Chapter 9

 

Mother and I broke our fast early and she gave me new cloth to sew a dress–good quality yellow and green fabric and a wide assortment of laces and ribbons to accent the dress. She said it was to keep me entertained while she was gone–for I would need a vivid new dress in order to receive the present she was heading out to acquire.

I ran my fingers over the fabrics, part of me wishing the greens were blues, but I said nothing, for it was a fine gift. “Will you be gone long?”

“No longer than usual,” she replied as she moved about the room, picking up items here and there and putting them in the bag she carried on her shoulder.

She seemed agitated, her movements jerky, and she whispered under her breath.

“Is there anything I can do while you are gone?”

“No,” she said. Then paused, tipping her head to the side, and stared at me with a very strange expression, one that gave me a shiver.

“There is one thing…” she said.

She walked toward the storeroom she used to mix and store her potions. There was a cabinet opposite the door, a small table on the left, and the walls were lined with jar-laden shelves.

I hated going into the storeroom. It was so tiny I could not bring all my hair into the room. The overwhelming aroma of the many herbs had seeped into the walls, and it gave me a headache if I stayed too long, but I followed her inside anyway. I almost bumped into Mother as she came to a stop just past the center of the slim, rectangular room.

“Here it is,” she said, gesturing to the cabinet.

I stared in wonder as she pulled on the heavy piece of furniture. I went forward to help, but Mother waved me back and continued until she had moved the cabinet away from the wall.

There was a door.

“What is that?” I whispered. My heart thundered in my chest. How could there be a hidden door?

“It is a door to the stairs.”

I inhaled a breath. There were stairs out of the tower?

Mother glared at me, her hand on her hip. “Do not look so surprised. How do you think I got in and out when you were a child?” She turned to the door. “It is very stiff, but it can be opened.” She tugged on it, so hard in fact that when the door opened–with a horrible scraping sound that rattled my teeth–she stumbled backward into me.

I caught her in my arms and she righted herself. The door had opened enough to let a single person through and, in the dimness, I could make out stairs. Very dusty, very worn stairs. I blinked, trying to bring the room into focus, but the dust spinning in the air obscured everything.

“Why are you showing me this?”

“If someone does manage to get into the tower, you have a way to get out.” She stabbed one long, bony finger in my face. “It is an escape, no more, no less. The stairs are old and worn. One misstep and they will break under you.” She pressed on one with her toe. The wood crackled under her foot and little shavings came off the edge, illustrating their fragility.

It sent shivers down my spine.

“They may only stand one trip down,” she said. And again, she brought her bony finger to my face. “You need not concern yourself with them unless your life is in peril. Do you understand?”

I nodded.

“Do you understand?” She grabbed my shoulders and shook me.

“Y-yes…Mother.”

She released me. “Good.” She gestured for me to leave the room. I backed out, tugging my hair with me, my heart hammering in my chest. Mother followed me, shutting the door behind her.

As she walked through the rest of the tower, picking up the bag she had packed for her journey, she muttered to herself. “There is something afoot in the woods. I can feel it in my bones.” She did not look at me as she fastened her robe, tucking her hair into the hood as she pulled it over her head. “I cannot lose now, not at this point. The hardest part is finished.”

“What hardest part, Mother?” I asked, stepping to her side.

She snapped her eyes to mine, as if she had not even remembered I was in the room. “Do not concern yourself.” She gestured to the fabrics she had given me. “Make the best dress you know how to make, for you will be presented after I return.”

“Presented, Mother? Presented for what?”

She made an exasperated sound. “Do not pester me with questions! Do as I say.”

“Yes Mother,” I replied, looking at the floor.

Mother walked to the window, picked up a section of my hair and tossed it out–dragging me, stumbling, to the window.

Mother climbed halfway out the window, but paused on the sill. “Remember, girl. Practice your dagger. The Black Forest is gaining in treachery. Be prepared for danger.” She glanced behind her, into the woods. “Something is coming. And it will not benefit us if it finds us.” She turned and looked at me. “Be vigilant!”

“Yes, Mother.”

I gripped the sill as Mother climbed down. My fingers dug into the wood of the window sill as she worked her way down. I rubbed my brow, considering everything she had said. What could Mother possibly be fetching that I needed a new dress for?

I hauled my hair back inside and let it pile by the window. While there was no way to answer those questions until Mother returned, one thing was clear. I had to make a dress. I set to work immediately. Working would take my mind off what Mother had shown me.

Stairs.

The shape of them rose, dusty and unbidden, in my mind, much as I tried to ignore them. Why were they there? And, worse, why had Mother revealed them now? I had been alone in this tower most of my life. Even as a young girl, Mother had felt safe leaving me alone here. What had changed? What was this danger she feared?

If someone came into the tower, intent on doing harm, could I use the stairs? Even if I did, where would I go? How would I travel? Even here in the tower, my hair was often an obstacle to movement. Out there? I could never walk through the woods and the hair was far too heavy to carry. Cutting it off was out of the question as well.

If someone breached the walls and climbed the tower, I would be trapped here with them.

I knelt on the floor by my bed. I could see the hilt of the dagger under my pillow. It really would be left for me to defend myself, because on the ground I would never survive.

I ran a hand over my face, rubbing my eyes as if that would erase the memory of the door.

But even out of the corner of my eye, I could see the storeroom and I knew, beyond that, lay the door. I repressed a shudder, and forced myself to look at the material Mother had given me.

“Yellow and green,” I said, attempting to take my focus away from that door and its temptation. A door that led to the ground was both the most amazing and the most devilish thing she could have shown me.

A way to reach the ground. But, like everything with Mother, there was a price. If I went down, I would never be able to come back up.

“Yellow and green,” I said, again trying to center my focus. “I would have preferred blue. But in fairness, the cloth is fine quality.”

The ribbons were of good material as well, and beautifully patterned.

I arranged the cloth–the yellow underneath the dark green–and laid a few ribbons atop them.

Yes. The yellow would make a lovely blouse, trimmed with this green ribbon.

“And the green, a heavy corset and skirt, trimmed with…” I rifled through the ribbons. “This yellow ribbon.”

Yes. A lovely match.

I stood, pacing around the fabric on the floor–judging them from a distance, trying to envision the pieces so I could cut them.

I hummed, letting the music inspire my work.

I made sure my back was to the storeroom door.