Page 16 of Down from the Tower

“It’s not as though I have anything else to do,” she snaps, gesturing to the bars on the window. Dorah’s lips flatten, and I can’t help agreeing with the princess that her options are pretty minimal here. “You don’t want me to get any sunlight. What did you tell me last? The rays will damage my hair if I am outside too long? So you barred me into this room. I can’t even walk around the castle!”

There’s some fire in her today. I don’t think she’s had any of that tea yet, because that docile attitude is completely missing. Maybe the tea is suppressing something within her.

Dorah sighs, setting her cup and saucer down. “Rapunzel, you know the dangers if anyone gets a hold of your hair.”

“My hair only works for me. So what difference does it make? Unless I recite that chant it won’t work anyway. I can’t reverse time without it, and no one else can make the magic work if they say it.” She shrugs. “They need me to get anywhere, and I wouldn’t help anyone else. They can’t cut it or the magic disappears. So really, Mother, in a courtyard full of guards, what would a few minutes in the grass do to me?”

That’s kind of a strange thing to say. Magic is rarely activated by a chant. It’s innate, a part of you. The magic comes from within Rapunzel, not from words, but she seems to wholeheartedly believe what she just said.

“Rapunzel, we can’t take chances-”

“I just want to go outside,” she says, reaching out to grasp the sleeve of Dorah’s dress. Immediately her mother’s expression harders, like she would like to slap her daughter’s hand away. “Get some fresh air.”

“You have the window.”

“That’s not fresh air! It’s the only view of the outside that I have and you covered it in golden bars.” She shakes her head, slumping back in her seat. Her eyes briefly dart towards me, like she wants to convey that she hasn’t forgotten that I’m in the room. “I’m feeling a bit tired, mother. I just want to lie down for a while.”

“Drink your tea, dear. It will help calm the nerves.”

It’s going to do more than calm her. I step forward without thinking. “Don’t drink that.”

Rapunzel jumps, and Dorah remains none the wiser. She’s glaring at her daughter, waiting for her to listen. “Rapunzel, the tea. It will help with a nap. You’re too jumpy.”

I glare at Dorah, speaking to Rapunzel as I do so. “There’s something in the tea. It keeps you content and docile. She’s rather persistent, don’t you think? I wouldn’t drink that if I were you.” I hesitate. “You’re much more vocal today than any other day we’ve chatted.”

She hesitates, looking down at the cup. I step closer, and she stubbornly keeps her gaze down. “I’m not feeling the greatest. Maybe I’ll have it after I’ve rested. My stomach hurts at the moment.”

It’s a lie, and by the flash of Dorah’s eyes I know she’s picked up on that. “Drink the tea, Rapunzel.”

When she makes no move to follow orders, Dorah reaches out to press the cup to her lips. I move without thinking, batting the bottom of the cup to one side, watching as Rapunzel gasps in surprise.

The tea spills from the cup, landing on the center of Dorah’s skirt and staining it as the delicate tea cup bounces off the layers before shattering on the floor.

For a moment, no one makes a sound. Dorah stares in horror down at the broken cup, and Rapunzel glares up at me.

I try to feel bad, but it just isn’t there. Who is she when no one’s holding the reins?

“What have you done?” Dorah’s voice is nothing but a horrified whisper. I half expect her vanity to show through, but she ignores the stain forming on her skirt to kneel on the floor, crunching parts of the broken cup with her haste. “What have you done!?”

Rapunzel blanches, looking between myself and the Queen. “I-”

Dorah springs up, nearly tripping over her skirt, and grabs Rapunzel roughly by the shoulders. “Did someone say there’s an issue with the tea? Who are you speaking to?”

There’s paranoia in Dorah’s voice as she shakes Raunzel’s shoulders, and the princess grasps her mothers forearms to try and get her to stop. “No one! I didn’t mean to-”

“Lies!” Dorah cries, shaking her harder. I tighten my hands, watching the exchange before flicking my eyes to the door.

Do the guards not hear, or do they simply not care?

“You have to drink your tea,” Dorah spits, her eyes wild with anger. “You do not disobey me, Rapunzel! You always need some tea to help soothe you. You’re ruining things!”

I stare, waiting for her to stand ground and tell off the Queen. Mother or not, Rapunzel is a fully-grown adult and if she can’t stand up to Dorah, she won’t stand up to anyone else either.

Flexing my hands, I debate if it’s worth blowing my cover to stop the Queen. As a shadow wielder, if I drop the magic surrounding me I can touch the living. Death is my domain, so I have to let the magic flow freely to be able to touch someone alive.

Rapunzel is the only exception to that. I’m almost certain the girl who gives life was once touched by death. I can't think of any other reason why she is able to see and touch me when no one else can.

Dorah loses the last shreds of composure, lifting a hand to strike her daughter. Instead of fighting her, the princess curves her shoulders inward, like she expects the blow.

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