Rachel Andric and Final Death

Chapter 6: An Old Acquaintance

Rachel slept badly that night. She didn't want to continue her tour after both her argument with Lancelot and the threats from Carson, but Lancelot had insisted. She didn't absorb any of the information he passed on to her, and she could barely stomach any food. She couldn't believe that the man who had started her on the path to change The Story was back and threatening her happiness once more.

It was with horrifying clarity that Rachel remembered the events leading up to the final battle with Carson. They had all been taken prisoner and Rachel had attempted a desperate gambit to rescue them. She had saved everyone, but Carson's archers had shot and killed Ewan. She could still recall the dull thuds of the three arrows striking her brother at almost point-blank range. She could feel his hand in hers as he breathed his final breath.

It didn't matter that he was still alive now; those memories would live forever in her

mind. Not to mention the final battle with Carson—Mordred had slain Guy, and Rachel, Red Riding Hood, Merlin, Alan and Will had all lost their lives in the seconds before the rewritten Story had come into effect—saving them. But it hadn't saved Ewan. He had made a deal with Hades and exchanged his Final Death for Rachel's freedom.

Everything he had done had been for Rachel. That was why it hurt so much that the Editor had been able to turn him against her. He had nearly killed her. She shivered when she thought of him attacking her, and Guinevere striking him in the head with her shoe to save Rachel.

She was lost in thoughts that stole any hope of sleep. After spending a few months as the god of dreams, Morpheus, she hadn't dreamed at all. She had tried over the past week of being in Final Death not to fall asleep, not to dream, but it had proven impossible. She was plagued with nightmares of the events leading up to her Final Death. She could still taste that poisoned apple in her lips, and she gagged on the taste.

At some point past midnight, someone knocked on her door. She shot up, having dozed off at last, terrified that it was Carson coming to kill her. Then she scolded herself, telling herself that Carson wouldn't have knocked. "Y—yes?" she asked.

"It's me, Lady Andric. Gawain," he said. "Lance wants to see you for something."

She pulled herself out of bed, grumbling that Lancelot should have seen her earlier about it instead of in the middle of the night—or, more appropriately, early in the morning. She slipped on a thin robe to cover her nightdress and opened the door. "What does he want, Gawain?" she asked tiredly.

"There's someone he wants you to meet," Gawain explained, smiling apologetically. "She insisted on seeing you right away."

Rachel sighed and left her room, closing the door behind her. As Gawain had stated earlier, the doors couldn't be locked, another reason for her earlier tension. At least she couldn't have nightmares while she was awake and meeting this mysterious "someone". She followed Gawain through the dizzying, expansive hallways, trying to keep her bearings and hoping that Gawain was able to do so.

He finally stopped at a new room and opened the door before Rachel could read the sign on it. The two entered, and Rachel stopped short when she saw the girl sitting on the floor next to Lancelot. "Cinderella!" she exclaimed in surprise.

Rachel had least seen Cinderella in the final moments of her Story before it had been destroyed—taking Alan with it. She could clearly picture the blonde teenager with an arrow in her chest, as Rachel had last seen her a little more than a week ago. "Lady Andric!" Cinderella said, smiling brightly. "How are you?"

"I'm in Final Death," Rachel said dolefully. "I'm not great."

"Oh, that's a shame," she said sadly. "I rather like it here; I don't have to work for my stepmother or stepsisters anymore. I do miss Prince Charming, though," she added. "Do you suppose he misses me?"

She was as hyperactive and talkative a girl as ever. It was partially her fault that they had been unable to escape unharmed from her Story, and Rachel tried to swallow down her bitterness. Maybe things would have been different if Alan hadn't undergone Final Death.

The bard sat in the room, his legs crossed in a complicated pattern as he strummed his lute. "When we told her you were here, she wanted to thank you," he said, obviously hinting to Cinderella.

"Oh, right! I wanted to thank you for what you tried to do for me," she told Rachel, grinning. "It was very sweet of you."

"So sweet that I failed," Rachel said flatly.

"Yes," Cinderella said slowly, "but you tried, and that's all that matters!"

Rachel sighed. "I'd feel a lot better if I'd tried and succeeded," she admitted. "And we lost the war to the Editor. Chances are I'm not getting out of here unless Carson kills me. The Story is completely under her power once more."

"That's not true!" Alan protested. "You'll get out of here! I know you will. And I'll help you. And if Carson tries to murder you, well, I'll do whatever's necessary to make sure he can't. Don't you trust me, Rachel? I know we can get you out of here. You can't leave Will and the rest of the Merry Men under that woman's control. Who knows what atrocities she's inflicted on them!"

Rachel nodded, avoiding his eyes. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to sound so pessimistic. I want to get back to The Story. I just need you to realize that there's a chance I might not. Don't get your hopes up."

Alan stood up, his arms crossed, the lute slung over his shoulder. He was more serious than she had ever seen him. "My lady," he answered quietly, "it's too late for that. I already have."