Rumpelstiltskin (Timeless Fairy Tales Book 4)

by K. M. Shea

  “I’m not surprised, looking at your sparkling parentage,” Lady Linnea said, stopping their stroll down the hallway. “Allow me to rephrase it. A friendship is filled only with as much love as you give. Gemma has my heart because I chose to give it to her. And my choice paid off, because there is no one in this horrible, tattered world that I trust more than Gemma Kielland. And so we are two best friends, walking together to achieve what neither of us could do alone. Do you understand it now?”

  Prince Toril wore a very sad smile, one that pained Lady Linnea to see on the normally sunny—if not slightly dopey—prince’s face. “Princess Elise said something similar to me, once.”

  “Oh?”

  “She said she wasn’t the only woman capable of deep love, and that before I found such a woman who would love me like that, I had to learn how to give that kind of love, too,” Prince Toril said. “She meant the give-and-take loyalty you’re talking about, didn’t she?”

  “Yes,” Lady Linnea said.

  “I see it, now,” Prince Toril said, looking up at the ceiling. “You have given me much to think about, Lady Linnea,” he said when he finally lowered his gaze.

  “I am glad. I would rather have you learn about it now, Toril, than to continue in ignorance,” Lady Linnea said.

  “Yes. I think so, too…” Prince Toril trailed off before he shook himself, putting a smile back on his face. “In any case, I will show you a way out. I have an appointment with a Farset ambassador that I will be late for if I do not hurry. This way.”

  “Yes, My Lord.”

  “I’ve brought your lunch, Miss Kielland,” Børres said, setting her tray down. “Meatcakes, carrots, and potatoes.”

  “Thank you, Børres,” Gemma said, smiling at the guard.

  “You’re welcome. The captain said I was to tell you that tonight the King will have you spin again,” Børres said, apologetically bobbing like a duck on rough water.

  Gemma nodded, expecting as much. “Thank you for the warning.”

  “Of course, miss. Enjoy your lunch,” Børres said, slipping out of the dungeon.

  Gemma sighed and felt for the braid of black and silver thread she had tied around her neck, cradling Stil’s heat charm and magic thimble.

  It had been several nights, and he hadn’t yet returned. Should she call him?

  “It seems my timing is perfect, then.”

  Gemma looked up to find Stil relaxing next to the ceiling grate, looking as if he had been there for the past few minutes.

  “Sir Mage, how was your journey?” Gemma asked.

  “It didn’t go quite as I planned,” he said, adjusting his hood so it fell lower, although he gave Gemma a lopsided smile. “But I am alive and in once piece, and I returned at the perfect hour.”

  “So it would seem.”

  “Unfortunately I must go. I came only to tell you that I am back,” the mage said.

  “Thank you. Oh—here,” Gemma said, trying to untangle the ruby heat charm.

  “Keep it for now. You can give it to me when I see you tonight,” Stil said. “And you might want to ask the guards for some shutters if the King is going to keep you cooped up here,” he added before slipping from the ledge, disappearing from sight.

  With the mage gone, Gemma turned her attention to the black wool cape folded and stowed in the corner. “I wonder if I have enough time to finish it before tonight…”

  Chapter 11

  Gemma carried the nearly finished wool cape—she had a little embroidery left on one shoulder—as well as her own cloak, the last of the silver thread she would need, her needles, and the mittens and various weaponry Lady Linnea had smuggled in.

  A guard—Foss—had warned her before they left the cell that she would want her cloak.

  Gemma had wondered why, but now—as the guards escorted her through the chilly wind and a few snowflakes fell—she understood.

  The guards led her outside the castle, to a tall, crumbling tower that was separated from the palace and pushed into the forest border. The men wrestled the door open and nudged Gemma inside.

  The interior of the tower was just as shabby as the exterior. The floor was smooth stone—worn from age and use, not from excellent craftsmanship—and the tower stretched so high the ceiling disappeared into darkness. Torches were posted on the walls, casting a cheerful glow that the tower couldn’t absorb. There were windows—barred of course. A few retained the original glass panes, but most had been broken over the ages and were badly boarded up so the whistling wind still managed to pry in through cracks and holes.

  The tower felt similar to the palace dungeons in that it oozed with dark feelings. However, while the dungeons felt oppressive, the tower was soaked with desperation and sadness.

  Part of that might have been its contents.

  Piled everywhere, in stacks taller than Gemma, were bundles of flax fibers.

  A crew of spinners wouldn’t be able to spin the immense amount of flax King Torgen had stock-piled. It was possible that Stil wouldn’t be able to save Gemma this time.

  Standing in front of the sea of flax were King Torgen and Prince Toril.

  “Gemma Kielland,” King Torgen said, the sags under his eyes and the too-sharp plains of his face were dark, giving him a fiendish look.

  Gemma clutched the wool cape closer and bobbed a curtsey.

  “Tonight, you will spin all this flax into gold,” King Torgen said, gesturing to the piles and piles of flax. “And if you don’t, I will have you beheaded. If you do succeed, you will marry me and become Queen of Verglas.”

  Gemma paused. “I beg your pardon, My Lord?”

  “If you manage to finish all the spinning, you will be my queen,” King Torgen said. His sick smile said he knew Gemma would not enjoy this.

  “What if I do not wish to, My Lord?” Gemma asked.

  The guards tensed, worried the king would retaliate, but he only laughed. “Tonight’s outcome has very little to do with what you wish, Gemma Kielland. If you can spin flax into gold I will see you chained to me, even if it means I must put the shackles on you myself. You could marry Toril, the coward, if you wished.”

  Gemma took a step back, repulsed. To marry the mad king—a man who would plot to have her killed? Or to marry his son and become the daughter-in-law to such a twisted creature? Who knew what atrocities he would carry out? He left Toril alone, but Gemma doubted King Torgen would leave her be, no matter whom she married.

  King Torgen laughed at Gemma’s look of revulsion.

  “Choose wisely, Gemma Kielland, lest you regret it,” King Torgen said, strolling to the door. His path took him close to Gemma. He leaned into her, his breath reeking of decay. “Guards will be posted outside. They will bring you to me tomorrow, as my bride, or one on death-row.”

  “No,” Gemma said, her voice strong.

  King Torgen narrowed his eyes. “No?”

  “No, there will be no guards posted outside the tower. The lower windows are glass; they could easily look in. My…skill will raise a ruckus, and no one may hear the noises I make or—,”

  “The flax will not turn into gold. I am aware of your little ruse, Gemma Kielland. The guards stay,” King Torgen said, grabbing a chunk of Gemma’s wild hair and pulling.

  “Then you will not get so much as a strand of gold from me,” Gemma said, her voice strong and her posture confident in spite of her prickling scalp.

  “Don’t play games you cannot win, girl,” King Torgen growled, pulling harder.

  Gemma ignored her pain and met King Torgen’s glare with the presence of a commanding general. “After tonight, I will have spun enough gold to pay off half the country’s debts, and you are ripping me from my family and friends to bring me into yours. No guards. That is my price for the deeds you have forced from me.”

  King Torgen’s upper lip curled back in a sneer. He released Gemma’s hair and pushed her backwards.

  “As you wish,” King Torgen said with a pseudo-pleasant smile. “No guards will st
and on duty tonight.”

  King Torgen swept outdoors, the wind yanking on his clothes and hair.

  “I’m sorry,” Prince Toril said before he followed his father outside.

  “Are you alright, Miss Kielland?” the guard captain asked when the door ominously slammed shut.

  Gemma took in a shaky breath but set her shoulders and chin. “Yes,” she said, her voice strong. “Will he keep his bargain?”

  “You mean will he refrain from posting guards? I think so. His anger indicates he will,” the captain said.

  Gemma nodded. “Thank you.”

  “Are you going to escape?” Foss asked.

  “I don’t know,” Gemma honestly replied.

  The guards exchanged glances and nodded.

  “It’s been a pleasure to be in your service,” the captain said as his men saluted Gemma. “I wish it could have been under different circumstances.”

  “Thank you for your kindness,” Gemma said.

  The captain also saluted Gemma before he motioned for his men to follow him and exit the tower.

  The howling wind rampaged indoors while the guards filed out, making the torches flicker. When the door slammed shut, Gemma heard the familiar groan of a bar being dropped into place, and a lock turning.

  Gemma ran a hand through her wavy hair. “Now what?” she wondered.

  When Stil banged into the tower an hour or so later, Gemma was pacing back and forth in front of the flax.

  “Good evening,” Stil said, brushing snowflakes from his cloak.

  “I am in a great deal of trouble, Sir Mage,” Gemma said, still pacing.

  “What is wrong?” Stil asked.

  “You must let me out of the tower so I can run.”

  “Gemma, have you seen the weather? I can’t let you flee in this,” Stil said.

  Gemma stopped in front of Stil and whirled to face him, every muscle in her body tight with agitation. “Then you may as well kill me now. I would rather be dead than be married into that demon’s family!”

  Surprised by the outburst, Stil reached out and placed his warm hands on Gemma’s shoulder. “No matter what happens tonight, you will be safe. Now, please explain—everything.”

  “The base bargain is still the same. If I don’t spin all of this into gold, King Torgen will have me killed.”

  “I expected that,” Stil said, squeezing Gemma’s shoulders before he released her and approached the spinning wheel. He wet his fingers and started pulling flax from the distaff to get the machine running.

  “Yes, well he’s gone and added a benefit. If all the flax is spun, he will marry me and make me his queen!” Gemma said, spitting the words out like they were bile.

  “He what?” Stil said, turning around incredulously.

  “I know,” Gemma said, shaking her head.

  “That does change things a great deal,” Stil said, seating himself on a rickety chair. He folded his arms across his chest as he thought, occasionally nudging the spinning wheel to make it run.

  “It seems running is your only viable option,” he said.

  “Yes,” Gemma emphatically nodded.

  “But you can’t leave right now.”

  “Why not?”

  “The weather is terrible, and these days I prefer not to travel at night,” Stil said, turning so his fine lips and chin were pointed in the direction of a glass window.

  “Forgive my bluntness, Sir Mage, but I fail to see what your travel preferences have to do with me.”

  The mage tilted his head. “You can’t really think I would allow you to set off into the wilds alone.”

  “If you open the tower door for me, that will be more than sufficient help,” Gemma said.

  “No,” Stil said, rejecting the idea.

  “Sir Mage, Stil,” Gemma said, trying again. “You have done so much to aid me. I cannot count on you any longer.”

  “Fine,” Stil said, and Gemma sagged with relief until the mage spoke again. “Then I choose to tag along as your extra baggage.”

  “What?!”

  “I’m going with you, Gemma.”

  Gemma opened and closed her mouth twice before saying, “Why?” in a voice that indicated the mage had lost his wits.

  “Because I want to see you safe.”

  “Craftmage Stil,” Gemma said, drawing her shoulders up and facing Stil with the same bravado with which she had faced King Torgen. “You need not be concerned with your obligation to help the weak. Once I am free, I will be my own responsibility.”

  “Your flight has nothing to do with my obligation,” Stil countered. “Also, I find it interesting that it takes a marriage proposal to make you animated and talkative.”

  Gemma clenched both of her hands in fists before shouting, “You cannot lead me around like a goat for the rest of my life!”

  Stil laughed at the comparison.

  “STIL!”

  “I know, I’m sorry,” the mage laughed, holding his sides.

  Gemma rolled her eyes in disgust and waited for his laughter to subside.

  “Gemma, I am concerned for you not because of any mage code or responsibility, but because I genuinely like you,” Stil said.

  Gemma pushed an eyebrow up.

  “It’s true,” Stil said.

  “Forgive my disbelief, but magic users rarely make friends with civilians. Royalty? Perhaps. Scholars, occasionally. But seamstresses from Ostfold? Never,” Gemma flatly said.

  “I see your point, but the attachment is already made. Now, if we are traveling together, I owe you an explanation for my reluctance to travel at night.”

  “Sir Mage,” Gemma groaned.

  “I’m in Verglas not for any great reason, except that I am being tracked by a creature of darkness, and he cannot force his way past the Snow Queen’s residual magic.”

  Gemma’s protests died on her lips.

  Stil gave Gemma a wry grin. “You see, you are not the only one who is a harbinger of trouble. I have no idea why I am being chased or to what ends. I only know he rides a nightmare and controls a hellhound.”

  Gemma wordlessly plopped down on a stool near Stil’s chair. So that was why he reacted so oddly to news of the hellhound tracks, she realized.

  “He has been chasing me for the better part of a year and following me for much longer. At first, I was able to keep well ahead of him with ease. But he grew stronger, somehow. By the time I finally thought to head to Mullberg to get to the Veneno Conclave, it was too late. The rider and his animals gained so much strength through darkness that they almost caught me. Thankfully I managed to escape to Verglas, and I have been trapped here ever since, for well over a month.”

  “But…you’re a mage,” Gemma said.

  “Craftmage, Gemma. My fighting capabilities are limited.”

  “No, no, no,” Gemma said, waving her hand as if she could wash his words away. “I mean, you’re a mage. Wouldn’t other magical folk from the Veneno Conclave help you?”

  “I can’t flee there. The mountains between Mullberg and Verglas would be the perfect place for the rider to trap me. I’ve tried sending out word, but magic users are spread thin already.”

  Gemma tilted her head. “What? Whatever for?”

  “You are disconnected from it all as the Snow Queen’s magic has held your borders, but the rest of the world is under direct assault by darkness,” Stil grimly said. “The Sole crown princess—the only heir to the Sole throne—has fallen into a cursed sleep. There’s a powerful, black sorcerer who has been plaguing Kozlovka for years, but they stupidly didn’t think to tell the Conclave about it until recently. Trolls are troubling Farset, and goblins are raiding in Erlauf. No one knows what’s happening in Ringsted. The Chronos Mountains are impassable, and the coast is riddled with giant storms. It takes multiple weather mages to force clear seas for sailing.”

  Gemma was quiet for a time. “You are serious.”

  “Deathly so.”

  “I never knew—I don’t think anyone in Verglas kn
ows.”

  “It’s excusable. All of Verglas has been occupied dancing to the tune of your mad, crazed king.”

  Gemma shook her head.

  “And it’s not all bad,” Stil continued. “A prince of Loire was cursed for three or so years. He broke it not quite two years ago, which is fortuitous because Loire has been instrumental in cracking down on any sort of darkness. Erlauf is about to crown a new queen, and she’s brilliant. With her at the head of the country and her husband in the army, they will squash the goblin uprisings.”

  “What you aren’t saying is that the world is in great upheaval, and you are forced to go at this alone as a result,” Gemma said.

  Stil shrugged. “The rider is strongest at night. It wouldn’t be untrue to say light is his weakness—he won’t move in it, anyway, and he and his animals fear it. He can’t get into Verglas, but somehow he’s still tracking me. I have tried moving from one end of Verglas to the other, and he waits for me on the border. I know it may sound like traveling with me will be more dangerous than if you were to move alone, but as long as we are in Verglas, it will be fine.”

  “Sir Mage,” Gemma said, her voice tight with pain. “The point is I will have to leave Verglas.”

  “I can get you to a border and hide you better and in more comfort. One of my companions should arrive soon to aid us. I’ve received word that she has recently resurfaced in the southern kingdoms.”

  She? Gemma raised her eyebrows at the pronoun and the soft smile Stil wore. The last thing I need is to get involved in a mage’s love affair.

  “So, we will flee together,” Stil concluded.

  “Who is this rider who chases you?” Gemma asked.

  “I don’t think ‘who’ is the right word. He’s not human. The rider is…” the mage was quiet for a moment, his expression tight. “The rider is darkness wrapped around death. He hasn’t a soul—he’s too evil for that. There is nothing human-like about him except for the shape of his body. He’s the worst nightmare you can imagine, and his darkness is the kind that tempts people to do evil things. He is hatred, and he hungers for bloodshed and the agony of others.”

  Gemma’s throat closed at the description.