"My mother brings food to me," Rapunzel responded. "Why? Are you hungry?"
"No," Cinderella said, hand going to her stomach for emphasis. "I have eaten more than my fill today."
Food, clothing, shelter, Cinderella thought, as she took in Rapunzel's living quarters, all the necessities, save for the books meant to keep an abandoned girl occupied and Rapunzel's hair, which ensured only she could decide who came into her tower. "So, your mother tends to all your needs," Cinderella surmised, "so you have no cause to leave."
"She does everything for me," Rapunzel returned, and Cinderella wondered if what she saw was truly everything. It was everything Rapunzel required, and, yet, the tower felt more like a cell than a sanctuary.
"What did your mother tell you?" Cinderella questioned. "Why does she keep you here?"
"People are horrible to each other," Rapunzel answered. "They do unforgivable things, such as holding one's hand to a fire."
"They are not all like that," Cinderella replied, though it was more on faith than experience, for the people closest to her had been cruel and those close enough to notice pretended not to see.
"They are not?" Rapunzel seemed anxious to believe it, though.
"No," Cinderella stated with conviction.
"I have thought that," Rapunzel stated, jumping up suddenly and clearing the obstacle of her hair with trained ease as she grabbed a book from a pile. "The people in these books, they do wonderful things, heroic things. They are kind and they are brave. Do you know people like that?"
The question taking her by surprise, Cinderella thought first of those she had known long, her stepmother, who had no love for another woman's child, her stepsisters, who were more than happy to injure and belittle her, her father, who was too weak to stop them or too callous to care. So, when Cinderella opened her mouth, 'no' was on her lips.
Then, she thought of Akasha, who helped her and protected her with no benefit to herself, and the other women who helped hide her, and the matron and eunuch who turned a blind eye, and even the women who wanted to give her up, but never did. "Yes," she answered, releasing a pent-up breath. "I have met those like that." Looking to Rapunzel, who had also taken her in, by the hair of her very head, who had asked her to stay when she could just as easily have sent her back out to the ghouls of the wood, she knew there must be more. "Would you not like to find out for yourself?"
"I would not know how to get by in the world." Rapunzel shook her head with sad acceptance.
"It is not easy for anyone," Cinderella assured her, hand going to Rapunzel's knee, but jerking back when something seemed to catch fire beneath it. Looking for the source between them, she saw nothing, but knew Rapunzel felt it by the force of her unwavering stare.
"How do you get by?" Rapunzel quietly questioned.
"I did as I was told," Cinderella confessed in a hush. "My stepmother and stepsisters, they made me their slave, and I did whatever I had to do to keep them as happy as I could."
Not wanting to see the look on Rapunzel's face at the revelation of that which she truly was, Cinderella dropped her head, picking at the hem of her chemise with unsteady fingers. Hand hovering before her for a moment, it at last alighted on her leg, and Cinderella's eyes fluttered closed as she tried to breathe.
"And how did you go on like that?" Rapunzel gently asked.
"I...I...I, uh..." Cinderella could not find her thoughts. "I...I do not know. Whenever I wanted to quit, to just..." Thoughts of the things she had sometimes wanted to do coming back to clutch at her, her mouth went dry. "To be done, there was this tiny voice that said someday I would find something that would make it all worthwhile."
Risking an upward glance, Cinderella watched the smile spread across Rapunzel's face and felt as if she had.
"I imagine you will," Rapunzel said, "but there is nothing in the world for me."
"How can you know that?" Cinderella asked.
"My mother says the world works on exchange. You must have something of value to give or you get nothing," Rapunzel returned. "Is that true?"
Not wanting to encourage her captivity, Cinderella also did not want to lie to her. She could not imagine her stepmother allowing her even the scraps from their table if she had not worked for them, and had been reminded many times since leaving Troyale that nothing in the world came free. "Yes, it is true," she admitted.
"I have nothing," Rapunzel uttered. "Not powers nor riches nor beauty."
The declaration lacking any humor, Cinderella laughed at the sheer shock of it. "Why would you think that?" she asked. "That you haven't beauty? Did she tell you that?
"No," Rapunzel seemed genuinely surprised by the response. "She said only that I look like her."
"You do not," Cinderella was quick to say.
"No?" Rapunzel questioned.
"You look nothing like her," Cinderella reaffirmed.
The hand on her leg shifting, it sent bolts through Cinderella's entire body like she had never felt. They seemed only to add to the strange affinity, present and real, though there was no sense behind it.
"What do I look like?" Rapunzel sat up, bringing her closer, and Cinderella took the question as consent to gaze more fully upon her, as she had wanted to since she first saw her at the window, but had been trained not to by courtesy.
Gaze moving over Rapunzel's face, she took in the low rise of her cheekbones, the light brows above her eyes, made all the more interesting by the single dark streak that cut upward through the one on the left. Eyes moving down a slender nose, they came to just parted pink lips, and stared without blinking.
"Your face is as pale as the skin you see," Cinderella said, returning her gaze to Rapunzel's. "I imagine it is because you have been ever out of the sun, for you do not match the others in this kingdom. Your hair is the lightest I have seen, but for those near-black streaks beneath. I have never seen anything like them. And your eyes..." Cinderella lost herself as they appeared to hover closer. "Your eyes are like the sky, only lighter, like blue diamonds. You are..." Cinderella shook her head, words failing to capture what she saw. "Achingly beautiful."
"Am I?" The question was no more than a breath.
"Amongst so many other things," Cinderella whispered, feeling Rapunzel's obvious kindness and generosity and cleverness rise up around her, making her long in a way she had never known.
Gaze falling again to the parted lips, she watched the bottom one turn red as Rapunzel pulled it between her teeth and released it. Then, as if by their own accord, her own lips were pressing against the yielding surface of Rapunzel's, and Cinderella felt the warm air rush to meet her as the magic seized them. It was only when Rapunzel made a sound that could have been either surprise or fright that Cinderella pulled back.
"Oh, I am sorry," she breathed. "I am not certain what possessed me."
For there was no explanation, no reason at all, only the way that Rapunzel looked at her and her own pressing desire.
"Are you?" Rapunzel returned, and Cinderella fearfully met her gaze, finding her not surprised nor frightened, but wearing a look Cinderella could neither recognize nor fail to feel.
"Uncertain?" she asked.
"Sorry?" Rapunzel returned.
Staring into eyes so clear, it was as if she could see through them, Cinderella was snagged by the truth that she felt a hundred things, but sorry was not one of them.
"No," she admitted.
"Then, perhaps, you should do it again," Rapunzel said, shifting closer, leg pressing against Cinderella's as her hand moved inward to brush Cinderella's hip, a single touch like a thousand.
Never in her life had Cinderella wanted to meet a request more, and, as her lips again met Rapunzel's, she did not fear any sound or taste or sensation, nor did she fear Rapunzel when her hands rose warm and unexpected to Cinderella's cheeks.
A flash so bright it went through Cinderella's closed eyelids wrenched them apart and brought them closer together, as the crack of thunder that chased it shook the entire towe
r and piles of books crashed to the floor.
"It is all right," Rapunzel said, body pressed to Cinderella's, hands soothing against her back. "It is only a storm."
Another flash, as bright as the first, lit the sky outside the window, and they huddled closer, as if they had known each other their lives through. Thunder crashing again, the sky finally unleashed its torrent, rain cutting against the tower and splashing in on the stone floor.
"It never rains," Rapunzel uttered, eyes squinting as she watched the large drops invade. "The sky gets angry, but it never cries."
Rain falling harder, Rapunzel pulled away, and Cinderella shivered at the sudden chill as she followed Rapunzel's path to the window, where she pushed the shutters closed and dropped the wood bar into its brackets to lock them in place.
Watching the night disappear, Cinderella realized she was more trapped than she had ever been, in her home, in the harem or in her life. She would have utmost difficulty leaving without Rapunzel permitting it, and she wondered how, in the midst of her truest captivity, she felt the greatest freedom she had ever known.
Interlude 1
The sky beyond the window turned deepest purple as the dark man slumped upon his desk. For days, he had forgone all but his books - sleep, food, even drink to calm his frayed mind. So beside himself he felt, he could not tell if his eyes saw true or if they worked to deceive him. For if his eyes saw as they saw, they saw the impossible.
If his eyes saw as they saw, they saw The Girl in another story, far from Her own. They saw Her changing things, bringing chaos to his order. If his eyes saw true, The Girl unraveled the very fabric of the world he created.
It was blasphemy enough that She would not return to Her own story. Now, it seemed, She was intent upon destroying that of another, on making a mockery of his design.
If he could only remove Her from the path She had taken, perhaps he could return Her to the right path, his path, the one he created for Her. Restore the balance of his world. Undo the damage She had done.
Feeble from lack of care, a determined hand shook as it lifted the sponge from the desk and dipped into the glass water bowl, mindless of the black ink that turned the water gray. Wrung with reckless haste, the sponge was far too wet where it met the page, and the paper grew weaker amidst the onslaught, but the ink did not. Just as She had refused to return to Her own story, She refused to leave, existing on, unsmudged, as determined to remain as he was to erase Her, even as murky water swamped the pages.
She was a fighter, he knew well, though She would not believe it of herself. Left to Her stepfamily's impossible demands, She had found the cleverest of ways to meet them, even learning the language of the birds and turning them to friends. Chased on the ground, She took to high places. Told She could not attend the festival, She called upon magic She scarcely had cause to believe in. All with Her spirit intact.
Now, the man realized too late, She was a stubborn girl, perhaps too filled with spirit. For, he knew it was She who controlled his ink and, evidently, the soul of another. He did not want to destroy Her, he did not want Her story to end - not in tragedy - but if it took ending Her story to end Her disruption, so was his burden.
Ripping the page where the girls rested in serenity from the book, the man shredded it with his hands, anger twisting his face as he put an end to Her treachery.
Only, the treachery did not end. Before his eyes, the next water-logged page took up the story, words flying over the parchment as if it wrote itself. Tearing that page free, the dark man ripped it in two, but the story went on as if he had made no interruption, as if he did not have the power to interrupt.
Oh, She did have spirit, he thought with a low growl, and that spirit was strong, but She was not stronger than him. She would not be stronger than him.
Perhaps, he could not erase Her, nor even change what She had done, but, as long as blank pages remained before him, he could make Her wish She were back where She belonged.
If Cinderella wanted to change Her story, Her story he would change.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Into Chains
Cinderella could not tell if Naxos was a different world than that which she first believed it to be or if the world entire had changed, but everything felt more alive. The forest through which she walked, growing in familiarity with each passing day, burst greater color. All she touched felt more real. The smells and sounds overtook her, and whatever she put into her mouth tasted sweeter than it did upon its last tasting.
Though nothing that grew in the forest carried the sweetness of Rapunzel's lips, nor filled Cinderella with such unquenchable craving, giving some verity to a subject long held as myth. In childhood, she had heard others talk of an inexplicable feeling that came from nowhere and seized the senses, as if it was the most wondrous thing one could ever know. They did not wait for it, though, the ladies of town who talked about it, believing it storied, nothing of the real world, but Cinderella felt quite sure she knew those things of which they had spoken, not as myth, but as each moment spent with Rapunzel. She knew also that Akasha was right, the touch of another could be good, for each time Rapunzel touched her, it felt as if she meant Cinderella all but harm.
For days, she had been in residence at the tower, departing in the mornings and returning before night fell to evade the visits of Rapunzel's mother. The suspected sorceress never came in hours of darkness, and when Cinderella asked if she feared the dark as everyone else, Rapunzel said she suspected her mother did whatever it was she did in the night and slept in daylight, leaving Cinderella to wonder what kind of nefarious business Rapunzel believed her mother took up.
The first evening, as she crawled back through the tower window, Rapunzel looked at her with such relief, it was as if she did not expect her to come back, and Cinderella tried to imagine a single place to which she would not return to see Rapunzel smile.
At nights, they would talk and they would not talk. Cinderella liked both, but she was especially fond of the moments when talking turned to not talking, when Rapunzel's lips would press against hers and she would feel as if there was nothing to say as important as what they did not say.
Before those moments, though, when words remained between them, Cinderella got a sense that, although Rapunzel still feared what existed outside the tower, she was becoming more and more frustrated by the limits within. She had even asked if they could sell the books and other belongings in the tower for gold, which they would require only if they went somewhere else, and Cinderella hadn't the heart to tell Rapunzel she did not know where they could go. From what she had seen of it, Naxos was bigger by measure than Troyale, but it was still too small in which to hide forever. And if Rapunzel's mother truly was a sorceress, she would be difficult to elude for a lifetime.
Sun slipping lower in the trees, Cinderella plucked extra fruits from the vines overhead, dropping them into her satchel, and smiled at the certainty that what needed doing, they would find a way to do. Together. For, as inexplicable as it was in the brief time she had known her, there was no place Cinderella wished to go if Rapunzel would not go with her. She would return to the tower forever if the tower was where Rapunzel would be.
Turning to head back there, Cinderella was struck with the same anxiousness with which she always returned, the odd desire that sought only to be near Rapunzel once more.
Limbs snapping overhead sent her leaping backward as something fell from the tree before her, narrowly missing her on its way to the forest floor, landing with such weight it dented the ground below. Purple velvet turning dusty as a tuft of dirt rose around the small pouch, Cinderella glanced to the branches, searching for its origin, the moment oddly familiar.
It was the very way in which she acquired the gown in which she inappropriately traipsed about the woods. Told by her stepmother she could not attend the festival, and with no dress to wear or lye with which to clean, she stood beneath the tree she had planted as a sapling at her mother's grave, which had grown to the greatnes
s of a thousand years in only ten year's time, and pleaded that she might be like everyone else, able to attend the festival, to have the same opportunities afforded all those around her. The dress had floated down to her then, in the beaks of the birds, her only real companions, and, in an instant, she had been turned clean, the ash from the hearth and scars of the past erased from her body as if they were no more than ink on paper.
So powerful had been the magic that when her family saw her without the marks they inflicted upon her, they did not recognize her. Magic had come when she longed to attend the festival, and again when Cinderella longed to escape. Now, it was gold for which she longed, for if anywhere in Naxos did exist to hide, they would be made to pay a high price for it, and selling the contents of the tower without the sorceress noticing would take time and leave them short.
Retrieving the pouch at her feet, Cinderella's breaths turned shallow as she untied the lightly looped strings and found exactly that which she needed - at least a hundred gold pieces, fortune enough for a life, if only they could find a safe place to live it.
"Thief!" A voice yanked Cinderella from her far-reaching thoughts. Eyes rising from the weighted pouch, she watched a bevy of guards spill from the trees where there had been no sign of them a moment before, a terrible ruckus upon the peaceful wood.
"What have we here?" A man dressed in fine clothes, made dirty from time spent outdoors, stepped from behind the guards and jerked the pouch from Cinderella's hand. "Well, well," he said, peering in the top. "Stolen gold."
"I have stolen nothing." Cinderella watched the man carefully as he admired the pouch's contents, his eyes seeming to shine the same dark yellow of the metal.
"You were caught with the money in hand," he said.
"I found it," Cinderella returned.
"What? Did it fall from the sky?" the man questioned, throwing a grin to the guards, who laughed on their cue.
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