Page 5 of Down from the Tower
“We’ve strayed from your visit, Arthur.” Midas folds his hands, glaring around the little congregation as he brings the conversation around full circle. “You’ve provided the Kingdom of Tressa with riches untold from the Round Table of Camelot. We are graciously thankful for the gems and goods that my golden touch can’t provide, along with your news of tales from Mystica.”
I don’t miss the way Arthur tightens his lips, the subtle diss not going unnoticed. Midas can create only gold, but the kingdom will never be poor because of it. If my magic wasn't up for trade, Tressa would still be a very rich kingdom.
Mystica is completely foreign to me. I know that’s where many Kingdoms are, but it’s too far for me or my parents to ever worry about. Tressa is a sovereign state, and will remain that way so long as we are separated from the country.
Midas needs news to stay in the loop about what’s going on with his allies and enemies, but it’s information I’m not privy to. I’m not even sure if he shares all of that information with Dorah.
“I have held up my end of our bargain,” Arthur agrees, returning to the chair. He holds out his beefy hands, beckoning me closer. “Come now, Princess. Breathe life into me.”
“Arthur,” Dorah scolds.
He chuckles, and Midas shoots him a look before beckoning me forward. I press my lips together, tangling my fingers into the pleats of my gown. Midas gives me a moment to panic before he hardens his gaze, snapping his fingers. “Here, Rapunzel, now.”
And damn it all, I relent. Gathering handfuls of my long locks I move forward, letting the heavy weight of the hair burden me as I cross the short space to Arthur.
The next steps are ritualistic. I’m more than familiar with how it goes, and I slip back into my mind as I go through the motions. Taking lengths of the hair, I start by wrapping his hands with one length before going to his ankles, doing the same. Part of the deal is I’m the only one who prepares for what’s next.
Arthur returns annually. It’s something that I don’t particularly like doing, but, aside from his crude comments, he’s not one to chat for long. I’ve come to this room enough times to know that Arthur is intimately familiar with the ritual. He’s cocky to the point of fault, and he gives me a snide grin that hints to his self-imposed importance.
He’s a connection for the King, nothing more. And my so-called gift is one he will return for again and again.
I wrap lengths of hair around the crown of his head last, standing to one side on my tiptoes to get the placement right. No one speaks, and I swear for a moment I think Arthur doesn’t breathe. They are all waiting for me to get to work.
I learned about my gift at a very early age, and it’s burdened me ever since.
Stepping back, I still have a good bit of distance between our bodies. I stare at Arthur, his beady eyes glaring back into mine, before closing my eyes and pressing both hands over my heart.
“Of the gift of life, I reject your death. Of the burden of age, I banish time. Of the curse of passing, I tether your soul here another year longer.”
I don’t know if the chant is something Midas created, or if some unknown being taught it to me when I was young. So far as I know there’s no one else like me in the world, least of all in Tressa. So no one except the King could teach it to me.
Arthur’s eyes roll as the magic washes over him. Some of the wrinkles on his face disappear, the thinness of his hair fills in, and his skin tightens all over, the wear of age slipping away.
I step back, watching the process with folded hands. It’s nothing new to me, and I am no longer important now that I’ve shared the gift. The ends of my hair slowly unwind as the magic sinks in, my hair heating for a few moments around my scalp before it fades.
It’s not a glorious performance that people can admire. Other than the effects on the other person, nothing happens that the naked eye can see. King Midas has a hand that glows gold and can turn and torture people with the same beauty. When he’s in a mood it’s a whole spectacle.
Whereas my so-called gift is infinitely more frightening and far less interesting to see.
“That will be all, Rapunzel,” Dorah says dismissively, watching Arthur closely. Now that he’s gotten what he wanted from the kingdom again, my magic, there’s no reason to keep me around.
Biting into my cheek, I nod stiffly and turn. My steps falter when I see someone standing on the far side of the room.
He’s… well, he cannot be a friend of Arthur’s.
He’s tall, at least I think so. He’s a bit like an illusion, fading in and out of focus so it’s hard to really tell what I’m seeing. He’s got on a lot of clothing, from the long black… cape, I want to say it’s a cape, to his dark black hair that hangs loose almost to his shoulders. He’s too far off to make out the color of his eyes, and I swear it looks like the shadows bend and move with him as he watches me from across the room.
I really can’t seem to focus on him. He’s a bit like a dream, or a nightmare.
He shifts, and I realize he’s coming closer. I glance back over my shoulder to find the Queen glaring at me, her arms crossed tight over her chest. She looks directly at my hands before glaring into my eyes, letting me know she's displeased with all the paint stains.
“Rapunzel,” she spits through gritted teeth, “off you go.”
I frown. It’s odd that she doesn’t want to show me off to someone new if they allow him into the room. If he’s an enemy instead of a friend they wouldn’t let him see how my gift works, and I’ve never seen Midas or Dorah make a mistake like this before.
“But, the man,” I say, finding my voice. The King and Arthur glance over at us, and up to this point I think they were both perfectly content to ignore us.
Dorah raises a brow at me, looking around the room. The smile she shoots my way is forced at best. “You’re well acquainted with King Arthur. Now off you go, the Kings have business to discuss.”