Chapter 15

 

I found no more arrows in my windowsill and had not for days.

Comparing Nick to what I knew of the bad men Mother had told me about, to the evil wizards and horrible warriors, he seemed none of those things.

Yet, also, all of those things.

His large build could have been that of a warrior. The angles of his face, which had been etched into my memory, fit the description of the handsomely disguised wizard, yet he cast no spells.

Or perhaps he did. Perhaps that was why I did not hurt him when he climbed into my tower. Perhaps that is why I picked up the stones he had brought me at least once a day, and gazed at them.

I told myself it was because I had never seen their like. I had never walked along a river, to see the stones there. Were they all smooth like these? Did they all shine when held to the light?

My curiosity was piqued, that was all.

It had nothing to do with Nick.

My heart knew better. It had everything to do with Nick. I would not even have them if he had not brought them here.

Reaching over to touch my pillow, I thought, again and again, about the note inside. My finger danced close to the rip I had tucked the note into. The words in it were simple enough, the meaning perfectly clear.

He would come back.

Though I would have to choose to let him up.

Yet all Mother’s stories about wizards and warriors crowded my head, to the point where I did not know what to do.

I did not know if I wanted to see Nick again.

Part of me believed his words, his restraint, his gifts, his smile. Part of me believed Mother, who had always been right.

I glanced at a beam of sunshine coming in my window, brightening a patch of the stone floor. I took in the lines of it, the details, when I remembered something.

She had not seen the lightning bugs. She had said they were not there.

But they were.

She had been wrong…

The very idea made me shudder. If she could be wrong about the lightning bugs, what else could she be wrong about?

I forced myself to turn back to my new dress. Yet with every snip and stitch sewn, the green turned to blue and I saw his riding cloak. Saw his eyes. It took everything I had to focus and, even then, I would shift and see the stones he had given me, and a tear would creep into my eye. Before I realized it, I was crying, both for his kindness and my anxiety over his return.

Oh, what a fool I was.

How could I believe a word he said? He was an outsider, a male, one of the reasons I was kept here, tucked away for my own safety. I could not be trusted around people, I was too foolish.

Yet here I was, for the third day in a row, staring out my window as the daylight turned to twilight, for once not seeing any of the birds, trees or shrubs outside, my thoughts lost, wondering, hoping, praying for Nick to return. As terrified as I was to see him again, I wanted to.

A few of the pieces for the yellow blouse were sewn together and, while the fabric did not look like much yet, I could see its potential. I could almost imagine myself wearing the yellow and green ensemble. The hours I spent working on it seemed to take an age to slip by. Even the shadows crawled across the floor when the clouds in the sky did not block the sunlight completely, leaving me with very little idea of what time of day it was at all.

Tonight, the orange glow filling my room pressed home my disappointment. Yet another day had passed and Nick had not come.

A slow tune came to mind and I heard myself humming the morose melody, the sound soothing to my ears.

Words began to form and I let them flow around me, lift out of my chest, and I vented the story out of my heart and into the night. Even the trees and the breeze danced to the song. The birds of night, waking, added their own accompaniment, replacing the soft chirping of lively day birds.

I sang. Louder and louder to the orange sky.

“So not to dance, our chance gone, one fine eve’s twilight…”

“Rapunzel. Let down your hair.”

I let out a yelp, my heart hammering as I looked into the dusky night, making myself focus on the garden, awash in the orange light of sunset. There, standing below, was Nick, his blue cape like a patch of black in the light.

I froze, unsure for a moment what to do, merely staring down at him, hoping he was real, not some figment of my imagination.

“Rapunzel?” Nick called.

“Nick?”

He smiled at me. “Do you wish me to come up?”

“I…” I knew not what to say.

He did not attempt to climb on his own, merely stared back at me.

“I have something for you,” he said, holding up a small parcel.

I did not think, throwing my braids out the window. They slid over the windowsill, and I barely got my arm in place to brace myself before they stopped.

“Are you ready?” he called.

“Yes.”

In a moment, I felt him begin his climb. I gripped the window’s edge, but it was hardly necessary, because he climbed so much faster and caused far less pain than Mother. How he did it, I was not sure, but from what I could tell, he seemed to use the wall to help him. And he moved so fast, his arms working in a solid rhythm as he ascended.

With the wind blowing a little more forcefully as the sun set, I slipped to the side to give him entrance.

He straddled the window and was about to pull his other leg in when a gust of wind burst through, flipping his cape around. He started to lose his footing.

On instinct, I put one hand on his arm, the other steadying him by clutching his shirt. His body, so warm and solid, was still vulnerable. He needed my help, and it seemed a bizarre combination.

For the briefest moment, he was merely a breath away from me, and I met his wide, bright gaze. I felt his stare all the way to my toes and my cheeks grew hot, making me look away.

He shook his head, and took a few deep breaths as he regained his footing. I stepped to the side, pulling a little of my hair back into the tower, just enough so I did not have to stand so close to him.

“Thank you, Rapunzel. The wind is sneaky tonight,” he said, a smile on his face as he ran his hands through his inky black hair.

I felt a strange shiver on my back, as if the way he watched me was a physical touch. I could not help the fleeting thought that he might very well be some kind of wizard.

I moved away from him. “I am pleased you are not hurt.”

“That is quite a perilous window,” he said, smiling. “If you had not been there, I might have not righted myself.” He stayed close to the window, though his attention darted all around the room.

“I hope I did not startle you.” He gestured to the stones on the table across the room. “An arrow seemed the only way to get the present to you.”

My blush had only slightly receded, but it came back full force when he mentioned his gift. “It did, but it was a most pleasant surprise. They are very beautiful. I have never seen anything like them.”

“I am glad. I thought of you immediately when I saw them.”

“You should not have gone to such trouble,” I replied and sat on the corner of my bed, wrapping my arm around the foot post. Still unsure of the purpose of his attention, I wanted to keep my distance.

My dagger remained under my pillow, close enough to grab if I needed it. Knowing the blade rested there gave me comfort.

“It was no trouble.” He pushed his cape off his shoulders and I could not help staring at the size of him. Even the ceilings, which seemed so high to me, were barely above his head. His broad shoulders and thick legs looked oversized. His shoulders, wider than the window opening itself.

I marveled that he had been able to enter the tower at all.

I slid my hands into the twists of the braids, the rhythmic pattern of them calming me. “Why are you here?” I asked, the words tumbling out before I realized what I had said.

“Do you not want me here?” he asked, meeting my stare with his own, his face solid and stiff.

I stroked the braids. “I do not understand your reason for being here.” Which was true. I wanted to understand. Mother always said a fool like me tried to find logic in everything, but could not help failing. I hated that part of myself, yet I could not help my curiosity.

He tipped his head to the side, one of the dark hairs brushing over his brow. My immediate impulse was to brush the strand away from his face so my view of him would not be obstructed.

“Your face looks better,” he said.

I reached up and caressed my cheek where the bruises had appeared after Mother’s strikes. I had no reason to be concerned with them, since she had not been here to tell me how hideous they looked. My cheek was still a bit tender but I assumed most of it was healed.

“I…” It seemed such a strange observation. I did not understand and I was not sure how to respond. “Thank you.”

He let out a sigh and ran his hand over his face. “It must seem so strange to you that I would come to see you. After all, what reason would I have to visit? I doubt you have had many visitors.”

“None,” I replied.

He nodded. “I expected as much.” His gaze ran over me again, making my tummy flutter. “At least we are off to a better start today. You are not trying to stab me.”

A tiny giggle slipped out, and I covered my mouth, not sure if I was supposed to laugh. “I apologize. But you are a rather large man, and you appeared so suddenly…” Again, I felt the fool for not looking to see who had opened the gate.

His warm smile made me feel a little less silly. “You had no reason to think otherwise. Honestly, if I had not fallen through the gate in the wall by accident, I would not have found the way into the garden. The door is extremely well hidden.”

I blinked. “Is it? I have never seen it.”

“So you have never been down from the tower?”

“No, never,” I replied.

“You were born here?”

I shook my head. “I have no memory of anything before the tower. Mother said I was born on the side of a road during a spring storm and she brought me here eighteen years ago.”

“When is your birthday?”

“In sixteen days,” I replied, smiling, already a bit excited for my birthday. 

Sometimes it came and went with nothing, but every year, I clung to the hope that Mother would give me something. Aside from Nick’s stones, I had never received another gift beyond what I needed to survive. Which made his gift that much more special.

“I shall have to remember to bring you a gift,” Nick replied. “Speaking of gifts.” He reached behind him, producing a small parcel, like the one that had dangled from the arrow. “This is for you.”

I stood, intent on accepting his offering, but could not find the steps to move toward him and take the gift. I knew not why, but I could not move forward.

As if he understood my hesitation, he took a step to his right, and placed the package on my bed.

“You may open it when you are ready.” He moved back to the window, putting his hand on the braid, then glanced outside. “I will be going now.”

I nodded, clenching the braid that hung over my shoulder as I stepped toward the window. “As you like.”

He watched the hair fall for a moment, before turning to look at me again. “I would like to come back. May I?”

“Yes,” I said, before I even realized I had uttered the word.

With a smile on his face, he climbed out the window, twisting to the side so he could fit, then started his descent.

I braced against the windowsill, my back stiff and straight as he climbed down, yet I kept turning to look at the parcel on my bed.

When the weight disappeared, I released the window and turned to the bed, my fingers trembling once more. I ripped apart the parcel.

Inside were three beautiful bright blooms. One pink, one blue and one violet.

And a note.

 

For your beautiful hair,

Yours,

Nick

 

I stared at them, twirling each one in my fingers. The bright petals were so beautiful, I had never seen anything like them. I took the pink one first, tucking it behind my ear. The other two, I tucked into the braids around my face.

A groan echoed–the door being opened.

I ran back to the window. “Nick!”

He was just walking through the door and he froze, turning back to me.

“Thank you!” I yelled, louder than I ever had before.

He cupped his hand next to his mouth. “You are welcome!”