Rumpelstiltskin (Timeless Fairy Tales Book 4) (4 page)

Gemma would be sacrificed, killed by her father’s stupidity and the inaction of others.

“Gemma, Gemma no!” Gemma’s mother said as she staggered through the crowd. “I can’t lose both of you. W-what will I d-do?” she said, hooking her fingers on Gemma’s cloak and collapsing to her knees in a mess of mindless sobs. “Gemma!”

As Gemma dispassionately looked down at her panicked mother, she knew without a doubt that if she told King Torgen her father had lied, claiming the death sentence for herself and her father, her mother would not long survive them.

“N-not both of them, p-p-please!” Gemma’s mother said, raising her eyes to the ceiling.

Gemma ignored her mother’s cries as she weighed her options. Either way Gemma was going to die, but was it worth it to see her father killed for getting her into this mess as well? Should she say yes to spare him—to spare her mother?

“Well? Did he lie?” King Torgen asked.

Gemma sucked in a gasp of air as she considered her response. She loved her mother. Things looked grim, but just maybe…

Gemma glared at her father with her ice-eyes, hating him more than ever as she said, “No, My Lord, but he was mistaken.”

“Oh?” King Torgen said, leaning back in his throne.

“Yes. I cannot spin straw into gold because straw cannot be spun into anything; it hasn’t the right fibers,” Gemma said. Everyone in the room held their breath for a deathly moment of silence before Gemma continued, “But I can spin flax into gold.”

“Thank you, Gemma! T-thank you!” Gemma’s mother said, pulling on her cloak.

Gemma ignored her mother and stared King Torgen in the eye. Having just sacrificed herself for her father—whom she didn’t much like—and her mother—whose weak will chafed Gemma—she was not feeling charitable. Even though she was going to try and survive this, luck was not on her side. Only one person had ever evaded death when King Torgen ordered it, and such an order was a fairly frequent event.

“I see. And how do you do it?” King Torgen asked.

Gemma pressed her lips together before she responded. “The flax must be freshly cut from the fields, dried, and the seeds removed. After which—,”

“The plant must be harvested, I understand. Then, you spin it into gold?” King Torgen said, waving a hand to dismiss Gemma’s unspoken words.

“Not yet,” Gemma was quick to say. “The fibers must be harvested from the flax. The plant must go through the breaking, scutching, and heckling process to remove chaff and properly groom the fiber.”

Seizing the only glimmer of hope she had, Gemma continued, “Additionally, my magic must be performed away from any eyes and only at night. Moonlight must be allowed to shine on me as I work, or the results will not be permanent.”

Maybe Gemma could escape. King Torgen would surely demand a demonstration. With the limits she just set, he would be forced to leave her alone, at night, in a room with a window.

“I presume you would prefer to do the harvesting, breaking, scutching, and heckling yourself?” King Torgen asked, his voice oily.

“The gold would be of higher caliber,” Gemma said, kicking herself for not thinking of that requirement earlier. The longer she dragged the process out, the more time she had to think of a way to escape!

“Perhaps in the future. For now, I will be satisfied with low-quality gold,” King Torgen said, his smile gleeful.

He
knew
Gemma was lying through her teeth. Everyone knew it! It wasn’t possible for a normal girl to spin flax into gold, or the magicians and enchanters would have plucked her up as a child!

“Forgive me, My Lord, but I, your lowly subject, must remind you that I cannot work my magic in public,” Gemma said, her voice strong.

“Yes, of course. My guards will prepare a room with the specifications you have marked out. Until then, I will hold you in my dungeons, lest there be a
misunderstanding
,” King Torgen said. “Guards!”

“Gemma!” Gemma’s mother cried.

The six guards that escorted Gemma into the throne room moved into formation around her, stepping between Gemma and her mother before herding her out. Gemma could hear her mother’s sobs and the whispers of all present as they left the throne room behind. Eventually the guards led her down a winding staircase into the depths of the wooden castle.

The deeper they went, the more Gemma’s dread built.

King Torgen’s dungeons were known for the terrors that happened in them. It was an awful place built out of black stone. All light sources seemed to sputter in the terrible darkness, snuffed out by the horror of the place.

The guards escorted Gemma into a cell. There was nothing in it, but along the way—without Gemma noticing—the guards had plucked up various items they set down inside the cell. One dropped a small wooden stool, another a worn but thick blanket. A third soldier set down a bucket of water, and the fourth placed a cloak down on the ground.

“You acted with honor, Miss,” one of the soldiers said as the others filed out of the cell. “I’m sorry we can’t give you more.”

Gemma folded her lips into a smile with great difficulty. “Thank you,” she said before the soldier shut the door.

With the soldiers gone, Gemma was left alone in the oppressive silence. She stood on the stool to try to look outside—there was a window set in the ceiling covered with a metal grate that let her see bits of the cloudy sky, and two palace walls. She tried half-heartedly pulling on the grate of the ceiling-window, but it didn’t budge.

“I didn’t think it would be easy to get out of here,” Gemma said, walking the small perimeter of the underground cell. “My real chance will come when the King imprisons me to do the spinning.”

To conserve energy, Gemma sat on the folded cloak and closed her eyes, leaning against the wall of the cell. The air was chilly outside, and the dungeon was perversely cool, so Gemma wrapped herself in the warm blanket and buried her nose in the cloth to try and block out the sewage smell of the prison.

Hours passed, and the morning sunlight disappeared. Gemma guessed it was late afternoon when there was a heavy thump of something hitting the ground above Gemma’s cell.

“Gemma Kielland! If you aren’t in
this
cell I’m going to strangle you myself when I find you. I just ripped my second-best gown climbing that wretched wall!”

Gemma rocketed from her blanket cocoon. “Lady Linnea?” she asked, her voice incredulous.

A shadow was cast on the floor of her cell as the blonde-haired noblewoman leaned over the ceiling-window. “So you are here, good! I nearly dislocated my arm checking the ten empty cells surrounding you before this. Each cell is individually walled in; can you imagine the stupidity of that? Our taxes at work, I suppose. Why didn’t you rip off a piece of your dress and hang it from the window like a good captive? I would have been able to figure out where you were when I tried spying you out from an upper window this morning,” Lady Linnea peevishly said.

“Because I didn’t think anyone would help me,” Gemma said, climbing the stool so she could properly address the lady.

“I’m sorry,” Lady Linnea said, the anger gone from her voice. “I-I tried talking to Papa. He wouldn’t listen,” she said, gripping an iron bar with a hand that trembled in anger. “You’ve been a loyal servant, and he’s willing to
abandon
you.”

“I can’t blame him. It’s safer for your family. Not to mention it is
my
father’s fault I am in this mess.”

“I will not allow you to be left behind,” Lady Linnea said, stubbornly tucking her head.

“Thank you,” Gemma said, touched by the fiery lady’s words. “Even if you cannot free me, I thank you.”

“Cannot free you? Just who do you think I am?” Lady Linnea scoffed. “Farset wouldn’t let me into their army if I couldn’t break you out of here!”

“Then you have a plan?”

Lady Linnea’s plans were frequent. Their success, however, was rare.

Lady Linnea drooped. “I did. After I discovered where you were being kept, I was going to smuggle in a weapon for you. It is to my shame that I must admit I took too long in finding you. I’m not certain I can travel home, obtain a proper weapon, and return here before my parents realize I am gone.”

With Lady Linnea’s disappointment practically tangible, Gemma felt obligated to encourage her and say, “It was a good plan.”

“Yes, but now I will have to use my backup plan. Something I didn’t want to do.”

“You’re not going to approach the King,” Gemma said. (One could never be certain with Lady Linnea.)

“No,” Lady Linnea said to Gemma’s relief. “I’m going to seek out Prince Toril.”

“
WHAT
?” Gemma hissed.

“I have to go. I need to catch him before he is called to dinner with his father. Wish me luck!”

“I will wish you no such thing. Lady Linnea!” Gemma said when Lady Linnea momentarily disappeared from view. The lady reappeared when she climbed high enough up the wall that Gemma could see her again.

“When this is over, I insist you make me a new second-best dress.”

“
Lady Linnea
!”

“Ta, ta!” Lady Linnea said, kicking her legs over the wall and jumping to the other side.

Gemma rubbed her forehead. “Grandmother Guri was right. Instead of having children
or
friends, I should have gotten a goat. If she gets herself killed, I won’t forgive her!”

After a tip off from a gossipy lady’s maid, Lady Linnea found Prince Toril moping on a bench placed near the shore of Lake Sno.

Lady Linnea smoothed her usual polite mask over her face and approached the prince with all the elegance she could muster. She could do this. She
had
to do this. Gemma was counting on her.

“Prince Toril,” Lady Linnea said in a soft, whispering voice that she used because it was an audible representation of the caress of silk on skin. “I must beg your pardon for intruding, but I am in a terrible plight. I need your help.”

Prince Toril looked away from the lake long enough to glance at her. “What do you want?” he sighed.

Gritting her teeth, Lady Linnea tried curtsying. “My name is Lady Linnea Lovland. Your father has imprisoned my servant. He means to kill her if she cannot spin flax into gold—a feat most impossible for
all
—even a mage.”

Prince Toril crossed his legs at the ankles. “So?”

“So I ask that you would save my servant. Please, intervene! If you do, I will forever be in your debt,” Lady Linnea said, tilting her head so Toril was treated to the most fetching angle of her face.

“No,” Prince Toril said.

Lady Linnea placed a hand over her heart. “But why not? If you spoke to your father, I know he would release her.”

“I don’t care. I don’t care about you; I don’t care about your servant; I just don’t care. Now leave me be,” Prince Toril said, looking out at the lake.

Lady Linnea blinked. She had always been told Toril was a dimwit, but that he was at least kinder than his father. The general population
lived
for the day his father died, and he would take over. What had him huffy?

“You cannot mean that, Prince. We are your subjects,” Lady Linnea persisted.

“Yes? Well, I hurt too,” Prince Toril said, standing up and running a frustrated hand through his hair. “I have loved and lost the pinnacle of females: Princess Elise of Arcainia. She will never have me, and so nothing matters! If you will excuse me,” Prince Toril said, striding down to the lake waters.

The water was icy cold, so the prince didn’t dare walk in. Instead, he settled for moodily trekking down the shoreline.

Lady Linnea watched him go with a scowl. Everyone in Verglas had heard about Prince Toril’s fancy for the Arcainian princess, but Lady Linnea had thought he would be over the worst of his heartache by now!

Lady Linnea chased after the Prince, picking up a fallen tree branch that had quite a bit of heft to it. “Prince Toril,” she called.

The prince didn’t stop. He continued his moping walk.

She glanced over her shoulder when they rounded a bend in the shoreline that took them out of sight of the palace, screening them behind trees. As soon as it was safe, Lady Linnea ran the remaining distance to the prince and smacked the branch on top of his head.