Free SEVERED (A Tale of Sleepy Hollow) by Dax Varley

magnificent?”
    “He’s…different.”
    “To put it mildly.”
She fluttered her lashes and sighed. “He’s so handsome and gallant and…and…”
    “Delicious?”
    “Sinfully. And
look what he brought me.” She opened the satchel and brought out his copy of The
Thousand and One Nights: Persian Tales.
    I took it from her
and flipped through the vellum pages, awing at the sketches inside. Women
peering through veils. Men in plumed turbans. Majestic palaces with spiral
domes.“What a generous gift.” Exceedingly generous.
    Her mouth
twitched. “Not a gift exactly. He loaned it to me. But he said the tales should
play to my romantic nature.”
    “Oh. He’s speaking
of romance already?” A pang of envy pricked my heart.
    “Not directly. But
perhaps he feels it’s too soon to profess his love.”
    I suppressed a
smile. “Perhaps.” I handed the book back and she gazed on it with love in her
eyes.
    “Have you read any
of the stories?” I asked.
    “Just the
prologue.” She opened to it. “It tells of a king, whose name I can’t
pronounce.” She pointed and I read Shahrayar . What a name. My tongue
would stumble over it too.
    “This king,” she
continued, “brought young virgins to his bed each night, and then the next
morning he’d have them executed.”
    “What? That’s
horrific! And not exactly what I’d deem exotic.”
    “Wait.” She
pointed to another word. “This woman –” I read the name Shahazad. “ –
came to him. She’d devised a plan to stop the killings. Each night she’d tell
him a story, but never finish it – always leaving him curious as to what
happens next.” Elise’s eyes bloomed with delight. “After a year had passed, the
king grew to love her and her stories. He spared her life and kept her
as his queen.” She sighed.
    “And you find that
romantic?”
    “Don’t you?”
    “Of course not.
The man slaughtered all those young virgins and was never punished for it?
That’s outrageous.”
    Elise slumped,
tilting her head. “Kat, it’s not a true account.”
    “But even the most
fantastical fiction should reflect real life in some way. Why was there not an
uprising? Surely the fathers of those girls would have conspired revenge.”
    Elise pushed my
brocade dress aside and plopped down on the bed. “I’m sure this is why Ichabod
gave the book to me and not you. He knew I wouldn’t try to rewrite it.”
    She had a fair
point. It was a valuable piece of literature. Who was I to pick it apart?
“You’re right.” I held up my hands in surrender. “Maybe we can read some of the
stories together.”
    “Only if you
promise not to crusade against each one.”
    “Cross my heart.”
    She gazed upon the
treasured item. “Where is Persia?”
    “A very long way
from here.” I hopped up, took her hand, and tugged her to a standing position.
“The fires are ready.” Then we hurried outside to the kettles and racks.
    Elise snipped the
string while I attached it to the hooks. “I want to hear about your dinner with Ichabod,” she said.
    “I assure you, it
was not as perfect as yours,” I teased.
    “I never said mine
was perfect. You’re forgetting, my stupid little brothers were there. They
dominated every conversation, badgering him with questions about school. ‘Will
the assignments be difficult?’ ‘Will you allow us some play time?” And Dirk had
the audacity to ask, ‘Will you be adding a whipping post?’”
    I blurted a laugh.
“Ichabod prefers bargaining over beating.”
    Her eyebrows rose.
“You must’ve learned a great deal about him.”
    “Just that he’s
unconventional in his thinking.” And a breath of fresh air.
    She helped me
lower the first group of strings into the wax. “And that’s what I love about
him,” she uttered.
    “It’s an admirable
trait.” But there was so much more of Ichabod to discover… if I wasn’t
sailing away.
    We placed the
strings onto the rack.
    “Did he bring one
of his stories to share?” she