by K. M. Shea
Lady Linnea wilted. “I hadn’t thought of that possibility. So she’s still captive.”
“Yes. And Father intends to make her spin again.”
“Tonight?”
“Probably. The materials need to be gathered I suppose, but after—,”
“That’s it!” Lady Linnea said.
“What?”
“We can delay the spinning if we buy up all the flax in Ostfold!”
Prince Toril was almost pulled off his feet when his stallion tossed his head. “Do you have any idea how much that will cost?”
“Who cares? Gemma just spun your father gold thread. You can afford it. Now are you going to help me save my seamstress or not?” Lady Linnea asked, planting her fists on her hips.
“Buying the flax won’t save her.”
Lady Linnea closed her eyes and knitted her hands together to keep from reaching out and pulling on Prince Toril’s long bangs in impatience. “It won’t,” she agreed, her voice tight as she tried to practice patience. “But it will buy Gemma some extra time until I can think of a proper escape strategy.”
“Oh,” Prince Toril said.
Lady Linnea waited several moments for a more eloquent response. None were forthcoming. “So?”
“Yes?”
“Will you buy the flax?”
Prince Toril patted his stallion’s glossy neck. “Very well,” he said. “I hope this servant of yours is worth it.”
“Gemma is priceless,” Lady Linnea said. “Now get to the markets. You have to buy the flax before your father gives the orders!”
“Ahh, yes,” Toril said. He gripped the stallion’s reins before vaulting back into the saddle. “I will send word to you about the flax.”
“Thank you. I will speak with Gemma and see if she will tell me how she received the gold,” Lady Linnea said.
“You what? You cannot. She is in the dungeons.”
“I already know that,” Lady Linnea said, rolling her eyes. “She was wretched hard to find.”
“You went to the dungeons?”
“Heavens no! Even I am not that daring. No, I found her by the prison windows.”
“I see.”
“Good. Now get buying!” Lady Linnea said, making a shooing motion at the prince. “Prince Toril,” she called after the prince turned his stallion in the direction of the forest. “Thank you.”
Prince Toril bowed at the waist. “I am happy to help,” he said before he rode off.
“Even if he isn’t the brightest, I like him more when he is invested, not moping,” Lady Linnea decided as she bustled off in the direction of the palace.
“…and that is our plan,” Lady Linnea said, smiling brightly.
“I see,” Gemma said.
“What do you think?” Lady Linnea asked.
“It sounds expensive,” Gemma honestly responded.
“Well, maybe. We’ll see. That reminds me, how on earth did you get gold thread?” Lady Linnea asked, peering down into the depths of Gemma’s cell.
“A mage broke into the room and spun it for me,” Gemma said.
“If you don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to make up a story about it,” Lady Linnea said.
“It’s not a story.”
Linnea rolled her eyes. “Regardless, do you think you can pull it off again?”
Gemma tilted her head and studied the far wall. What was the likelihood that the mage would magic his way through the castle to come to her rescue a second time? “I don’t think so.”
“That’s too bad. We’ll just have to get you out before the King imprisons you in another room with flax. Ah, that reminds me! Here,” Lady Linnea said. She disappeared for a moment. When she swerved back into view, she carried an axe, which she struggled to lower through the grille of the window.
The fat, wedge-shaped head caught on the bars and would not push through.
Lady Linnea grunted, her eyes shut tightly as she strained to hold the tool. “Do you have it?”
“It is stuck on the bars.”
“What? Please tell me you are jesting.”
“I don’t often jest, My Lady.”
Lady Linnea sat on the grate and tried maneuvering the axe through the slender gap between the bars with no luck.
“I don’t think it’s going to fit,” Gemma said.
“It has to,” Lady Linnea grunted as she heaved all of her weight onto the axe’s wooden handle. “I’ve failed you too many times. It’s unacceptable.”
“Someone is going to hear you,” Gemma said, staring at the stuck axe head that clanked against the window grille.
Lady Linnea gave up and tossed the axe aside, her shoulders drooping. “I’m sorry, Gemma. I’m useless, aren’t I?”
“You are not,” Gemma said, giving Lady Linnea a rare smile of affection.
“I am, too. I keep trying, but I fail! Trying alone isn’t going to save you,” Lady Linnea said, brushing dirt off her dress. “I’ll bring something later today—a slender dagger without a hilt, perhaps.
“You think you will be able to slip away from your home again?”
“Yes. Mama and Papa think I’m despondent and locked up in my room since you were taken away. Although I better go. They’ll be knocking on my door soon for lunch,” Lady Linnea said before she ducked from view. Gemma heard a clank as the noble lady tried hefting the axe over the wall that separated Gemma’s cell from the palace grounds.
“My Lady,” Gemma said.
Lady Linnea reappeared. “Yes?”
“Thank you for the help,” Gemma said.
Lady Linnea smiled. “Of course. You are important to me, Gemma,” she said before she threw herself at the wall and started climbing. “I’ll see you this afternoon!” she said, hefting herself over the wall and disappearing all together.
Gemma was sitting on her thick blanket when the cell door clanked open.
“I’ve got your early dinner here,” a guard carrying a tray said. He pushed up the visor of his helm several times before he gave up and tossed the protective head-covering outside the dungeon. Gemma recognized the man as the kind guard who had delivered dinner the night before, as well as her breakfast that morning.
“Thank you,” Gemma said, sitting up straight.
“No need for thanks,” the guard said, briskly setting the tray on Gemma’s stool. He glanced at Gemma and made a sweep of the surroundings before he shook his head.
“Do you know when I am to be taken tonight?” Gemma asked.
The guard scratched his thinning hair. “You’re not. The spinning won’t be ready for another day. There seems to be a shortage of flax fibers.”
Gemma stared at the man. Lady Linnea’s plan was actually working?!
“I see. Thank you,” Gemma repeated.
The man shook his head. “I will return for your dishes,” he said, stooping to pick up his helm before he left Gemma’s cell, locking it behind him.
Gemma looked over the plates and cutlery piled on the tray. She nibbled on the food—a delicious roasted duck—but mostly pushed it around. Her stomach gurgled with nerves as she tested the knife for sharpness and compared it to the dull, warped one she had smuggled into her spinning room.
As she ate, Gemma swapped out the knives and thought about the fixed patterns of her prison life—mainly the movement of her guards.
Chapter 6
Gemma didn’t move the following morning when the kind guard opened the door to her cell to deliver her breakfast tray.
The soldier pushed up his visor before, as customary, he removed his helm altogether. He entered the cell and looked around for the stool before realizing Gemma, huddled in the corner, was sitting on it, her eyes closed and, to all appearances, sleeping.
“Poor thing,” the guard said before he turned his back to Gemma and set the tray down. He crouched down to fix some of the items on the tray, and Gemma smashed him in the back of the head with the stool.
He toppled over with a groan, stunned long enough for Ge
mma to unbuckle his belt and slide the keys off.
She ran out of the cell and shut the door as the guard started to recover.
“What are you doing? Stop! Help!” he yelled, but his shouts were muffled behind the thick dungeon walls.
Gemma fumbled with the three keys on the ring before she found the right one and locked it just as the soldier slammed into the door on the other side.
Gemma dropped the keys and ran through the surprisingly empty dungeon. She sprinted up the stairs just as voices emerged from the far end of the chamber.
When she reached the top stair—sweaty and out of breath—Gemma paused long enough to look up and down the hallway. She spied a laundress pushing a cart of laundry. When the woman paused to enter a side room to gather more laundry, Gemma grabbed a huge pile of dirtied linens. She held the laundry at chest height so it mounded over her like a cloth mountain, hiding her face.
Still carrying the laundry, Gemma prowled down the hallway, looking for a way out of the palace. Her hands trembled when a group of three chattering maids glided down the hallway. Gemma’s heart throbbed in her chest, but none of the servants called out to her, or even seemed to notice her as she walked.
Gemma slipped around a corner and leaned against a wall. Enough, she thought. I have to be calm. Gemma tilted her head and listened. The palace was mostly silent. Servants talked in hushed tones and did their work quickly and efficiently. No one had raised a cry yet. Perhaps no one even knew she had escaped.
Still listening, Gemma started walking again. This time, she followed her ears, moving in the direction of servants’ chatter.
She made it to the kitchens with no trouble. Rather than plunge through the warm room in a bundle of laundry, Gemma followed an outer wall that led away from the kitchens. Eventually, it opened up into a courtyard.
Gemma heaved the laundry higher up and walked across the courtyard. She couldn’t believe it when she passed the palace walls and entered the gardens. She made it to the shores of Lake Sno without being detected. Gemma skirted up to the line of trees that crowded the lakeshore. Then, she dropped the laundry and ran, following the edge of the forest.
Eventually, she came upon a little shack. Gemma took a risk and peeped inside. The shack was empty and buried under dust. It obviously hadn’t been used in some time. There were white swan feathers that dotted the furniture, and a small bundle of what looked like dried nettles.
Gemma ransacked the place, looking for blankets, provisions, anything she could take. It wasn’t safe to return to Ostfold. She was better off hiding in the forest and at the base of the mountains. In a few weeks, maybe she could venture into the outskirts of Ostfold to ask Lady Linnea for help.
Gemma would have to abandon her relationship with Grandmother Guri. It was far too dangerous to risk seeing the older woman. And as sad as it made Gemma to lose her, she wouldn’t allow anyone to be killed because of her. Gemma, in the middle of swinging open a cupboard door, paused. The captain said his life and the life of his men would be forfeit if I escaped…No. I cannot afford to think of them. I must hide, she decided, glancing inside the cupboard and moving on.
She climbed a ladder to find a loft filled with straw and peppered with swan feathers. Her conscience railed at her as she climbed down, and she sagged against the ladder when she stepped off the bottom rung. They were kind to me, and surely they have families and loved ones who will miss them.
Gemma leaned her cheek against the dirty ladder. “What does it matter? I must think of myself. No one would think of saving my life—not my drunkard father, nor my mother who hasn’t the strength for it. No one would…except for Lady Linnea.”
Gemma closed her icy eyes and balled her hands into a fist. “By the Snow Queen,” she cursed before releasing a great sigh. “Lady Linnea is right. I am foolish,” she said before exiting the shack. She retreated back up the shoreline, picking up the abandoned laundry when she found it. She dawdled on the lakeshore for a few moments (enjoying the sunlight on her skin in spite of the blustery wind) before walking back through the royal gardens and into the palace.
She set the stolen laundry down in an empty hallway and wandered deeper into the palace. It took her a while to find the dungeon stairs, and when she happened upon them, she stared for a few minutes before she took in gulps of fresh air and set her shoulders.
Gemma fixed her face into an expression of strength, then plunged down the stairway. Her heart beat heavier with each step she took, and every instinct screamed at her to run. But she followed the stairs all the way to the dungeon. When she reached the bottom stair, she leaned forward to look down the aisle formed the boundaries of the cell blocks. The door to her cell was open, but there were no guards to be seen. Obviously, someone had freed the man who delivered Gemma’s breakfast.
Gemma tried to walk the remaining distance to her cell, but her legs stiffened and froze. So she plopped down on the lowest stair, hunched over her knees in a miserable ball, and waited to be discovered. Her shoulders shook in a moment of despair. Panic clawed at her, and her emotions threatened to overtake her. It isn’t fair. I never asked for this, I—Gemma impatiently crushed the thought and threw her arms over her legs, resting her head on her arms. She didn’t look up when several sets of heavy footfalls raced up the aisle.
“Any news from the palace guards?” a male from one end of the dungeon called.
“None. She did not go out the front gates—or if she did it was before we notified them,” a different man at the opposite end shouted.
“Contact the dog master,” the first man said.
“I already have; he asked for her blanket,” the second soldier said as he ran past Gemma and the staircase. “If we’re lucky it will have her scent—,” the soldier cut himself off and backed up to stand in front of Gemma and stare down at her.
Gemma lifted her head up. “Good morning,” she said, impatiently wiping at her eyes that were, irritatingly enough, burning with tears.
The soldier pinched his eyes shut and rubbed them before staring at her.
“Foss,” the guard from the opposite end called. “Foss! What is wrong with you, man?” he said, his voice growing louder as he drew closer. “Are you—,” the guard—or the captain, as Gemma recognized him once she could see his face—cut himself off when he joined “Foss” at the dungeon staircase to gawk at Gemma.
Gemma finished wiping her eyes and stared back at the pair. “I would walk myself back my cell, but my legs have given out at the moment,” she said.
Her words kicked Foss into moving. “We should tell the others—no! First we need to put her in her cell! Where are the keys—,” he quieted when the captain placed a meaty hand on his shoulder.
“Why?” the captain asked.
Gemma met the captain’s gaze with her sharp, intense eyes. “Why what?” she prompted.
“Why did you come back? There is a very good chance we wouldn’t have found you. You were free.”
Gemma rolled her shoulders back. “Does it matter?”
“Yes,” the captain said.
Gemma stared at Foss and the captain. Foss shifted and squirmed, but the captain was an unmovable mountain. “Because you and your men don’t deserve to die. Is that an acceptable answer?”
The captain didn’t reply. Instead, he let go of Foss and reached out to help Gemma stand. He held her arm while walking her back to her cell—Gemma wasn’t sure if it was because he was supporting her or keeping her from running away.
When they reached Gemma’s cell, Gemma slipped inside. She picked up her stool and set it in a corner. “Is he alright?” Gemma asked, gesturing to her untouched breakfast tray.
“He is uninjured,” the captain said, reaching for the cell door. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I would let you go if…I’m sorry.”
Gemma sat on her stool. “There’s nothing to apologize for. You are not the one who has imprisoned me,” she said.
The captain was silent as he studied Gemma for a few moments longe
r before he shut the cell door with an ominous clank. Gemma flinched, but held herself together.
The brief escape made the dungeon feel even colder and darker. The stench made her stomach roll, and the silence was suffocating.
“If I got out once, I can do it again. I will just have to make certain I do it so no one can be blamed,” she vowed.
“Gemma. Gemma, I am a genius, and you must tell me that,” Lady Linnea called, almost falling over the wall above Gemma’s cell. “Buying up the flax has worked marvelously—even if that idiot Prince Toril almost ruined it all by having the flax sent to the palace. A chicken has more sense than him. He is—what’s wrong?” Lady Linnea said when she realized Gemma wasn’t responding.
“Hm? Nothing. Sorry, I was sleeping,” Gemma lied, unfolding from the corner into which she was pressed. She moved the stool so it was beneath the window and stood on it, looking straight up at her friend.
“Really?” Lady Linnea said doubtfully. “You look pretty dreadful.”
“How did you hide the purchased flax from King Torgen?” Gemma asked. (It was easier to distract Lady Linnea than to lie outright to her. The beautiful lady was observant, and it was likely that she would haul off and hit Gemma if she knew Gemma had the chance to escape and chose to returned to her cell.)
“Oh! It was brilliant. I ordered straw to be bought, and we spread it on top of the cart of flax fibers!” Lady Linnea beamed. “Prince Toril got the stable servants to agree not to tell King Torgen,” she grudgingly added.
“I see,” Gemma said.
“I brought you something,” Lady Linnea said, reaching for something out of sight. “Here,” she said, passing a small hand hatchet through the window grate. “It’s not very sharp, but it was the only one I found that I thought could fit through the bars,” Lady Linnea said.
“Thank you,” Gemma said. She smiled as she ran a finger along the axe-head. “This will be useful.”
“Also, I thought you might have to bribe someone at some point, so take this,” Lady Linnea said, shoving her fingers through the grille to offer Gemma a plain, gold ring.
