just killed his puppy: That’s exactly how Lila described Ruffian the Blue, the bounty hunter. And who does Ruffian the Blue work for?”
“Bri—” Frederic began to answer.
“Briar Rose! Exactly!” Ella shouted (and then shushed herself). “Briar is still bent on marrying Liam; and now she’s going to force the wedding to happen, and you and I have to go to Avondell and stop it. So, are you coming?”
“Right now?” Frederic asked. “Can’t we just wait until morning and leave through the front doorway?”
“Do you really think your father’s going to let us?”
“No, you’re right.” He took a deep breath. “Okay, let’s do it. I think I’m pretty much ready to go.”
Ella frowned when she noticed how Frederic was dressed: a pale yellow suit with a royal-blue sash across the chest and tasseled shoulder pads. “You changed into formal wear?” she asked. “When you thought you would be locked in your room all night?”
“It helps me relax.”
“Suit yourself,” Ella said.
“I just did.” Frederic laughed.
“Did what?”
“Suit mys— Never mind.”
“Okay, let’s head out,” said Ella. “Take your sword, though.”
“You know,” Frederic hedged. “Like I said before, I’m not really a sword person.”
“Take your sword,” Ella repeated.
He attached the sword to his belt along with a pouch of coins and a small satchel of writing implements, then he climbed through the window to join Ella on the ledge. He wobbled a bit when he got a view of the lantern-lit walkways three stories below. “I’m not really a heights man either.”
Ella put her hand under his chin and raised his head to look him in the eyes. “You’re my hero, Frederic. You can do this.”
“Of course I can,” Frederic said. “I’ve got narrow feet.”
As the two shimmied along the ledge, it occurred to Frederic that he was finally doing what Ella had always wanted him to: going on an adventure with her.
And she asked me to, he thought. She didn’t run off to rescue Liam on her own. She wants me by her side. Perhaps there’s hope for us yet. The pair sidled around a corner and onto the balcony where the kidnapping had taken place. As Ella had hoped, the bounty hunter’s rope and grappling hook were still lying there in a pile. She tossed the barbed hook up to the roof, where it caught onto the side of a chimney.
“Shall we?”
Climbing up onto the roof, running along the ramparts, descending into the gardens behind the palace, and hopping over the exterior gates all took much longer than Ella had hoped—Frederic moved with the speed of a wobbly toddler wearing shoes for the first time. By the time they were off the palace grounds, the sun was coming up.
“I am so tired,” Frederic said, collapsing on the grass.
“Well,” Ella said, sitting down next to him, “we need to pause and figure out a plan anyway.”
“Oh, I have a plan,” Frederic said. He pulled two pieces of parchment and a quill from his satchel. He quickly dashed off two notes, rolled them up, and stood. “Let’s head into town and hire a messenger to deliver these. It’s time to get the League of Princes back together.”
Mere words cannot defeat a true hero. Unless they happen to be the words to some sort of Instant Death spell. Magic is scary.
—THE HERO’S GUIDE TO BEING A HERO
And taunt him they did. They never let Gustav forget that the Bandit King—whom the world now knew to be a ten-year-old boy—managed to rob him in full view of about a thousand people. Prince Sigfrid (#7) spattered Gustav with baby food. Osvald (#5) startled him with shouts of “Don’t look down! There’s a toddler crawling after you!” Alvar (#3) even pinned a sign to his back that read PROPERTY OF BANDIT KING. IF FOUND, PLEASE RETURN TO TOY BOX. Every time something like this happened, Gustav gritted his teeth, grumbled unseemly things under his breath, and stomped away—which, for him, showed incredible self-restraint. Despite being six-foot-five and having biceps the size of watermelons, he was the smallest member of his family. His older brothers teased him through most of his life; and in the past Gustav responded to their jibes with flying fists, thrown furniture, and sometimes even a good, old-fashioned head butt. The past year had changed him, though. Gustav was more mature now. He vowed that he would not let his brothers get the better of him.
But he was fooling himself. Gustav couldn’t swear off tantrums any more than a volcano could promise not to erupt. It was on the day of his brothers’ birthday party (all sixteen, having been born in two sets of octuplets exactly one year apart, had the same birthday) that Gustav finally lost it.
The entire kingdom came out for the big celebration, which was held in the big cobblestone courtyard outside Castle Sturmhagen. HAPPY BIRTHDAY banners were hung everywhere, bands played, food vendors handed out turkey legs and ostrich eggs, and crowds of Sturmhageners danced merrily in their leathery, fur-lined suits and dresses. All the birthday boys, from Henrik (#1) to Viktor (#16), were seated at the lengthy table of honor on a central stage. Only Gustav sat by himself, at a tiny round table-for-one that had been set for him on the outer edge of the courtyard. Behind the crowd. Under a drippy rain gutter. Next to a stinking barrel with a sign that read PLEASE DEPOSIT BONES AND OTHER UNCHEWABLES HERE.
Gustav watched glumly as his parents, King Olaf and Queen Berthilda, led a procession of bakers up onto the stage. The bakers carried an eight-foot-by-four-foot, seventy-pound sheet cake, topped with marzipan sculptures of all sixteen princes. The colossal dessert was set on a viewing platform near the edge of the stage so the crowd could marvel at it.
Fig. 4 GUSTAV, celebrating
Then Lyrical Leif, Sturmhagen’s royal bard, was introduced. The round-bodied musician pranced onstage wearing his usual green tights, puffy gold blouse-shirt, and floppy feathered hat. He took a proudly over-the-top bow and announced—to
