Spin: A Fairy Tale Retelling (Spindlewind Trilogy Book One)

by Genevieve Raas

  “It’s normal to feel a bit peculiar. It will be gone in a moment. Your body has undergone quite the transformation! The power flowing through your veins will become legend for sure,” he said with pride.

  Just as I wondered when death would grant me the peace I craved, warmth slowly melted the ice. My heart beat quicker, stronger, pushing blood through my body once more. Nerves awakened, causing my skin to feel like hundreds of small worms were gliding over me. Then, all sensations stopped.

  Everything changed from that point on.

  The man I was had been replaced by some new force thriving within my soul.

  I opened my eyes to a dazzling array of color. Smells were distinguished and unique. The entire campsite transformed into a living being, and I knew exactly where everyone was. My world was sharpened. Heightened.

  Shakily, I stood, and he looked extremely pleased.

  “The change is beautiful, isn’t it?” he asked. Tones bled into one another.

  “It’s amazing,” I replied, fascinated by my own voice. The world was completely new, like a dulling haze had been removed, and I saw it all for the first time.

  “Now, close your eyes. Concentrate on those around you. What do you sense?”

  Doing as he said I found myself outside my body, looking out over the campsite. Little flames roamed around, glowing hot. Each contained a desire or held a secret. I wanted them to be mine.

  “What are they?” I asked.

  “Desperate souls,” he replied. “They are the most useful of all, willing to do anything just to taste what they want most.”

  A black quill materialized in his hand. It was smooth and glinted enticingly in the lamplight.

  “You will need this,” he said. “It is the only way to bind their blood to you. You will be surprised how quickly they sign their names away. Humanity will give much to gain little.”

  I took it eagerly, pulling the soft feather through my fingers. My newfound hunger demanded to be slaked.

  “Ah, you will start collecting them soon enough,” he said, seeming to notice my ravenous thoughts. “I suggest you spend time figuring out how to make the king suffer.”

  “You aren’t going to tell me?”

  He laughed.

  “I can only suggest, not command. Such is the sad limit of my power. I have every confidence you will figure it out yourself.” He looked pleased. “I can give you some advice, however. Moments from our past often influence our future. Perhaps think it over while spinning.”

  He grazed his warm fingers across my cheek. Then he vanished, and I was born a new being.

  I secluded myself deep in a nearby forest away from the flames I desired.

  With clear mind I fashioned for myself a modest shelter. A deluge of ideas and plots soon took over. Each was more devious than the last, the smile on my lips growing as they swam through my mind. But soon, I faced a dilemma. There were too many scenarios, too many paths I could choose.

  My concentration started to fade the harder I thought. Pacing back and forth, I pulled at my hair, but my mind refused to obey.

  Sitting on the floor, I rubbed my eyes with my hands, hissing at the sting.

  Moments from our past often influence our future

  In the darkness behind my closed eyelids, I fell back into my past. I was back in that attic, spinning fluffy bits of wool for those three hags. I could feel the thread running through my fingers. Most importantly, I remembered the clarity of mind it provided.

  I jumped as a spinning wheel popped into existence before me. Its wooden frame gleamed in the lamplight, perfect and complete. Was this my magic? I struggled to sense the exact firing of spells in my blood that had brought the spinning wheel to me, but there was nothing but powerful, sloshing chaos. I tried to visualize another spinning wheel popping up, but my magic refused to cooperate, producing instead a small pile of straw. Not exactly what I had hoped for.

  I slid a hand over the smooth grain and sat down on the seat. Giving the wheel a spin, a comforting whirr filled the room. The spokes blurred together, becoming almost invisible.

  “We never should have taken him in.”

  “You must leave us.”

  “It has already taken hold.”

  Those voices I wished to forget echoed in my mind. Their words still stung.

  I gave the wheel another spin, whirring them away.

  “Life would be much easier if we could just spin straw into gold instead!”

  Those women were nothing but senseless.

  And yet…

  I chuckled under my breath and looked at the pile of straw next to me. Perhaps I did know what I was doing after all. I picked up a handful of the hollow twigs and began to treadle. The wheel spun faster and faster, the whirr surrounding me utterly. I fed the straw into its mouth, twisting the strands violently within my hands. An odd sensation took place. The straw grew thinner, smoother, harder.

  To my delight, a delicate golden thread peeked through my fingers. It wrapped around the bobbin, layers of gold spinning around and around, until the spool was fat with the most beautiful thread I had ever seen.

  The path to vengeance was clear and paved with gold.

  The hunger was insatiable now. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t even congratulate myself on creating the perfect plan. I could only think of the flames.

  Though it had taken some time to master my magic, I now commanded it with a savage ease. The only hitch was that the stronger the magic I used, the more I needed the fuel of others’ despair.

  My first few attempts at making a contract were clumsy, and more than once, I went away hungry and unfulfilled. I was a quick study, though. One doesn’t survive long as an outcast without wits, and whereas I had had sharp wits before, I now had a knife’s edge cunning. Soon enough, I was practiced in getting what I wanted by giving fools what they wanted.

  It was time to return to the castle town, to begin to card the wool of deceit in preparation for spinning the thread of King Edward’s noose.

  I went to where I knew I could surely find the willing: the most disreputable tavern I could find. Walking through the doors, desperate souls surrounded me. A cacophony of voices and heartbeats wanted, needed… craved. My body vibrated, pushing me to feed upon them.

  One burned brighter than the rest. My prey hid inside.

  The tavern was like another world. The stench of old sweat, old beer, and old smoke hung in the air, and rolls of dice clattered across tables as voices rose in competing tall tales. Then I saw him, the flame I hungered for burning prettily in his soul.

  He was a young man dressed in the plain armor of a guard. Blonde hair was shorn close to his scalp, and his frame was rock solid. But what took my notice was the map of scars etched across his face. His hopelessness was electrifying. The pounding in my head was unbearable now. I had to have him.

  Taking a deep breath, I sat down next to him at the bar, shoving away a collection of empty pints. He seemed surprised, though his eyes wandered ever so slightly from drink.

  “Why so glum?” I asked.

  “Piss off,” he grunted, downing the rest of his mug.

  I ordered him another, which seemed to afford me a few more moments of his attention.

  “Come, come,” I said, feigning concern. “Tell me. Sometimes sharing with a stranger is better than all your loved ones listening.”

  He sighed. Sadness bubbled within his heart.

  “There is no hope,” he replied. “I’ll never win Evelyn’s hand.”

  He took the beer I ordered him and quickly drank it empty.

  “So, it is the woman?” I asked. It always was.

  “No. It is her father.”

  “Ah, and you think ale is going to make him approve of you more?”

  He shot me a dirty look, slamming the mug down. Frankly, as far as tantrums rated, this was pathetic and nowhere near enough to put me off my prey.

  “I can help you,” I offered casually.

  The youth barked out a bit
ter laugh. “There’s not a thing you can do.”

  “That may be true for you and for everyone else in this miserable little tavern-” the barmaid shot me a dirty look, “-but I am different than everyone else.” I said.

  He rubbed his eyes. “You can say that again,” I heard him say under his breath.

  “Helping others helps me. I thrive on…solving problems. Believe me, I can help you,” I encouraged.

  He only scoffed and crossed his arms. “Help me? How could you help someone with no chance in life? I am nothing. Never will be. And, the woman I love will marry the bailiff’s son because her papa told her to.”

  I tried to pay attention to his jabber, but his despair was such an absolute blaze now I found it increasingly difficult. I tasted it. Craved it.

  “You’d be surprised what I am capable of,” I said, lowering my voice. “Just name it, and I can make it happen.”

  He laughed now, slipping sloppily around on the barstool. His mood, no doubt due to the prodigious consumption of ale, slipped just as sloppily from frustration to amusement

  “You’d make a damn fine mummer,” he chortled. “I nearly believed you.”

  “Well, it is a shame you don’t believe, because you are missing out on the opportunity of your life. You’re letting Evelyn go without even a fight. Maybe her father is right. You don’t deserve her. You are nothing but a coward.” It was ridiculously easy to use his very words to goad him to my purpose.

  Two strong hands wrapped around my collar and jerked me off my stool. His breath stank.

  “I do deserve her, you hear!” he shouted, flecks of his spit hitting my face.

  “Then prove it. Hear me out. That’s all I ask,” I said calmly.

  His rage lessened and he unrolled his fists, releasing my collar. We both sank back onto the stools.

  “What if I were to make you captain of the guard?” I whispered. “You would get a nice living. You might even achieve being respectable. Would that impress her father?”

  He laughed again. Red flushed his face, making his web of white scars stand out even more.

  “I suppose it would,” he said. He leaned in and murmured, “Are you…are you from the castle? Do you know someone who can do this?”

  I chuckled at his simple brain. No imagination, that was for sure.

  “I am more powerful than anyone at the castle,” I told him. “And, today is your lucky day.”

  I moved him back with my arm and cleared a space on the bar. His eyes nearly popped out of his head as he watched a piece of parchment appear in my hand. Letting it unroll, the terms of our deal were laid out neat and tight. He looked up at me as if I were a ghost, wearing an odd expression of horror mixed with fascination.

  “What are you?” he asked, slapping a hand against his forehead.

  “That doesn’t matter,” I answered airily. “What does matter is what I told you. Now, pay attention. This contract specifies that you will become captain of the guard, have a life actually worth living, and can marry that woman you seem so smitten with. All you have to do is sign.”

  I pulled out the black quill Fate gave me, my heart beating into my throat, eager for his blood.

  “Let me get this straight,” he said slowly. “All I have to do is sign my name, and you will give me all this?”

  “Exactly,” I said, impatience electrifying my body.

  He took the quill. “I’m no fool,” he stated. “You can’t just be granting wishes for free. What do you want in return? I don’t have much money.”

  “Smart man! Always best to ask questions before you sign,” I replied, hiding my annoyance that he finally found the working part of his brain. “Money is of no use to me. Silence, however, that is hard to come by these days. For my price, all I ask is you don’t tell a soul about this night or me. Understood?” I lowered my voice. “If you break our contract, I swear to you worse awaits you than anything you could ever imagine.”

  He nodded his head and stared for a moment at the quill. I sat back and waited, moistening my lips for the moment I sought. Finally, he lowered the quill to the page. The instant tip touched paper, euphoria rushed over my body. I fed on his despair with every letter he scribbled. My fingers and toes tingled with pleasure, my core coiled in warmth. I was floating, filled with beautiful intoxication until I was utterly replete. Whole.

  I loved it.

  Only once he dropped the quill did the flame within him finally extinguish. His despair was now mine, and my hunger was slaked.

  He gave a hiss, looking at his fingertips. “What the devil was that?” he asked, his breaths hard from shock.

  “A bit harsh, I know, but blood is the only way to ensure you uphold your end of the bargain.” I chuckled.

  “Blood?” he asked.

  “What else did you expect? Butterflies?”

  I looked at his name gleaming in crimson. A smile pulled on my lips, enjoying the residual exhilaration from the experience.

  “Now Rowan,” I said, putting the contract and quill in my pocket. “Why are you wasting time worrying over nothing more than a pin-prick, when you could be enjoying your new uniform?”

  He looked down and his mouth fell open. His entire uniform had changed. No longer did he wear the dark gray and chainmail of a simple guard. Now he was clothed in bright reds and shiny plates of armor. A golden lion roared on the front of his breastplate.

  “I really am a captain now!” he exclaimed. He stood, still swaying a bit from the alcohol flooding his veins. I doubted he would be so friendly had he been sober. He shook my hand furiously.

  “I am going to go to Evelyn’s father and ask for her hand. Let’s see him tell me I’m not worth the dung beneath his boot now.”

  He left with an expression of great joy, and I sank back into the shadows. I looked out at the other flames surrounding me and I realized there was no reason I couldn’t find my unsuspecting pawns here. The place reeked of desperation, everyone clawing to get out of the muck they were destined to wallow in.

  All I required was a fool, and my plan could be set in motion.

  Chapter Six

  Wedding Bells: Laila

  Without so much as a goodbye, he disappeared back into the nothingness from which he came. I assured myself I could not have been happier to be rid of him. He was arrogant. Insufferable. But, the lingering sensation of his lips on mine remained, and it irritated me as much as it burned me.

  “My lady, if you would hold your breath for a moment more, we will finish lacing you in,” Rosamund, my new lady-in-waiting, instructed.

  I did as she said and tried to look pleasant as I saw my reflection in the mirror. Today was my wedding day, and I would be made queen. That strange man, whoever he was, might have saved my neck from the noose, but I would direct and shape my own life now. I was absolutely determined not to waste another thought on him.

  “Look at her! What a perfect portrait of happiness.”

  If only the maids and ladies knew what caused the happiness filling my veins. Layers of colorful silks and velvets kissed my skin. Rouge brightened my cheeks and lips. Exotic perfume rose from between my breasts.

  “You look beautiful, my lady!” Rosamund exclaimed, placing a crown of orange blossoms atop my hair. Soon enough, it would be replaced with gold and rubies.

  I took one last look at my reflection. I ran my fingers down the smooth fabric, and the thrill of it chilled my bones. The king was at my mercy now, the mercy of the miller’s daughter.

  Like a shadow in the midday sun, unease stirred at the back of my mind. There was a quick, blaring pang of panic—what was I doing in marrying this evil man?—followed by another fluttering of doubt. I had signed away my firstborn literally to a stranger. Was that right? Was that fair? Could I trust him?

  The bells began to ring, and I shoved my fears back, hefting them as if they were so many sacks of flour. The choices were made. There was no time to question and even less time to answer. I clung to the belief that I was a good person
. As if to expiate my future sins, I vowed in that moment to become a good and noble queen who served and protected her people.

  “My lady?” Rosamund asked tentatively.

  I nodded and allowed her and the other ladies to lift up my train and escort me to the chapel in the palace. All along the halls, courtiers and even servants lined up to make their obeisance to me. I bestowed small smiles and quick nods as I passed them, feeling myself more and more a queen with each step.

  The royal chapel was full to capacity with guests jostling for position without regard for their colorful velvets, silks, and furs. The air was thick with incense and the smell of a thousand beeswax candles burning brightly. Dizzy and nervous, I matched my steps to the cadence of the liturgical music that filled the space, bouncing off the walls and vaulted ceilings.

  After what felt like an age, I reached the altar. The king held his hand out for me, and I took it, allowing him to lead me the final steps to the kneeling bench. I saw the king in his cloak of red velvet and golden thread. I saw his smile beneath his dark beard. I saw his green eyes alight with satisfaction.

  But, truly, all I could see was all the gold. It was everywhere. Every surface of the chapel was gilded, as was the bishop himself, his robes so stiff with gold thread that he could hardly move in them. I thought of the stranger’s hands twisting straw into golden thread.

  The ceremony began, and a tumble of ancient words fell from the priest’s mouth. We performed the prayers and recitations as devoutly as any monk or nun. However, I dared not look into the face of our Lord on the crucifix. Our marriage was a mockery. There was no love, no devotion. Only pain and power were worshipped at our altar. A ring slid over my finger. A crown of gold and rubies crushed the orange blossoms in my hair. Cheers erupted all around, hailing me as their queen. For better or worse, it was done.

  The feast that followed could have fed a village for an entire year. As insistent as the hum of discomfort was in my soul, I couldn’t help but be swept away by the magnificence of the spectacle. For, indeed, it was a spectacle, with the entrance of the food heralded by trumpets, drums, and applause.