Rumpelstiltskin (Timeless Fairy Tales Book 4)

by K. M. Shea

  Chapter 8

  Lady Linnea snored and rolled over in her sleep. It was dawn. Usually she was up by now, practicing sword techniques with the fireplace poker. But last night she stayed awake much longer than she meant to, fretting about Gemma.

  How was Gemma getting the gold thread? Could she really get it a second time? How could she be smuggled out? These thoughts tormented Lady Linnea into the wee hours of the morning.

  So it was to Lady Linnea’s great chagrin that she didn’t wake up until something tapped the glass pane of her window.

  Lady Linnea, about as picturesque as a ruined soufflé, picked her head off her goose-feather pillow. “What?” she said, smacking her lips several times. When she noticed the dark shape crouched by her window, she had a dagger in her hands in an instant.

  The figure tapped on the window before pressing his face against the frosted pane. “Lady Linnea, it’s me,” Prince Toril said. “Could you let me in—YIKES,” he yelped when he nearly fell off the roof on which he was crouched.

  Lady Linnea threw on a robe and stalked across the cold room. “I never think you can get more idiotic, but somehow every time I see you, you manage it,” she said, opening the window and grabbing the struggling prince by his cloak, dragging him into her room.

  “You are absolutely mad,” Lady Linnea declared, shutting the window behind him. “First of all, you could break your skinny neck by climbing two stories in the frost and cold. Secondly, do you have any idea what will happen if our parents hear about this? Please try to use your head, however small it may be, and think for once.”

  “I did,” Prince Toril said, picking himself up off the ground with an injured look. “I thought you would want to know what happened to that servant girl of yours. I can see now that I was wrong,” he stiffly said.

  Lady Linnea sighed, exhaling the fight and stiffness out of her body. “No, you are right. I apologize; I am very eager to hear about Gemma, and I am sorry for abusing you so. What happened?” Lady Linnea asked, clasping her hands together as she feared the worst.

  “She did it again,” Prince Toril said.

  “She what?”

  “She spun all the flax into gold thread. I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t seen it myself, but she did it,” Prince Toril said with a puppy smile.

  Lady Linnea sat down hard in an armchair. “She did it,” she repeated.

  “Do you know how she’s managing it?” Prince Toril asked.

  “No,” Lady Linnea said, relief making her lightheaded. “I asked her about it—she said a mage broke into her room and did it for her.”

  “That can’t be,” Prince Toril frowned. “There aren’t any mages in the area. At least, none have presented themselves at the palace—and they always do.”

  Lady Linnea shrugged. “I don’t care how she does it as long as she is alive. This is marvelous!” Lady Linnea said, sagging in her chair.

  “Not quite,” Prince Toril said.

  “What do you mean?”

  The prince shrugged uncomfortably. “My father.”

  “What of him?”

  Prince Toril shrugged. “I don’t think he’s ever going to release her.”

  “He can’t keep her in the dungeons forever,” Lady Linnea said.

  “No, but he will try to think of a reason to keep her chained to him so she will spin gold whenever he wants it,” Prince Toril said. “I believe we could potentially help her escape, but now—especially after the large amount of gold she spun last night—my father would create a bloodbath among his guards and hold them responsible for it.”

  “Oh,” Lady Linnea said, drooping further.

  “Furthermore, this maid—,”

  “She’s my seamstress.”

  “This seamstress of yours will never be safe in Verglas—not as long as Father is alive. If we manage to free her without getting all the guards killed, she will have to flee across the border.”

  Lady Linnea bit her lip and looked west. “The Kozlovka border is closest to Ostfold.”

  “It would be better if we sent her to Loire or, ideally, Arcainia. My father would never dare to reach for her there after last year’s episode with Princess Elise,” Prince Toril said.

  Lady Linnea stared at Prince Toril, shocked by his moment of brilliance. “Yes,” she said before brightening again. “You could take her and then go to romance that princess of yours.”

  “Maybe,” Prince Toril slowly agreed. “But I think it would be best if I stayed behind to clean up the mess my father will make. Will you go?”

  “No. My parents hardly let me out of the house. I could never talk them into allowing me to leave the country,” Lady Linnea sighed. “But it makes no difference. I could send a servant with her, or Gemma will survive on her own for a time. She’s a smart girl, and much more clever than I am,” Lady Linnea said. “What?” she asked when she noticed the odd look Prince Toril gave her.

  “I don’t think I have ever heard a person say their servant is more clever than they are,” Prince Toril said.

  Lady Linnea shrugged. “Gemma is fiendishly smart. Although I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong impression! In a situation that requires weapons, I would perform far better than her,” she said with a proud smile as she stood.

  “I see,” Prince Toril said.

  Lady Linnea pulled her robe tighter around her waist when she heard someone rustling in the room next door. “You have to leave—someone will be by shortly to tend the fire.”

  “Ah, right! Of course,” Prince Toril said, retreating to the windows. “Do we continue with your plan to purchase flax?”

  “Yes,” Lady Linnea said, glancing over her shoulder. “I mean to visit Gemma this afternoon. Will you be available after lunch?”

  “Yes. I’ll wait for you on the shores of Lake Sno?”

  Lady Linnea nodded and flipped her tangled blonde hair over her shoulders. “Until then. Now get out!” she said.

  “Yes, yes,” Prince Toril said. He opened a window and slipped out. He climbed across the roof and down the side of the manor with surprising agility.

  When he dropped to the frost-covered grass and raised a hand to wave to Lady Linnea, the young lady called, glancing around guiltily to watch for servants. “Prince Toril?”

  “Yes?”

  “Thank you.”

  “For buying the flax?”

  “No, for coming,” Lady Linnea said.

  Prince Toril bowed. When he straightened, Lady Linnea heard a tap on the door. She waved to the prince before hastily shutting the window and pulling the drapes to cover it.

  “Come in,” she said, before preparing herself for the day.

  “When Mama heard about the rumors, she called the steward, head maid, housekeeper, and chief footman and told them if she ever heard such silliness about you being spread through the house again, they should plan on seeking employment elsewhere. Of course everyone knows Malfrid is the one who started the rumors. I don’t know why Mama has retained her thus far. She is as sour as a skunk,” Lady Linnea said, her voice dripping with disgust.

  Gemma finished sewing the seam that attached a piece of black wool to a liner of midnight-blue silk. “I’m happy to hear Lady Lovland defends me, even though I am no longer a Lovland employee,” Gemma said, rolling the fabrics so the new piece was no longer inside-out but outside-out.

  “What?” Lady Linnea yelped, banging her elbow on the grate of the ceiling-window. “What do you mean ‘no longer a Lovland employee’?”

  “Exactly what it sounds. I am not a Lovland employee. How can I be, locked up as I am?” Gemma said, her eyebrows furrowed as she shaped the fabric piece into a hood. “I hope it is deep enough. He does enjoy covering his face,” she said, placing the hood on her head to be certain the rim fell low over her face—it did.

  Lady Linnea didn’t hear Gemma’s mutters as she was too busy squawking. “But! You just—who cares if you are locked up!”

  “I can hardly make dresses for you in this situation
, My Lady.”

  Lady Linnea eyed Gemma like a curious songbird. “But you are making some sort of…thing right now. You could do the same for me!” the young lady said, puffing out her chest. She thought for a moment before adding, “Not that I expect you to. I imagine sewing for someone else is the last thing you wish to do right now. But, you can’t just…What will I do without you?” Lady Linnea protested, peeking down through the window grille

  “I wouldn’t worry about it just yet, My Lady,” Gemma said, setting the hood aside to eye the pieces she had already cut for the body of the cape.

  The soldiers were quicker to retrieve the material than Gemma had hoped. She had placed her “order” the previous day, and they brought it to her when they delivered her dinner tray that same evening.

  “What do you mean?” Lady Linnea asked.

  “No one knows what is going to happen to me,” Gemma grunted as she matched up pieces. “King Torgen might imprison me for life, or he might have me killed on a whim. My future is extremely unstable,” Gemma said, sounding unbothered by her tumultuous life as she selected a piece of wool and silk. “This lining is going to take ages to sew.”

  “You will live,” Lady Linnea sternly said, shaking a finger at Gemma. “And for now, Toril and I have bought every scrap of flax in the city. King Torgen is being forced to look outside Ostfold, so we have bought you at least a week, possibly longer.”

  “Oh? So it’s just Toril now, is it?” Gemma asked, lifting an eyebrow as she threaded a needle.

  “You are reading too deeply,” Lady Linnea said, blushing a faint pink. “I could call him the Idiot, but that hardly seems respectful.”

  “I see,” Gemma said.

  “You don’t sound convinced,” Lady Linnea said.

  “That would be because I am not.”

  “Gemma!” Lady Linnea scoffed and made snorting noises like an angry horse.

  Gemma unwound black thread from the spool and started the first few stitches of the piece before she straightened it out and jabbed some of the extra sewing needles in strategic locations to keep the piece straight.

  “I’m glad you seem to be doing well,” Lady Linnea said when she was through being flustered. “I worried when you were first imprisoned. You had lost much of your spirit.”

  “Imminent death often does that to a person,” Gemma said.

  “I know that,” Lady Linnea rolled her eyes. “What I meant is…you are you again. The fight is back in your words. I’m glad,” Lady Linnea said.

  Gemma stopped sewing long enough to peer up at Lady Linnea through the barred window and give the lady a reassuring smile. “Thank you,” she said.

  Thank you for caring.

  Understanding what was unsaid, Lady Linnea ruffled her cloak and shifted her seat on the chilly grate. “Of course,” she said. “You might also note I’m valiantly not asking who the cloak is for,” Lady Linnea added.

  “The mage,” Gemma said.

  “I told you already that you don’t need to make up stories. No matter how you’re getting the gold, I would not be angry,” Lady Linnea said.

  “Uh-huh,” Gemma said.

  “I wouldn’t be mad even if I learned you had a beau here in the castle. Especially if he is slipping the gold to you,” Lady Linnea said. “Is it one of the guards?”

  “Nobody is courting me, My Lady.”

  “Right,” Lady Linnea said. She looked to Gemma’s project with undisguised curiosity before she sighed. “I need to go.”

  “Do you have a meeting scheduled with Prince Toril, again?”

  “No,” Lady Linnea said, wrinkling her nose at Gemma. “Worse: I have embroidery practice.”

  “Ah. Good luck.”

  “Thank you. I shall need it,” Lady Linnea said.

  “Take care, My Lady.”

  “You too! Do not hesitate to tell me if you need anything,” Lady Linnea said before scrambling out of sight. “Goodbye!” she said, popping back into view as she climbed the wall like a deft squirrel.

  Gemma shook her head and kept sewing.

  Gemma was tying off her thread a day later when the door clanked open. “Yes?” Gemma said when she looked up and realized the guard—Foss—didn’t have any food with him.

  Foss adjusted his helm. “The Captain said—if you like—Rudd and I are to take you outside for a walk.”

  Gemma stared at the guard.

  “He said you might appreciate the fresh air,” Foss added. “Would you like to?”

  “Yes, please,” Gemma said, hastily standing. She folded the long pieces of the cape, stacked them in the corner of her cell, and grabbed her cloak before joining Foss at the door.

  Foss backed up into the dungeon aisle, where another guard—Rudd assumedly—waited. “This way, Miss,” Rudd said, his voice a deep, rumbling noise. He led the way to the dungeon stairs, and Foss brought up the rear behind Gemma.

  “Where would you like to go, Miss?” Foss asked. “The kitchens? The library?”

  “The gardens,” Gemma said, throwing the cloak over her shoulders in preparation for the cool air.

  Foss hesitated. “It’s quite cold out,” he said.

  “I’ll be fine,” Gemma said. “And I promise I will not run.”

  “We know, Miss,” Rudd rumbled.

  Neither of the soldiers said anything more as they led Gemma through the twisting palace, popping out a small door that Gemma supposed—based on its close proximity to a weapon storage room—was a guard entrance and exit.

  The fall air had cooled considerably. Gemma’s dungeon window was sheltered, so the bitter wind that yanked at Gemma’s cloak and clothes was a shock.

  “Are you sure you want to be out here?” Foss shouted over the howling wind.

  “Yes. Is there a more protected area?” Gemma asked.

  “This way,” Foss said, beckoning.

  Gemma followed Foss and Rudd into a tiny, narrow courtyard nestled into the castle that still afforded a view of Lake Sno and, if one stuck their head out of the protected area, Ostfold.

  “Thank you,” Gemma said, pulling her borrowed cape closer, able to speak at a regular volume in chilly but sheltered courtyard.

  Foss nodded in acknowledgment.

  Gemma itched her nose as she looked out over the beautiful lake. Her expression thoughtful, she extended her finger and pointed past the lake, to the area where the mountains flattened into the Kozlovka border. “The first night I was ordered to spin, I saw some of the Snow Queen’s magic activate there. Do you have any idea what it was?”

  “Ah, yeah, that,” Foss said. “The night watch saw it too. Some guards were dispatched in the morning to investigate it. They found—what was it, Rudd?”

  “Hellhound,” the second guard supplied.

  “Yeah, hellhound tracks and horse hoof-prints,” Foss said.

  “A hellhound?” Gemma said.

  “Yep. I haven’t heard of one coming so far north in ages,” Foss said. “Of course it will never get into Verglas,” he was quick to add.

  “Why do you ask?” Rudd wanted to know.

  “It just seemed…unusual,” Gemma said.

  Foss squinted up at the cloudy sky. “Yeah,” he said. “Oh, the captain said we were to tell you that you can expect at least two weeks before the King will be ready for you to spin again.”

  “Two weeks?” Gemma said.

  “All the flax in the area has been bought up and shipped south. The King has to buy it in small loads—some of it isn’t even correctly prepared, yet,” Foss said.

  “I see,” Gemma said.

  “The King was purple with rage when the news was given to him,” Rudd said.

  “Especially when he received a written offer from Princess Elise of Arcainia. Prince Falk has come up with a new type of flax, which she offered to sell a load of,” Foss said.

  “He ripped that letter up and threw it in the fire,” Foss added.

  Gemma grinned. “Thank you for the news,” she said, pushing her hair ou
t of her face.

  “Sure thing,” Foss said. He hesitated, and rested his hand on the pommel of the sword strapped to his waist.

  Gemma slid her hands under the cape and waited for the soldier to build up his courage.

  “If you don’t mind my asking…what are you making with that fabric?” Foss finally asked.

  “A cape.”

  “For?” This time it was Rudd who asked.

  Gemma inhaled the frigid air, her shoulders bunching up before she exhaled and relaxed. “Someone to whom I owe a great debt.”

  “I hear the guards are allowing you out for walks,” Stil said the following day. He sat on top of the ceiling-window grille, blocking some of the cold air.

  “They call it ‘airing me out,’” Gemma said, holding the mage’s ruby heat charm in her hands.

  “It is kind of them.”

  “Yes,” Gemma agreed. “Do you recall the first night you helped me, and we saw some of the Snow Queen’s magic?”

  “Yes.”

  “I asked them about it. They found hellhound tracks right on the border.”

  “Were there horse hoof-prints too?”

  “…Yes,” Gemma was slow to respond. “How did you know?”

  “Lucky guess,” Stil sighed, thumping his fist on his knee. “Did the guards bring you more blankets?” Stil asked, gesturing to the pile of wool and silk.

  “No,” Gemma said. She refrained from offering a more detailed explanation.

  Stil half smiled at the blatant cold-shoulder and pursued a different conversation topic. “How soon do you think the King will parade you out for more gold?”

  “Two weeks or so,” Gemma said.

  “More intelligence from the guards?”

  “Yes.”

  “I see. I am glad they have become closer allies since your return.”

  “Yes,” Gemma said, glancing at the empty tray on which Rudd had served her dinner. She thought for a moment, “I apologize, did you want something to eat?”

  “No, not at all. I already ate, and the hour is late,” Stil said.

  Gemma rustled in her nest of blankets. “Thank you for coming,” she said, resting her clamped hands on her feet as the ruby charm pumped heat through her body.