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

by Genevieve Raas

  “How many more times must I tell you?” she continued. “He never told me. Not even a hint. Don’t you think I would tell you if I knew? I want to save our child just as much as you.”

  “Don’t presume to tell me what to think!” I roared back. “Why should I believe someone capable of selling my child to a demon?”

  She groaned in frustration. “We are wasting time arguing. Let me go out and search. I have the best chance. I already got him to give us three days, and I know I could get him to free us from this debt entirely.”

  She must have been truly mad to think I’d allow such a thing. “You aren’t going anywhere.”

  “Why not?”

  I glared at her and pressed my finger over her lying lips.

  “Because I don’t trust you,” I said. “You lost my trust the moment you signed my son away. I should’ve killed you when I had the chance.”

  She knocked my hand away and strode the length of our chambers before turning back to me and spitting, “What a pity to have missed your chance. If only you hadn’t been so afraid of your precious gold turning into ash.”

  She played with fire now, and my fingers curled, hungering for her neck.

  My son started to cry, and his mournful wails tolled in my ears. Trying to gain control of my anger, I walked towards the cradle and caressed one of his plump cheeks. A faint rose blushed over his milky skin as he finally quieted down. Warmth I rarely knew washed over me as I comforted him. He wasn’t just the protection I always craved for my power, he was my child, and I wanted his love.

  “Nothing will happen to you, my son. The only one who will pay for this sin is that whore,” I whispered to him as I stroked his hair.

  As if he could hear my murderous thoughts, his little face scrunched with anger. For a moment, and maybe it was a trick of the flickering candlelight, his green eyes locked onto mine in a pointed glare that seemed to scream: Don’t kill her! I will never forgive you for killing my mother!

  I saw utter hatred in my son’s gaze. My throat clamped shut, seized by the fear my son might loathe me forever. But his mother deserved punishment.

  Don’t kill her! I will never forgive you and I will despise you for making me motherless. Tristan’s eyes begged, his fear and grief piercing my heart.

  I picked him up and cradled him to my chest. When I held him after he was born, I saw a prize, a possession. Now, for the first time, though I had always called him my son, I felt like his father. He trusted me, not as his sovereign, but as his flesh and blood. To protect him was now the consuming passion that ran through my veins.

  “Sire!”

  I turned to see Captain Rowan stumbling into the room, his hand pressed to his chest as he panted. The man must have run all the way from the armory.

  “The first search party has just returned,” he gasped out. “Unfortunately, no name was discovered. There is no trace of him anywhere.”

  “Impossible!” I said. “I saw the man walk out of the ballroom with my own eyes. He couldn’t have just vanished. Someone must have seen him leave the palace!”

  I watched Rowan as small beads of sweat collected across his forehead before trickling down his temples. He was nervous. No…he was terrified.

  “He is a ghost, sire,” Rowan said, not meeting my gaze. Nobody has seen anything. Nobody knows anything.”

  I walked over to the fire and grabbed the poker. I prodded the logs, plumes of ash and sparks flying into the air.

  “A ghost? I see.” I repeated flatly.

  Another cloud of embers billowed up as I shoved the poker deeper into the coals. A fresh wave of heat pressed against my skin.

  “Do you know what I think, Rowan?” I asked.

  “N-no, sire.”

  “I think you know something,” I said. Lifting the hot poker from the flames, I admired its glowing red tip before I spun around and brought it within a hair’s breadth of his cheek. “I think you know—just as I do—that this man is no ghost.”

  Rowan’s eyes went wide with animal fear at the sight of the poker, and human fear twisted his mouth as my words sunk in.

  “P-please, sire,” he whispered.

  “I have the oddest suspicion you are hiding something from me. I can always tell. Men like you tend to piss their pants when they keep secrets and sweat balls when they lie.”

  I touched the poker to his beard, breathing in the stink of burning hair.

  “Edward, this is insane!” Laila cried, rushing at me and grabbing my arm.

  I shook her off me, casting her to the floor.

  “Shut up!” I snapped. “He is either going to tell me, or I am going to shove this poker through his cheek and burn off his tongue. You hear that, Rowan?”

  Laila’s eyes grew round with horror, yet, she didn’t dare rise up again to oppose me. Rowan blanched, and I watched with pleasure as his soldierly stoicism collapsed along with his legs. I grabbed him by the collar, just as I would grab a dog by the scruff.

  “You don’t understand, sire,” he whimpered. “I was sworn to secrecy. I’m bound by blood!”

  Laila gasped, and I felt a prickling in my fingertips from where they held that damned demon’s quill. I brought the poker back to Rowan’s beard and singed the other side. The symmetry pleased me, as did his frantic jerking and squirming in my grasp.

  “I-I’ve seen him before,” Rowan cried out, his words tumbling forth. “Once. In a tavern, a year ago, before I was made captain of the guard.”

  “And?” I let the word hang in the air.

  “S-sire?”

  “Come now, Rowan. I thought you somewhat intelligent, but you must think me a fool if you believe I accept that’s all that happened.”

  The man looked down, and I saw a tear roll down his cheek. Disgusting.

  “He offered me everything,” he whispered. “I couldn’t refuse. I made a deal with him.”

  “What did he offer you?” Not that it mattered, but I had to break him by humiliation in order to be sure I got everything out of him.

  “Everything…Evelyn…my position as captain...but, he made me promise not to tell a soul about our pact, or I would know the keenest torment.”

  I pondered this.

  “What tavern?” I asked.

  “The Red Lion, by the north gate of the city.”

  “Well, there’s one thing that is certain,” I said mildly, the poker still clutched in my fist.

  “What, sire?”

  “The man, unlike you, is not a liar. You will, in fact, know the keenest torment.”

  With that, I raised the poker and brought it down with all the force my rage could muster. Bone cracked and skin sizzled. Hot blood sprayed across my face and chest, but I didn’t relent. I struck him again, his screams briefly filling the room until the metal rod crushed through his skull and he went silent. Brains and blood oozed out of the wound. Placing my foot on his disfigured face I pulled out the buried rod, white clumps sticking to the metal.

  I turned back towards Laila, who had clapped both her hands over her mouth. I pointed the bloodied poker at her.

  “Not a word, woman,” I said. “And, for the love of God, if you’re going to be sick, do it in the pot, not on the floor.”

  She crawled to the chamber pot, and I heard her casting up her accounts. I opened the door and bawled for a page.

  “Your majesty?” the lad asked, bowing nervously as he entered the room.

  “Prepare me clothing. Plain and poor like that which a commoner might wear.”

  “Sire?” The boy whispered, glancing between the body on the floor and my blood-spattered self.

  “God’s teeth! Am I condemned to be surrounded by liars and fools? What of my words did you not understand? Clothing. Plain. Dirty. Poor. NOW!”

  He nearly tripped running out the door.

  “What are you going to do?” Laila asked, cautiously rising to her feet.

  “Since everyone seems to be either a numbwit or a fraud, I shall go find the man’s name myself.”


  “Is that wise? What if you are discovered? What if you are killed? What of the kingdom then?”

  “You have precious little faith in me, madam, though I’ve kept my word to you in all things.”

  “Let me go instead,” Laila pushed. “You have never been a commoner, you do not know how to carry yourself or speak without giving yourself away. I know my way around these people.”

  I laughed bitterly. “You? Let you leave the palace? Trust you? Nay, you will stay here with my son. You can fill the hours by contemplating the gift I have given you of your life. Again. Yes, you are safe from the scaffold. I will not have a son raised without a mother. He’d never forgive me. Don’t test my mercy further.”

  “You don’t know the meaning of the word!” she said.

  “Oh, but I do, my dear. I am going to fix this mistake of yours, and then we shall go on with our lives. I will have a son who loves me utterly and an obedient wife that will do everything I say.”

  “And, why do you think that?” she spat.

  “Because tonight you’ve lost your power over me. If you step a foot out of line, say one word that displeases me, I might let the truth slip. I will tell our sweet boy that dear mummy sold him for a bit of sweet meats and fine dresses. I’m sure he will be very understanding.”

  Sometimes, it is not the hand that delivers the stunning blow, but rather the mouth. With these words, I watched her realize that everything was forfeit to me. She finally understood just how dangerous games like hers could be.

  The smell was the worst part of the miserable clothing I wore, but it was nothing compared to the stench of the city. I knew it was a merry prank for royal youths to dress as commoners and mingle with them, but I had never desired to do so.

  What kind of company could be expected from people who spent every day scrounging for a bit of gruel only to die the moment the wind turned cold. In my more cynical moments, I hardly knew why they bothered living at all.

  Near the north gate, the crowds seemed to grow thicker, and I had to push my way forward through the square. At one end stood a ramshackle stage where several actors performed a litany of lewd jokes, while at the other end, gamblers squatted on the cobblestones, their hoots and wails punctuating the performance.

  Idiots.

  Continuing on, I passed several old beggar women crouched motionless along the walls. They held their hands out from mountains of rags.

  “A coin for a blessing, sir. No evil shall befall the generous,” one croaked. She lifted a gnarled claw towards me, a map of veins throbbing through papery skin.

  I was enraged at the flagrant lese majesté of the woman actually truing to touch me but remembered just in time that she was not supposed to know I was her king. I hurried away from her clutching hands.

  Thankfully unhindered by any more beggars or whores, I entered The Red Lion. It was as I expected, except slightly less filled with shit.

  “You gonna stand there all night or you gonna order something?” a barmaid snapped. “Haven’t got all day.”

  “Ale,” I said as I took a seat, trying not to betray my revulsion.

  She left and quickly returned, plopping a large pint down in front of me. The froth slid down the mug, joining the sticky remnants of past ales on the table.

  “Half a copper,” she said.

  Instead of the half copper she requested I pulled out a gold coin. Her eyes grew large seeing more treasure than she had ever earned in her entire putrid existence. Her demeanor instantly became friendly, and she trailed one of those dirty fingers down her neck.

  “Just what are you expecting to get for that?” she asked in a horrifying simulacrum of flirtation.

  “An answer to a question, that’s all,” I replied, forcing a grin.

  She snatched the coin from my hand and shoved it deep down within her bosom.

  “I knew you must be a funny sort of man when you walked in here. It’s always the strangers that have the oddest requests,” she replied. Taking the seat in front of me, she didn’t care to wince as her elbows landed on the sticky table.

  “I’m looking for a name. A very important name, of a man I heard frequented this…” I had to force the words, “fine establishment. He has pale skin and black hair. He’s a unique fellow. You would remember him if you had seen him.”

  I noticed several men glancing over in my direction. No doubt their ears were burning from our conversation just as their eyes must have been burning from the glimpse of the gold I’d given the woman.

  “I think I know the man yer lookin’ for, but I’m afraid I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout a name. Creepy bloke if ever I saw one, though. Looked like an angel and a devil all at once.”

  More glances. The prying simpletons.

  “Did he speak with anyone?” I asked.

  “Oh, yeah. Aldus was the last to speak with him. The man bought him drinks and even egged him on. Thank goodness someone was willing to listen to Aldus’ boasting. Gave my ears a break.”

  I leaned in, barely a breath escaping my lungs. This was the type of information I’d been hoping for. “Where can I find this Aldus?”

  Her face grew quite somber. “Oh, he’s dead now. Kept on about spinning wheels and turning straw into gold, the wanker. Said it was his fault his daughter was taken by the king, but we all knew his tall tales so we didn’t believe a word of it. Fact is, he couldn’t handle the truth his daughter ran away from a waste of a father. Drank himself to death he did, found him hunched over, face first in a pool of rum. Sitting right where you are, in fact.”

  My blood ran cold. Aldus was Laila’s father! I stood up quickly, wondering how deep that bastard demon’s manipulations went, but my thoughts were cut short as a wobbling man walked right into me and vomited onto my cloak. I’d had my fill of this place.

  “How dare you!” I roared at the man.

  Forgetting myself, I threw him to the ground. The barmaid rushed to his side. The group of men who had been glaring at me earlier joined her and stood between us.

  “I suggest you leave,” one cautioned.

  “We don’t take very kindly to such behavior from strangers, especially ones that ask so many questions,” another interjected, reaching for the knife at his side.

  I’d seen my share of fights, and even war. If ever there was a moment to call a retreat, this was it. I was without protection and outnumbered. They were rabid and restless, just like the wolves waiting to devour me whole.

  I backed away slowly then ran once I reached the door.

  I cursed them all as I found myself once again wandering the maze of streets, fearing my final chance at discovering the imp’s name was lost.

  I walked through the darkness for what seemed an eternity, asking passing strangers if they heard any murmurs of the name of the man I sought.

  “Face like I never seen before. Don’t quite reckon a name to go with it, I’m afraid,” they all would say, my pouch lightening with every eager palm.

  I decided to broaden my search and passed through the north gate and began to canvass the beggars and peddlers who camped outside the city walls. The death of my hope grew more certain with every step and every dead end, but was I not the king? Nothing was supposed to be outside my power to accomplish.

  Darkness fell, and the bells tolled midnight, and then the hour past midnight. I skirted the edges of the woods that surrounded the city. I searched for hermits and woodsmen, but I soon realized my only remaining subjects in the forest were but foxes and rabbits.

  Just as I was about to turn and leave the woods, a gust of wind bore down on me. The leaves rustled loudly, sounding like a chorus of whispers, but behind them were faintest notes of music.

  My heart jumped a beat. The music grew clearer and stronger, and the melody yearned with the strings of a violin. Up and down the tune flew in hypnotic rhythms, its pulse beseeching me to follow.

  Come, come this way!

  Through the darkness I could make out the warm hues of a fire. The ligh
t ate away at the gloom revealing the mysterious violinist.

  “Welcome, your majesty!” he said, never losing tempo as he continued to play. “I’ve been wondering when you’d come.”

  Swallowing my shock, I stepped out into the light. My shadow joined the others in their dance as he played a fresh set of scales and arpeggios.

  “You look older than last I saw you. Yes. No longer a youth with spots on your skin.”

  “How do you know who I am?” I asked, shaken.

  “Why, I know a great many people, sire, even though they never seem to notice me. But, you aren’t here to ask such unimportant questions. No. You want to know the name of the man who is trying to steal your son.”

  The bow jumped and lilted over the strings and the melody changed as he began to sing, his strange blue eyes too bright, almost glowing.

  I know the name you seek, and when you find out I’m sure you’ll freak!

  Dear King, think long and hard on your past, and remember the boy you left outcast.

  Never will the king win this guessing game, so long as Rumpelstiltskin is his name!

  The weight of all my fears slammed me down to my knees.

  “Rumpelstiltskin? Are you sure? How is that possible?” I whispered.

  The flames of the fire jumped up to the sky, and when they died down, they revealed the man to be gone.

  Rumpelstiltskin.

  I killed my traitorous cousin and his entire family years ago. There was nothing left of the house. I made sure that accursed name was struck from every history I could find. This had to be a mistake. A joke.

  Think long and hard on your past, and remember the boy you left outcast

  Boy? I thought back to that day. There had been a wife and two children. I believe one of them was a son. Yes, that’s right. I suppose it is possible he escaped. Could this stranger really be that boy, come back to punish me? To avenge his family? I thought several moments in the silence, only the crackle of the flames disrupting the quiet still. Then I started to laugh, feeling nearly mad with relief and rage.

  “It is him! The traitor’s boy has come back to seek vengeance on the king? How awfully clever!”