~Peregrine Storke~
It surprised me that there was food in Awkward. Candy, yes, but food …
“You’re not hungry?” King Happenstance asked.
We’d left the library a somber group. Occasionally, Elspeth sniffled, but mostly she frowned, her cheeks covered in glitter. Her sniffles were wrong. Awkward had always been my escape from tears. Dreams were dreams, reality wasn’t supposed to intrude.
“The food?” King Happenstance asked again.
I glanced down at the bowl in front of me, my lips pinched. We’d been led to a dining room on the first floor, the space brought to life by more pasted pictures. The table was long and mahogany with a shining, polished surface, but none of the chairs matched. All of them were cushioned, each of them with a different color. My chair was yellow.
My fingers gripped a silver spoon, the end of it twirling through a murky liquid inside of a white porcelain bowl patterned in green vines.
“What is it?” I asked.
Steam tickled my nose. Foster didn’t share my reservations. He ate greedily, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.
He caught me looking and shrugged. “Have you ever eaten an MRE?” he asked.
MRE’s were prepackaged foods handed out to soldiers in the field. I’d seen them lying around Camilla’s house when Foster was in residence, but we’d never been interested in trying one.
Foster saluted me with his spoon. “Compared to those, this is fine cuisine.”
His words prompted me to eat. Hot liquid slid down my tongue. It tasted distinctly Asian, the flavor blossoming and growing.
Queen Norma gestured at the bowls. “It becomes whatever you wish it to be.”
The warmth was comforting, the taste was amazing, and the rumble in my gut was appeased. The fog lifted from my brain. We were in Awkward, my characters were alive, and I was going on a strange fairytale quest with a guy I’d always viewed with distrust and hatred.
My gaze found the side of Foster’s face. He was Camilla’s brother, a teasing prankster in high school, an athlete, a warrior, and a man. We’d both grown up. Although he’d seen more of the world, tasted its harsh reality, I’d been raised in its shadows. He strove for perfection, but he was still willing to help fight for a world he’d been dragged into and forced to believe was real.
Foster glanced up, his gaze meeting mine before sliding down the table. “Do you have a plan for getting this prince out?”
King Happenstance’s eyes found my face. “There’s really only one way to save Dash.” The rumble in my gut—relieved by the strange soup—was replaced by queasiness. “Awkward is a beautiful place,” the king continued, “a sanctuary for those who feel uncomfortable in their own world. It’s a place that embraces differences.”
The king wore a long blue robe, the neck made of fluffy white material that ended just below his chin. It brought more attention to his nose. His hand vanished inside the folds of his robe. “The prince is being held in Flawless. The trip there is fraught with peril. Nothing will change that. The journey is full of obstacles created to test the most awkward of people.” Happenstance pulled an empty sketchbook free of the blue garment, a pencil attached to its cover. “And yet, it is only those who are awkward who can defeat her, for those who are truly awkward are rarely seeking perfection.”
He slid the sketchbook down the table, the leather bound volume guided by many hands before pausing in front of me. I stared down at it.
“You drew Awkward,” Queen Norma added. “Our story isn’t over yet.”
Foster cleared his throat. “She’s supposed to draw the prince to safety?”
My palm found the sketchbook’s cover, the cool feel of it sinking into my fingers. “No,” I whispered, my gaze finding the awkward faces at the table. “I’m supposed to record it, to make his rescue more than a simple adventure. I’m supposed to make it real.”
Nimble smiled. “Your pictures have created a safe haven. Now, they create something deeper.”
Foster’s gaze filled with confusion, but it was enough that I understood. Tucking the sketchbook against my chest, I stood. “How long do we have?” I asked.
Everyone rose. “Things aren’t measured by time here,” Norma remarked, “but you don’t have long. Maybe a week by your standards. Use this to gauge your progress.” She handed Foster a glass ball just large enough to fit in the palm of his hand. “It changes color,” she explained. “Once it turns black, you are out of time. Each time it changes, the closer you are to defeat.”
King Happenstance ran a finger down the polished mahogany table. “You’ll begin in the Swamp of Sadness. It starts just beyond Awkward. Parts of our kingdom have been destroyed by Perfection, our people turned into creatures we no longer recognize. There are creatures in the swamp, beautiful creatures that will lure you to your death. They are the Sirens of Shame.” He glanced at Foster and me. “The swamp is just the beginning. Flawless is a kingdom created to test all men, and it’s eating Awkward alive. Only those who are truly perfect are meant to succeed.”
My face fell. “Only those who are truly perfect?” I asked.
The king watched me. “Don’t forget that you drew this kingdom, Perri. Don’t forget that perfect means different things to different people.”
Happenstance was the father of my heart. He hadn’t raised me. It hadn’t been his words that often tore me down, berated me, and shamed me. It was his picture that had carried me through childhood, his smiling face and freckled nose. I’d always wondered what it would be like to hug him.
“The only way to save the prince is to survive whatever Perfection throws at you, to make it to his tower, and then overcome his Dungeon of Despair. His dungeon, his tower, is different things to different people. For some, it is full of light. For others, it is full of darkness,” the king muttered.
I was afraid of the dark. My father had made me afraid of it. He’d been paranoid of darkness, of the things hidden within it. He was a strange man, my father. He’d made me afraid of things no child should ever be afraid of. I saw what the dungeon would mean for me in the king’s expression, and I shivered.
King Happenstance smiled, his eyes sad. Pushing away from the head of the table, he moved to embrace me. I let him, because if he was right, I was about to face a journey full of my greatest fears. He didn’t have to tell me what I should be afraid of. I knew.
My cheek rested against the king’s robe, the blue velvet tickling my nose. He smelled like blueberry tarts and sunshine. For the first time, I didn’t have to wonder what it would be like to be embraced by my imaginary father. Right now, in this moment, I let myself enjoy the reality.
Chapter 9
“That awkward moment when you find yourself sleeping next to the enemy.”