"How is she?" Schuttmann asked.
Lubos waved his hand at the bed. "See for yourself."
Schuttmann's expression said it all. "I am sorry we were too late to help her. I came to tell you that the king has given you permission to marry the girl, now she has spun to his satisfaction."
Lubos wasn't sure whether he wanted to laugh or cry. "She can't keep her eyes open long enough to speak the vows, and as long as she cannot eat anything without bringing it back up again, she cannot gain any strength. And to make matters worse, she's carrying our child!"
Schuttmann's eyebrows rose. "She is with child? My wife had terrible morning sickness with our first child. Couldn't eat a thing for weeks, and she didn't have the strength to leave her bed, either. I ate in your father's hall most nights, for she could not cook. When she carried our second child, she caught a chill, much like your girl here, and I thought I'd lose them both, but there's a witch who lives over on the south side of the mountain, and she has medicinal plants that grow nowhere else but her garden. I paid a fortune for some leaves from a plant called a rapunzel, which she said would help my wife to fight the illness. Watching my wife eat leaves like a rabbit, I thought it a foolish notion, until she began to improve. They say physicians and priests and prayer are all we should need for health, but sometimes we need to go back to the old ways, and the old gods, for witches know things that priests and physicians would never dream about."
Lubos stared at his sleeping lady. The lady who might never wake again. "Can you get this miraculous plant for me? I dare not leave her. Any moment might be her last."
Schuttmann shook his head. "Nay, that I cannot. Witches have their ways, and I dare not cross one. Whether a king or a commoner, if you want something from a witch, you must ask her yourself. It's half a day's ride – if you leave now, and ride through the night, you might be back in time to feed your lady leaves to break her fast on the morrow."
And if he did not, and she died during the night, he would never forgive himself. Lubos planted a kiss on her fevered brow, praying it would not be the last, and headed out of the room, towards the stables. He would find the witch, persuade her to part with the plant, and return on the morrow to save Molina. And when she recovered, he would marry her, like he'd promised.
Thirty-Five
Darkness had fallen by the time he arrived at the walls around the witch's garden. This had to be the place, for the rest of the mountain was covered in vineyards and these stone walls looked positively ancient. There was just one problem: the gates were closed, and no matter how loudly Lubos knocked or shouted, no one came to open them.
All his frustration and fury at losing Molina bubbled up. He'd ridden so far, willing to do anything to save her, and the witch wasn't about to let the crown prince of the realm she lived in through the gates?
To hell with that.
Lubos found a spot where the wall looked easier to climb, and started up. It had been some time since he'd climbed anything, but it was a skill, once learned, that a man never forgot. A handhold here, a toehold there, stretching for a new one, one limb at a time, until he could haul himself over the top of the wall.
From the surprisingly wide top, he had his pick of trees to climb down to reach the ground below. The garden stretched out as far as a vineyard in the moonlight, carved up into beds by myriad paths that went everywhere. It was a labyrinth with a thousand ways through to your destination – much like the capital, but with patches of plants where the buildings should be.
Each plot had a little post with a sign on top, that was surprisingly easy to read in the moonlight. It must be some sort of magic, Lubos realised, glancing around. What other spells lurked within these walls?
He was so intent on finding the sign with rapunzel on it that he nearly missed the right plot, for the sign said lamb's lettuce. He snorted to himself. Molina was correct, as usual. He peered at the sign again, and was surprised to see that it had changed so that it clearly said rapunzel. Magic for sure. Lubos shivered.
Well, whether it was rapunzel or lamb's lettuce, this was what he needed. He stooped to pick a handful, and the whole plant came up, like a turnip. He shook the soil free, then opened a sack and slipped the plant inside. He stared at the remaining plants for a long moment, debating whether he dared take more. For if one was not enough…he would not have time to ride back here for more.
In the end, he took three, reasoning that if one had been enough for Schuttmann's sick wife, then he would need at least two for Molina. Three…just in case.
He'd brought a bag of gold coins to trade for the plants, and he emptied the pouch into one of the holes he'd left, as payment. Though he'd climbed the wall at night and taken the plants without asking the owner, he was a prince and a man of honour, not a thief. That much gold would feed a family for a year. More than enough payment for three plants.
Tying the sack shut, he flung it over his shoulder. Now he had another decision to make: back over the wall, the way he'd come, or through the gate, which surely opened from the inside?
Leaving the gate open would surely alert the witch that she'd had a visitor, but Lubos had never intended his visit to be a secret. She'd know once she reached the rapunzel beds, regardless.
He strode confidently toward the gate, holding tight to his precious sack of plants.
Only to find a figure stood in his way.
The witch lifted her lantern. "Who dares steal from Mistress Kun?"
Lubos swallowed. "I am Crown Prince Lubos, heir to the king, and I have left fair payment for the plants I took. Let me pass, for a woman's life depends on them."
The witch did not budge. "I decide what is a fair price, not you." Her eyes seemed to glow blue in the darkness. "What is it you have taken? Ah, the rapunzel. You lie, Prince. More than one life depends on the plants you hold."
Lubos hung his head. "'Tis true. The woman I love is carrying our child. We were betrothed to be married, but she has fallen ill, and I fear for her life." He paused, then added, "And for the child."
"What is this woman's life worth to you?" the witch demanded.
"She is worth more to me than everything I own, including my own life," Lubos said without hesitation.
"What would you give me, if I let you leave with your pilfered plants, and my solemn promise to you that both the woman and her child will live long and healthy lives?"
For Molina? "Anything," he said.
The witch smiled and named a terrible price.
Thirty-Six
"That's the last of the lamb's lettuce. I hope it is enough, for we have no more," Lubos said. He sounded…cheerful.
Molina struggled to open her eyes. They felt as heavy as the rest of her, as though they had not moved in far too long. Her hand flew to her belly, checking that it still swelled with the child growing inside her. She lived, and Lubos was home. She blinked against the bright morning light, and came face to face with a plate of leaves.
Lamb's lettuce, her mind supplied. She'd never liked it in the past, but now she had the most irresistible craving to devour every last leaf. She reached for it.
"It worked!" Large, warm hands seized hers, and a man's bearded face loomed alarmingly close for a moment until she recognised Lubos beneath the scrubby beard. Then he kissed her.
She batted him away weakly. "It scratches," she complained.
"I'll shave immediately," he promised, then stopped. "Though I should feed you first."
Molina waved her hand. "I can manage these leaves. You…get rid of that horrible hedge."
He laughed and bowed low. "As my lady commands."
She'd almost finished her salad by the time a servant came with warm water and soap, so Molina sat back and watched Lubos shave in the bronze mirror by the window. Her heart soared to see him again. All the darkness…all that drudgery…but that was done now. It must be, for she was back in his chambers, just as the guard captain had promised.
"Molina, can you tell me what happened? Why you were in
that barn full of baskets and balls?" Lubos' eyes gazed at her from his reflection.
She swallowed. She could lie and say she did not remember, but she was no coward. She could not shrink from the truth, especially when Lubos asked for it.
So she told him about the tower room, and the barn, and the spindle he'd given his father that inspired the king's commands. To her surprise, even as she told him about her exhaustion, the pain in her hands from working all hours, and every hardship she had endured, the weight on her shoulders seemed to lessen. Almost as if her ordeal no longer had the power to hurt her.
When Lubos sat beside her on the bed and pulled her into his arms, she did not resist. She'd craved his embrace for longer than she'd wanted those leaves, and she loved him. Loved him with all her heart and soul. And when her body had healed, she'd love him again with that, too.
If he forgave her for what she'd done.
Reluctantly, she pulled away from him. "There is more. The spindle you gave your father wasn't ordinary thread. It was gold thread, pure gold."
"That's not possible," Lubos said. "No one can spin flax into gold. You told me that. Gold comes from selling the linen…"
Oh, how his thoughts mirrored what her own had been. But no more. "Without magic, yes. But there was a man. That first day I managed to get the spinning wheel working, he came into my workroom. Just walked in, and I first thought he was you. He…he begged to me to break some curse, saying I was the only one who could, and some seer had told him so. He begged me to come with him to do it, and I refused. He offered me all the wealth I would ever need, so I would never need to spin again, and placed his hands on my spindle. The one you took to your father. And then he heard you coming, and he walked through the floor, just as you came in. I barely believed my own eyes, for how could a man walk through solid stone without magic?"
Lubos nodded. "You seemed…agitated, but you told me you were excited at having the wheel working."
"It was true. I was excited. And then he came in, said nonsensical things, and left. I thought perhaps I had gone mad, and did not wish you to know you had promised to marry a madwoman, so I did not tell you. Not that you gave me much time. You were so excited, you grabbed the spindles off my wheel and took them to your father. All filled with gold thread."
Molina took a deep breath. "I did not notice it was gold. Neither did you, I assume. But your father did, and after you left…he had the guard captain take me to a room filled with flax, and he told me to spin. I did, spinning until my fingers cramped and I could scarcely see straight, until every spindle was full of fine linen thread. I'd worked a miracle – doing a week's work in a day, but it was not enough for the king. He had a spindle of gold thread, and my work wasn't done until I'd spun it all into gold."
Lubos gritted his teeth. "My father will rot in hell for this, I swear it!"
Molina hushed him. What happened to the king after his death was no business of hers, and the same fate might await her, too, for what she'd done. And she still hadn't told Lubos yet. "The strange man appeared, walking through the locked door as though it wasn't even there. He asked me if I'd thought about his offer, and I…I lied, told him I was still considering it, but I would be able to think better once he'd turned the thread to gold, just like he had the other one the day before. All he had to do was touch the thread, and it turned to gold. It was…magic, truly. I was allowed to return to your chamber to sleep, but the next day, I was marched to the tower room again, and forced to spin again. Once more, the man appeared, and begged me to break his curse, which was to turn all he touched into gold, but I told him I could not until he had turned all the flax, too."
A sob caught in her throat, and Molina took a moment to wipe away her tears before she could continue.
"The next morning, the guard captain took me across town, down to the big warehouses by the river. It was full of flax – more than I could spin in a year, without the spinning wheel. I protested that no one could complete this task, and the captain told me the king's command was that I had two choices. I could spin this flax into gold, and when I was finished, I would be allowed to marry his son. Or I could refuse, and I would be executed for daring to disobey the king." She swallowed. "I had no choice, so I sat down and spun. It was not so bad at first, for some of the flax was poorly combed, and not suitable for spinning. Enough to make a bed for me on the first night, and one of the guards brought me food and drink. But one day the food did not smell quite right, and some strange sickness seemed to stop me from rising from my bed. I could not…could not keep food down, nor water. This went on for some days, until I was too weak to move. I think I slept, but I do not know. I awoke to find the strange man kneeling beside me, coaxing me to eat. For I had to break his curse, he said, and I could not break it unless I lived."
Lubos held out his arms. "I am so sorry, my lady. I should have been here, to defend you from strange men and from my father."
Molina shook her head, refusing the comfort he offered. He did not know everything yet. "He fed me, and he did my work for me, spinning that flax into golden thread. He wore gloves when he fed me, but when he spun, he took them off. It was the touch of his bare hands that turned things to gold. I saw it happen with my own eyes so many times, I could not doubt it. And then in the middle of it all, he demanded I repay him for his hard work, and break the curse. I was forced to admit that I was not a witch, and I did not know how to break a curse, but I told him it was his cursed hands that had landed me in this mess, and if he did not spin all the flax into gold like that first spindle, then his hands would be triply cursed with my blood, and that of my unborn child."
Now she wept freely, for she knew she would lose Lubos when he learned what she had done.
"When I told him about our child, his anger faded, like clouds after a storm. He muttered something about how it must be the child, not me. And he refused to finish the work he'd started, unless I promised to give him the child. Our baby. He swore he would care for her as though she was his own daughter, in a castle just as grand as this, but if I did not, then I was cursing him and his son to death, and my death, and that of my daughter, would be on my head, and not his."
Lubos closed his eyes. "You accepted his offer, and promised him the child."
Molina nodded, tears coursing down her cheeks, as words deserted her.
"Curse my father to hell for forcing you to make such a terrible choice. I wish I could thank your stranger for helping you when I could not, but perhaps there is time for that yet, for he will come to take the child when the baby is born, will he not?" Lubos asked. He seemed far too calm. He should be cursing her, not accepting this. She had given away their child to save her own worthless life.
Lubos pulled her into his arms, and kissed the top of her head. "Do not worry about it. Rest, recover, and think only of our wedding, which will be as soon as you are strong enough to leave this bed. When the man returns, I will defend you, and the baby. He shall not take the child from you, I swear."
Molina sniffled and stared up into his eyes. Lubos was a man of honour, who did not break his oaths. For him to swear such a thing… "You are too good for me," she whispered.
Lubos did not reply, but he leaned down to kiss her, wrapping her arms more tightly around her, and for that moment, she forgot everything but the love they shared.
Thirty-Seven
A baby's cry roused Abraham from a sound sleep. "Has your time come already?" he mumbled, forcing his eyes open.
But the eyes he met were not those of the princess. They were accusing, and they belonged to Chase.
"Why aren't you protecting Maja?" Abraham grumbled, rising.
"Because her time came early. She stumbled on the steps and fell. She bled so much, it was a miracle they managed to save the baby. Isaak, she called him. The son you do not deserve." Chase pointed.
Abraham's gaze followed the direction of his brother in law's finger, to where a strange woman held a baby to her breast. "Maja?" It couldn't be.
Abraham hung his head. "I have not broken the curse yet. I do not know for certain which princess –" He stopped as realisation dawned. The girl he'd found spinning was not a princess, for she had yet to marry the prince. But the child she carried... "The princess has not been born yet," he breathed, so softly he wasn't sure Chase heard.
Chase made an exasperated sound. "You have pinned your hopes on a princess and a witch? You are an even bigger fool than I thought."
"The girl's mother has promised to give the child to me the moment she is born. She will – "
"You have a child! Your son! You need to care for him, not some royal bastard you have stolen!" Chase roared.
"You must…engage a wet nurse. She can care for the boy. While we watch and wait for the princess to give birth. I mean…the lady. The prince's bride. And the baby will…."
"Wail and cry and be of little use, as all babies are until they grow up! You truly have lost your wits."
Abraham stared at his brother in law. "The princess will save my son. She is the only one who can. Have faith, my friend, and all will be revealed in time." He wanted to believe his own words, but for the first time, he feared he would not live to see his prediction come true. For the princess might be the only one who could break the curse…but it might be many years before she could. Years he did not have.
"We will watch and wait," Abraham said with finality. What more could he do?
Thirty-Eight
Molina woke slowly, revelling in the feeling of Lubos' warm body pressed against her back as he reached around her to cup her breasts. "More, my lady wife?" he whispered in her ear.
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