time they’d reached the inn, where he became an unhelpful, giggling mess. How was she to sneak him in like this? She’d been hoping to plant him in the downstairs of the inn, sneak up the outside, and slide out again to retrieve him the proper way if he couldn’t make his own way up the stairs. She needed to appear not at fault, like she’d had no knowledge of him sneaking out.
But that didn’t seem possible, now. Guards were posted at the entrance, and there was no way he could climb up in this state.
“You look worried again, dear Jules. It isn’t as fun as your angry face.”
“I’m trying to work out how to get us back in.”
Hawthorn’s eyes gleamed. “I have an idea. I don’t think you’ll like it, though.”
Juliana’s eyes narrowed. “I’m all ears.”
“Oh! There it is again. Delightful.”
Her scowl darkened.“The idea, Hawthorn!”
He sighed. “I think I preferred it when you called me Prince Prickle…” He took a step forward, sliding a hand around her waist.
“What are you doing?”
