Rumpelstiltskin (Timeless Fairy Tales #4)

“I take exception to being labeled weak.”

The mage laughed outright. “As you should,” he said. “If I have learned anything about your character, it is that you are a strong woman.”

“Hm,” Gemma said.

“Which brings us back to you. Why did you so nobly return? Why did you lie in the first place?” the mage asked, tucking one knee to his chest.

Gemma shrugged. “What could I gain by thinking only of myself?”

“Your life?” the mage said.

Gemma pinched her lips together.

“And now I’ve offended you again.”

“No. I merely no longer wish to dwell on my actions. Good evening, Sir Mage,” Gemma said, walking towards a corner of her cell.

“Ah, wait, you hasty thing,” the mage called.

“Yes?”

“Tomorrow, you will be summoned by King Torgen to another room to spin flax into gold.”

“I suppose so.”

The mage nodded. “I will help you complete the task.”

“Why?” Gemma asked.

“My obligation to aid those in need…but also because you deserve a little magic.”

“Wouldn’t it be better—easier even—to free me from my cell?”

“Perhaps, but I am hopeful we can find a way for you to return to your normal life. Breaking you out would shatter that chance,” the mage said. “Do you understand?”

Gemma shrugged. “It seems I am a bother.”

“I don’t mind. I will be stranded in Verglas for a time anyway,” the mage said, looking away again.

Gemma and the mage were silent for a few minutes before the mage spoke. “You don’t talk a lot, do you?”

“Why should I speak if I have nothing of worth to say?”

“Noble, strong, and practical. If we keep this up, in several nights, I will be able to fully report on your character,” the mage said.

“Hm,” Gemma said, conveying disinterest as she returned to leaning against the cell wall.

The mage rustled around on the grate for a moment before sliding his hand through an opening. “Here,” he said, holding out a chunk of cheese and an apple.

Gemma looked from the offered snack up to the mage. “I have plenty to eat myself,” he said.

“Thank you,” Gemma said. She was careful not to touch his hand when she took the food—not out of fear as much as respect.

“Now that you’ve been fed and reassured, are you in the mood for a game?”

“The question game?”

“Yes.”

Gemma held back a sigh. “Is it a mouse?”

“That is not how the game works.”

“Yes, Sir Mage.”

“Since you are so against guessing, I will take a turn. Do you have something in your mind?”

“I suppose so,” Gemma reluctantly said.

“Excellent, is it a material?”

“No.”

“Is it a food item, then?”

“No.”

The stupid game went on for at least an hour. As little as Gemma liked the game, she had to admit it kept her mind off her pitiful circumstances, and by the time the mage crowned her as the champion of the night, Gemma’s heart was lighter, and the dungeon was not so terribly bleak.

Chapter 7

At sunset the following day, Gemma stood in front of her cell door, her arms folded across her chest, her feet firmly planted. Her stomach growled so loudly it was painful. She hadn’t had anything to eat besides the apple and cheese from the mage almost a full day before.

Gemma stood as still as a statue and was not disappointed. Within minutes, the door to her cell clanked and swung open.

The captain from the previous day, the guard called Foss, and four other guards stood on the other side, braced as if Gemma were a wild animal about to attack.

Gemma raised an eyebrow at their stance and wordlessly joined them in the aisle. The soldiers crowded around her, making it difficult to move. Gemma was surprised they didn’t put shackles on her or tie her arms behind her back.

The escort to the room she was to spin in was silent, awkward, and uncomfortable. The guards startled whenever she moved—Foss almost yelled when she raised a hand to adjust her hair-band.

After climbing two different sets of stairs and winding down several hallways, Gemma and her escort popped out in a narrow corridor where King Torgen, Prince Toril, and a band of guards were waiting for them.

“Gemma Kielland, your time has come,” King Torgen said, indicating to the doorway in front of him. “The conditions are the same as before. Spin all the flax into gold by dawn, or I will have you beheaded.”

Gemma glanced through the open doorway and, with disappointment, noted that it was not the same room as the previous time. Even worse, there was a great deal more flax. There was so much, in fact, that it covered the room like a fibrous carpet.

“Very well, but I have a new condition as well, My Lord,” Gemma said.

“What?” King Torgen said, his face going from feverishly happy to angry.

Behind him, Prince Toril made a gesture to stop.