Free A Conspiracy of Kings by Megan Whalen Turner

branches left
by a woodcutter. He ducked through the low opening on one side and
came face to face with the largest wolf he had ever seen in his
life. It was as high as his chest, with teeth like awls in a row,
and there was no hope of escape. Remembering his dream, he offered
the wolf his throat. Perhaps if the animal was not hungry, the two
might share the shelter awhile.
    He was much astonished when he heard the wolf say, “Your
grandfather’s brother was welcome here once.”
    Lifting his head, the young man looked around and found himself
in a temple with marble floors and pillars and a roof high
overhead, not the crossing branches of the hut he had seen from the
outside.
    “He asked for a sword,” said the wolf over his
shoulder as he padded away toward the fire in front of the
altar.
    The young man looked out the open doors of the temple at the
rain.
    “The bandits will expect you to have gold, and will kill
you if you don’t,” the wolf said. “Though, if you
have offended the goddess by leaving without her gift, your
problems with the bandits will be inconsequential.”
    Sighing, the young man moved to the fire. He could at least be
warm and dry. He found a tray of food waiting and made himself at
home. The wolf was surprisingly good company, telling stories of
the people who had come to the temple in the past. Some had taken
the gold, hoping to sneak past the bandits. Some had taken weapons
and then spent the rest of their lives fighting. The young man
played his pipes for the wolf and eventually lay down to sleep as
the rain fell outside. In the morning the goddess appeared to ask
him what gift from the temple he would choose.
    “Does anyone who takes the gold get to keep it?” he
asked. “Does everyone who takes the sword end up a
bandit?”
    The goddess smiled. “Everyone thinks he will be the
exception.”
    Morpos asked if he could have another day to think about it.
    “Tomorrow at dawn,” said the goddess, “you
must choose.”
    The young man talked things over with the wolf all day and slept
well that night. In the morning, when the goddess came and asked if
he had made a decision, he said he had.
    “Goddess, I must choose a gift from your
temple.”
    “There is no must,” said the goddess. “I offer
you a gift of your choice, and you may choose to
decline.”
    Morpos knew it was a foolish man who declined the gifts of the
gods.
    Morpos said, “Then I will take the wolf, if you
please.”
    The goddess smiled. She said, “You may take him with my
goodwill, but once he leaves the temple he will not be under my
power or yours. He may eat you.”
    “He may, but he may not. I cannot like my other choices,
and indeed, I believe he will not.”
    The goddess freed the wolf, and he did not eat Morpos. They
walked together out of the forest, the wolf warning the bandits
away with a wolfish grin and Morpos playing his pipes.
    In my dreams, I tasked my tutor. These stories always seem to me
to have more holes in them than story. Why did the temple look like
a hut on the outside? Did the goddess mean to trick Morpos?
Wasn’t the temple supposed to be in the middle of a forest?
Surely the young man would have noticed if he’d gone that
far. Why was the goddess giving away gifts anyway? And why would
someone who took a sword or a spear necessarily become a bandit?
Obviously it was so some lesson could be taught, but I found it
frustrating.
    I said, “Why didn’t Morpos ask the goddess to turn
him into a mouse or a wren so he could escape the bandits that
way?”
    “Maybe he was afraid she wouldn’t turn him
back.”
    The clear light of the library was slanting in through the
glass-paneled doorway to my right, falling on the table between my
tutor and me and on dust motes hung in the air. The tiny flecks
drew my eye, and I watched as they dipped and swirled in invisible
currents.
    “They are beautiful in the light, are they not?” my
tutor asked. They were, catching the sun and shining like