Twist: A Fairy Tale Awakening (Spindlewind Trilogy Book Two)

by Genevieve Raas

  This wasn’t my first infraction. Luckily, Pater had yet to catch the others. If he had taught me anything at all, it was how to be good at covering my own tracks.

  I stuck the rock in its rightful place, twisting the broken half towards the wall. A jar of rat skulls stood beside it, and I tapped it to the right until it further hid the evidence. Inspecting the floor, I found the jagged missing piece lodged between the gnarled wooden boards.

  I picked it up, planning to toss it in a flower pot, when the door creaked open.

  Pater walked in.

  With no other choice, I stepped my foot on top of the nugget, the razor point poking into my arch. I forced my lips to refrain from a frown at the sharp sensation.

  Suspicion glowed in his gaze.

  “Hello,” I said, trying to pull his attention away from my awkwardly placed foot. “Frau Latten is about to put the beef stew on the table.”

  Suspicion turned to annoyance.

  “Again? I swear that woman has cooked the same three dishes since you were a baby.”

  “It’s not like you’ve joined me for a meal the past several months to care,” I spat. “We’ve hardly spoke past a few sentences.”

  Even though irritation welled in my gut at him, I couldn't shake the hope that he would stay.

  He pressed his lips tightly together and shifted in his boots…as if he already wished to be away from me.

  “I’m in no mood for soup or conversation today.” He pushed past me.

  How was that different from any other day?

  Remaining firmly in place, I tried my hardest not to expose my mishap. He walked over to the bookcases lining the far end of the room. He scanned through the shelves, muttering curses beneath his breath.

  His attention elsewhere, I took the chance and kicked the rogue piece away. It skittered softly beneath the wardrobe and out of sight. I breathed a sigh of relief.

  He turned and I expected him to go immediately into his private chambers as always, but instead he entered his long deserted study.

  He acted more strangely of late. Irritated and on edge. But tonight was worse than I’d seen.

  Curious, I followed him.

  Flutters of papers and pages echoed through the room as he pulled out stacks of books and rolls of parchment from a locked cabinet. With quickening strides he dropped his bundle onto a littered wooden table that was shoved hard against the back wall.

  He knocked over trinkets and pushed pots of ink out of the way. Once enough surface was cleared, he unrolled the parchments revealing a series of meticulous maps.

  I’d seen many, but never one so beautifully crafted, and my breath stuck in my throat glancing at the outside world in such new detail.

  Vivid greens swept over prairies and valleys. Green gave way to gray as mountains cut through continents. Deserts of yellow sand and deserts of white ice. The rolling blue of those oceans I so wished to see…

  “Where did you find these?” I asked.

  He didn’t answer, lost in his own mind again.

  “Looks Mongolian. Or perhaps Persian. See how the mountains are shaped like triangles? That’s how you can tell,” I continued.

  I hadn’t even realized how close my fingers came to stroking the entire world until a strong arm pushed me away. I found myself back in his dim study devoid of any color besides mahogany and black lacquer.

  “I don’t care if they are maps drawn by Odin himself,” he said. “I appreciate your enthusiasm, but right now I need a few moments of quiet without you breathing down my neck.”

  His features sharpened.

  “Fine,” I replied.

  He flattened the map’s crinkled surface with his hands. Bending further down, his nose nearly skimmed the surface, as if inspecting every mountain top and tucked away village.

  His eyes flashed with triumph.

  He grabbed a quill and started marking notations and diagrams across a forested landscape lying beyond our kingdom.

  “Planning another trip?” I asked, daring a step closer again. He stiffened the nearer I approached.

  “What an astute observation. Was it the maps that gave it away?” His eyes didn’t leave the charts.

  “No,” I shot back. “You are always going somewhere, and never with me.”

  He continued making his notes, refusing to meet my gaze.

  “Don’t even start that argument with me again, Tristan. That is out of the question. You know it is too dangerous to risk your safety.”

  I crossed my arms tight against my chest.

  “God, I feel like a prisoner locked away in some fortress.”

  He threw down his quill, small splatters of ink spraying the large forest he had been hovering over.

  “Stop being so dramatic,” he said, his voice filling with an emotion I hadn’t heard from him before. “You know nothing of prison. Of the true terrors prisoners face. You’ve never been forced in a dungeon where rats devour your fingers and toes. Or wait counting your last moments until death at the end of a sharp blade. Don’t pretend to know their suffering.”

  What made him such an expert on prisoners and dungeons?

  “What am I supposed to do, then?” I asked. “Life is dull. Day after day I sit in the same rooms surrounded by the same tables eating the same meals.”

  He sighed.

  “Then read this if you find yourself with so much free time.”

  He grabbed a book and shoved it into my chest. I turned it over. Heat clamped down on my stomach as anger vibrated my every tendon.

  “I’ve read Dreams and Enchantments eight times over. In fact, I’ve read every book in this house a thousand times over,” I ground out.

  “Then write a new one,” he said. “Now there is an idea. Put some of those vexatious words you’re so fond of to good use besides bothering me.”

  He started drawing his infernal lines and routes across the map again. Mocking me. Letting me see all the journeys he was free to take while I had to content myself with silent obedience.

  “Is that what I’m supposed to do with my life? Spend it not bothering you?” I asked.

  “That would be particularly lovely,” he said.

  He pulled the black quill through a valley. I couldn’t help but chortle.

  “Are you really choosing a mountain valley over a meadow path?”

  “It’s faster,” he growled.

  “It’s stupid. Those roads will never work. The rocks alone will cause you to twist an ankle. Best take the long way, through here,” I said, running my finger through a patchwork of villages.

  He grabbed my wrist.

  “I warn you. Do not test me tonight,” he said. A vein pulsed down his forehead, but it was nothing to the odd emotion bleeding through his anger. I’d never seen it in him before.

  I believed it fear.

  He turned his gaze away before I could be certain. I pulled out of his grasp.

  “Why am I even here?” I sighed. “It’s obvious you don’t care for my company any more. Let me go and be done with it. Then you’ll never be bothered by me again.”

  “Don’t be foolish,” he said, scrubbing his face. “There are reasons for the way things are right now.”

  “Reasons. Always reasons. And that’s supposed to be sufficient enough?” I asked. “You never tell me anything. You love your secrets. You thrive on them. You probably murdered my parents and I’m being held here for some kind of ransom”

  His face twisted and his entire body stiffened with rage.

  I had gone too far.

  “You always love bringing those two up to vex me. I told you they are dead by their own devising. Isn’t that enough?”

  “Actually, it isn’t,” I replied, keeping my voice calm. “I’m not a child anymore. You can’t hide behind your moods and secrets. I’m nineteen years old. A man. I demand to know.”

  He chuckled darkly. It made my skin prickle.

  “You think you can demand what you wish from me? Your mind works in curious ways
, boy.”

  He approached me, leaning in. He couldn’t tower over me quite the same as he used to. I remained firm.

  “Why did you take me in and raise me?” I asked. “Tell me the truth.”

  His cheeks hollowed.

  “There are larger things at play you can’t understand.”

  I scratched the base of my neck. Always riddles. Always non-answers.

  “Only because you won’t tell me.”

  “I admit I have secrets Tristan, but I keep them for your protection.”

  “No you don’t,” I said. “I’m just another artifact for your collection. I’m no different from these rocks and bottles you keep on the shelves. I won’t sit on that shelf waiting to be dusted anymore. I’m done.”

  I made for the door, but my feet remained glued to the floor. Cold washed over and through me until my entire body stiffened. I couldn’t move at all.

  Magic. Pater used to entertain me with it. Now he bound me with it.

  “You think you can leave as you please?” he asked with a laugh. “You don’t even know what lies beyond that door.”

  He circled me, a smug look twisting his white face. He was admiring his own work. The bastard.

  I tried to talk back, throw curses, but only indiscernible grumbles bubbled out of my throat. My lips refused to budge. I pulled and strained. It was useless. They were sealed shut.

  “Why don’t I help you get the facts straight before you try something so incredibly stupid again,” he said. “You are in my protection. As long as you stay beneath this roof you are safe. The moment you step one foot beyond that door, well, I’d hate to think what might happen to someone so ill equipped for life on the other side. Etiquette lessons from Frau Latten only do so much among thieves and whores.”

  He faced me now, that triumphant spark hardening his features. A litany of rude words stuck in my mouth, my lips still refusing to open.

  “All I ask is for a little patience,” he continued. “I will give you everything you require when the time comes. Then, you can do with your life as you wish. But, if you go now,” he chuckled. “Some will hunt your naivety, others will cheat you out of your very life. They will cut you down, break your bones, and laugh as you fall. Then you can experience the true generosity of humanity as you rot in a gutter. Afraid. In pain. Alone.”

  His voice chilled me down to my bones, and the hairs on my arms and neck stood on end. His gaze remained transfixed and deadly. I closed my eyes in surrender.

  “Good,” he said. “I’m glad at least a bit of your brain understands reason.”

  I fell to the floor as he released my body from its rigor mortis-like state. He returned to his maps and ink, while I slunk away and sat by the fire.

  The snap and spit of the flames echoed my internal rage.

  The shifting of his papers soon joined their chorus. Every crinkle or shuffle grated my nerves and I clenched my hands at his steps creaking the boards behind me.

  “I’m leaving now,” he said. I didn’t turn to face him. My anger kept me immobile. “I don’t know for how long. Everything you need will be provided as always.”

  My eyes refused to leave the fire, but I couldn’t stop my ears from hearing his words. His shadow fell over me, and his cloak brushed my back.

  “If something should happen and I don’t return…you will know,” he concluded, his voice dwindling into a hollow tone.

  My skin rippled at this. The one constant in my life was his resonating voice. It never wavered. Now, it shook.

  Heat from his hand hovered over my shoulder. He didn’t let it fall. He didn’t touch me. All the things we left unsaid hung within that space. I told myself I didn’t want his warmth any longer, but secretly I wished for nothing more.

  He retracted his hand without a word, his footsteps falling away along with any hope of reconciling.

  As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, a determination I’d never felt boiled in my gut. There was no turning back.

  I would go out into the world and I would discover what really happened to my parents. There would be no more secrets.

  Chapter Two

  RUMPELSTILTSKIN

  Passing by the sixteenth village I couldn’t believe I was taking Tristan’s advice and traveling the long way. I knew he was right, of course, though that fact irritated me. He was clever. Too clever at times, possessing the same insistent and strong willed spirit as his mother.

  She haunted me through her son in that way.

  I couldn’t escape her, my guilt, though I wished for nothing else. Even in my dreams I found myself back in that dungeon—The whirr of the spinning wheel rushed in my ears. The earthen straw prickled my nose. My blood throbbed as Laila stood dressed in red, her gown fanning out like flames. But it was her perpetual anger that quaked my soul: pulsing lips and cheeks hot with spite.

  She was most beautiful when she was angry. And after all these years, I loved her still.

  Deals, pacts, treaties, I gave much in my search to find her. I spilt blood and would have spilled an entire ocean if it meant holding her one last time.

  But what I learned only horrified me. The Furies didn’t just punish their prey, they consumed them. Drank their blood and feasted on their bones. What I once refused to believe I learned to accept. She was gone from me forever.

  Dead.

  And at my hands.

  I shook the chill away. I couldn’t think on that now.

  Cold swept across my skin and sank into my core. It was the sensation. The snap of panic. I knew no one was there, but I swore eyes watched me. Their gaze burrowed into my soul and I feared them.

  You can try and escape your destiny, but your choices will always mark you.

  I tugged the hood of my cloak further passed my cheeks and down my forehead and took off, my heels sliding in the mud.

  Trees grew thicker and taller, the frosted landscape only broken by clusters of thatched roofs and brick chimneys. It was all quite idealistic until entering a near ghost of a village.

  Rot and decay lingered in the air. The stench stung my nose causing me to gag. Several peasants dug trenches, their shovels splitting into the frozen earth. Others struggled pushing large carts loaded with heavy burlap sacks. Only their eyes were exposed, thick scarves hiding their lips and chins.

  A heavy man passed me pushing against his own cart. His thick leather boots ground into the snow and mud, while his labored breaths rolled in white clouds.

  “Beware,” he huffed. “Plague.”

  An arm lolled outside of his cart, its fingers stiff with blackened crust.

  I made to trudge on, but found myself too enthralled by the morbid scene to continue.

  I watched and listened from a distance as he stopped his cart outside a house of leaning timber and plaster. A man and woman immediately exited, their arms and backs straining as they carried a body wrapped in rough cloth.

  “How many, Hal?” the heavy man asked them.

  “Just the one today, Errol,” the young man replied. “Adelaide’s father. The dragon tonic he insisted on using didn’t work. But, you can’t blame the desperate for fighting.”

  They heaved the body onto the cart, the wheels cracking from the added weight. Hal’s brown hair fell in front of his hollow eyes. His cheeks were sunken with anxiety and I gambled the corpse he had carried looked far healthier.

  However, it was his wife that caught my attention. Tears rolled down her flushed cheeks, and fell upon her torn shawl. They did nothing to douse the beautiful flame burning within her soul.

  Ah, desperation. The village reeked of it, but this particular morsel was quite fresh. She knew the plague already coursed through her veins, but stubborn as her father, she would not admit defeat.

  “I hope this plague ends while a few of us remain,” Errol said, rubbing his hands together for warmth. “We don’t want what happened in Rheinfelden to happen here. Not a single soul left. We need a miracle.”

  “We could always ask him,” A
delaide said, her words nearly breathless. “Rumpelstiltskin is a great sorcerer. He can grant miracles.”

  My ears burned hearing my name spoken through the cold air.

  Errol stepped back and Hal looked at her as if she summoned the devil himself. I chuckled at the irony. They hadn’t noticed the devil they spoke of standing in their midst.

  “If the plague doesn’t finish us, his magic surely would!” Hal exclaimed. “Danger and misfortune are all you get with him. What he offers comes at too great a cost.”

  I ground my teeth together, trying to disintegrate the image of Laila from my mind.

  “But, if he could cure us…” Adelaide pushed again.

  Her flame blazed now. I wanted it. Needed it.

  “Out of the question,” Hal cut her off. “I will never accept his magic, not even if he offered me a kingdom.”

  I shook my head and moved on.

  When his dear little wife was on death’s door, her beauty ravaged by boils, he might find his mind changed. That’s the thing with desperation, it always makes one a fool.

  A wall of trees shot up before me, their branches scratching the sky with their looming height. The forest was unlike any I ever laid eyes on before. Ancient and unpopulated. Silent. Rumors circled that those who dared pass into its realm rarely reemerged, and those who did recalled tortuous experiences.

  Madness.

  I chuckled at the fragility of the mortal mind. Madness indeed. Most likely the results of high altitude and a flask of whiskey. I stepped beneath the web of knobby twigs and branches without a second thought.

  Gray mist swirled as I trudged across the forest floor. Deep silence surrounded me, and within the stillness a hum vibrated my bones. A heavy energy wanted me to turn back and never return.

  As if that would be enough to dissuade me from finding the answer I sought. I would know what the tarot cards were hiding about my future.

  Flipping open my satchel I dug into the bag and grabbed the Sphere of Asteria that promised me everything. I placed it flat on my palm and waved my other hand over it. The sphere whizzed and buzzed with my magic, but this time it remained firmly closed.