Page 11 of Of Shadows and Death

Raúl puts the bread on the windowsill and shifts downward, sorrow on his face. “That witch, the one you call mother, has never birthed a child in her life.”

My mouth drops open and I stand up abruptly. A laugh slips out. “Impossible. She is my mother. Why would she keep me here otherwise?”

He frowns as he stares at me. “What is the real reason your hair is so long, Penny?”

“No,” I whisper. “Lies. You’re a liar.”

Raúl’s face falls. “I am sorry. I only speak the truth. I promise you on the blood of my ancestors.”

“The blood of your ancestors must be tainted with insanity.” Tears threaten to escape my eyes and I bring my chin up higher. “I will not believe this.”

His face looks as if someone has punched him in the gut, and he nods forlornly. “Listen. If you find her mirror, ask for the truth.”

“Leave,” I say with gritted teeth. “Leave me alone.”

Raúl stares at me with sad eyes and nods again. “If you call, I will come.”

“I will never call you,” I say. “I won’t be lied to.”

He stands and attempts an elaborate bow, but I am in no mood, and turn so my back is to him.

“Goodbye, Penny.”

I hear a rustling and continue to keep my back to the window. When I am sure he’s gone, I collapse into my chair and let the damned tears fall. It is only when I wipe them away that I see the package on the ledge.

Later, I am in bed with the package next to me. I haven’t decided if I will open it yet or not. On the one hand, I want nothing more than to find out what Raúl brought me. On the other, why would I accept a gift from such a liar?

I move my head and stare at the sky instead. Raúl’s words slide through my mind, interrupting my thoughts, invading my dreams. By midnight, they have planted seeds of doubt inside my heart. I twist a length of hair, my hands needing to move as a thought runs over and over. What if Raúl is right? Why is my hair so long? In all the stories I’ve read, there’s never been someone with hair like mine.

The package lures me, a distraction I desperately need. I pull it into my lap. It’s fairly large, and crinkles as I move it. I flip it over, finding the seams sealed together. I rip them open and find a bundle of fabric inside. Standing up, I lift the fabric out and it falls down, revealing a beautiful, modern dress. The fabric is golden, intricately decorated with embroidered flowers and vines in a lighter yellow. The cut is exactly like the picture Raúl brought me, one of the new designs. My heart pounds as the sheer fabric runs through my fingers.

I cannot deny that Raúl picked one of the most beautiful dresses I’ve ever imagined. Moving slowly, I slide my nightgown to the ground and pull the dress over my head. It’s soft against my skin and fits perfectly, as if it was made for me. I glance down, and the bottom just barely brushes the floor. The cool night air caresses my bare arms and I wish for nothing more than to see myself. I have no mirrors down here, but I know there is at least one on Mother’s floor.

The dress instills a strange confidence in me, and I step forward, daring to follow the path to Mother’s floors. I stand at her brown wooden door and take a deep breath. The magic hums against my bones, but I can’t resist opening the door, anyway. I close my eyes, my heart pounding, and push it all the way open. Inside, I look around before taking a step forward. Mother’s bed is against the far wall, well away from the window. It’s a sturdy thing, with a mattress as thick as my forearm is long, placed on a four poster wooden bed. Much fancier than my bare bones mattress on the floor. She has a scattering of books all over the shelves, and a wooden chest at the bottom of her bed. Next to the window is a large chest of drawers, and on top are a handful of bottles. I spot a mirror at the end, and taking a deep breath, cross the threshold.

The floor is warmer than my own, and instantly I know without a doubt Mother keeps them warmed by magic. I shake my head. Not once has she offered to do that on the main floor or mine. Sometimes, during the winter nights, the stones are ice. On the dresser is a hand mirror, silver intricately inlaid around the frame. I run my fingers over the edge, the detail scraping against my skin. The back has a dull inscription on it, but I cannot make out the words.

The moon provides enough light, so I open the window and lean out, holding the mirror at an angle to see what it says. A ray of moonlight hits it perfectly, illuminating the phrase. “Truth cuts like a sword.”

That’s interesting, I thought. I turn it over and use the scant moonlight to see myself in my dress. It’s even more beautiful than I realized. The golden hues highlight my brown hair and skin tone, making me seem ethereal. The embroidery shines, glittering as I move.

I brush my hair away from my face, smiling at my reflection with joy in my heart, when an image flashes over it. I gasp when I see Mother in a room with another couple. The woman is on the bed screaming, and lightning flashes through the window of her room.

The woman’s face looks almost exactly like mine.

I stare in horror and my heart beats against my ribs. I put the mirror back down and run to my room, slamming the doors as I go.

Chapter Eleven

495 NE, Month 9, Day 10/30

The next day, I deliberately put the mirror and its image out of my head. It must have been tricks of the light.

I do, however, leave the dress on. It’s absolutely gorgeous, and I feel beautiful in it. I go about my daily chores. It is nearly lunchtime when I hear a voice from the bottom of the tower.

“Rapunzel. Rapunzel, let down your hair.”

My heart thunders. I thought I would have enough time to change. Squaring my shoulders, I run to the window and repeat what I’ve done thousands of times.

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