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Ultimately, I decide to make stew for the both of us. It’ll keep long enough for me to eat tomorrow, in case Mother leaves today. Judging by the movements and thumping upstairs, she’s packing right this minute. I hope, someday, she’ll say yes to me leaving with her.
I’m right in the middle of chopping carrots when Mother stomps down the stairs, carrying a leather satchel with a larger bag slung across her shoulder. The muscles in my shoulders tighten as the noise echoes in the room. I really should have known better than to push the issue. With all she has going on, her stress levels must be astronomical. The king makes her work long, thankless hours. I should do my best to be grateful that I have a warm tower to live in rather than begging to leave it.
“You’re leaving already?”
She raises an eyebrow. “Obviously. The king is demanding. It’s as if I’m the only one who works for him.”
“Are you going to be safe?” I ask.
She nods. “You always ask that. I know how to defend myself.” She purses her lips and gives me a pitying look. “Unlike you, magic is woven into the depths of my bones.”
Shame turns my cheeks red and I stare down at the stone floors, studying the tiles I know so well. “Yes, Mother.”
She moves closer to me and puts a hand under my chin, raising my face. “Just be grateful I’m here to protect you. If not, those vampires would make quick work of you.” She pauses. “If you’re lucky.”
Mother puts down two bags near the window and looks at me. “I’ll be gone for a while. I’ll spell the garden and anything that’s finished will float up to you.” She smooths her hair back. “I’d hold off baking for now, if I were you. It’s starting to show.”
I grimace. It’s true. I baked more than usual these past few weeks, but I didn’t think it was making a difference in my figure. None of my clothes were any tighter. “Yes, Mother.”
She tosses her bags out the window, watching as they float to the ground, a special spell she invented last year. It works for anything under a certain weight. She motions me over and I head to the window, cracking my neck back and forth.
“Let down your hair, Rapunzel.”
I gather up the ropes of hair and throw them out the window. Mother slides onto the windowsill, but just before she grabs onto the coils, a pigeon flies into our tower, landing on the table. A cylinder is attached to its leg. A royal messenger.
Chapter Three
Mother huffs irritably and climbs down from the sill, walking over to the bird. It waits patiently while she unravels the message attached to its leg. When she finishes reading, she pulls out her quill and writes a reply, sliding it back into the cylinder. She carries the bird to the window and releases it. I watch it fly off.
“Change of plans. I’m headed to the capital.” She curls her upper lip in disgust. “I’ll be back in a few days.”
She stomps up to her floor, taking her third bag with her. In a few minutes, she returns, carrying a much smaller satchel.
“Since you are going to the capital instead,” I say hesitantly. “Do you think it would be okay if I came with you?”
She yanks the satchel shut, glaring at me. “Rapunzel. This is work. I’m not going to have fun exploring the city or eating at all the different taverns. I’m going to see the king. Sometimes you only think of yourself, I swear.”
I cringe. “I’m sorry, Mother.”
Mother sniffs as she looks me up and down. “Good. You should be. I’ll be back in a few days. Remember what I said.”
With that, Mother climbs out the window and grabs onto my hair. Slowly, she lowers herself to the ground, an arduous process for both of us. Once she is there, I pull up my coils, inwardly wishing they would snag and break.
I once asked Mother what would happen if I cut my hair. She was so angry, a magical fire burst from her and burned the last carpet we had ever owned. I haven’t asked again, but I also will never have an answer.
I watch as Mother heads to the portal stone, a round flat stone on the ground. An intricate pattern decorates the stone, part of the magic necessary for teleporting. No one knows this portal stone is still active, and Mother has spelled it specifically to look like it is still broken. I don’t know exactly how she did it, but I do know it involved a bunch of rotten and dead plants. Magic and wind surround her and suddenly she is gone.
I touch my forehead to the window’s cool glass. I sigh and wish I stood on that portal. According to Mother, only those with magic can make it work. I’m fine without magic after seeing Mother having to bow constantly to the king’s whims. But when I stare at the portal, the fiercest longing fills me.
With another sigh, I back away from the window, but not before I spot a pair of red eyes in between the trees. My heart pounds and a sweat breaks out on my forehead. Quickly, I snap my hand out and shut the window, locking it.
Today has just begun, but my chores are few. The main floor, the fifth level, is the one with the kitchen and dining. The kitchen is directly across from the window, with the dining table to the right of the kitchen.
I clean up the room, making sure the cool box spell is still working. The wooden floors could use a sweeping, but I prefer to do that at the end of the day. The fireplace only needs cleaning once a month, and I did that a few days ago. I put my hands on my hips, surveying the room. Nothing out of place, everything tidy. Time for the fourth floor.
This floor contains my bed, a small mattress pressing against the wall. The rest of the room is empty, save for stacks of my books and a basket of my sewing projects. I stare at the door leading to the other floors for a moment, then ignore it to dust my window and book stacks. The door never opens, no matter how many times I try. It also has a small water closet. Mother spelled it to allow the contents to drain outside. To where, I never found out. She tells me, though, that not even the most modern of houses have an indoor water closet as fancy as ours. It even has a sink with running water. It’s convenient, even if it is more to clean.
The dusting takes no time, and when I’m done, I carry my unfinished mending upstairs, along with a basket of brushes and strips of fabric. Over time, I’ve learned how to manage my long hair. The best way, with such length, is sections at a time, marked by tied fabric scraps.
