The next morning, the servants whispered among themselves how the lord and lady had spent half the night in conference. The bread and sun rose according to schedule, and the bailiff of my father’s estates met with him, just as my mother directed the affairs of the house. Yet, something was different. The strings of the lacings of our family life had been pulled tight by an unseen hand.
That night, we sat before the hearth in Father’s study. Mother worked on hemming swaddling cloths for our tenants, and Madelin drowsed snuggled up against her. I worked my way through dry Latin grammar, glancing surreptitiously at Father’s knotted face as he reviewed the estate books.
“T’understorm,” Madelin mumbled sleepily.
I strained to hear the thunder, but the look Mother and Father shared told me they feared the approach of a different storm.
The rumble of horses riding up to the house carried the wind, the clanging of armor audible as the group approached. I ran to the window and peeked through the shutters. There had to be at least twelve horsemen, all wearing silver armor that glistened in the light of twelve torches. The rider at the head of the party wore golden armor and a red cape.
Father stood, his face white.
“Mariann, take the children to the passages,” he ordered quietly.
“What does he want, Frederick?” Mother asked. “You know what the king wants. Why is he here?”
“Now, Mariann!” Father roared.
There was only time for one more long, searching look between them, and then Mother was pushing me and dragging Madelin out the door and down the corridor to her bedchambers. Once inside, she ripped aside the hanging from behind her high wooden bed. Behind the headboard, the stones were set in a slightly different pattern. She pressed a carved rose on the headboard, and the stones swung open like a door, revealing a dark passage beyond.
“Henry, you go first,” Mother panted. “I will hand Madelin to you.”
I slithered over the headboard and landed lightly on the other side, reaching out to take hold of my sister. There was a banging at the door, and the wood snapped and groaned from the assault.
I froze and stared in horror at my mother’s white face as her eyes filled with tears. The door splintered, and she pressed the wooden rose again.
“Run, Henry,” she whispered. “Run.”
The last I saw of my mother and sister were their terrified eyes as the stone door slammed shut between us. The darkness closed in around me, and my body found the will to move again. I raised my fists to beat against the stones. I could hear her voice, loud and calm, though the words were muffled by rock. I heard the guards yell out, and Madelin screamed.
Frantically, I felt for the outline of the door in the stones, but fear made my fingers clumsy. If I wanted to save my mother and Madelin, the only way I could reach them was by going forward.
And so, into the darkness I plunged.
The passage was narrow and nasty, but I paid no heed to the scrapes on my skin or the dizzying stench. In a numb haze of dread, I pushed ahead. I felt the jab of a corner against my shoulder, and on turning it, I saw a tiny pinhole of light ahead. I rushed toward it, crushed that it was not an exit, only a spyhole.
I heard the sound of voices from the other side of the wall, and I pressed my eye to the hole. At the very least, I might find out what part of the castle I was in and have a better idea of how to escape these tunnels. My heart dropped into the pit of my stomach at what I saw.
“Fine land, you have here, cousin,” King Edward said, seating himself at my father’s desk and throwing his boots up on the table, careless of the papers he sullied. “Very fine. Your family has been treated well by mine.”
“Yes, quite well,” my father replied cautiously. “Our lines have always thrived on our mutual respect and trust.”
The king smirked. I had not realized how young the king was. True, he was ten years older than I, but his face was still youthful—or it would have been if not for the cruelty that dug deep lines about his eyes. “Trust. Yes, a rare commodity these days. I am grateful I have at least one ally.”
Father’s shoulders relaxed slightly, but not enough.
The king picked up a porcelain figurine off the desk. It was a brightly painted shepherd, a small herd of frozen sheep surrounding its feet. He inspected the statuette lovingly, running his fingers over the smooth surface.
“Worth anything?” he asked, changing the subject. He turned the figure over, looking at the base for any sign of a mark.
“I’m not sure,” my father replied. “I would imagine it would have some value. It was a gift from your grandfather to my own.”
“Ah!” he said, eyes narrowing. “How decent of him.”
He held it out with a straight arm and slowly unwrapped his fingers from around the shepherd’s neck until it inevitably fell to the floor. I jumped as the crash rumbled through the ground, the figurine exploding into thousands of colorful shards.
My father was a braver man than I, though. He stood his ground, not even flinching. His gaze hardened, and I imagined it was the look upon his face he wore into battle.
“Why are you here, your majesty?” he asked grimly, as if he already knew the answer.
The king jumped to his feet and slammed his fists down on the desk. “Don’t play me for a fool! You know very well why!”
“Then say it…cousin.”
King Edward kicked the glass head of the shepherd across the floor and spat, “Treason!”
“Prove it.” It was as if I was watching flame beat upon rock, terror upon gravity.
The king stalked over to stand directly before my father. He had to tilt his chin up ever so slightly in order to look my father in the eye.
“Your very existence is proof enough…cousin,” he said, his mouth twisting sourly on the last word.
“My existence?” Father repeated calmly.
“Blood.” The syllables dripped from the king’s lips. “You and I share the same blood, blood that gives you the right to my throne.”
“I don’t want your throne,” Father said coldly.
“See? Treason! You speak as though you could ever have it, could ever take it from me! Treason runs in your blood.” The king whipped a dagger from his belt and unceremoniously thrust it into my father’s neck. “And now, your blood will run for your treason.”
I looked at my father’s shocked face, feeling abstracted from any real emotion as I watched dark, gloppy blood spurt from his neck with each pulse of his fading heart. The king had just stabbed my father. I knew that fact, but it seemed more the artifact of some nightmare, soon to be dispelled.
King Edward swallowed hard, and his hand on the blade shook. I wondered if he had ever actually dealt a death blow before. How strange that my father should be the first.
“The shame of it all is that I was quite fond of you,” he said, swallowing convulsively again as he yanked the knife from my father’s throat and kicked him in the chest, sending him crashing back to the floor. “If only you were as loyal as you claimed, I would never have had to do this. But then, if you are as loyal as you claim, then you will understand why I had to.”
I rolled the words around my head, trying to make sense of them. But, it is futile to try and make a madman sensible. A man who plungers a dagger into the heart of a dying man is not one who sets any great store by logic.
Panic began to trickle back in as I watched my father begin to choke and convulse, his eyes rolling back in his head. The blood seeped from his chest and joined the dark pool behind his head. But, even this slowed and stopped.
“I am truly sorry it had to end this way,” the king said. The sincerity in his voice drove me to retch silently as not even the sight of my father’s blood could. “Goodbye, cousin.”
He pulled the knife from Father’s chest, which now lay unnaturally still. I held my own breath, waiting for it to rise again. The king put an end to my hopes by lifting his boot and stomping down on Father’s heart. There was a crack of
ribs, a final small gush of blood, and it was done.
“Thomas!” the king called out.
He wiped the dagger on the curtains. The door of the study whipped open. A guard rushed in, paying no attention to my father’s lifeless body. Everything spun around me as hot tears welled in my eyes. This was real. Happening. Time was truly moving forward without my father.
“Yes, your majesty?”
“Lock them all in. I don’t want anyone getting out.”
“The children, too?”
The king shot him a look of death. “Are you questioning me? I hope not, or your usefulness to me will grow thin.”
“Of course not, your majesty,” he choked in reply.
“Good. Once we are finished here I want you to send out an edict immediately,” the king said. “The name Rumpelstiltskin is no longer welcome in our kingdom. It is a cursed name. It shall be struck from every document and every history. I want everyone in our kingdom to know what I do to traitors.”
“Yes, your highness,” the guard replied.
My breath stopped.
“Now go. I don’t want to waste another moment in this bloody house. Though it is a shame to destroy something so fine. That wife of his is rather pretty.”
The guard left and I heard a rush of armored men racing up the stairs followed by a chorus of locking doors. My mother’s and sister’s cries echoed down.
The king walked over to the table and picked up a candelabra, quickly lighting every wick. He watched eagerly as the flames flickered to life. With a flourish, he took the burning candles and set them against the curtains. A wicked smile pulled on his lips as he ignited anything in reach. Fire licked up the heavy fabrics. The wood paneling blistered. Loud crackles and snaps feasted on the house as it was engulfed in an inferno. He left, taking the candles with him, setting more blazes throughout the house. The screams resonated down and stung my ears. I had to save my mother and sister.
Thick smoke already wafted into the passageway as I crawled through the dark. I had to find my way out so I could find my way back in. My lungs wheezed and the blaze grew along with their frantic cries.
My eyes burnt with ash.
“I’m coming!” I shouted, coughing up smoke.
The roll of flame and smoke blocked several turns, but finally, I found something made of wood and not stone. A door. I pushed at the locks and yanked the handle with all my might until I finally stumbled out into a corridor. I didn’t know where I was. Flames surrounded me, stinging my skin with heat. Smoke blinded me and turned every wall into a stranger.
There were so many screams now. I tried to tell which cries of agony belonged to my mother and Madelin, but I quickly learned that the sounds of death by burning are all alike.
I was hopelessly turned around and growing weak from smoke and terror. A metallic hand reached for me out of the smoke and grasped my shoulder in an unforgiving grip.
“No!” I choked, scrabbling at the disembodied hand. “Let go! I have…to…save them!”
But the hand didn’t listen and only pulled harder, dragging me away. Orange flames flickered through the gray smoke. My feet kicked and hands flailed.
“No!” I screamed, learning quickly that the sounds of survival could be worse than those of death.
It was too late. The soot cleared from my vision, and I saw I was no longer in the house at all, but outside, lying on the parched ground beneath the smoky moon.
“Hush, or we’ll both be back in that inferno!” a voice snapped above me.
I looked up and was shocked to see it was the same guard I had seen moments ago. The one who had ignored my father. Thomas.
“You’re safe now,” he said, doubled over and hacking up the ash from his lungs.
I struggled up to my feet, only to be pushed back down.
“It’s too late!” he snarled. “They’re already dead. You’re lucky I could save you.”
“No they aren’t! There is time. I can still hear them scream!” I yelled.
His expression shifted. “It’s only a memory,” he said quietly. “They are long gone.”
Behind him, fire painted the house in broad strokes of orange and crimson. Walls crumbled and fell. The roof collapsed with a great roll and wave of sparks and cinders. I stared helplessly as everything I had known disintegrated to ash. My body trembled as each glowing ember sailing up to heaven was a soul that I had known and loved, their lights winking out and leaving me alone.
Finally, rage found its way to me. I jumped once more to my feet and charged Thomas, throwing my fists with force but no skill.
“Why did you save me? You should have let me die. At least I could have been with my family.”
He caught my hands easily and once more threw me down, only this time, he knelt down, pressing one knee into my chest to make his point. Stay down.
I registered soot-stained skin and ash-lined wrinkles. But, it was his startling blue eyes that held me more firmly than his hands ever could.
“I couldn’t stand idly by and watch your destiny be destroyed,” he panted.
There were two of him now. No, three. Three sets of blue eyes staring at me. I gulped down air that my lungs refused, coughing until I was dizzy. Three sets of white teeth smiling reassuringly.
“Destiny?” I repeated. It wasn’t my destiny that mattered. It was my father, mother, sister, servants, home, and friends that had been brutally burned to death.
“I’m afraid there isn’t time to have a philosophical discussion. Right or wrong, the king has marked you a traitor, my boy. Killed your family and taken away your birthright. For now, your destiny must be to run.”
He stood and took out his sword, pointing it over my heart. The glimmer in his eyes turned vicious, and his smile vanished. “Run, boy. I’ve saved your life once, but I won’t again. The wilderness is your home now. Go and claim your new kingdom.”
The sharp blade poked into my chest and I had no choice but to take several steps backward. Fear gripped my throat, and my already muddled mind blurred any hope of comprehension of what was happening. All I could do was obey.
“Run!” he commanded again.
Head pounding, I focused all my energy on my legs and ran into the forest. Trees curved, and the ground bled into the sky, but I continued to run through the mist overtaking my head. Hallucinations nipped at my heels, and my lungs begged for air and rest, but still I kept running.
For the first time in my life, I was utterly alone. I became a child lost to the wilderness, left with nothing but twisted memories and a pain so putrid and festering, it would eventually consume me.
Chapter Nine
Yarn:
noun: spun thread used for knitting, weaving, or sewing.
verb: tell a long or implausible story
After All: Rumpelstiltskin
The castle was full of light, within, without, and above from torches, candles, and fireworks. The rhythm of drums and shrill notes of recorders tumbled through the night air.
This was the celebration of an era. A ball held in honor of the newest addition to the king’s heart and I, the uninvited guest, was about to crash it. Chills rolled down my spine just thinking of my hand strangling his joy until it was nothing but a purple carcass.
Getting past the guards was stupidly easy. Nothing more than a glamour and an imperious nod, and I in. The major domo was a bit more of a challenge. Those whose lives and minds revolve around rules are always a bit harder to fool, but fools will be fooled, rules or not. It only required a small bit of magic to tweak his will to announcing me as “Ambassador Fortuna,” as it was not really a lie. After all, I was to be the herald of the king’s destiny…and the queen’s. I ruthlessly suppressed the queer pang in my chest at the thought of her and went ahead.
The great hall was nothing short of a Venetian hell, a farce of a morality play with leering Harlequins, flirtatious feathered lace that hardly hid anything at all, and the roiling aroma of heavy perfumes, incense, and roast meat.
More gold. More beauty. More pleasure, their voices whispered in my ears, until I heard little else. More. More. MORE.
I stalked out onto the terrace to breathe cleaner air and clear my head from the siren calls of the starving. I was there for business this evening, not pleasure…though in the end, my business would be my pleasure. I would finally look into Laila’s eyes and—
No. What? No, my true pleasure would be looking into the king’s eyes and watching the unquenchable flames of his greedy soul wilt and die. The queen mattered nothing at all. She was just a pawn. Nothing more.
Said pawn was currently sitting on a throne of gold, wearing a gown of purple silk embroidered with—guess what—gold thread. Squinting, I looked closer and saw that the pattern of the embroidery was made up entirely of wheels with spokes. The spinning queen. How fitting. I wondered what her newly royal family coat of arms would be? A spinning wheel on a golden field, perhaps with crossed quills? The notion tickled my fancy, and with a sardonic smile on my lips, I crossed the crowd to her.
As I drew closer, I noticed the changes that a year had wrought. Her skin was paler, thanks to parasols and velvet canopies. Her chestnut hair cascaded down her shoulders, and I wondered if she still smelled of citrus and rose oil. Her eyes still flashed fiercely at everything around them, though the circles underneath them revealed the efforts of childbirth and sleepless nights after. My eyes slid down her neck, and I froze, my cock stirring and making walking uncomfortable. Motherhood had endowed her natural abundance with even more…abundance.
Skin on straw…hot, harsh breaths…hands on velvet, on hair, on lips…
I shook away the heat. I had business of a different sort to attend to tonight. Perhaps when this was all done and in the long dead past…
Spin: A Fairy Tale Retelling (Spindlewind Trilogy Book One) Page 12