Hazel & Gretel (The Clockwork Fairytales Book 2)

by A. B. Keuser

  Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and focused on matching Leilei's breaths. They were slow and metered and after a short time, Gretel found their rhythm.

  It was when she was able to breathe at that pace without thinking, her mind wandered and try as she might, she could not stop it. It whirred through the events of the day, of the forgiveness the woman beside her was happy to offer, of the disappointment that would resurface when Leilei and her first husband married her second.

  She thought of Hazel, in the woods with her bow and arrow, free to do as she pleased through the day even if she was a prisoner at night...

  At night.

  Shuddering, she didn't know how she would survive the night. She hadn't been able to bear the simple sound of scraping furniture legs and her room shared a wall with her mother’s.

  She stayed where she was even though her mind could not focus. The church was her only sanctuary within the town.

  If she never went home again, it would be too soon.

  But the bell tower at the town's center struck, marking six o' clock and Gretel had to leave. Her mother would send someone to hunt her down if she didn't return soon and for all she knew it would be the huntsman who came after her. If he touched her, she might do something that left her homeless on the streets.

  Hurrying down the road at the slowest possible pace, she kept an eye toward the woods hoping to catch sight of Hazel as she returned from the forest. Her front gate was in her hands far too quickly, and she paused, swallowing as she watched the thinly curtained windows, looking for movement. In the low lamplight, she saw nothing and swallowed her trepidation, hoping she would find the house empty. Perhaps they would move into the huntsman's home.

  It was a feeble hope. Their house was larger than the huntsman's and he was a greedy bastard.

  She opened the door to a house that was pleasantly warm—something that had not occurred since her father had left, and at the stove, her mother whistled a happy tune as she cooked something that smelled delicious. Something that was not the stew she'd started that morning. Stopping as she closed the door behind her, she took in the house around her. The mending was gone, the furniture rearranged, and the table set for four.

  It was as though she'd stepped into a completely different house. The only thing that remained unchanged was that her mother chose to ignore her. It was at least better than the alternative of yelling at her for having disappeared.

  The door from their back yard opened and the huntsman pushed into the house with a guffawing laugh.

  He wasn't alone.

  Behind him, Krell Tisu stepped inside and slapped a tattooed hand on the huntsman's shoulder. He laughed as well, the sound interspersed with curses that were dropped in an encouraging tone.

  "Good," the huntsman said when he noticed her. "You're back. We can get started.

  Following them to the table with mechanical steps, Gretel sat at the chair she was directed too and found herself involuntarily leaning away from Krell.

  He was handsome, strong, and wealthy. Half the women in the village would have jumped at the chance to marry him—and at this point, she suspected that was her mother and new stepfather’s plan—but his appearance had led to an unchecked vanity, his strength to a casual cruelty, and his wealth... well, that simply added to the arrogance that came with the first two. He had been kind to her in the many years they'd passed through each other's acquaintance, but she didn't know why.

  Krell would not have been a terrible choice... if she was willing to overlook his flaws... if she wasn't in love with someone else.

  He caught her studying him.

  "The arrangements have all been settled, contracts are signed,” the huntsman told her with a self-satisfied smile. "I'll tell Hazel in the morning.”

  "What about Her?" Gretel asked spoon suspended in mid-air.

  "He's taking both of you off our hands," her mother said with an uncharacteristic smile.

  Smiling at her mother, the huntsman lowered his voice and leaned in so that whatever he said next Gretel couldn't hear.

  "Don't think I haven't noticed your relationship,” Krell said with a snake’s smile, "I think we'll all get along marvelously."

  "I'm not going to marry you." Gretel knew the words were too loud even as she said them.

  The table went silent.

  It was her mother who spoke first. "Excuse me?"

  Before Gretel could respond, the huntsman had pushed himself to his feet and was leaning across the table at her. "You don't have a choice. You should be grateful your mother found someone willing to take you given that you’re a lazy, good for nothing leech."

  “Lazy? Who does every scrap of the mending you take on?”

  Her mother grabbed her by the wrist, her grip too tight, and pulled her from the table and up the stairs. "If you're going to be a brat, you can go to your room like a petulant child.”

  Flung inside, Gretel flinched when the door slammed behind her and the lock clicked over.

  From beneath her, she could hear the argument that followed her pronouncement, but if the inflections she heard were correct, only her mother and the huntsman were yelling. If Krell decided he wanted in on that fight, he kept his voice low.

  The mending pile was jumbled in the corner, her sewing things thrown beside it without care. In the light of her single candle, she sank to the floor and gathered up her basket, dragging the disorganized items with her to the window and putting them back in place as she watched for Hazel's return.

  The only person walking down the road was Krell Tisu when he left ten minutes later. He paused and looked up at her, a smile on his lips and he blew her a kiss before disappearing into the darkness.

  TWO

  Hazel’s day had been uncommonly productive. Before going inside to deal with the huntsman, she dropped off the ten rabbits she’d snared, the two pheasants and single doe she’d shot. It would be enough to feed half the village for one day… assuming the huntsman didn’t chose to sell it all to Krell Tisu to make a higher profit.

  The cold storage was the only mechanical device the huntsman would tolerate. Clockwork gears worked a tiny motor that managed to keep the stock cool while it awaited sale and butchering. Hazel paused in the cold room and listened to the click and clatter. It was an oddly peaceful place where the inanimate came to life and the once-living no longer moved.

  Unable to stall any longer, she locked up the outbuilding and trudged back inside, holding tightly to her bow to keep from nervously twisting her hair.

  The house was dark and she thanked God the huntsman had gone to bed early or, as was more likely, had gone to the pub to boast and goad people into giving him free ale in the hopes of getting an extra rabbit or boar.

  Placing her bow and bag against the wall, she moved quietly into the kitchen. The huntsman had portioned out her food as he always did. It was barely enough to get by. And if she hadn’t spent her days foraging to keep from passing out as she trekked through the dense underbrush, she might have already expired from malnutrition.

  Tonight’s portion held a note and she dreaded what it might say.

  The text was unexpected, partially because it was written in Gretel’s mother’s hand, and partially because it made her plans for that night easier. The huntsman was never that accommodating.

  She ate her evening meal in silence, plotting the best way to do the things she needed to do and when she finished off the last of what he’d set out for her, she pulled out her second satchel—the one Gretel had just mended.

  Raiding the larder, she packed enough supplies to last a week-long journey if they scrimped and scrumped. She snuck into the huntsman’s study and dug out his lockbox. Unscrewing the hinges, she popped it open like she’d done several times before and retrieved the money he’d been paid for her last week’s catch. It was more than she’d expected, he’d clearly taken the meat to Tisu.

  Packing up her stolen goods and dashing to and from her little attic room for her meager b
elongings, she doused the candles on the table and stepped outside, not bothering to lock up.

  She kept to the shadows, avoiding the sound of anyone walking by and stashed her bags and bow at the edge of the forest. She would come back for them once she retrieved the most important part of her escape. The only person in this village she cared about.

  Treading a familiar path that ducked behind hedges and saw her sneaking through back yards, Hazel reached the side of Gretel’s house and paused, listening for any sound. The wall she was about to climb held both Gretel’s room and her mother’s. The stones were rough and uneven beneath trailing vines and she’d learned the best path up, four years ago—after too many falls.

  Climbing up, she thanked the stars Gretel had left her window open in spite of the chill. Based on the contents of the note she’d received, Hazel had an idea she might be waiting for her.

  Inside, the room was dark, and Gretel was curled on her small mattress, fully clothed and above the covers. Saying her name, Hazel gently shook her arm.

  Gretel woke swinging.

  Barely managing to jump out of the way in time, Hazel stared at her, brows raised in silent question. Gretel mouthed a quick “sorry” before glancing at the wall that separated the two upstairs rooms.

  Pulling her toward the far wall, Hazel moved her out of sight of the window and wrapped her in her arms, close enough to whisper.

  “I’m leaving the village,” she said, swallowing the worry that came with her next request. “Come with me?”

  Gretel sighed in relief—too loud in the silent darkness—and shook her head yes. Before Hazel could say anything else, Gretel pulled a bag from beneath her bed, and gathered up a few of her belongings, stuffing them inside with little care.

  Hazel grabbed her coat for her and was surprised when Gretel grabbed her sewing basket. She didn’t dare ask why, and instead took the bag and dropped it down ahead of them before starting down. If Gretel fell while she was on the ground, she could catch her. If she fell with Gretel beneath her, Gretel would wind up with broken bones. When people thought they were being polite, they’d joke about their appearance as “petite and pudgy.” When they wanted to be mean, that changed to “fat and frail.”

  Gretel made her way carefully down as Hazel watched for passersby who might tell her mother or the huntsman.

  When her feet crunched in the dry grass, Hazel led her back the way she had come. They wound through the baker’s backyard—her lights on as she’d already begun to bake her orders for the next morning—and skirted the small cemetery before they found their way back to her bags.

  With a single glance backward, Hazel led her into the dark of the forest and away from the strangling grasp of their guardians.

  The forest was different at night. Uncanny creatures came out to play and the path was seemingly more uneven. Hazel knew that the second most dangerous thing in this forest was letting her imagination get the better of her.

  The first was tigers, but she hadn’t seen a sign of them in years.

  Trees creaked and groaned in the biting wind gusted around them and Gretel clutched her coat more tightly about her. A horned owl took flight as they passed, its departure from the bough the only sound as it soared past their heads. Phosphorescent mushrooms sprouted from the mossy carpet beneath their feet and emitted glowing spores to dance in the currents of air around them.

  “It’s beautiful,” Gretel said from behind her in a whisper, fingers gripping her forearm in a momentary squeeze.

  Pausing just long enough to smile over her shoulder at Gretel and to catch one of the fluttering seedlings, Hazel turned back to her and held out her hand before closing it in a tight fist. When she opened it again, her hand glowed a faint yellow in the darkness.

  “They’re great for lighting the way in the dark.” Jerking her head toward a tree ahead of them, she watched as Gretel’s gaze traveled to where the bark had a faint imprint of her hand in the same glow, and then as her gaze followed the path on to see the others.

  “I’ve been too busy making sure I don’t step on a root and twist my ankle to look up,” Gretel said.

  “We’ve got a ways to go before it will be safe to stop, and we’ll have to leave early so we can get as much distance between us and them before they realize we’re gone and send someone after us.”

  “What if they follow your trail?”

  Hazel shook her head, but still glanced behind them. “These are going to wear off in another hour or two. If they’re that close behind us, it won’t matter.”

  They trudged through the underbrush, following the narrow game trail for another three hours before they reached the only place Hazel felt safe enough to stop for the night.

  “We’re here.” Pulling her packs closer to her, Hazel cleared away the leaves and dirt that had accumulated on the metal platform.

  “Where is ‘here’?” Gretel looked around her, confused.

  Leaning in, Hazel said, “Look up.”

  Holding Gretel close, she pulled the lever and the hide's mechanisms pulled them up off the forest floor in halting movements. Gretel's head rested on her shoulder and for a moment, she allowed herself to close her eyes. They'd had so little time alone and now, there was no one who would barge into Gretel's room or spy on them behind the churchyard walls.

  The freedom of it was oddly frightening. Like holding a delicate blown glass sculpture you've wanted for years, and trembling at the knowledge of how easily your grasp could break it.

  Gretel wasn't fragile—for all her mother seemed to think—but the trust they'd built was. It was difficult to fall in love with someone when you couldn't tell her who you were... more difficult still when you didn't know who you were yourself. But now she did, and in a few minutes, so would Gretel.

  The hide's lift ground to a stop and Hazel pulled open the trapdoor. The sliding ladder on it notched into the platform on which they stood, and she held it steady as Gretel climbed into the camouflaged room nestled within the boughs of the tree. Following her up, Hazel closed them inside and shivered as she glanced around the tiny space. Gretel let out a shaky breath and Hazel could see her breath in the pale slivers of moonlight. Using the ladder to lock them in, she rubbed at her arms.

  "It will be warmer soon, I promise." Hazel said, moving around her and dropping her hastily made pack on the floor by the shuttered view.

  She'd never been here at night and the darkness was startling at first. Tiny streams of moonlight fell through the cracks in the wood around her, bouncing off metal implements and hinges. It was enough light to see by, but only just. She dug through the small crate set beside the floor's hatch until she found the candles she'd stashed there and lit them, placing them in the small metal holders she'd designed in the winter. With the gentle glow of the flames, she moved to the ugly metal contraption in the corner.

  Ugly might have been a kind descriptor. The device—one of her own invention—was a jumble of parts and pieces that had no business being affixed to each other. When creating a mechanical heater had the possibility of getting you burned at the stake as the unnatural child of a fairy, you didn't advertise that you could make a heater to keep yourself from freezing to death while waiting for a single stag to come along.

  Switching the thing on, she watched as the interior coil glowed red and closed the grate she'd used to keep anything flammable from coming in contact with it.

  They had light, they'd soon have heat... what else did they need? She glanced at Gretel and knew, the answer: her.

  Right, they had to have that awkward discussion.

  Taking Gretel's hand, she moved her closer to the heater and rubbed her arms, letting the movement warm her stiff fingers.

  "I told you I remembered before we left...."

  She nodded, leaning a little more toward the warmth. "And whatever it is, I don't care."

  "I still want to tell you." Grabbing the small pillows from beside her usual seat at the hide's view, she set them down and told Gretel to
sit.

  Taking a deep breath, Hazel glanced from the heater coil back to Gretel. "When I woke up this morning, I remembered everything. Where I came from, who I was, my family...."

  Gretel’s mouth pulled down in a half frown. "You're not married, right?"

  "No, though, where I'm from, no one will bat an eye if we do... if that's what you'd want."

  Gretel's eyes narrowed and she studied her face. "You're from Cyprea?"

  Nodding, Hazel bit her lower lip and took Gretel's hands. “My full name is Hazel Velois and my parents are king and queen."

  Gretel didn't say anything, her face was shadowed from the candle light, and for a moment, Hazel didn't know how to act.

  When Gretel's shoulders shook, she was afraid something in that revelation had sparked tears. She reached forward as she heard Gretel laugh and her hand froze in midair.

  Gretel reached up and laced their fingers together, a smile touching on her lips as she leaned into the candle light. "You were afraid to tell me you're a princess? I was worried you were married to a wonderful man you were in love with and had three children you'd need to get home to. Why would you think this would bother me?"

  Shrugging Hazel said, "It changes things."

  "Only if you want it to. We can go back to your palace and be with your family, or we can go somewhere else... as long as we're together, I don't care where we are, or what you do. You could have been a thief for all it would have mattered to me."

  "And I wouldn't drag you out into the woods in the middle of the night to tell you I was going home without you. I would have said that at your bedroom window without coming inside." Hazel leaned forward, coming to kneel in front of Gretel. "Nothing matters unless I can share it with you." She ducked her head down and kissed her. It was a long, languid kiss, one they hadn't been able to share before, and Hazel let her hand travel from Gretel's jaw down the soft length of her neck before she broke away and smiled at her.

  *

  Gretel didn’t know what to say.