Chapter 7

 

I sat at the window, watching the stars and the way they reflected in the little pond near the wall, while I brushed my hair. Not looking at the arrow and the rope that had landed near the base of the tower. Though I knew it was there, close enough that I wanted to reach out and touch it. Far enough away that I knew I could not. If Mother saw that in the morning…I could not begin to comprehend my punishment.

So I watched at the window for the one who had shot the arrow, as if I could feel him out there, as if he lingered in the trees surrounding the wall. I kept working on my hair, not bothering to look at the strands, instead going over every detail of the gardens below.

Nothing aside from the arrow seemed disturbed.

I glanced at the sky, looking for storm clouds, something to wash away the arrow so Mother would not see it.

“Please,” I whispered, loosening the last of my braids. “Please, please rain.” It seemed the sky had other ideas, for not a single cloud could be seen in the heavens.

My shoulders slumped, relaxing the muscles sore from Mother’s training and the effort of unbraiding all twenty ells of my hair. My face ached, and I brought my hand to my jaw, feeling the swollen and tender skin. Tears welled in my eyes and I let a few fall. I would rather have the swollen face than the slices on my forearm with their nasty scabs. Six total now, for I never seemed to please Mother, though I tried and tried.

Tonight Mother had brought me some of her special tea. Though it was now cold, I still sipped the brew. I worked the braids–one large, thick one, comprised of three smaller braids. The sweet tea soothed me all the way to my toes, and while the braiding was a chore, tonight I relished the job.

Thankfully, Mother did not complain when I mentioned it was braiding night. In the past, Mother’s enthusiasm for teaching me new things cut into chores–braiding night or not–and some nights, I would get no sleep at all trying to do what was required. Tonight, though, Mother had been distracted even in the lesson, lost in her thoughts. Her temper flew quicker than usual and, while I tried to do my best, it had been worth less than ever. When we had finished, she left me to my room and my work without another word. I still had the dagger and, as instructed, I had hidden it under my pillow. Looking longingly at that pillow atop the thick, soft mattress of the bed, I yawned–the energy I had gained from the tea had started to ebb. Sighing, I continued to braid.

“I wish I could cut this off,” I muttered to myself.

Only once had I asked Mother if I could cut some of the length. After Mother slapped me, she had chosen to remind me what it felt like when even a small portion of the hair was cut–and then proceeded to cut off enough to wrap around her thrice for a thick belt.

I could barely hold my head up for two days the pain had been so great.

I shuddered at the memory. Though I always wished my hair gone on braiding days, such an action might very well kill me.

Humming to distract myself, I watched the lightning bugs dance in the air–a wondrous accompaniment to the tune. Soon I was singing outright, smiling with every note, amazed the bugs seemed to be in perfect time with my song. My face did not ache as much as it had before and my singing took on a dreamy tone as I lost myself in my work and the soft glow of the bugs. I was just getting the last braid fastened, when I saw a shadow on the wall directly opposite my window.

I froze, fingers knotted in my hair.

Perhaps it was just an animal. The shadow moved to the right.

My heart pounded. I caught a glint of blue and my breath hitched in my chest.

He paused, standing at full height atop the wall and staring at me once again, though I doubted there was much to see. The light inside my room would not have cast much illumination. Yet he saw me. My hands trembled, and I fumbled for something, anything. My hairbrush lay on the windowsill. What I could do with it, I knew not, but I held it tight, just the same.

He had come back.

He was not a figment of my imagination. He existed, and he was here.

I put my hand over my mouth. Inside, my body was as energized as if I had drunk a quart of Mother’s special tea. In one moment, I wanted to cry out, to sing in joy, because he was real. In the next, I was utterly terrified of him, for I knew not what brought him here. I wanted him to go away. I wanted him to stay as he was, wanted to make out every line, work out every detail of him.

He did not move at first, then pushed back the hood of his riding cloak and there was moonlight enough to see his face. To gleam off the line of his jaw. To frame the width of his shoulders. The cloak blew against him in the breeze, swirling around him as if it wanted to touch him.

In a word, he was magnificent.

I could not break my stare, and a blush filled my face. I started to turn from the window when he moved. He raised his arm in a wave. Before I could think about what I did, I waved back. His waving increased in fervor and I could not help a burst of laughter. I may have been silly, but I was not a fool. He really did exist. He really did.

With a thud, my chamber door slammed open and Mother came in. “Rapunzel, what is all this noise?” She headed straight for the window.

I resumed my braiding as though nothing had happened.

Mother was not deceived.

“Rapunzel!” She jerked me to my feet and slapped me across the jaw with her cold fingers. Again. I reeled from the blow, stumbling to the ground.

“I was laughing,” I whispered, tears stinging my eyes. “I laughed at the lightning bugs.”

Mother glared out the window. “What lightning bugs?”

I stood, slowly padding to the window, dizzy from the slap. When I reached the window, I dug my fingers into the sill to keep from falling and scanned the shadows for the telltale flicker of blue. To no avail.

“They were just there,” I said, sighing.

“There is nothing there.” Mother’s voice was flat and cold.

“But I saw them,” I said, knowing I had seen the bugs before. I had seen the bugs, as well as the boy. Both were real. “They appeared to me to be dancing…it was so magical, I could not help but laugh.”

Mother merely glared out the window.

My heart hammered once more, but for very different reasons this time. I prayed the boy was smart enough to stay out of sight until Mother was gone.

It seemed an extremely long time that Mother examined the night sky, looking for lightning bugs.

“They are gone.” She turned back to me.

“They were just there.” I stepped away from her, trying to not seem to be doing so, even though inside my heart slammed in my chest. “Who can guess the path of a bug?”

There was a long silence as Mother examined me, then she seemed to relent. “Who indeed?” She crossed the room to the door, pausing as she opened it. She studied me before speaking, and the intensity of her stare made me shiver. “I am leaving tomorrow.”

“Yes, Mother,” I said, though disappointment welled in my chest. I did not want to be left alone again so soon.

Mother made to go through the door, then paused once more. “Rapunzel?”

“Yes?” I said, my heart leaping as suddenly as it had fallen. Perhaps this time she would stay. Perhaps she would allow me to accompany her…

“Fix your hair,” Mother said. “You are a mess.”

I nodded, though all desire to fuss with my hair was gone and my head still throbbed. I reached for the small satchel of rocks I kept in the corner of my room. They remained cool to the touch and I pressed them to my jaw.

As I lay down to sleep, flashes of bright blue danced in my mind’s eye, and I dreamed of the boy who had stood on my wall.