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Chapter Text

The imp wasn’t in the great hall when Curupira appeared, but there was a stack of books left lying on the table.  So, she grabbed one and sat down, making herself comfortable and propping her feet up on the table.  Humans, when they did that, had their ankles against the tabletop.  It always looked awkward, even painful, to her, though she supposed they were made for it with their backwards feet.  Curupira had her toes pressed cozily against the wood, making a little triangle with her lower calves, nice and comfy.

So, what was the Dark One studying up on?  When humans first started making funny, little markings to help them remember things, she hadn’t seen the point.  She knew everything she needed to know about her animals, and what else was there? 

But, when another demon had left some of those strange scratchings by animals he’d killed, a human was able to translate the “death threats” for her.  Death threats were always useful, whether you were making or receiving them, so she’d made the effort to understand after that.  Of course, humans, being humans, kept changing  what kind of scratchings they used and what they meant, which meant she had to learn a new collection every few centuries, but she managed.

The book she’d picked up was bestiary.  Those were always good for a laugh, but this one wasn’t as ridiculous as most.  There was also a whole section on magical creatures. 

Curupira decided to see what it said about her.  She giggled over a few parts, but (given it was written from a human’s point of view) it was mostly right.  Whoever wrote it spent three whole paragraphs explaining that, though she was a demon, she was not particularly “baleful” (she snickered at that word. She could be much worse than “baleful” when the mood took her)—or not baleful to humans who “respect the bounds which she doth place on all living beings who do enter into her demesnes.” 

Yeah, that.

Back when humans had first started calling her a demon, they just meant magical being that didn’t care much about their kind.  Later, it came to mean, “magical being who enjoys torturing humans for fun.”  It might not be how she saw it but, if it kept them out of her hair, what did she care?

Some cared.  That was why Iara decided she was a siren.  Even humans might think twice about running to a demon’s pond.  Most of them would probably still go, but there had to be a few who weren’t that dim.  And Iara couldn’t have that, could she?  Especially not when a little name change would fix things.

“Oh, there you are,” Rumplestiltskin said as he strode in.  “Getting in a little, light reading, dearie?” 

“Just reading up on me.  This one isn’t half bad but, if you needed to know about animals, you could just ask me.”

“Oh, but I don’t need to know about animals.  I need to know what humans think about these animals.”

Curupira rolled her eyes.  “Don’t tell me.  You’re doing something twisted and clever again, aren’t you?”

He giggled.  “Remarkably clever.  You see—”

She held up a hand.  “No, really, don’t tell me.  I want to stay awake.”

The imp pouted.  “We both know you don’t need to sleep.”

“It doesn’t matter if I need to.  Once you get going, I won’t have any choice.  Well, did you find it?”

“Of course.  It’s in the land of Lorraine.  I’ll even help you get where it’s kept—for a price.”

“We already agreed on a price,” Curupira said, glaring.  It was a good glare.  Dragons on the receiving end of it had reached into the dusty, long-forgotten corners of their minds and found they did know how to do groveling and submission postures.

It had no effect on the imp. “We agreed I’d tell you where it was.  I’ve done that.  I can arrange for one of the locals to lead you directly to it.  And all I ask are two little things.”

Little.  It was always something ‘little.’  “And what would those be?”

“First, don’t kill anyone while you’re there.  Or maim them.  Or tell one of your animal friends to kill or maim them for you.”

“That sounds like four things.”

“Not the way I’m counting them.”

“Fine.  I can do that.”

“Are you sure, dearie?  You can be a little absent-minded sometimes.  You won’t go off and forget?”

Curupira paused.  The imp could be tricky.  He also had a demented sense of what he called ‘humor.’  “So long as no one tries to kill, maim, or imprison me, I promise not to kill or maim them.”

“Hmm, I think I need to know your definition of ‘kill,’ ‘maim,’ and ‘imprison.’  I can’t have slaughtering half a castle because someone stepped on your toes—you can’t blame them, your toes are always in the wrong place—or doesn’t get out of your way fast enough.”

That led to over a half-hour of debate on terminology, including a codicil that Rumplestiltskin promised to come quickly and get her out if, by some chance, the humans did manage to imprison her.  Normally, they couldn’t, but, the way he was going on, she suspected a setup (or, as the imp would no doubt put it, ‘a really funny joke’).  Another five minutes were spent discussing what ‘come quickly’ and ‘get her out’ meant in this context.

“And the second thing?” Curupira asked.  She was tempted to let it go since the imp seemed to have forgotten.  But, sooner or later, he’d remember he’d said two things.  Then, she’d really be in for it.

“Oh, that.”  He picked up the book she’d been looking at and tossed it to her.  “Take that to Lady Colette of the Marchlands.  She’s visiting cousins in Lorraine.  Give her the book, and she’ll show you were the little birdie is.”

X

“You’re Lady Colette?”

Curupira stared at the little girl in front of her.  She couldn’t be more than nine or ten.  Her dress was made finely enough for a lady—Curupira knew enough about humans to know how much things like that mattered—but her wrists dangled out of the sleeves and the elbows were showing signs of being worn through.

The girl bobbed a quick curtsey. “I am Colette de la Marche.  And you, Madame?”

Since Curupira had promised not to kill or maim anyone and since she decided it would be easier to get this over and done with if no one was trying to stop a demon from rampaging through the castle, she’d made herself look like a normal human.  Blondes were rare in this part of the world, so she’d even changed her hair, making it a dull, nondescript brown bound up in a small bun.  The long dress she’d created was rich enough no one would question her wandering around the castle but poor enough no one would mistake her for a great lady and need to learn more about her.  Or so she hoped.  It was sometimes hard to judge these things with humans, but getting this over and done with would be so much easier if everyone just ignored her.

Well, whether or not the dress made people ignore her, it hid her feet.  She could change her appearance easily enough but she never could change her feet wrong way around like a human’s.  Curupira would get in, finish the stupid errand, get what she wanted, and get out.

That plan hadn’t involved a ten year old human.

Curupira glanced around.  There was no governess or nursemaid in sight, someone who might turn overprotective and ask awkward questions (on the short list of things Curupira could appreciate in humans: some of them were vicious as mother bears when it came to protecting their young).  There also wasn’t a pack of friends milling around.  Children, in her experience, could ask even more awkward questions than adults.

“I’m Madame Curé,” she said.  Nothing special in that, a commoner’s name, if she understood the pack-hierarchy rules in this part of the world (or if Rumplestiltskin did, since he was the one she’d ask for a name no one would notice).  “I was told to return this to you,” she added, handing her the bestiary.

Colette’s face broke out into a smile.  “My book!  Oh, thank you, Madame!”

Curupira would never understand the things humans got excited about.  “It has mistakes in it,” she warned her.  “Though, not too many,” she admitted grudgingly.

It was the wrong thing to say.  The girl’s attention went from the book to her, her eyeballs practically riveted to her.  “You know about animals?” the girl asked and started bombarding her with questions.  Had she read the whole book?  What were the mistakes?  What else did she know about animals?  And (a thousand questions later) how did she know so much?

Passersby gave them looks (sympathetic ones to Curupira, disapproving ones to Colette).  “Should we talk somewhere else?” Curupira said when the girl paused for breath.  “Somewhere we aren’t in everyone’s way?”

The girl flushed.  “Of course, Madame.  I’m sorry, Madame.”

She looked so embarrassed, Curupira wanted to reassure her.  I’m not going to eat you.  I can’t.  I promised.  Not that what she did to the humans who truly angered her was eating, not exactly.  And she didn’t do that to children.  Not that she hadn’t let a few of them think she was going to.  But, those children had been up to no good in her forests.  Colette might be a chatterer, but at least she was chattering about the only thing worth talking about.

However, after an hour or so, even Curupira decided enough was enough.  Someone would have to show up looking for the girl sooner or later, and Curupira had a question of her own to ask before then.

“I have heard there is a rare bird here,” she said. “The merle d’or.  Is it true?”

Oh, it was true.  And nothing could delight Colette more than knowing her new friend (which was what she seemed to think Curupira was) wanted to see it.  She grabbed Curupira’s hand and dragged her off.  Curupira, noticing the glares they were collecting, managed to slow her down.

She tried to think what a human would say.  “Now, now.”  You’re setting off the herd.  They think there’s a predator after you.  No, that didn’t sound right. The problem was how the herd expected others in the herd to behave.  The young (Colette, in this case) were supposed to learn it and the adults (which meant Curupira, unless she wanted to kick up her sensible feet for all to see have done) were supposed to teach it.  So, she’d better teach.  “Young hu—I mean, little girls are supposed to . . .  uh. . . . ” What exactly was it she was supposed to do?  Well, no one liked them running.  And no one else seemed to be doing more than a rapid stroll, now she thought about it. “Walk.  Indoors.  Not run like a wolf’s after you.  Unless a wolf’s after you.  Which isn’t likely unless it has the frothing sickness.  Or you went after it first.”

The girl flushed again.  “Of course, Madame.  I’m sorry, Madame.” 

There was something about the way the girl said that, so cringingly, that was beginning to put her teeth on edge. 

But, there was no time to think about it.  The girl dragged her off to another garden.  Only, it wasn’t a garden.  It was a huge room inside the castle with a ceiling of paned glass.  There were plants everywhere, like a miniature jungle.  A fountain, played in the center of the room, bright colored fish (the kind that wouldn’t last long in the wild) dashed about in its waters.

And there were cages.  Lots and lots of cages.

No killing.  Or maiming, she reminded herself.

The first surge of anger she felt died away.  The cages were large and the birds—so far, all she saw in them were birds—had room to fly around in them as they sang happily.

Happily.

What is wrong with you? Curupira wanted to ask them.  But, she didn’t.  She’d come here for one thing and one thing only.

Not that she might not come back for something else later.

The cage she wanted was just a bit beyond the fountain.  Eight feet tall and twice as wide, the thin bars were delicately made to look like twining vines, covered with flowers, plated with gold (it had to be plated.  Real gold was too soft and required more guards). It had only one, small occupant.

At first glance, the bird looked as if he were made of gold, too.  But, as he stretched his wings, the shifting light made them iridescent, blue, green, red, a cascade of glittering, jeweled hues.  Then, he relaxed, the light stopped its dazzling dance, and he was merely gold again.

The merle d’or, the golden blackbird.

Hello, she said silently.  Do you know me?

The bird flew to a perch closer to her.

Curupira, it warbled.  The humans would only hear bird song, though the notes were impossibly sweet and beautiful, even to their dull ears.

I have come for you, she said.  I have a place in my forest, beautiful trees by a silver stream.  Do you want to see it?

The bird lowered its head.  It looked like Colette right before she said, Of course, Madame. I’m sorry, Madame.

What’s wrong? Curupira asked.  Don’t be afraid.  Tell me.

The bird looked up at her uncertainly.  There are beasts in the forest, devourers, egg-stealers, nest-spoilers.  There are hunters, hunger, cold, and death.

Curupira hesitated.  There was a grove in her forest, a safe place where nothing hunted and her beasts would never trouble each other. Her creatures found safety there when they were hunted or hurt.

But, nothing stayed there forever.  Even when she wanted them to, their own nature drove them on.

Curupira looked at the blackbird’s cage.  Plenty of room to fly and flit about, plenty of food as well.  But, no other birds.

You’re alone.

Curupira knew the moods of beasts and birds.  She saw the wistful sadness in the songbird’s eyes.  But, it shook it off.  I’m not, it said resolutely and broke into a long, wordless melody.  Hearing it, the other birds, scattered in their cages, answered back.

Please, the bird said, let me stay.

Curupira turned to the girl.  “Why is it alone in its cage?  It should have others of its kind.”

“There aren’t any,” the girl said.  “The king has looked.  He offered a reward, but no one can find any.”

Humans, Curupira thought.  “This is a male.  The females look like any other blackbird.”  She sighed, defeated.  “They’ll probably want to come.”  Not that she could blame them.  Or maybe she could.

But, she was Curupira, guardian of the forest, she didn’t lock up her creatures—even when it was the only way to keep them out of cages.  She let them make their choices.  No matter how stupid they were.

And she would check on them after, in case they ever changed their minds.

“You know about animals,” the girl said.

Curupira nodded absently. 

“Can you teach me?  I want to know all about them.  I want to know everything.”

The girl had the fierce, eager look of a puppy ready to go hunting lions.  Curupira almost laughed at her.  What will you do if you catch them, little one?  But, she stopped herself.  After all, she meant to be coming back this way again and she didn’t want any humans annoying her.  If the other humans thought she was part of a noble’s pack, even a very young noble, it would be less trouble all around.

Curupira vacillated.  Humans were nothing but complications.  It had been true even about the Sula, in the end.

She wondered how much trouble this girl would be.  “The man you loaned you book to, why did you give it to him?  He was a stranger, wasn’t he?” And a sorcerer.  And an imp.  Not that Colette could have known.

“He was a scholar,” the girl said defensively. “The king gives them permission to use his library, sometimes.”

“You’re not the king.”

“The de la Marches have a great library, too,” the girl said.  “The king lets me send for books I want.”

Complicated human-herd-pack stuff seemed to be involved in getting books.  Curupira didn’t want to know.  If she ever needed ones humans had, she’d just steal it.  “But, this scholar asked you, didn’t he?  What did he offer you?  I know he made a deal.  He always does.”

The girl looked mutinous.  So, she had a spine after all.  Good to know.  “Buttercup, my pony, has been sick.  She’s getting old.  But, she hurt.   All the time, she hurt.  Jacques, the king’s groom, said there was nothing he could do.  He said—he said she’d have to be put down.  It would be kinder.”

Curupira nodded.  The strongest beasts all died in the end, and the forest wasn’t kind to those who lived to become old.  Humans might not always be kind to their creatures, but she didn’t begrudge them understanding that. 

But, it was a hard lesson, even for wild things.  This human child hadn’t learned it yet.  “What could the scholar do?  He couldn’t make your pony young again.” 

Actually, he could.  And he might have.  But, the price for that would be far beyond a book, and Curupira didn’t think she would wish that kind of cost on the girl.

The girl looked insulted.  “Of course not.  I didn’t ask that.  I’m not stupid.  I’m not little.”  Oh, yes, she was.  But, it wasn’t Curupira’s job to force her to grow up any faster.  The world around her would do that soon enough.

Human’s only thought their world was gentler than the forest.  Curupira knew better.

“He had a recipe,” the girl said. “For a potion.  He knew an apothecary who could make it.  Buttercup’s still tired, and I can’t ride her anymore—even if I weren’t big enough for a horse.  But, she doesn’t hurt, so that’s all right.”

“Huh.”  Curupira studied the little girl.  She was human, and Curupira knew only too well what that meant.  But, she wasn’t completely stupid.  There might even be a few sparks of something worthwhile inside that head of hers.  “All right, then.  I’ll be back and I’ll teach you.  But, not today.  I have other work to get done today.”

Looking far too happy for such a weak promise—Curupira hadn’t even said when she’d be back.  It could a month or a year for all the girl knew—the little human nodded and ran away.

Humans.  They were always more trouble than they were worth.  If the imp offered her a glimpse of her future, he’d probably warn her to turn around and walk away.  But, there was one thing Curupira had to admit was true about humans—some of them—ones like this Colette.

They might be a nuisance and a disaster waiting to happen.  But, unlike some creatures she could mention, they didn’t have to be boring.

Chapter Text

The merchant who called himself Raoul smiled pleasantly as he showed the king his cages full of birds.  They were rare, exotic creatures, a blue jay the color of violets, pigeons with feathers that curled like flower petals, birds with feathers so dull they might have been made of dust and twigs but with voices like angels sent to earth.  He had fish the color of sunrise and frogs brilliant as cut gems. 

Prices were negotiated.  A servant handed over a purse of gold and silver under the watchful eyes of the guards.  Raoul smiled.  Had they searched him and all his belongings, they would have found nothing out of place or that could be used as a weapon. 

The meeting with the king done, he was directed to Madame Curé, the Royal Bird-Keeper.  He explained to her the proper care and feeding of the king’s new pets.  Madame Curé grew bored.  Raoul, who had carefully gathered as much information as possible before beginning this task, new she was a scholar with no real interest in her duties.  She appeared sporadically, looked over her charges, then headed to the king’s library before vanishing again for a few days or even weeks.

Raoul, who understood such things, asked if perhaps he could speak to the Bird-Keeper’s assistant, the one who did the day to day work of filling food trays and cleaning away droppings.  Madame Curé, already turning her attention to a pile of books, promised to send the girl along when she saw her.

Raoul, taking that promise for what it was worth, decided to stay with his beasts in the aviary.  He was prepared to wait well into the night.  If the girl hadn’t appeared by then, no one would think it strange if he made inquiries.  It was best not to seem too anxious or demanding.  The girl was a noble, after all.  Above all else, it was important no one remember him showing too great an interest in her.

Fortunately, Lady Colette, more responsible than Madame Curé, was not long in coming.  She was an awkward thing, still growing.  The sleeves on her dress no longer reached her wrists, though someone had let out the hem of her skirt so no improper hint of foot or ankle showed.  Raoul thought she might have grown into a beauty in few years had things been different.  Ah, well, life was full of ill chances, wasn’t it? Her mother had died when she was born.  Really, it was a wonder she’d lived as long as she had.

Colette listened gravely as he told her the fish and frogs would be her responsibility as well.  They were the first of their kind in the collection, and the king had decided to keep them among the cages of the aviary for now. 

He explained how the glass bowls of the fish needed to cleaned and cared for, how much salt would need to be added to fresh water, and what signs would mean the fish were languishing.  Then, he showed her the proper way to handle the frogs.

“Hold them carefully,” he said, handing her one. “Don’t let them leap out of your hands, whatever you do.  They’re easily startled.”

“They feel slimy,” Lady Colette said. 

“They like to keep moist,” Raoul told her. “That feeling means they’re healthy.”

“I want to wash my hands.”

That wouldn’t do.  Raoul looked at her sternly.  “I was told you took your duties seriously, that you weren’t a squeamish maiden.”

“I’m not.  They just feel slimy.  I don’t want slime on my hands.”

“You’ll need to get used to it if you care for these animals.  They’re your responsibility now.”

“Aren’t you going to tell me what to do about the slime?”

“Put up with it.”

“Is that all?”

“What else is there?”

“The poison,” she said.  “These frogs are called jeweled darts.  This little one could kill a horse.  It could certainly kill an underfed human like me.”

Raoul looked around the room for guards or accomplices.  No one.  He tried to sound innocent.  “What are you talking about?  You saw me holding the frog.  Do I look poisoned to you?”

“You’ve been chewing umbra flowers, the antidote,” Colette said.  “You must do it every day, the way it’s darkened the whites of your eyes.  Do you kill many people this way?  Their home is hundreds of miles away.  This seems like a lot of trouble for one murder.”

“You’re clever,” Raoul said, reaching for his knife. “Did you read about jewel darts in a book?” He slashed her with the blade, cutting the back of her wrist.

She looked at the cut with bemusement.  “Let me guess, poison on the knife?”

“One umbra flowers won’t protect you from,” he said. “You’re dead now, my lady.”    

“Really?  I don’t feel dead.  But, you asked how I knew about jewel darts.  I’ve seen them in the forest.  Even if I hadn’t, this one told me all about himself when we met.”  She slipped the frog back into its terrarium.  “The birds were singing you were a murderer when I came in.  They don’t like the smell of blood.  Neither do I.”

She reached out and grabbed him by the throat, shoving him back against the wall.  Her grip was like iron.  He couldn’t break free.  “What—”

Her body began to change, black hair turning to blond, old dress changing to a skintight garment the color of leaves.  The feet the long hem of her dress had hidden were backwards, not human at all.

She smiled.  “I’m the Demon Curupira.  And I don’t like people trying to kill my creatures, even the human ones.”

Still smiling, she leaned in close against him.  For a single, mad moment, he thought she was trying to kiss him.  Instead, as her mouth closed over his, he could feel her inhale, draining the breath—no, the life—out of him.

X

Curupira strolled into the imps’s workroom.  “I have a gift for you,” she said cheerfully, tossing the empty skin onto the floor.

He looked up from the collection of herbs he’d been chopping for some potion or other and frowned.  “Do you expect me to clean that up?”

“You’re the one who understands humans,” Curupira said.  “This one tried to kill that girl, Colette de la Marche.  I need you to find out why.”

“It’s easier to get answers if they’re still alive when I question them.”

“I know,” Curupira said.  She kicked the skin.  Eyes, the whites still shadowed, flew open, darting around the room in terror.  Curupira smiled.  “That’s why I left a little life in him.  Find out.  And tell me what you know.”

The imp hated to be ordered around.  “And if I don’t?”

Curupira didn’t care if he liked it or not.  Someone had tried to kill one of her creatures.  She leaned in, almost close enough to kiss.  “What if I told you to watch your mouth?”

He giggled.  “I’d give you indigestion, dearie.  I’ll find your answer, never fear.  But, I can tell you now, you won’t get it without paying for it.”

“Fine.  Find me when you know,” she said and vanished.

Rumplestiltskin giggled again.  “Not very careful, was she?” he asked the skin on the floor.  “Too hasty.  It leads to trouble.  But, I suppose you already found that out didn’t you?” He gathered up what was left of Raoul and began to fold him neatly, making sure to keep the face on top where it could see him, and put him on the work bench.  Idly, Rumplestiltskin picked up the small, sharp blade he’d been using to cut up herbs.  “Now, what say you and I get started. . .?”

Chapter Text

Rumplestiltskin lounged in the one chair in the great hall while his “guests” stood, explaining their mission.  He gave a high pitched giggle as they finished, lizard eyes glinting.  “So, you want me to kill a little girl.”

“We want you to save lives,” one of the two men, Claudius, said.

“To save our kingdoms,” the other, Gilles, added.

Rumplestiltskin was tempted to giggle again.  To murder a child, that was what they wanted.  But, if he said that, they might turn around and go, and it was so much better to draw them out.

“Of course,” he said instead. “You’re men of conscience.” The worst consciences he’d seen in a long time.  “You’d never suggest such a thing if it weren’t necessary.”

They nodded eagerly, glad he understood.  “It’s not the child’s fault,” Gilles said piously. “But, there’s talk of King Magnus asking for her hand, now his queen has died.”

“Still not an immediate problem,” Rumplestiltskin said.  “The girl’s hardly of an age to marry, is she?  You would have years to rearrange your plans to . . . accommodate her, shall we say?”

Claudius shook his head.  “Normally, perhaps.  The girl is young, but the king only has one child.  If something should happen to the princess, the results could be catastrophic.  But, if he marries this girl and has a son. . . .”

Claudius’ homeland, Auster, allowed daughters to inherit the throne when there were no sons. But, the king’s marriage contract and the political alliances that went with it clearly stated children of the first marriage would have precedence over any later ones.  But, if the king had a son with the right bloodlines. . . .  Well, it wouldn’t be the first time a king changed his mind about who should come after him.  Claudius, uncle of the young princess and her regent if, gods forfend, anything happened to her father before she was of age, knew exactly how much he stood to lose if that happened.

“A son would be disastrous,” Gilles agreed.  “But, any child at all could be a cause for war.”

Gilles hailed from Boreas, to the north of Auster, and was right, though, as they’d said, that was hardly the girl’s fault.  She was just the inheritor of Boreas’ stupidity.  Boreas did not allow daughters to do outrageous things like become queen in their own right, though the throne could pass to their sons.

The problem was that, a few decades back when the north and south managed to get bored of their usual hobby of wars, skirmishes, and just generally killing each other, they decided it would be much less work, not to mention fewer funerals, to unite their kingdoms instead.  King Aurelius of Auster had married Princess Katherine of Boreas.  But, Princess Katherine had had only daughters and, when Aurelius died, it hadn’t been long before the two had gone back to slaughtering each other.

That would have been the end of it, a brief flicker of peace in an ocean of bloodshed, if the regency council in the south hadn’t been made of a collection of idiots.

The idiots had decided that, as a Northerner, Queen Katherine couldn’t possibly be trusted to look out for her daughters’ interests.  They had exiled her, cutting her off from all contact with her children and sending her to a remote backwater. They had gone one step farther and chosen in a backwater not in the south but in the neighboring kingdom of Avonlea.  The theory, as Rumplestiltskin understood it, was that getting her out of the kingdom would make it impossible for her to interfere with matters there.

The obvious corollary, that it would make it difficult if not impossible for them to interfere with her didn’t occur to anyone till it was already too late.  The widowed queen had remarried.  And had a son.

It was possible the son had been a surprise to Katherine.  She had been over forty when she remarried.  While she could hardly declare her son illegitimate—she had sent far too many (very snidely worded) notices of her marriage to the nobles who had abandoned her to do that—she sent even more notices declaring it morganatic.  Her son had no legal right to inherit anything, no lands and certainly no thrones or titles.  She would not turn on her daughters to promote the interests of their brother.

It still might not have been enough if the king of Avonlea, growing tired of his neighbors’ nonsense, hadn’t taken the boy under his protection, bringing him to court, making him a royal page, and making a very graphic example of the ill-planned raiding party Auster had sent to bring him back.

And so matters might have lain.  In time, the boy became a knight.  He served Avonlea loyally, refused any titles the king might have given him, and disavowed all interest in north or south.

But, after a lifetime of never making a single choice that could upset the dangerous, political balance, he’d married.  True, his wife had been no one important by royal standards, the poor daughter of a cadet branch of an obscure house.  They had no power and no interest in gaining any, just a family of scholars with nothing to their name except a rather exceptional library and not quite enough money to maintain it.

It was still the most dangerous thing he’d ever done.

Love, Rumplestiltskin supposed. It made people such idiots.  Not that he should complain, that kind of stupidity had led to some wonderful deals over the centuries.

The knight’s wife died in childbirth.  Their daughter, Colette, lived.  The knight had died in battle a few years later, heroically fighting (or whatever you called it when a hundred or so of your enemies decided to use you as a pincushion). 

The knight had died saving the king, not to mention a large chunk of his army.  In the normal way of things, his majesty would have made the girl his ward, heaped wealth and honors on her, had noble—even royal—suitors lining up for her hand in marriage. 

The king was grateful.  He wasn’t stupid.  Instead, he only suggested some distant cousins invite her to stay with them at court.  Now and then, some of the smaller signs of royal favor came the cousins’ way, nothing notable, nothing important, nothing to give the slightest hint he had plans for the girl. The only time he’d proved he knew her name was when the official Bird-Keeper of the Royal Menagerie (an honorary post) had asked for her to be made an Assistant Bird-Keeper (not an honorary post, involving watering, feeding, and cleaning out bird droppings). 

In short, he had done everything he could to keep her safe from his larger, more powerful neighbors.

And it wasn’t enough.

Not that Rumplestiltskin complained, not when it was all working out so well for him.  He’d been working towards a single goal for centuries, and this latest deal would help line up some of the final pieces.

The king of Auster told his councilors in a wonderful speech how he wanted to make peace with the north.  His brilliant plan was to marry a girl who just happened to have a better bloodline claim to the throne of Boreas than the man currently sitting on it.

Gilles didn’t have to deal with the border skirmishes but he made a fair profit smuggling and supplying the privateers who raided along the coast.  Nonstop scuffling was all to the good to his mind, but a real war could ruin him.  Claudius, Rumplestiltskin thought, didn’t care about war one way or the other—but  he did care about seeing his nieces on the throne. 

For both of them, there was only one thing standing in the way.

The Dark One grinned at the pair of them.  Poor fools.  If he only mentioned them to Curupira, they’d be dead before the sun went down.  Unimaginative, he supposed, but what she lacked in creativity she made up for with finality.

Not that he’d tell her, not yet.  He had other uses for these men. “All right, then,” he said.  “I can take care of your little problem for you.  Now, what are you willing to pay to be done with Lady Colette?”

X

Curupira found the girl sitting in the strange, stone pit humans called a “crypt,” a place where humans left the bones of their dead.  She didn’t understand why they bothered.  All she cared about when she killed someone was that they stayed dead. 

Although, she thought charitably, perhaps she just didn’t understand.  Humans often claimed to souls of their dead spent time loitering around such places.  Not that that made sense to her either.  If ghosts were determined to come back, she would have expected them to go wherever they’d enjoyed being while they were alive.  But, she wasn’t human and she wasn’t dead, so what did she know?

Colette, face pale and withdrawn, seemed to find something here she didn’t find other places.

The great big statue on top of the tomb Colette was sitting by (an “effigy,” that’s what they called it) was supposed to be of the girl’s father.  He had a closed, guarded look to his face, rather like the closed, guarded look the girl nearly always had.  Always careful in public, Curupira thought. 

She supposed that was something she could understand.  After all, she’d had to be careful around these humans for ages. She’d done a good job of it, too.  She’d heard them say Madame Curé was difficult, impatient, aloof, proud, and a host of other things, but no one had ever said she spent time thinking about killing people or feeding them to tigers.  Deception was such a human trait (well, Iara was good at it.  But, if she wasn’t, she wouldn’t get to kill half as many humans, would she?).  Who’d have thought she had it in her?

In the end, becoming part of the royal court had been easy enough.  The king had offered a reward, after all, to anyone who could bring in some female merle d’ors.  Curupira, as Madame Curé, had done exactly that.  The king had insisted on proof, but that wasn’t long in coming.  Soon, all the females she’d brought had lain eggs (something that had only taken a little help from Curupira).  Most of them had looked like any other blackbird eggs, blue-green with brown speckles.  But, two had been glittering lapis veined with gold.

The king had been delighted.  Even before the eggs hatched, she—or Madame Curé—had been publicly awarded a lump sum of gold, a modest home on the king’s lands, and an official appointment as Royal Bird-Keeper.

All that just to make sure she could check on the birds when she needed to. 

There’d been an official ceremony that she managed to get through.  Fortunately, the imp had been willing to make her a pair of shoes.  They were things called chopines, proof (if any more were needed) that humans were insane.  Basically, they were a foot long block of wood with a slipper glued to the top.  The imp said they were very popular in a city called Serenissima where flooding was a problem and great ladies wore the insane shoes, often with a servant or two on either side of them to help them balance, to keep their dresses dry.

The chopines Rumplestiltskin made had a place to slip her feet in, the slippers carefully designed to make it seem they were plump full of ridiculous, forward-facing feet.  She had to walk on her toes but she wasn’t human. It wasn’t hard. All he’d asked for in return was the use of her new house. Curupira agreed although she held out for the right to kick him out anytime she needed it (she’d never needed a house yet but she knew better than to let the imp think he could have whatever he wanted).

So, after making her curtsy to the king and finding someplace to toss the yellow metal he’d given her, she’d made the girl Assistant Bird-Keeper (Curupira wanted to check on them.  She wasn’t making it her life’s work.  If they wanted to live where a human forgetting to bring birdseed could get them all killed, that was their problem).  Curupira showed up every few days to make sure the girl was doing her work and answer any questions she had about the birds or other animals.  Sometimes, she even talked to the girl about human things.

It was necessary.  She had a front to keep up.  And the girl was an intelligent child.  Her questions weren’t nearly as idiotic as Curupira had been expecting.  Sometimes, it was actually enjoyable to speak with her.  Even if it weren’t, someone had to teach her how to do her job. It wasn’t like she could trust a human to do that.

Which was why Curupira noticed when that one human came to kill her and why she listened closely when the birds sang their terrified song of blood and poison.

Beasts must feed.  Curupira didn’t begrudge a predator his prey, though she’d have stopped him if he’d tried to kill the king.  Who’d care for the birds if he were gone? Perhaps she’d have stopped him no matter who the victim.  These were another’s hunting grounds, after all, and deaths might have created trouble for the birds.  And the girl.

But, it was the girl herself he’d tried to kill.  Young, weak, not even trained to hold a knife, no one important even by the way humans measured things.  Why?

Curupira needed an answer.  The girl made herself useful.  It would be inconvenient if she died. Besides, Curupira—well, Madame Curé—had declared the girl hers, hadn’t she?  Her assistant.  Curupira didn’t let anyone take what was hers.

The imp might be able to figure it out.  He understood humans.  He’d been one, not that he talked about it much (who could blame him?).

In the meanwhile, she kept an eye on the girl—which wasn’t convenient, she had things to do—but it was the best she could manage till the imp showed up with answers.  That’s what she told herself.  But, she wasn’t expecting him to show up to kill the girl.

X

“Well, well,” a cheerful voice said. “And what are we doing here?”

Colette looked up, tensing.  The crypt was full of echoes, but she hadn’t heard anyone coming.  She must have been lost in thought.  All the same, as Madame Curé said, you didn’t have to chat with someone just because they were there.  She didn’t always agree with Madame, but . . . now wasn’t a good time.  “I was talking to my father,” she said, using her coldest, Madame Curé voice.  That should be enough to get rid of anyone. 

Or almost anyone.  The stranger was unimpressed. “Oh?  And does your father have much to say?”

Colette turned to the speaker, a hot retort of the sort Madame used on the tip of her tongue.  Then, the speaker walked into the light, and her retort died away.

He had greenish-gold scales and lizard eyes.  His clothes were looked like a dragon had shed its skin in patches and then sewn together at random.  The grin he was giving her showed far too many sharp teeth.

Madame had taught Colette about dangerous predators and how to recognize them.  She swallowed.  “He says very little, sir.”

“Oh, good.  Then you won’t mind if I get a few words in edgewise, will you?  You are Colette de la Marche, aren’t you?”

The manners she’d been drilled on since childhood came to her rescue (by people other than Madame), despite her dry tongue.  “You have the advantage of me, sir,” she managed.  “Have we met?”

“Oh, forgive me!” He gave an elaborate bow.  “I have many names. But, I believe, in these parts, I’m best known as the Dark One.”  His smile widened at what Colette was certain was the terrified look on her face.  Don’t let a predator know you’re scared, Madame’s voice echoed in her head.  Especially when they’re hungry.  “Heard of me, have you?”

Colette nodded mutely. 

“Oh, good!  There’s no use having a terrifying nickname if you have to explain it to people.  Did you know someone’s trying to murder you?”

“Me, sir?” She didn’t add, You, sir?

“Nearly did it, too.  Assassin came through a week or two ago.  Fellow with frogs.  You remember him?”

“The frogs, sir?  There was a merchant who brought some frogs to the king, but he didn’t kill anyone.”

“That’s because he got killed first.  Or should I say eventually?  Messy business, either way.  Those frogs were poisonous.”

“I know, sir.  Madame Curé said I wasn’t to handle them under any condition.” It was the only time Madame had insisted only she care for an animal.  Fortunately, frogs could go days between feedings.

“Good, good.  Not that it’s good enough.  He was just the first assassin.  There will be others.”

“There will, sir?”

“Like me.  They hired me just this morning to make sure you were never a threat to them.”  His slit eyes glinted.  “Naturally, I took the deal.”

That was when Madame Curé stepped out of the darkness.  Colette was sure, then, she had to be dreaming.  The tight knot in her stomach eased.  Of course, that explained everything.  The thick soles Madame Curé’s shoes could be heard long before she came into sight.  Also, instead of her usual, bored, indifferent look, her eyes were burning with anger.  “You did what, Rumplestiltskin?”

“I took it.  What did you expect me to do?”

Madame Curé snarled like an angry beast and lunged at the wizard, grabbing him by the throat.  Colette didn’t understand at all what happened next.  Madame Curé dragged him towards her as if she were trying to kiss him even though the look on her face said she wanted him dead. 

But, as her mouth closed over his, Colette saw dark wisps of smoke leak out around her lips.  Madame Curé shoved him away, coughing and choking.

The Dark One smiled.  “Now, now, dearie, haven’t I warned you?  I leave a bad taste in your mouth.”

Madame Curé growled between heaving coughs.  “Don’t you dare—” A round of choking cut her off.  “Don’t!” she gasped.  “Don’t come near her!”

A glass of water appeared in his hand.  “Drink this.  It’ll help.” 

Madame Curé only glared at him.  It clearly wasn’t worth the effort to let him know what she thought.

The Dark One looked hurt.  “It’s just water, I promise you.  What’s the point in killing you before I tell you how clever I’ve been?”

Madame Curé still glared but she grabbed the glass from him and swallowed it down.  The choking stopped as suddenly as it had begun.

“You made a deal to kill her!”

“Well, how else was I going to get them to tell me what they were up to?  What did you expect me to do?  Pretend to be a dashing hero and hope they explained their plan before they tried to kill me?”

“Why not?  It’s what you do!”

“That’s because I’m a philanthropist.  If I don’t tell the dunderheads who show up how much cleverer I am, they’re never going to figure it out on their own—and there’s no chance they’ll ever improve.” He gave a long-suffering sigh. “It doesn’t help as much as you think it would.” 

“If you lay a hand on her, I’ll rip it off you!”

“That’s because you’re a dunderhead.  Weren’t you listening?  This is the part where I tell you how clever I’ve been.  They hired me to make sure she’d never be a threat to them.  She’s not, so my work here is done.  Besides that, I know everything about them, including their names.”  He looked at Madame Curé speculatively.  “Well, dearie?  Want to make a deal?”

“A deal? We already have a deal!”

“Until you tried to kill me.  I’m letting it go because I’m kind and generous that way.  But, you can see how it changes the balance.  What do you say, Curupira?  What are you willing to pay?”

Chapter Text

“Is—is this your house, Madame?” the girl asked when the purple smoke cleared and she saw the place the imp had taken them to continue talking. 

Curupira looked around the room, scowling.  Tapestries hung on the walls showing forests and wild beasts.  A green and gold carpet with a design of twining vines and leaves was on the floor, and the green sofa and two chairs had pillows embroidered with flowers.  Exactly the sort of house a human would imagine her having.  Rumplestiltskin must have laughed himself sick. “I suppose so.”

“It’s very nice.”

“Tell the imp.  He’s the one who uses it.”

The girl’s eyes went wide as she tried to process that.  “You live here, sir?”

“I rent it out to . . . let us call them interesting parties who need a place to stay now and then.”

Curupira saw the familiar quirk of Colette’s eyebrows that meant she was trying to work something out but couldn’t.  The look was usually followed by a great many questions, but the girl gave Rumplestiltskin a wary look and managed not to ask them, though Curupira could see it was costing her.  She decided to put an end to her misery.

“He didn’t say it wrong.  He meant ‘interesting,’ not ‘interested.  And don’t worry about asking him questions.  He’ll answer the ones he wants to and ignore the others.  Or offer you deals for what you want to know.  Don’t make deals with him.”

The imp smirked.  “Oh, but what if she really needs to know the answer?”

“She can ask me.  If I know, I’ll tell her.  If I don’t, I have a better chance of surviving whatever game you play than she does.”

He put his hand on his heart, looking shocked.  “Curupira, you wound me.”

“I wish.  Well, what do you want?”

“At the moment, just your good will.”

Curupira snorted.

“But, I won’t ask for what you don’t have.  No, I’m going to keep this simple.  You have magic the girl needs to survive.”

“You don’t mean—No.  I’m not doing that.”

He turned wheedling.  “Curupira. . . .”

“No.  She’s a child.  I’m not doing that to her.”

“I’m fifteen!” Colette objected.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Curupira snapped.  “You’re ten.”

“That was when you first met me.  It’s been five years.”

“Has it?” Curupira looked at her curiously.  “You’re awfully small for fifteen, aren’t you?  Aren’t humans that age bigger?”

The imp rolled his eyes.  “You should talk.  And she’s going to have a late growth spurt.  Or she will if she survives, which means you help her.”

“No.  You’re the great and powerful Dark One.  All that magic at your command, and that’s the best you can come up with?”

“No, it’s the simplest I can come up with.”

“There’s nothing simple about it!”

“Pardon me,” Colette said. “But, what are you talking about?”

The imp smiled benignly—well, benignly for him.  His fangs weren’t showing.  “Your friend here has certain talents, talents she can, under certain circumstances, share with others.”

Colette’s eyes went round (could fifteen year old humans look that innocently stunned?  She must have added it up wrong).  “You mean—beast-talking?”

“Not happening,” Curupira grated.

Colette bit her lip uncertainly.  “Please, Madame,” she blurted out.  “Why not?”

“Why not?  Why not?  Do even know what you have to go through to become a beastmaster?”

“Obviously not,” the imp trilled.  “Or she wouldn’t be asking.”

Curupira shot him a quick glare on principle but otherwise kept her attention on Colette.  “For three days, you practice being dead.  You lie still and unmoving.  And you die.  Your body will rot around you.  Flies will lay eggs in you and their maggots will eat you.  Worms will devour you.”

“But—But, it’s an illusion, isn’t it?” Colette said.  “I don’t really die.”

“Real enough,” Curupira said.  “If you do this, you will believe it while it’s happening.  Telling yourself it’s an illusion will only make it worse because you will know—know right down to the marrow as it’s sucked out of your bones—that you were lying, that it’s real.  You will face death of your body.  Then, you will face death of your soul.  Your greatest fear, your greatest nightmare, you’ll see it unfolding around you, and you will know that you and only you have the power to stop it.  Stopping it, saving whoever you have to save, may cost you next to nothing, the slightest movement, just lifting a finger, and the nightmare ends.  Or everything.  It doesn’t matter.  You can’t move, you can’t react.  If every living thing you have ever loved begs you to save them, that’s what you must resist.  You honestly believe you can do that?”

“You’ve told me what will happen.  If I concentrate on that—”

“You think you’ll remember?  All you’ll know while it’s happening is that it’s real.  Don’t think you’ll be able to tell yourself otherwise.  It won’t happen and it wouldn’t work if it did. 

“And after all that, do you know what happens?  You die.  No metaphors.  No illusions.  My beasts will find you and tear you to shreds.  They will eat every crumb of blood and bone, drink every drop of blood.  The three days before were practice for the real thing.

“Because then, and only then, if you did everything exactly right, if you never wavered for a moment in the three days of trial, you will have bound yourself to me.  Then, I’ll be able to catch your soul when it flies out of you.  Your life will mix with mine just enough for you to take away this one gift.  The beasts will give back what they took from you, recognizing it as mine.  I’ll clean the pieces off, more or less, and put them back together, breathing your soul back into you.

“If you’ve done it right.  If you fail, your soul slips through my fingers.  The beasts’ bellies stay happy and full.  You die, and there’s nothing I can do about it.  All that for whatever secrets the imp knows?  It’s not worth it.  I can keep you safe.  There’s a whole world out there.  I can take you away these killers will never find you.”

“True,” the imp said cheerfully.  “And, if she does, everyone here dies.”

“What?” Colette looked at him in shock.  “What are you talking about?”

He giggled.  “I’m the Dark One, dearie.  Hadn’t you heard?  I can see the future.  And I see this land empty and dead, a few refugees fleeing for their lives, kingdoms shut against them for fear of the doom baying at their heels.”

Curupira made a disgusted noise.  “And she  can stop it?  One, small, ten year old human—”

“Fifteen!”

“How would you know?  Can humans even count that high?  You’ve only got ten fingers.”

“And ten toes,” the imp said. “Don’t forget those.”

“Like humans even notice their feet.  They cover them up in shoes and forget they’re there.  And, shoes or not, she’s a child.  She’s going to save this land?”

“I didn’t say she saves it.  I see that it’s saved.  Or can be.  The pieces are in place if she’s there.  If not, they won’t be.”

Colette made an uncertain sound, a half-formed question trying to escape her throat.  Curupira and the imp both turned to her.  She shrank a little under that double gaze.  Then, she straightened up, a look of resolution coming into her eyes.  “You said you’d tell Madame . . . Curupira about the people who want me dead if she did what you wanted.  But, I’m the one who has to do this.  If you want me to even consider doing it, you have to tell me what’s going on.”

The imp giggled.  “Oh, I like this one, Curupira!  Stands firm and sets her own terms.  All right, dearie, explanations in return for your consideration.”  He looked at Curupira, eyes dancing.  “The deal is struck.”  And I win this round, or that’s what the smug look he gave her said.

“It’s very simple,” he said.  “You know you’re ancestry, I suppose?”

The girl nodded gravely, looking like that was what she’d expected him to say.

Curupira interrupted, “I don’t.  What’s ancestry got to do with it, anyway?  They’re dead, aren’t they?”

“Tactful as ever, Curupira,” the imp said. “Let me make is simple for you.  There’s a nearby kingdom with very complicated rules about who gets to be king.  I won’t bore you with the details.  If your little friend here has a son, he could become king.”

“What? Doesn’t the old king have to die or get killed by the new king or something like that?”

“It’s usually bad manners to kill the previous king.”

“Oh.  Well, so what?  Her son becomes king.  What’s wrong with that?”

“Ah, well, you see, the rules allow her son to become king.  But, the current family on the throne wouldn’t like him to.  No one’s likely to convince them to change their minds without killing a few of them.”

“I thought you said that was bad manners.”

“Unlike you and I, Curupira, some people do not strive to show good manners in all times and in all places.”

“But, Colette’s not going to go killing people.” She stopped and looked at the girl.  “Are you?  Do you want to be king of this kingdom?  I could kill a few people if you do.”

“No!”

“You’re sure?  It wouldn’t be any trouble.”

Colette looked adrift.  Not enough people offered to do her favors, Curupira thought.

“Th-thank you,” Colette said.  “But, I really don’t want to kill anyone.”

Rumplestiltskin said, “And that alone disqualifies her for monarchy.  But, that’s not the problem.  The problem is that the king of the neighboring kingdom also has a claim to that throne, a claim that would be even stronger if he married Lady de la Marche and they had a son.”

“What does having an offspring have to do with anything?  Besides, she’s too young to get married.”

(Colette started another protest about her age then reconsidered, apparently feeling Curupira had a point).

“He’s willing to wait. Just having them betrothed could start him moving forward.  Rather than have that happen, some people would prefer to see her dead.”

“So? Just kill them.”

“Usually, a good answer.  But, not in this case.  Both countries are unstable right now—not incredibly unstable and likely to fall over, just a little bit of small tottering here and there.  That means some people see weaknesses they can take advantage of. Others see themselves threatened and are willing to take steps—like hiring assassins—to make themselves safer.  These are important, powerful people.  When important, powerful people are killed, kingdoms become more unstable.  That means more people who will want to use your young friend here or who will want her dead so no one else can use her—and, before you ask, no, you can’t kill all of them.  There are things even you would find a nuisance that would come after you if you did that.”

“Oh, and they wouldn’t come after you?”

“I’m staying out of this.  So, those are your choices.  You start a war you can’t win with every witch, fairy, and thing that goes bump in the night who objects to a demon on a rampage in their territory; you take the girl faraway from here where no one’s ever heard of Boreas or Auster and hope she doesn’t get too upset when the corpses start to pile up; or you give her the power she needs to survive.”

“I thought you said she wasn’t a threat.”

“She’s not.  But, people will have trouble grasping that.  We need to do more to protect her.”

“I’ll take her away.  That will keep her safe.”

“People will die.”

“I won’t care.”

Colette cleared her throat.  “Please, Madame, if it matters, I’ll care.”

Curupira looked at Colette.  Young, scrawny, half-grown, she wasn’t ready for this.  “You don’t know what he’s asking.”

“No, Madame, I don’t expect I do.  But, Papa—my papa always said no one knows what will happen in battle.  We can only determine to meet it bravely.”

Your papa’s dead.  How’d that work for him?  The words were on the tip of her tongue.  Rumplestiltskin was shooting her a warning look. 

It was the truth.  Stating the truth couldn’t be wrong, could it? 

Humans carved memories of their dead in stone and remembered the past like picking at a wound.  Maybe it was wrong.  I don’t understand them.

“You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“Did any of them know?  The ones you taught to talk to beasts?”

“We’ll discuss this.  Later.  Rumplestiltskin, can you call off the hounds?”

“For a little while.  How much time do you need?”

“I haven’t decided to do this.  Even if I do, it takes time.  She needs to prepare. . . .”

“Hmm, I believe Lady Colette is about to become very ill.  The king will request you take her to the country to recover.  Our friends will think I’ve poisoned her and leave well enough alone.”

“And when she recovers?”

“I’ll have another chat with them.  It will be tricky, but I have negotiated this sort of deal before.”

“Please, Madame,” Colette said.  “I—I need to do this.”

“It’s my decision.  Not yours.  I don’t care what you need,” Curupira snapped.

Rumplestiltskin giggled.  “No, of course, you don’t.  Now, get a move on and finish not deciding this.  The sooner we get this done, the better.” 

Chapter Text

“Would you like some tea?” Colette asked after the imp left.

Curupira grunted.  She didn’t need to eat, not the way humans did.  But, being busy and helping people—or birds or animals—seemed to make some humans—no, seemed to make Colette feel better.  “I don’t know if there’s any in the—” There was a word for it when a human den was this big, a place where they kept their food and fire.  “—kitchen.”

“I’ll check,” Colette said, going through a door.  Curupira trailed after her, wondering what instinct told the girl this was the right door to go through.  Colette began looking in cupboards because spiders stored food in silk, squirrels hid it in soil, and humans stuffed it in boxes made of wood. 

“Here it is!” Colette exclaimed, producing a small, wooden chest.  Curupira, brushed a finger along the lid.  Rosewood.  She saw the memory of where it had grown, an island jungle where tigers roamed, lolling beneath its shade.  She felt an immediate liking for it.

Colette found a silver tea tray etched with flowers and a teapot and cups painted with roses.  They spoke to her of nothing but cold metal and clay.  The tea itself had grown in dull fields in regimented rows.  Boring. 

“There won’t be any milk, I suppose,” Colette said.  “Even if there is, I suppose it’s spoiled.”

“The imp takes care of this place,” Curupira said. “If he tells milk not to spoil, it won’t.  Try that cupboard over there.”  She felt the slight twinge of magic from it and, no surprise, there was cream, all fresh and clean.  There was also honey—not the stuff the imp preferred, from the cold country humans called the Frontlands, heavy with the memory of heather and rocky hills.  This was from Avonlea, mostly fruit trees and wild flowers.  He’d never had a taste for sugar, which was what the court used (mostly made from beets that whispered of moist earth and the gossip of worms.  Some, though, came on ships across the sea, boiled down from cane in lands of burning sun). 

Colette seemed content with honey.  But, she stared curiously at the bright, yellow fruit she found by a basket of muffins, still warm from the oven, no matter how long they’d sat there.  Colette turned the fruit over in her hand, as if it were a riddle she needed to answer.  “What is this?”

“A lemon.  I think people put them in their tea.” The king did, the one or two times he’d asked Madame Curé to discuss the well-being of birds, but lesser mortals couldn’t afford them.

“Lemons,” Colette said.  “I’ve heard of them.  They grow to the south.”

In well-tended orchards where songbirds made nests in trees and eager rodents scurried about, looking for a fallen meal.  Of course, they could eat things humans couldn’t.  “They’re too sour on their own.  Don’t bite into one.” Was there anything else? She remembered children of a long ago, forest-dwelling tribe, the faces they made when they inevitably ate the things their mothers told them not to.  “And leave the rinds. You won’t like them.”

Colette, no matter what she said about her age, still had to taste one once she’d sliced it up.  Cururpira didn’t comment as she made a face.  She accepted a cup from the girl and, trying to remember how the imp made his, she squeezed in some lemon and added honey.  She put it down pretending to let it cool.

“Uhm, your feet. . . .” Colette said, reddening slightly.

Reddening, a sign of human distress or exertion, also illness.  Now, why. . . ?  Oh, yes, this was what a human would call a personal question, wasn’t it?  Personal questions caused embarrassment, whatever that was.  Curupira kicked off her shoe held up her skirts enough for Colette to get a good look as she wiggled it around.

“I wondered why you wore those shoes.” Colette said.  “Most people said it was because you were short, but I didn’t think you cared about that.”

Curupira shrugged.  “I might if I were human.  I just didn’t want anyone knowing I wasn’t.  The imp made the shoes, though.  He’s clever like that.  I couldn’t have done it.”

That surprised the girl.  “I thought you were, you know, magic.”

“I know about forests and the creatures living in them.  I understand beasts and plants.  Not human things, not shoes.”

“There are drawings of you in the books. . . .” Colette began hesitantly.

Curupira snorted again.  One or two weren’t too far off, but the others—one showed her as tall, fanged, red-haired, and male.  She could change shape, but she was pretty sure she’d never looked like that.  She shrugged back into her normal shape, small and more or less human-shaped, not looking much older than Colette.  Her face was the pale white and pink many of the northern humans had. But, it appeared, like flower, from a frame of deep green skin.  Her hair was almost the same shade as a lemon rind, twisted up like small buds. 

Colette’s eyes widened as she looked Curupira over, trying to discover (the way humans always did) what was flesh and what was clothing. The green around her neck had a texture like skin but, lower down, was the silk-like sheen of leaves.  Only her hands and feet, the same color as her face, offered any certainty—or what would have been certainty if Curupira were a mortal creature.  Not that Curupira ever bothered, but some demons had gruesome tricks to disguise things like that.

“You don’t want me to—to become a beastmaster,” Colette said.

“No.”

“Was Rumplestiltskin lying? About what will happen if I don’t?”

“Rumplestiltskin never lies,” Curupira admitted grudgingly.  “But, he carves up the truth till it doesn’t deserve the name.”

Colette looked thoughtful, as if she were thinking over every world Rumplestiltskin had said slicing them apart for secrets.

The problem was there weren’t any secrets, not that Curupira could find.  She might question the imp for details about who, exactly, would be doing fleeing and dying and in what numbers, but she was reasonably sure he’d meant what he’d seemed to mean.  The people of Avonlea would die. 

It didn’t matter to Curupira, not really.  The king had protected her merle d’or, among other creatures.  It would be sad if something were to happen to him.  But, she could find some other way to protect the birds.  Besides, it sounded like he would be long dead before the imp’s visions came to pass.  As for Colette, Curupira could just whisk her away from whatever trouble came.  If worse came to worse—if the death stalking everyone were a plague or a curse—she could go steal some of Iara’s healing water (pity she couldn’t drown the little serpent, but the look on the self-appointed siren’s face if she saw Curupira alive and kicking might be almost as good).

But, it mattered to Colette.

“The stories say you had a tribe you protected in ancient times,” Colette said.

“The Sula, the People of the Moon.”

“People of the Moon?  Sol means sun, doesn’t it?”

“In your languages.  In theirs, Sul and Sulene were what they called the moon.” Curupira remembered the Sulas legends and rituals.  They’d had one for each phase of the moon, and there were special protections they put around their camps on moonless nights (wise of them. Darkness was dangerous enough in these days but, in those, it could be deadly).

“You were their protector.  But, the Sula died.” Not quite an accusation but something more than a question.  Young Dar, the last Sula, had asked her this, too.  She’d done a bad job of answering him.  She’d been angry at the time, though she couldn’t remember why, as if the Sula themselves had done something wrong by dying— or Dar had done something wrong by questioning her.  That was probably it.

She tried to give Colette a better answer.  “No.  The Sula were twice-souled.”

“Twice-souled?”

“Or half-souled, I suppose.  It depends how you look at it.  There were wolves living in the Sula’s camps.  They were part of the tribe.  When a child was born, a cub was born as well.  They shared one soul between them, human and wolf living together.  When one died, the soul lived on in the other.  The human Sula, nearly all of them, were killed.  The wolves lived on.

“It was why I made them my beastmasters.  When human Sula passed through the ordeal, their souls were anchored by their wolves.  They survived it.  Most of the time.  Even then, there was  only one in each generation.

“But that meant the Sula didn’t die.  They lived on, wolves with human souls.  The Children of the Moon, werewolves, came from them.”  Not always from their blood, though Curupira didn’t see any point in explaining the other ways the wolf-curse could be passed on.

“The books didn’t explain that.”

“No reason they should.  The Sula didn’t write their history, and it wasn’t a thing they spoke of to outsiders.  The last of them, a fellow named Dar, was a fosterling.  He never had a wolf-brother, and he was young when the others died.  I don’t think he ever understood the bond the others had.”

And maybe that was why she hadn’t explained it to him, to tell him his family lived but had no words to give to him, not unless he risked his life and became a beastmaster.  One-souled and with no wolf waiting to catch his spirit if he died, she hadn’t wanted him to risk the trial.  Not that it had made a difference in the end.

“Dar.  There are stories about him.  He was a beastmaster.”

“The last.  I haven’t bothered since.”

“But, he had a regular soul?  Like me?”

And he somehow had talked her into it.  She’d told herself, in the end, she didn’t care if he lived or died, but she gave Colette the reasons he’d given her.  “He had an entire tribe to avenge.  And there were other humans, prisoners of the tribe that slaughtered his.”  She hesitated, remembering a different argument, one Dar hadn’t made but that, looking back, might have been the real reason she’d let him.  “If he’d been true Sula, born with the blood, he wouldn’t have needed my gift to see the wolves and know they were his family.  Oh, they knew him, they treated him like kin.  But, it wasn’t the same.  And he didn’t understand.  He needed my gift, more than any of them.  For vengeance.  And to not be alone.”

“I don’t want to avenge anyone,” Colette said.  “Revenge is what you do if you can’t save anyone.  It’s easier if they just live.”

“Really?  I’ve always found living complicated.  Or it is the way you humans do it.  Besides, I’ve seen the way the humans at court treat you.  Are you sure you’re not alone already?”

Colette’s face contracted, as if Curupira had kicked a wound.  “What is it?” she asked.  She frowned, thinking over her words.  “Did I say something wrong?  Is it a human thing?”

Colette let out a long, slow breath, a thing some humans did when calming themselves.  “Words can hurt us,” she said. “It isn’t like that for you?  Or for animals?”

“Animals don’t have words.  Even when you can talk to them, it’s not words.  Not the way your kind have them.  And I never cared much what humans say.” 

“I suppose you’re going to say I’m weak, letting words upset me,” Colette said.  She had a death grip on her teacup and was studying the liquid intently, not meeting Curupira’s eyes.

Curupira thought it over. “No, I don’t think so.  You humans belong in packs.  Pack animals have ways of  letting each other know they’re accepted.  They just don’t have to use words to do it.  Oh!  Was that it?  What I said, that was like a wolf growling to get you out of the den, wasn’t it?”

She felt very pleased with herself for figuring that one out.  She’d have to remember that next time she was talking to a human she wanted to get lost.  “But, why does that bother you?  I thought you didn’t want to be part of their pack.”

Colette’s knuckles around the teacup were still dead white from how tightly she was holding it and she still couldn’t meet Curupira’s eyes.  “Papa—my father, I mean—he taught me we had to be careful.  He had sisters and—and they could get killed if Papa—or I—did something wrong.”

“Oh, you mean what the imp was saying?  About wars and thrones and all that.”

“Yes.  The king—he brought me to court after Papa died because it was safer.  He could keep an eye on anyone trying to—to use me.  Or he thought he could.  He didn’t know about Raoul.”

So, there was a North pack and a South pack, fighting over their hunting grounds, and Colette never knew which pack someone might belong to.  Curupira had seen wolf cubs play with lambs.  The cubs just wanted to play and weren’t trying to trick anyone.  It didn’t stop their parents from eating their new friends.

So, not a pack, a lone lamb smart enough to know every creature she met hid teeth. She just couldn’t do anything about it.

Curupira had given Dar her gift because his pack was dead.  And she hadn’t minded him killing the ones behind it.

Colette didn’t want to kill anyone.  That was the problem.

Maybe, if the girl could talk to something besides her people, she’d be sensible and walk away from them.  And that was all Curupira needed to do to keep her safe, wasn’t it?  Get her to leave the stupid humans.

So, she could keep her safe so long as she almost killed her first.

This was what happened when she got involved with the imp.  Everything got complicated, like a cat playing with string.  He had the girl convinced it was her job to untangle it, instead of just slicing it apart with her claws.

All right, she didn’t have claws.  But, Curupira did and she’d be perfectly willing to do the slicing for her.  Untangling knots was the imp’s job.

That’s what she was doing wrong, Curupira thought.  She was trying to untangle the mess the imp had dropped in her lap, trying to get the girl to want this, want that, do this, do that, when all she needed to do was slice through this mess.

She needed to anchor the girl’s soul.  How hard could it be, anchoring her like a two-souled wolf?  The imp could take hearts and heads.  If he could get his scaly fingers around it, couldn’t he hold a soul?

And, if he could take heads, couldn’t he get at what was inside them?  The girl needed the gift Curupira could give her, she didn’t need to know—to remember—how it happened, did she?  Three days of memories, ones any sensible creature—or insensible one—would want to give up.

Rumplestiltskin had made this mess, with all his clever plotting and prophecies.  He could make himself useful for once and clean it up.

Chapter Text

“An anchor?” Rumplestiltskin sat at the one chair at the long table in his great hall, his fingers laced together.  He’d kept Curupira waiting as usual after she arrived and barely suppressed that superior smirk of his as she’d explained what she needed.  She’d seen him use it often enough on humans and enjoyed the joke.  Being on the receiving end now—when it actually mattered—was different.  She wanted to throttle him.  She would have if she didn’t need him, something he clearly knew.  “Dearie, you of all people should know, the Sula were twice souled.  They were anchored in two forms.  Your little protégé is not.”

“I know.  That’s what I want you to fix.”

“How, exactly, did you propose I do this?  Wave my hands and turn her into two people?  Hope she has a twin lying around that everyone else forgot about?”

“Would that work?”

“No.”

“Turning her into two people sounds like it should work.  Are you sure?”

“Yes.  If you split someone in two, you split everything else with it.  One might get be pure evil but also be stuck with your love of pickles—”

“I don’t like pickles.”

“You don’t like anything.  The other might be pure good but not able to stand up to the evil half or the smell of vinegar.  Trust me, it never ends well.  As for dividing souls, there are some things even I don’t do.  And, even if I did, only someone with a whole soul can pass your test.”

“The Sula passed it.”

“The Sula had whole souls, a little unconventionally distributed, but whole.  You’re talking about a soul that’s been mutilated and cut apart.  She’d lose the strength she needs to survive.” 

“Well, what about her heart?  She can’t die if you take out her heart, can she?”

Rumplestiltskin closed his eyes as if he were in pain and pinched the bridge of his nose.  “First, dearie, you don’t want to take out her heart.  It changes people, and you do not want to be around a human without one.”

“What, they’re even more annoying?”

“You’d be amazed.  Second, without a heart, she can’t die.  Even when she’s torn into itty, bitty pieces, she’ll be alive.  And you need her to die.  Your soul needs to catch hers as she’s dying, remember?”

“The whole point is for her to survive.  Without an anchor . . . she’s a child, Rumplestiltskin.  She doesn’t have the strength she needs to live, and I’m not killing her just because you’re bored and want to watch.”

“Is that why you think I’m doing this?”

“I don’t care why you’re doing this.  I care that Colette survives.  You can help her or you’re not the Dark One I thought you were.”

He grinned, showing his needle sharp teeth.  “Oh, dearie, I’m never what people think I am.  But, I won’t chop up your little girl’s soul and I’m not tearing out her heart.”

“Then, you’re useless, aren’t you?”

“Am I? I said there are ways to divide a soul that I won’t do.  But, there are ways to divide a soul I can’t do—but you can.”

Alarm bells went off in Curupira’s head.  Doing something the Dark One himself wouldn’t?  That wasn’t good.  “You think I can split up souls when you can’t? And you expect me to believe that?”

“You don’t have to believe anything.  You don’t have to do anything, nothing except pick up something—a very little something—you’ve misplaced.  You’ve already done the rest.”

“Really?  How clever of me, especially when I didn’t notice it happening.”

“Oh, you noticed, all right.  It was one of the most memorable days of your very long life.  In fact, you were the one who told me about it.”

Curupira rolled her eyes.  “Stop trying to prove how much cleverer you are than everyone else, Rumplestiltskin.  Just tell me whatever it is you’re talking about.”

“Of course, dearie.  Tell me, do you remember Iara?”

“The stupidest demon still breathing?  Or whatever she does in that lake?  I try not to.”

“And who could blame you?  It’s so difficult working with people who can’t keep up with you.  But, didn’t you come out ever so slightly the worst once in a fight with her?  Just for a few seconds?”

“She wanted my beastmaster.  She couldn’t have him.  If I didn’t let her think she’d beaten me, she would have killed him.  Once he was safe—”

“Once he was safe, you would have had a rematch.  But, she never noticed you got away.  Then, she lost interest in him.”

“Hah!  She didn’t lose interest.  She ran like a scared puppy.  There was another demon, Balcifer.  You think I didn’t do enough for the Sula, but what he did to his people, the Terrons—”

He held up a hand, cutting her off.  “I’ll take your word for it.  The point is, you were down at the bottom of her lake—and you left something there, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t—”

“Nyuh-nyuh-nyuuuh!  Think!”

“I don’t know what you’re blathering about.”

“You’re the one who told me, dearie.  You left something there.  What was it?”

“I didn’t—a drop of blood.  That was all.  I bled—a little—when we fought.  That’s all.  Since I had it, I decided I might as well make use of it.  I put a spell on it, to make Iara think I was still there.  She sensed it and thought it was me.  She’d have known I tricked her as soon as she went and looked.  But, she never did.  Spells like that don’t last.  It must have faded ages ago.” And Iara still hadn’t noticed.  Stupid fish.

“Iara’s an idiot.  That’s not the point.  You left a drop of life there, a drop you told to pretend to be you.  Don’t you realize what happened?”

“You said splitting souls was hard.  If it only takes a drop of blood, Colette can prick herself with a needle and we can get this over with.”

“Oh, it takes much more than that, and ‘soul’ isn’t the right word for what you did.  But, you left a bit of yourself in a lake whose waters heal injuries and feed life into anything that touches them, waters that have had life after life of murdered men fed into them.  What do you think that does?”

“I’m sure you can’t wait to tell me.”

“I shouldn’t bother when the audience is this unappreciative.  But, since you were begging me to tell you five minutes ago—not that you remember, and very ungrateful of you it is, too—you get a small, blood-red pearl.  You know how pearls form, don’t you?  A little kernel with layer after layer forming around it.  This one’s kernel is a seed of life—your life.  And it has grown.  Now, do you understand?”

Curupira caught her breath.  “If I get it for Colette—”

“Just swim down, scoop it up, have her swallow it, and down it goes!  I’d add a glass of water so she doesn’t choke on you.  Perhaps, a spoonful of honey as well.  You must be a very bitter pill to swallow.”

“There you go, trying to be clever again.”

“Someone here needs to be.  So, now you know, what will you do?”

“What do think?  I’m going to get it.”  She was about to vanish away, when Rumplestiltskin held up another, restraining hand.

“Now?”

“Why not?”

“Because this is Iara, and she beat you before.”

“She didn’t beat me.  I let her win.”

“Whatever you call it.  She can still cause you trouble.”

“I can cause her more.”

He sighed.  “Curupira, just promise me two things: Spend a little time looking around and wait for me to come join you.”

“I know better than to promise you anything.  You’ll wander off to Agrabah for a century or two just to keep me waiting.”

“I was thinking of somewhere with a bit more water and shade, maybe a tropical beach with palm trees.  But, that’s for later.  Just wait ten minutes.  No, make it fifteen.  There’s something I need to fetch that will help you.”

“Why don’t I wait while you get it?”

He rolled his eyes.  “Because, if I wanted you to see where I hid it away—or let you wander through my castle while my back is turned—I wouldn’t need to tell you to go away first.  Besides, you can use the time to look over that mud puddle and think about the best way to sneak past your snaky friend.”

“Oh, is this a deal?  You’ve told me what you want, but what do I get out of it?”

“What do you think?  You’ll have the little gift I’m bringing to help you.  If that’s not enough, you’ll have me if anything goes wrong.”

“Let me guess.  You’re going to stand around and tell me how I could have done it better?”

“Only once it’s over.  While it’s happening, I won’t get in your way.  I’ll even promise to just stand by and watch, if it’ll make you feel better.”   He looked as earnestly virtuous as only Rumplestiltskin could when promising to abandon you to your fate.

Not that it mattered if he abandoned her to her fate or not, because she was the one deciding her fate.  Not him.  Not Iara.  Her.

And she’d decide it better without him deliberately getting underfoot, which was what he would do just to be annoying if she didn’t agree to this.

“Fine.  I’ll look around for fifteen minutes.  After that, if you haven’t shown up, I’ll do what I please.”

Rumplestiltskin smiled and waved as she vanished away.

X

The smile fell away from Rumplestiltskin’s face the moment Curupira was gone.  She’d be furious the moment she realized how he’d set her up.  But, it was necessary.  All of it was necessary.  Curupira, Colette, the blood pearl, all pieces he had to bring together to reach the one, elusive future he had hunted for centuries.

I’m coming, Bae.

Colette stepped out from behind the door at the far end of the hall where Rumplestiltskin had hidden her. 

“You heard?” he asked.

She nodded.  “Iara.  She’s the siren in the lake?  And—and she really has beaten Curupira before?”

“She escaped by the skin of her teeth.  Or the blood of her body.”

“She seems confident enough.”

“Oh, she always seems confident.  But, she hasn’t gone back to fight Iara since then, whatever she tells herself.  She hasn’t even let Iara know she’s alive.”

“You said I could help her.  How?”

“By being the one thing that will always distract Iara: Living, mortal prey.  Well?  Are you coming with me?”

Colette considered the matter quietly and gravely.  But, then, she always considered everything quietly and  gravely.  In the end, she nodded slowly.

Rumplestiltskin took her hand and brought them to join Curupira.  It hadn’t been close to fifteen minutes—he hadn’t expected it to be—but better safe than sorry.  And, he told himself, he did not feel the slightest twinge of guilt for how he was using this innocent to get what he wanted.  No, he thought, gritting his teeth, not the slightest.

Chapter Text

Curupira was growing restless by the time Rumplestiltskin walked out of the trees towards the lake.  It was only because she’d promised  that she was still there, waiting.  She was serious about this.  Rumplestiltskin, on the other hand, had taken the time to change into a suit of dragon skin and an old, tattered cloak that stank of musty centuries and blood.  His expression was odd.  He looked distant, preoccupied and serious.  She preferred him manic and calculating.

“Took you long enough,” she grumbled.  “Where’s this great talisman of yours we were waiting for?”

The look vanished, replaced by his usual, deranged grin.  The imp held up a small scroll, waving it.  In his other hand, he held a ring of black onyx as if it were the wonder of the age. 

 “Oh, I’ve got this covered, dearie,” he told her.  “The ring will mute the magical sense of you.  Give Iara the proper distraction, and she won’t even notice you’re there.”

“And is that all it will do?” Curupira asked sharply.

Rumplestiltskin looked wounded.  “Why, whatever do you mean, dearie?”

“It won’t bind my powers, steal them for you to use, turn me to stone or anything else?”

“Curupira, are you suggesting I might try to trick you?”

“I’m not suggesting anything.  I’m stating it clearly and directly.  Well?”

“The ring does what I said.  Nothing more, nothing less.  It will dim you—not hide you—to Iara’s magical senses.  It will not diminish your power, manipulate it, or affect it in any way.   It also won’t affect you in any way beyond helping to hide you.  Helping.  Do anything tricky or spectacular, and she’ll know.” 

Curupira thought over what he’d said, looking for loopholes.  “And the scroll?  That’s a spell scroll, isn’t it?”

“How clever of you to notice.  Yes, it is.  The ring will help hide you.  I’ll help distract her.  Iara is going to look up and see an ordinary mortal walking towards her.  She won’t resist the bait.”

“You’re going to risk your pretty, little neck?”

“Do you see anyone else around?  Besides, it’s a very hard neck.”

“Goes with the head.”

“Isn’t it nice to have a matching set?  Since we’re both agreed about keeping ours, let’s get this started before Iara notices who’s chatting on her front doorstep.  You want to get over there.”  He waved to a spot along the lake shore a couple hundred yards away.  There were plenty of bushes for cover and it was very near to the spot where Curupira had been trapped all those centuries ago, as if Rumplestiltskin knew exactly where it had happened.  And was enjoying telling her he knew.  “After a bit you should see a mysterious, cloaked figure walking purposely towards the water—”

Curupira rolled her eyes.  “’Mysterious, cloaked figure’?  Been listening to romantic ballads, have you?” Colette was fond of them, and Curupira had learned not to roll her eyes when one was being sung.  But, they made her very glad animals couldn’t speak, not the way humans did.  Or recite poetry. 

“I make a marvelous dashing lead, don’t I? The mysterious, good-looking, heroic, dashing, cloaked figure will get just close enough to attract Iara’s attention.  When she rises up, in you go.  Hopefully, Iara will be distracted long enough for you to get out.”

“And if it’s not?” Not that she cared.  She wasn’t afraid  of Iara.  But, she wanted to know what he’d say.

“I suppose I’ll have to do something less subtle and hit her.  Or throw her a sacrificial lamb, assuming I can find one lying around.  That should distract her.”  

“Break her nose.  It’s about time someone did.”  Curupira turned and walked away, keeping to the cover of the trees.  She wouldn’t mind seeing Iara get bloodied by the imp.  But, the last thing she would ever do, worse than losing to Iara, would be letting Rumplestiltskin save her.

X

Colette hid behind the trees till Curupira had moved on.  She hadn’t been sure that would work.  Curupira was a demon of the forest, wasn’t she?  She could probably talk to trees if she wanted to. 

But, whether because these trees weren’t chatty or because the Dark One had done something, Curupira didn’t notice.  She just walked off to the part of the lake Rumplestiltskin had pointed her towards and didn’t look back (Colette suspected she wouldn’t give the Dark One the satisfaction).

Rumplestiltskin watched her go.  “Are you ready?” he called over his shoulder.

Trying to swallow her fears, Colette came out.  “Yes, sir.”

Rumplestiltskin looked her up and down.  He looked grave and somber, which seemed wrong.  It made him look as though he had a different face.  Or maybe it was the other way around, Colette thought.  Maybe the other face, with its mad grins and giggles, was the wrong one.

He swirled the tattered cloak off his shoulders and onto Colette.  Odd scents clung to it.  She smelled wood smoke and the fresh scent of straw, like a clean barn.  She also smelled sandalwood, myrrh, and other things she had no name for. 

The Dark One handed her a black ring with none of the showmanship he showed a moment before, giving one to Curupira.  “What is it?” she asked.

“Obsidian.  It comes from volcanoes, tears of the burning earth.  Iara is a creature of water and cold.  It will help shield you from her.”

It will help shield you from her.  The Dark One was always careful with his words.  “Help how?”

“She won’t be able to cloud your mind with magic.  But, she can still speak, and you won’t be the first hero she’s faced who was shielded against her.  She’ll try to distract you.  Remember, she’s stronger much stronger than she looks.” 

“It won’t take much strength to stop me,” Colette said.  Her father could fight off armies.  She was just a scrawny, skinny armed girl who cleaned out bird cages and carried around books, not swords. 

The dark one was looking at her with a smile that was . . . human, maybe even sympathetic.  Colette felt a pain in her heart.  If her father had lived, he might have looked at her that way.

He put a hand on her shoulder.  “There’s more to winning a battle than strength.  You can be small, weak, even crippled, and it won’t matter if you can outthink you enemy.  No matter what she says, no matter what shape she takes, she’s only trying to do one thing, to grab you and drag you under.  She only thinks she knows what you’re going to do, try to get the water.  That gives you an advantage.  Also, you’re safe once you’re back on shore.  She can’t leave the water, not anymore.”

“She kills innocents,” Colette said.  “Shouldn’t we stop her?”

“You mean kill her,” Rumplestiltskin said.

“I don’t. . . .” Colette hesitated.  Was that what she meant?  Was there another way to stop her?

“Well, why not?” the Dark One said.  “She’s a monster, a killer.  Like Curupira.  Like me.”

“No,” Colette said.  “She’s not like you, either of you.”

“Really?”  The soft, human note in his voice had vanished.  He gave a made giggle.  “And what makes you so sure of that?”

“You’re helping me.  You don’t want the people in Avonlea to die.  Curupira doesn’t want me to die.  Iara just sits in a pond and drowns people.”

“Hmm, a word of caution, little one, don’t trust us too far.  The world is full of graves of people who did.”

The Sula, she thought.  And who else?  Who had he lost who trusted him?

Colette shoved the question aside.  “I need something to put the water in, don’t I?  So I look like I’m trying to get it?”

“Clever girl,” the Dark One said, showing too many sharp teeth as he smiled approvingly, pulling an empty waterskin out of the air and handing it to her.  “One other thing,” he said.  “Even Iara had someone she didn’t want to die.  Didn’t stop it from happening, not that she knows it.  His name was Dar, the last beastmaster.  Remember that if things go against you.”

Dar, Colette thought, committing the name to memory.  She slipped the ring onto her finger.  She’d expected it to be cold, but it was warm against her skin. 

I am Roland’s daughter, she told herself.  My father held off an army to save the king.  I can face one demon.

Once again swallowing her fears, she stepped towards the lake.

Chapter Text

Colette stepped out of the trees to the edge of the lake.  Mist was coming off the waters.  She didn’t know what she had been expecting, the rocky smell of well water, the green edged tint of the still waters in a pond or the sharper scent of a quick running stream.   This was like the crisp, cold smell after rain when the air was clear and water was turning to ice.  Other scents mixed with it, lilac and lily-of-the-valley, flowers she had always thought of as having a “clean” scent, though she knew both were deadly poisons.  She wondered about that coming from a lake with healing powers. 

Of course, most medicines were poisons at the wrong dose.  Maybe it was the same for magic water? Not that any of the storybooks ever said, “Don’t drink too much from the magic healing lake or you’ll fall over dead.”

Or maybe the lake smelled different to everyone who came here.  Maybe the palace cook would smell boiled water and soap for scrubbing out pots, and the maids would smell beeswax and polish, whatever meant something thoroughly cleaned to them.

She stepped into the lake.  The water brushed against the toes of her boots.  Another step.  It came up midway between on her shins.

It was bitterly cold, cold enough she felt its bit through the worn leather.  Or was it magic?  A power that bit into her in spite of protections?  And did she feel healing or poison?  It stung against her skin. 

There was no sound except the lapping of small waves, no birds singing along the shore or chorus of frogs, not even a small breeze rustling the leaves.  The world was frozen and still.  The white mists seemed to only rise a foot or so above the surface, but Colette couldn’t see the distant shore.  She suddenly felt certain that, if she looked behind her, she would not be able to see any sign of land there either.

She didn’t turn around.  Taking out the leather flask, she cautiously began to hunch down, reaching for the water.

She heard the breaking of water, the sound of something surfacing from the depths.

Colette straightened as siren stepped out of the mists, ghost pale in a silver gown covered in crystals.  They glittered like raindrops but were too harsh and unchanging to be anything but stone.  As she came closer, Colette could make out her eyes, a blue so pale it might be no color at all, empty and cold.

But, as she focused her gaze on Colette, they changed, becoming dark as a bottomless well.  There was no soul in those eyes, nothing but endless, unslakable thirst, a devouring need that could never be filled.

She smiled at Colette.  Colette drew her knife.  It was a small, workaday knife, good for cutting herbs and trimming matted fur, not holding off demons.  But, it was what Colette had.

“Back off,” Colette said, trying to sound as if she had the confidence of a much bigger weapon.

The siren tilted her head, amused.  “Are you so afraid of me?”

“I don’t care about you, one way or the other,” Colette said.  She glanced towards where she thought Curupira must have dived in, looking for her red pearl.  How long would it take her?  She’d gone in somewhere along the mist hidden shoreline.  Would Colette even know when she had gotten out?

“A hero,” the siren mused.  “But, I smell nothing of willows around you, girl.  Don’t think you can slay me.”

Willows?  For once, Colette resisted the urge to ask a question, focusing on the task at hand. “I don’t need to slay you,” she said. “I need you to go away.”

“Now, why would I do that?”

“Because I have a blade and you don’t.”

“And killing is the only thing you can think of?”

She’s trying to flirt with me, Colette thought.  And doing a very bad job.  She’d expected better of a siren, but maybe that was what happened when you got used to relying on magic.  “You’re not my type.”

“Aren’t I?  Well, what about this?”

The siren reached down and brought up a handful of water she splashed in her face, as if she were washing something away.  The mists seemed to gather around her for a moment.  When they slid away, she . . .  wasn’t a “she” anymore.

“M—Maurice?” Colette stammered. 

Maurice was squire to a minor knight, though one often trusted as a messenger for the king, which was why Colette had seen him frequently around the palace.  He took good care of his horse and his hunting hawk and could talk sensibly about all of them. 

And this wasn’t him.  The dress the siren had been wearing had transformed into silver-white armor and the crown on her head had become a jewel encrusted helm, something Maurice would never wear even if he could afford it.  He was the landless son of a cadet branch of a very minor house.  He only had a hawk because he had found her wounded in the woods one day and brought her to Colette to help tend (her wing had healed, but she was a weak flyer, easily tired, and could never survive in the wild on her own).

Besides, the Siren had the same eyes, dark and calculating.  She watched Colette expectantly.

X

The lake waters had been dark the last time Curupira swam through them, thick with weeds and fish.  Now, they were clear and cold, no sign of life in them except the bones strewn across the lake bottom, not all of them human. 

Had Iara changed so much?  She had always been callous and cruel, killing for amusement, but they had both been born guardians.  Iara had casually cast aside individual beasts, but she protected the species.

Or she had.  Now, she only protected the lake.

Curupira swam down.  The lake had changed over the years.  The weeds and serpents who had shared her prison were long gone, of course.  But, so were the stones , worn away or hidden by bones.

Not that it mattered.  She was the demon Curupira.  Once she had passed over earth, she knew it.  Forever. 

Besides, now that she knew what to look for, she could feel it, a red drop of blood, pulsing with life.

Curupira swam to a small depression.  Yes, this was the place.  There were many bones here.  Humans, of course.  Their skulls bones everywhere.  But, there were others.  She saw the sleek antlers of deer and elk, serpent fangs and the jaw of a bear.  She also saw gnaw-markings on all of them.  Was that what Iara did, now, when she got lonely?  Nibble the bones of her victims, remembering?

If the Iara she had known had seen this future, she might have asked Curupira to kill her.  And Curupira might have done it.  Iara may have been stupid (even worse than a human in some ways), but she hadn’t been this.   

But, Iara had chosen to become this, hadn’t she?  Brooding, ignoring her charges, until the only thing she had left was guarding a pond and spending a few minutes amusing herself with any mortal that came near before she killing them. 

Curupira dug through the bones.  So, her old prison was Iara’s trash pit.  Not that the entire lake bottom didn’t look like one, but the bones seemed especially thick here.  Dumped me in the trash and forgot about me, Curupira growled.  They were demons, equal powers, and Iara had treated her like a load of rubbish.  I should have come after her as soon as I got out the lake.

Curupira pushed aside more bones.  She wondered if Iara would notice.  Probably not, if she hadn’t noticed Curupira leaving.  But, looking at the gnaw marks on the bones, Curupira thought Iara might be different about bones, like the dragons who got all bent out of shape if a single cup of their hoards went missing.

And there it was.  Curupira felt it before she saw it, her hand closing around the round, smooth shape, pulsing with heat.  She pulled it out, a small, ruby red globe. Light flared, then faded, then flared again in its center, beating like a heart—like her own heart, matching its beat.

A dangerous thing.  And she’d promised it to Rumplestiltskin.

Not Rumplestiltskin.  To Colette.  She could hand it over to the girl and ignore the imp entirely. 

She looked around.  No sign of Iara.  Clutching the pearl in her hand, she swam to shore.  As she surfaced, she let the water slough off of her, not even leaving her hair damp.  Maybe, having got hold of the magical water, she should have taken some with her.  But, right then, she didn’t want anything of Iara’s touching her.

She looked over to see how Rumplestiltskin was doing.  She saw the cloaked figure and, standing by it, another that had to be Iara.  It was a male form.  Funny, Curupira had thought Rumplestiltskin was attracted to females.  There’d been that whole thing with . . . what was it?  Flora?  Dora?  Something like that.  Not so much a thing as a fiasco, from the little Curupira had picked up. 

Maybe he was doing something to Iara’s magic, making her mimic someone he didn’t care about, maybe someone he loathed.  Curupira looked a bit closer.  It was a young human, about Colette’s age.  There was something familiar about him.  Oh, yes, one of the knights at court.  No, not a knight, a what-did-they-call-it, knight’s assistant—apprentice—no, squire, that was the word.  That young squire Colette had gone on about.  Something about a hawk he brought her with a wounded wing and—

Colette.

Curupira looked again at the cloaked figure.  It wasn’t Rumplestiltskin.

I’m going to kill that imp, Cururpira thought as she took off running.  Him and Iara both.

The moment she thought that, as if the words had given her power (demon magic wasn’t supposed to work that way, but Iara was barely a demon anymore, was she?), Iara grabbed Colette’s wrist, twisting it so she dropped her knife.

“Got you,” Iara said, smirking as she pulled Colette into the lake.

Chapter Text

It happened too quickly.  Colette was keeping Iara distracted.  But, when Curupira came out of the water, the mists cleared for just a moment.  Colette turned and looked, relaxing for just an instant when she saw her mentor.  An instant Iara used, grabbing the girl by the wrist, so she couldn’t use her blade, and pulling her under.

Rumplestiltskin was already teleporting into the water, though he had just a split second to see Curupira’s face go from horror to murderous fury.  He sighed.  I’m probably going to have to pay for this.

Oh, well, Iara first. Then, Curupira.

He appeared behind Iara, reached around, and brought his own fist down on her arm, breaking her grip on Colette.  In a normal lake, he would have been able to push the girl to the surface on a stream of water.  But, this was the demon’s domain, and the water wouldn’t answer him. 

Fortunately, Iara turned on him, furious.  Heh, she had that much in common with Curupira, then.

He felt her magic trying to work its way through his, to find the illusion that would disarm him. She couldn’t.  The darkness protected him, which was just as well.  There was only one face in all the worlds he loved and, if she put it on trying to manipulate him, he might just boil away this entire lake.

Instead, he threw her towards the shore—and Curupira, who could run very quickly on those odd feet of hers.  Curupira snarled angrily and threw herself at Iara.  Good, she seemed to have forgotten him for the moment.

Colette was crouched down in the shallows, gasping for breath.  Rumplestiltskin put a hand on her shoulder.  “Come on, let’s get you somewhere dryer.”

“Wait,” she said between gasps.  “Wait.”  She brought out the flask, unstopped it, and put it in the lake to fill.

“I thought you didn’t need it.  Even if you did, you’ve swallowed enough water already you’ll be fine.”

“Not now,” Colette said. “But, later.”

“Ah, good point.”  A clear thinker, this child. Or maybe staying focused helped her keep calm after almost being dragged to a watery doom.  Besides, she had a point.  He may have seen the future where an older, taller version of Colette watching over the daughter who hadn’t even been born yet, but Colette didn’t know that.  But, the future had a way of changing if it wasn’t carefully nurtured, and Colette was so young and terribly fragile.  Better safe than sorry.  For all of them. 

Though, from what he’d seen of her, she’d probably use it up on others and have nothing left when she needed it.  “It only takes a sip,” he warned her. “Use it sparingly.  And only at great need.  Magic always has a price.”

Colette nodded solemnly.  Perhaps, she’d be one of those rare souls who actually listened to his warning.  Stranger things had happened. 

Though, he really shouldn’t judge.  He’d be paying a stiff price for today’s goings on, if Curupira had anything to say about it.

The leather flask filled, he helped Colette to shore.  Curupira and Iara were still going at it like a pair of . . . well, a pair of demons.  They kept to the shoreline, sometimes a few inches one way, sometimes the other, not enough to give either one a real advantage.  Curupira’s strength was on land and in the forest.  Iara’s was in the lake—not her lake, though that was how she thought of it. If anything, Iara was the one who belonged to it.  Her power had withered over the ages.  He wasn’t sure if she could survive away from it, but he still wouldn’t bet against her if she dragged Curupira in far enough.  She couldn’t kill her, but the forest demon might find it harder to get out this time.

He ran a hand through his hair, wondering if he should get Curupira out if that happened.  It might be tricky.  He’d taken Iara by surprise while she was in the shallows.  Then, he’d distracted her with her worst enemy.  Rescuing Curupira from its heart of the lake might be trickier.  Maybe he could leave her there for a few years till Iara forgot about her again and Curupira had a chance to calm down.

“She’s strong,” Colette said as a young tree, growing too near the water’s edge, was broken in half.  Iara threw it at Curupira, who ducked.

“Iara?  She’s always hated Curupira.  It gives her something to fight for, even if she doesn’t remember why.”

“Doesn’t remember?” Colette turned to him, forgetting the fight for a moment.  Meanwhile, Iara had gotten hold of Curupira’s braid, pulling her close.  Stupid move.  Curupira bit her on the nose.  Iara screamed.  Oh, well, she lived in a lake of healing water, although the dress was probably ruined.  Even with magic, bloodstains were hard to get out, especially if those bloodstains came from a magical being shrieking curses at the top of her lungs.  “What do you mean, she doesn’t remember?”

Rumplestiltskin shrugged.  “She’s faded.  Listen to her.  She hasn’t used Curupira’s name once.  She isn’t asking how she got loose or what she’s doing here.  I can see the hate in her eyes, but there’s no recognition.”

Colette looked at Iara.  An intelligent child, he could see her thinking over what he’d said and weighing whether or not it was true.

“Can she kill her?” she asked.

“Killed isn’t the right word for demons.  They have a way of coming back.”

“Right away?”

“Oh, it can take years.  Centuries.  And they’re not always the same.  But, they get better.  More or less.  Eventually.”

He gave her his best, maliciously innocent smile.  No hidden agendas here.  And no compassion either.

It was even the truth.  He wasn’t laying a trap for her.  He was just curious what the girl would do.  He’d given her the power she needed, after all.  It was only a question of whether or not she’d use it—or how she’d use it.

Colette turned her attention back to the fighters.  He saw the anxiety in her eyes, the tension as she bit her lip.  She was waiting for the right moment to act but not sure if it would come or if she would know it when it did.

Finally, there was a pause in the fight.  Curupira and Iara broke loose from each other and stumbled back, breathing hard and watching each other for the right opening.

“Dar!” Colette shouted, taking a step toward them.

The two demons turned towards her, both startled (but not so startled that they weren’t both still watching each other out of the corners of their eyes).

“Dar!” Colette repeated.  “Iara, do you remember him?  The Beastmaster, last of the Sula.”

“What about him?” Iara snarled.

Colette floundered.  Oh, he knew that look.  People had it all the time when they summoned him.  They thought they knew just what they were going to say, what bargain they thought they could make.  Then, they were confronted with a mad, giggling imp, and none of it seemed to make sense any more. “You—you didn’t want him to die,” she stammered.

A strange look passed over Iara’s face, as if she weren’t sure what Colette was talking about.  That’s what happened when you let your memories drift away.  Then, she dredged it up from whatever forgotten corner the memory had been hiding in.  “He didn’t,” she said. “I could have killed him.  So many times, I could have killed him.  But, I didn’t.  I let him live.” She sounded surprised, but there was something else.  Happiness?  There had been at least one time when she’d been glad she hadn’t killed.

“He died,” Colette said.

“What do you mean?  I didn’t kill him.  Why should he die?”

“Because, he was human,” Colette said.  “We die.  He lived centuries ago.  Before I was born.  Before there was a kingdom of Avonlea.  He died.”

He lived centuries ago.  He died.

Though Colette was only saying what he’d expected her to say, the words sent a chill down Rumplestiltskin’s spine.  Or maybe it was the look on Iara’s face, an immortal demon suddenly discovering what loss was. 

No, the seer saw him.  That future is certain.  Whatever magic it took, Baelfire is still alive. 

Iara didn’t want to believe either.  She shook her head as if Colette’s words were so much water she could just shake off. “How would you know?  You’re just a child.  What do you know about him?”

“I’m the next beastmaster.  If I survive.  Did Curupira ever have more than one at a time?”

“Curu. . . ?”  Again, Iara had that strange look, as if the past were waking up inside her.  She turned to the demon beside her.  “You.  You let him die.”

“And didn’t let him do anything,” Curupira snapped.  “You knew Dar.  Did anyone ever give him orders?”

Frequently, he just never listened to you.

“You let him die!”

“Me?  You left me tied up with snakes at the bottom of your lake!  What was I supposed to do?” Curupira said, ignoring the fact that she’d gotten out.  But, Iara had been willing to leave her there for centuries.  “If anyone saved him it should have been you!”

“I didn’t know he was going to die!  You gave him his power.  Why should he die?”

“Because that’s what humans do.  They get old and they die.” 

“I could have saved him.  The lake, I could have—”

Curupira looked at her scornfully. “You couldn’t have, not if you used every last drop of water here.  This isn’t healing, Iara.  It’s not something you can fix.  It’s the way humans are.  There isn’t any magic in the world that can change that.”

Iara looked at Colette.  “Why stop me from killing this human, then?  What does it matter?”

“Dar’s dead,” Curupira said. “You tell me what it matters.”

In a flash of silver and gems, Iara whirled away, diving back into the lake.  The mist had cleared from during the fight.  Rumplestiltskin could see the ripples left in her wake as she swam off, staying near the surface.  She rose up a few feet out.

“You’ll lose her,” Iara said. “This human.  The rules apply to you, too, Curupira.  She’ll die and you’ll lose her.”

“At least, I’ll have something to lose.  That’s more than you’ll ever have.”

Iara’s eyes began to glow.  Rumplestiltskin was sure she was planning something spectacular from the center of her power, but he already had everything he needed.  He put a hand on Colette’s shoulder and sent out a few tendrils of magic in Curupira’s direction, grabbing the demon as her own eyes began to glow. 

And they were back in Curupira’s cottage.

Curupira whirled on him.  Oh, yes, he was going to pay for what he’d done today.  But, at least there weren’t any trees for her to throw at him.

Chapter Text

Curupira turned on the imp.  “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Getting us away from there,” the scaly, little cretin said blandly, as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, as if he hadn’t done anything wrong.  “You looked ready to dive in after Iara, and we couldn’t have that, could we?”

“She almost murdered the girl!  You almost murdered the girl!”

“Excuse me?  I went in after the girl.  And in one of my good suits, too.”

“You almost got her killed!  I should have helped Iara drown you!”

“I don’t drown.  And Iara forgot all about me as soon as she saw you.”

“Only because I tackled her.  I should have let her have you.”

“Yes, yes,” he waved this off.  “Hindsight’s always twenty-twenty.  Better luck next time.”

“Next time?  Next time!?” she growled, ready to launch herself at him.  She hadn’t been able to suck his life out before but she’d make him wish she could before she was done.

Except Colette was suddenly between them.  “Please, Madame—Curupira—please, it’s all right.  I wasn’t hurt.”

“No thanks to him!”

“He got me away from Iara.  And he told me about Dar.  That’s how I knew what to say to her.”

Dar.  Curupira had cared about Dar, too.  Last of the Sula, the human ones.  But, he’d been a fosterling and, when the guardian of his birth people had come looking for him, prattling on about destiny, she’d let him go.

Destiny or not, he did what he’d set out to do, saving a lot of humans.  Boring, it made him happy.  And he’d had a happy life after, even if a lot of it was spent locked up in a city (they needed him, he said.  He had to help them rebuild, blah, blah, blah).

But, he’d come back to the forest when his life was ending, when he was an old, old man.  The wolves of the Sula had gathered round him, recognizing one of their own before he spoke to them, and led him to her. 

She remembered he’d had children.  He’d spoken of them at the end, the one who’d be king after him and the others.  Their birth ceremonies, their coming of age, those had all been done by city rituals, not Sula.  They’d been creatures of another world, farms and cities, flocks and herds, horses and hounds, not wild things.  Still, he’d asked her to look after them, and she’d promised.  But, they’d had little to do with her world.  The few times they entered the forest, she told the wolves to keep watch, which they did, but it was only the way they might have carried out any other task she’d given them.  Dar was one of them.  His children were strangers.

Colette wasn’t Sula.  Even if Curupira made her a beastmaster, she wouldn’t be what Dar was.  Her children, if she ever had any, wouldn’t be either.  They’d be children of stone walls and fields, not wild things and forests.

She turned the red gem over in her hand.  Why should she give the imp what he wanted?  He said the humans here would be destroyed.  What did she care?  She could carry Colette off to the forest.  The girl wouldn’t like it, but since when had Curupira cared about what humans wanted?

Except, this wasn’t about what she wanted, was it?  The girl needed to do this as badly as a mother bear needed to protect her cubs or wolves needed to protect their den.  It was a part of her.  If she gave the girl the gem, she wouldn’t be what Dar had been but . . . she’d be Colette.  And maybe that wasn’t a bad thing.

But, curse her if Curupira made this easy for Rumplestiltskin.

“You want me to make her a beastmaster,” Curupira said. “Why should I?”

Colette looked panicked.  “Madam—”

Curupira held up a hand, silencing her, never taking her eyes off the imp.  “You tricked me, lied to me—”

“Lied? I never!”

“—deceived me, and nearly destroyed the one human I’m bothering to keep alive.  You owe me, imp.  And you dare ask me for more favors? What is it you always say?  All magic has a price. What can you possibly pay me to make this worth my while?”

Rumplestiltskin grinned.  “I have just the thing.” He turned, snapping his fingers and called over his shoulder.  “This is where you come in!”

A small creature, less than a foot tall and made of wood came walking in.  He was some sort of tree sprite by the look of him.  In his arms, he held a bright sphere, swirling with colors, like a soap bubble made of glass.  The sprite gave her an anxious smile. “I am Groot.”

Confusion was one of the imp’s weapons, Curupira reminded herself.  Whatever the story behind the sprite and his bubble, the imp was trying to use them to throw her off balance. She wouldn’t let him.  “Why should I care?”

The imp grinned.  “Show her your crystal,” he told the wood sprite.

The sprite hesitated.  “Don’t worry,” the imp said. “She won’t hurt it.”

Curupira snorted. “Won’t I?”

“Not when you know what it is.  Go ahead,” he told the sprite. “Show her.”

The sprite held out the bubble uncertainly.  Curupira took it carefully.  The sprite was just another of the imp’s pawns, after all.  Holding it closer, she saw the colors were more than just rainbows made by a curve of glass.  There were images inside the sphere.

“A scrying crystal,” she said. “It shows a forest.  So?”

“It doesn’t show a forest,” the imp said. “It holds one.”

“What?” Curupira tried to catch the lie in his face or voice but couldn’t.  Not that that meant anything with him.  She looked back at the crystal.  Focusing in on it, the images changed.  It was as if she were soaring through the forest.  It was immense, large as the giant forests that had ruled the world when humans were little more than beasts themselves dwelling in crude huts.  “How is this possible?”

“Our friend, here, is from another world, one that had more than its share of tragedy.  That sphere is the part he called home, what’s left of it.”

The sprite nodded.  “I am Groot,” he said in a small, wounded voice.

“We made a deal,” Rumplestiltskin said. “My part is to find a place what was saved.  I mean to make it part of a forest in this world but, when I open it up, it will become an infinite forest, a never-ending loop that accessible only by magic or by your will, it’s your forest I make it part of.”

“My forest?”

“The one you call home.  This would protect it and the creatures inside it forever.  Well?  Do we have a deal?”

“And I’m to believe this forest won’t just swallow up mine and devour my animals?”

“I don’t expect you to believe anything.  But, you can investigate the sphere yourself and you can look over everything I’ve done to study it.  I’ve studied other worlds extensively.  There are ways to take a piece of one world and merge it into another.  A bit of forest, a small town, they can be sewn into the greater pattern with no one the wiser.”

Gently, Curupira handed the sphere back to the sprite.  “Prove what you say, and we have a deal.  For my forgiveness.  There’s a different price for the blood pearl.”

“Being a bit greedy, aren’t you?”

“Please.  You made a deal with the sprite.  You’re just using me to fulfill it.  If anything, I should be charging you.”

“Charging?  I didn’t know you knew so much of human trade.”

“That human king expects records to be kept on what’s spent for his birds.” Colette took care of most of it, but Curupira had to learn some of it, especially since she was expected to sign off on the things humans called ‘bills.’ “And stop changing the subject.  Do you want to hear my price or not?”

“By all means, tell me.”

“The girl,” Curupira grated.  “You will have nothing to do with her.  Not directly, not through intermediaries.  You will have nothing to do with her from this time forth; you will not enter a dwelling where she lives, no matter who calls for you; you will not cast spells or do magic on her or anyone living where she lives; you will not stir up trouble against her land or people, or have anything to do with them at all, not without my permission.  If you have any reason at all to trouble her, you will come to me.  You will explain clearly and completely why you wish contact.  I will decide whether or not to grant you an exception.  The only exception I give you is this, if assassins or other enemies are trying to kill her, then you may intervene.  If they have wounded her, you may heal her.  And you will come to me as soon as she is safe and tell me everything that has happened.  I will decide if your interference was justified.  If it was not, you will owe me another price of my choosing.”

“The price will be subject to negotiation,” Rumplestiltskin said.  “I won’t cheat you but I won’t let you cheat me, either.”

“As if I would.  Well, imp?  Do we have a deal?”

Rumplestiltskin’s gaze grew distant.  Looking at the future, Curupira thought, seeing if it still played out the way he wanted.  She’d like to throw a wrench in his schemes.  But, since his schemes seemed to include Colette surviving, she’d better not.

But, so help her, he’d pay for the privilege.

“Deal,” Rumplestiltskin said.  “I’ll show you everything I know about the forest.  Now, give the girl the pearl.”

As simply as that, it was done.  Or undone, as Curupira would later realize.  It didn’t matter that she and the imp (for once) had both meant it for the best.  But, that day was years away.  For now, they both shook hands, each sure they had gotten what they wanted out of the deal.