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

by Genevieve Raas

  My lungs burned and sweat pooled between my breasts, my feet slipping several times on the worn steps. The coil of stairs seemed endless, but my tired heart leapt once we finally emerged, finding ourselves in one of the most beautiful rooms I had ever seen. Black and white tiles spread across the floor, while light streamed through stained glass windows. The ceiling dripped golds and reds, while colorful tapestries covered the walls. They bewitched me. Fabled princesses stood frozen in their floral realms, solemn expressions sewn eternally onto the faces. Brave knights offered salvation from beasts and monsters, rescuing their true loves from a dark fate.

  I chuckled darkly to myself at such fairy tales. Bold knights didn’t worry so much about the fate of women like me.

  “One wrong word and it will be the last word you ever utter,” the captain hissed, tightening his grasp on my arm. He straightened his posture, tugging at me to do likewise. A door opened, and a tall man strode into the room. The bejeweled crown sitting atop a mass of brown hair gave no doubt as to who he was.

  King Edward was everything a king should be: a handsome face distinguished by piercing green eyes that showed a man with no use for patience. A few flecks of gray streaked his hair, but his neatly groomed beard remained a stark brown. He wore rich red robes, and his doublet was embroidered in gold thread nearly matching him to the ceiling.

  “Rowan, why is she bound so tightly?” the king asked, his voice full of concern.

  “Your majesty, she protested and struggled. It was the only way to ensure her obedience.”

  “Then you and your men are brutes,” the king replied. “While I appreciate your fortitude, I do also appreciate that my goods not be damaged in transport. Especially ones so valuable. I’ve been waiting eagerly since I first got word last night about this exceptional discovery.” He grimaced, inspecting the rope eating into my flesh. “Cut them off,” he commanded.

  I felt the quick kiss of cold metal between my wrists. Relief flooded my hands as the rope broke in two. The king gently took my hands in his and softly rubbed them to bring the blood back. I’d never been touched by anyone of higher birth, especially a king, and couldn’t stop a wave of awkwardness from rushing over me.

  “Be glad,” he told Rowan as his thumb tenderly stroked the deep lines remaining on my wrists. “That this astonishing young woman has not been impaired by such force. Her hands must be venerated if they can truly do what I’ve been told. Otherwise I would ensure you met a similar fate, and I dare say no blood would ever find its way back into your fingers once I was satisfied you learned your lesson.”

  “Yes, your majesty,” Rowan replied, coughing.

  “Now, leave us,” the king ordered.

  The door creaked shut behind Rowan, and I was left alone with my monarch, further unease filling me as he continued to massage my wrists and hands.

  “What is your name, dear child?” he asked, squeezing my palms gently.

  “Laila, your majesty,” I replied, trying to ignore his touch.

  “Laila. Such a lovely name! When I heard about your exceptional skills, I never dreamt they would be contained within such beauty,” he replied. “I suppose it is only correct for such a beautiful talent to mirror its owner.”

  His tender gaze turned stony and his grip suddenly tightened. My heartbeat pounded against his palms.

  “It is treason not offering your gift to your king,” he stated. “Did you honestly think you could remain hidden from me forever, your secret locked away? You think me an imbecile, don’t you? A simpleton?”

  His eyes dared me to refute him. Blood rushed through my ears, muffling his voice behind the pulsating sound of my own fear.

  “Your majesty, I do not think any such thing,” I answered slowly to keep my voice from shaking. “The story you have been told is only the fantasy of a drunk man trying to impress his friends. I have no hidden secret or special gift. I am only the daughter of a miller, a daughter betrayed by a father’s lies. I am unable to spin straw into gold for your majesty, no matter how much I wish I could.”

  I prayed he would see reason, understand what everyone else until now had been unable to comprehend. Was the entire kingdom so easily fooled? He lowered his face to mine until his nose was not even an inch from my own, and said, “It sounds as though you are refusing. I am never refused.”

  “I am not refusing. It is simply impossible.”

  “Impossible?” he scoffed. “Yes, it may be impossible. In fact, it is most likely impossible. The problem is, I just don’t believe you.”

  He was either mad or simply enjoyed the suffering of another. Either way, I wanted to get away from him. A sickly chill rolled through my stomach as he stroked my cheek, a smile imbued with something vile spreading over his face.

  “I thought you might be unwilling to share your gift with me, not wanting to give your monarch the cut he deserves. But, there is always a way to discover genuineness. I can’t abide lies of such stakes. A test is what you need, a simple one. Perhaps then you will succumb to my wishes and we will finally discover what is truth, and what is fable.”

  Pulling me across the tiled floor he flung back a velvet curtain hanging in the corner. There in the wall was a metal door, like one found in a prison. I shivered at the chill that went through my bones. The king removed a large brass key from his robes and fit it smoothly into the lock and opened the door.

  He pushed me through and I found myself on yet another endless staircase, this one spiraling down. Torches lit the way until we reached the bottom. I looked around me and was filled with horror when I saw how exactly he intended to extract the truth he desired.

  Straw.

  Mountains of straw filled the room from floor to ceiling. Heavy stones crushed all hope. A rat scuttled along the wall’s edge. Water dripped from small cracks. Darkness abounded except for the dim light from a small torch. In the center of the room, amid the golden slopes, stood a simple wooden spinning wheel. Baskets of empty bobbins were strewn all around, waiting to be filled by the girl who was supposedly able to spin straw into gold.

  “I think it is very clear what I want you to do,” the king hissed. “If by tomorrow morning you have not spun the straw into gold, well, I’m sure your head will fit quite nicely into one of these baskets instead.”

  My blood ran cold. It is one thing knowing you will die, but another completely to hear about the disposal of your remains.

  “Spinning straw into gold is impossible! I could never do such a thing. No one can!” I pleaded.

  “I suggest you figure it out. Spin for your freedom. That will be your prize. Otherwise, I will kill you and have your carcass nailed to a stake so the entire kingdom will see what I do to liars.”

  I grew dizzy and thought I might vomit. My limbs shook, and I couldn’t stop thinking that death awaited me in the morning. I slumped against the spinning wheel, scrabbling to hold onto it and losing my footing as the wheel betrayed me and rolled, sending me stumbling into the straw. The king only laughed, and it made me hate him more than I knew possible.

  “Don’t look so glum! I know my methods may be harsh, but I do what’s necessary to get the results I desire. You seem to need some motivation, and I have learned that death is the greatest motivation of all.”

  He gently ran a finger down my throat, “But I must admit, it would pain me greatly to sever such a beautiful neck.”

  My stomach twisted as a shiver ran through my body, blood draining from my veins. I was forced to double over in agony, unable to breath. I wrapped my arms around my middle and dry heaved.

  “Come, come, I’m sure it won’t come to that,” the king said, his lips cracked in a terrifying, gargoyle grin. “I suggest you focus your energy on the task at hand rather than self-pity if you want to be done by morning.”

  He departed, his shadow retreating behind him up the spiral staircase, leaving me alone to my kingdom of straw. A fresh wave of panic rippled through me as a thunderous bolt and lock echoed down from the iron door. I was
sealed in. Entombed.

  Frantically, I waded into the sea of straw to find a way out. One had to exist, it just had to be unearthed. A million sharp little ends pricked my skin, but the straw was too deeply packed against the walls for me to reach them. Refusing to surrender, I dove my hands within the thick jungle of twigs until I felt the cold stone beneath. I ran my hands quickly along the deep grooves of mortar, searching for some opening, some forgotten crevice that might lead to freedom. The needle-like straw bit my fingertips and scratched my hands until I stained the yellow twigs red with blood.

  I would’ve kept searching until my hands were nothing but bone and sinew, the drive for survival hammering in my chest. However, as the hours passed, I finally began to accept the truth. There was no passage, no crevice, no way out except the heavy metal door atop the staircase.

  I was completely trapped.

  Resigned, I fell down into the straw. I put a hand to my neck, imagining the cold blade slicing my flesh, and then my head toppling down from the executioner’s stand until it lay at the feet of the king. Lifting his trophy to a cheering crowd, he would remind them all of the penalty for boasting a lie.

  The flicker of light danced across the treacherous landscape, my vision clouded by tears as the scenario played through my mind without end. Blade. Blood. Cheers.

  If only my father had kept his mouth shut!

  Wiping my eyes, I imagined the color of the straw growing more vibrant, the torchlight causing it to appear as burning flames.

  My heart pounded. I saw a way to escape the fate chosen for me.

  One spark from the torch would set the entire room ablaze, the inferno engulfing my body along with the mountains of straw, robbing the king the joy of his example.

  I stared at the torch. The flames licked at the air, desiring to be fed. I could only imagine how quickly my skirts would ignite. Curious of the sensation of what burning to death would be like, I let my hand hover over the fire. Scorching pain flooded over my skin, causing me to gasp in surprise. It would be savage, but at least the results would be assured.

  The king would return to nothing but ash.

  It seemed such an easy thing to decide. Breathing slowly, I took the torch from the wall and marched towards the nearest hill of straw. The flames rejoiced at the feast waiting beneath them. Closing my eyes, I prepared to take destiny in my own hands. All I had to do was release my grip, and the nightmare would cease.

  “Now why would you want to do a silly thing like that?” an amused voice asked behind me.

  I spun around, shocked and confused as to who would be speaking to me in this locked cell. The torch slipped from my grasp and fell towards the straw, but a hand snatched it out of the air before it lit everything in flames.

  “Determined to be stupid,” the voice grumbled.

  I expected to see one of the king’s guards checking on my progress. Instead, I found a most peculiar man. He couldn’t have been more than eight-and-twenty. Black hair framed a defined face with a pale complexion. He was tall but thin, wearing a tight fitting black doublet and pants. A white shirt peeked out of his collar and sleeves. Though his mouth smiled, his gray eyes held storms.

  “Who…who are you?” I asked.

  “Obviously someone who is keeping you from making a rather poor decision,” he quipped, walking towards me with a firm step and placing the torch back where it belonged. “You must really hate it here to be so desperate to burn yourself up. You do know there are more pleasant ways to kill oneself?”

  He stared at me, waiting for an answer. I was unable to reply, still trying to comprehend how this strange man was down here with me at all.

  With a shrug, he moved past me over to the spinning wheel. He ran his long finger down the wheel, turning it and producing a happy purr from the machine.

  “You see, I sensed you might be in need of some assistance. You must forgive the impertinence, but that’s what I do, and by the looks of things, it appears my instincts were correct.” His penetrating gaze chilled me.

  “Are you here to rescue me?” I asked. It sounded stupid even as I said it, but I could see no other reasonable question to ask.

  He laughed. “In a manner of speaking, though I think it might be in a different way than you are hoping.”

  In an instant, he was standing before me, my eyes hardly able to follow the speed with which he moved. My heart hammered in a new flush of panic. What sort of man was this?

  Placing a hand over his own heart he gave a small bow, continuing, “I’m here to offer my services. I just happen to have quite the talent for spinning straw into gold.”

  For three seconds I felt I had been granted a miracle. But hard, cold reality stopped such foolishness, reminding me that this stranger’s offer was not feasible.

  “You mock me. How do you expect me to believe something so impossible?” I demanded. “No one can do that.”

  “You are the logical sort, aren’t you? I like that,” he said, nonchalantly plucking a twig from my hair, inspecting it under his slender nose. “If logic is what you desire, then you must realize it is already quite impossible that I am down here with you at all, and yet, here I am! I defy reason. Don’t you think you at least owe me the courtesy to prove my skill?”

  It aggravated me unreasonably that his point was valid. I hadn’t heard one click of the lock or squeal of the hinges announcing his entrance. Somehow, he’d managed to appear out of thin air.

  “All right,” I agreed, still hesitant as to his means and motives, but viscerally curious to watch his reaction when he inevitably failed.

  He was already positioned at the spinning wheel before the words left my mouth, stretching his fingers. There was not a single indication of doubt or trepidation in his manner. Poise emanated from him.

  “Prepare to be dazzled,” he smirked, removing a bobbin from one of the baskets and slipping it into place with an odd kind of delicacy. He sat down and began to pump his foot against the treadle, moving it slowly up and down. A smooth whirl hummed from the machine. The wheel spun faster and faster until the wooden spokes disappeared completely. Keeping a steady rhythm, he grabbed a handful of straw and fed it into the rotating mouth, the twigs twisting together and threatening to break. Unconcerned he grabbed more straw, nourishing the small rope of twigs forming in his hands until the rope became taut, gold glinting between his white fingers.

  He stopped the wheel and spun around in his chair, triumph on his face as he pulled off the bobbin and dangled a twinkling golden thread in front of my nose.

  “Maybe this will teach that logical brain of yours to believe the impossible,” he said, watching as I touched the string in amazement.

  “It’s gold! It’s real gold,” I said in wonder, seeing my salvation in every inch. “Thank you. You’ve saved my neck and my life.”

  The golden thread in the palm of his hand vanished, and the storms in his eyes grew darker. He took a small step back, his black boots crunching the straw beneath them.

  “It’s true I don’t want to let a poor, innocent girl fall prey to the king’s greed,” he frowned. “But be warned, my help comes with a price.”

  Unease wrinkled its way back into my joy. I couldn’t help but cling to this wild new hope, but I also knew–all too well–that no one did anyone a kindness simply out of goodness.

  “I don’t know what I can give to repay for such a service,” I replied feeling down my tattered skirts, praying I might find a rogue coin or two even though I knew I had none. “I have no money.”

  He smiled reassuringly.

  “Lucky for you, money does not interest me,” he said as he circled me, his gaze traveling up and down my body until it rested on my neck. My cheeks grew hot at being observed with such intensity, wondering which of several unsavory options he could be considering.

  “That necklace is quite stunning,” he complimented, his fingers grazing my skin as he lifted the pendent to examine it. “Yes, this is quite nice.” He let it drop. “How about yo
u give me your trinket, and in return I’ll fix this little problem of yours?”

  I clutched the pendant. It was a family relic. I’d worn it every moment since my mother died. She had given it to me, just as her mother had given it to her.

  “This was my mother’s,” I replied, looking down at the golden orb, a constellation of rubies speckled around its circumference. “I don’t know if I could ever part with it. Surely you can accept something else?”

  “I’m afraid you’ve overestimated my generosity,” he replied icily. “The choice is yours to make. You can either keep the little sentimental piece of metal and wear it proudly to the gallows, or you can trade it for something far more valuable. Your life.”

  He held out his open palm, a sly smile crossing his lips.

  The pendant in my hand weighed as heavy as my soul. I fumbled with it between my fingers, stupidly hoping he would reconsider.

  “I’m afraid my patience is wavering. I don’t enjoy wasting my time with the indecisive,” he said with a sigh. “Do you choose life or death? Honestly, a simpler choice has never been made.”

  I had to make my decision and I would do whatever it took to survive the king’s greed.

  His anticipation was electric as I touched the pendant one final time, unclasping the hook and letting it drop into his exposed palm. The chain coiled like a snake before he closed his fingers over it, the necklace vanishing instantly. He regarded my surprise with a satisfied smirk.

  “Excellent,” he said, walking back to the spinning wheel. “Now that boring business is out of the way, we can really have some fun! Besides, precious minutes are just flying by, and we don’t want to risk angering the king, do we?”

  I shook my head, watching as he turned his full attention to the machine before him, grinning. Just as before his foot pumped the treadle up and down, forcing the wheel to spin as he fed handfuls of straw into the rotating mouth. A thin gold thread wound itself rapidly around the bobbin, running from side to side until the entire spool was full faster than I had known possible. Then he threw the filled bobbin into the basket and grabbed another, repeating the process again.