Rumpelstiltskin (Timeless Fairy Tales Book 4) (19 page)

As the rider struggled to bring up its loaded crossbow, Gemma said to her starfire, “Shine even brighter.”

She shoved the blazing prism into the rider’s chest wound as the rider scrabbled with the crossbow trigger. Its tarry blood burned her hand, but she gritted her teeth and let go of the starfire before she ripped her hand from the creature’s chest cavity—which now shown like a comet.

The rider dropped its crossbow and tried to tear the prism out of its chest, but it was in vain. Light coursed from its head to its toes, and it raised its hands in a silent scream before turning to ash and blowing away in the wind, leaving behind the starfire—which still shone brilliantly.

“Dim,” Gemma called. To her relief, the painful brightness of the starfires decreased. Gemma pushed herself to her feet and staggered to Stil, who had pushed himself up on his elbows.

“What was THAT?” Stil said, struggling to lift his head.

“We were concentrating too much on fighting. All we needed was to make it bright, and they wouldn’t be able to stand it.”

“And you realized that
how
?”

“You said they couldn’t travel in daylight.” Gemma said, swallowing to make her voice strong as she looked at Stil’s wound. “What are we going to do?”

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he said when he managed to raise his head. “Leave it in for now—to staunch the blood flow. It’s not in very deep. If we get back to the tent, I’ll be fine,” he grimaced. “I have a kit and some potions there. By stars and fire dust, does this hurt.”

“Can you stand? I could get Pricker Patch, but I don’t want to leave you,” Gemma said.

“No, I can walk. If you would just help me stand—,” Stil broke off when a dog whined behind them.

“…What happened to the hellhound?” Stil asked.

Gemma scrambled for her starfires and turned around, scooping up the prisms and snow, but she needn’t bother.

The snarling, emaciated hellhound was gone. In its place was a good-sized canine/wolf-ish looking creature. It had thick white fur, but the tip of its tail was black, as were its paws and legs, almost as if it wore boots. The tips of its ears were flecked with black too, and it had a number of odd but beautiful black marks around its eyes, like they had been inked by an artist.

It sniffed its wet, inquisitive nose at Stil and Gemma and wagged its tail.

“I have never seen a creature like that,” Stil said, clamping his jaws together in pain as Gemma helped him stand.

“If we ignore it, will it go away?” Gemma asked, hefting Stil’s arm over his shoulder so she could bear some of his weight.

“I don’t know, but I find I just don’t care enough to deal with it right now. Let’s go,” Stil said, nodding in the direction of their camp.

The walk back was long and excruciating. Gemma’s heart beat painfully in her throat, and she could only imagine the pain Stil felt.

The craftmage bore it all without a noise, although he did gasp occasionally.

When they pushed through the last layer of trees and could see the brown spot on a field of white snow that was Pricker Patch—even this far away he looked displeased—both Gemma and Stil sighed in relief.

“Just a little ways,” Stil said, teetering dangerously for a moment.

“Yes. Just a little,” Gemma said, supporting the mage. She blinked when snow started to fall and settled on her eyelashes. “Just put one foot in front of the other,” she coached before they started walking again.

They were halfway across the field when the first beam of light broke over the hill. Just as the light broke, soldiers in the Verglas uniform poured over the crest.

“
Oh no
,” Gemma breathed.

“Leave me,” Stil said. “Run to the tent. Once you get in, it will lock itself if anyone tries to follow you.”

“No,” Gemma said.

“Gemma, don’t be a fool!”

“It’s me they’re looking for,” Gemma said, a clear-headed calmness falling over her.

The options were obvious. If she ran, they would take Stil. Who knew if he would survive the arrow, much less King Torgen. If they tried to run together, they would never reach the tent, and they
both
would be captured.

The least dangerous option was to turn herself in. Gemma had made up her mind to even before she made her evaluations.

Stil had to be saved. Not because he would be more useful to the countries in the fight against darkness, or even because Gemma owed him a great debt. In fact, her decision had nothing to do with practicality, and everything to do with her heart.

I will have to ponder this later
, Gemma thought.

Stil gripped her shoulder with the hand thrown over her. “Gemma, I won’t
let you sacrifice yourself for me! You deserve the happy ending.”

“Gemma Kielland?” a soldier shouted.

“And I won’t get it if King Torgen has you thrown into a prison.”

Stil didn’t even hear what she was admitting to. “He can’t keep me forever. The Conclave would come for me. You’re running out of time.
Run
!” Stil said, trying to push Gemma away from him.

Gemma slipped away and folded Stil on to his knees before she placed her handful of starfires in his hand. “Thank you, for everything.”

“Gemma Kielland, we are armed and have you in our sights. Turn yourself in, and you will come to no harm,” the soldier shouted. In the moonlight, Gemma could see rows of soldiers carrying bows glittering on the snow.

“Don’t even think of it!” Stil hissed. “Blast your sacrifices and practicality!
RUN
!”

Gemma shook her head, her eyes filling with tears. “You don’t understand, Stil,” she said, her heart breaking.

“Don’t do this, Gemma,” Stil pleaded. He scattered the starfires as he dropped them to reach for her hands.

Gemma smiled and leaned forward, kissing Stil on the forehead. “Take care, Stil,” she said.

“Gemma!”

Gemma turned to the soldiers and walked to them, her heart twisting with each step she took away from Stil. She didn’t turn around. She couldn’t. If she did, she would lose all the strength she had.

“GEMMA!” Stil shouted.

Four soldiers met Gemma halfway to the army. They searched her for weapons—tossing the few remaining starfires she had on her—and restrained her hands in iron shackles.

“Gemma Kielland has been found. We return to Ostfold
immediately
. Ready the horses!” a soldier shouted.

Within moments, a chestnut horse was brought forward. A soldier mounted it, and Gemma was passed up to him.

“GEMMA!” Stil shouted again.

The soldiers ignored him and trekked back up the hill, aiming north…for Ostfold.

Gemma squirmed in the soldier’s grip to get one last look of Stil.

He was a dab of black among the snow that was falling in large, beautiful flakes. Gemma’s starfires were littered around him like tiny flames. He had managed to partially stand, but as the soldier spurred his horse into a trot, Stil fell to his knees, calling out for Gemma.

Far back, in the shadows of the field, Gemma saw the white lupine.

They started down the hill, and the snowy field veered from sight. “Goodbye, Stil,” Gemma whispered before she lost sight of him.

“Press on to Ostfold. The King wants her,” the soldier leading the hunt told Gemma’s captor, joining them on a bay-colored horse.

“Yessir,” Gemma’s captor said.

“I apologize, Miss Kielland. I wish we could release you, but we haven’t a choice,” the leading soldier said.

“I understand,” Gemma said.

“Send a messenger ahead. I’m sure the King will want to know his future queen is on the way home. Let’s move out!” the soldier said, heeling his horse into a canter.

Above the thunder of pounding hooves, Gemma heard the howl of a wolf.

Chapter 16

Considering how long it took Gemma and Stil to walk to the Loire border with Pricker Patch, traveling back to Ostfold took a painfully short time. The soldiers stopped every few hours for fresh horses, which allowed them to keep their grueling pace, and they stopped to rest only whenever Gemma was in danger of falling off due to exhaustion.

In far too short a time, Gemma stood before King Torgen, saddle sore, bruised, with her arm injured from the hellhound and her hand burnt from the rider’s black blood.

King Torgen received her in a palace courtyard, where the wind blew and snow stung all who were stationed outside.

“Gemma Kielland, you have returned to me,” King Torgen said. He approached her with his arms spread wide, as if to hug her. When he drew close, he back-handed her and encircled her neck with his hands. “Although you will be punished for fleeing.”

Gemma gagged but kicked out, kneeing King Torgen in the stomach.

The King staggered backwards with an “oomph.”

“Restrain her,” King Torgen snarled, clutching his gut.

Two soldiers placed their hands on Gemma’s shoulders, their faces wiped of emotion.

When King Torgen came at Gemma again, Gemma didn’t wait. She swung her shackled arms through the air, snapping the chains in the king’s face.

“I said restrain her!” King Torgen howled, his hands covering his face.

The soldiers lowered their grasp to her elbows, holding Gemma still.

King Torgen cursed and roared in pain as Gemma lifted her chin and raised an eyebrow up in the most arrogant expression she could muster.

Gemma was done behaving. She would rather be dead than let Torgen touch her. It was over.

“You think you are safe because you are to become my queen?” King Torgen said, finally lowering his hands.

“No. I think I did not keep my part of the bargain and failed to spin all the flax into gold,” Gemma said, recalling the vast spread of flax. “Thus, I am subject to death.”

King Torgen’s ugly glower faded from his face, and instead his features were pinched as hysterical laughter poured from his mouth. “You think I will let you go? You think I will let you escape into death?”

King Torgen abruptly stopped laughing and grabbed Gemma by the throat of her cape, yanking her—and the soldiers—forward. “I will
never
set you free.”

“And I will never spin for you again,” Gemma said, the strength of her heart helping her to meet King Torgen’s feverish eyes with all the ice she could muster in her own gaze. “You may clutch my broken body for all eternity, but I will never give you even a glimmer of gold.”

King Torgen released one bark of laughter. “We shall see, Gemma Kielland. I have ways of making people obey my orders,” he snarled. “Toril!”

The prince, who was standing in the doorway, hesitantly joined King Torgen. “Yes, Father?”

“Take Gemma—your soon to be step-mother—to her new chambers. See to it that she has everything she needs to present herself as a bride. Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Gemma said, choking on disbelief.

“Yes. Tomorrow, Verglas will have a new queen,” King Torgen smirked.

“Yes, Farther,” Prince Toril said, his voice a whisper. He motioned to the soldiers holding Gemma to follow him before he turned and walked back to the refuge of the palace.

Toril and the soldiers were silent as they marched through the palace, moving up hallways and crossing corridors.

Toril glanced over his shoulder, his eyes lingering on Gemma’s hurt hand. “You were injured?” he asked.

Gemma shrugged. “I was hurt before I was found.”

“I see,” Toril said before addressing the soldiers. “Take her to the queen’s chambers. I will have a squadron of palace guards replace you.”

“My Lord?” one of the soldiers said as the prince abruptly turned and walked in the opposite direction.

“I have other things to attend to,” Toril called over his shoulder.

The soldiers walked on, escorting Gemma to a beautiful, luxurious room.

The bedroom was bathed in soft shades of cream and yellow. The ceiling was vaulted, painted with a mural of blue skies and snowflakes. The furniture was simple but elegant in taste, painted white and smooth to the touch.

It wasn’t like a typical Verglas luxurious bedroom. It was brighter, happier, and perfectly preserved.

“These are the queen’s rooms?” Gemma said, confused.

“King Torgen had the room decorated for the previous queen,” a soldier said.

Gemma looked around the room as the soldiers unlatched her shackles. “Did he love her?” she asked. She could barely remember the queen. She died in childbirth, the unborn baby dying with her, when Gemma was still a toddler.

The soldier removing her shackles briefly stilled. “Yah,” he said. “She tamed him.” The silence stretched on as the second soldier checked that the two windows were locked and secured.

The soldiers bowed to Gemma and moved to leave the room. The soldier who answered Gemma’s question lingered in the doorway. “Whatever our queen saw in him that she loved is gone now,” he said before closing the door.

Gemma heard the familiar clank as the door was locked from the outside. She was left alone in the room that seemed to whisper with ghosts of the past. She sat down on a stool and leaned against the wall, shutting her eyes.

Gemma had no memories of King Torgen and his queen together, but the care and love that went into the decorating of the room was unmistakable. However, Gemma knew the soldier was right. Whatever part of King Torgen that cared about this room was gone, killed off long ago by the onslaught of bitterness and unquenchable hatred.

When the door clanked and was thrown open an hour later, Gemma tumbled off her stool in surprise.

“Gemma—you look terrible! But that is to be expected, I suppose. I am a healer, I am here to heal. That’s what healers do. Hah-hah.”

Gemma’s jaw dropped as she looked up at the cloaked figure. Even though she was veiled, Gemma would recognize the owner of that voice anywhere.

“You strapping guards should leave the healing to those who know what how to heal: healers. When I’m ready to come out, I will knock,” the cloaked figure said, patting the basket that swung from her arm.

“Yes, ma’am,” a guard at the door said—Gemma recognized it was Foss. The guard winked at her before shutting the door.

“That is an excessively
bad
disguise, My Lady,” Gemma said.

Lady Linnea waddled forward, wearing robes that drowned her body and a mismatched veil that covered her face. “I know, but how else was I supposed to get in here? Besides, the guards aren’t going to tell anyone,” Lady Linnea. “I hope you know what to do with this stuff,” she added, setting a heavy basket on the floor. “I’ve got bandages, but I don’t know what any of these balms are. By the Snow Queen, do they ever reek.”

“What are you
doing
here?”

“I’m visiting you, of course. Hello, Gemma. I missed you—though I am sorry you didn’t successfully escape,” Lady Linnea said, wrapping her arms around Gemma in a warm hug.

“Thank you,” Gemma said, her voice strong but lined with relief. “What am I to do, My Lady? I don’t think I will be able to escape him a second time.”

Lady Linnea nodded. “Could you kill him?”

“I don’t know,” Gemma admitted.

“He will make you hate him enough that you will want to,” Lady Linnea said.

“Yes, but I don’t
want
to become a person capable of murder.”

“You are right. I wish to shield you from that as well. I don’t think you could handle it. We’re very different, you know,” Lady Linnea said. “You are like the ice and snow that you love so much. Dazzling, without blemish, and a cover that makes all things beautiful.”

Gemma cracked a smile. “That’s romanticizing me quite a bit.”

Lady Linnea shook her head. “You bring out the good in people, and those who scorn you, you freeze with your eyes and words. So, it’s a good thing I am your friend and companion.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. I am a sword, dangerous and deadly. And Gemma, I will not hesitate to kill the king to save you,” Lady Linnea said, her voice hard. “It will not be tomorrow, or perhaps even this year, but I will free you. I promise.”

As Gemma studied Lady Linnea, she saw that the noble woman was serious. Lady Linnea was a soldier at heart: dedicated, loyal, and willing to shed blood to make a difference and to fight for what was right. This was a real vow. Gemma could see it in the coldness of her eyes and the set of her chin. Lady Linnea would kill for her, and Gemma thought it likely she would succeed. “I don’t want to force that burden on you,” Gemma said.

Lady Linnea smiled. “You aren’t. And it’s not like anyone will truly care. Tor—some people will mourn what was. But the prince will make a better king.”

Gemma pushed an eyebrow up. “Oh? Not long ago you were telling me he was far more stupid than you originally estimated.”

A pink blush heated Lady Linnea’s cheeks. “That was before I knew him. He’s different from his father. He is willing—someone just needs to teach him about love.”

“Will you be the one to do that, My Lady?”

“Goodness, no!” Lady Linnea snorted. “I still want to see the world. I want to observe Commanding General Severin and set eyes on the famed military of Erlauf. I want to meet a female captain of Farset and perhaps even speak to an assassin from our very own assassins’ guild.”

“Are you certain?”

“Toril can’t love someone like me, Gemma,” Lady Linnea said. “I’m too brash and bloodthirsty. He likes the sweet, delicate girls. Like Princess Elise.” Gemma thought she could discern the same note of longing in Lady Linnea’s voice that the young woman used when she spoke of visiting other countries, but judging by the pain in the last admission, it was unlikely the lady wanted to address her affection for the Verglas prince.

“Is that so,” Gemma said.

“But enough of that. Your hand does look horrible. Do you think you can guess which of these wretched-smelling ointments are best for…what, is that, a burn?” Lady Linnea said, digging through her basket.

“Yes.”

Lady Linnea hissed through her teeth. “It looks nasty. How did you manage to get it? Moreover, how did you manage to escape?”

“The mage,” Gemma said, opening a pot and grimacing at the smell.

“Uh-huh,” Lady Linnea said, unconvinced. “Oh, this is it! I remember—the real healer told me this one is good for burns. It has a very distinctive smell—like horse droppings.”

“That was not the best way to endorse its use,” Gemma said.

“If it kills the pain and heals the skin, does it matter what ingredients are used?” Lady Linnea asked, passing the little container over. “Besides, I think the healer said the main ingredients were vinegar, honey, and potato peelings.”

Gemma wiped the smelly balm on her hand, wincing when her fingers traced the tender skin. Although the smell was noxious, the ointment began to soften the pain almost immediately.

“Here, I can at least bandage your arm,” Lady Linnea said, waving a roll of bandages.

“How did you learn?”

“I read the Erlauf army makes sure all of their soldiers know how to wrap wounds, so I found a book in Papa’s library,” Lady Linnea said, starting to clean and wrap Gemma’s hand and arm. “Toril told me what you can expect: King Torgen is indeed holding the wedding tomorrow. Tonight, a wedding dress will be delivered to your rooms, and the ceremony is to commence before the noon hour tomorrow. It seems that a squadron will be posted out your door all night and in the courtyard below. Unless you want to see all those men killed, I do not think you can escape.”

“No,” Gemma agreed. “We will see what my security measures are like after the wedding,” she said, stifling the desire to flinch.

“Yes,” Lady Linnea said, her reply heavy with unspoken words. “Is there no possibility that your sweetheart will try to rescue you tomorrow?”

Gemma started to correct the lady before she gave up and broke off in a sigh. “No. There’s not even a glimmer of hope,” she said.

Stil was probably still treating his shoulder from the rider’s arrow. And even if he was well enough to move, Pricker Patch could not cover the distance Gemma and the soldiers had covered in such a short amount of time.