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

by Genevieve Raas

  Tristan.

  My son.

  A shiver of fear ran down my spine.

  I made Rumpelstiltskin vow never to tell Tristan what I did. That I traded him for a bit of silk and lace. If he kept his promise, I didn’t know. I couldn’t help but offer up a silent prayer that if this man did possess any virtue in his blackened soul, he had kept his word.

  The red sun skimmed the earth, but my skin still broiled. Sweat trickled between my breasts, and my skirts clung to my damp arms and legs. I wanted nothing more than to peel them off and escape the sticky fibers. Only the uneven ground biting the blisters forming on my toes proved an apt distraction.

  Nightmare lived up to its name. However, the lingering sensation of being utterly alone was worst of all. It settled in my bones and weighed down my every thought. As if I would never see a blue sky or green meadow again.

  My legs started to cramp when the sound of a throat clearing cut through the silence.

  “I suggest we make camp before we lose the light completely,” he said.

  I took a few steps more.

  “Are you serious? We can’t stop now, not with Fate on our heels.”

  “Our one stroke of luck is that Fate doesn’t yet know where we are, but he will soon find out. I can feel his anger,” he stretched his palm, as if something irritated his skin. “Right now, I’m more concerned with the immediate. What lurks in the dark, especially when magic is not an option. We are no good to Tristan if we are dead.”

  I looked out.

  In the distance dead trees stood like pillars, and for a flash a limp body swayed from a rope. Vast nothingness surrounded the corpse. An odd sense overcame me, like I was akin. I was the corpse. Lifeless and alone, no one remembering or caring. In another blink the body was gone, though a chill remained in my bones.

  Rumpelstiltskin started gathering long branches from the ground and leaning them against each other, creating a kind of shelter.

  His cheeks flared red from the sun. Strands of black hair stuck to his damp forehead. His white shirt hung open, beads of sweat glistening off his chest. I remembered a time when I wanted nothing more than to run my hands down his rigid torso.

  He was as handsome and alluring as I remembered.

  And I hated him for it.

  “Not exactly a palace, but it will do,” he said, wiping his hands together. The hands I always wanted to touch me. To touch me still. “Don’t worry. I will be the gentleman and stay outside with the beasts and the monsters.”

  I made to leave.

  I didn’t like my body betraying me so easily. I needed to get away before I stumbled back into my heart leading instead of my reason. He was a foul man. I didn’t want him. I shouldn’t want him.

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  “I saw a spring, I need to drink.”

  Worry infected his features.

  “Let me go with you,” he said.

  I put out my hands to him and stepped back.

  “No, I want to go alone.”

  He grimaced and shook his head. He dug into his inner pocket and pulled out a silver flask. He shoved it into my hands, along with a small, silver dagger.

  “If you insist on going, you better have some form of protection,” he said.

  He gripped my wrist. It burned and I felt myself flush. I pulled away. I had to get away.

  I took off and headed towards the spring. My entire body weighed heavy with fatigue as I stepped over stones and brush. I tried to ignore how very much like straw the brown grass appeared.

  Though I was furious with him, during my confinement I couldn’t help but cling to Rumpelstiltskin as a small beacon of hope. I lost count how many times I imagined him appearing to rescue me. He had once before, finding me through the pounding of my desperate heart. What was to say he wouldn’t find me again?

  But, being back with him now, our past was made fresh. Raw. All the emotions bared and they were grotesque.

  Up a little hill I pressed until it crested and a fresh pool of water gleamed below. Not even a ripple disturbed the smooth surface. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth as I realized how thirsty I actually was.

  Dried grass poked into my kneecaps as I knelt down. I opened the flask and readied to dip it into the water. I stopped.

  The hairs on the back of my neck rose.

  A woman looked back at me.

  Exhaustion masked her youth, and anxiety riddled her eyes. Bruises and dirt dimpled her cheeks, while her hair hung in disheveled ropes around her face.

  I moved closer towards the reflection. The woman moved closer as well. My heart started to race.

  “Who are you?” I asked, entranced.

  The woman asked the same question, her chapped lips mouthing the words simultaneously with my own. Reality crashed down on me. Making a fist I struck the water dissolving the woman’s face in a torrent of waves.

  I was the woman. It was my own reflection.

  I fell back and buried my face in my hands. I took a deep breath through the pain stinging my lungs. I saw in her everything I abhorred. The results of lies, greed, and revenge.

  I didn’t want to be this thing.

  Looking down at my skirts I rubbed the worn material between my fingers. The gown had been a gift from Edward. My blood stained the golden embroidery Rumpelstiltskin had spun. The Furies’ claws shredded what remained when I lost Tristan. It was a monument to my selfishness.

  Lacing my fingers through the cords of the gown I tore them apart. Some even snapped in my fervor to release myself. The torn blue fell to my feet and I was left wearing nothing but a plain, linen chemise.

  The sun fell deeper behind the horizon. Twilight hues started to paint the landscape in pinks and blues. Balling both my hands into fists I marched into the water. Cool immediately kissed my hot skin.

  Nightmare be damned. I couldn’t be this creature any longer. I couldn’t let Tristan see my shame.

  I waded in until the water reached my waist. I looked up at the sky as violet bled into the ink black of night. In one swoop I plunged into the water. The cold swept through my dirty hair and over my scratched skin. It rolled within my ears and wrapped my body in its tranquil world. I remained beneath the water, floating within the confines of my own will.

  Only when my lungs finally demanded air did I jump up, gasping for a renewing breath. I combed my fingers through my wet tangles. I splashed water against my face and over my arms, dissolving any remaining traces of dirt or dried blood.

  Night almost fell completely now. I walked out of the spring, clean and fresh. Reborn.

  Wringing out the water from my chemise I stopped.

  “How darling, she thinks she can escape,” a bodiless voice said in my left ear. It sounded simultaneously familiar and not at all.

  I turned. Nothing. But I could feel it, whatever it was. Resisting the urge to tremble, I held the dagger tight.

  “You will not win,” it said. Laughter echoed softly.

  I backed away then took off running towards the orange light flickering on the other side of the hill.

  Perhaps Rumpelstiltskin was right to camp, after all. There were things within the darkness, terrible things.

  He sat on a fallen tree staring at the scar on the palm of his hand. Unease seemed to stiffen his brow and lips as he traced the jagged outline with his finger. I shivered as the fire washed him in gold.

  His gaze snapped up to me and he clasped his fist closed. His gray eyes darted from my eyes to my feet and back again. The hard lines of his face softened and his lips parted. He cleared his throat.

  I braced myself expecting some kind of lewd comment. A critique of my plain chemise, or my sopping hair. Insults.

  “You look well,” he stumbled. “Refreshed.”

  A flash of annoyance rolled through me. What game was he playing? This was not the man I remembered. There was always some poisonous insult waiting on that sharp tongue of his. But kindness? I wanted to tell him off regardless, but my
innate politeness didn’t allow it.

  “Yes,” I replied, the word sounding awkward as it fought against something cruder.

  He pulled out a handful hazelnuts from his inner pocket. He held them out to me. I crossed my arms and turned my gaze towards the fire, leaving his hand hovering.

  “You must eat something, and I’m afraid these are all I have,” he said. “I’m sure you’re hungry.”

  “Must I?” My stomach growled despite my yearning to not take any more from him.

  He stretched his arm holding them out closer to me. I looked at them. Hated them. Then snatched them away. Sweetness and butter filled my mouth as I ate, their crunch satisfying my deep hunger.

  I offered him none.

  He grabbed a long stick and poked the fire, a wave of embers rolling up towards the sky. I sat down and placed the knife on my lap. I continued to plop the hazelnuts in my mouth.

  I knew I was being petty. Foolish even. But I couldn’t act any other way towards him. I preferred focussing on the flashes of every misdeed he ever committed against me. Hear his every lie, and remember his sneering face offering me nothing but scorn. Hating him was the only way to not think on my own sins. Or worse, the love that still smoldered for him beneath every reason not to.

  A rough scream echoed in the distance. The knife slid off my lap as I turned swiftly. My bones chilled and the hairs on my arms stood on end.

  He looked out at the black, the thing that made that untamed cry shrouded by darkness. I wondered if it was the same thing that spoke to me at the spring.

  “What’s that?” I whispered.

  “I don’t know, but I’d wager it isn’t anything we want to meet,” he replied.

  He stood and peered into the black. Nothing. Only silence surrounded us, except for the snap of the fire. After waiting several minutes, he relaxed his shoulders and sat back down.

  Bending over he picked up my knife and held it out to me. The blade reflected prettily in the firelight. Eagerness etched every line of his face for me to take his generosity. I only saw a flash of the last time such eagerness infected him. The knife might as well been a quill.

  He could keep it.

  “I’m going to bed,” I said, standing. “I would not like to be eaten by a creature created by my own disgust for you.”

  He bit the inside of his lip and placed the knife down beside him.

  “Laila, I…” he trailed off.

  “What?” I asked, my voice cutting.

  His eyes searched me, but he turned them away.

  For once he made the right decision. If he thought he was going to ask for my forgiveness, he would only receive a stiff kick in the groin.

  I entered the shelter and tried to shut out the outside as much as I possibly could. But I couldn’t shake the looming cold and sensation of being wanted.

  Hunted.

  I scratched my nails down rough stone. The coarse mortar tore my skin, but I didn’t care. Even the traces of my own blood glistening in the gray light didn’t make me pause.

  I needed out. Needed to escape the whispers filling my head. Laughter. Talking. Crying. They all jumbled together into a frightful chorus.

  Exhaustion caused my arms to shake. My body wanted nothing more than to collapse to the floor. I ground my hands harder into the wall, fighting the invisible force wanting me to surrender.

  I clawed at the rock, small pebbles falling like sand at my feet. I started to tremble even more violently. I ignored the pain biting into the beds of my split fingernails. The stone was disintegrating. Streams of crimson ran down my hands, hot and sticky.

  The timbre of the voices grew deafening. They hooted and cackled now. They were laughing at me.

  The large stone started to wiggle. I dug even more frantically. Gravel piled at my feet. I saw freedom in every pebble, in every grain of grit I loosened.

  Grabbing the stone, I wormed it out and let it crash to the floor. My heart beat with victory.

  This time I would escape my prison.

  I worked on the others, but my breathing stopped. My legs gave way beneath me, and I tumbled to the floor. Tears stung my eyes as I tore at my skirts, blood staining the once fine embroidery.

  Would Rumpelstiltskin save me now as he had once before? He was the only hope remaining in my soul.

  The mocking tones hooted and guffawed.

  I looked up at the hole I created, and my heart splintered. Another stone already stood in its place, the mortar thicker than before. My scream momentarily drowned out the howling cacophony.

  “Hush,” a woman’s voice rose above all other sounds. “You’re going to damage your pretty hands if you keep up at this. It’s getting boring thwarting your escapes.”

  “Let me out!” I cried. “I want my son. I want Tristan!”

  Laughter. Heartless, cold laughter.

  “I’ve already told you every day for the past 6,923 days,” it said, irritated. “You are my insurance to bring the man we both wish for. You better hope he deems to rescue you, or else I will give you back to the Furies for their dinner.”

  Days. Always counting. To me, they all bled together into one eternity.

  “Let me see Tristan,” I moaned back. “Please.”

  “Always ‘please’,” it said, trailing off. “Haven’t you learned, miller’s daughter? Groveling gets you nothing.”

  Laughter. Shouting. Wailing. The echoes fused together into what resembled one terrible moan.

  “TRISTAN!”

  My own cries melted into the others.

  My lids shot open. There was no stone. No voices. Only brown leaves and dried branches. The air thickened and the space grew smaller. Stifling. I leapt from the ground and stumbled out of the shelter into the night.

  I would have fallen if two strong arms hadn’t wrapped around me and held me up. Rumpelstiltskin’s brow was intense with worry.

  “I heard you scream. What’s wrong?”

  I could feel the quick pitter-patter of his heart beating through his shirt. He gripped my arms and pressed his thumbs tenderly into my skin. My throat went dry having a sensation I wished dead reawaken.

  I shook him off, his hands flying away leaving behind a lingering heat.

  “It’s nothing,” I said. “I just need some fresh air.”

  My heart continued to thrash in my ears. My breaths were heavy, verging on becoming sobs.

  He looked at me for a second or two, but said nothing more about my obvious irritation. He only motioned me to sit by the fire. My pulse started to slow as I sat down in the grass.

  “You look chilled,” he said. He shook off his doublet and covered my shoulders.

  It smelled of him, like leather and cedar, and his warmth merged into my skin. I slipped his doublet off and threw it back at him. I would rather be cold.

  He sighed and placed his doublet between us as he sat beside me.

  I kept my gaze firmly on the dancing flames, but I couldn’t help noticing him strumming his fingers against his leg. They moved in quick succession, like ocean waves against the shore. Faster they pattered, until he started tapping his foot in an odd rhythm. Tension thickened around him.

  I chewed my lip, wishing him to keep whatever he wanted to say to himself.

  “You were screaming for Tristan,” he blurted out, his voice shredding the silence. “It is natural your own nightmares would be intensified here. You don’t have need to worry. Perhaps you would like me to tell you about him?”

  I bit my lip harder. My hands twisted into my skirts and constricted the fabric until my fingers went numb. He kept wanting to act like he was concerned for me. Like everything was normal. Like we were as we might have been.

  “He is a fine boy, a man…” he started.

  All he did was dig the wound deeper. Reminded me that he raised my son while I was imprisoned. He had heard Tristan’s first words, seen his first steps. All the singular moments I yearned to know he had experienced. He took them from me like my mother’s necklace and ring
.

  But what pained me greatest was the truth. I was the fool who had willingly given it all to him.

  “Don’t,” I cut through, my voice rough. I would have none of his fake empathy.

  His right brow raised and his mouth opened.

  “Don’t what?” he asked.

  “Don’t you dare speak about my son to me,” I said.

  He stopped tapping his fingers against his leg.

  “You can’t be serious,” he replied. “I thought you’d want to know about Tristan.”

  I burned with wanting to know. I wanted to know if he resembled me or his father more. If he enjoyed hunting or tennis. If his hair still smelled of fresh honey…

  I breathed deeply and stood looking down at Rumpelstiltskin. I loved not having him tower over me for once.

  “You have no idea how much I want to know. But damn if I hear Tristan’s name spoken through your lips,” I said.

  He chortled and shook his head.

  “You are being petty.”

  “Petty? I think I have every right to act as I do. You are nothing but a liar and a fraud. And you’ve not changed. You still twist me to get what you want.”

  Something like resentment stiffened his features. He stood and leaned in towards me.

  “Changed? Don’t speak to me about being changed. At least I admit my sins. I don’t place all the blame on another like you,” he said.

  I stepped closer, lengthening my body and squaring my shoulders.

  “You bastard!”

  He sneered and his gaze tore into me. Through me. We were a breath apart now. I detested the heat rising from his body and dancing across my skin.

  “You act so noble, Laila. Like you are nothing but the blameless victim. I don’t remember this nobility when you signed away your child in exchange for being queen,” he said.

  “Only because you stripped me of everything until I had no other choice,” I replied. “You made me turn into this monster bent on power. Your silver tongue licked away my conviction until only greed remained.”

  He snorted, but his amusement quickly faded into stone.