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not, I will find a way back tomorrow so that I can tell you everything! I promise!”
    She did not hear him say goodbye. Excited, Sunday skipped beside Trix through the brush. They raced each other to the edge of the Wood until they spotted the towerhouse on the horizon. Their energy spent, they slowed to a walk. The weight of the golden ball knocked reassuringly between Sunday’s book and her leg, reminding her how painful and how glorious life could be, all at the same time.
    “He loves you.”
    The declaration startled her. Trix was like that. Full of snails and puppy dogs’ tails one minute and unnaturally wise the next. What he said might have been true, but Grumble was a frog and Sunday was a girl, and between them lay a curse that might as well have been the ocean. Grumble might love her, but it did not change the painful and glorious way of the world.
    “And you love him,” Trix added.
    Nor did that.

4. Godspat

    W HEN YOU FIRST WAKE UP , you’ll think you’ve just been boiled in oil and tossed on ice, in the midst of being flayed alive. You will vomit, though your stomach has long been empty, and it will feel like someone is shoving the world through a pinhole in the top of your skull. You’ll wonder if every bone in your body was crushed beneath a giant’s boot and then put back together in the wrong place. You won’t remember how to talk. Gods, you almost won’t remember how to think.”
    Rumbold would not cry. He would be six years old this summer. His father had told him he was not a boy; he was a man. Men did not cry. Princes definitely did not cry.
    Jack plucked his thoughts right out of the air. “And you will cry, long and hard, like a pathetic little baby. You will cry because in that moment your mind will be full of nothing but how amazing it is to be a man again. That’s the most painful part of all.” His voice got softer, and his head turned away. “Coming back is part of the price.”
    The young prince nodded silently. He had been bold enough to brave Jack’s sickroom after the older boy’s transformation back from a dog; Rumbold could not miss the opportunity to learn about the fate that would similarly befall him. Rumbold’s fairy godmother had cursed Jack into a dog as penance for killing her godson’s beloved pup. Jack’s fairy godmother had shortened Jack’s sentence to a year and cursed Rumbold to his own transformation on his eighteenth birthday. She had forbidden them all to speak of this countercurse. The king had actually agreed.
    It wasn’t fair. Rumbold hadn’t cursed Jack, and certainly hadn’t asked to have his birthday gift murdered. It had all been an accident. He’d seen his pup nip at Jack’s heel for scraps. The swat Jack instinctively gave it with his foot wouldn’t have harmed any of the other dogs in the guards’ dining hall. Their godmothers had gone and overreacted for no reason. It just wasn’t fair. But the deed was done: in twelve years’ time, Rumbold would spend twelve months as a frog.
    “To learn humility,” Jack’s brilliantly shining godmother had said. She’d said a lot of things that night, but Rumbold hadn’t listened until shed started talking about him. Losing his puppy had left a hollow place inside him that hadn’t been full since his mother died. He hadn’t even named it yet.
    Jack scared Rumbold. Jack was a Great Hero. He went on Grand Adventures and did Amazing Things. Witches trembled at his feet. Demons quaked in their boots (if they wore boots). Jack was now the same age Rumbold would be when his own curse hit. The young prince hoped he would be half as strong. Half as stubborn. Half as brave. At the moment, he was just scared. He had a long way to go.
    Jack bit off a small piece of dry toast. The nurse had said Jack could have solid food and would be “back on his feet in no time.” The minute those feet hit the ground, they would walk right out the doors of the castle, and Rumbold would never see Jack again. This was