Page 19 of Down from the Tower

“Tell me about your gift,” I prod, switching gears. It’s a part of her. She has to know something.

She scoffs. “You’ve seen it since you barged into the parlor. The magic in my hair helps to reverse age.”

“And you need a chant for that.”

“It’s a rhyme,” she says, shaking her head. “And it’s what Midas told me to do. I use it every time someone works with the King and he needs to make a deal.”

“So you’re his bargaining chip.”

She shrugs, gesturing around us. “Midas can turn anything to gold, people included. When there’s an overabundance of something the value drops to nothing. Gold is nearly worthless in Tressa. The King puts weight behind it but the citizens and the workers in the castle abhor it. He barters with me because his golden touch is just as much a curse as a gift.”

“Funny, since Midas prides his touch as power.”

“You speak like you know my father.”

I shrug. “Where I come from, King Midas is a fearsome adversary. That wall? It keeps people out as much as it traps people inside. It’s a barrier that keeps the rest of the forest out.”

“I told you-”

“Rapunzel, this isn’t an island. You’re letting your parents trick you into believing something that isn’t real. They want you to think that even if you get out, there’s no escape.”

“Prove it,” she growls, and that sounds like a damn risky idea on her part. “You say this isn’t the island home I’ve always believed it to be. You claim that the wall keeps us separated from Mystica, which is thousands of miles from here. People travel far and wide to visit Tressa and be blessed by the Golden Touch or a bit of youth. If we were close to the other Kingdoms-”

“Then Midas would want to make it as difficult as possible for someone to breach the city and steal away the golden princess.”

She pauses, pursing her lips. Whether or not she likes what I’m saying, there’s weight to the words. Her father keeps her locked in this tower while her mother plays at manipulation and tricks to keep her in line. Why do they fear a daughter who they repress so much?

“Prove it,” she says again, her voice wobbly. “You sound like a madman, breaking into this castle. Or you could be some nightmare I’ve dreamed up in my loneliness! Prove that Tressa isn’t the island home I’ve always known and maybe I’ll believe you.”

“How would you like to do that, Princess?”

She frowns, pursing her lips. I might be not visible to the naked eye, but she most certainly is. Someone will notice her wandering the halls. “We’d have to get out of the room.”

“Yes. Staying in here won’t convince you of anything.”

She chews her lip. “I don’t know how to get out. Father made certain the room is secure so that no one can steal me from the castle.”

I eye the bars. “They’re ensuring you don’t escape as well.”

“That isn’t helping me, shadow boy.” She cocks her head, narrowing her eyes at me. “I still don't know your name.”

Smirking, I shift past her. The light is all but gone from the sky, and it gets my mind spinning. “I didn’t give it, Princess.”

“Well, you should now. We’ve talked long enough knowing your name seems appropriate.”

“Names carry weight,” I continue, leaning against the wall. “Power. I’m not gifting you power over me just because you're curious.”

She throws out her hands. “And what would I even do with that knowledge? Do you want some youth back, shadow man?”

I frown. “That’s irrelevant now, Princess. Youth is meaningless in death.”

Rapunzel frowns, and I’m certain she’s trying to make sense of things. I turn and stare out the window again, an idea forming as I look out at the sloping roofs.

I need to know if my target is really the princess, or the puppeteer pulling her strings. “I’m here in Tressa to find out why the people here die so slowly, Princess. I get the feeling you are to blame. There are dead here, there must be. People of all ages wander the streets. So where are your dead hiding?”

Looking back, she’s more troubled than before. “I have no idea. Maybe our barriers promote long life? I only share my magic with the King and Queen, and whoever they deem worthy when I’m brought into a meeting.”

That’s the problem. It doesn’t make sense. If anything, with Midas' relentless reign, people should be passing through the veil more often than not. Flexing my hands, I watch a few wisps of shadows lift from my hands.

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